by Clancy Nacht
Susan leaned over Elliot to peer out the window. “Got it. Are those our guys?”
“They’re the owners, and there’s some NRA back there. I thought there’d be more people.” Even Corey sounded disappointed.
The vehicle shifted as Corey opened the door and let himself out. “Let me get the press wrangled. The guys will take care of you.”
Elliot took a deep breath and opened the door. He flashed the men a warm smile and helped his wife out of the SUV. Their eyes lingered on Susan, as most men’s did. She was a beautiful woman, and Elliot was reminded again it was a privilege to be seen with her.
The two groups met in the middle and discussed what they might hunt—white tailed deer, they decided—and for how long. A couple of hours should give the media enough time to capture good images, and by the end, the staffers could arrive and the press could ask questions.
Susan and Elliot stayed together. They carried similar rifles, and an instructor accompanied them just to make sure they didn’t get into actual trouble. A camera crew followed them, so Elliot crouched in bushes and lined up shots for the group watching and photographing his every move.
What an odd situation.
When he was a kid, Elliot was free to run around the Swardson property— several miles wide and deep—shoot what he liked, and then bring it home for dinner. This cultivated tableau was frustrating, but he performed for the camera guys, who only worried about what would look good in pictures, and gave sound bites about the importance of the second amendment.
After a while, Corey sneaked in behind Elliot to encourage him and announce it was almost time. The small group never made it very deep into the woods, but when they emerged, the world seemed to have changed.
A podium now stood in the clearing, surrounded by the people of color on staff, as if to buttress Elliot’s speech.
What was he going to say? He’d fixated too much on the hunt. A little scattered, he took his spot on the podium with his wife next to him.
Reporters closed in with their microphones out. The day’s light was waning, a better time to actually find deer, but here Elliot was, doing this instead.
Everyone appeared ready, so Elliot cleared his throat. “People of color in our community, they are us. They are who we all are. They have jobs and families. They pay bills just like everyone else. I planned to come here and enjoy some hunting with my wife, exercising our Second Amendment rights to do so, but our day was ruined—ruined—by Congressman Steven Gilbert’s ignorant words about our brother and sister Americans. I absolutely repudiate his words. He has caused himself and this party shame.”
That strong stance seemed to please the reporters. They asked follow up questions about what should happen to Gilbert, but Elliot declined to answer.
“That’s for the voters to decide.”
The reporters smiled broadly as they wrote, but the hunters—the real red meat—didn’t look particularly impressed or inspired. He knew there were racists in the party, but as far as Elliot was concerned, it was time for everyone to get on the right side of history.
Another reporter grabbed Elliot’s attention. “TMZ here. We wanted to know more about this morning’s debacle with your wife and your staffer, uh… Lance Gatsby? Is he here?”
Elliot smiled in a way he hoped would look gracious. “In light of the accusations, we gave him the day off to decompress. He’s not a big hunter anyway.”
The hunters chuckled, some nervously. The reporters nodded. “So what about that clinch between he and your wife, Senator?”
“No.” Elliot shook his head and left no room for doubt. “Absolutely not.”
Susan stepped between Elliot and the microphone. The press perked up.
“The truth is,” Susan said, “I’ve come to lean on Lance due to the stresses of the campaign. He is a gay male staffer whom I am very close to, someone who can comfort me without being sexual. I felt safe with him. Maybe too safe, but that’s all there is to the story. It looked bad, and I am humiliated that it has caused my husband or anyone concern.”
She stood with her hands on the podium, looking down in supplication to the reporters. They looked at her for a moment, then moved on to their next questions for Elliot, which included softballs about where he liked to hunt, what he liked to hunt, what gun he preferred, et cetera.
By the end of it, the gun nuts seemed more engaged but far from won over.
On the bright side: Gilbert had taken over the news cycle and was probably out of the race, Elliot had finished hunting, and now he could get back to Lance.
As Elliot shook hands, making his way through the crowd to his SUV, a very young African-American girl with curly hair slipped from the group and shook his hand. “Thank you for doing stuff for equal rights.”
Elliot beamed and crouched down so she could take a selfie with him.
When he stood, Corey grabbed Elliot by the shoulder to turn him toward the open door of the SUV. He leaned in to whisper, “Good job. That photo should go viral.”
Elliot helped Susan into the SUV and followed her in, waving as he went.
Viral. That would be great. He should be happy.
He was happy, really. But all he could think of now was being back in Lance’s arms.
Staring out the window, Elliot clutched Susan’s hand, though she was far from his thoughts. How had Lance’s day gone? Had Jeff flirted with him? Jeff said he was straight, but Elliot knew better than most people the hopeful way some men said such things, as if the more they claimed a straight identity, the more it would be true.
Even now Elliot struggled with himself. What he was doing to Lance—keeping him in the shadows, forcing him to be a secret—was wrong. Elliot never believed he’d find himself in this position.
What he had with Susan was easy and comfortable, for the most part. She was a beautiful woman, incredibly easy to talk to, and they shared ambitions and their worldview. His body had typical responses to stimulation. It wasn’t as if her body was off-putting. It just wasn’t a body Elliot was naturally drawn to.
Before Lance, Elliot had been able to control himself, though Lance wasn’t Elliot’s first gay experience by a long shot. There had been affairs, short-term dalliances that got him off, but he’d never have called himself in a relationship. What he experienced now—this hunger, this need—this was new. He’d had crushes before, young men who caused a flutter in his stomach, people he longed to see or know better.
This was the first time he’d felt the attraction was beyond just physical.
Or at least it had been.
Elliot sighed. He relived that depressing moment over and over again now, where he’d exploded at the way Jeff had cozied up to Lance.
It wasn’t Lance’s fault.
And Jeff. Well, a guy had to try, right?
But Elliot should’ve known better. He should have trusted.
Lance wasn’t the sort of man to be kept or contained. It was probably an anomaly for a beautiful man like that to be monogamous at all, and Elliot had watched that light of love and attraction in Lance’s eyes drain away to frustration and fear.
What could Elliot do now? He was trying. The photo of Jeff and Lance didn’t help, and he regretted again his jealousy. How could he explain to Lance how new this was to him? There wasn’t a good way to phrase the ownership he felt over Lance or the rage any threat to that evoked.
Lance wasn’t the sort of man who wanted to be owned. That was some of what Elliot loved about him.
At least, that’s what Elliot believed. Lance, for all his seeming openness, was still utterly a mystery. Some of that was Elliot’s fault. Time he could’ve or should’ve spent talking dissolved into lust. The physicality of their relationship seemed to appeal to Lance, but maybe it was time for Elliot to challenge that by having more conversations.
Susan stroked the side of Elliot’s face, jostling him from his thoughts. “It’ll be all right, El.”
Elliot nodded and got his bearing on where they were. J
ust a couple more streets before they were at the hotel. He said nothing for long moments.
He didn’t like talking to her about Lance. It seemed cruel. There had never been illusions between them. She’d known Elliot was gay long before he was ready to admit it to himself, and she opted into this life. But they’d been married a long time before something this close to being in love had asserted itself. He kissed her hand. “Promise?”
She smiled softly. “Of course. Always.”
The vehicle stopped in the drive. An attendant opened the doors, and security led the way to the elevators.
Susan pressed the button to Lance’s floor and gave him an indulgent smile. “I’ll debrief with Corey. You go on.”
It hadn’t even occurred to Elliot not to go to Lance’s room, which was embarrassing in its own right. He grinned and nodded.
On Lance’s floor, security moved ahead, flanking the door before Elliot knocked. He had his own key card to Lance’s room, which he often presumptuously used, but with things so strained knocking seemed prudent.
No answer.
Elliot fingered the card in his pocket. Was Lance avoiding him, or was he not in his room? If he wasn’t in his room, where was he? Could he still be out with Jeff? The idea sucked all the oxygen from Elliot’s lungs. He glared at the gaudy hotel rug, debating the merits of barging in.
What if he went in and Lance wasn’t there? What then? It could mean nothing. Lance could be up in Elliot’s room for all he knew.
Elliot had taken security with him. He hadn’t kept the guards at Lance’s door regularly since Lance mentioned that he felt locked in. It had been an offhand comment, but Elliot realized how strange that situation must have been.
Now he regretted permitting that space. If he’d had security here, he’d know if Lance was inside and just avoiding him. Security would’ve known where Lance was.
And if Lance was avoiding Elliot, then Elliot should know about it. Though it would pain Elliot, if he had to let Lance go, he would. Avoiding the situation would be bad for both of them.
Rationalizing that he needed to know one way or the other, Elliot grabbed the card and shoved it in the door.
All the lights were on inside. Lance’s laptop was open, but he wasn’t on the bed, as if he’d been interrupted or abducted. The idea sent a cold shock through Elliot.
Damn him, he should’ve left security on Lance!
But why would anyone take Lance? It wasn’t rational, yet Elliot couldn’t help the paranoia that something was very, very wrong.
The sound of water shifting and dripping attracted Elliot’s attention and he whirled around and peered in the bathroom. Lance sat in the tub staring at the tile in front of him.
Elliot crouched next to the tub and stared at Lance. There were finger bruises on his arm that Elliot was sure he hadn’t left.
Lance looked at Elliot for a few seconds before he appeared to really see him. Then he blinked and frowned. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Elliot stroked Lance’s arm. “What happened?”
“Oh.” Lance turned his head to look at the bruises. His brow furrowed as if he wasn’t sure what had happened. “Um…”
Fear solidified in Elliot’s belly. “Did someone hurt you? Was it Jeff?”
“Jeff?” Lance looked skyward as if he couldn’t recall the name, then shook his head. “No, no. I was, uh, mugged.”
“Oh, Lance!” Lance’s skin was clammy. The water had gone cold. How long had he been bathing? “Let’s get you out of this bath. It’s freezing.”
Lance looked down at the water and then unplugged the stopper. “Right. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.” Elliot stood and grabbed a fluffy white bathrobe off the back of the bathroom door. He wrapped it around Lance and shuffled him to the bed. Elliot pulled the covers back and tucked Lance in. “I can get security to follow you if…”
Elliot’s gaze rested on Lance’s wallet sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. If he was mugged, how was his wallet still here? “Lance?”
Lance followed his gaze to his wallet. “I ran them off.”
“Them?” There was something very off about Lance, about what he was saying. There was no argument that Lance seemed traumatized. He’d had some manner of abuse, but clearly he wasn’t mugged. “What is going on, Lance? Were you raped?”
“No.” Lance sat up and leaned against the headboard. “Why would you think that?”
“You have bruises on your arm. Someone was obviously behind you.” Elliot hadn’t observed any other injuries, but he hadn’t seen Lance’s back.
“There were two of them. One grabbed me from behind.” Lance’s flat recitation sounded so weary, like he’d been reliving it over and over in the bath. “Took some kickboxing classes once, I guess that came back to me in the right moment.”
“Oh, Lance.” Elliot leaned in and hugged Elliot tightly. “You scared them off?” That was hard to believe, but then Elliot had heard that most robbers were cowards. “Did they have a gun? That’s so dangerous!”
“No, they were just…” Lance sighed and relaxed into Elliot’s hug. “No weapons that I saw. It happened really fast.”
“You were lucky, Lance. You should’ve just given them your wallet. You know that, right?” Elliot clung to Lance.
Though it was completely ridiculous, Elliot felt a strange pride that his lover had fought off two robbers. Lance was well-built, but Elliot wouldn’t have imagined that a public relations guy would have the instincts or the skill to run off bad guys like that. This man was full of surprises.
“Yeah, I know. It just happened fast.”
“I didn’t know you were a kickboxer.” Lance did have nice thighs. He had nice everything, though. Elliot tucked Lance’s head against his neck and squeezed. “Guess growing up gay in Texas you had to learn some self-defense?”
“Something like that.” Lance chuckled, which struck Elliot as odd. It certainly didn’t seem funny to him, but maybe Lance was still dealing with the after-effects of adrenaline or something.
“Look, I know you’re not a big fan of security, but it would make me feel better...”
Lance wrapped his arms tightly around Elliot. “No, Elliot. It was a freak thing; it’s not going to happen again.”
There was something strange and guarded in how Lance spoke. Was there a reason why Lance didn’t like being followed by security?
Elliot exhaled, trying to release his feelings of insecurity and jealousy. If Lance was going to leave, he was going to leave. If Elliot had observed anything about Lance, it was that he didn’t like being boxed in. He wasn’t used to having people watching over everything he did like Elliot was.
Life in a big family had apparently prepared him for being watched all of the time. “Lance, it’s going to make me crazy to worry about you every time we’re apart.”
“We’re usually not apart that much. When we are, I’m usually with other staff.” Lance pulled away and leaned against the headboard.
“Yeah, like Jeff.” Elliot stared at the hotel duvet, sick with himself that he’d given voice to his jealousy yet again. “Sorry.”
Lance took Elliot’s hands. “I swear there is nothing going on with Jeff. Even if he’s interested, I’m not, Elliot. He’s just some dumb kid from New Hampshire. You’re the only closet case for me.”
Elliot huffed but smirked. “That how you see me?”
“Kind of. Sometimes, I guess. I know it’s not without reason.” Lance gave Elliot a faint smile. A twinkle of that old adoration had come back into his eyes. “Look, I’m here. I’m with you. I didn’t ask for Jeff to come along. I would’ve said no if I’d been asked. You want him gone, tell Corey. It won’t bother me in the least.”
The words gave Elliot so much relief. He wouldn’t tell Corey to get rid of Jeff, but it was good that the option was on the table. He leaned in and kissed Lance, really appreciating the gentleness of his lips, the way Lance s
tarted each kiss with searching and then followed with passion, as if the floodgates had finally opened.
Lance whimpered when Elliot wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him closer. He must have some kind of injury to his back. Elliot broke the kiss and gazed into those icy blue eyes that at once seemed so impassive and yet deeply lonely. “You’re hurt?”
The specter of sexual violence loomed large in Elliot’s mind despite Lance’s reassurances.
“Sore. I’m out of practice kickboxing.” Lance’s gaze darted between Elliot’s eyes and then he looked down. “There may be bruising. I don’t really know. You want to check?”
Elliot nodded and helped Lance out of the robe. Lance lay on his stomach on the bed while Elliot cleared away the blankets. The planes of pale skin, the indentation just before the rise of his ass… He was so perfect. A couple of bruises marred his back, but Elliot couldn’t divine the cause. There were no finger marks on his ass, and Lance didn’t shrink away from his touches.
Something had happened, and Elliot wasn’t sure it was a mugging, but it probably wasn’t rape unless Lance was putting on a painful and terrible performance of bravery. The way Lance moved did indicate he had muscle soreness, so Elliot, still fully dressed, straddled his back and started with circular motions to rub down Lance’s spine.
He’d never given a massage, but he tried to be gentle as he radiated his touches out from Lance’s spine unless Lance rose up into them, demanding a firmer touch. Beneath him, Lance groaned as Elliot slid his thumbs over the small of his back. Elliot reveled in the way the muscles moved under his fingers, at how much pleasure it appeared to bring Lance.
Lance seemed especially tender around his tailbone, as if he’d landed hard on his ass, or pulled a muscle in the vicinity. His glutes were like rocks, tense to Elliot’s touch. He softened his rubbing, pulling the muscles downward to flush the blood through them. He loved the way Lance’s skin blanched and reddened under his fingers. Just observing this responsive body beneath him was a miracle.
Elliot kissed the crease where Lance’s ass met his thigh and nuzzled the roundness of the globe of flesh. Lance’s skin goose fleshed so enticingly. Lance was still a little cool from the water, the dark, hidden places still damp. Elliot grabbed each cheek of Lance’s ass and massaged, flashing himself that tempting opening. His thumbs worked ever inward, slowly revealing that beautiful pinkness.