The Dead Don't Lie

by Anne Russo

  “Looks big enough to share,” Adam mumbled, frozen by the door, cringing at his statement’s absurdity.

  Ian tossed his single duffle bag on the chair with an exaggerated huff. “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

  Adam’s face grew warm. “I wasn’t suggesting—”

  “I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Ian replied, digging around for a change of clothes, the conversation dropped.

  “You’re upset,” Adam stated, taking a tiny, cautious step toward him. “You think you made the wrong call tonight.”

  Ian slammed the fistful of garments in hand into his bag and whirled on him, as angry as Adam had ever seen him. “I’m warning you. Quit while you’re ahead.”

  “No,” Adam challenged. “I want to talk about this.”

  Ian turned on him in a second, seizing him by the shoulders. Adam froze, taken aback by how swiftly he moved. Ian pulled him close, eyeball to eyeball, murderous with rage.

  Adam refused to bend, determined and unflinching, waiting to see what came next. Not sure if Ian wanted to hit him or kiss him, he wasn’t sure if Ian knew either. He struggled for breath, chest heaving. Adam watched Ian’s pupils dilate, each of them unable to tear their gaze away from the other. Ian’s grip loosened and his hands slid into Adam’s hair.

  He drew Adam against him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, kissing, hard enough to hurt, mouths sliding, fitting as if made for the other. Yet, as soon as the kiss began, it was over. Ian held Adam at bay with an outstretched hand as Adam leaned forward, chasing the taste of him.

  “We can’t do this,” Ian entreated, but Adam noted the conflict in his eyes. The way the lines of his face deepened and darkened in pain.

  “We can do whatever we want,” Adam murmured, moving closer, but Ian backed up in response.

  “Goddamn it, no,” Ian swore. “Now stop being a fucking brat.”

  “Is that how you see me? A spoiled brat playing games?” Adam asked, eyes wide and wounded. He drew a heavy breath and unbuttoned his shirt without taking his gaze off Ian’s face.

  * * * *

  Ian sucked in a lungful of air at sight. Once free, Adam slipped the garment off and let it fall to the floor by his feet. Adam’s shoulder’s shook as he started toeing off his shoes, kicking them aside. Ian unwilling to budge even with the tension between them, rising to an unbearable level.

  Adam took a final determined breath and dropped to his knees. His fingertips gliding over Ian’s jean clad thighs as Ian’s mouth went dry, his heart knocking against his rib cage, desperate not to show how much such a submissive action affected him. His red hot need was staggering and he struggled to repress the want pooling in his gut.

  He reached out for Adam, intending to tear him away. Instead, he clung to the back of his neck, marveling at the pulse’s steady and hurried beat. The artery just below the surface fluttered under his grip. And he imagined himself not so gently biting that same spot as he slid inside in one solid thrust.

  Ian shook his head, struggling to sweep away the cloud of erotic images, like trying to see the road ahead through a dense nighttime fog. Striving to pull himself out from the overwhelming desire that evaded his brain, the whirlwind of possibilities close enough to taste.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ian demanded, choking on each word.

  One look and every ounce of strength fled Ian. Adam peered up at him through dark eyelashes. Ian’s hand moved as if on its own volition. Half-aware of his thumb as he dragged it across Adam’s bottom lip and groaned as Adam allowed him. Ian was rooted to the floor, unable to do little as Adam studied him for his response. Slowly, Adam drew the tip of his finger between his lips, never once losing eye contact. That simple gesture alone was the single most seductive thing Ian had ever seen. His body shook with nerves as Adam dove for his belt, unbuckling him. The yank of his zipper was startling in the quiet. It broke the moment’s spell, snapping Ian back to the reality of what they were doing.

  “No.” Ian pushed Adam aside, rougher than he meant to, but he needed him away before this went any further. Before they did something they’d live to regret.

  “No?” Adam questioned from his spot on the carpet, put upon even when sprawled out on his ass.

  “No. It’s not going to work.”

  “It looks like it’s working perfectly fine,” Adam teased, eyebrows raised.

  Ian’s neck prickled with cold fury at how casual Adam sounded—shaking as he tried to take his breath back.

  “Stop talking,” Ian held out a hand, warning him. “Did you honestly think you’d get your way getting on your knees? And what? We’d fall in love. Live happily ever after?”

  Adam glanced away, face and chest flushed with embarrassment. He sat back on his knees, head bowed, chastised.

  It wasn’t enough. Ian wanted to be cruel. “Believe me. I’ve had better men than you try.”

  Adam flinched as if Ian had slapped him. Unable to hold Ian’s disdainful glare. Adam had to look away as he climbed to his feet.

  “I guess you won’t mind getting out of my way so I can find someone more willing.”

  Ian winced but recovered swiftly, his eyes dark, mean slits. “You’re that desperate for it, huh? You’d let anyone fuck you? Even a total stranger?”

  Adam went wild at the suggestion. “You prick! From what I’ve heard, they’re hundreds of men who’ve had you. But I’m sure you loved every one of them, right?” Adam sneered. He snatched his shirt off the floor, slipping it back on, fingers flying over the buttons.

  Ian’s fury built as he struggled to stay calm, but the precarious grip he had over his emotions was shifting. Adam knew what he was doing, putting thoughts of other people in his head, bombarding him with an assault of faceless, nameless men and women with their hands on him. A virtual montage of tortured images stretching out into an endless loop. Ian had to dig deep to stop himself from crushing Adam and fucking him so hard. That he’d never want anyone else but him, ever again.

  Instead, helplessly Ian watched as Adam stalked over to the chair with his shoes in hand. He was shaking as he stuffed them onto his feet, shooting incensed glares at Ian as if daring him to stop him from going.

  Adam finished and strode across the room in a dramatic huff, ready to shoulder him out of the way. Ian wanted to feign indifference, to step aside and let him leave. Yet when the time came, a part of him refused to watch him leave. Adam was clearly a whirlwind of pent up raw nerves, flushed and feverish. Two drinks and he’d be flat on his back, eager and ready.

  On near reflex, his hand shot out and caught Adam by the forearm and jerked him backward. Adam tried to pull away, but Ian’s grip tightened, hard enough to hurt as he crowded closer to him. Impasse reached, each waited for the other to make a move. At long last, Adam sighed, breaking the stillness.

  “Tell me not to go,” Adam pleaded, far too young for the lifetime of pain in his eyes. “All you have to do is ask, and I’ll stay.”

  Ian held him tighter. Close enough to see the cluster of freckles spread over the bridge of his nose. The tiny beads of sweat gathered over his full upper lip. One bottom tooth’s crooked angle, standing out from a row of near symmetrical whiteness, for once, Ian wanting to observe and claim those minute details, wanting him in every conceivable way. His entire body burning turned inside and out, yet how to tell him what he meant to him. Not only something but everything.

  Ian took a deep, shuddering breath, gathering the last of his resolve before releasing Adam’s arm. Adam stumbled back, taking a second to compose himself, while Ian refused to meet his gaze. Adam leaned in close, features distorted with disappointment.

  “That’s what I thought. You coward.” He flung Ian one last pitying glance. “Don’t wait up, dear.” He let the door slam shut behind him.

  After Adam left the room, Ian fought the urge to tear the place apart with his bare hands. His entire body shook with the desire as it built and built until he was ready to explode. Instead, impotent to release his frustration,
he paced the floor from one end to the other, cursing Adam’s name.

  Adam, like his father before him, was a complication, a distraction. Ian needed these dark thoughts out of his mind before he did something he regretted. Visions of Adam tortured Ian. The raw and painful sting of jealousy, this overwhelming need to claim. A desire that ought to have stayed dead and buried. And how strange and somehow fitting that Adam—Rhys’s long lost son—awakened in him feelings he never imagined himself capable. Ian’s emotions were a swinging pendulum, alternating from maudlin self-pity to righteous self-anger. And he was furious with Adam for having put him in this position.

  Well, two could play this game.

  He snatched his coat from the chair and stomped out of the room, taking the stairs down to the parking garage. On autopilot, he jumped in his car and drove until he spotted the right bar. Rundown, seedy, tucked into the shadows. A not so discreet rainbow flag decal on the window.

  Several attractive guys stood outside, chatting, smoking. Curious eyes scoped him out as he approached, but Ian ignored them. None fitting the specific type he craved. Ian didn’t have long to search; Ian found him sitting at the bar, half-finished glass in front of him—young, slender with tousled hair, pretty eyes, and a sullen, moody disposition. Ian didn’t hesitate as he headed right for him.

  “How much?”

  The guy glanced up, for a moment taken aback by his bluntness. His gaze lingered over Ian’s body before answering. “For you? Buy me a drink first, and we’ll see.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you. I want to fuck you. How much?”

  “Two hundred,” the guy returned all business. “And you wear a condom, non-negotiable.”

  Ian agreed. “You got a place to go?”

  His date finished his drink, gulping the rest in one hurried swallow. “Yeah. You got a ride?”

  Ian paid for his drinks and led him to his car. He was impressed when Ian unlocked the Porsche, stealing glances over at him with a puzzled look on his face. As if he couldn’t believe his luck, suspicious of his good fortune. Even so, the lure of two hundred dollars and the potential of more seemed to be enough to set his trepidation aside.

  “The name is Chris. You are?”

  “Will,” Ian replied. “Where to?”

  Chris resided up the street from the bar, which worked out well since Ian wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He wanted this to be on his terms and his terms alone. Chris lived alone in a tiny one bedroom apartment, not messy but not tidy either. He pushed several clothing items and a few books from the bed. Ian hovered near the door, watching. Chris made a move to turn on another light, but Ian stopped him.

  “Don’t.”

  “Sure, man, whatever you want. It’s your money. Want a drink or something? I got some Jack around.”

  “Yeah, Jack is fine,” Ian answered as Chris went into the kitchen to fix drinks.

  “Ice?” he called over his shoulder.

  “No,” Ian answered, coming up behind him, taking the bottle from him, and pouring his own drink, which he drained in two sips. He poured himself another shot, knocking it back as rapidly as the first.

  “I’m not here for drinks and conversation,” he clarified. “Take off your clothes.”

  Chris flushed at the command but did as he asked. Stepping back, he lifted his shirt over his head, kicking off his shoes. He paused mid-strip. “Money first,” he insisted.

  Ian agreed, reaching for his wallet. Chris’s eyes were wide at the thick stack. “Good?” Ian questioned as Chris pocketed the cash with unconcealed glee.

  “Yeah,” he replied as he scrambled for his belt buckle, pulling his jeans and underwear off boyish hips. He finished removing his T-shirt, revealing a toned but slender frame.

  Ian reached around and grabbed a handful of his ample ass and squeezed.

  “I meant what I said about using a condom,” Chris reiterated, stepping out of his reach.

  “Don’t worry, I will,” Ian reassured him, allowing himself a moment to appreciate the view.

  His searing gaze swept over Chris’s body, approving of what he saw. All while the emptiness inside him grew. The futility of it, coupled with the liquor he had consumed making him slightly nauseous. Ian pushed aside the unwelcome burn of regret. He only wanted to indulge in the most basic primal need for heat and noise, and sensation. He ran the tips of his fingers across Chris’s torso. Skimming the lines of tense abdominal muscles, hands snaking lower. He grasped him between his legs, stroking once, twice, feeling him harden.

  Chris released a sharp intake of air, eyes wide and hazy with desire, breath ragged as he leaned in, lips parted for a kiss. Ian turned his head away. Kissing wasn’t what Ian wanted, not tonight and not from him.

  “Get on the bed,” Ian directed, nudging him toward the sagging double mattress.

  Chris paused only to dim the lights and retrieve condoms and lube from the nightstand.

  Ian made a gesture for Chris to turn around and bend over, which he did. The only sounds were the quiet exhales of Ian’s breath, his gaze drifting over the tempting backside in front of him. Chris’s wrecked gasps filling the surrounding air, the sound deafening.

  Ian removed his clothes, taking the time to fold the garments, leaving them in a pile on a nearby chair. Pushing aside his uncertainty, Ian stepped forward and retrieved the items from the table. He knelt behind him on the bed, this evening’s conquest, and stared, fascinated by his back’s rise and fall, his round, firm ass. Ian dragged a wet finger across his spine, watching as it disappeared between the cleft of his ass, detached as his fingers slid in and out with little resistance. Chris arched higher, moaning into his forearms. Ian sped up the pace as his other hand worked to tear the condom open.

  It hit Ian hard, the wrongness, blinding him in its intensity. Ian shoved it back and away, concentrating only on getting inside and pounding away until he didn’t have a breath left in his body. He slid the condom on, adding more lube, half-hard as he stroked himself to his fingers’ thrusting. Ian leaned up onto his knees and held Chris face first into the mattress by his neck. Ian grimaced as he eased inside, slamming into him with one rough thrust.

  Chris cried out, in pain or pleasure, Ian wasn’t sure. He made no move to fight him off or tell him to stop as he fucked Chris into the mattress with everything he had. The only sounds were of skin on skin, Ian’s heavy breathing, and the low moans and groans Chris made underneath him. But it wasn’t enough. The shame and hurt had started to seep into Ian’s brain, worming into his thoughts.

  He couldn’t get the image of Adam’s face out of his head. The way he had looked on his knees offering him everything, right there for the taking. But he had never known how to fight for anything, least of all himself.

  Ian reared back, overcome, the walls, the entire room crept in, crowding. He couldn’t get the air into his lungs, suffocating. Ian leaped off the bed and onto his feet, frantic for escape.

  Frightened by his reaction, Chris turned over his shoulder, fidgeting as he waited to see what Ian planned to do next. “Everything okay?”

  Ian was quick to perceive his underlying panic, the uncertainty that came from a place of past abuse and the worry of future scenes. The realization sickened him as other darker memories rose to the surface. Ian reached for his clothes, surprised his hands were shaking as he struggled to pull on his jeans.

  Chris sat up, hugging his knees, his posture defensive. “Did I do something wrong?”

  The question stopped Ian in the middle of buttoning up his shirt; he paused, turning back to the bed. “No. You’re just not him.”

  “Oh,” Chris nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Ian found his shoes, hurriedly lacing up his boots.

  “Your cash is in the pocket of my pants,” Chris offered. “If you want it back.”

  Ian waved it off, dressed and eager to beat a hasty retreat. “No, keep it. You earned it.”

  He rushed from the apartment, racing down
the stairs. He hurled open the security door, stumbling onto the rain slick streets. Ian took a deep welcomed gulp of the humid night air, chest heaving, waiting for the panic to subside before he dashed over to where he had parked. Determined to get back to the hotel and Adam, hoping he’d be there when he returned.

  * * * *

  After the terrible scene in the hotel suite, Adam wandered into the bar, determined to get good and drunk. He was disappointed when he found the place quiet and near empty. He’d had every intention of hurling himself at the first willing person. Now drinking a third whiskey sour and noting the two men in the bar (both over sixty, pale and flabby). Adam had to concede that there wasn’t a single person in the place he’d dream of going home with, not even to spite Ian.

  Instead, he settled for copious amounts of alcohol, but as he drank, every emotion tore through. To be honest, he’d expected Ian to come around ready to drag him back to their room. When he didn’t, Adam signaled the bartender for another round. Once done, Adam set the glass on the counter, light-headed, the room off kilter. He shook his head, attempting to clear the haze forming.

  He stood up from the stool on unsteady legs, vision tunneling in and out—blackness creeping along the edges as he rested both palms flat on the bar to steady himself. Something was wrong. He searched for the bartender to flag him down for help but found a faceless blur.

  Adam struggled to keep upright. Frantic, he groped inside his pocket for his phone, but his limbs were unwilling to cooperate. On rubbery legs, Adam headed for the bathrooms, desperate for a place to collapse.

  He made it halfway down the hall when a gloved hand came from behind, covering his mouth. Adam tried to call out for help. In a panic, he struggled to resist his assailant with everything he had. But the attempt led nowhere. The effort akin to treading water, fruitless as the world slipped away out of reach. The hand over his mouth tightened as his vision blackened, and Adam remembered no more.