by KD Ellis
“Lucas was careless. He spoke to the wrong person about it first. Julian has no reason to think you’d narc, not after this long—and not if you do it quietly.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Teddy cried, his body racked with shivers he couldn’t control. Hugo was the enemy. Teddy wanted to hate him, but he couldn’t, not when Hugo always seemed so concerned, so empathetic, not even when Hugo was watching him get buried alive, if this was how he was going to act after.
Hugo stayed silent, his eyes haunted, for a long stretch of pounding heartbeats. Finally, he lifted a thick finger and trailed it gently along Teddy’s swollen cheek. “I like you, Teddy. More than I should. More than I ever meant to.” Teddy opened his mouth, his heart tumbling, to explain why that would never happen, but Hugo shook his head. “I know. I know you don’t feel that way. Won’t feel that way. Don’t worry. I can’t disobey Julian. I would, but… What he’s got on me is worse than a video. So please, get out before I have to do something that will break both of us.”
Teddy didn’t answer…couldn’t answer. His mind was too fuzzy to make that decision, and Hugo seemed to realize it. His face fell. “Can you pick a lock?” Teddy gave a small nod. “Do you know the alarm code?” Teddy hesitated, then gave a smaller nod. “I’m going to leave. When I’m gone, go inside. Take a shower, get your things. Consider going to the police.”
Hugo stood, dropping a fancy-looking hairpin into Teddy’s lap before crossing the alley. He looked back at Teddy. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
Teddy obediently waited until Hugo left before dragging his abused body onto his feet and picking his way, barefoot still, across the dirty alley. He fumbled with the lock pick, his hands shaking almost too badly to move the right tumblers. He was grateful for Shiloh’s adamant insistence that every gay boy needed to know how to pick a lock so that they never ended up locked in the closet again. He’d humored him and now, well…it looked like he was going to owe Shiloh a chocolate cake or something.
The alarm beeped in warning beside the door and he dropped the hairpin in his haste to get the code thumbed in correctly on the first try. His fingers shook as they pressed the keys, but finally, the beeping cut off. He sighed in relief and entered the dark club.
It was kind of creepy being in it alone. It looked larger when it was empty of bodies, and the slap of his bare feet on the flooring seemed to echo. He found himself holding his breath as he tiptoed to the dressing room and kicked himself for being a coward. There was no one here. The place didn’t open for hours yet. He had no reason to worry. Even if he got caught, he found it hard to believe that Ian, of all people, would call the police. It wasn’t like he was stealing anything.
Still, he didn’t breathe easily until he closed the dressing room door behind him and slipped across the darkened room to the showers. He flipped on the light.
The bathroom used to be smaller, just a single, large cubicle, like what he’d had in gym class. Three nozzles forcing the dancers to huddle uncomfortably close together. Ever since the remodel, though, the fights over hot water had dwindled. There were still fights, since some of the dancers were drama queens, but not over hot water. The room was double the size, with six shower heads spread equidistant from each other. Half-walls separated one from the next.
He didn’t bother drawing the curtains. The rare times he showered here, he always did, but he didn’t have the energy.
He spun the nozzle on all the way to hot and stepped under the powerful stream. The water burned as it beat away the dirt, the vomit and the piss. It was scalding, leaving his skin scarlet, but he didn’t spin the water down.
He sagged under the spray. He leaned against the wall for support, his hands bracketing the faucet, his hair spilling over his face, shielding it from the rivulets of water that tracked their way down his skin. He closed his eyes, letting the last tears he held in his body slide down the drain with the water.
His shoulders shook from the strain of holding back his sobs until he let them go. He folded his elbows until his forehead rested against the tiles, bowed under the burden of his thoughts. He just wanted to let them go—to think about nothing just for a bit, to forget the fear and the pain and the stress.
To just, for a while, not have to make a decision.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ian slid the gun back into his holster but stayed otherwise frozen, his eyes locked on the bowed back. He would recognize Teddy anywhere, and for a moment, Ian’s eyes saw only the smooth expanse of golden skin, the arched spine…the firm, round globes of a perfect ass.
For a moment, Teddy was a Monet in a roomful of forgeries.
For a moment…until Ian’s eyes caught the ugly, raised welts that reddened Teddy’s skin, coiling like snakes around his ribs, down his thighs, up his arms—then fury roared to life in Ian’s chest.
It was hot, a California wildfire burning its way through Ian’s self-control. He didn’t realize a growl had spilled from his lips until Teddy spun around, his eyes wide with fear. Before Ian could silence the noise, Teddy slipped, skidding through a puddle of water. His slender arms cast outward for something to grab onto but met only empty air, and fear turned to panic.
Ian jerked forward, grasping Teddy by the hips and pulling him into his body, not caring that the shower pelted him, sticking his shirt to his skin and plastering his jeans to his thighs in an uncomfortable tightness that only worsened at the feel of Teddy pressed to him. Teddy fit into the curve of his body like he was made for him…like a puzzle that had always been missing a piece had finally been completed.
“Ian?” Teddy gasped, curling his small hands tightly into the damp fabric of Ian’s shirt, like he was afraid that if he didn’t, Ian would shove him away…not knowing that all Ian wanted was to hold him ever closer.
“Teddy Bear,” Ian murmured, brushing the wet strands of Teddy’s hair off his face. His hair still smelled strongly of Teddy, the honeysuckle and spice that was always so distinctly him that Ian had learned to hate it in Chicago, whenever it tickled his nose and Ian couldn’t find the one person he wanted the most.
“I’m sorry,” Teddy stuttered when Ian dipped into memories for too long. Teddy’s face dropped, hiding in the shield of Ian’s chest.
“No,” Ian murmured, holding the smaller man close. “Don’t be sorry. Never be sorry for coming to me. I’ll always be here when you need me.” He made the promise, knowing full well it was hypocritical, knowing that Teddy had needed him before and he’d left—packed his bags and driven until he ran out of gas.
He wasn’t driving away this time.
Teddy shivered. Ian reached out and spun off the water, then forced himself to step back from Teddy long enough to grab a towel off the shelf. He wrapped it around him, draping it around the slender shoulders. It fell past his hips, but not far enough to stop Ian’s gaze from lingering. He frowned at the bruising that stood out so obviously in contrast to his pale skin.
“Come upstairs,” Ian said, then winced when he heard the way he’d said it. He had no right to order Teddy around—but Teddy just nodded.
Ian found himself filled with an unfamiliar hesitance, an indecision he wasn’t used to. He was so confident, normally, always did what he thought best without worrying about consequences that may or may not come. But he was afraid to touch Teddy again. He had reacted without thought earlier, fear of Teddy falling, of getting injured further, overriding his rationality.
But now, he feared that if he stretched out his hand… If he took Teddy’s in his to lead him to his apartment, Teddy might flinch and recoil from his touch. Ian wasn’t sure he could handle Teddy pulling away, not when all he wanted to do was hold him close, protect him from whatever horrible things he’d been through.
Teddy chose for him. The younger man’s spine seemed to straighten, drawing on the core of steel Ian had always been so proud of, and Teddy stepped forward, plastering himself to Ian’s side. Teddy’s hand slid into his and gripped it tightly.
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��Upstairs,” Teddy agreed, eyes darting up to meet his, uncertainty clear in their blue depths.
Ian hurried Teddy out of the chilly dressing room and across the hall to the door that led to the upstairs apartment. He unlocked it quickly. He reluctantly locked it behind them, his hurry to get Teddy upstairs and into something warm outweighed by the knowledge that he needed to take basic security measures, now more than ever. The delay cost him precious seconds, then he was hustling Teddy up the stairs and into the living room.
Inwardly, he grimaced. It was cold, not in temperature but in style, nothing like the cozy apartment he wished he could be bringing Teddy back to. Still, it wasn’t like he had time to go shopping for new furniture, so he deposited Teddy on the leather couch. “I’ll be right back. Stay here?” Ian said, half a question and half an order. Teddy nodded, so Ian hurried into his bedroom.
He locked up his weapon, then grabbed a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring and a black shirt that he knew Teddy would drown in. After a second’s hesitation, he grabbed a sweatshirt as well, just in case. He carried the clothing back out and set them on the oak-and-glass coffee table.
Teddy was still on the couch, but he was examining the apartment—or what he could see of it. Curiosity danced in his blue-sea eyes, and Ian found his shoulders relaxing slightly. The fear, if not completely gone, seemed to have diminished. Teddy sat up straighter when he noticed Ian coming back in.
Teddy stood, letting the towel sag free of his body. He peered at Ian through his lashes. “Help me dry off?” he asked.
Ian swallowed, taking the offered towel and running it along Teddy’s body, confusion just strong enough to outweigh the desire that touching Teddy, even through a thin cloth, stirred.
“Will you tell me about these?” Ian asked as he carefully dried around the welts. He was grateful that none seemed to have broken through the skin. They looked like rope burns.
“I don’t want to,” Teddy answered immediately, flinching back for a second before regaining control of himself. Ian didn’t miss the fear that returned. “Not now, anyway. I just…” Teddy clenched his eyes shut for a few seconds and the only sound was their breaths mingling. “I just want to forget, for a little while. Make me forget?”
Fire flooded Teddy’s face. He knew what he looked like—barely attractive on a good day, let alone covered in bruises and rope burns. The silence that followed his plea dragged on, each silent second causing his embarrassment to grow.
“Never mind,” he said suddenly, lurching for the sweater Ian had left on the coffee table. He fumbled the fabric. I’m such an idiot. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Teddy,” Ian groaned, the towel fluttering to the floor between them. Teddy froze, his gaze darting up to Ian’s and sticking. The look on Ian’s face wasn’t anger or disgust or discomfort. It was… It was desire, hot and naked, tinged at the edges with reluctance. A reluctance, Teddy suspected, to hurt him.
Teddy slowly straightened, gathering the shredded remnants of his courage, and lifted his trembling fingers to Ian’s face. He skimmed his fingertips over the five o’clock shadow, enjoying the way it scratched his skin, then lifted himself onto tiptoes. He rubbed the unmarked side of his face along the stubble, letting it scratch him like sandpaper. He wondered how it would feel on his neck or his thighs, if it could smooth out his rough edges to something softer.
“Ian,” he whispered, half-plea, half-promise. “Please…”
Ian groaned, but then his mouth was on Teddy’s. Teddy allowed Ian to take control, to slide his tongue along the seam of his lips until they parted on a gasp, to capture Teddy’s breath in his mouth and drink it in, drowning in it like a parched man in the desert finally finding an oasis.
Teddy melted beneath the heat of Ian’s kiss, if it could even be called that. It was like no kiss he’d ever had—no schoolyard dare or heavy-handed make-out session. Ian lifted his hands to Teddy’s waist, and beneath them, Teddy’s skin burned. The only thing that could soothe the ache was Ian. He needed more.
He arched into the touch. His chest, always so small, so delicate—not ripped like Ian’s, no matter how many crunches he forced himself to sit through—bumped into Ian’s in a wordless, demanding plea. He tangled his fingers together behind Ian’s neck, trying to pull him closer. Ian broke away with a groan, and Teddy growled at the distance that grew between them.
“Are you sure?” Ian said, and it was obvious that—while he wouldn’t like it, while it might leave him hard and uncomfortable if Teddy changed his mind—Ian would back away in an instant. It just made Teddy want him more. He needed this, to forget about the terror and panic, to forget about the decision he knew he needed to make. He wanted to drown in Ian, to never come up for air.
With a strength he didn’t know he had, he grabbed a fistful of Ian’s shirt and used it to shove the larger man onto the couch then planted himself astride his lap. The feel of the jeans between his thighs brought out a moan and he couldn’t help from rocking his hips.
“Never been more sure…of anything in my life,” Teddy promised, then released his stranglehold on Ian’s shirt. Instead, he gripped the hem and tugged. Ian lifted his arms, allowing Teddy to pull it off his body.
Ian was a god.
His muscles were perfect, like they’d been sculpted out of stone. A bead of sweat trailed from the hollow of Ian’s throat, down between his pecs. Teddy leaned forward, catching it on the tip of his tongue and following it back up. He lived for the gasped breath that he drew from Ian’s mouth, the small, nearly inaudible moan that Ian couldn’t choke back.
Teddy sucked gently on the skin below Ian’s ear, not hard enough to leave a mark, though he imagined it—imagined Ian covered in his marks, imagined tracing every line and hollow of Ian’s body with his lips.
“Please,” Teddy murmured, trailing kisses down Ian’s jaw to his lips. He sucked on the lower one, teasing it with his tongue.
Finally, Ian broke. He dropped his hands to Teddy’s hips, dragging him closer, forcing Teddy to rut against his erection. Teddy couldn’t hold back the gasp as electricity shot from his core to the very tips of his toes.
“Again,” Teddy demanded, flailing his hands until they landed on Ian’s strong shoulders. He gripped them, savoring the carefully controlled strength.
Ian dragged him forward against the hardness barely contained by his jeans, thrusting up to meet him. They were uncoordinated at first, until they developed a rhythm. Teddy ground his hips down with a moan, but it wasn’t enough. He dropped his hands to the damp jeans, tugging at the button until it popped open.
“Off,” he demanded.
“Bossy boy,” Ian said. At the words, Teddy moaned, a full-body shudder quaking his body. Ian used the moment to shift Teddy up so he could push his jeans down past his hips and over his thighs. They were thick with corded muscles. Teddy pushed himself off Ian’s lap so he could drop to his knees between them. He dotted kisses along each golden swath of skin revealed, until the jeans landed in a puddle at Ian’s ankles.
Teddy glanced up, and Ian nodded. Teddy tugged off the running shoes and peeled away the black socks, revealing the sexiest pair of feet Teddy had ever laid eyes on. He wasn’t normally someone who noticed feet, except if they were smelly or particularly strange, but on Ian, he noticed everything, from the graceful arch to the long toes. He wanted…
Teddy wanted to worship him, to cover his skin in kisses. Teddy slid his fingers over the sole of his foot and imagined his touch was reaching deeper, into Ian’s soul instead. He massaged it, first the right, then the left, stroking along the tendons. The pain of his blistered palms wrote a new story in his head, erasing the feel of splintered wood with smooth skin.
He curled his hands upward. Was it weird to find ankles attractive? Did he care?
He dropped kisses on Ian’s calf, on the curve of his knee, trailed fingers over the sculpted thighs. He pressed his nose into the crease of Ian’s groin, breathing in the scent that was uniquely Ian. He felt the flex
of tendons against his skin as Ian tensed.
Teddy looked up through his lashes, a sultry smile dancing on his lips. He slowly crept his hands over Ian’s hips, toward the straining erection inches from his face. He wasn’t surprised that Ian was big.
“May I?” Teddy teased, breath ghosting along the throbbing shaft. A smile crossed his lips when it twitched in front of him.
“If I say no, will you—?” Ian’s words cut off in a groan when Teddy shifted forward, swallowing him down to the base.
Ian lifted his hands to Teddy’s head. Maybe to pull him off, at first, but instead they lingered, cradling his face. Not holding him down, just a caress, a silent plea for more. Teddy obeyed.
Ian was thick and heavy in his mouth, a comforting weight on his tongue. Teddy didn’t consider himself a slut, though he wouldn’t shame anyone who was, but he’d sucked enough cocks to know his way around one.
Each time Ian rewarded him with a moan or a gasped breath, Teddy doubled down, letting him slide into his throat, swallowing around the sensitive head until Ian couldn’t help but thrust upward. He flicked his tongue over the weeping slit, savored the taste, then took him back into his mouth again.
Teddy pressed his thighs together, struggling to relieve the ache in his own dick. He could come just from the feel of Ian sliding into his throat.
But then Ian’s hands tightened carefully on Teddy’s head and pried him off. He whimpered at the loss, trying to return to the throbbing cock dancing inches from his mouth.
“My turn,” Ian murmured. He lifted Teddy, flexing his biceps with the show of strength, onto the couch beside him, then Ian was kneeling.
Teddy ground the heel of his palm into his dick, the biting pain bringing him back from the edge he wavered on at the sight. Then, Ian knocked his hand away and his mouth descended.
“Fuck,” Teddy cried, hips surging upward. Ian was going to kill him.