The Gentle Dom

by Sean Michael

  Rec put his arm around Barclay and rubbed his back. This sucked big-time.

  “Can I go in? I need to get my stuff.” Barclay asked.

  “I’m not sure how much is salvageable, but I’d like you to wait until the forensics team is done. That way you don’t taint any evidence. You’ll be able to come back tomorrow.”

  Barclay sighed.

  “It’s okay, B. We’ll come back and get your stuff tomorrow.” He poured as much comfort as he could through his hands.

  “There’s not a whole lot that wasn’t destroyed,” Union noted. “It’s pretty bad. What’s not broken has been peed on. You might be better off hiring a company to come in and clear the place out, then deep clean it. You probably don’t want to see it.”

  “I think I need to.” Barclay turned to Rec. “I need to see what happened. To know. Does that make me crazy?”

  Rec shook his head. “No. No, it doesn’t. It means you need some closure, and if this gives it to you, then I’m behind you a hundred percent.” He would always be behind Barclay. Always.

  Barclay squeezed his hand. “Thank you.” Then he turned to Union. “I’d like to see, please. I won’t touch anything, but I’m imagining all sorts of stuff, and if I see it, then I’ll know and I can…. Well, then I’ll know.”

  “That’s your prerogative, of course. Come on, I’ll bring you in—we’ve put police tape across the door, but we can duck under it. I’d like to have a copy of your key so we can lock the door behind us. We can go get one cut after you look around.”

  “Okay.”

  Rec made sure Barclay made it down from the van, then followed behind him again. This time it was to protect him should the ex suddenly appear. With him and Union as escorts, Forsythe would be crazy to try to go for Barclay. Of course that was half the problem, wasn’t it—Barclay’s ex was off his rocker.

  When they got to Barclay’s door, Union turned and gave them each a direct look. “It’s not a nice sight. Are you sure?”

  “I have to know,” Barclay insisted.

  “And I’m not letting him confront it on his own,” Rec added. He would be there for Barclay, no question.

  Barclay grabbed his hand for a minute and held on tight. Then he took a deep breath and grabbed the handles of his crutches. “I’m ready.”

  Union held back the tape and Barclay ducked beneath it, Rec right behind him. Rec nearly bowled Barclay over when he stopped right inside the door, a small gasp coming from him. “Oh my God.”

  “I don’t think God had anything to do with this.” Rec looked around at the destruction; he thought this kind of thing only happened in the movies.

  The television was on the floor, the glass shattered into thousands of pieces. The one bookshelf had been emptied out, books torn up, photos ripped apart, the frames bent, glass broken and scattered everywhere. The mattress had been torn open, a knife still sticking out of it at one end, and it was wet, the smell confirming that the liquid was piss. All the cupboards were open, several of their doors torn off their hinges, and food was smeared all over the wall.

  The word “bitchy-poo” was written in what Rec hoped was ketchup across one wall and “kill you” covered the one opposite.

  There was clearly nothing in here to be salvaged. Nothing at all.

  Rec stepped up close to Barclay, being a wall at his back. “I’m so sorry, B.” This was a horrible invasion—a personal attack no matter that the things broken and violated were just that—things. He didn’t want to think what would have happened if Barclay had been here for this. Forsythe had tried to kill him once already, after all.

  “He’s actually done us a favor,” Union noted as he entered the little apartment. “We can arrest him for the breaking in and the vandalism. He’s left his DNA on the mattress, and I’m willing to bet we’ll find fingerprints too. And that”—Union pointed at the threat on the far wall—“is a direct threat to you. Now we can detain him and test his DNA to confirm it’s a match.”

  “Some favor,” muttered Barclay.

  Union nodded sympathetically. “I know it doesn’t seem that way, but if he’d just kept following you, we couldn’t have done anything about it, and it might have escalated to this kind of rage against you directly. This way we can act before it comes to that.”

  “I know. I just…. It’s going to take some time for me to find the good in this.”

  “That’s fair.” Rec rubbed circles on Barclay’s back, hoping to offer comfort. “Come on, let’s go home. We’ll hire someone to clean this place up and ask them to put aside anything they find that’s worth salvaging. You don’t have to deal with this.”

  Barclay nodded stiffly and turned around, the look on his face quiet and determined. He ducked under the police tape and headed back down the hall. Rec followed.

  Barclay didn’t say a word all the way back to the van, and Rec respected his quiet. He helped Barclay back up into the van, then went around to the driver’s side.

  “You okay?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I…. It’s not like anything I had was worth anything, but I had some books, some pictures, and a couple trophies that really meant something to me, and now they’re gone. Like gone, gone. Destroyed. What did I do to make him hate me so badly?”

  “I don’t know, baby.” How did he answer that? “I honestly think he’s not all there. He’s crazy, and that hasn’t got anything to do with you. I think you’re just a convenient target to him. I’m just grateful you weren’t there when he showed up.”

  Barclay shivered. “Yeah, me too. I almost came by myself.”

  “You know I was never going to let you do that. Not after we ran into him in the street a couple weeks ago. Let me take you home. I’ll even pick up some powdered doughnuts at the grocers on the corner.”

  Barclay’s mouth quirked up into a smile at the mention of doughnuts. Score.

  “Maybe I’ll smear them all over your body so I can lick the sugar off your skin. Hell, maybe I’ll smear them all over my body. Tempt you into eating me up.”

  “You don’t need doughnuts for that, Rec.” Barclay glanced up at him, that smile remaining on his face. “I’ll gladly eat you any day.”

  “Woo! Well, then, why are we still parked here? I need to get you home so we can drop trou and get to munching.”

  Barclay’s laughter was one of his favorite sounds in the world, and he almost didn’t want to start up the engine and cover it up.

  “Take me home already,” Barclay told him.

  “Yes, Boss.” He grinned as he started up the engine, ducking Barclay’s halfhearted swat. This was much better than moping or getting depressed over the loss of what were just things in the end. They would find new stuff that was important to them together.

  They wound up taking the van to the gym when a quick text proved that Ian was still there, finishing up his workout. Rec suspected that he’d actually hooked up with a sub for some afternoon delight, but he didn’t say anything. They left the van in the parking lot and the keys with the front desk, then headed back out.

  “Are you going to be okay walking all the way back? We could Uber it.” He probably should have driven Barclay home before dropping off the van, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Barclay there by himself. Forsythe was still out there, and for all they knew, the guy had been sitting in a car staking out Barclay’s old place, waiting to follow them.

  “I want to try.” Barclay had that stubborn set to his face he got whenever Rec suggested cutting his workout short for whatever reason. It was that determination that had brought Barclay this far this quickly, and Rec had no doubt Barclay was going to make it back. There might be a soak in the tub and a massage needed at the end of it, but his money was on Barclay walking the entire kilometer home.

  He fell into step with Barclay, the sunshine warm on their backs. “You want any water?” he asked as they passed the little grocers at the end of their street. He’d promised to pick up powdered doughnuts.

  “Yeah, actually. I
could use some.”

  They went in together and traveled up and down the aisles, grabbing the doughnuts, a loaf of bread, and some cheese, along with some juice and the bottle of water they’d originally come in for. Rec found himself glancing around and checking out the other patrons, making sure none of them were Barclay’s ex.

  He hated that, hated that he was paranoid now and looking for evil lurking around corners. They needed to be vigilant, though, until Forsythe got picked up.

  They paid for the stuff and stood under the awning outside the store, munching on a couple doughnuts and drinking most of the water between them. Then they continued on, Barclay seeming to have caught a second wind from their pit stop.

  “You want to talk about it?” Rec asked.

  “Not really. I mean, it’s done. The most important stuff was already moved, I guess. I’m sad for the few things I lost that were important to me, but it’s not like anyone died or anyone was hurt. This time.” Barclay sighed, rolled his shoulders. “I just want… I don’t know. I want things to be okay.”

  He thought about that as they walked, the bag swinging against his leg rhythmically. “Well. Things between you and me are going awesome. Your rehabilitation is coming along great. I think if you put everything together, we’re doing better than okay.”

  “That’s an interesting way of thinking about things.” Barclay stopped, panting some. They were a little over halfway there. “Is there any more water left?”

  He passed it over. “Go ahead and finish it. We have juice too. If you need a longer break, there’s the bench by the bus stop.”

  “I’m fine. I am. I just…. I’m fine.” Barclay sucked the water down.

  He wasn’t entirely sure having Barclay walk home the rest of the way was the best decision, but he also knew his lover was going to tough it out and make it happen. That tenacity was a part of why he loved Barclay. “Okay. Fine, boy, let’s keep going.”

  “I am. Don’t push. I’m going. I’ve had a bit of a day.”

  “I know, B. And I’m not the one pushing—you are. You’re going to do it too. And I promise a massage and a hot bath when we get home.” He couldn’t wait to get his hands all over Barclay. It might have only been this morning since they last touched, but he was eager like it had been much longer than that.

  He knew a part of it was needing to make sure that Barclay was all right. He needed to spend time connecting deeply.

  “You’re doing great,” he told Barclay when his boy appeared to be lagging. “We’re almost there, and I’m warming my fingers up to give you a massage.” He held out his hands so Barclay could see as he opened and closed his fingers.

  Barclay laughed for him, which was what he’d been going for. Excellent. Buoyed by the laughter, they easily made it the last hundred meters. Rec let them in, and Barclay crutched his way to the elevator, which was already on the ground floor waiting for them. They went in, and Barclay leaned against the back wall with a sigh.

  “You made it.” Rec pressed the button for their floor.

  “Almost—I still have to get down the hall. And then to the bedroom.”

  “Taking your massage on the bed rather than the couch?”

  “That’ll be more comfortable for what comes after the massage,” Barclay noted.

  “A nap?”

  “Eventually, sure. But not what I’m hoping for.”

  Happiness surged through his body, and he smiled at Barclay. “I think maybe that can be arranged.”

  “I thought so.” Barclay sounded slightly smug but mostly happy, and that worked for Rec.

  The elevator came to a stop and he went down the hall with his boy. Going home together.

  Chapter Eleven

  BARCLAY WAS helping Rec put together a ninja warrior class. While he couldn’t really do the balance or leg-intensive obstacles yet, he rocked the upper-body and finger-strength ones, so he could demonstrate those and explain how the others worked and suggest where they should be slotted within the coursework.

  They decided on two evenings a week for the course, where each evening would focus on two or three of the obstacles. The courses were twelve weeks long, and the last two weeks would put everything together. It was designed to have everyone ready to run an obstacle-course race by the time they were done.

  It felt so good to have something to do again. To be useful. He was even getting paid for “consulting,” and Tyrone had told him that if the course was popular, they’d add a second one next year, and if he was up to it, he could teach it. There was even the possibility there’d be interest in one during the day or on weekends.

  Barclay and Rec leaned over Rec’s iPad, finalizing the course plan.

  “You know, it’d be great to have you help me out with this,” Rec suggested. “I’ll give you half of what they’re paying me to be my assistant.”

  “I still have savings,” he pointed out. He didn’t need charity.

  “It isn’t about making sure you have money. I think you’ll lend veracity to the course, being a stuntman and all, so that should increase sign-ups. And if you’re assisting me and working the same hours I am, it’s only fair you get some of the credit and money. If you don’t want to do it, that’s another story. You can just say so, though.”

  “No, I want to do it.” Working with Rec on the planning over the last couple of days proved how much he wanted to be doing things again, doing more than just his physical therapy. He needed an outlet. This one seemed ideal. And he liked the Iron Eagle’s clientele. Everyone had been welcoming, had treated him like one of their own.

  He’d even spoken with some of the subs, and most of them were happy to share their experiences with him. Hell, Lance and Bran had all but taken him under their wings. Lance was a sweetheart, and Bran had a wicked sense of humor and could have a sharp tongue, but you could tell he was a good guy. They made him feel like he belonged even if he wasn’t into spanking and whips and shit. Apparently not everyone who was into BDSM was. It was rather fascinating.

  Rec poked him in the side.

  Barclay frowned. “What was that for?”

  “You’re woolgathering.”

  He looked down at his hands. “Nope. No wool.”

  Rec laughed and Barclay watched. He loved how happiness looked on Rec’s face.

  “Seriously, what were you thinking about?” Rec asked.

  Barclay lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “About Lance and Bran and how different we all are. How that’s cool.”

  He’d seen some things at the gym that did nothing for him, but that was cool. He got that. Hell, he liked it. It made him feel that Rec needed what he had and vice versa.

  “That’s one of the really cool things about the lifestyle. It caters to everyone no matter their kinks. There’s lots of stuff I’m surprised folks are into, but to each their own. You know? And as a community everyone is really accepting.”

  “At least they pretend to be.” He knew that there were bad seeds in every community, people that were mean or intolerant, what have you. There were good and bad people in every kind of community.

  “I think Lance and Bran are being honestly friendly in their overtures to you,” Rec noted. “The subs especially seem to be pleased whenever they have a new member of their community.”

  “Oh, I think so too. Totally. They’ve been great. I mean, in general. Just because someone’s kinky doesn’t mean they’re good.”

  “Ah, I get what you mean. And you’re right, of course. There’s bad people in any subset of people.” Once again, Rec echoed his thoughts. That happened a lot, and Barclay liked it. It made it feel like they were on the same wavelength.

  Rec made a few changes on the last page of the course info before handing the iPad over. “There. What do you think?”

  He looked it over and nodded, satisfied with the plan. “I think this will be fun, don’t you?” Fun, but also instructional. It would be hard for the participants, but if they put in the work, they’d come out fit, capable, and prepa
red to participate competently in obstacle races.

  “I do. I bet the course is going to fill up fast, and they’ll add another one when this one has run its course. Maybe even split them into intermediate and beginner, something like that.” Rec saved the chart and emailed it to the guys who were on the board for the gym. “We should get official feedback on Monday, but Tyrone was pretty sure this class out of all of them would be the one that we got enough people for, hands down.”

  Rec was excited about the courses, he could tell. He liked the enthusiasm, the energy. It lit Rec up from the inside.

  “You ready for some lunch?” Rec asked.

  He was.

  “I need to hit the head, so I’ll meet you up front.” Rec leaned in and gently brushed their lips together.

  “Sounds good.” Barclay grabbed his crutches and headed to the front. They were just there for balance and safety these days. It was a gorgeous day out, so he went outside to wait for Rec in the sunshine. He raised his head to soak in the sun, when he was suddenly thrown into shadow.

  He shielded his eyes, Duncan coming into view, his ex standing over him.

  “You don’t belong here. I will call the cops.” He had his crutches in hand; he could beat Duncan down if he had to.

  “Oh, Bitchy-poo grew a spine.” How had he never noticed before how whiny and scratchy Duncan’s voice was?

  “Fuck off, you moron.” He hadn’t ever been scared of Duncan, more stunned by his reputation, astonished at the abuse, and then ashamed.

  “What did you say to me?” Duncan looked shocked, like honestly shocked.

  “I said, fuck off, you moron. Do you need me to use smaller words?”

  Duncan took a step back. Then his expression turned mean, and he made a fist and pulled his arm back.

  Barclay caught the blow with his crutch, slamming Duncan’s arm hard. “I said FUCK OFF!”

  It felt good to scream, better to hear men come running. First out of the door was Master Day, who ran the front desk, and right behind him were Tide, Lance, Bran, and two guys he didn’t know. Rec was right behind them.