House of Cards

by Garrett Leigh

  “That we need to leave. Now.”

  “. . . we need to leave. Now.”

  Five words had never excited or terrified Calum quite so much. He let Brix lead him back inside to murmur hurried good-byes to Lena and Kim—and Lee, whose smug grin was almost unbearable. Then they left the pub and made their way home in a loaded, companionable silence, walking just close enough that their hands brushed from time to time, setting Calum’s already tingling nerves on fire. He kept his eyes on the path ahead and tried to recall the last time he slept with Rob. Couldn’t. It was like his time with Brix so far, and the tenuous promise what could be to come, had erased years of cold, detached sex that had pleased no one and meant nothing.

  Brix preceded Calum through the gate and unlocked the front door. The cottage was dark, and Zelda’s amber eyes gleamed like smouldering embers. She jumped down from the windowsill and stalked to the kitchen, trusting someone would follow to where Dennis was likely already waiting. Feeling somewhat dazed, Calum did just that, because whatever was to come wouldn’t happen until the hungry felines were satisfied.

  He filled the cat bowls, absently petting Dennis as he squeezed past. For a brief moment, the weight of the world narrowed to nothing but the cat’s lumbering bulk. Then Brix slid his arms around Calum from behind and pressed his lips to Calum’s neck, and all bets were off.

  Calum spun and fell into Brix’s arms, pushing him away from the counter and into the table, shunting it along the floor. The scrape of wood on tile was startling and loud, kick-starting the rapid acceleration in Calum’s heart, propelling him forward again until Brix was bent back on the table in much the same way Calum had been the wall in the car park.

  But he didn’t have the upper hand for long. Brix moved like a snake, shoving Calum with a strength that belied his slender arms. Calum hit the counter, then lurched sideways as Brix slammed into him, his kiss bruising and searching, his hands grasping at any part of Calum he could reach—his hair, his face, his chest.

  Calum steadied them and took a breath, but it was a lost cause. Something clicked—exploded—in his brain, and all conscious thought was gone. His heart raced, his skin tingled, and every facet of his being needed Brix naked as fast as humanly possible.

  They staggered to the stairs, clothes flying, tripping on every step until they hit the landing and tumbled to the floor. Calum took the fall, Brix on top of him. He laughed, but Brix silenced him with another frenzied kiss that took Calum’s breath away. Calum rolled them over, then scrambled to his feet, taking Brix with him and shoving him towards the nearest door, which happened to be Brix’s bedroom.

  Brix pushed Calum onto the bed and yanked his jeans down his legs, tossing them aside before kicking away his own. He crawled over Calum and retrieved lube from the bedside table, and then he froze, clutching the lube bottle like it was an unexploded bomb. “Cal, I—”

  Calum stared up at him, lost in his wild eyes. Brix was the bravest motherfucker he’d ever known, but the fear in his haunted gaze was heartbreaking, and Calum heard the silent plea like Brix had screamed it in his ear.

  Help me.

  Calum sat up and gripped Brix’s shoulders, gently tipping him onto his back. Brix hit the mattress with a gasp, but remained pliant and slack, despite the tension in his sinewy limbs, and the terror in his eyes faded slightly as he gave himself up to Calum’s tentative control. Now what?

  “Wait here,” Calum said. “I’ve got a couple of rubbers in my wallet.”

  He left the bed and dashed downstairs to grab his wallet from his coat pocket. The condoms had been tucked in there so long he had to check they were in date, but thankfully they had six months left.

  Condoms in hand, he hurried back upstairs. Brix hadn’t moved. Calum crawled onto the bed and laid a hand on Brix’s chest, absorbing his stampeding heart. A dozen scenarios flashed through his mind. He’d imagined himself naked with Brix more times than he could count, but never once had he pictured himself on top.

  Could he do it? Calum had no idea. The last person he’d fucked had been his girlfriend at the time, and he’d hadn’t loved her anywhere close to how he loved Brix—

  “Cal.”

  Brix’s ragged whisper brought Calum back to reality. He bent and kissed Brix deeply, slowing the heady rush of heat between them enough to catch his breath and ease his racing mind. His hands found Brix’s hair and curled around his skull, like he could draw the demons out, crush them between his palms, and in that moment, he kissed Brix like he’d never kissed him before. Claimed him. Pulled him from the shadows and into the light.

  At least, that’s what it felt like when Brix broke the kiss with a shaky smile that spoke a thousand words. “Will you fuck me?”

  Yes. Calum reached across Brix for the condoms and lube, and then scrambled back, sitting on his heels, and rolled a rubber onto his dick as Brix pried the lube from his fingers.

  Brix squeezed lube onto Calum’s cock, coating the condom and then himself in a gesture so intimate Calum’s every nerve burned his soul. Then, with them both prepared, Brix lay back, his body open and ready, his arms wide, waiting for Calum to finish what they’d perhaps started all those years ago.

  Unbidden, a flash of the day they’d first met intruded on the moment—Brix looking much the same as he did now: ageless and beautiful, with his wise eyes that had seen too much. And then there was himself, fresh-faced and juvenile, gazing at Brix like he was the first bloke he’d ever seen. And maybe he was . . . because Brix was definitely the only man who’d ever truly seen Calum.

  The only man Calum would ever want to.

  Calum knelt in the cradle of Brix’s thighs and aligned their bodies, pressing cautiously against Brix, testing the resistance. His body screamed at him to push in hard and fast, like Rob had done to him so many times, but his heart moved him slowly, and gently, as if Brix were made of glass: strong and pure, but fragile.

  Tight heat enveloped him. He closed his eyes and slid all the way in, swallowing Brix’s gasp with a kiss that went on forever, waiting for Brix’s signal . . . a signal that came as the tiniest flex of Brix’s hips—an infinitesimal movement that sent shockwaves through Calum. He groaned, dangerously close to exploding before they’d even begun.

  Beneath him, Brix moaned too, and tilted his body, drawing Calum in deeper. “I haven’t done this in so long, I thought I’d forgotten, but I never knew . . . never knew it could feel like this.”

  The sentiment was beautiful, like Brix, and Calum wished he could return it, but having Brix clamped around him had effectively cut off his power of speech. His only answer was to drive into Brix hard enough to make them both groan again, and find a rhythm that put an end to any further conversation.

  At least, any conversation with words, because there was no way Calum could break the hold Brix had on his eyes, tear himself away from a gaze that had held him prisoner since he’d fallen drunkenly into it at Truro train station.

  Brix stared back at him, his hands gripping Calum’s face, his legs a vice around Calum’s waist. His body arched with every thrust of Calum’s hips and his mouth hung open in a silent cry.

  The height of Calum’s pleasure was dizzying, and he was wrapped up in so much love for the man beneath him he could barely think—barely breathe. The rush of imminent orgasm was all-consuming, and only the sudden tension in Brix’s body broke through.

  For a brief moment, he feared something was wrong, but then Brix’s head fell back, his long neck curving in a perfect arch, and Calum knew that the spine-tingling coil in his own belly belonged to both of them, that Brix was on the edge of something incredible. Something beautiful.

  Calum chased Brix’s gravelly cry, fucking him harder than he’d dared up until now. Brix’s moans became yells, and as his body tightened around Calum and spilled wet heat between them, Calum came too, pulsing where they were joined, fusing them, bonding them so absolutely that even if they never did this again, Calum would carry a piece of Brix with him forever.

/>   He slowed his hips, and then withdrew, drawing another moan from Brix. Calum gazed down, ignoring the sticky mess and the sheen of sweat that coated both of them, and gripped Brix’s chin. He found his eyes, searching for any sign of distress or regret.

  But he found none. Brix’s grin was sleepy, but a mile wide and true, and in the dim light of the room, just for Calum.

  Calum stroked his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “All right?”

  “Aye.” Brix nodded. “I—I can’t find my tongue.”

  Calum chuckled. “I took it. It’s mine.”

  “I’d give it to you if you wanted it.”

  “That’s why what you’ve given me already is more than enough.”

  “Can I tell you I love you?”

  “If you like.”

  “’Cause I do. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” And Calum did, certain of nothing else except how much he loved Brix in return. “I love you too, so I reckon we’re about set.”

  Brix sat up on his elbows. “Set for what?”

  Calum shrugged and used a stray pair of boxers to try to wipe them both clean. “For whatever you want to do.”

  “Whatever we want. In this together, eh?”

  “Course we are.”

  “Good.” Brix shuffled up the bed and thrust his legs under the covers, holding the duvet up for Calum. “Do you know what I want to do, more than anything, right now?”

  “Name it.”

  “I wanna do what we just did all over again.”

  Six months later . . .

  Brix woke to the first glimmer of sunshine they’d seen all week, and rolled over, stretching. His hands found Calum beside him, and like a moth to a flame, he chased Calum’s warmth down, wrapping himself around him until it was hard to tell where Calum ended and he began.

  For a while, he dozed, drifting in and out of the best kind of sleep, but when the early-spring sun became too bright to ignore, he relinquished his hold on Calum and propped himself up on the pillows, staring, awed, like he did every morning that he was lucky enough to wake first. He brushed Calum’s hair away from his forehead, ghosted a fingertip over his cheekbone, and lost himself in his long lashes and dark stubble. Calum mostly still walked through life with his head down and no idea how beautiful he was, but Brix knew it more and more every day that they were together.

  And they were together every day—at home, at work. It was rare that they spent longer than a few hours apart, and though Brix had been a man who had craved alone time in the past, now, with Calum, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d carried his fractured soul for far too long. With Calum, he was whole.

  On cue, Calum woke, his eyes hazed until he focussed on Brix and smiled a slow, gentle smile that seemed to wrap Brix in sunshine. “Mornin’.”

  “Morning.” Brix shifted closer, pressing against Calum’s thigh in the hope that he took his not-so-subtle hint.

  Calum did, pulling Brix on top of him and driving his morning wood against Brix’s belly. “Were you lying in wait for me?”

  “Aye. You game?”

  “Always.”

  It was all Brix needed to hear. He kissed Calum just once, then flipped him over, nudging Calum’s legs apart with his knees, like he did almost every morning they had the time and energy to fuck. Calum arched his back and raised his hips, facedown in the pillows now, ready and waiting. Brix growled and sunk his teeth lightly into his back, then reached for the condoms with only a fleeting beat of doubt—something that, with a lot of practice, he’d become much better at.

  It seemed like he’d barely blinked before he was pushing inside Calum, cautiously at first, but then fucking him hard and fast, hot and dirty, like mornings were made for. They both came quickly, Calum, then Brix, and after, Brix lay over Calum for a protracted moment, before he kissed his neck and slid off him, landing in a clumsy, sweaty heap.

  Calum chuckled and rolled onto his back. “I love it when you jump on me first thing in the morning. Sets me up for the day.”

  Brix sniggered. “Yeah? Don’t make you walk funny?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. Good job too today, eh? Gotta be on my game for the chicken run.”

  Brix was glad Calum didn’t let the conversation linger on sex. It had been six months since Calum had held Brix’s face—and his heart—in his hands and chased off the shadows that had lived with Brix for so long, and since then they’d fucked in every which way possible, but hashing their emotions out over and over had proved counterproductive. Brix was at peace with his HIV status, and Calum proved every day that he was too. With science on their side—at least for now—and Calum as safe as he could be from infection, nothing else seemed to matter.

  Besides, old ghosts be damned, they had shit to do today, important shit, and as wonderful as lying in bed with Calum was, it was time to get up. Brix kissed Calum’s cheek and reached across him for the wooden box Calum had given him to replace the washbag he’d kept his meds in—a treasure chest with a skull and crossbones painted on the lid. The irony had been just the kind of gallows humour Brix had missed while he’d carried his secret alone.

  He swallowed his pills, then dragged Calum downstairs and passed him a frying pan. “You cook, I’ll feed the menagerie?”

  Calum shrugged. “Suits me.”

  They hit the road after a big breakfast of Calum’s signature scrambled eggs with fresh herbs from the garden and leftover sourdough. Calum drove while Brix kicked back in the passenger seat, his feet up on the dashboard. “Thank you for coming with me. I used to take my dad, but he couldn’t behave.”

  Calum smiled, his eyes trained on the winding Cornish road. “You keep telling me stuff like that about your dad, but he seems like the nicest bloke in the world.”

  “He’s mellowing in his old age.”

  “Really?”

  Brix snorted. “Not in the slightest, he just likes you too much to show you the crazy old man who punches farmers for the sake of a van full of battery hens.”

  “You wouldn’t do that?”

  “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

  And Calum didn’t have long to wait. The farm taking their chickens to slaughter that morning was in Redruth, thirty miles from Porthkennack and an hour later, Calum manoeuvred the van up the narrow lane that led to the huge barn holding the hens. At first glance, the operation didn’t look that bad—well-kept and tidy, with the right amount of finishing touches to make the farm appear homely.

  But Brix knew better. This farm was one of the worst he’d ever been to, and he could only hope that Calum never saw the horrors that lay behind the rustic barn’s walls.

  Calum parked up and turned off the engine. “What happens now? Do we go in?”

  “God, no.” Brix shuddered. “They’ll bring them out.”

  “How many are we taking?”

  “As many as we can fit in the van.”

  “Fair enough. Is that the dude?”

  Calum pointed through Brix’s window as the farmer emerged from the barn, dragging a handful of chickens by their legs, their heads scraping the ground.

  “What the fuck?” Calum opened his door.

  Brix grabbed his arm. “Be cool. Kicking off just makes it take longer.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me, Cal. It’s horrible to see, but we can’t fix everything.”

  They got out of the van and approached the farmer, who greeted Brix with a curt nod without acknowledging Calum at all. “How many?”

  “Forty to start with. Might be able to squeeze in a few more.”

  “I’ve got sixty-five off to slaughter.”

  “We’ll take as many as we can.”

  The farmer grunted. Brix took it as a sign to proceed and retrieved the crates he’d filched from Peg’s stash in the cliff-top cave. Calum helped him, his face a study in an emotion Brix couldn’t quite decipher. Brix nudged him. “Okay?”

  Calum frowned. “I don’t like this place.”

 
“Neither do I. Let’s get as many girls as we can and skedaddle, yeah?”

  Calum nodded and lifted the last of the crates over his head. In the early-morning sun, his biceps rippled, displaying the black-and-grey cheetah Brix had inked on him just before Christmas. Calum’s skin had been a dream to tattoo, and Brix carried the fact that he was the only artist who ever had close to his heart.

  They took the crates to the farmer, who set about slinging the birds inside. It was tough to see, but Brix forced himself to watch as a reminder of why the rescue runs were so important, even if paying the farmer for his hens felt like rewarding him for being a complete cu—

  A bird cried out, her leg caught in the crate’s lid.

  The farmer pushed down, apparently oblivious. Brix moved forward to free the bird, but the farmer waved him away. “I ain’t got time for your fuss this morning. Piss off while I get these birds loaded.”

  “Her leg’s trapped. Lift the lid up.”

  “Piss off. Damn thing won’t last the week anyway.”

  He started to push on the lid again, and Brix saw red. Fuck this. Perhaps John Lusmoore had been right all along and this farmer only understood his own language. Fury lit his veins, sudden and raw, and his hands curled into fists, ready to let rip.

  But he didn’t get the chance. As he drew his fist back, Calum flew past him and put the farmer on his arse.

  Brix freed the trapped hen as Calum advanced and stood over the farmer. “Show me where you keep them. We’re taking them all.”

  Brix stepped forward, alarmed. “Cal, we can’t do that.”

  “Well, we’re gonna.”

  The barn likely held up to five hundred hens, a small-scale operation in factory farming, but still far too many for them to transport and rehome. “Cal—”

  Calum held up his hand without sparing Brix a glance, saving his gaze for the farmer, who’d hauled himself awkwardly to his feet, clearly stunned by the gentle man who’d turned suddenly into the Incredible Hulk. “Do you love me, Brix?”

  “What? Course I do. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Everything, because if you love me like I love you, you’ll know that we’re not leaving this hellhole while there’s still birds here. Call your dad. Let’s get this shit done.”