Backlash

by Jack L. Pyke

  The phone went on the unit and Gray buried a second wave of sickness that nearly burned its way up to his throat. Mouthwash only managed to twist his stomach a little more, and Gray’s grip on the basin tightened.

  Movement from the bed broke his grip, and hooking his thumbs in his waistband, he slipped the silk of his pyjamas over his hips, then down his thighs. Clothing found a home in the laundry chute before the shower was switched on. As steam breathed over the cool of black granite tile, Gray stepped under the fine spray of water.

  Cleaning became mechanical, just a process, or a means to drown out everything beyond the fall of water and the turn of stomach. Dipping his head, feeling water pelt harder into his neck and shoulders, he reached up, gripping the showerhead and focusing on the white noise going on around him.

  Jack and Jan found whatever peace they could before nightmares kicked in. Over the past month, Gray had chased after the rare sparks of laughter off both of them, but the twisted part of his soul, the darker part that knew how someone wasn’t broken fully if they had the energy to cry out, he’d willed their cries on when they closed their eyes, needing to see them fight beneath the sheets.

  Because what came between those polar opposites, between the laughter and cries...

  Bile had him screwing his eyes shut. The silence took away the ghosts in hiding and left him needing to crawl back in bed with them to make sure they were still there.

  He’d been brought up to face both sides of the social fence, playing in muddy streets and skinny-dipping in Welsh valley pools with other teens his age one day, then fencing behind private schooled gates the next. A deliberate lesson from his father: play both sides, son, and don’t be afraid to play them both just as dirty. He’d learned to play dirty, and fuck up so many people in the process, enjoying the process. Part of that was what drew him to Jack. Jack could be the knife-edge digging into any Dom’s groin, wanting to tease the blade one moment, then fuck the Dom over with the knife when Jack’s world crashed and Martin crept in on the next breath. And as for Jan...

  Somewhere along the line, you fell in love with him, didn’t you...?

  The quiet Vince had caused... it called out a deeper fear of walking out of the en suite now and finding the bed empty, that hold and calmness taken away.

  The slide open of the shower glass partition distracted him slightly, but he kept his head down, eyes closed. A draught fell over his shoulders as the door closed, and he waited, just listening. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of water soaking flesh, then a body came in close, shaping his from behind. A gentle brush of nose came to Gray’s shoulder, just a slight nudge, asking quietly for a response, and Gray felt his entire world slip with it, back to harder times, darker moments....

  Six Months Earlier

  “Hurt you real bad, didn’t he, Richards?”

  In the darkness of his bedroom, Gray just about caught Jack’s words, but his head was too full of exhaustion to place whether it was fading dream or waking need. Then—

  “Head fuck,” whispered Jack so hard and fast in the darkness. Lying next to Gray in bed, Jan began to shiver. He faced the darkness, but someone was there, crouched next to him and sharing the shadows. “So fucking bad, Jan,” mumbled Jack. “Love you both so much. But it hurts. Everything fucking hurts. You know. You’re hiding from it too. Stupid... say stupid fucking things. Wasn’t you back there, wasn’t us, never fucking us except when I kissed you on the floor, when it hurt more being pulled away from you. Just... my head. It’s everywhere and I can’t ground it long enough to stay with you. I want to so fucking badly, baby. Just... just please hang on in there, stay with me. Please—”

  “Jack?” Gray jolted, easing up, but instantly regretted it seeing Jack suddenly jerk back, away from the bed, nearly falling onto his ass. It was there in his eyes, the threat of a black gas mask easing up from behind Jan... the rape... the feel of burning skin... of having Jan lie next to him in their own bed before being raped side by side.

  Gray was up, shifting over Jan, then reaching to try and help pull Jack up as Gray hit the floor.

  “Fucking don’t.” Jack carried on scuttling back, that cry in silver eyes calling out two weeks of hell, of somehow still being held captive there, never to be fully released.

  Jack pushed up to his feet, back pressed firmly against the wall, trying to look for a way out. Gray shifted up against him, body pressed in close, needing to stop the fall.

  “Easy, stunner.” Fuck. He could feel how badly Jack shook, and it matched his own. “Easy.” Gray played his hands around Jack’s face, just gentle swipes with thumbs against jaw, anything to keep focus away from the shadows of the room that seemed to shift and reshape the cries bleeding into Jack’s gaze.

  “Easy,” whispered Gray again, and Jack calmed, his breathing less panicked.

  “Nobody touches you again,” said Gray, trying to get in closer and keep the rest of life away from who he now held. Jack didn’t shift his gaze, and that natural instant was there with Gray, where private communication went beneath words, beneath spoken hurt, where he could ask to be allowed permission to calm... to ease... to touch. He ran his nose along Jack’s jaw, a quiet demand to be allowed to comfort, and Jack let out such an unsteady breath before shifting slightly and allowing Gray access to his throat. Jack was shaking like hell, so Gray kept to brief brushes of lip against throat. No marking, claiming, just tender nuzzling to let Jack know he was here, and Jack’s uneasy sigh gave way to a soft murmur, his shivering easing into calmer, deeper breaths.

  “Miss you, kid.” Being so close, yet still so far fucking away, it killed. “Miss you so fucking much.”

  Aware of the pressure between their bodies, how it could hurt Jack’s branding mark, Gray shifted slightly. But the moment Gray let his hands slip down to Jack’s ass, give a gentle pull to get Jack to move away from the wall so he could ease Jack’s silk pyjama bottoms down to check it and—

  “Cunt.”

  Gray grunted as Jack pushed him off, then in one movement pinned Gray up against the wall, an elbow digging into Gray’s throat. Gray controlled his reaction as anger sliced through hurt and fear in Jack’s eyes. That need to tear heads off before sex became a conscious thought came through in his cry, and Jack even dug his elbow in a little farther, making it impossible to swallow. But something changed. Jack faltered, dropped his roughness, and confusion laced his eyes with how his hard-on dug into Gray’s thigh.

  Jack cried out, shaking off Gray’s touch, then slamming Gray’s hands up against the wall, he moved in close.

  A bite came at Gray’s throat, enough to draw blood and force him to wince against the onslaught. Full of heat and every need going, any other moment, any other time where Jack would draw in close and trace his cock over Gray’s thigh, wanting intimacy, it would calm everything in Gray. But now...

  Gray looked away, focused on the colours of the hall, how shadows seemed heavier and holding on that little more, pulling Jack away from him that little more...

  Jack rubbed his tip against Gray’s exposed skin, the need for release panted out. Then grunts and frustrated growls took over. He was so hard, but he stroked himself against Gray with one hand and wiped away tears with the other, trying to find some comfort in old habits, in Gray, but getting nowhere fast.

  “Oh Christ, Christ,” groaned Jan, hands going on his head.

  Gray buried his, although the grief came easy enough as—

  “Us....” Jack cried out, taking Gray’s breath as he forced his body in close in an attempt to find release. But his cock had softened, half-semi in his hand, against Gray’s thigh. “Not Vince, not Cutter, just you. Just fucking you... me.”

  Gray ducked slightly as Jack punched the wall.

  “Fucking put me back together again, Gray. Please. Trust.... respect—fucking control.”

  Gray suddenly shifted, slamming Jack up against the wall. “Put you back together?” he snarled into his ear. “Like this?” He pinned Jack’s arms ab
ove his head, body now crushing in close. “Through BDSM?” He made sure Jack couldn’t move and nearly cried out with how he was forced to hold and calm him now. “Let’s see how ready you really are for it, then, Jack. Let’s see how much your head really fucking needs a Dom’s control in any way.” After reaching over to the unit, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Take a good look around you, Jack,” he snarled into his ear, and he flicked one of the handcuffs around Jack’s wrist. Gray knew exactly what was going to happen, who this would wake, but—“You fucking remember what it looks like. Then when we’re done, don’t ever ask for my control like this again, not to ease a disorder.”

  Jan started to back away as Jack snarled and bucked, fear crying out Jack’s panic as the cool metal touched his wrist. Then as that first cuff clicked into place, something switched in his eyes, and Jack became very, very still.

  “Now you’re scaring him, Welsh.”

  Gray went motionless hearing the name, hearing the psychological switch.

  “Not nice,” said Martin. The change in voice was different, slower, each syllable given a hard bite, but the switch had come so quick compared to earlier that night when Martin had been caught with two Doms, close to sleeping with them, as he had fucked them on two previous occasions. Everything that was Jack, now given over so easily to Martin, to hide... to hold. “I think we really need to fucking play now.”

  Martin smiled, then Gray staggered back, grunting out hurt as Martin head-butted Gray, smacking into his cheekbone. Then he defended another blow as Jan scrambled back by the bed, sinking to the floor, and covering his head.

  Martin caught hold of the drawer that homed the cuffs, and a front glass panel of the wardrobe shattered as he slammed the drawer into it once, twice, the third time with Gray ducking splinters of broken drawer as it scattered into the bedroom assault.

  Glass digging into the pads of his feet, Gray kneed Martin in the ribs, careful of the branding staining Jack’s hip, then twisted Martin’s arm behind his back and spun him back towards the bed.

  Martin hit hard, knocking into the frame and making Jan cry out and try to scramble farther into the shadows.

  Gray went cold and pushed Martin down on the bed. Pinning his free arm behind his back, the cuffs still swaying from his other wrist, he grabbed Martin’s hair and forced his look up into the corner. “Look at him.”

  Martin snarled and writhed.

  “You see this, Jack?” Gray shouted at him. “You fucking hear Jan, how Martin’s tearing him up an—”

  Martin headbutted Gray again, this time splitting his lip; then Gray ended up amongst the debris of broken glass and splintered wood as he was shoved off the bed. He missed the first kick to the ribs, but caught the second, kicking at Martin’s leg and bringing him down too. Gray clawed his way up Martin’s body, slipping an arm around his throat and forcing him to keep focus on Jan.

  “Look at him, you fuck,” Gray snarled again as Jan cried out against Martin’s struggles to get free. “Stop fucking hiding, Jack—look at Jan. Look at what this is doing.”

  “Stop. Stopstopstop,” whispered Jan over and over again, curled so tightly into a ball. Martin cried out, then Gray grunted as a bite bored deep into his arm.

  “Jan....” The terror there was Jack’s, but the way he fought put Jack back under Vince, how Jack would have broken free from Vince and bloodied Jan for coming over him. It wasn’t a good cry, more full of disgust, hate. “Let me go. Up—”

  Gray pulled him to his feet and pushed him away from Jan. He couldn’t risk Jack getting close to Jan, but Jack had worked the cuffs off, spun around, and a fist caught Gray, forcing him to stumble. He kept a hold of Jack and made sure Jack stumbled with him, away from Jan. Jack grunted as his back hit the wall. Then he hit the floor hard, on his ass.

  Gray waited a moment to see if he’d get up. Seeing nothing but buried head in arms, he backed up and eased down to the floor, ribs aching, blood dripping onto his chest, but mostly tired... just so fucking tired now and needing Jack.

  As shattered glass glinted against the hall light, everything fell quiet for a while. Jack sat to one side, looking like he was waking from one nightmare into another, subdued, tired, tear marks at his wrists where the handcuffs had been torn free. Jan sat to the other, only now lifting his head to the debris and those left behind in the fallout. Gray rested his arms across his knees as he watched Jack. The bedroom was wrecked, glass-fitted wardrobe kicked, beaten, and broken into pieces, leaving huge splinters of glass running up the walls as well as the broken glass on the floor. The bed had been pushed a few feet out of place, the covers now on the floor. A lamp twisted as heavy breaths fought to gain control.

  “Jack,” Gray said eventually, and the look in grey eyes saw Jack’s tired pull out of swimming pool look as they fixed on Gray. “I remember Martin from the fallout over Cutter,” he mumbled quietly. “You don’t. Not properly. So control?” He buried a groan. “Don’t ever ask again for me to Dom you when you run and hide from me in Martin. I’ll give you anything in this fucked-up world that you want, but Martin? I can’t fucking stand that bastard. Okay, kid? I’m here for you, when you’re ready, not him.”

  Chapter 6

  Here for You

  The ghosts played hard, and in the shower, Gray felt it again, that gentle brush of lip against shoulder blade, a quieter please for control. For a moment he gripped around the showerhead.

  “Yeah. I know I hurt you.” A touch drifted down to where water ran over Gray’s lower abs. “You okay, mukka?”

  Easing his grip off the shower, Gray turned around and let his arms snake Jack’s shoulders. Pulling him in close, he closed his eyes, ignoring how he buried relief at hearing the familiar call of “mukka” now.

  Jack had done this once or twice a week since they’d been back, getting up in the morning and coming into the shower with him. Always after Gray had gotten in, after the sickness hit, but still always covering his hip. Gray tightened his grip around Jack for a moment and eased into a sad smile. “Morning, stunner,” he whispered in his ear before kissing it.

  Black hair coiled around Jack’s face, almost hiding the look there in his eyes as Jack glanced up. Concern battled heat, building with each time Jack had come into the shower. The heat there was the look off the late teen, a time when Gray had pulled up outside of Alan Shaw’s house, the policeman Jack had put in hospital. It had been raining then. Jack had just come out of a six-month trial with getting Cutter sent down, and Gray had tried to sever the connection with Jack, break away before he fell and cried out his own fall. But he’d been met with this look: this need to fuck, to ask if they were okay, only Jack hadn’t known how to voice it. It offered such a dark beauty in those grey eyes, how they cried out to fuck, to feel, to touch, to try and heal.... And as much as Gray wanted to stop the fall back then, take away the hurt, he wanted to fuel it, to make him understand how to ask, to fight, to fuck, let himself be exhausted to the core, because in the aftermath...

  Jack’s hand was on his hip now, hiding the branding mark that he’d cut out, hiding parts of himself despite the conflict of emotions. Gray eased out a breath. Damage was on full display and all of Jack’s confidence faltered with it, twisting Gray’s stomach and stirring more sickness.

  Kissing at Jack’s neck, Gray eased his touch down, one hand tracing Jack’s side, his hip. As he let his touch drift over the hand covering the scar, Jack went to take a step back, his “No” crying his panic. Gray breezed a caress at the back of Jack’s hand, his demand to be allowed to touch.

  It seemed to come so naturally. Jack pulled his hand from underneath Gray’s, to rest at his side. Full access given to his hip.

  “No hiding from me, Jack,” Gray mumbled quietly. “Please.” He brushed just above the scar, and he caught Jack’s unsteady breath. The V that Vince had branded into his skin was gone, cut away into a perfect square, aligned perfectly with the contours of Jack’s fine body, as though he’d inched it into pristine precision, then
started picking at it when he thought it kept moving and slipping out of place. Most was healed, except for the top right hand corner. A hint that Jack had left a bloodied kink in one corner of the photo so he could come and rip it up, then inch it back into position when life got too much. Vince’s denial of letting Jack go casual with his photo had seen Jack tear at his own body, trying to order life by straightening and bloodying his own wounds, like a dog made to ease his own hurt by biting it away.

  Gray stroked over the scar tissue, then skated on water over the smooth, tanned skin to trace the finer V of Jack’s abs. “Sorry, stunner,” said Gray, leaning into the curve of Jack’s throat and kissing softly at his collarbone. “So fucking sorry I wasn’t there for you and Jan.”

  Jack made sure Gray found his gaze and came in for such a rough kiss. “I remember the alley,” breathed Jack against his lips. “I remember getting dragged to your interrogation cells, mukka. And I remember the bastard... the electronic tagging that came after.” One kiss was given, then two, three—the fourth offering a brief taste of tongue against tongue, then every ounce of heat and need came in the final fight to feel as Jack didn’t draw back for breath from the fifth tonguing. “I remember everything about you, Gray. And knowing that”—he pulled back slightly—“you ever apologise again for loving me, I’ll fucking floor you for it. We clear?”

  Gray damned his own soul for running with the exchange of breath, for missing this, and in that instant took Jack’s mouth just as hard, just as rough, bodies so tightly pressed together that Jack’s hard-on dug into his thigh with every slight grind of hip off them both.

  Dangerous ground, Gray knew that, and it would be so easy to fall, to push Jack up against the wall, pin his hands above his head, fuck him until he cried loud enough to stir life into Jan... but instead Gray calmed, pulled out of the kiss. “Jack—”

  “Gray. I miss the fuck out of the way we touch, full on. Heat and chain.” A brush of hand came at Gray’s jaw, followed by a soft nip of teeth on lip that caught all of Gray’s attention. Then Jack looked down his body, tracing the reaction of his own heat and running the back of his hand down his own cock, just once. “Fuck. Talk to me, Gray....” He shivered. “Talk to me about BDSM. About ways to get back to touching your life, mukka. To touching you.”