Backlash

by Jack L. Pyke

  Craig patted his shoulder, then flipped him the finger. “Always only need the one where you’re concerned, mate,” said Craig, re-emphasising the point by putting it up close and personal in his face. “I get to tie the other hand behind my back when it comes to taking girls like you down.”

  “Ooh,” said Jack, sliding up close to Craig’s side. “Tell me, when you take girls like me down, do you like it?”

  Craig found a sudden blush, and Trace saw all the I’m straight, stay back signs there.

  “I hate you, Jack. You know I really haven’t missed your goddamn ass—”

  “Note goddamn sexy ass.”

  “I never said goddamn sexy ass anywhere.”

  “There, you just did.” Jack swung an arm around Craig’s shoulder. “I’m taken—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” mumbled Craig, “never far enough away, though.”

  Jack laughed and took Craig’s case off him, which Craig took back with a scowl. “Get your own.”

  “I have. Yours.”

  “Christ, bored with the papers so soon?” said Craig, stopping Trace. “He never bloody quits.”

  Trace offered a hand over. Craig hadn’t been around since they’d been at the manor. “Nice to meet you again, Craig. Name’s Trace if you don’t remember.” He pointed at the lounger. “That’s Gabe Hunter.” Craig said his hellos. “And Darrek Grealey, Gabe’s partner.”

  “Hey,” he said over to Dare and Gabe, then after shaking Trace’s hand, Craig crouched down by Jan. “How you doing, bud?”

  Jan eased into a small smile, and relief was back in it. “You soon disappeared.” His gaze strayed to Craig’s bag, and Trace got a brief look over from Craig.

  “Can’t keep me away, though,” said Craig back to Jan. “They explained what’s going to happen?”

  He nodded. “And you’re all right with this? With triggering Martin?”

  “No,” said Craig. “Martin shouldn’t be tapped on the shoulder deliberately. Ever.” He winced. “But I can understand the reasoning behind it.” He tapped his bag. “And I come with big friends to help catch the fallout.”

  Again, Jan’s glance was taken with the bag as a brush came at Trace’s side to get his attention. Jack stood by him now, looking more than ready to get this done. “MC should sign Craig up for a Dom course,” Jack said matter-of-factly, and Trace got a very teasing smile. “He’s got wicked peace work rates at strapping a guy down.”

  “Yeah?” Trace looked Craig’s muscled form over as the other man got to his feet. “Any particular preferences on bondage gear?”

  “Er, what?” Craig didn’t know who or what to look at.

  “Ah. Vanilla?” Trace said to Jack.

  “Vanilla and straight,” added Jack.

  “Pity.” Trace was back with Craig. “Although, maybe I know a lady back home who could push his vanilla side—”

  “Stop, just stop.” Craig raised his hands and looked ready to pull out a crucifix, garlic, and Holy fuck me Bible as he stood. “I come with a big-ass sedative, friends, and a military career to make sure I get at least two of you on the floor before you try something.”

  “But he’s open to the suggestion,” said Jack, looking impressed. “He only mentioned fighting off two before he’d let us touch. Because that’s, of course, what we do to every straight guy we see.”

  “Oh fuck you.”

  Gabe was busy trying to bury his laugh where Dare failed to.

  “Can you talk without reducing everything to sexual innuendo?” finished Craig.

  “No,” said Jan. “It’s always been about Jack cocking his leg up someone’s lamppost.” He was the only one who wasn’t smiling.

  Things fell a little quiet very quickly and Jack looked away and dug his hands in his jeans pockets. Jan wouldn’t shift his gaze from Jack and muscles tensed in his shoulders, looking ready to pull himself up out the pool. All because Jack wouldn’t bite back and ease Jan’s own hurt and confusion.

  “Drink,” said Jack. Back with them. “Anyone need a drink before we get started?”

  No one replied and Trace smiled back at Jack. “Ed’s put some bottles of water in the hall if needed. Let’s get started.”

  “I’m fine here,” said Jan.

  “Yeah.” Dare flicked some water at him. “Me too, then.” He didn’t let his watch of Jan fall.

  “Gabe will be in Gray’s study. He’ll hook up some CCTV in there.” Gabe raised a brow in Trace’s direction.

  That confused Jan. “You don’t work with security cameras.”

  Clever man, thought Trace. “Not usually he doesn’t, no. But I don’t want him in on the scene, just observing any changes.”

  Jan caught on quickly. “Trust issues. You don’t want negative association on Jack’s part towards Gabe.”

  Trace was relieved. “Yeah. Trust issue,” he repeated, then glanced at Jack and Craig. “You guys ready?”

  He got some nods back.

  “Then let’s go do this.”

  Chapter 24

  Box Clever

  With help from Ed, it had taken Gabe half an hour to get the CCTV set up in Gray’s study earlier in the day. Now he’d left Jan and Dare at the pool. His obs put him a good distance away from the hall, leaving Jan and Dare up on the next floor.

  The equipment had been kept light for a specific purpose. Just one camera in the corner of the hall, Ed making sure it allowed for focus on every inch of the hall via the dial at Gabe’s fingertips. Another camera kept a view on the entrance to the hall. The thick wooden double doors were closed, the lock left off for a purpose. After Gabe had a final check that the livestream was ready, Ed had left him to it after bringing a coffee, closing the door behind him. The relief was there with the old man finding something better to do. Knowing family was around didn’t feel right. Gabe glanced behind into the silence of Gray’s study now he’d been left alone. Protective, though. Maybe it was just that he wasn’t used to having blood around him.

  “You sure about this?” That came from the audio. A two-way link was set up, allowing Gabe to talk as well as see and listen. Trace stood by Jack in the hall. Jack had his arms folded across his chest, and Gabe switched a look over to the corner where Jack’s unease kept wandering. Craig stood by the double doors, black case at his feet. His smile back was easy enough, although his arms were folded, too. Jack’s warned that personal space needed to be respected, or else; Craig’s said personal space would be breached without a moment’s thought. Trace stood almost between them, keeping both at arm’s length.

  Gabe walked over to where the TV monitor nestled in some fancy unit. Evening had set in, casting a few unwelcome shadows into the hall, and a little adjust of the contrast and focus took care of the ailment. Light from the outside pool didn’t help, only managing to give Trace’s and Jack’s outlines almost an alien hue.

  “Hey, peaches,” Trace said, hitting Jack’s arm lightly and drawing Gabe’s attention back to the camera. “You okay with this?”

  Jack shook his head and Trace nodded as Craig shuffled uneasily, his foot catching the case and forcing out a scraping on the floor. A punch bag swung freely in the far corner, and it told how this hall was mostly used for Jack and Gray’s sparring sessions. Gabe shook his head at Trace, knowing it had been done specifically to raise hackles in Jack, unsettle him a touch, and get him in fighting mode. This wouldn’t be Gabe’s choice, but he was just an observer now.

  Trace rubbed at Jack’s shoulders, giving a heavy sigh with it. “I’m not gonna piss on your training with telling you how to breathe, peaches, but I do promise this’ll stop the moment you tell me you need out.”

  Jack nodded briefly, the look a little stiff as Trace smiled. Gabe raised a brow when that grin was directed at the camera.

  “Jack tell you about the tights, Gabe?”

  Jack groaned and an arm slipped around his shoulder.

  “Tights?” The corner of Gabe’s mouth flickered. Jack tried to wrestle Trace’s arm off his shoulder, but
Trace ruffed his hair, leaving Jack scowling up through black locks. “What do you need to tell me about the tights, Jack?” added Gabe.

  “Don’t you fucking start.”

  “Tights?” Craig was already up off the wall. “Jack, what the fuck are you doing with tights? You’re not... not...”

  “Oh fuh—” Jack buried the curse, but the blush was there on his cheeks, he wasn’t going to get away with that. “You can shut it,” he said, pointing at Craig. “Just do what I’m not paying a fucking penny for you to do.”

  But Craig couldn’t seem to shake the image, and he looked grief stricken. “You don’t—?” He groaned. “You don’t let us guys down by wearing bloody lady tights, Jack?”

  “Man stockings,” said Jack, looking like he was ready to dive at Craig’s feet and knock himself out with the sedative just to escape. “And to keep my bollocks warm—”

  “On the cold floor.” Trace snorted. “Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses.” He was caught reaching to grab at Jack’s T-shirt to tug it up, but Jack hit his touch away.

  “Off, get the fuck off.”

  “Ooh.” Trace looked down Jack’s body. “Bet they shape that ass of yours damn good, peaches.”

  “Fuck off,” said Jack as Craig buried a chuckle. But Trace was having none of it, and Gabe grinned seeing Trace finally tug Jack’s shirt up a little; there was a real curiosity there to see if they did shape Jack’s ass. And as skin was exposed, so too was just a fine black line of stocking that touched lower than the small dimple in Jack’s back.

  “Not a garter guy, then?” said Trace as Jack yelped and tried to rush both hands down his body to get the T-shirt out of Trace’s grip. “Hm... could do some serious teeth and tongue work around the clips to work ’em free, Jack.” Jack got a flash of eye. “Then there’s what to do with the clips after. Would you moan for me if I played peg Jack’s balls?”

  Jack levelled a finger, then spun around and down so fast, taking Trace’s legs from underneath him. It gave Gabe a look at some of Jack’s martial art skills, and he winced at just how easy Trace was taken down. But Jack was a little unsteady, maybe a little out of practice, and only choked back laughter as Trace caught his foot with his own, then grabbed him by the waist and pulled him down.

  Jack landed on top of Trace, the bigger man’s arms circling Jack’s waist and keeping him close as Jack tried to roll away.

  “Off—”

  “What do you think, Gabe? When we write the contract, fancy those tights shaping Jack’s ass when you scene him?”

  Jack was laughing hard, legs and arms... everywhere. “He... fuck me, Trace. Gabe... Gabe’s not that sadistic. You’re not that fucking sadistic, Gabe.”

  “Oh...” Trace added a run of tickling up Jack’s side. “You need to ask babydoll about his trip to the Florida Keys a while back, what the Dom in him had Dare wearing.”

  Jack stopped struggling and Gabe was glad his grin couldn’t be seen back here. Craig put his fingers in his ears, too professional to close his eyes, but looking close to singing out I can’t hear this shit, don’t make me hear this shit.

  “How the fuck did you squeeze Dare into a skirt?” Jack was looking up at the camera. “We are talking skirts here?”

  “A bikini with a skirt, actually. A shimmery, baby-pink one. And pigtails,” said Trace and Jack twisted to look down at him.

  “Scrunchies?”

  “Huh?” said Trace.

  Jack waggled a strand of his long black hair. “Y’know, scrunchies? Hair tying bollocks... things.”

  “Pink bows,” said Gabe. “Think Roger Taylor, ‘I Want to Break Free.’”

  “No?” Jack was back with the camera. “Seriously?” There was a wicked grin. “Taylor was goddamn sexy.”

  “Fuck, Jack. You’ve got a bony ass.” Trace tried to wrestle Jack off his hips. “Keep fucking still.”

  “You get any pictures?” said Jack and this time Gabe laughed.

  “I’ll show you mine if you let me into seeing Gray’s DVD collection of you, in the different gear he’s had you in.”

  That was it, Craig started humming now and Gabe swore it was a cover version of “I Want to Break Free”, but for a whole different reason.

  Pointing over at Craig and nearly doubled from watching him, Jack cried out as Trace finally tugged him off, now bringing his body on top of Jack’s and pinning him on the floor. Jack buried his head in the curve of Trace’s throat as he tried to control his laughter.

  “Stop giggling,” said Trace.

  “Hey, manly fucking chuckles down here.”

  “What, in those tights?” Trace’s hand wandered down Jack’s side. “Lemme look.”

  “Fuck off,” said Jack, giving a shove at Trace’s shoulder and forcing him to thud onto the floor.

  “Okay,” Trace lifted his head for a split second. “You’re in for it now, Jacky boy.”

  Jack cried out as Trace made a scramble for him...

  Now on the lounger, Dare kept a close watch on Jan. He’d moved moodiness away from him more or less as soon as the door had closed behind Jack. Dare had gotten out of the pool at some point, drying himself down and getting dressed as Jan rested against the side of the pool, head down. But as the moments passed, Jan had eased away.

  The quiet forced Jan to tilt his ear in the direction of the poolroom door. He’d started sluggish laps again soon after, that same focus, that same aggressive pull looking more and more tired, more ill. Dare stayed close to the pool edge because of it.

  The first week of detox could cause heart failure; Jan was in the worst period: just past the first twenty-four hours, and he had that sick itch, that need to keep moving, for fear of falling and crawling to the nearest med cabinet. There was no argument with Dare here on Jan not knowing he was on detox: most hardcore addicts screamed and sweated their selves through a different reality, not really registering the detox in those first twenty-four hours. Crying hate to it certainly, but never with it enough to say Jan would voice his faults and flaws. Verbally acknowledging it would mean he’d have to admit he had a problem first.

  Dare looked down at his hands, how some hurt was easier sculpted into the shape of a desk, a cupboard... anything. He missed home. How the air had been easier to breathe there than here. Jan hurt, was hurting. The splash of water drew his attention as Jan pulled himself out and padded over to the folded towels. He looked unsteady on his feet, forcing Dare up off his as Jan nearly slipped. Then Jan started to dry himself, stripping down under the cover of a huge towel that kept his privacy at all times.

  He’d been shy over in America, and Jack had tried to pull him out of his shell and had wound up collared at Gray’s feet for getting Jan involved outside of his comfort levels. Now there seemed no level of comfort there, no peace. Not even with Jack. Again Dare looked at his hands, how it was easier to shape and smooth wood sometimes.

  The way Jan spoke to Jack... the venom and bite was something Dare hated understanding. The frustration with what lay beneath the surface, what niggled, dug deep. Most times lurking out of sight and leaving a person needing to see the hurt in someone else’s eyes, to try and understand the hurt through hurting those closest.

  Dare turned his hands this way... that. He’d been there. He’d chipped and sculpted a life to his own needs to fuck almost as easily as he’d chipped and sculpted wood, and he’d almost taken Kyle with him. Jan offered a purity in soul that hadn’t been touched yet. The need was there to keep it that way.

  “I’m... I-I just need to go and get a drink.”

  Dare looked up, hearing Jan. He stood scratching at his towel-tousled hair, slim fitting jeans showing just how thin his frame was, but complemented beautifully with a white shirt and black jumper. Trace was right: even casual here came with a certain class. Illness, though, was universal, and those rings around Jan’s eyes couldn’t be denied now.

  “Yeah, me too,” said Dare, stretching his long limbs. He didn’t like the crack that came from his knees. “I need a walk
.”

  “Don’t, all right. I’m fine, I’m fine.” Jan came over and folded up Dare’s wet towel. The intensity with keeping things clean and clear for Jack was still there. Jan seemed to do it unconsciously, and that was the sad part here; just how much he still loved Jack, soul-deep and beyond any drugs. Their time together with Vince had proved that. Jan just seemed to have forgotten it.

  “I need a drink too,” he said, watching him a little longer. Then Dare patted his own stomach when Jan looked up at him. “Maybe get some food?”

  Jan narrowed his eyes for a moment; then a rumble had Jan rubbing at his own stomach as he straightened. “Bacon buttey?” He didn’t look as though he extended that offer to himself, though. His look said he didn’t care too much about food.

  “Bacon, but no... buttey,” said Dare, not liking the sound of whatever the hell a buttey was. There was a time and a place for butts; mention of thick slices of bacon sizzling on them wasn’t one of them.

  “Sandwich.” A tug came at Dare’s T-shirt. “Or bacon bap, to be more precise.” Jan looked really awkward. “Listen, ’bout earlier... sorry.”

  Dare rubbed at his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I know how the flu can mess with your head.”

  Guilt was there then, and Jan almost, almost went to say something. Then he stalled, looking away.

  “You know, Jack might need a drink too when he’s done.”

  Jan nodded, that guilt deepening. “Yeah. More than,” he said gently, even offering a small smile. “More than.” He struggled away and Dare glanced enviously at the pool table as he followed him out. He’d kill for a beer and a game of pool that didn’t get him wet.

  They’d reached the bottom of the stairs and Jan turned his ear back towards the hall.

  “Jan?” said Dare, gently. Jan was back with him for a minute, but then something else caught his attention. Something that Dare hadn’t heard or seen.

  “You okay?”

  “Hm?” He barely looked at Dare. “I’m....” He gave a distracted scratch of head. “I’m just... just gonna go back there, check... check something out, all right?”