The Dead Don't Lie

by Anne Russo

  There were knots of excitement and nerves, fear battling for control. But Adam pushed everything aside and concentrated only on the heat of the moment. Somewhere though in the pit of his stomach was the knowledge. The awareness of now having had Ian, no one else could compare.

  It terrified him how much he wanted this. But Adam could no longer outrun the truth, the conflict at the heart of their attraction. The part of them both craved that conflict: the push and pull, the catch and release—the rush of pure adrenaline. Adam could admit it here, now, and only to himself that he only came alive with Ian. Ian and no one else.

  Ian laid claim to his body with each kiss, each touch, each press of sharp teeth against his shoulder, his throat. The desperation and need were evident as Ian held him close and drew him into another deep kiss. Adam gasped out loud at the jolt of pure arousal when the tip of Ian’s tongue met his own, moving over him like a man possessed, leaving desperate marks in his wake. Ian’s searching touch drifting lower, his long fingers probing, seeking.

  Over their impatient moans, Adam heard the distant sound of the lube cap popping open. A slick finger pressing inside. He tensed up at the intrusion, hissing out loud as one finger slipped in. In response, his hand curled around the back of Ian’s neck and tightened.

  “Relax,” Ian urged, pulling him in for another searing kiss, a welcome attempt to distract from the initial discomfort.

  Ian didn’t move as he waited for Adam to adjust to the sensation, not painful, only strange but also pleasurable. Adam rocked his hips downward, craving more. Ian slid a second finger alongside the first.

  “All right?” Ian asked him in a voice that already sounded strained.

  Adam found it sexy, hearing him so wrecked and vulnerable. The surge of power it gave him. He pushed down harder on Ian’s hand and dragged him closer, desperate to have him inside.

  “Yes, come on,” he moaned, “Fuck me already.”

  Ian shuddered at those words, and a low moan escaped his throat, but he didn’t move on with the proceedings. “No,” he answered. “You’re not ready yet.”

  Still gentle, Ian’s touch turned fierce and insistent, his fingers so deep inside tears sprang to the corners of Adam’s eyes from its intensity. He had to keep remembering to breathe, his chest burning from the strain.

  “Is it good?” Ian murmured, mouthing the words against his neck.

  “Yes, God, yes.”

  Ian proceeded on evoking soft whimpers and panting moans with each glide in and out of him. The initial burn, replaced by a steady hum of pressure. One which built and built until Adam lay willing and pliant, frantic for more, every nerve ending on fire. But Ian lingered on with the foreplay while Adam begged him. So far gone, he’d have done anything Ian asked.

  “Come on.”

  “Tell me you want this,” Ian urged, kissing him, running his tongue along his bottom lip.

  The sensation sent Adam’s toes curling and hot sparks shooting up his spine.

  “Yes, I want this, you idiot.”

  He nearly came out of his skin as something caught inside him. A jolt of such intense pleasure, he vaulted halfway off the bed, desperate to chase the sensation.

  “You like that?”

  “What the hell was that?” Adam gasped, eyes wide with amazement as Ian chuckled against his lips. He responded by pressing in harder, deeper, finding the right spot again.

  A move that left Adam clawing up his back, begging him for it. “What are you waiting for? Please, please do it for God’s sake.”

  “Relax. We’re getting there,” Ian replied, reaching over him and toward the bedside table for a condom.

  His hands were shaking as he ripped open the foil. “Last chance. We can still stop this, just tell me to stop.” Ian’s words were faint.

  Adam shook his head as tears streaked across his face, hot and slow, unaware of them until Ian touched his cheek with the back of his hand.

  “Tell me to go,” Ian pleaded as he wiped the moisture from his eyes.

  Adam turned away, unable to contain the surge of emotion waging war inside him.

  “Say the word, and I’ll leave you alone—” Ian’s voice broke and Adam’s heart with it.

  God help him, but he wanted this so much it hurt. Still, a part of Adam wanted to end this, wished for the power to kill this growing desire between them. Adam met Ian’s gaze and the pure want, the passion he found there stiffened his resolve to continue.

  “No. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Now shut up and finish what you started.”

  Ian growled low and pulled them into a kiss, so deep Adam felt joined to him already. Ian tossed him back on the bed, more forceful, and Adam found he didn’t mind one bit. Adam amazed as Ian’s shoulders trembled while he rolled on the condom. Adam could hardly lay still, chest rising and falling in anticipation. Ian reached for a discarded pillow and moved it under his hips, raising them.

  “I’ll go slow, okay?” Ian reassured him as he settled his weight on top of him, taking his legs and wrapping them loose around his waist. “Are you comfortable?”

  Adam nodded. Ian’s eyes never left Adam’s face, watching him for any hint of discomfort as he eased in an inch at a time. He stopped halfway when Adam hissed between his teeth at the slight twinge of pain.

  “Do you want me to stop?” Ian asked, panting, arms trembling.

  “No. No, keep going. I’m fine.”

  The initial discomfort was only a distant, annoying twinge. Instead, Adam concentrated on Ian’s expression. The way his eyes fluttered shut as he took his time slipping inside. Once there, he drew Adam close, settling on a slow, persistent rhythm, both soon sweaty and gasping for air as if all the oxygen had been drained from the room.

  “Oh God, Adam,” Ian moaned, and Adam thought he might come from the pure need in his voice. “You’ve no idea how incredible you feel.”

  “Come on,” Adam pleaded, wrapping his legs tight around him and digging his heels into his sides. “Give it to me.”

  Ian lifted, sliding his hands into Adam’s hair and tilted his head backward to bury his face in the curve of Adam’s neck, as if trying to stifle cries he could scarcely contain.

  Time blurred until nothing else remained except the other. Joined, they drifted in a private world made only for them—a place where the past and future no longer mattered. And where the present was all they had and could ever want. Adam gripped the sweat-slick skin of Ian’s back and urged him on, needing him deeper. He sensed Ian was being careful. But Adam demanded more, the pain and the pleasure. He wanted everything Ian had to grant him, and at that moment, he wanted it more than even the life Ian had stolen from him.

  “Come on, harder.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Adam’s iron hold tightening in frustration, needing more. “Goddamn it. Fuck me.”

  Ian grinned, stilling to catch his shattered breath. “Jesus, that mouth of yours. I’m not going to last if you keep talking like that.”

  “Like what? Me asking, no, begging you to fuck me? Come on, fuck me, Ian.”

  Ian smirked at the challenge and slammed forward with a firm thrust, renewing his efforts.

  In response, Adam threw his head back and cried out his name. The noises Adam made seemed to drive Ian toward heights Adam never imagined they could reach. Ian sped up, pounding into Adam’s writhing body with a vigor that had them both teetering on edge.

  “Oh God,” Adam arched up and into Ian’s waiting grip.

  Ian’s slick fist was stroking him to hardness in time with each brutal thrust. The contrast unraveled Adam as his climax hit with force shattering him into pieces. Entire galaxies exploded behind his eyelids. Only half-aware of crying out, “God, oh my God, Ian, Ian” as he came.

  Slowly the room came back into focus as Ian moved to pull out. But Adam stopped him, wanting him inside him even as his orgasm ebbed, and discomfort returned.

  “Don’t—don’t stop…”

  The so
und Ian made in the back of his throat in response was purely primal. He pulled out only long enough to lift Adam’s legs over his shoulders. Ian pushed inside his spent and still trembling body without pause, slamming into him again and again.

  And Adam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight, gripping his forearms, begging for him to take what he wanted. Adam clenched around him, rewarded with a moan he didn’t know Ian could make. His hold of him tightened as Ian bent down, searching out his lips.

  “Come on. I want you to come for me,” Adam urged.

  Ian’s dark eyes locked on Adam’s own, lost and frantic. His lips parted, panting for breath. His desperate grip on Adam’s thighs was as possessive as any brand as he rode them both through his climax. Groaning, he collapsed on top of Adam, letting loose a long, shaky breath as he murmured Adam’s name against his neck, his entire body shuddering through rolling aftershocks.

  Adam held him, tracing his fingertips along the ridges of his spine until he stilled. When they had their breathing back, Ian eased out of him, careful not to hurt him. Hands still shaking as he discarded the condom and returned to bed. Adam curled into his side once he made himself comfortable.

  “Did you like that?” Ian inquired, exhaling the question into his ear.

  Adam burrowed deeper into his chest, cheeks burning, “I think I loved that.”

  Ian chuckled and kissed the side of his face. “I’m glad,” he muttered, sounding pleased. He drew them closer, arms wrapped around the other, legs tangled.

  For a time, they laid there, savoring each other’s quiet breaths. Finally, Adam had to ask, unsure of where they stood. “What is this?”

  Ian bit his lip as if to keep from blurting out things he didn’t want to mean, squirming, unable to speak.

  Adam’s hold tightened. “Is this something? Ian?”

  “Yes, yes, this is something,” he answered, voice hoarse, strained.

  Adam went to reply, but Ian stopped him with a firm kiss, deepening it until Adam quit asking questions.

  Chapter 17

  After Ian’s eighteenth birthday present, the three days of torture that ushered in his adulthood, Ian flourished. He fought harder, played harder, lived as if each second would be his last.

  Out by the sheds, jeans dirtied by mud, he knelt and blew the newest guard. A twenty-something guy named Kevin. Ian sensed him getting close as Kevin held him tight by the back of his neck and took what he wanted. And Ian let him.

  “Ian!”

  A sharp voice cut through his lust addled brain. Kevin reeled back, reaching for his pants, stammering apologies. Ian fell back as Rhys, his expression murderous, shoved Kevin against the shed, hand around his throat.

  Ian scrambled to his feet, protesting. But, Rhys ordered him to be quiet, rounding on the shaking man he held in his grasp.

  “If I see you with him again. I’ll kill you. Got it?”

  Kevin bobbed his head, gasping for air. “Yes—yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now get the fuck out of here.”

  Kevin took off, tripping over his pants as he ran back to the house. Once gone, Rhys shifted the full force of his rage on Ian. He was shaking as he pointed an accusing finger in his direction.

  “Don’t let me find you doing this shit again. Understand?”

  “I’m an adult. I can do what the fuck I like,” Ian challenged, daring to defy him.

  “You’re a kid,” Rhys clarified. “A stupid, impulsive kid who doesn’t think.”

  “I’m not impulsive or stupid,” Ian countered. “I’ll do what I want when I want!”

  “You don’t want that!”

  “Why? Does being a cocksucker offend you?”

  “Don’t use that word,” Rhys snapped. “You’re better than that.”

  “Am I? Tell me what I’m good for besides killing people and sucking dick,” Ian fumed, temper flaring.

  “Christ, Ian,” Rhys swore, his tone stricken, face weary and drawn.

  “Are you jealous?” Is that it? You want me to—?”

  “Shut up!” Rhys exploded. “Not another word.”

  For a second, Ian wondered if Rhys might hit him, though he never had in anger before, not once. Instead, Rhys only shook his head, looking defeated.

  “I mean it. Don’t let me catch you with any of these guys again.” Rhys ordered, stomping off across the gardens before Ian could reply. Helpless to do anything but watch, unseen and unheard once more.

  * * * *

  It’d been weeks since Rhys had caught Ian out by the sheds; he still wasn’t speaking to him. Distracted, quick to temper, brushing Ian aside as if he had little patience for anyone, him more so. Fed up with another thwarted try at making peace, Ian had gotten drunk off a bottle of stolen vodka. Alone in his dark bedroom, sulking, playing over Rhys’s words until he could take no more. Blind drunk, and running on emotion, he managed to navigate the few feet to Rhys’s door, banging on it. Ian was both relieved and terrified when he answered.

  “I need to talk to you,” Ian announced, barreling into Rhys’s room, stumbling and dizzy.

  “I don’t have time for this.” Rhys pushed him aside. He strolled past him to the bathroom, ignoring Ian’s disheveled state.

  Ian followed. Brokenhearted, he saw Rhys open the medicine cabinet, reaching for a tiny bottle of white pills. He chased several with swigs from the open bottle of liquor sitting on the back of the toilet.

  “What is it, Ian?” Rhys barked, turning rummy, bloodshot eyes in Ian’s general direction.

  The scrutiny of Rhys’s stare unsettling. How could Ian explain it was him and only him? His face in place of every stupid guard he’d ever jerked off in a closet. Every older man for whom he got down on his knees in a bathroom stall—each failing to live up to Rhys’s fantasy. For him, there was one else. Rhys was his entire world and the only one in it. He’d never loved anyone else, had never learned how.

  “Please, don’t, don’t be mad at me,” Ian whimpered as he fought to assemble the whirlwind of thoughts knocking around his skull. How he hated seeing the broken and terrible anguish in Rhys’s eyes. The slow and insidious monster he’d observed growing over the years, taking Rhys with it. Rhys drinking too much, taking unnecessary risks, losing his temper more.

  Rhys shook his head as if dismayed by the openness of Ian’s emotions. As if with one glance he could see what owning those emotions would cost him, the awful price Ian would pay for indulging them. Still, he couldn’t stop himself. Ian turned away, ashamed, tears stinging. The sobs stuck in his chest burned and throbbed.

  “Ian, I can’t do this,” Rhys grumbled, pushing into the bedroom. He opened his closet, tossing a handful of clothing over his shoulder.

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  But Rhys acted as if he hadn’t heard. Ian tried again, but Rhys whirled on him.

  “What does it matter where I’m going? I have to go, okay?”

  Ian swallowed hard, praying he hadn’t driven Rhys away forever this time. “Look, I’m sorry for that shit with Kevin, okay? I know it was stupid—”

  “Now is not the goddamn time,” Rhys stopped him, his tone tense, worried.

  Ian steeled his spine and took a step forward, counting heartbeats as long as centuries as he leaned in to kiss him. Rhys froze for only a moment before shoving Ian away from him. Ian stumbled, hitting the mattress with his legs, falling.

  “You stupid little shit!” Rhys snarled as he stood over him, shaking with rage. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  Ian used the bed to pull himself upright.

  “I love you,” Ian confessed, unable to hide the shakiness in his voice. “Rhys—I—I’m in love with you.”

  Ian wasn’t sure if Rhys heard him. Powerless to read his expression, pity or sadness, Ian couldn’t tell. That made it worse. Ian tried to leave, but Rhys stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Goddamn it, Ian,” Rhys made him sit down on the bed’s edge. “You know you break my heart, you do.” Rhys sat down next to him and r
ested his hand over Ian’s own. “I love you, kid. But I don’t love you like that, and I never will.”

  The flood of emotion Ian had kept at bay burst. Those words, decimating all in their path. The truth that killed every dream he had since Ian was old enough to want anything at all.

  “Look at me,” Rhys urged, but Ian didn’t want him to see his tears, spilling down his face, fierce and slow. “I’ve known you since the day you were born. For God sakes, what kind of man would I be—”

  Ian shook his head, face lowered, sobbing, unable to hold back. Before tonight he thought he’d grasped the concept of death, but this was what actual death was like—the end of everything.

  “I get why you’re confused. Why you might have certain feelings—”

  “Don’t insult me. I know how I feel. I’ve always known.”

  “Jesus.” Rhys stood, but Ian reached out, unable to let go. Desperation etched in every line of his tear-stained face.

  “Come on, aren’t you curious? I’d do anything you wanted, everything.”

  Rhys yanked away, mouth curled. “Trust me. You don’t want a broken, old man like me. You’re young, beautiful; you could have anyone in the world.”

  “I don’t want them. I want you!”

  “No, Ian,” Rhys interrupted him from going further. “Do you understand? No, not now and never.”

  Ian’s cheeks were blazing, body crawling with tension. He had to get out of this room and away from Rhys, unable to stomach having him near him a second longer. Emotions, sharp and deep, burned red hot before leaving ice cold behind in their wake. Already, the numbness he would carry settled inside, making itself at home.

  Ian elbowed Rhys out of the way, dashing for the door, with Rhys arguing for him to stay. But Ian shoved him off with both hands. Tears stung and blurred as he fought not to show how much it hurt. This is where the truth got you. Having learned that lesson, Ian decided he wanted no part of it ever again.