When All the World Sleeps

by J. A. Rock

  Daniel was finishing up the movie when Bel arrived. As soon as he heard the car, he started to turn the computer off so he could get in position. Thought for a second. Stayed where he was.

  He hadn’t brushed his teeth, since he’d been working his way through a package of crackers as the movie played, so he figured he was in trouble anyway. Got a little jittery, wondering what Bel would do, but he made himself relax. Nothing to be scared of with Bel.

  Hi, Bel, he’d texted at two thirty today. This is Daniel. I feel bored.

  Bel’s reply, five minutes later: We can take care of that tonight.

  Daniel liked the texting ritual, though he wished sometimes he could come up with more creative things to say. He didn’t think Bel cared that he felt tired or that he’d just gotten his hair cut or that he liked chicken.

  Daniel was still in his chair, focused on the laptop, when Bel came in.

  Bel had a plastic bag with him; Daniel listened to him set it down.

  “Daniel.” Bel’s tone was casual, but Daniel caught the underlying edge to it. “Where’re you supposed to be?”

  “Just a minute,” Daniel said, staring at the screen without absorbing any of the movie. His pulse jerked.

  “Not just a minute. Turn that off now, put it on the table, and kneel.”

  Bel didn’t raise his voice at all, but Daniel still tensed. Turned off the movie and shut down the laptop like some supernatural force was compelling him. He placed the laptop on the table and kneeled, clasping his hands on the back of his neck.

  Usually when Bel came in and found Daniel kneeling, he touched him. Stroked his hair or cupped Daniel’s face and ran a thumb over his lips or reached down to gently twist a nipple. Tonight, he didn’t touch Daniel. Just sat in the chair Daniel had vacated and put his hand on the laptop.

  “I’ll be taking this with me,” he said, “and keeping it for the next three days.”

  Daniel willed himself not to protest. “I get bored.”

  “You want to use it, you can come to my place and ask permission.”

  Daniel looked up, startled. “You don’t mind?”

  Bel shook his head. “My spare key’s under the mat. Real original, I know. If I’m at work, you can text me permission to go in and use it.”

  Daniel stared. This was punishment? Then why was he so fucking thrilled? Permission to go to Bel’s house—to go inside Bel’s house when Bel wasn’t there? Daniel couldn’t believe Bel trusted him that much. “Yes, Bel.”

  Bel leaned back in the chair. “So what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I was into the movie. Didn’t hear you come up.” Daniel kept his tone cool.

  “Oh really? Don’t you know when to expect me by now?”

  “Lost track of time.”

  “Not cutting it.” Bel snapped his fingers. “Undress.”

  Daniel obeyed, shucking his clothes then kneeling again, a little closer to Bel.

  “You said you were bored earlier?”

  “Yes, Bel.”

  “Is this how you make a little fun? By not doing what you’re supposed to?”

  Daniel didn’t answer.

  “Aha,” Bel said.

  “I’m not gonna have any fun tonight anyway, with you gone,” Daniel muttered. He couldn’t keep the resentment from his tone.

  “Daniel Whitlock.” Bel’s voice held a trace of amusement, but it was still hard enough to make Daniel jolt. “Stand up.”

  Daniel stood. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is where he finally takes off his belt and lays into me.

  So far Bel hadn’t touched a paddle or a strap or anything like that. Of course, Daniel hadn’t really pushed Bel into punishing him until tonight, but still, Daniel could tell Bel felt uncomfortable with the idea of hitting him.

  Bel spread his legs and patted his left thigh. “Come straddle my leg. Face away from me.”

  Daniel glanced at him. No anger in Bel’s expression. He turned and slowly lowered himself onto Bel’s thigh, so that Bel’s knee jutted between his legs. Bel was wearing his uniform pants. Hot. Daniel couldn’t help skimming his fingertips along the dark fabric. His cock went from half-hard to fully erect as Bel reached around him and gave it a couple of pulls. “You’re bored and I’m bored.” Bel ran a palm down Daniel’s back to the top of his ass crack. “Why don’t you put on a show?”

  Shit.

  Bel had homed in pretty quick on Daniel’s nervousness about giving himself pleasure, and he exploited it. He loved making Daniel jerk himself off. Loved making Daniel tell him when he was close to coming. Loved making Daniel beg for permission to let go.

  Bel jiggled his leg. “Don’t use your hands. Just ride me. Make yourself come.”

  Daniel was glad Bel couldn’t see his expression. He had a feeling Bel would consider it attitude. “That could take a while.”

  “That’s okay. I got time before my shift starts. Go on now.”

  Daniel slowly shifted his hips forward. “I’ll mess up your pants if I come.”

  “I got another pair in the car.”

  Daniel rolled his eyes.

  “This ain’t much of a show,” Bel noted.

  “I don’t want to hump your damn leg.”

  Bel caught Daniel’s hair and tugged, forcing his head back. “I want to see it so bad,” he whispered. “Can you want it for me?”

  For Bel? Okay, fine.

  Bel released him, and Daniel started to move his hips. Slowly at first, then faster as fluid appeared at the tip of his cock. It was frustrating. In order to get friction on his cock, he had to lean far forward, and he hated thinking about the view Bel was getting of his ass when he did that. His balls mostly got in the way, and his ass cheeks felt raw after a few minutes of rubbing against Bel’s pants. He needed something more—a hand on his cock. Something up his ass.

  “I can’t,” he said finally, panting. He was still riding Bel’s leg, but his rhythm was jerky, ineffective. He was tired, and he felt silly, and he wondered not for the first time why he and Bel had been playing for two weeks and Bel hadn’t fucked him yet. “I can’t get off this way, Bel.”

  Bel stroked Daniel’s sweaty back. “Shy, I think. You ain’t doing half of what you could be doing.” Daniel could hear the smile in his voice, and worked up as he was, Bel’s amusement irritated him a little.

  “I’m not shy, I just . . . this isn’t enough.”

  “Turn around.”

  Daniel obeyed, re-straddling Bel’s leg from the other direction. He looked at Bel’s face, and the expression he saw banished any irritation he’d felt.

  Holy shit. He really does like watching me. He really does want a show.

  Bel put two fingers in his mouth and sucked them. Withdrew and reached behind Daniel. Worked his wet fingers down the knots of Daniel’s spine. “What do you need?” he asked. His fingers reached a slick of sweat and slid the rest of the way down, to the top of Daniel’s crack. Bel dipped one finger into the cleft. “This?”

  Daniel leaned forward, lifting his hips slightly. His face was inches from Bel’s. His breath caught as Bel’s finger traveled further, brushing his hole. He lifted his hips higher, straining. “Please,” he whispered. “Okay . . . please.”

  Bel tapped Daniel’s asshole. Daniel let out a shuddering breath against Bel’s cheek as Bel worked his finger in. It burned with so little lubrication, and Daniel kissed Bel’s jaw to distract himself from the pain. Once Bel was in, Daniel slowly sank back. Lifted, then sank back again. “You like that?” Bel whispered.

  Daniel dropped his head and nodded into Bel’s shoulder.

  Bel pushed a second finger in. Daniel groaned, lifting his hands to Bel’s shoulders. He shifted his weight on the balls of his feet. He was so fucking tight, and Bel was slowly, slowly stretching him open. Bel slid his fingers in past the last knuckle, and Daniel grunted and arched, pressing his cock against Bel. Bel’s fingertips grazed his prostate. Daniel closed his eyes. “Fuck!”

  Bel did it again. Left way too muc
h time between strokes. Daniel wiggled, not so self-conscious anymore. He bit down on Bel’s shirt to keep from crying out.

  “How’s this?” Bel asked.

  Daniel released his mouthful of fabric and gave a strangled whimper.

  “More?”

  “No, no, no, no,” Daniel whispered as Bel crooked his finger again, sending heat through Daniel’s body. “You don’t have—don’t have to do this.”

  “I’m doing it, though, aren’t I?” Bel asked calmly. He rubbed the sensitive spot, and Daniel bucked, cock leaking on Bel’s shirt.

  “Could do something for you?” Daniel suggested, desperate to get the spotlight off him.

  “You are doin’ something for me.”

  Daniel forced a laugh. “This ain’t . . . I don’t know what this is.”

  “No shame in coming in front of me, is there?”

  “I don’t know,” Daniel admitted breathlessly as Bel continued the light pushes on his prostate. Wouldn’t have been any shame if Daniel was hot shit. He’d felt that way once in a while during college. But there was something pathetic about a broken, used-up freak like him rubbing himself off on someone like Bel.

  Nobody in Logan wanted to see Daniel getting pleasure. If they fucked him, it was for the novelty of fucking a freak, a monster, someone who deserved to be used.

  “Show me. Show me what you need.”

  Why do you want to see?

  Daniel twisted his hips, got a better grip on Bel’s shoulders, and began to raise and lower himself on Bel’s fingers. He let out the breath he’d been holding and moved faster.

  “That’s right. Fuck yourself on me.”

  Daniel’s face burned, but he did what Bel said. Bel began crooking his fingers in time with Daniel’s thrusts. Daniel tipped his head back, a hoarse gasp forcing its way through his throat. He moved one hand to the front of Bel’s pants. Rubbed sloppily at the bulge there, until Bel was panting too. His palm chafed against the fabric, and that not-quite-hurt in combination with Bel’s increasingly rough jabs sent Daniel over the edge.

  He came all over Bel, too focused on trying to breathe to be embarrassed. He continued to rub Bel’s cock through his uniform pants, until Bel lifted his hips, threw his head back, and groaned. He sat down hard.

  “Okay,” Bel said a little desperately, as Daniel kept rubbing. Daniel could feel the wetness through Bel’s pants. He collapsed forward against Bel, pressing his lips to Bel’s neck and ear. “Okay,” Bel repeated.

  They stayed like that awhile, Daniel draped over Bel, Bel tracing Daniel’s hip bones with his thumbs.

  “So that was my punishment?” Daniel asked finally.

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” Bel murmured.

  Daniel sat up, grinning as he planted another kiss on Bel’s jaw. “I think you better change before work.”

  Bel laughed, a low chuckle that vibrated through Daniel. “If you got a shirt I can borrow, I won’t say no.”

  Bel changed shirts and Daniel cleaned up. When Daniel was tucked into the sleeping bag, his wrists bound with the hospital restraints, Bel said, “I got something for you.” He grabbed the plastic grocery bag he’d set by the door and pulled out an iPod and a speaker deck. He set the speakers on the table, plugged them in, and attached the iPod. “Since I can’t be here tonight.”

  “You gonna play me some mixtape you made?” Daniel teased.

  “Nah. It’s an audiobook. Some sci-fi thing—the library didn’t have much of a selection. But the whole thing’s on here, so you can listen all night if you can’t sleep.”

  Daniel stared at Bel. Jesus fucking shit. No one had ever done anything like this for him before. “I’d rather hear you,” he said softly.

  “Wish I could stay.” Bel finished with the iPod and reached out to brush Daniel’s hair off his forehead. The narrator started reading, his voice low and rich but nothing like Bel’s. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bel moved his hand to the sleeping bag. Stroked Daniel’s shoulder. “I won’t be too far away. You got your phone in there?”

  Daniel nodded, throat tight. He curled his fingers around his phone.

  “Anyone bothers you; anyone comes onto this property—you call me. You need to get out—you call me. Got it?”

  “Okay. Good night, Bel.”

  “’Night, Whitlock.”

  * * *

  Bel swung into the parking lot at the trailer park. Avery was waiting there, leaning on the hood of his cruiser. He waved a sheaf of papers at Bel. “Just gotta serve these on Grish, and figured he might not like it much.”

  “I got your back,” Bel told him.

  Grish was okay, it turned out. Must’ve hit that magic number of beers between angry sober and belligerent drunk, where he mellowed out, smiled a lot, and sang along to Willie Nelson on his beaten-up old stereo.

  “You wanna meet up at the diner for breakfast?” Avery asked as they walked back to their cars.

  “What time?” Bel asked.

  “About three?”

  “Sure,” Bel said. “I’ll see you there.”

  He watched Avery drive off and walked around the parking lot for a while, shining his flashlight into cars to make sure they were secure. Nothing much else to do.

  He thought about Daniel and hoped he was still in the cabin. Hoped he hadn’t wormed his way out of the restraints and the bag, and he hoped no one had gone out to Kamchee to mess with him. They were getting somewhere, he and Daniel, even if he wasn’t sure where it was. They were different than a few weeks ago, that was for sure. And sooner or later he was going to fuck Daniel—hopefully sooner. Bel had told himself that he was a gay man living in Logan—he was no stranger to doing without. His right hand had been his best friend for years. Except it was difficult to remember that when most nights he was sharing a bed with a hot guy, also gay, who Bel had been fantasizing about since middle school.

  Bel looked up sharply as he heard footsteps approaching.

  “Whoa!” The guy put his hands up in front of his face as Bel’s flashlight blinded him. “Someone said there was someone checking out all the cars, is all!”

  “And you didn’t see the police cruiser parked right over there?” Bel asked, angling the flashlight away.

  The guy squinted. “What?”

  Brock. Brock Tilmouth. One of the guys who had set fire to Daniel’s cabin. Probably.

  “Oh, hey Officer Belman.” Brock emphasized the ‘officer,’ like he was making a joke of it. Like they were still in school, and Brock thought he was hot shit because he could throw a football. Like he wasn’t some unemployed bum living in Logan’s trailer park.

  “You not out riding with Clayton and R.J. tonight?” Bel asked him.

  “Uh, no.” Brock spread his arms. “I’m right here. Obviously.”

  Bel didn’t react to that. “Thought maybe you boys might head out to Kamchee Woods, try to finish what you started.”

  “Didn’t start nothing.” Brock narrowed his eyes.

  “Is that so?” Bel rested a hand on his firearm. “Not what I heard.”

  “Fuck, man,” Brock snarled. “We didn’t do nothing, and who the fuck cares if Whitlock burns anyhow?”

  Bel fought his own rage. “You go near Whitlock’s place again, or Whitlock himself, and there will be consequences.”

  “That faggot killed my friend,” Brock said. “He deserves anything that’s coming to him.”

  “Not your job to decide that,” Bel said. “The law is done with Whitlock. You oughta be done as well. And if you ain’t, then next time we talk it’ll be at the station. You understand me?”

  Brock’s mouth tightened.

  “You understand me?” Bel asked again.

  “Yeah,” Brock said, scowling. “I got you loud and clear, Officer. Kenny’s dead, Whitlock’s walking around, and I gotta let it go. That’s the fucking law.”

  “Yeah, that’s the law.”

  Brock stared at him for a moment. “A
in’t no wonder people take it in their own hands then, is it?”

  Yeah, Bel thought as he watched Brock slink away like a stray cat. Ain’t no wonder.

  It was no good wasting his breath on Brock Tilmouth. Nothing Bel said would change the man’s mind, nor the rest of the town’s mind neither. Hell, a few weeks ago, Bel would have agreed with Brock.

  You killed a man, you didn’t deserve to be free.

  You beat a man for being gay, you were a fucking waste of air, but you didn’t deserve to burn to death.

  But Christ, it worked the other way too, didn’t it? You come on to the wrong guy, you didn’t deserve to be beaten almost to death. You didn’t deserve to live your whole life after that afraid and angry and alone. Bel thought about the rare occasions Billy’d snuck Bel into the Shack when Bel was still underage. Watching Billy hit on girls who wanted nothing to do with him. Those girls had never dragged Billy into a field and beaten the shit out of him for daring to think he had a chance.

  There were no winners here. Not Kenny, not Daniel, and not the law. They were all wanting, every one of them.

  11

  Bel got to Kamchee earlier than he’d expected the next morning.

  Daniel’s cabin never felt safe or welcoming. Bel’s memories of the place were of Daniel struggling in his cuffs while smoke filled the room. Of broken glass and the pig’s head and helping Daniel scrub graffiti off the front. Daniel’s hallucinations, his bruised wrists, the tiny, isolated room where he’d imprisoned himself for years.

  Yet Bel loved coming down the dirt road and catching his first glimpse of the cabin—if only because it meant he was going to see Daniel. Was going to kiss him while he was still tied down and taste him before Daniel could duck away to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

  Daniel was still sleeping when Bel let himself in. Holy shit. When was the last time that had happened? Bel closed the door quietly and went to Daniel’s kitchen to grab a glass of water. Came back and sat in the armchair, watching Daniel sleep.

  Daniel slept through most nights now. Once in a while he got up, and when that happened, Bel tried to do what the internet suggested and calmly lead Daniel back to bed. Sometimes Daniel didn’t want to go, and he and Bel would sit up and have an entire conversation with Daniel still asleep. Or they’d play cards. Daniel wasn’t always coherent when he was sleepwalking—and he cheated at cards; though Bel suspected he sometimes did this awake too. Bel had learned not to panic when he encountered unconscious Daniel. Not to try to wake him, not to allow himself to go cold with fear when Daniel hallucinated. Just to engage him, comfort him, and try to encourage him to lie back down.