by Clare London
He sighed to himself. Of course things were going to be okay. This last stretch of driving had given him too much time to brood. On the harsh, half-life he’d been living before he met Jerry, on the uncertainty of what was ahead of them, on how he really felt about Jerry and what their desire brought out in them both.
“Scot?”
Scot slipped a hand up to the nape of Jerry’s neck, his fingers tangling in the damp curls of hair. “Intrepid trek, eh? Come here, then.”
Jerry’s hand slid down to Scot’s waist, pulling him in closer. Scot relaxed slowly against his companion, letting Jerry’s eager tongue tease its way inside his mouth. Jerry’s breath tasted of the musty air they’d been breathing and the stale food they’d both eaten over the last couple of days, but Scot didn’t care. The kiss was slow and deep, hot from both the temperature outside and the flickering physical response of their bodies. It started as a tentative touch, although Scot felt plenty of passion bubble underneath. His cock throbbed with anticipation as Jerry’s knee pressed tantalizingly against his thigh. Jerry had learned just how much to touch him—enough to excite him but not too much to cause nervousness. Scot leaned back against the warm, hard metal of the car door, savoring the mixture of sensations.
“It’s going to be all right,” Jerry murmured in his ear, as they broke for air at last. Scot’s lips were numb with the pressure of the kiss. His mouth now tasted of dust and sun and another person’s sticky saliva. “Going to be our chance of freedom, Scot. Our new life. Trust me.”
Scot pulled away gently. Exposure to the sun over the last week had brought a darker color to both of their faces. In the dusky light, Jerry’s eyes glinted more brightly in contrast, and now there was a mischievous grin on his face. Scot struggled sometimes to cope with the change of Jerry’s moods, finding him alternately dark then lit with brittle excitement. But it always passed, mercifully quickly like the tumbleweed.
“Well, I’m not going to spend another night of my new life in a car,” he said. “You okay to go in?”
Jerry nodded, his eyes still on Scot’s mouth. “Sure. I have a good feeling about this place.”
Scot peered at the dark, apparently empty doorway. “We don’t even know if there’s anyone here.”
Jerry shook his head dismissively, walking toward the trunk. “I know this is okay. We’ll be fine here.”
“They must have at least a couple of rooms.”
“Or just one,” Jerry murmured.
Scot saw the sharp, sudden flash of excitement in Jerry’s eyes, the assurance he’d been forgiven his harsh words from earlier. Scot bit back another sigh. Jerry was right, he was shy of many things but he learned fast. Jerry should know that Scot just needed to take his time. Despite Jerry’s control over the relationship, Scot knew he was the one who usually brought the balm to their moods. The thought of how he’d do that—how he wanted to do that—brought an ache to his groin that battled unsuccessfully with his damp, clinging pants.
“Let’s go and see.” He turned awkwardly, his legs stiff from a long period sitting, and he stumbled against the car. The battered passenger door creaked and swung back open behind him. The panel was loose below the hinge, and a jagged edge of metal sprang out like a blade, headed for the back of Scot’s legs.
“Look out!” Jerry yelled.
Scot half turned, startled by the call, but too slow to move out of the way. His eyes widened and his heart leaped in his chest. But before the panel reached him, the door gave a sudden shudder, reversed its swing and slammed shut again.
They both stared at it. It had been so fast, Scot wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. “Thanks,” he said, shakily.
“I…” Jerry still stood by the trunk, a couple of feet away. His eyes were also very wide. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes you did. You pulled the door back. That edge would have cut me, but you caught it in time.”
Jerry shook his head. “I know, I saw. But I couldn’t reach it from here. It just… did it.”
Scot didn’t know what to say. A breath of wind whispered in the dust at his feet.
“Just lucky.” Jerry’s voice sounded a little faint.
“Yeah.” Scot pulled himself together and started walking over to the entrance. Behind him he could hear Jerry dragging their bags out of the trunk, huffing with the effort. The front door was a block of shadow in the waning light, but its path was clear. A couple of shallow steps led up to it, their surface uneven with wear. He stopped suddenly.
“What is it?” Jerry called.
Scot didn’t answer. A shimmer of light skittered about in the darkened doorway, moving gently and erratically as if on the back of a moth, yet stronger and brighter than any firefly. Scot’s heart started beating faster. He wondered why he’d never considered their vulnerability out here—no other people or habitation for miles, no idea of who or what might be living here. And he and his companion, just walking in with their life’s dreams and belongings, expecting welcome and civilization, and 21st century services…
He held a hand out behind him, to warn Jerry.
A soft sound reverberated in the air, the gentle tinkling of wind chimes hanging over the doorway. Scot hadn’t seen them before now. When Jerry dropped a bag on the ground behind him, he jumped.
“Scot? Didn’t you hear me? What is it?”
Now the darkness in the doorway was of a different texture. It shifted and slowly became the silhouette of a person. A young man, it seemed. A young man, holding a candle in an old-fashioned hand lamp. Scot’s pulse sped up even more underneath his clammy skin.
“Hey, idiot,” Jerry murmured in his ear. His fond tone softened the words. “This isn’t one of those movies, remember? He’s just a guy like us, probably working here for the summer.” He shifted one of the bags back up on to his shoulder and walked right past Scot. “Hi. Are you open? Do you have a room for us? Just for the night.”
Scot heard Jerry’s words but as if they were enclosed behind frosted glass, or thick fabric. Muffled. And yet the rest of his hearing was more crystal-clear than he’d ever known. He heard the young man’s footsteps coming down the creaking step, heard the flame of the candle crackling. It had to be some twist of his imagination, of course. He smelled a thick, citrus fragrance, as if someone were preparing fresh juice, and felt eyes on him, not just from their host. He shivered.
Then the man stepped forward into actual view and the spell was broken, because, of course, he was just human. Scot sucked in a fresh breath, embarrassed at his overreaction. Dammit, he should know better than to let his imagination run away with him. That had been part of the problem at home, hadn’t it? He darted a quick glance at Jerry, then looked curiously back at the newcomer.
He looked younger than both Scot and Jerry, probably only just out of college. Blond, with short, curly hair and bright blue eyes. Handsome in a rather pretty, contrived way, as if he’d just stepped off the pages of a soft porn calendar and was still holding the pose. He was shorter than them both, dressed in a thin, casual denim shirt that was buttoned only once near its hem, and hanging open on his hairless chest. A narrow line of tattooed words meandered across his pecs, but Scot couldn’t make them out in the half-light. He wore matching denim shorts, slung low on his waist, and cut high on his thighs, with the fringed edge of cut-offs. Slim, muscled legs emerged from the shorts. His feet were bare but he stepped confidently on the dirt ground.
Jesus. Scot flushed at the thought of such ludicrous fashion. To him, it looked as if the guy would be happier wearing nothing at all, as if he’d only just thrown on some clothes to come to the door. Maybe he’d been sleeping. A vision flickered at the back of his mind, the young, naked body curled on a bed, one arm flung above his head, the chest rising and falling with shallow breath, the tattoos flexing with the movement. Scot shivered, trying to shake the disturbingly erotic image.
“Hi.” The man greeted Jerry, his hips swaying slightly as he walked, his movements casual yet graceful. He
glanced down at their bags. “Yes, of course we’ve got your room ready. Sorry if we don’t seem very alert tonight. The winds last week brought a power cable down, and we’re still trying to get the emergency generator to settle. It comes and goes at its own whim. We’ve set all the candles out, until Vincent gets it going again. Bet you thought we looked like some kind of ghost house, eh?” He ran the fingers of one hand down the center of his chest, apparently aimlessly, slipping them in under one side of his open shirt. His laugh was smooth and soft, and it sang like the wind chimes. He sounded older than he looked.
Scot frowned to himself. The guy was way too obvious, with a provocative sexual boldness that Scot wasn’t comfortable with. And rather more surprising, he saw Jerry smile broadly in response. It was rare for Jerry to be instantly sociable with strangers.
Chill! His tension was just due to exhaustion. There were likely to be a lot of changes, now they’d left home and familiarity far behind. Lots to learn out in the wide, free world.
“Come on in.” The young man smiled at them both, but now he turned his gaze fully on Scot. Scot bit back the gasp that tried to escape him. Suddenly, his senses were collapsing around him, telescoping into a narrowing channel in front of his eyes, sucking energy from his limbs and drawing him down into a dark, stifling tunnel. Someone cried to him, whispered to him, yet the voice was unknown, the words only inside his mind.
=hurry to me!=
Fear rose, a solid suffocating lump in his throat. I’m not hearing anything, it’s not real! His legs buckled and the dusty ground rushed up to meet him.
“Scot!” Jerry dropped their baggage on the ground and lunged for him as he fell, but startlingly, it was the blond man’s arms that caught him, taking his weight and keeping him upright.
His boyish face gazed down at Scot with concern. “You must come in out of the heat right away. It gets people that way sometimes. You’re exhausted, and you look very hungry. We’ve got supper ready.”
“He hasn’t eaten much for a couple of days,” came Jerry’s worried voice from where he stood behind them both. “Whatever you’re cooking tonight, it smells delicious. Is that goulash? With cilantro, I think.”
Scot heard the conversation through aching ears, blood still throbbing heavily through his head. The young man’s grip was deceptively strong, and despite himself, Scot relaxed into it, grateful for the temporary support. But what was Jerry talking about? He couldn’t smell any food cooking. The only smell in his nostrils was the dirty heat of the dust around them, the tang of sweat on aching muscles. The only thread of pleasure was the same tang of citrus as before: the floral, fruity aroma that seemed only to get stronger.
It was a smell he’d always loved.
=I know=
Things were happening around him but he couldn’t focus on them fully, not just yet. Dizziness swamped him. Through misted eyes, he saw Jerry take the candle from the young man, who then hoisted Scot’s arm up across his shoulders, supporting most of his weight. He smiled at Jerry over Scot’s bent head. “You enjoy your food, I can see,” Scot heard him say. “And you’ve a nose for cooking, too. You’re right about tonight’s dish.”
“It’s my favorite,” Jerry said. He looked embarrassed, another expression Scot hadn’t often seen on Jerry’s face.
“Of course. I know.” The young man’s eyes flashed, bright pinpoints of reflection in the dark. He turned to lead Scot back toward the building.
“Wait a minute.” Jerry hovered close.
Scot felt the man’s hair brushing at his neck, his smooth, bare thigh brushing against Scot’s grubby jeans. He didn’t hesitate at Jerry’s call, but continued to help Scot up the steps into the darkened doorway.
“What do you mean?” Jerry’s voice sounded uncertain, his footsteps hesitant behind them. “How could you know what I like to eat?”
The blond finally paused. “You’re both exhausted.” The words were kind but Scot heard an edge in his tone. “You need somewhere to rest tonight, don’t you?”
Jerry’s face swam into view. He was still carrying the lamp. “Of course we do. There’s nowhere else on this road, is there?”
“No.” The young man turned to him. “And you want to come in, don’t you?”
Jerry didn’t answer for a moment. Scot tried to raise his head to look between the pair of them but his vision was still clouded.
“Yes,” Jerry said eventually. He sounded quite calm, any worries gone.
The grip on Scot’s arm tightened. “So let’s go inside.”
“Scot?”
Maybe Jerry had been about to ask Scot his opinion, but Scot didn’t think he could answer coherently. Instead, he leaned more heavily against the young man and, awkwardly, the three of them entered the hallway.
Chapter 2
Scot sat down heavily on a bench in the lobby and cast a quick look around. Inside the building it was dark too, but the young man went around the walls, lighting a couple of other lamps, and gradually illuminating the room. The flooring was a stretch of unvarnished boards, and the windows only had shutters, no drapes. Everything appeared to have been furnished with the bare minimum. Beside the bench were another wooden chair and a standing box with a single abandoned umbrella in it. The only other feature was the large, old-fashioned counter desk with pigeonhole shelves on the wall behind it, dominating one side of the lobby. A closed ledger book rested on its surface.
Scot noticed a closed door along the far wall that presumably led to the walkway of guest rooms and, beside it, another door that was ajar. He peered through, his vision still a little blurred, seeing a collection of mis-matched tables set with off-white cloths, and similarly uncoordinated chairs. That was a dining room, he assumed. There was no sign of the tables being laid for a meal and no sign of any other guests.
He thought he heard noises from beyond the dining room, where the kitchen must be. But there was no evidence of a meal being prepared, or any aroma of baking or food cooking. Just that persistent smell of sharp fruit, and a heavy floral fragrance. He wondered where the flowers were. He’d enjoyed gardening in the past, when he’d used the excuse to escape from his parents into their small back yard, but he didn’t recognize this scent.
Noises in the kitchen… his parents’ angry arguments. Voices in his head, always there. He sank his head in his hands.
Jerry hunkered down beside him, tipping his chin up to see how he was. “Scot? Shit, you’re white as a sheet.”
“I’m fine. Just… just need a rest, I guess.”
The blond young man appeared beside Jerry. He put a hand on Scot’s shoulder and passed him a glass of water. Scot glanced up at him, mumbling an automatic thanks. The man’s hips were level with his head, the shorts barely covering the lower edge of his ass. Scot looked straight back down again and took a grateful sip of the water. The man’s hand remained on his shoulder. Scot wanted to shake off the touch—he wanted Jerry’s hand there instead. But Jerry continued to kneel a foot away from him, his face creased with concern.
Scot was inexplicably angry. There was something Jerry was doing wrong—or failing to do right. But how could that be, when Scot didn’t know what it was himself? His stomach ached and his legs still felt unsteady.
The young man’s eyes were on him: intense, almost fierce. “You must have supper at once. You need the food inside you. Then a good night in bed.”
“I need sleep,” Scot said. He swigged another mouthful of the water. It was incredibly refreshing after the long, tiring journey.
“A good night in bed,” the other man repeated, firmly. Scot wondered why it sounded like argument, rather than agreeing with Scot.
“He’s so pale.” That was Jerry’s voice. Both of their faces swam in and out of focus, on the periphery of Scot’s vision.
“He’ll be fine,” came the equally firm reply. “Like I said, he needs food, comfort and a good night.” Their host’s face was suddenly very close to Scot’s, his eyes large and excessively bright, and Scot blinked
sharply to ward off the gaze.
“Stay back,” Scot said hoarsely.
The provocative young man laughed softly. “I understand. You can’t hold back forever, you know. But you’ll be fine.” It was just a murmur against Scot’s cheek as he moved away, the breath warm and tantalizing. There it was! That sharp, poignant aroma of citrus again, almost as if it emanated specifically from the man’s body. Scot had never known a fragrance of soap that strong.
=you need a good night=
When the blond laughed, it was soft and melodic again, like the chimes. He straightened up, and with Jerry’s help, he helped Scot back up to his feet. “Follow me now,” he said gently.
To Scot, it felt more like an order than a request.
***
Scot felt much better for the food, though he’d eaten a lot less than Jerry. Jerry was still mopping up beef and tomato gravy with a slice of fresh bread, his eyes sparkling with the pleasure from good food. There were drops of gravy on his lips and Scot watched as he licked them up. Jerry had a very healthy appetite, though he stayed stick thin whatever he ate.
He’s deceptive. Tall and skinny, with a pale complexion that had made his parents see their young son as delicate, as needing protection. Jerry had often complained to Scot how their brand of ‘protection’ was stifling: that as he grew up, it became more and more like isolation and imprisonment. For him, escaping from that was only a matter of time. He had to be free!
Scot had always considered Jerry as stronger in many ways. Scot deferred to him often, thinking Jerry knew so much more about the world. It was only recently Scot had started to wonder just how much.
During the meal, they’d spoken little to each other, first eating a creamy soup, and then the excellent goulash, and drinking plenty of the cool water provided. There was no ice in sight, but each fresh jug was as chilled as the last one. The dining room was candle-lit as well, though a couple of times during the meal the overhead lights flickered. The generator was warming itself up again, perhaps. As the evening wore on, the air inside became cooler, though still heavy. The sweat in their clothing dried to a soft clamminess.