Last Stop

by Lou Harper

  Jay couldn’t believe his either. It was Jeff—his Jeff. Well, judging from the bored-looking twink attached to him, somebody else’s Jeff now.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Jay blurted out, equal parts pissed and surprised. He’d gotten used to having Jeff as a bitter memory, but was absolutely unprepared to see the man in the very real flesh. Jay hated himself for the sudden flutter in his stomach. Jeff and he were ancient history and he had no reason to feel nervous.

  “Jay, honey, why the hostility? I thought we parted as friends,” Jeff asked warmly, and even had the audacity to look hurt.

  Jay steeled himself. “Whatever. Did you want a drink?”

  “I’ll have a Cosmo,” the twink said in a nasal whine.

  Jay looked the guy over, the pouty lips, manicured nails, the hair that probably took half an hour to make it look like he’d just gotten out of bed. Jay couldn’t believe he’d been dumped for such a cheap tart.

  “Yeah, I’ll have one too,” Jeff added.

  Jay made the drinks and put them on the bar, and then turned to deal with other customers. He pointedly ignored Jeff and his insignificant other, hoping they would go on their merry way. The boy toy wandered off, but Jeff stubbornly stuck to his spot at the end of the bar. When he raised and waved his empty glass, Jay couldn’t snub him anymore.

  “Another?”

  “Yes, please.”

  When Jay put the drink on the counter, Jeff took hold of Jay’s wrist and refused to let go.

  “Look, Jay, I’m really sorry how things ended between us. I didn’t think you’d run away like that, especially with that dick, Terry.” Jeff turned over Jay’s hand and rubbed his palm with those slow sensuous strokes that used to turn Jay’s heart and other assorted internal organs into jelly. “I looked for you. I wanted to make sure you were all right, but you were gone. Then Terry told me you ditched him in the middle of Illinois.”

  Jay stopped trying to pull his hand away. There was a warm familiarity to Jeff’s presence that he couldn’t completely ignore. He wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t. Instead he felt anxious.

  “Terry got on my nerves, so I hitched a ride with a trucker. Was Terry pissed?”

  “Livid,” Jeff said with a familiar, warm smile.

  “Good.”

  For a beat, that old intimacy between them was back.

  “I missed you,” Jeff murmured.

  “You seem to be doing fine for yourself.”

  “Oh, Dillon’s nothing like you. He’s messy and undisciplined, and I have the suspicion he screws around every chance he gets. He’s probably in the bathroom right now sucking some stranger’s dick. You weren’t like that.”

  “Yeah, I was stupid enough to be faithful to you.”

  “No, you weren’t the stupid one.” Jeff’s thumb brushed over Jay’s pulse point. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past years. I’m not getting any younger, it’s time to settle down. It’s such serendipity, coming to LA for an antique show and finding you here.” Jeff gazed deep into Jay’s eyes. “Why don’t you come back with me to St. Louis?”

  Once, Jay would’ve given a kidney to hear those words. Now they just made him tense. Even more tense.

  “What about Dillon?” he sputtered.

  “He can fly back by himself. Or stay. Trust me, he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”

  Jay shook his head. “Sorry, Jeff. Too little, too late.”

  “You have somebody,” Jeff said ruefully.

  “Yeah.” Jay cast a look around and quickly spotted Sam, not far away. Jay turned back to Jeff and made a subtle gesture in Sam’s direction. “Do you see that big guy over there, with the mustache and sexy sideburns? That’s him.”

  Jeff’s eyes flitted to the direction Jay had indicated and back. “Very butch. Is he the jealous type?” He let go of Jay’s hand.

  “Very,” Jay replied, although he had no idea. There was something in the way Jeff looked at him that made Jay miserable. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Jeff’s cheek. “Goodbye, Jeff.”

  Jay turned away and got back to work—the other bartender was already giving him the evil eye.

  “Who was that man you were talking to?” Sam asked later.

  “Just some guy,” Jay said. He wasn’t sure why he lied—maybe because of Sam’s reaction last time he mentioned Jeff, or because he was curious if Sam would get jealous over a stranger hitting on him. Maybe he just didn’t want to think about Jeff anymore. The narrow-eyed stare Sam gave him made Jay soft and hard at all the right places.

  The ride home was very quiet. Jay leaned into Sam on the bike, put his arms around Sam’s waist. Having met Jeff again unsettled Jay, and the feeling refused to leave. He needed Sam’s solidity.

  They parked the bike inside, on the first floor. It was not the kind of neighborhood where you left a bike like that on the street overnight. The car was stashed in a parking garage a couple of blocks away.

  As the gate rolled closed, Sam snapped at him. “Strip!”

  “Here, now?”

  “Right here and right now.” Sam’s voice was the deep rumble like when he meant business.

  Jay’s cock, already half-hard since their last exchange, stiffened more. He started shedding his clothes without further hesitation. While he undressed, Sam went upstairs. He returned shortly, naked from the waist up and holding a black leather object that made Jay’s heart thump. It wasn’t large—a short handle and a thick bundle of tails that were slightly longer.

  “To the wall,” Sam commanded.

  Jay marched to where a couple of cuffs hung from chains. Sam had affixed them there a week or so previously, along with a few others throughout the loft, but they hadn’t gotten any use till now. They’d just dangled there, teasing and taunting with their presence. Obviously, that was about to change. As soon as Sam secured his wrists, Jay spread his palms against the wall. Jay leaned forward, head hung between his shoulders. The firm embrace of the cuffs did something to him he had no name for. The act of giving up control, giving in, aroused him like nothing else.

  Jay twitched at the first loud snapping sound, but it was just Sam slapping the whip against his own pants.

  “I’m too indulgent with you, boy. You need to learn a lesson,” Sam rumbled. He brushed the tails of the flogger from Jay’s butt to his shoulder. The smell of leather filled Jay’s nostrils. Then it withdrew as Sam stepped back. “You ready?”

  Jay shifted his weight from one foot to the other, flexed his muscles then nodded.

  “You remember your word, right?”

  Jay nodded again.

  The first blows were light, fleeting, sharp stings mixed with almost-soft touches, then they gradually became harder. Sam covered Jay’s thighs, buttocks and upper back in even strokes. Soon it all blended together, radiating across his back. Jay wanted to be strong, to keep the guttural moans from escaping. Sam stopped and ran his cool hand over Jay’s heated skin.

  “Don’t hold back, Tiger. Let go, give it up for me,” Sam whispered seductively.

  Sam’s hand slipped between Jay’s thighs and gave his balls a firm tug. Jay gasped.

  Running his fingers up along Jay’s crack, Sam leaned closer and went on. “It’s all mine. Your cock and balls, your ass, every whimper and cry you make. So give them to me.” To Jay it was as reassuring as it was possessive.

  “Yes, Sam,” he whimpered.

  Sam stepped back behind him, and the blows started to rain down again. They were harder now, and the quality of the pain changed too—sharp bites were replaced with heavy thuds. Jay heard his own desperate moans and curses, felt his muscles tense and relax but they were only small, inconsequential things at the edge of his consciousness. Jay’s mind, his whole being, was absorbed by the rhythm of the blows, the pain that wasn’t even pain anymore, and the heat radiating from his flesh. The stress and anxiety of seeing Jeff again were washed out by the sweat pouring from his pores. They were unimportant. His whole body hummed w
ith the freedom of letting go and with the endorphins coursing through his nervous system. He was approaching a peak, and it made him change his posture and the tone of his cries.

  There was a sudden pause, and Sam’s sweaty body pressed against Jay’s back. Sam pushed one of his thighs between Jay’s, and reached around Jay’s chest with one hand, rubbing and pinching his nipples. With his other hand he gripped Jay’s shaft and rubbed it with relentless intensity.

  “Mine, only mine,” Sam growled into Jay’s ear, and Jay broke. He came, sobbing, and tightly wrapped in Sam’s embrace.

  Afterwards, Sam helped Jay into a cool shower, patted him dry, and helped him to bed. Untroubled and relaxed, Jay slipped into sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  SR: I got them.

  NT: You sure?

  SR: Hundred percent. What do you want me to do?

  NT: Nothing. Stay out of sight till we get there. We don’t want them to get spooked again.

  Sam liked to watch the boy sleep. His boy. They had had two floggings since that first one. These mini scenes had started to have a role-play quality to them at Jay’s instigation. Jay was a bundle of kinks just waiting to be released. Right now he sported a hard-on in his sleep. No surprise there—he’d been forbidden to come for the past week. Sam would have to reward him soon. It was about much more than just sex for Sam. It was about power. Sam got a heady thrill out of Jay. The boy had strength and stubbornness, yet he submitted to Sam so sweetly. It made Sam want more, to do it for real, because a whipping with a bedroom flogger was beginners’ play.

  The Club back in Chicago hadn’t been a place specifically for this sort of thing but something more encompassing. Still, Sam learned how to restrain a body without creating undue discomfort, or how to use a flogger or a whip to bring pleasure to the right person. There was a guy, a Dom, who’d taught Sam those skills, and also helped him understand his own desires. Sam had a longing to be part of a community that shared his tastes and passion, where he could learn more, but was reluctant to seek it out. He couldn’t allow himself to forget they were fugitives. The infectious cloud of danger he carried around stopped him going down that path.

  Sam stopped at a convenience store to buy another disposable phone just to make one call. He stood in the shadow of the building while he dialed.

  “Hello?” a female voice answered.

  Sam almost hung up but the voice stopped him. “Sam?”

  “Yes,” Sam said hesitantly. “Where’s Jones?”

  “He’s unavailable, but he asked me to assist you.”

  “My brother—”

  “Your brother’s safe. Agent Jones left another message for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Come home.”

  Sam hung up. He stared at the phone for a few seconds, fingers hovering in the air. He considered calling Adam, but changed his mind. He couldn’t say anything to his brother that hadn’t already been said, and any connection with Sam just made Adam a bigger target. Sam chucked the phone into the nearest trash can.

  Sam was sick of it all. The running, the hiding, the worrying that simply existing might cause harm to somebody he cared about. His feet were itching to take flight again and never stop. LA wasn’t safe, but where else could he go? It wasn’t safe anywhere. The whole country wasn’t big enough for him and his past. Even if he got hold of Jones, what could the man do for him? Nothing. If he was alone, Sam would’ve just stopped and gone up against Joey fucking Gianco to settle this whole thing once and for all. But Jay complicated everything, and Sam had to be extremely careful that his complications didn’t end in disaster. He could only hope fate wouldn’t spit in his face again.

  The guy was never supposed to be able to enter Ombre with a gun. Everybody was wanded at the door, no exceptions. It was something Sam and Drake had had a disagreement about. Drake thought it was too ghetto for his trendy club, but Sam wouldn’t budge on it. Everyone who stepped in the door was scanned with the handheld metal detector. At least that was the rule. Sam had a suspicion that Pete was open to bribery. You could probably smuggle in an Uzi if you slipped him a twenty.

  The guy was a nondescript white boy in his twenties, but there was something in the way he moved that caught Sam’s eye. His purposeful and self-possessed stride was out of synch with the ambling crowd of Friday night partygoers. Sam watched the young man stop and scan the crowd then zero in on somebody and start walking again. Sam was right behind him. When the guy reached under his loose T-shirt, Sam moved without hesitation. No sooner had the guy pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans than Sam grabbed his wrist. There was a brief struggle for control during which the gun went off. It hit one of the decorative lights under the ceiling. Broken glass rained down, and somebody screamed. Within seconds Sam had the guy disarmed, facedown on the floor, hopelessly struggling as Sam kneeled on him and twisted his arms behind him.

  During the hubbub of the cops coming and going and the place closing early, some guy came up to Sam and introduced himself as Foster. He was someone Sam had seen there before, but hadn’t had a reason to pay much attention to.

  “That was well-handled,” Foster commented.

  Sam grunted something noncommittal in reply. He wasn’t in a chatty mood.

  Foster handed him a card. “I’m in security and always looking out for men who can handle themselves. Give me a call if you decide you want to do something more serious.”

  Sam looked at the retreating figure, then at the card. It had only the name M.C. Foster and a phone number.

  The next day Sam got up early, unable to sleep. The incident had only amped up his already bad mood. Like static electricity before a storm, his sixth sense hummed like an agitated hive of bees. When the call from Phil came in, Sam felt a slight relief. He left the still-sleeping Jay behind and took a solo trip to Venice Beach. He caught the morning rush-hour traffic, but that was fine with him. He could weave between cars, ride the yellow line, and nobody on four wheels could follow him. Not that he had any reason to believe he was being followed.

  “You look out of sorts, my friend,” Phil remarked once they’d conducted their exchange.

  They sat on a wooden bench by the koi pond.

  “Someone pulled a gun last night at the place where I do security,” Sam said.

  “Did anyone get hurt?”

  “Only the would-be shooter. I might have cracked a couple of his ribs. At the minimum he’ll have some nasty bruises.”

  “Well then everything’s fine, right?”

  “The cops were there, took my info. How good is my ID?”

  Phil considered the question. “That depends. For the police report they won’t bother running your social security number. If it gets to trial that’s a different business, but chances are your guy’ll take a plea bargain.”

  Sam nodded; it made sense. If there was a trial, that would be just one more reason for him to hit the road again.

  He took a roundabout way back to downtown so he could stop by the storage place first.

  Sam found Jay on the roof. He was kneeling on a pillow on top of a brightly colored beach towel, head bowed, back straight, hands clutched behind. The bottoms of his feet were black as dirt. He was also buck naked. A few feet away a middle-aged woman sat on an upturned plastic milk crate holding a huge sketchpad. Her hands were as smudged with charcoal as Jay’s feet were with dirt.

  “Hi there, you must be Sam!” She beamed as if there were nothing unusual about the whole scene.

  “I must be,” he agreed unenthusiastically.

  “Sam, this is Myra. She asked if I’d model for her. Isn’t that great?”

  Sam looked Myra over. Aside from hair that was the color of eggplant, she looked pretty ordinary—in a lightly offbeat way. She wore no makeup or bra, but had on a sleeveless shirt and light, gauzy skirt. She was barefoot too. Her arms and the bridge of her nose were covered in freckles.

  “C’mon, sit down,” she said, pushing another milk crate in Sam’s dire
ction.

  Sam reluctantly took the offered seat and the sketchpad she held out for him. One thing was for sure, she had no problem capturing Jay’s natural exhibitionism. Some of the poses were submissive or his limbs were arranged as if they were bound. Sam found them…arousing, yet the realization came with an edge of irritation. He put the pad down without a comment, ignoring Myra’s disappointed look. Instead he glanced around. It was a flat roof covered in dirty tarpaper. The tallest building nearby was a disused, windowless warehouse. Four more sets of skylights dotted their roof, but only the one at the far end was open. The rest were closed and blanketed in thick, undisturbed layers of dirt. It was good to know that at least Jay wasn’t attracting undue public attention—as long as he remained sitting.

  Jay arranged himself on the pillow, obviously unbothered by being the only one of the three of them undressed. “Myra is the only one besides us living here. At some point all the spaces were to be converted to artists’ studios, but something fell through and now they’re all empty. Right, Myra?”

  “The company that bought them up went bankrupt when the real estate market collapsed,” she explained.

  “Is that so,” Sam said guardedly. “It’s gonna be very painful if you get a sunburn,” he said, turning to Jay.

  “Don’t worry, I put SPF 100 sunblock on my willy,” Jay replied.

  “Shit! Look at the time. I have to run,” Myra suddenly burst out. “I totally forgot about Leroy’s opening. He’ll kill me if I miss it. Jay, honey, just put my things at my window when you’re done,” she said, dashing across the roof. She disappeared without even saying goodbye.

  “She seems a bit kooky at first, but she’s all right,” Jay explained.

  “You two got chummy fast.”

  “I was sunbathing when she came up and we started talking. She wasn’t bothered by me being naked, and I wasn’t bothered by her drawing me, so it worked out.”