Wrecked

by Deanna Wadsworth

  He gasped at the man’s easy artistic talent.

  Rief’s head shot up. Lost in a world of his own, he appeared startled to find the subject in his bed alive. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, but it looks just like me.”

  His dimple flashed in the candlelight. “That’s because it is you, silly.”

  Mathew watched as he brought the image to life with uncommon skill. A few lines, a brush of fingertip for shading, the side of his hand blurring an edge. His skin quickly stained from the charcoal but he didn’t seem to mind. As if his hands knew exactly how to move, following old habits, he created Mathew with ease.

  Drowsiness overcame him and he dozed while Rief drew furiously, sketch after sketch. He drew his face, his hands, his naked body, his hair. Mathew stifled a giggle when a page with his softened cock floated into the ever growing pile. But he didn’t think Rief even heard him, he was too immersed in his creations.

  After a while, Rief got up from the bed and moved into his studio.

  Curious, Mathew drew the sheet on and followed him, a pleasant glow of warmth in his belly. He took a chair as Rief withdrew a blank canvas, already stretched over a wooden frame and as big as the one he’d painted Mathew on before. He selected a few choice drawings and began to set out paints, oils, brushes, and linseed oil. He said nothing as he prepared, so consumed he did not even dress, but worked in the nude. He brought a lantern near the easel and the light danced golden over his bare skin—skin Mathew had touched and felt pressed against his own.

  Enthralled, he watched Rief’s naked form move, easy and graceful. The flickering glow of the candles highlighted his sculpted muscles, his strength and power. After a moment, the cat jumped onto the table beside Mathew, looking for attention. He patted his ebony fur absently as Rief took a wide brush and began to cover the blank canvas with a wash of umber. Once finished, he began mixing pigments. The colors were wild, vibrant. Intense.

  What Mathew wouldn’t give to be able to capture a photograph of Rief as he stood there, bare and glowing before his art. Consumed with a secret need, hands flowing like water and limbs swaying with passion, he rendered his thoughts and emotions into something tangible. Rief was almost in a state of unconsciousness as he worked, wholly consumed. His devotion to his art, total and without hesitation was much like the way he lost all semblance of self to passion. Mathew couldn’t help feel a twinge of jealousy that when he was gone, the artwork would receive the affection Rief had once shown his body.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Mathew whispered sleepily, standing up to stretch.

  Rief flinched and turned. “What?”

  “Did you forget I was here?” He adjusted the sheet and joined Rief.

  A blush stained his cheeks. “I’m sorry I was ignoring you, Matt. But I’m always by myself when I paint.”

  “Don’t apologize. I like watching you. What I said was, I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Placing his brush aside, Rief embraced him, leaving streaks of black charcoal and paint on Mathew’s skin and the sheet. “What? That you’re sharing a bed with another man?”

  He sniffed and scooted closer, keeping the sheet over his shoulders. “Yes, exactly. I’ve always been afraid to do anything like this. But with you everything feels so natural, so easy. I’m completely relaxed.”

  Rief grinned. “Getting your sugar stick sucked will do that.”

  “I’m being serious.” He tightened his arms until they were both wrapped up in the sheet.

  “You are?” Rief teased. Then without warning, he gave Mathew a sharp smack on the bottom.

  “Hey, that hurt.” He scowled, annoyance threatening his good mood. “How should you like it if I did that to you?”

  “I’d like it.”

  He gave him a funny look, then scoffed. “You’re being absurd.”

  “Am I? Did I or did I not just beg for your cock down my throat? You’re surprised I might like a little pain?”

  “You mean to tell me, the idea of me paddling your bottom excites you?”

  Leveling a sultry gaze on him, Rief smiled. “Sometimes pain can be erotic.”

  He huffed. “You are teasing.”

  “No, I’m not.” That wicked grin widened and Rief gently thrust his groin into Mathew’s stomach. There was no denying his genuine interest in such an activity when it pressed against him.

  His throat tightened. “You want me to hit you?”

  Rief kissed his neck then buried his face in his shoulder, whispering, “Yes. You can pretend that I was naughty.”

  A hot pulse of arousal went through him. They’d agreed not to be embarrassed when they were together, but Mathew didn’t know if he would ever understand Rief’s needs. Why did this hero want to be pinned to a bed and have a cock shoved down his throat, or spanked like a child? Or weirder still, have a cock up his ass?

  Though he didn’t understand, Mathew didn’t want to be selfish. He wanted to give Rief whatever he needed.

  “You have been naughty,” he finally conceded, swaying his hips.

  Rief let out a breathless laugh. “Yes, and you’re my uptight schoolmaster who wants to punish me because I sucked off the pretty blond boy in class and not you.”

  His heart raced at the image Rief presented. “That was a very naughty thing to do.”

  “Are you going to do something about it, sir?”

  “Indeed.” Smiling and thinking he could enjoy this game, Mathew took hold of his hand and led him back to the bed.

  It seemed Rief had done this before because he eagerly bent over on all fours. “Go on then,” he prompted, displaying his delectable bum. “Hit me.”

  Laying the sheet on the bed, Mathew hesitated. “You are being serious, right?”

  “Yes,” Rief said, laughing impatiently.

  As if his body had a mind of its own, a will to please Rief, he moved forward and knelt beside him. He placed one hand on his round bottom, caressing both cheeks, massaging. Rief groaned, arching his back. His cock was erect already, making Mathew’s mouth water.

  Dear God, the man really wants a spanking!

  He gave him a swat, not very hard, but just enough to make a sound.

  Rief twitched, then groaned. “Again.”

  Heart thumping, Mathew did it once more, this time leaving a small pink mark. Feeling bad, he quickly rubbed it.

  Rief spread his legs. “Again. But a lot harder. Make it hurt.”

  Fire leapt in Mathew’s veins with that seductive command. So he spanked Rief, noticing that his balls swung from the action. Savoring the sharp sound of his hand striking skin, he did it a couple more times, surprised to find his own cock lengthening with every hungry moan Rief made. After each smack, he made sure to stroke his red cheeks. Those low and tempting balls called to him and he took them in hand, caressing.

  “Pull on ’em,” Rief whispered, throwing a sultry glance at him.

  Mathew tugged and Rief moaned. Wincing, he squeezed them to the point he wouldn’t like, but Rief seemed to relish. Then he gave him another whack.

  “Harder, Matt. Leave a mark.”

  That startled him. “Why do you like this?”

  His voice was low. “I don’t know.”

  Mathew’s hand froze, and he swallowed hard as a dark thought occurred to him. “Do you like this because you think you deserve it?”

  “Oh, don’t be so serious,” he scolded. “It’s just play.”

  A terrible sense of dread filled him. “Rief Lawson,” he said, slowly but firmly. “Look at me right now.”

  Rief hesitated, glancing over his shoulder but not meeting his eye.

  “Damnation!” he cursed vehemently and climbed from the bed.

  Drawing the sheet over his erection, Rief sat back. “What’s wrong?”

  “You really want me to hurt you,” he accused. “Admit it. This isn’t play.”

  He screwed up his face. “Now who’s the one being absurd?”

  But his awkward pos
ture told the tale his surly attitude couldn’t disguise.

  A sick wave of sadness hit Mathew as comprehension dawned bright. “You really hate yourself so much that you want me to abuse you? Whatever for?”

  Sudden shame and fury contorted Rief’s features, and he wrapped the sheet around himself and stood, stalking over to his easel. “I don’t hate myself.”

  “Yes, you do. Why?”

  His shoulders stiffened, but his head dropped, his body at war with itself. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’m a rather intelligent man, not to brag,” Mathew said with a superior cross of his arms. “I can understand plenty.”

  He glared at him then. “Can we not talk about this? We only have so much time together. Why do you have to ruin it?”

  Taken aback by his harshness, Mathew gaped. “You’re asking me to leave marks on you, to hurt you, yet you expect me to pretend nothing is amiss? Like it’s—” With a sudden gasp, he covered his mouth with both hands as an even darker reality struck.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “You made me use you. Y-you made me... force myself on you earlier.” With a trembling hand, he gestured to the bed where they’d shared what Mathew had thought was the most beautiful moment of his life. Now the ugliness of reality scarred the sweet memory. His voice cracked when he asked, “Good God, why would you make me do that?”

  “I didn’t make you do anything,” Rief snapped, still not meeting his eye. “It was your idea to fuck my throat.”

  His eyes stung and his lower lip trembled. Shamed, he put his back to Rief, knowing he spoke the truth. Mathew had felt powerful, manly, when he’d pinned Rief to the bed, using him for his own pleasure. He had liked being in control.

  What did that mean? Was this why men like them were sentenced to Newgate? Because they were perversions of nature like everyone believed? Had denying his desires been the only thing keeping a deeper, more demented malady at bay? By acting out his carnal lusts, had he been turned into a deviant?

  Furiously, he shook his head, trying to make sense of all this.

  No!

  He would never believe what they shared was sick, or depraved.

  “It was beautiful,” he insisted aloud. “I took care of you afterward. Yes, I may have”—he couldn’t bring himself to say it again—“but we kissed and held each other too. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

  “Well, don’t worry, you didn’t. I already told you I liked it.”

  “Yes, but there’s more you’re not telling me.”

  “Why do you care?” he snarled, knocking over a stool and making Mathew jump.

  “Of course I care!”

  “You’ll be leaving this island soon. Why can’t we just enjoy ourselves instead of delving into things best left alone? You liked fucking me that way. It made you feel like a man.” Rief pointed at the painting. “It made you feel like him.”

  Angry Rief would throw that in his face, he bunched his fists at his side, not caring if he stood there completely naked. “Yes, you’re right, it did! My entire life is outside of my control and it felt good to be in charge. But I am not my father, dammit. I don’t need power and violence to prove that I’m a man. Nor will I hit you or abuse you because you think you deserve it. I care too much about you to cause you any distress.”

  “Don’t you see, Matt?” Rief cried, throwing out his hands. The sheet dropped, clinging to one arm and creating the illusion of a broken wing. Pain shadowed his hazel eyes, fear wrinkling his brow. “You’re not trying to hurt me. This whole thing is nothing to worry over. I like to get rough in bed, and sometimes I like it to hurt. I don’t know why, maybe something is wrong with me. Maybe I do hate myself. But I don’t need you to analyze me. I just want you to fuck me and make me forget that everything in my life is miserable. Is that too much to ask?”

  Had people hated him so long that he found nothing worthy to love inside himself?

  His heart broke because he knew the answer. “Oh Rief.”

  He shied away, the sheet falling to the floor. “And why shouldn’t I hate myself? Everyone else does. My family, this town. Dammit!” He raised his hands in fists, caught up by a sudden rage. “Even God himself hated me so much that he cursed me with these wretched things!”

  Stunned by his sudden vehemence, Mathew whispered, “I don’t hate you.”

  Rief lowered his face and hands. “You would if you knew the truth.”

  “Then tell me this truth, Rief. Make me understand what is eating your very soul so that you would rather be abused than loved. Explain it to me so I can prove to you that nothing will ever make me hate you.”

  “You want the truth?” he asked in a dangerous, quiet voice.

  Mathew flinched but stubbornly raised his chin. “Yes.”

  Fire flashing in his eyes, Rief stormed across the room, startling Mathew as he threw open a drawer. He snatched up a stack of sketchbooks and flung them to the ground.

  Mathew jumped back when the papers scattered. “What are you doing?” he cried, covering his privates as Rief threw another book at his feet.

  “Telling you the truth!” He grabbed a few rolled up canvases adding them to the pile.

  “Contain yourself!” Mathew barely dodged another painting before it hit his leg. A tremble of apprehension prickled his spine. Rief was working himself up into a rage he had no idea how to calm.

  “You wanted it, Matt, well there it is!” He tossed more papers on the ground, opening drawers and throwing things out like a mad man. “Take a look! Take a good look and then tell me if you still wanna be here!”

  Confused by this insane tantrum, Mathew looked down. “I’m sure—” His words were swallowed by a gasp. “Dear God!”

  Littering the floor were hundreds of sketches of Mathew.

  They were so many he didn’t know where to look first.

  Naked in an exotic pool. One in the water. One was of just his face, lips parted and wanting. Another fully nude. Some were smiling, others laughing.

  Each and every one of them was undeniably Mathew.

  His mouth opened and closed, his mind trying to collect his thoughts and put them into words. “When did you make all of these?”

  “I thought you heard the stories? Rief Lawson can see the future.” He laughed maniacally. “He’s insane, didn’t you know?”

  Perturbed, Mathew pursed his lips and furrowed his brows. “Well, I don’t know about the future part, but you are behaving rather insane presently. Running about naked and throwing things. Honestly, man, get a hold of yourself.”

  Nostrils flaring, Rief stared for several heartbeats. Then something seemed to connect in his mind and he blinked. The anger receded and slowly, embarrassment crept across his face. “Yeah, that was a little crazy, wasn’t it?”

  “Indeed,” he said dryly, picking up a charcoal drawing of himself. It did not have perfect lines like the ones Rief made earlier. There were smudges on the hands and feet, as if the artist had been trying to correct his mistakes. “When did you draw this?”

  Rief stood in the center of his studio, surrounded by a mass of drawings and canvases, his nude body the cyclone that had destroyed the room. All of the fight seemed to drain out of him. “A month ago? Ten years ago? I have no idea. Look at the date in the corner.”

  “June 1848? But that was a decade ago! I was just a boy. How can this be?”

  “Because I’ve known you a lot longer than you’ve known me, Matt.” He put his back to him, shoulders slumped. “I’ve been drawing and painting you since my mother’s death.”

  Dumbfounded, Mathew stared at the drawings. “But we’ve never met. How is such a thing possible?”

  “I don’t know!” With a growl, he ran his fingers through his hair, scratching at the back of his head, his every muscle clenching to define his frustration. A darkness had overtaken Rief, and he did not want to release it. Hate and self-loathing, welcome companions.

  Mathew chose his next words carefully. “I am very confuse
d, but I want to understand. Can you try to explain this to me?”

  “I’ve been painting you for years, Matt. Years.” Rief looked at him then, the anguish in his eyes piercing Mathew’s heart. “Something is wrong with me. Terribly wrong. I’ve had the sight since childhood. It is a curse I cannot stop, and do not understand. So how can I explain it to you? I think it would be best if you just left.”

  Mathew gave a belligerent snort. “I am not going anywhere! Especially when you just confessed how you’ve been making drawings of me for years.” He indicated a sketch on the floor, in full naked glory. “And rather randy drawings, don’t you think? If anyone saw them they would think you a libertine as well as a fortuneteller.”

  “You got what you came for, so just go,” he snapped, pointing out at the night sky. “It’s still dark. No one will ever know you were here.”

  Placing his hands on his hips, he frowned. “No matter how rude you behave, I know you’re just embarrassed. Since we agreed there was no need for that when we’re together, you can cease this petulant behavior at once. I’m not going anywhere until we talk about this.”

  Rief scowled at his scolding tone. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Of course you don’t.” He gave a sarcastic sniff. “That’s why you threw all of this at me.” With a sigh, he stared at the myriad of sketches and various “Mathews” at his feet. “This is all just so—” He struggled for the right word. “—impossible.”

  Rief gave the room a sweeping gesture. “Yet, here it is.”

  Though Mathew prided himself on logic, proof of the impossible was in his hand and littering the floor. He wanted to name it a hoax, but the sheer magnitude of the drawings could not be ignored. And every one seemed to be dated, proving their creation had been long before Mathew became a man or even set foot on this island.

  Could Mr. Fairfield’s story hold more than a ring of truth? Was Rief some sort of seer? Not an imagined character from the pages of a book, but an actual living, breathing fortuneteller?

  Mathew touched his fingertips to his lips, chewing on a nail and wishing he could pull the right questions from within. He needed to say something Rief wouldn’t misinterpret as condemnation. The poor man had been living with enough as it was, and Mathew refused to burden him with more.