by Sidney Bell
Sullivan tilted his head, considering the speech Tobias had given him yesterday about how much he hated being left behind while other people made the decisions. “You’re naturally sort of repressed, huh?”
Tobias’s brows settled low over his eyes. Sullivan was on the verge of apologizing—it had been rude—when Tobias said, with fresh, untried iron in his voice, “Not anymore.”
Sullivan was starting to realize that Tobias was a far more complicated guy than he appeared to be. The blackmail and breaking and entering said asshole, but none of it—including the running away from home and the kinky sex—fit the image that Tobias painted of himself in the moments when he talked about his past. In those moments he was a guy who had to work up the nerve to express anger at his parents and spent most of his time swallowing his feelings and followed an academic path he hated for...for some reason that wasn’t clear. But the point was that instead of the asshole Sullivan had thought he was dealing with, Tobias was looking more and more like a decent guy in the middle of some crisis of character. In fact, Sullivan was starting to suspect that he was part of some elemental rebellion that existed outside the bounds of Tobias’s natural personality.
Further proof that this whole thing between them was temporary.
Tobias would revert. People always did.
Chapter Fifteen
Tobias’s pancakes were cold, but he didn’t care. He could’ve been eating paper and he wouldn’t have minded.
He wasn’t going back.
Sullivan kept staring at him with mild interest, like he was expecting fireworks to explode out of Tobias’s head or something. It wasn’t a bad read of Tobias’s emotional state; a kernel of revolt burned red-hot in his chest. He wanted a ridiculous number of ridiculous things suddenly—to go on a bender at a grimy bar; to pick a fight in a parking lot against a trucker twice his size; to drive in a random direction for hours with the radio as loud as it could get, not stopping until he hit something golden and strange. He could do any of those things or none of them; the only restraint, he realized, was him. His own limits of have to and don’t be selfish.
It was a small change, objectively. Lots of people dropped out of school. But when Sullivan had mentioned class and that old sense of dread had risen again, it had occurred to him that he could just...not...go. He was twenty-four, not twelve. He wasn’t going to get in trouble. He didn’t have to go, he didn’t want to go, and so he wouldn’t. And with that choice, he’d forged some new, blazing ground inside himself. Maybe he was exploding. It certainly felt like the old Tobias had been permanently destroyed.
He had to clench his fingers around his silverware again to avoid chucking them gleefully through the air. He could only imagine how Sullivan might look at him then, but that wasn’t why he held himself in check. The truth was, if he let any of this feeling out into the world, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to regain control, and thrilling as it might be, the size of it frightened him too.
Who knew what he might destroy before that wildness was sated?
* * *
An hour with the laptop proved that Cindy Jackman had never been married and had no siblings, so the guy who’d used her car to pick up Ghost must’ve been either a friend, a boyfriend, or a car thief who’d politely returned the vehicle when he was done with it. Which apparently meant a stakeout.
They found her exactly where her social media page had suggested she would be—at her job as a receptionist at a small nonprofit serving veterans with PTSD. They pulled into a parking lot that served several businesses in the strip mall and parked far enough away that they wouldn’t attract attention, but close enough that they could see both the beige sedan and the door to the nonprofit.
“It’s nice out,” Tobias said from the passenger seat of the Buick, grateful he’d taken Sullivan’s advice and stopped off at the motel for shorts and a white T-shirt. Jeans would mean heat stroke by this afternoon. “For the moment, anyway. You won’t be alone and bored with me here. I don’t know why you’re so down on this.”
“You are painfully young and innocent,” Sullivan retorted.
“You’re what, three years older than me? Four?”
Sullivan shook his head grimly, still staring out the window, and Tobias ignored it. He wasn’t going to let Sullivan’s pessimism ruin this—instead of being in his biochemistry class, he was on a stakeout. An actual, real-life stakeout with an actual, real-life private detective. Sullivan had said that stakeouts were miserable, horrible, awful, terrible, no-good things, but so far Tobias was having a lot of fun. And if he wasn’t so damn sore that he kept needing to shift his weight from one butt cheek to the other, it would be perfect.
Actually, it was kind of perfect anyway.
Sullivan eyed him sideways for a few seconds, his lips turning up at the sight of Tobias fidgeting. “You know, I almost put a butt plug in you before we left,” he said conversationally, like that was a thing people said all the time.
“What?” Tobias managed, his heart thumping double time.
“I like the idea of you sitting there with a plug stretching you open, right where you’re most sore. Making it worse. Every time you shifted or moved, you’d get a little burst of pleasure and a little bit of pain. You’d be fidgeting even more than you are now. You’d be miserable.”
Sullivan sounded almost dreamy at the prospect, and Tobias shifted again, his cheeks going bright red. He could imagine it all too easily, and he was already getting hard in his shorts.
“Why didn’t you?”
Sullivan’s small smile grew. “God forbid we have to run anywhere.”
Tobias laughed. “This isn’t what I would’ve expected. From kinky sex, I mean. It’s more fun than I would’ve thought. Or maybe it’s only that you’re good at it.”
Sullivan didn’t say anything for a long minute. Then, “Thanks, but that’s kind of a rookie analysis. I’ve made a few mistakes that a more experienced sub would probably call me out on. Or should call me out on, anyway.”
“Like what? It all seemed good to me.”
Sullivan shrugged. “Little things. Should’ve stayed in bed with you this morning. I’ve been too light on the aftercare, I think. Want to ramp that up next time. It’s tricky, because it’s sort of a balance between what’s good for you and what’s too...well, that’s neither here nor there. But I’ve been moving too fast, now that I think about it. You’re still new at this, and I’ve already asked a lot from you.”
“I’m fine.” Tobias cleared his throat, wondering what, exactly, was neither here nor there. “I’ve enjoyed it.”
“I know. But that’s sort of in spite of things, not a sign that I did everything right. I’m out of practice.” He glanced at Tobias. “I’ll be more careful with you. I promise.”
Tobias’s heart thumped hard. Sullivan’s gaze was direct and warm and honest, and Tobias could only fumble out a nod. “Thanks.”
Sullivan went back to staring out the window at the nonprofit’s front door. “Shit, I’m thirsty. Bust open that cooler, yeah?”
Firmly warning his pulse to slow down, Tobias reached into the back seat and grabbed the cooler Sullivan had packed that morning. “Why are you out of practice?”
Sullivan selected a cold bottle of water. He took a drink and fiddled with the cap, his expression going tense. “You know, can we not?”
“Oh. Sorry. That’s none of my—”
“No, it’s fine that you asked. Really. I’d just—It’s sort of heavy, and I don’t want to deal with it right now. Maybe some other time.”
“Sure. You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”
“I know. We’ll see.”
Tobias nodded and took a sandwich from the cooler, disappointed but unwilling to push. He wasn’t sure what to say next, though. Any number of other topics might also be too private for this casual thing they were doing. None of
Sullivan’s history was his business.
Finally he said, “It’s crazy hot.”
Sullivan tipped his head back against the rest. He looked vaguely displeased, but only said, “Yeah.”
* * *
At five-thirty, Cindy Jackman finished her shift, calling good-bye to coworkers. She was a solidly built brunette with cat’s-eye sunglasses, dark slacks, and a bright pink polo shirt, and as she crossed the lot to her beige sedan, she was talking on her phone a mile a minute.
“That’s her, right?” Tobias asked.
“According to the pic on her Facebook page, yeah.” Sullivan started the car.
As Cindy ran errands at the grocery store and the bank before heading home to a little green house with a thirsty brown yard, Sullivan maintained a careful tail, finally parking slightly down the block and across the street from where she lived.
Bored, they got to talking about television—Sullivan liked the hard-edged stuff on HBO, Tobias preferred sitcoms. They’d both watched the entirety of Gilmore Girls though, roped in by sisters initially and staying of their own volition, and they argued for far longer than the topic deserved about the love triangle involving Jess (Sullivan) versus Dean (Tobias) before admitting that neither of the guys were perfect for Rory—Dean was intellectually lazy and Jess could be mean.
There was no sign of the balding man from the video at any point.
By midnight, they were both exhausted and starving and stiff, and Sullivan said, “I’m calling it.”
“What does that mean?” Tobias had entered a sort of meditative state by this point, and would’ve been half-asleep if he weren’t so physically uncomfortable.
“It means human bodies need a rest and we’ve reached the point where it’s unlikely anything’s going to happen. Give me five minutes. Stay here.”
Sullivan got out of the car and popped the trunk. He fiddled with something Tobias couldn’t see through the rear window, then walked down the street until he was behind the beige sedan. He bent down by the right rear tire for roughly three seconds, and then kept walking. A few minutes later he circled around to the Buick and climbed back behind the wheel.
“What did you put behind her tire?” Tobias asked.
“A cheap wristwatch. If she leaves, the tire will crunch the watch, and we’ll have an idea of what time she took off. That way when we come back tomorrow—”
“We’ll know to be here around that time in case she does it again.”
“Yup.” Sullivan started the car and pulled out onto the street. The cool night air rushed through the windows.
“Smart,” Tobias said.
“Can’t take credit. It’s a tool of the trade. Everybody does it.”
“Oh. Well, in that case. Loser.”
Sullivan gave him a wry smile. “Are you hungry?”
After they left Cindy Jackman’s, they stopped for burgers, and at the exit of the drive-thru line, Sullivan let the car idle. Tobias realized that a left turn would take them back to the motel, and a right would take them to Sullivan’s place. In the dim red light of the restaurant’s sign, Sullivan looked uncharacteristically uncertain.
Tobias said, “We’re both tired. It’s been a long day. I understand if you don’t want to. I’d like to, but I understand.”
“It’s not that.” Sullivan licked his lips. “I’m—my friend Caty says—” He paused. “Oh, fuck it.”
He turned right. Tobias let out a breath.
The place looked subtly different than it had when they left. Tools had been moved and a pile of debris had gone missing.
“No burglars,” Sullivan said. “My sister Therese must’ve been here, working on the place while we were out.”
“Oh.”
After they ate, they showered off the sweat of the day, and Sullivan cornered Tobias against the cold tile and jerked him off, his other hand resting against his throat. Sullivan didn’t press at all—in fact, his thumb stroked gently along his pulse the whole time—but the symbolism was clear, along with the threat: for now, at least, even the breath in Tobias’s body was Sullivan’s to control.
Sullivan whispered filthily in his ear the whole time: “I can do whatever I want and you’ll let me, won’t you? I’m tempted to bend you over right here and make you come on my cock. Do you think you could? Come without a hand on you? Ever managed it before?” His rhythm paused, his fingers teasing until Tobias shook his head. Sullivan made a considering noise and went back to jerking him, pulling rough cries out of him with a tight fist. “I bet if I drew it out long enough you could. Maybe that’s what I’ll do, make a rule that you don’t come unless you come on my cock. How long do you think it would take? How many times would I have to fuck you before you gave it up? I like the idea of that, of you walking around on edge for days, desperate for my cock, begging for it, ready to cry because it’s been so long and it’s so hard to get there without my hand, but you don’t have to be scared, sweetheart, I won’t give in before your body does.”
Tobias came the second permission was granted, half-startled Sullivan had allowed it at all, given the way he’d been talking. Tobias stood dozily under the hot water while Sullivan jerked himself off too, his gaze hot as it lingered on Tobias’s throat, where his palm still gently cupped the vulnerable flesh.
* * *
Sullivan nudged Tobias out of the bathroom so he could clean up, and by the time he wandered back into the bedroom, Tobias was out cold on top of the duvet. Sullivan sat on the edge of the mattress and watched him sleep, telling himself he should wake the guy up and kick him back to the motel where his ass belonged.
The idea of it made him feel like an asshole.
He wants casual. Casual doesn’t sleep over. At least, casual doesn’t sleep over when one of the people involved gets hormones from cuddling and shit.
He should kick Tobias out. He really should.
But Tobias had faint purple smudges under his eyes, and he looked so boneless and relaxed that Sullivan tugged the sheets out from under him, climbed in beside him, and turned off the light.
Sullivan got up at six, his internal clock overridden by the hum beneath his skin. It was going to be one of those mornings, and with a long day of sitting in a car ahead of him, he didn’t dare try to go back to sleep. He laced up his sneakers, got a podcast going, and wrote a quick note in case Tobias woke up. After his run—six miles, hopefully enough to forestall his jitteriness later—he took a quick shower, refilled the cooler, and prodded Tobias awake so they could eat cereal at the sink before taking off.
On the way to Cindy Jackman’s, Sullivan stopped at the motel so Tobias could change. When Tobias came out with his backpack in hand and a rebellious look on his face—what are you going to do about it?—Sullivan said nothing, just popped the trunk so he could sling his things inside.
The guy deserved access to his toothbrush at night, that’s all.
Sullivan circled the block once, darting out to grab the watch from behind the beige sedan’s rear tire, before parking on the other end of the street this time, four houses down from Cindy Jackman’s address, and seven houses down from where they’d parked the day before. Tobias yawned into the thermos of coffee Sullivan had poured him.
“Did she leave?” Tobias asked.
Sullivan looked down at the unbroken face of the watch. “No.”
They waited.
While Cindy went to work and then hit a local bookstore and café with friends, Sullivan and Tobias followed, talking movies for hours before shifting to books. It wasn’t long before Sullivan had contributed a dozen novels to Tobias’s new to-read list, which Sullivan scrawled on the back of an old receipt. This was the result of a conversation that included Sullivan yelling, “You’ve never seen Blade Runner? How are you a living, breathing person who exists?” and a long spiel that worked its way through the classics of both sci-fi and hard-boiled
detective noir from there. Tobias promised to try Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, the book Blade Runner was based on, although Sullivan suspected it was primarily to shut him up.
They left when the last light in Cindy’s house went dark, and got dinner before driving back to Sullivan’s. After they ate, Sullivan lounged on the sofa, his fly open, watching as Tobias sucked and licked and moaned around his dick, petting his soft curls. By the time Sullivan came, he was so deep in Tobias’s throat that he was practically in his chest, and he couldn’t remember an afterglow as satisfying as the one that followed, during which Tobias begged to come in a voice that was completely trashed, his words hoarse and running together into a long string of pleaseletmepleasepleaseletme.
Sullivan jerked Tobias off hard and fast so that he came in hot, damp pulses in his hand.
“Good boy,” Sullivan whispered, and Tobias shivered. He didn’t look as exhausted that night as he had the night before, but Sullivan still didn’t mention the motel. He simply guided Tobias upstairs and into the shower.
“Something’s going to happen sooner or later, right?” Tobias asked later, brushing his teeth and bemoaning the ineffectual nature of stakeouts at the same time. “I mean, we’ve been following her around for ages.”
“Two days isn’t ages.” Sullivan stretched out on the mattress, tired and curiously content despite finding several smug texts from Caty about her certainty that Sullivan had already caved to the lures of the college boy. He put his phone aside without replying; he sure as hell wasn’t going to confirm it for her.
On Wednesday, they followed Cindy to work, the gym, and then out to a movie and dinner with a handful of her friends. For most of that time, Tobias read aloud, pausing only to drink from the bottles of water Sullivan kept pushing on him. At Sullivan’s behest, they wandered through five different books, starting and ending at seemingly arbitrary points in Lady Chatterley’s Lover, the Bhagavad Gita, The Gospel According to Judy Blume, Slaughterhouse Five, and The Portable Dorothy Parker. Tobias was a good out-loud reader—careful, not too slow. When they got bored with that, Sullivan went on a long, enjoyable spiel—monologuing, Caty would say, but she wasn’t here, so whatever—about the strengths and drawbacks of the wah-wah pedal.
