by Rhys Ford
He spent the time filling the cherrywood barrister cabinets with the seemingly millions of CDs Kane discovered in stacks of boxes in one of the upstairs bedrooms. With the furniture finally in place and the sectional returned to a glory it’d never known, the warehouse was an eclectic blend of old and new pieces.
Neither of them spoke about the storage boxes with Damien’s name scribbled on with black markers. Instead, Kane designated the smallest upstairs bedroom as a storage area and stacked the unopened boxes carefully against the wall. Dusty guitar cases, laden with memories and loose-stringed instruments, joined the boxes. Kane was about to close the room up when Miki stopped and walked to the middle of the room, breathing in the dusty memories of his dearest friend. After grabbing one of the guitar cases from its place against the wall, Miki headed downstairs without a word, leaving Kane to shut the door behind him.
The acoustic guitar was as battered as the sectional had been. It showed its age by its wood and the stickers from various diners and dives across the country covering its back. Resurrected from its tomb, the guitar now spent half of its time in Miki’s ink-stained hands, a soft, murmuring refrain of music coming from its strings while Kane cooked in the kitchen or lounged on the couch next to Miki’s feet.
Most of the time, Miki played songs Kane knew from the Sinner’s Gin CDs he’d scavenged from the piles of extras in the studio next to the garage, but sometimes there were others, unfamiliar and faltering. Miki alternated stroking the chords from the acoustic and scribbling in one of his notebooks, the cheap ballpoint pens he favored smearing globs while he wrote. There were a few tentative ventures of love songs, but mostly Miki wrote of a bit of pain he couldn’t shake. Kane grinned when Miki sang to him of wickedly sinful nights, and kissed him soundly during the times he mourned his best friend.
Dude was often Miki’s audience, especially when Kane groaned at Miki’s mocking rhymes.
With the door checked out, Kane had just reached for a hand towel when Dude’s ears perked up at the sound of a car’s tires pulling up in front of the warehouse. The terrier was pawing at the jamb before Kane could put down the drill. Barking in a high pitched yip, Dude shuffled back quickly as the front door swung open.
Seeing Miki never failed to take Kane’s breath away.
“God, I fucking hate learning how to drive,” Miki growled at his dog, bending over slightly to pet the undulating terrier. “At least this guy hasn’t quit on me yet.”
And as usual, right after his breath was taken away by the singer’s pretty face and lithe body, Miki’s off-kilter brain and loose mouth brought a laugh to Kane’s lips.
“How was it?” Kane brushed a few curls of wood from his jeans and crooked his finger at his lover.
“I didn’t run into anything this time,” Miki grumbled under his breath. “And I can’t be blamed if someone walks into the car, right? It’s kind of like he hit me.”
“Were you moving at the time?” Kane shook his head. Miki was on his third driving instructor, and not for the first time since the singer took it into his head to get his license, he was glad they decided Kane wouldn’t teach him how to drive.
“I was starting to,” Miki confessed. “He walked into the side of the car. By the passenger door. Totally not on me.”
Chuckling as Miki approached him, Kane caught the man by the waist and pulled him in to cup Miki’s ass in his palms. He loved the feel of his lover’s ass. The round, muscular curves fit perfectly in his hands, and Kane kneaded Miki’s jeans as he took Miki’s mouth. Their kiss began as a tender exploration, their tongues teasing one another until Kane felt Miki’s hands slide under his T-shirt. The man’s fingers should be declared lethal weapons, because the delicate brush of his fingertips on Kane’s ribcage was enough to drive him wild. When Miki sucked on the tip of Kane’s invading tongue, Kane decided it was time to take even more.
Kane turned him around, introduced Miki’s back to the newly installed doors, and hoisted the slender man up as an invitation for Miki to wrap his legs around Kane’s hips. When Miki’s legs were secure around him, he pressed in and took as much of Miki’s kiss as he could, slanting his mouth to savor his lover’s taste.
There was nothing more sensual for Kane than the slide of Miki’s velvety tongue along the roof of his mouth. The nip of the man’s teeth along his lower lip was a close second. With a satisfied smirk, he leaned in, supporting Miki’s weight with one hand on the man’s pert ass while he wrapped his other hand into the silken chestnut hair at the base of Miki’s neck.
As mouths went, Miki’s was a sublime experience, full and kissable with a hint of a wicked smile ghosting its corners. Kane took his time exploring every millimeter of it until Miki was left gasping. Clinging to Kane’s shoulders, he panted heavily, straining to get some air into his lungs. Taking advantage of his lover’s distraction, Kane slid his hand down from Miki’s hair to tuck his fingers into the loose waistband of his jeans.
The skin there was soft under Kane’s fingertips, and he raked at the delicate span of flesh with his fingernails, making Miki hot enough to grind his hips against Kane’s waist.
“Shouldn’t be doing this,” Miki gasped when Kane’s fingers slid down further and teased at the top of the cleft parting his ass cheeks. “Edie….”
A crisp, feminine voice finished Miki’s sentence for him. “Edie is standing at the front door wondering if she shouldn’t get a hotel room. Hello, boys. Good to see you… fully recovered from your traumas.”
The tall woman was a sharp arrangement of angles and planes. Dressed in a dark red power suit, she removed a matching pillbox hat from atop her short black bob and perched it on the handle of her rolling suitcase. Slender nearly to the point of being too thin, she looked down her long nose at Kane and arched one eyebrow at the couple.
“It’s good to see you are back on your feet, Miki.” The eyebrow remained in place, and Kane felt a flush start to creep up his neck. “Well, feet being a relative term.”
“Shit.” Kane carefully lowered Miki to the floor, waiting for the man to have his legs in place under him before letting go. “Um….”
“Why don’t you wash your hands first before I shake hello?” Edie crossed the room, her heels clicking on the polished floor. “You appear to have… an oily substance of some kind on them.”
“Grease from the hinges,” Kane admitted. “Very innocent. I promise.”
“Hey, Edie.” The hug Miki gave the brittle-faced woman thawed her to putty, and her smile was enough to brighten the room. “I’m glad you could come up to visit.”
“I’m glad you finally let me. Now, let me look at you,” she said, leaning back only far enough to study his face. “Are you sure you’re okay? No more bullet wounds?”
“I didn’t have any to begin with,” Miki snorted. “My knee gave out. The guy kicked me right in the broken spot.”
“He fainted,” Kane interjected. “Well, passed out from the pain, really. Not a single extra hole in him to be found.”
“Okay, so long as you’re fine.” She sniffed and let Miki tighten his grip on her before lightly pushing him away. “Squeeze me too hard, and I’ll make a mess on your lovely floor.” After kissing his cheek, Edie looked around the warehouse. “This certainly looks much better than the webcam chats I’ve had with you. Is the bathroom in the same place? I need to freshen up. The flight wasn’t long, but the person sitting next to me… well, he was a nervous flyer. Very nervous.”
“Uh, yeah,” Miki mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Through that door over there. It’s the room with the funny seat.”
Kane waited for the woman to disappear into the depths of the warehouse’s hallway before wrapping his arms around Miki’s waist from behind. Resting his chin on the man’s shoulder, he nibbled on Miki’s earlobe and whispered. “You webcammed with her in the bathroom?”
“I had to go pee, and I took the tablet with me.” Miki went hot over his cheeks. “I didn’t even think about it. Shit, she’s
seen everything already. She toured with us.”
“I don’t think I’m too happy knowing a woman’s seen all your goods there, babe,” Kane teased in his deep, whiskey-laden lilt. “I might have to inspect you for damage.”
Miki eyed Kane suspiciously. “Put your hands on me and we’re going to forget about Edie again. I don’t think I need her to see that much of me.”
“Hmmm, probably not the impression I want to give,” Kane agreed.
“I think she’s already got that impression,” Miki scoffed. Fending Kane off with one hand, he dug into his pocket. “Hold up. I got something for you.”
“You made the driving instructor do a pit stop?”
“No, I asked the taxi driver to.” Miki drew out a pair of keys strung on an iCat pull-apart. “Here, I want you to take these.”
“Mick love, I’ve already got a key to your place,” Kane reminded his lover gently. “Shit, I practically live here.”
“These aren’t for the house,” Miki said. “They’re for the GTO. I want you to drive it. You know, because I… can’t.”
“Babe, Damien—”
“D wanted me to have the car to drive,” Miki cut Kane off. “The way I’m going, it’ll be years before they let me have a license, and… I want my life to go on. I need my life to go on. And I want it to go on with you in it. So for me, will you drive it around? Maybe with me in it once in a while?”
“Yeah, I will,” Kane murmured, closing his hand over Miki’s fingers and the keys. “Love you, Mick. You know that, right?”
“Love you too, K,” he replied, ducking his head down. “With everything I’ve got.”
Miki moved first, sliding his tongue across Kane’s lips. Kane barely heard the roar of his blood in his ears, lost in the flavor of Miki in his mouth. Every man tasted different; he’d kissed enough men to know the truth of it, but Miki was different. In each of his lover’s kisses there was a vastness Kane couldn’t imagine until his mouth brushed the other’s. The keys jangled when they hit the floor, and Kane’s mind went blank when Miki pushed him back against the doors to the bedroom.
Reaching up under Miki’s shirt, Kane stroked at the line of Miki’s lower back, teasing the silky skin there. Responding, Miki’s kiss grew rough, his passion hardening beneath Kane’s stroking touch. The delicateness of Miki’s frame was deceiving, the power in the singer’s lean body evident as his legs trapped Kane against one of the doors. A steely strength lay under the loose clothing swaddling the singer’s torso, hard muscles under his smooth golden skin.
“Those things open, right?” Miki gasped when Kane’s fingers dipped below the waistband of his jeans.
“Yes. That’s what makes them doors,” Kane said, leaving a trail of kisses along Miki’s throat until he found the spot he was looking for. The cop nipped and tugged at the skin under Miki’s jaw, plucking up dark pink welts with his teeth. Kane’s fingers were everywhere, pulling at the pebbled nubs of Miki’s chest while his other hand trailed up and down the cleft of the singer’s ass. “All you need to do is turn the knob, baby, and let me in.”
The click of the latch did little to prepare Kane for the door giving way behind him, and he laughed when he stumbled back. Snagging Miki’s jeans by a belt loop, he pulled his lover in, dragging Miki in with him. Neither of them saw the woman coming down the hall nor heard the quiet snick of the door closing behind them as they fell into bed, more intent on getting one another undressed than anything else.
“Well, puppy, it looks like they were the ones to get a room,” Edie said, looking down at Miki’s blond terrier mix. Grinning up at her, Dude shook the red pillbox he clenched in his teeth, as if daring her to say something about its theft. “Let’s see if they’ve got some beer in the fridge, and then we’re going to talk about you giving me back my hat.”
The prophets and the wicked both wear black.
How do I tell one from the other?
When both want to kiss me,
And ask for my soul.
—The Consuming of Me
AS PRISONS went, Stephen had to admit, Skywood was a beautiful prison. The majestic, sweeping landscapes were filled with burbling rivers, tall evergreens, and a cobalt-gray range of mountains that turned icy blue when the winter months came around. He clearly remembered seeing the leaves turn brittle, and a few weeks later, what greenery remained was buried under the frosty kiss of icicles and swirling snow. Spring now had a firm hold on the grounds, and bright colors dominated the greenscape, giving the residents of Skywood Chateaux a vibrant expanse to walk or be wheeled around in.
Stephen hated every minute of it. Especially when the staff began to talk to him in a perfected singsong tone that left him with no doubt they thought he was crazy.
“How are we this morning, Mr. Thompson?” The beefy, bald-headed orderly carried in Stephen’s meal on a wooden tray. After placing it on the table near the window Stephen sat at, he removed the silver dish coverings and placed them on the trolley. “Are you thinking of taking a walk outside today or maybe heading over to the entertainment room? Doctor Hanline thinks it would be a good idea for you to try the game systems again. Maybe something interesting, like Katamari.”
“No Rock Band, huh?” Stephen sniffed at the hollandaise sauce on his eggs.
“Probably not, sir.” He caught the sour look on the orderly’s face before the man could mask it. “That did not… go well for you last time.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” The eggs were good, and the bacon had a sugary crispness he liked. The English muffin accompanying the meal was toasted to perfection, and the orange marmalade tasted handmade, a likely possibility considering the exclusive facility’s attention to detail.
It still was his prison. Despite its beauty and the suite of rooms he occupied, everything was either screwed into the wall or monitored to within an inch of his life. Even the reading material was carefully gone over so nothing would set him off into a rage. The homogenized atmosphere was driving him more crazy than the smug politeness of the staff or the overwhelming blank bits in his mind.
He’d also kill for a cup of coffee, Stephen thought as he stared down at the glass of apple juice. When had he ever liked apple juice?
“Here are your supplements, sir.” The orderly handed Stephen a small cup of pills, watching carefully beneath hooded lids to see if Stephen swallowed all of them.
They both knew the pills weren’t vitamins. What Stephen didn’t know was if the orderly was aware he knew it. The meds brought a numbness to his mind, and he hated the lethargic response of his thoughts. He tossed the pills into his mouth, gulped down the entire glass of juice, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He set the balled-up paper down on the tray and waited until the orderly took the tray to the trolley.
Taking advantage of the man’s turned back, Stephen slipped the pills into the space between the chair’s back and seat, letting them rattle with the others he’d stashed there.
“Your parents will be visiting you today, sir,” the orderly mentioned, stacking the tray with the dish covers. “They’ll be joining you in Entertainment Room C.”
“Lovely,” Stephen drawled.
They were waiting for him, a well-dressed, elegant couple whose every movement spoke of money and privilege. Stephen didn’t have to look hard to see himself in the older man. They shared the same inky black hair, light blue eyes, and strong features. Nearly the same height, they both towered over the delicate-boned blonde woman picking at the edges of her nails in boredom. She smiled when Stephen approached and murmured an air kiss near his ear before drawing quickly away. The man patted Stephen’s arm awkwardly and sat down next to his wife on a tapestry settee. The orderly closed the door as he left, leaving them alone.
The room was on the small side for the facility, offering a private venue for family gatherings, and Stephen wished they’d been able to meet in one of the larger areas so he could have some room to pace off his frustration. He was halfway to the window when the man who called
himself his father broke the silence.
“Why don’t you come sit down with us, Stephen?” Hell, they even sounded alike, but for the life of him, Stephen couldn’t remember a damned thing about the man he resembled. “We want to hear how you’re doing. Do you need anything? Maybe more books?”
“What I need is to get the fuck out of here,” Stephen said, staring down at the parents he didn’t know. “Look, you seem nice and all, but I don’t remember you. I don’t want to be here… I…. This isn’t my life.”
“Stephen, we’ve gone over this,” his mother said in the same damned lilting singsong the staff used to speak to him. “You’re our son. You were in a car accident… a very serious car accident. It’s okay that you don’t remember anything—”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I sure as hell don’t remember you, but I remember a lot of things,” he interrupted. “I remember that my name’s not Stephen Thompson. It’s Damien Stephen Mitchell. I know I was in a car accident, and I know Johnny and Dave are gone. What I don’t understand is why you’re not letting me see Sinjun or even letting me talk to him. So if you want to do something for me, let me out of here. Because what I need… who I want is Sinjun, because I need him to take me home.”
About the Author
RHYS FORD was born and raised in Hawai’i, then wandered off to see the world. After chewing through a pile of books, a lot of odd food, and a stray boyfriend or two, Rhys eventually landed in San Diego, which is a very nice place but seriously needs more rain.
Rhys admits to sharing the house with three cats, a black Pomeranian puffball, a bonsai wolfhound, and a ginger cairn terrorist. Rhys is also enslaved to the upkeep a 1979 Pontiac Firebird, a Qosmio laptop, and a red Hamilton Beach coffeemaker.