by Eden Winters
Seth ran a hand up the back of his neck. Talking to this man shouldn’t be so awkward. Hell, they shared all their secrets as children.
Twenty years ago.
“Okay, I suppose. It’s kind of weird being back here. But look at you! You became a doctor. Congratulations!”
The rush of blood to Dustin’s cheeks blended his freckles into a solid mass. “It’s nothing. I managed to make it through eight years of college without getting kicked out.”
“No, doing exactly what you want to do is quite an accomplishment. You always used to say you wanted to be a doctor or a vet….”
“… or both,” they chorused and then shared a chuckle.
“Occasionally a dream comes true.” Dustin’s smile turned shy.
“Doctor?” The woman at the front desk interrupted their staring contest. “Two o’clock was open on Thursday. I’ve already called Mrs. Riley.”
“Thank you, Tiffany.” Dustin turned back to Seth. “Now, what can I do for you, Seth?”
Shaken that he’d forgotten his reason for visiting, he managed to say, “Jill, err… A woman named Monica gave me a ride yesterday. She still has my iPhone. I saw her truck parked outside.”
“Ahhh.” The warm energy seemed to flow back into Dustin, leaving Seth bereft. “She’s my assistant, but she’s next door at the moment. Your phone’s on my desk. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get it.”
He’d been dismissed? What had Seth done to receive the sudden cold shoulder? “Have dinner with me while I’m in town? Catch up on old times. Maybe tell me more about Aunt Irene. You were pretty friendly with my aunt, right?”
The stiff set of Dustin’s shoulders melted slightly to a less defensive posture. “How long are you planning to stay?”
“Not long. Just long enough to get her things in order.”
All the sunshine left the room with Dustin’s dejected, “You’re not staying.”
A little boy, peddling a bike like mad, trying to keep Seth from leaving. Back then he’d had no choice. Now that he did, he’d leave again. Seth averted his eyes. “No. My life’s in Chicago.”
“Oh.” Dustin paused, his weak not-quite-a-smile spreading across his face but not reaching his eyes. “Then I reckon we’d better make it soon. I’ll go get your phone.”
Dustin returned a few moments later and handed over Seth’s lifeline, along with a neon orange Post-it note. “Here’s my number. Why don’t you give me a call when you want to get together? I’d love to chat some more, but my next appointment is due any minute.”
Seth watched Dustin round the corner.
At the last moment, Dustin threw a shy, backward glance over his shoulder.
Well, well, well. Little Seth McDaniel, all grown up, and he grew up well too. Dustin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to lose the memory of how damned good the man smelled. The scent of passel enveloped Seth like a fine-fitting jacket, and Dustin bet Seth hadn’t a clue that a potent strain of the changeling virus lay dormant inside his body. Had it shown itself? Was the town’s secret no longer a secret to the Chicagoan? No, it couldn’t have. He reeked of passel, but the distinctive scent of mature jack didn’t cling to him.
Seth’s open appraisal also spoke volumes. Dustin hadn’t been so flagrantly undressed with eyes since he’d marched in a Gay Pride parade in Atlanta wearing only western boots, a Stetson, and a thong after losing a bet. He’d never expected such regard from his childhood friend. Interesting. Very interesting. And also too much a study in futility to even dwell on.
He’s not staying. Dustin gripped the edge of an examining table, breathing slowly in and out, trying to reel in his raging lust. He reached one hand down and rearranged his cramped cock. He’d become aroused by the mere scent of someone in the past, but had never sprouted wood in ten seconds flat. The fact Seth was the one whose presence electrified each nerve ending in his body was magnified by the fact Dustin hadn’t seen the man in twenty years. The immediate recognition was primal, instinctual, like how he’d somehow known Seth’s hiding places while playing hide-and-seek as kids. Only now the magnetism was even stronger. He wanted to bend Seth over the exam table, rip his pants off, and bury himself deep inside. The sheer intensity of his hunger frightened him, for he didn’t simply want to fuck Seth—he wanted to possess the man.
Was it a territorial compulsion? Dustin would have to ask Andy, who focused more on the town’s animalistic side than Dustin. Whatever the cause of his craving, promise of dinner or no promise, he needed to avoid Seth McDaniel like the plague. Any association beyond friendship couldn’t possibly end well. Sooner or later, Seth would go back to Chicago, hopefully being none the wiser about the town’s little secret.
Chapter 6
Ensconced in his aunt’s pickup truck, Seth opened the browser on his phone, eager to touch base with life outside of Georgia. His elation at seeing Dustin again crashed and burned in the wake of an outpouring of well wishes for Michael’s engagement. Depression turned to anger. How dare they? Michael had practically waltzed from Seth’s bed to another man’s arms, and they labeled Michael’s double-dealing “sweet” and “romantic”? Oh hell no! Just when Seth was ready to hit “send” on a scathing rebuttal, his screen flashed and went out. He punched the power button. Nothing. Crap. Dead battery. Tossing the useless phone on the seat beside him, he turned the engine and backed away from the building. Damn! Why hadn’t he asked Dustin for directions to the nearest hardware store?
About to go back inside the office, Seth spotted a sign for Jimmy’s Feed and Seed down the street. The business appeared a touch run-down, with weathered boards in need of paint and a rusted tin roof, but if they didn’t sell what he needed, they might suggest someplace else.
“Good morning, stranger.” A thirtyish man in faded blue jeans and tennis shoes stepped out from a loading bay. “What can I help you with?” He turned his head to the side, expelling a mouthful of what appeared to be tobacco juice.
“Do you carry plywood?”
“Sure do. How big a sheet you need?”
Seth scratched his head. He never even considered measuring, but had no intention of spending another night in a house with a hole in the wall. “Let me take a look at what you have.”
The man stepped aside, allowing Seth to enter the store. Was it Seth’s imagination, or did the guy sniff him in passing? The man nodded toward the truck. “You’re Irene McDaniel’s nephew, ain’t ya?”
“Great-nephew, yes. Did you know her?”
The guy cackled. “Everybody in town know’d Ms. Irene. Come on back here, and let’s see if we got what ya need.” After spitting another carefully aimed stream out the door, the man turned and led Seth through rows of farm implements and loose seeds, ready for bagging. “Too bad about the old lady. You gonna pick up where she left off?”
“No. I’m here to settle her estate and head back home.”
Suddenly the man turned around, nose to nose with Seth. His voice dropped to a mere whisper. “You could do a whole lot worse than putting down roots here. There’s somebody I’m betting would flat out love to meet ya. Why, together, you and my uncle’d run this whole joint.”
“Huh?” Seth took a quick step back.
“And don’t you worry none about people giving you no trouble for being gay or nothing. Uncle Junior, well, he likes someone who can give as good as they get in the bedroom, if you get my drift. Folks done learnt not to say nothing against Junior.”
Seth took another step back. “How…?”
A greasy smile appeared on the man’s face. “You forget where you are. Ain’t no secrets in this here town.”
“What the fuck?”
“I’ll be seeing you again, come next full moon.” After a final leer and a wink, the man returned to business. “Now, you need plywood, right?”
The exchange unnerved Seth, sending “Run! Run!” messages to his brain. He forgot about locating Internet access. Instead, he hauled ass back to the farmhouse, where he plugged in
his phone and rummaged through the kitchen cabinets for a hasty lunch. Didn’t Monica believe in quick and easy? Not a single heat-and-eat meal. But damn if Seth intended to head back into town and risk getting sniffed again. What the fuck was wrong with these people? And damn if he’d understood half of what the guy at the Feed and Seed had said, and it had nothing to do with a heavy accent. It was like these people spoke their own language.
A can of soup later, he searched through drawers and closets, finally locating a rusted toolbox. His patch job wasn’t pretty, but at least it might keep animals out of the house until he arranged something better. He’d hoped to simply put the whole estate on the market and head home, but he’d already figured on a new paint job, a floor refinish, and new appliances to get the place in sellable condition. An antique store might take the fridge, but no one would even consider buying a house without a dishwasher. Hell, no wonder Monica bought mostly cookable food—she probably knew there was no microwave. Only two burners on the stove heated, but the oven seemed to work fine. Now if only Seth cooked.
He stared at the scarred kitchen table, picturing his mother, father, Aunt Irene, and, more often than not, Dusty, sitting down for Sunday dinner. There’d been fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, fried okra, stewed tomatoes, and hot buttermilk biscuits. The soup he ate didn’t even make a proper appetizer. His mouth watered at the memory of Aunt Irene’s macaroni pie. And she’d always had cake or pie for dessert. His gaze wandered to the glass cake plate and cover on the buffet, normally the domain of red velvet, coconut, or some other kind of made-from-scratch masterpiece. He couldn’t sell a hand-me-down heirloom, could he? But what use would he ever have for a cake plate?
He wandered into the sitting room, where an ancient console TV took up way too much space, but wasn’t hooked up to cable or satellite. How the hell had his aunt survived without network programming?
His phone now somewhat charged, Seth plopped down on the settee, but couldn’t get a signal. With no TV, no Internet, and no cell phone, he gave up and went to bed out of boredom at eight thirty.
Once in bed, one thought rose foremost in his mind. Dusty Livingston. After all these years. Seth recalled hiding out with him in a tent fort, whispering secrets. Dustin standing up for him when classmates shouted taunts of “outsider” and “half blood,” whatever the hell that meant. “Dusty and Seth, the terrible twosome,” a Sunday school teacher once named them.
Damn, but the boy had grown into a fine man. Something about him called to Seth. Maybe his confident stance, the intelligence burning in his eyes, or the lopsided grin that made him appear so approachable. He definitely presented a startling contrast to Seth’s self-serving acquaintances back home, or the boyfriend who’d dropped him like a hot rock.
Evicting his fickle ex-lover from his mind, Seth concentrated on the doctor. Firm pecs appeared to be hiding beneath Dusty’s cotton scrubs, and the lightweight material had done nothing to conceal a well-formed backside.
He breathed deeply, trying to recapture the scent of Dustin’s cologne, or was the intoxicating fragrance the man’s natural smell—spicy and sweet with an underlying earthiness? Seth’s cock swelled. In his mind’s eye, he worked his way up Dusty’s sides, sliding eager fingers over strong pecs while burying his nose in the crook of the doctor’s neck. Seth’s hips snapped up almost of their own volition, sliding his erection to nestle between two tempting mounds of flesh in his imagination.
Seth drew his fingers over his chest, stopping to caress a nipple to full hardness, while he snaked his other hand down to slide beneath the elastic of his boxers. He encircled rigid flesh, slowly pumping up and down before bringing the fingers of his other hand to his mouth to add a bit of lubrication before sliding them down past his balls.
Seth arched his back, thrusting into his fist while creating erotic images involving the good doctor and an examination table. Those stirrup thingies might come in handy, and he imagined lying flat on his back, legs spread, while Dustin stood ready at the end of the table. Seth paused to remove his boxers and fling them to the floor, then resumed stroking, applying moistened fingers to his hole.
Dusty’s cock would be long and hard, rising from a bed of copper curls. He’d push in, slowly, green eyes boring into Seth’s. Breath caught in Seth’s throat and he moved his hand faster to the make-believe pressure of Dustin’s entry into his body.
“Oh God!” Barreling toward the finish line and picking up speed, Seth rocked back and forth between the fist in front of him and the finger behind.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! He sailed on past the point of no return, body bowing, orgasm slamming into him with the force of a runaway freight train. His grip grew slippery, but still he pumped, come erupting from him in rhythmic spurts. He moaned, thrashing on the bed, aftershocks shuddering through him, too numerous to count.
“That one scored at least a seven on the Richter scale,” he muttered, rolling away from the damp sheets to a dry spot and promptly falling asleep.
Dustin lay awake, watching TV with the sound off and trying to let go of the whirlwind of emotions he’d experienced during the day. Seth McDaniel—someone he’d despaired of ever seeing again—in the flesh. He’d often pleaded with Irene to keep contact with her next of kin “just in case Seth gets lonely up there,” a mere half-truth. In reality, each week that went by without a letter had driven a spike deeper into Dustin’s heart. Every time he’d tried to call, Seth’s grandmother insisted Seth wasn’t home, even on the occasions when he’d heard his best friend’s voice in the background.
Had Seth not wanted to talk to him? Given how close they’d been, Dustin found it hard to believe, and Seth had certainly seemed friendly enough today, if a little reserved. He came for his phone, numb nuts, Dustin’s conscience chided. Oddly enough, his conscience sounded exactly like Monica, who’d often berated the man she’d never even met for deserting his aunt and the town where he was, in essence, a prince.
Had Dustin made a mistake in sending Monica to pick Seth up? He should have gone himself, but couldn’t get away from his practice, and Monica promised to be on her best behavior. But the sister he’d chosen for himself when nature didn’t provide one possessed a mind of her own, and “best behavior” could be interpreted anywhere from “I didn’t kill him” to “we went out for tea and scones.”
Dustin heaved a sigh. Those thoughts weren’t getting him anywhere. Seth had come back, announced his intentions to leave again, and would soon be gone. He hadn’t come to reconnect and had his own life somewhere else. The proverbial lightbulb came on, and Dustin dashed up the stairs of his log A-frame to what used to be his childhood bedroom, now converted into an office, fired up his computer, and searched for the site Irene had mentioned.
After a few missteps, he finally located Seth McDaniel’s profile. Feeling a bit voyeuristic, but rationalizing that Seth wouldn’t have created the profile if he didn’t want people to read it, Dustin studied the “about me” blurb. Profession: photographer. Status: single. Relief surged through Dustin that he couldn’t rightly explain.
He clicked on “Photos” and select an album entitled “Random.” His mouth dropped open. Seth took these? The images depicted what must have been older buildings in Chicago. Church spires, an interesting but ill-kept doorway, an aged wall, orange-and-red crumbling brick.
An album marked “Friends” was nearly empty, though Seth’s profile stated he had more than a thousand. Did Seth actually know a thousand people? Personally?
A stunning fair-haired hunk identified as “Michael” drew Dustin’s attention. Seated with Seth at a restaurant, the blond stared at the camera while Seth’s eyes focused on Michael.
Guilt eating at him didn’t stop Dustin from reading a few comments from Seth’s page, mostly about “Michael” and “marriage.” Dustin’s heart skipped a beat until he realized Michael wasn’t marrying Seth.
His heart broke in two when he found a recent post made by Seth. “My aunt died. I always planned to one day visit
her again, but now it’s too late.” Not a damned soul responded. Over one thousand “friends,” and no one offered any sympathy? It took a half hour to figure out how to create an anonymous profile and add Seth with the “Friend” option. Damn. Seth had to accept the offer of friendship. Having never felt the need to spend much time on such sites, only when he tried anyway did Dustin realize he didn’t have to create a profile to comment on Seth’s post. After ruminating on the right thing to say, he typed in a reply to what he considered a plea for support. He wrote, “I understand your pain, man, and am right here with you.”
He studied a few more pictures of Seth. Were they self-portraits? In each and every one, Seth appeared somber, nearly depressed, and definitely lonely. Dustin raised his fingertips to the computer screen, lightly brushing them over Seth’s forlorn face. “Oh, Seth, life wasn’t as good to you as I imagined, was it?”
When at last he made his way back to bed, he closed his eyes, only to find the lonely image embedded on his lids.
The next day, Dustin’s resolve to maintain distance gave way and he made a trip to Irene’s house “just to be neighborly.” He pulled into the yard to discover Seth struggling with a stepladder. “Here, let me help you,” Dustin said, climbing out of the truck in time to steady the base for Seth.
“Thanks. A piece of tin up there was flapping in the wind last night.”
His only intention was to hold the ladder, eyes focused overhead on the errant tin, but Dustin accidentally placed his hand square on Seth’s nicely rounded butt. Despite a layer of denim between Dustin’s hand and Seth’s skin, Seth might as well have been naked. Dustin jerked his hand away. “Oh my God! I’m sorry.”
Seth let out a nervous-sounding chuckle. “’S okay. Been awhile since I’ve been publicly groped.” He slowly ascended the ladder, with Dustin’s gaze glued to the twin mounds of flesh undulating under the worn seat of a pair of Levi’s.
A few melodic thumps sounded against the metal roof, and a memory returned of a much younger Seth clambering up probably the same ladder, effectively dousing the flames of Dustin’s libido. The skinny, awkward Seth of yesteryear had definitely filled out, though he probably wasn’t most folks’ idea of gorgeous, and height wise, he topped Dustin’s own five foot seven by two inches, at most.
