33 Degrees of Separation (Legacy)

by Rain Carrington

  Pat was watching his lips, as if reading his mind. Maybe he wanted the same. Maybe not.

  Clearing his throat, Pat stood up from the bed, then whispered, “It’s fucking hot in here.”

  Chapter Seven

  They’d gotten a room with two beds, neither of them comfortable, but Ian took the one farthest from the door, after Pat insisted. He wanted to be the barrier between the outside world and Ian, protecting him.

  Ian hated that he had to be protected. He feared Pat would never see him as anything except some weak person who couldn’t do for themselves. It was mostly true, though. He’d never had to do for himself. There was always someone there to catch him, fix his problems, get him out of jams.

  Pat, though, he wanted Pat to see him for the man he wished he was, not the one he’d been all his life.

  They lay in their separate beds, and Ian found himself wishing they’d gotten one big bed, that would hold them both and Ian could move close to him, seducing him. He was good at a few things, and one was seduction.

  Under the thin sheet, Pat’s body looked more amazing than when he was standing, sitting, walking and he always looked good enough to eat. There, in his underwear and nothing else, the sheet clung to the lines and bumps of him, showing muscles that were hard and bulbous even while he was relaxed and unflexed.

  His eyes were soft and shining as he looked over at Ian, and again the question came. “Earlier, I asked you about that house and you effectively ducked the question.”

  “Effectively. That’s good. I like being effective.”

  “Don’t change the subject again. Tell me.”

  “It came from the dreams of a kid, that maybe could have come true. I don’t know about that now, but I was on my way.”

  “It was your inspiration to become an architect? You want to build houses like that?”

  Ian smiled. His secret was still secure. Few knew his true intentions, as they weren’t as grandiose as most assumed, with his money and background. A couple of his professors, Denny, but no one else had so much as asked. “I don’t want to build houses, or skyscrapers, bridges or anything else.”

  Leaning up on his elbow, Pat grinned over, brows drawn. “Oh? Forgive me for assuming that, being you majored in architecture.”

  He laughed, the mystery still thick. “I did. I wanted to learn everything I could.” He leaned up to mimic Pat’s position and brought himself back to that day. “I was watched all the time as a kid. Like every second. Kids from people with money are always protected that way, worry over ransom kidnappings and things. I was sixteen when I got my driver’s license, but my parents insisted that I always have someone with me. I wasn’t even encouraged to get my license, being that I could be driven anywhere I needed to go. I wanted it; I saw it as freedom. I was mistaken.

  “We came to the Aspen house for a couple weeks. We didn’t often do family vacations, at least not with all three members of the family intact. It was Christmas, though, so they made the effort. My mom’s parents were going to be there on Christmas Eve and all that. Anyway, being up in the mountains, I thought maybe I could take a drive by myself. And, being with both of my parents, I wanted to try the little kid thing for the first time. I asked my father, he said no, so I lied and told him that my mother said it was okay. He said as long as she said it was okay, he guessed it was okay too. Did the same with my mother and got the expected response.”

  Pat was chuckling that way that made Ian smile. “I tried it, and it never worked. My mother would screech from whatever room she was in, which was usually the kitchen, asking my dad what he said. They were always two steps ahead of me.”

  The pictures his brain conjured of Pat’s childhood, a family, a normal family, him running around a neighborhood, playing with other kids, it made him jealous but happy too. Happy that Pat had had a good, normal kid life.

  “Well, mine were unpracticed at the art of parenting, being they left that to the nannies. I got the keys to my car, which I had had since my birthday, two months before I got my license.”

  Groaning, Pat asked, “What was it? A Rolls? Bentley?”

  After throwing one of the flat, hard pillows from his bed at Pat, he laughed and corrected, “Father has the Rolls, and Mother the Bentley. Mine was a Mercedes-Maybach S650.”

  The sheet fell away from his chest as Pat sat up, gaping at him in disbelief. “What? A Mercedes?”

  “Yeah. It was great for a first car.”

  “For a first car? You mean you don’t still have it?”

  Scoffing, Ian laughed at him. “That was over ten years ago. I’ve had several since then. I know, not many do that, Denny told me most people hold onto their vehicles much longer. Actually, Father still has the same Rolls, plus a couple others, and keeps a lot of his cars. He’s got several garages with some beautiful cars.”

  “I bet,” he said, his voice filled with disdain.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to brag.”

  “You’re not. Go on with your story.”

  Feeling less excited about telling Pat his secret, he hesitated, but Pat sat up from his bed, leaned over to him and lifted his chin. “Please? I’m sorry I interrupted.”

  That simple touch on his chin, it made Ian forget everything for a second. Better than all those bottles of vodka in the cabin, one touch made everything else go away for just a little while.

  “I, uh, I went for my first drive. I had no idea where I was going, but I had GPS, so I wasn’t worried. I didn’t realize a lot of the back roads in the mountains weren’t on GPS, but I learned that fast enough. I was driving fast, driving slow, driving. No one to tell me to slow down or watch around the curves. I felt free for the first time in my entire life.

  “I’ll admit to getting lost, but even with that, I was happy as I could ever remember being. I knew if I got too lost, I’d never be able to go out alone again, so I was determined to find my way, even if I had to stop and ask for directions. I saw a house and thought I was saved, I’d stop, ask and be back before anyone could worry.

  “Then, I saw the house. I knew pretty fast no one lived there. Still, I was drawn to the place. The car was forgotten, having to find my way home was too.” Those feelings, seeing that house, it came back to him so hard, he felt it all over his body. The tingle and jumping of his muscles as he was discovering something, something about himself that he’d never known existed. “It was beautiful. As you could see today, what you could see of it, anyway, its bones are still there, strong and lasting. I went up the stairs of the porch and the columns were thick wood, not a crack or chip in them. Some of the spindles from the porch’s rail were missing, but the rail itself was hand carved and solid.

  “Man, when I saw the doors? I fell in love. It was like cupid shooting that arrow in my ass, but it wasn’t for another person, it was for that house. The doors were raised panel mahogany with lions carved over where the brass knockers once were. The brass was long gone, probably looted, but the lions were still there, almost completely intact.”

  He knew he was gushing but didn’t care if he was. Pat didn’t seem to mind, and in fact had a smile on his lips that matched the way Ian felt as he thought about that day. Dreamy.

  “I went in and the archways, the wainscoting, the molding, all in hard woods. The floor creaked but didn’t seem to be rotted enough to fall through. The good thing about Colorado is the low humidity. It’s much more forgiving to old homes and woods like that. The stairs, banisters, all were a little rough, but under the dust and minor scratches, it shone like the sun was shining on it. Like it was resting, waiting to be reborn. That’s what it felt like. It was waiting.”

  “Jesus, Ian, that is a beautiful way to think of it. Most would see the decay.”

  “No way. That’s when it hit me, more than anything in the world, I wanted to be the one to get that home back to where it belonged. I want to buy it and renovate it, and then I want a family to live there again. Kids running to the kitchen for a freshly baked muffin, the father sittin
g by the fireplace that was local stone with moss still covering most of the rocks. The mantle is thicker than your arm, and it should have pictures on it of the kids as they grow up there, and the parents, getting gray hair.”

  He got really embarrassed then. Pat seemed to see that. “Ian, I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a beautiful dream.”

  “Come on, Pat, you save people. That’s way more important.”

  “Is it? Let’s face it, some of the people I save aren’t worth half of what that run-down house is. That dream, to have a family there, making the house wake up and be useful again. I can almost feel it, like it’s been waiting, yeah, but it’s been waiting for you. It should be your family, when you have one someday.”

  That darkened his mood. He lay back down, falling on his back to stare at the ceiling. “Well, I guess I’ll have to have one eventually. My father says I can have my illicit and discrete affairs with men, sure, but I have to marry a woman and have an heir. For the fucking Grail. That wouldn’t be real. I’d never take a family like that into that home. It deserves better.”

  Pat left his bed to move over to Ian’s, sitting on the edge. The bed dipped again, and it nearly took Ian’s mind off the depressing thought of never having the life he’d wanted. “Ian, you are fighting this so you can have that family, the one you want, not the one you’re told to have.”

  “I never much thought about having a family before. Even that house, I didn’t picture me in it, just a family. It would be nice, though. I was always into a lot of guys, not settling for one, but now that I know I can’t have one, I want that.”

  As his shoulders fell, Pat asked him, “Is that really the only reason you’d want to be with just one guy?”

  Ian examined his expression and saw his body language. For the first time, he seemed defensive, like he was about to be hurt. Ian didn’t understand a lot about people. He’d never had to, but it was different with Pat. He wanted to know him and understand why his arms were folded over his chest and why he couldn’t meet Ian’s eyes.

  “Maybe it used to be. A guy like you, though? He could make me want that life.”

  In a whisper that was little more than a breath, Pat said, “A guy like me.”

  “Yeah,” he assured, sitting up and moving close, his lips less than an inch from Pat’s shoulder. “Exactly like you.”

  After a minute, he stood up from Ian’s bed, but he’d stopped being so rigid. “Get some sleep. We have a long day of coaching tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Pat. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Ian.”

  Chapter Eight

  In the shower that morning, Pat kept peeking down at the wood he sported. He’d had it since he woke and was mortified that Ian was staring over right at it from the other bed.

  He thought of getting rid of it the easy way, but he was well aware of what he’d be thinking about while he yanked his dick in the shower like a fourteen-year-old kid struggling through puberty.

  Ian. He was so attracted to the man that he could barely think of anything else. Every time he looked at Ian, he thought of all the ways he’d like to hold him, kiss him, fuck him until he screamed through the most intense orgasm of his life.

  He was probably the worst choice to play the role of Ian’s boyfriend while Ian pretended to go along with his father and the Grail. Well, probably was an understatement. He was the worst choice. The best would be a lesbian woman who’d have no attraction to him whatsoever.

  Bringing someone else in was not an option at that point, however. To let anyone else into the equation was a bad idea. The more people in on it, the more people would be in danger, the greater the chance someone would figure out what Ian was up to, and besides, he didn’t want to give it to someone else.

  The loss of control over the situation alone would kill him. Having someone else so much as pretend to be his boyfriend, that wasn’t something Pat could stand. So, he was stuck, stuck with wrapping his hand around his dick and pumping it as he pictured Ian lying on the bed under him, head thrown back in ecstasy, those perfectly shaped, wide lips parted with the moans he was letting escape.

  Pat’s forehead lay on the plastic side of the shower. The hand not on his dick was flat there next to it, and he let his mind go, thinking of how tight, how submissive, how sexy Ian would be to make love to. He could almost feel Ian’s legs wrapping around him, nails scraping down his arms. It would be like that, he was sure. The moment he saw Ian, he knew he’d be amazing in bed. As amazing as he was any other time.

  Before he could finish his fantasy, the door of the bathroom opened and Ian stuck his head in, calling out, “I have to piss something awful.”

  Hand flying from his dick, his knuckles met the wall and he jumped so much he came close to falling. He whipped around, covering his dick with his throbbing hand and said, “I’m a little naked right now, Ian.”

  “I won’t peek. At least I’ll try not to.”

  Pat turned to the wall again. “Fine. Piss.”

  Ian let out a little chuckle that Pat barely heard over the spray of the water. Pat’s eyes were slammed shut, and he felt his whole body heated from embarrassment.

  The stream of the urine was loud, and even that made him hot. He had to bite his lip to keep in the groan as he imagined Ian, legs apart, holding his cock, aiming it, body stiff at first, then relaxing as he emptied his bladder. His body, so perfect, a swimmer’s body, lean but tight, long and lanky. God, the man was perfect.

  He knocked on the shower door and said, “I’m done. You can get back to…whatever you were doing.”

  The mocking in his voice infuriated Pat in all the best ways. Though he was beaten down, Ian’s confidence probably the lowest it had been his entire life, there were moments with Ian that assured Pat that he was the brat Pat craved.

  He loved being with submissive men, have a man give up his control was the hottest thing on earth to Pat, but not without a little challenge. Having a man push his boundaries, force Pat to keep him in line, that was delicious. Ian was that, someone who’d never accept his boundaries easily. He’d push, he’d disobey, and he’d do it all with a smirk and a glint in his eye that would drive Pat crazy.

  Finishing with his load spraying on the wall, being quickly washed away by the water, Pat exhaled the breath he’d been holding, his knees a little weaker, his muscles relaxing. He got washed up quickly, then dressed, heading out of the bathroom to see Ian laying back on the unmade bed, arms behind his head as he grinned knowingly at Pat. “Good shower?”

  “Not bad,” he growled, staring right back at him. His embarrassment was gone, and he was ready to confront the little fucker. Pat was not feeling himself. He was intimidated, and not by Ian himself, but the way he was starting to feel about him. He was letting that get the best of his instincts. Instead of being the protector, and the dominant, he was unsure, his confidence leaking away on the emotions that Ian stirred in him.

  No more. “Not bad at all. Would have been better if I had a sweet man in there to bone instead of grabbing my big dick and jacking it off all by my lonesome.”

  Ian’s smirk was gone, and he sat up, arms moving over his own crotch. “Damn.”

  Pointing to Ian’s bed, he said, “Get that made up then we can get to work.”

  “Work? Work on…?”

  Pat was feeling his dominance coming screaming back and he was the one to smirk then. “Getting you ready to face your father and the others. Remember?”

  “Oh,” he hummed, disappointment thick in the tiny word. He looked around him at the bed. “Wait, doesn’t this place have maid service? Even a dump like this should.”

  “Doesn’t mean we’re going to use it. The more people that see us here, the more people are in danger, or could tell someone. Even if we don’t mind them knowing we’re here, we’d want them to think we were sleeping in the same bed. We’re boyfriends, after all.”

  Standing, Ian forgot about the bed and all else as he purred, “Then maybe, for safety, we should sleep
in the same bed.”

  Ignoring the obvious flirtation, Pat nodded to the bed again. “Make the damn bed.”

  Exasperated, Ian shrugged at him. “Okay, how?”

  He was ready to rant about how he didn’t know, but then realized. “You’ve never made a bed before?”

  “Nah. I mean, I pulled my duvet at the apartment up over the sheet, you know, until the maid comes.”

  “You have a maid come every day?”

  “What’s so weird about that? Denny hated it, but I just thought he didn’t like people touching his stuff.”

  Deflating from the fury he felt at a man Ian’s age not knowing how to do such a common, mundane task, he touched Ian’s arm and led him to the bed, pushing him gently on it. Sitting across from him, he saw the innocent curiosity in his face. “Ian, people like Denny and me, we never had anyone picking up after us. I’ll bet his mother was even like mine in that we had chores and had to make our own beds each morning, rake leaves, do dishes. I forget, and I’m sure Denny does, that you weren’t raised that way. It’s not your fault, Ian, but maybe, if you want to leave that life behind where everything is given so easily, you may want to start changing. Learn to do this stuff for yourself.”

  “What? Like making my own bed and doing laundry and stuff? That was another thing Denny hated. He’d lug his canvas bag to the laundry room once a week. My service picked mine up every few days and he’d scowl at them.”

  “I’m sure. Yes, that’s what I mean. If all this works, what we’re planning, there’s no guarantee you’ll still have money. You might want to get used to doing things for yourself.”

  “No…no money?”

  It was obvious the idea had never crossed his mind. “Ian if you stop being in the Grail, and turn your back on them and your family, do you think your father will allow you to keep whatever money you have? Or he will still pay the bills?”