Bonds of Love

by Snyder, J. M.

  On the ground before him, Jordan shook as if volts of electricity arced through his body. His eyes were still all white, his mouth open now, fresh blood dribbling over his lower lip and trickling from one nostril. Once Vic had seen everything Matt had been subjected to, he attacked the memories, crushing them between his hands like so much waste paper, balling them into a tiny piece of black hatred that he shoved back into Jordan’s mind. Physically he made no move; mentally his mind forced its way into Jordan’s head, pushing the crumpled memories before him as he barreled in.

  He had so much more in store for Jordan.

  Matt sensed his lover’s rage, caught a glimpse of his intent, and pressed against the barrier between them with all his might. He wanted to be a part of whatever revenge Vic exacted, he needed it…

  Then the wall disappeared and Matt staggered into Vic’s mind. He was alone inside his lover’s head—a fragile bridge connected Vic to Jordan, and when Matt tried to cross it, Vic pushed him back. Though he fought with Jordan’s mind, when he touched Matt’s, he was all comfort and gentle love all over again. ::No,:: he said, simply, firmly. ::Let me handle this.::

  From the safe vantage point where Vic kept him, Matt watched his lover break through Jordan’s hastily constructed defenses. One by one his mental blocks went down before Vic’s rage. Anything thrown in his path was kicked aside, irrelevant. Only one thing mattered, and Vic would not rest until the very essence of Jordan’s twisted mind lay broken and bleeding beneath Vic’s own.

  Jordan fought like a cornered beast, but Vic had much more experience with internal struggles and mastering the animal within. If he could subdue his own mind, build walls against the world that had pressed in on him daily for the past three years, then he could catch a flittering little bug like Jordan. In his mind, Vic imagined himself as a large foot, crashing down over Jordan’s memories, grinding his mind underfoot. As Jordan’s body struggled to breathe beneath Vic’s mental assault, the scene would change; he’d find himself locked in a small cage, too tiny to move around in, the steel walls Vic’s fingers as they closed in around him, crushing the life within. Then that image would disappear, replaced with a wrestling arena. Jordan glanced around wildly, disoriented by the sudden lack of confinement, only to hear a screaming whistle from above and look up to see Vic diving toward him, elbow cocked. Seconds later that powerful arm drove into Jordan’s back with a satisfying crack that Matt felt reverberate through Vic into him.

  If anyone had ventured into the bedroom, they would’ve thought Vic just stood there, staring down at Jordan. Upon further inspection they would have seen the tiny twitches of pain in Jordan’s hands and face and legs, and they would’ve had to lean in close, press an ear to Jordan’s lips, to hear the nonsensical mutterings that seemed to boil up from within his unconscious body.

  When Vic returned to himself, Matt hurried out of the way but didn’t go far—he hovered on the edges of Vic’s mind, wanting to believe everything was over, wanting to go home. For one brief moment, Vic’s presence enveloped his, infusing him with strength and stability. He heard Jordan’s ragged breath, heard the splash and fall of the shower, and though it wasn’t quite the truth, he still nodded when Vic asked him, ::Are you getting washed up?::

  Vic knew better; Matt knew he knew. But his lover didn’t push the issue. He just gave Matt a loving squeeze and nudged him back in the direction of his own body. ::Hurry, then,:: he said. ::Go on. I’m just about done.::

  ::I want to see,:: Matt replied. He heard himself sniffle a room away, his body an empty shell, but he couldn’t help thinking Vic wasn’t quite through with Jordan yet, and he didn’t want to miss anything. ::Please, Vic. Let me—::

  ::No.::

  A firm resolve folded around Matt, ending any further argument. He struggled but knew Vic was doing the right thing—Matt would be haunted long enough by what had happened already; he didn’t need anything else keeping him awake nights. Still, he caught a glimpse of a police officer in Vic’s mind, and the thought worried him. Were the cops on their way? Would Vic go too far, or let Jordan push him over the edge, and do something he’d later regret? What—

  ::Shh.:: Vic’s presence calmed Matt’s fears, soothing them silent. ::Trust me, Matty.::

  With reluctance, he extracted himself from Vic’s mind. As he came to himself in the shower, he found the water was still hot as it continued to rain down around him, plastering his curls to his scalp, runneling down his spine. He sighed, raised his face into the spray, breathed deep the misty vapor. It was hard to believe this ordeal was almost over.

  From the bedroom, he heard Jordan’s poisonous voice rise to an ear-splitting scream.

  * * * *

  Matt didn’t know how much time he spent standing in the shower, but a cool draft wafted into the bathroom whenever the air conditioner clicked on in the bedroom, and the cold air slipped through the shower curtain to twine around his wet legs. His hands were full of shampoo that he had lathered into his curls and then seemed to have forgotten how to rinse out. Suds and water sluiced off his body, splashing to the tub below. The screams and cries Jordan made at first had faded, and were now reduced to mere mutterings Matt couldn’t understand.

  A shadow darkened the shower curtain, then Vic called out, “Matty?”

  “Yeah.”

  One corner of the curtain pulled back to expose Vic. His hands were slick with lubricant and something that might have been blood, Matt wasn’t sure. It was watered down, just a few streaks on his forearms, a smear along the stomach of his tank top. Vic took one look at Matt, hair white with shampoo, and a tired grin crossed his face. “God, it’s so good to see you again.”

  Matt smiled, suddenly self-conscious, as if Vic had never seen him naked before. Vic yanked the shower curtain aside, then plunged his hands into the steaming hot spray to wash them clean. As Matt watched, he grabbed a hand towel that hung from the soap tray and began to lather it up. He scrubbed his hands, both arms up to his elbows, his neck and face, rinsing clean in Matt’s shower. Then he turned the rag onto Matt; with quick strokes like a busy mother, he washed the soap off Matt’s chest and arms and back, down both legs, around his genitals and his ass. His hands were firm but gentle, loving. As he worked, Matt rinsed the suds from his hair, his head hanging down beneath the shower until the water ran clear.

  Matt cut off the water and stood to find himself encased in thick terry cloth. Vic rubbed the towel over his arms and legs with brusque motions, then pointed to a pile of clothes Matt hadn’t noticed sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. “Brought these from home,” Vic told him. Matt hugged the towel tighter and rubbed at his eyes, which felt red and raw. “Let’s get you changed.”

  Together they managed to get Matt dried off and dressed. Vic took his hand; Matt wrapped the other around their entwined fingers and walked so close behind his lover that Vic’s elbow kept brushing against Matt’s stomach, but he didn’t want to be separated from this man, not ever again. He let Vic lead him from the bathroom, and for the first time he saw why Jordan had stopped screaming.

  Kyle’s boyfriend lay on his stomach on the guest bed, bathrobe discarded, ankles tied to the posts at the foot of the bed. His arms were bound behind his bare back, and his legs were sprawled at such angles that his fat, flabby ass stuck up in the air. A ball gag filled Jordan’s mouth, stifling him. His eyes were no longer white; they stared around wide and disbelieving—seeing Matt, they threatened to pop from their sockets as he tried to scream and couldn’t. His disheveled hair was a shock of bleached blonde against the dark blood that caked the back of his head.

  The necktie that had gagged Matt was now knotted around Jordan’s balls so tightly the skin of his sac was shiny and bruised a deep, ugly shade of purple. His cock jittered away from that damn vibrating ring he liked so much; as Matt watched, the first dribble of semen leaked from Jordan’s erection to dampen the bed beneath it.

  The coup de grâce jutted from his ample ass—one of Vic’s old anal toys, the bi
ggest dildo Matt had ever seen, thirteen long inches inflatable up to five inches around. From the appearance of the red, raw flesh distended around the black plastic, Matt suspected the dildo had been pumped to its breaking point before being shoved into his ass. Any move Jordan made drove the behemoth deeper into his rectum.

  A bark of surprised laughter escaped Matt, startling him, but he smothered it down before it could run away and turn into a vicious cackle. Jordan glanced at him, eyes pleading, his whole body fighting against the ropes that tied him in place.

  Vic gave the slightest tug on his hand. Matt turned away from Jordan and let himself be led home.

  * * * *

  Chapter 29

  On the way back to their apartment, Matt kept hold of one of Vic’s hands, refusing to let it go even when his lover had to shift gears. Vic used his other hand, reaching around the steering wheel to move the gear shaft into place, and kept his right hand curled between both of Matt’s palms. They drove in silence spoiled only by the radio playing softly between them.

  When the car pulled to a stop in front of their building, they sat together for a moment, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. With a squeeze of his hand, Vic leaned across the middle of the seat and planted a rough kiss on Matt’s temple. Sudden tears blurred Matt’s vision, but he refused to let them fall. He was safe now, here, with Vic. Everything was back to normal. He would be all right.

  He sat in the car, complacent, while Vic climbed out of the driver’s seat and trotted around the front bumper to open Matt’s door. Like a magnet, Matt’s hand found Vic’s again, taking it before his lover could move out of reach. He let himself be guided to the steps, inside their building, up the flight of stairs, over the threshold into their apartment. Only once the door shut behind him did he manage to breathe again.

  The first thing he wanted to do was take another shower. Though he’d washed up at Kyle’s, he swore he could still feel Jordan on him, phantom fingers crawling over his skin, cupping his balls. Without a word to Vic, he headed for their bathroom. As the water ran from the tap, heating up, Matt stripped off his clothes, kicked them away, and avoided looking at his naked body in the mirror above the sink. Instead he stepped into the tub, skin pinking from the hot water, and let the shower’s stinging blast try to wash him clean again.

  Though Vic left him to shower alone, Matt never strayed far from his lover’s mind. He didn’t want Vic out of contact, afraid that any loss or gap in their connection would result in Vic disappearing. If that happened, Matt would die, he just knew it, so he kept a tight grip on Vic’s consciousness, part of him riding around in his lover’s thoughts as he lathered and soaped himself clean.

  He stood beneath the shower spray until the water ran clear, then stood there another five minutes, until the hot water began to turn cool. Then he cut off the shower, stepped out of the tub, toweled dry with his back to the mirror so he wouldn’t have to look at his nakedness, and wrapped Vic’s thick, comfy, flannel robe around his nude frame. The masculine scent of his lover filled his senses, musk and spice and the lingering tinge of shaving cream, it intoxicated Matt in a way he never thought possible. Toweling his hair dry, he inhaled Vic’s smell, and deep within him, something inexplicable began to smooth down, even out, heal.

  In their bedroom, he dressed in a pair of jeans and one of Vic’s long-sleeve shirts. It hung from Matt, a size too big, but was warm and comforting and he wasn’t about to change. He rolled the sleeves up to his wrists and tucked the extra bulk into the back of his jeans. Then he noticed the bed, stripped bare, the pile of bedding still in their hamper, and set to work. It gave him some feeling of control as he made the bed with clean sheets, changed the pillow cases so they matched, tucked his teddy bear into place on his side of the bed. Then he dragged the hamper to the hallway, opened the French folding doors that hid their laundry machines, and started to run a load. He had the sudden urge to clean their apartment, from top to bottom, air out every single room and begin life anew all over again.

  As he filled the washer, he heard an electronic chirp from the phone base on the table behind him, a tell-tale sign that the receiver had been turned on. Edging around the dirty laundry now strewn across the floor, Matt leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, out of sight. He heard Vic dialing the phone, the number pad making little beeps with each button pushed, then heard the distant ring of a phone far away, tinny through the line. Gently he probed Vic’s mind, searching for who he might be calling. The gym? The bus depot? Surely if they hadn’t shown up to work yet, someone somewhere figured they weren’t coming in.

  But the face that sharpened in Vic’s head wasn’t Roxie at the gym, nor the woman who ran the switchboard at the city bus lot. This was a pert blonde Matt didn’t recognize, though her face was somehow familiar, as if he’d once spoken to her in passing. ::Who—?::

  He felt Vic touch his mind but before he could dig for details, the ringing stopped. Whoever it was on the other end of the line spoke through Vic inside Matt’s head, as if he were the one holding the phone. ::Richmond City Police Department.::

  The words jolted through Matt like a shot of whiskey, fear chasing in their wake. The police meant he’d have to tell someone what happened, and why, and that was the last thing Matt wanted to do right now. Couldn’t they just move on with their lives, put this behind them, let Jordan fade into the past as if he had never existed in the first place?

  Vic spoke, his voice in stereo, out loud as well as inside Matt’s mind. “Kendra Jones, please.”

  The blonde came to the forefront of Vic’s mind. For an instant she was illuminated by harsh overhead lights that held back the night beyond a storefront window, pad and paper in hand, a frown on her face as she looked from Matt to Vic, waiting for an explanation that never came. Matt saw himself, arms around Vic’s waist, and recalled all too well the events that had put that scared look on his face. The 7-11 shooting, that’s where he’d seen her before.

  So why was Vic calling her now?

  Giving up all pretense of privacy, Matt entered the kitchen. Vic leaned back against the sink, arms crossed, the receiver tucked between his shoulder and his chin. Crossing his arms in a similar manner, Matt closed the distance between them to stand right up on Vic, his bare toes curling around his lover’s, his jaw set in that way he had that demanded answers. Though he now knew Vic’s response, he felt the urge to ask anyway. “Who are you calling?”

  Before Vic could reply, he turned back to the phone, dropping his gaze from Matt’s to concentrate on the conversation. “Officer Jones? Vic here.”

  Matt stepped closer to lean against Vic’s chest, forcing his lover’s arms to open and refold themselves around his shoulders. With his head on Vic’s chest, he listened to what this Kendra Jones had to say. The words spoke from Vic’s mind to his, and whenever Vic said something, his reply rumbled through Matt. ::Mr. Braunson, yes. Vic. I was just getting ready to call you. We have him in custody.::

  “Good news,” was all Vic said, but a flash of vindictive happiness shot through him and even Matt smiled; he didn’t have to ask who they spoke of, he knew it had to be Jordan. “About the way you found him—”

  ::I wrote it all up in the report,:: Officer Jones said, and Matt thought he heard a hint of a smile in her voice. ::The evidence we gathered at his house this morning more than anything indicates he’s a sexual pervert. He’s tried to say you were somehow involved in his…his positioning, if you will, but the lack of fingerprints makes it hard to pinpoint you as a culprit. The general consensus here is he somehow managed to do that to himself.::

  Out loud, Matt whispered, “No fingerprints? Then how…”

  A hand on his back silenced him, but his lover fed him a delicious image of Jordan screaming in anger and pain as Vic used his mental prowess to coerce the man into tying his own ankles to the bed, putting on the cock ring himself, cinching his balls up tight in the necktie, and working that thick dildo deep into his ass. With each squeeze of the hand pump, J
ordan had struggled to free himself from Vic’s mind grip, but the larger the dildo grew, the more it tore sensitive skin, and the harder it was for Jordan to concentrate on struggling. Sicko that he was, there had been a very real part of him that enjoyed Vic’s torture, as much as he had enjoyed inflicting such pain and misery on Matt. The only thing Vic did was secure Jordan’s arms behind his back, to keep him from untying himself once they were gone, and that had been done with his hands inside two little plastic bags—Jordan had left the box of baggies on the bedside table, within easy reach when he needed a new one to attach to Matt’s dick. The fact that Vic had used them to keep his prints off the rope seemed to be nothing short of poetic justice.

  On the phone, Officer Jones continued. ::Eventually we’ll need to get a statement from Mr. diLorenzo. I can come by later today, if that works for you. Might be better to do it at home, in a non-threatening location, or so my experts say. Mr. Dubrowski has already been questioned.::

  Matt waited for Vic to answer. When he didn’t, Matt glanced up to find his lover scrutinizing him, a hard-to-read look on his face. Part of him wanted Vic to say no, shelter him from having to relive the past twenty-four hours, the hell that Jordan put him through. But he had to do it, he knew he had to, and the cop was right, being in the safety of his own home, with Vic close at hand, would make it easier to get through the ordeal. With the slightest nod, he indicated his assent.

  Into the phone, Vic said, “How about three or so this afternoon? We’ll be here.”

  * * * *

  Over a quick lunch of chicken salad sandwiches, Matt thumbed through Vic’s memories of the day before, trying to find out what he might expect from the cop when she arrived. He felt Vic’s anguish and fear as if it were his own, and though his lover tried to hide it, he felt Vic’s arousal as well, when he had thought the bondage images sent from Matt were done in jest and not for real. “What was I supposed to think?” Vic asked, defensive. “Last time we made love, you had your hands behind your back. I thought this was just going a step farther. I’m sorry.”