by Alex Jane
Jack’s eyes flickered open and looked right into Alec’s. Alec could see the sadness and sickness and absolute exhaustion of body and mind. It was an all too familiar pain and he couldn’t help but put his mouth close to Jack’s ear, and whisper, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let’s just get inside, okay?”
And Jack smiled, so slightly and sadly, Alec almost missed it, but he felt Jack slide a big hand up his back to grasp his shoulder and let Alec slowly lift him, guiding him out of the car and onto his feet.
Jack kept his weight on Alec during the short walk to the front door that Alicia had rushed ahead to open, kept his hand bunched in Alec’s jacket at his shoulder and Alec could see Jack’s eyes flicking over to him as they shuffled along.
When Jack stumbled on one of the steps, Alec instinctively put the flat of his hand against Jack’s chest to steady him. Feeling the solid muscle under the fabric and the heat coming off of him, Alec was grateful that Jack seemed to be a sleepy drunk rather than one who lashed out, all fists and biting.
He figured it might be best to leave his hand where it was as long as possible, purely in case Jack lost his balance again. If the guy fell on him, they’d have to call the fire department to winch him off. But when Jack reached up and touched the fingers on his chest, Alec took it to mean the precaution was unwelcome and let go. Jack’s fingers lingered there a moment before he dropped his hand again.
Alicia yanked the door to the house open, flicked on some lights, and was angrily stripping off her jacket as they lumbered inside. She looked furious but as Alec maneuvered Jack over the threshold, she reached out to take hold of her brother. Jack grumbled and swept her hands off his arm like he was swatting away an insect. It was the same irritated motion that Alicia had done to him at the police precinct, and her face fell and looking just as hurt as Jack had done.
“It’s okay, Allie. I might as well take him. Where do you want him?” Alec said, trying to sound like it was no big deal.
Like this was all no big deal.
Like he collected his girlfriends’ intoxicated brothers from the drunk tank and carried them home every night of the week.
Like the reason he was sweating was because Jack weighed a ton and not from the feel of Jack’s skin so close to his.
No big deal at all.
Jack mumbled something that might have been a series of cuss words but they both ignored him and Alicia said, “Top of the stairs. First door on the left. You sure you’re okay?”
Alec smiled. “Yup. It’s all good. Although I’m dying for a coffee.”
Alicia forced a smile and walked away from the foot of the stairs towards what he assumed was the kitchen. Alec watched her go and then took a firmer grip on his heavy cargo. “Come on, Buddy. Let’s get you to bed.”
Jack smirked and huffed out a laugh but he got his legs moving and in no time they were at the top of the stairs, turning into what Alec hoped was Jack’s darkened room.
He deposited Jack on the bed visible only by the light from the hallway and then searched for the light switch. When he found it and turned it on, he was a little surprised by what he saw.
He had expected a pigsty but it was more like organized chaos. Sure, there were piles of clutter everywhere, mostly books and papers and a rogue shirt or two but it was actually pretty tidy. The walls were bare, apart from a mirror and the drapes across the window.
In fact, the untidiest thing in the room was Jack. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to take off his hoodie but had somehow got one arm trapped inside. It was amazing to Alec that a grown man could look so pitiful, and wondered idly if he’d ever looked that bad.
Against his better judgment, reached over and started to help Jack undress. Alec yanked on one sleeve and when Jack’s face popped out of the hoodie, looking nothing but grateful, Alec felt a warm smile spread over his face. As Jack started to struggle out of his t-shirt, Alec helped even though Jack seemed to be managing okay. Alec’s fingers inadvertently grazed over Jack’s bare skin, and the resulting sharp intake of breath from Jack set something alien alight in the pit of Alec’s stomach. Jack’s head popped out, hair flopping about, the smile dimpling his cheeks fanning the flame, and Alec felt the warmth glow a little brighter.
When he had seen Jack at the bar the night he first met Alicia, he had been able to objectively observe and admit to himself that Jack was pretty good looking but now—now there were words in his head like ‘beautiful’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘sexy’. It was making him feel a little weirded out.
Looking at Jack sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to keep his balance, all tanned skin, and hard nipples, and ripped muscle, Alec suddenly felt—well, he wasn’t sure how he felt.
Jack started to slowly bend down to take of his shoes, When it looked to be turning into more of a topple, Alec pushed him back before he ended up face planting on the floor. Kneeling at Jack’s feet and pulled off his shoes and socks, he could feel Jack’s breath on the top of his head and willed himself not to look up. Alec was so thankful that Jack didn’t even attempt to take off his pants before deciding to lay back on the bed.
Alec was going to leave but spotted a half empty bottle of water on the desk by the window, headed down the hall and refilled it in the bathroom. Jack looked asleep as he placed the bottle on the bedside table, so Alec pulled the edge of the sheet up and laid it over Jack’s torso. As he turned to leave, Jack’s hand shot out and grasped tight around his wrist.
The heat of it made Alec gasp. Jack looked up at him, eyes soft and watery, his mouth moving like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Alec sat carefully on the bed next to him, peeled the fingers off his skin and then held Jack’s big hand between his two.
Jack looked like he might cry and when he spoke his voice was cracked and broken with tears. “I’m sorry. Don’t hate me—I’m so sorry.”
The tone of his words hit Alec hard, as real as a fist but he smiled softly, squeezed Jack’s hand and laid it on his bare chest. He pulled the sheet up to cover it and whispered, “I don’t hate you and I know you are. I’m sorry too.” But Jack’s breath was already rasping into a snore, or at least verging on one and the apology never reached him.
When Alec hit the bottom step on the stairs he rubbed both hands over his face and sighed. It wasn’t a mess. Not yet.
His head was clouded and the last thing he wanted to do was have a nice long heart to heart but he damn well needed to know what the hell was going on. So, he let his shoulders drop to at least fake relaxation, and headed the way he had seen Alicia go, towards light and the smell of coffee.
She was sitting at the table in the corner of the modest yellow and white kitchen, hands wrapped around a steaming mug, her eyes red and wet. Alec walked over, put an arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips to her hair before sitting down in the chair next to her. He sloughed off his jacket, and reached out for the other mug set on the table, saying simply, “So—”
Alicia looked him in the eye, all fear and insecurity, opened and shut her mouth like a goldfish, as if there was so much to say, the words had gridlocked in her throat, before she sighed and turned her gaze back to her mug.
Alec took a sip of his coffee, and nodded. “You’re right, it’s a lot. Maybe start smaller? Is this your place or your parents?”
Alicia swallowed, “Mine. Ours—Jack and I own it together. We had some money. After our mom died.”
“And your dad?”
“Gone. He split not long after Jack was born. And before you say it, no, we don’t want to look for him. He’s the reason our mom started drinking and started this whole mess.”
“I’m sorry. I know that stuff’s tough.”
Alec meant the drinking but he got the absent father routine.
It had been less routine for him in one way. He had some vague memories of his father, being lifted high in the air by huge hands, that broad dimpled grin and rough salt-and-pepper beard that he would grab hold of. His dad would growl like a dog, making
him peal with laughter. But there was always a nagging doubt. He couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t fabricated the memories in his own mind, somehow concocting them after staring too long at old pictures and asking a million questions and hearing the stories over and over.
He did remember his mother grieving though. That was clear as day. A real thing that made him sad and confused and even now, simultaneously want to hold her, and pull away; wanting to comfort her but fearful of being overwhelmed by her loss. Somehow having a dead father made other people look at him differently than the kids whose dads had walked away, even though it didn’t make the absence any different.
Alicia shook her head and sighed hard, before she went on. “Mom couldn’t handle it when he left. I was five—Jack was only about six months old. I don’t remember much except that it was brutal. It was like one day they started yelling and just didn’t stop. And then he was gone and it was so quiet. She managed for a while but gradually started drinking more and more.
“Then when I was twelve, she drove to the store and didn’t come back. Pulled out on a red light and got hit by a soccer mom late for her yoga class.
“They kept telling me it was a freak accident, that the airbag failed and that she died instantly, like somehow that made it better or if they said it enough times, I wouldn’t cry as much.”
Alec reached out and took her hand. He wanted to say ‘sorry’ or something to ease her pain but he knew damn well there was nothing, so he said, “I can’t imagine losing someone I love like that.”
“I do love her,” Alicia said, but she frowned and went on, “but I also hate her. Hate her for leaving us, for letting that bastard do that to her. For wanting to drink her life away rather than spend it with us. I do. Sometimes I fucking hate her.”
She pulled her hand away from Alec and rubbed her temple. “Afterwards, we went to live with my aunt, her sister. She was a good person. She was. But she was so hard on Jack.
“She never really showed him any affection, didn’t neglect him or anything, she was just—distant. But when she got angry with him she would tell him it was all his fault. That our dad left, that Mom was dead.”
She turned and looked Alec in the eyes, her own brimming with tears and old hurt. “Can you imagine? Seven years old and being told over and over, the reason your parents were gone, dead, was down to you? What that does to a person—”
She hung her head down, her hair falling forward hiding her face but Alec could see wet spots appear on the table in front of her. He reached up and rubbed his hand on her shoulders, her neck, not knowing what else to do, knowing there was nothing he could say.
After a moment she sat up and wiped at her cheeks with her fingers, her voice steadier. “But this—” She gestured upwards in the vague direction of Jack’s room. “This! He was a good kid. Quiet. Maybe a bit too clever for his own good. He wasn’t exactly popular but he had a few friends and was doing okay.”
She seemed to stall, so after a moment Alec asked quietly, “So what happened?”
Alicia let out a harsh laugh and sat back in the chair. “Fucking Dorian happened!” She pursed her lips and shook her head and more softly said, “No, that’s not fair. But Dorian certainly didn’t help. I think when they started hanging out, they were both in a bad place. I was away on placement for a year—he sounded fine on the phone. Maybe if I had been here—”
Alec gripped her shoulder tight and shook it slightly. “Hey! Don’t do that. This is not on you, okay? Nobody is making him do anything. Not you. Not Dorian.”
Alicia covered his hand with her own and squeezed, the corners of her mouth trying to curl up into a smile, and said, “I know. And he isn’t always like this. He would go crazy for a couple of weeks but then he would sort himself out, get back on track, do well in school or hold down a job—But this last year the crazy weeks have been stretching out and sometimes it seems like he’s drunk all the time and I try and get through to him and talk to him—” She took a breath, held it and then blurted out, “But then I’m so fucking angry with him! He disgusts me! That he would act like this. After everything that’s happened! It’s so selfish! And I end up yelling at him and then he looks at me, with that face, that same face he would make when he was seven and my aunt would yell at him—” She covered her face with her hands and whispered through her palms, “And I hate him for that too.”
Alec sighed, long and deep and raised his chin as he drew Alicia to his chest and let her bury her face in it and sob, her tears soaking into his shirt.
Now it was a mess.
He sat and held her, stroked her hair and whispered reassurance and love while she cried. But all his attention was focused on his wrist, where the heat from Jack’s fingers was still burning his skin and for the life of him, Alec couldn’t figure out why.
Chapter Six
When Alec woke up the next morning, he was breathing hard. It wasn’t a nightmare exactly but he was grateful that the images in his head were quickly swept away by the daylight piercing the thin curtains at the window. Even as they faded, a sense of claustrophobia remained and he pushed the sheet away, freeing his arms and letting the air and light touch his bare chest, drying the sheen of sweat covering him.
Just dreams, he told himself, only dreams.
He threw one arm over his face, burying his nose in the crook of his elbow and the other ran automatically down his stomach and wormed its way under the waistband of his boxers. He was hard which wasn’t exactly unusual, but the extent of the patch of pre-come already on his belly was.
Mechanically, he ran his fingers through it and then wrapped them around himself, coating his morning wood in slick, the feel of his fingers and palm sliding so smoothly was comforting. He squeezed along his length, letting his thumb rub up over the head and run along his slit, before easing into a steady rhythm.
He tried not to think about his dream, about the jumbled shapes and words. Or about sweet alcohol breath in his face, on his lips, in his mouth. Sensing lips, licking and tasting them, feeling them wet on him. About hands on his shoulders, fingers and wrists, inadvertent, intoxicating touches becoming deliberate, kneading the hard flesh, thumbs swiping over still harder nipples. His own hands caressing a neck and a chest, fingers bunched at a muscular shoulder, pulling closer, pulling closer, pulling—
A small sound escaped his open mouth as he spasmed, his stomach muscles jerking taut for a moment as he came, covering his hand as it kept moving, milking the last drops of sensation out of him, making his mind swim and reset.
When his head cleared, he felt the clammy wetness over his fist and the inside of his underwear, and waited for guilt and disgust to descend. But they didn’t. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about nameless, faceless guys that way before, but there was always at least a hint of embarrassment afterwards. But this was only a dream after all. It didn’t mean anything.
So Alec lay there, watching the shadow of the tree outside his window dance on the curtains and went over the plan that had come to him last night, testing it in the daylight to see if the morning air made it seem stupid or crazy. But that didn’t happen either.
He could hear the muted sounds of the day starting downstairs; Saturday laundry, clinking of plates and coffee cups and his mother singing along to the radio, enthusiastic but off key. He willed himself to move.
Five more minutes and he would.
It took more than five minutes, and by the time he had showered and dressed in jeans and a pale blue shirt, consumed coffee and toast, and was pulling on his sneakers, it was already mid-morning.
His mom hovered near the doorway and watched him lace his shoes. “You going out?”
Alec finished the double knot and sat up, breathy like he’d been running, “Just to Ethan’s.”
She visibly stiffened but she tried to keep her voice level when she said, “Really? Is everything okay? You got back quite late last night—”
“Mom. Everything’s—I’m fine. It’s fine. Nothing happened. Wel
l. Stuff happened but not to me and I’m fine—”
There didn’t seem to be much point in carrying on with trying to reassure when he could see her getting more and more tense with every word that came out of his mouth, so he smiled and asked with a hint of sarcasm, “Would you rather I didn’t go? Just cross my fingers, hope for the best?”
She laughed, brief and harsh and started to walk away. “No. I tried that. It didn’t work out. Go see Ethan and I’ll see you later, yes?”
Alec stood and grabbed his keys, yelling after her, “Oh yeah. Not missing pizza night!”
<•••>
Ethan sat back in the dining room chair, one hand around the mug placed on the table, the other arm hooked over the back of the chair and one bare foot with sooty sole resting on the knee of his paint-splattered jeans.
He stared at Alec as he had for the last twenty minutes, his brow furrowed, eyes intense but body relaxed and receptive. The house was quiet, with the noise of the neighbor’s kid mowing the lawn two doors down pretty much the only sound buzzing in through the window.
Alec had finished speaking at least thirty seconds before and the suspense was killing him. He turned his hands upward on the table and prompted again, “Well?”
Ethan cocked his head to one side, looking genuinely perplexed. “So the guy from the bar—was her brother?”
Alec looked at him dumbfounded. He slowly shook his head. “Seriously? After all that, this is the thing you pick out? Seriously?” He put his elbows on the table and rested his eye sockets on the heels of his palms, and mumbled something Ethan would have been glad not to hear.