by Liz Crowe
“Here,” she grabbed his other hand and put some pills in his palm. He tossed them down and accepted the water glass. The VA docs had him doped up six ways to Sunday, everything from anti-anxiety meds to pain killers. Hell they could’ve had him on fucking Viagra for all he knew or even cared. “The doctor upped your amitriptyline. Hopefully that will help with the dreams.”
“Spare me. They write ‘scripts. I take pills.” He put his still-pounding head in his hands. “Anything to make this pain go away.”
He felt his sister’s hand on his shoulder, but reflexively jerked away. He could hardly stand anyone touching him anymore. “Sorry,” he muttered, clenching his jaw and resisting the urge to just lie down and sleep forever. He shied away from that, knowing suicide rates and depression cycles and all that crap would just make him yet another statistical cliché.
This was his life. He had to live it, no matter how vice-like the grip on his skull or how much his eardrums echoed and tossed yet more agony into the mix nor how much his nose picked up every random stink between here and Detroit. He sighed, felt his throat close up as he pictured Dan, his amazing, handsome face and willing body. Now he was horny on top of everything else? Great.
Chapter Six
Alyssa pulled him to his feet and the dog slid under his hand.
“It’s okay. Listen, Gavin and Ian are coming over for dinner. I thought you might like to help me pull it together.”
“Whatever,” he said reaching out to flip on the lights. Until he remembered the lights were likely already on. Clenching his fists and trying not to punch a hole in the wall, he recalled all the ruthless talk therapy sessions to go with the drugs. The one thing his group had practically browbeaten into him was the need to work on his anger. Yeah, like he could fucking do that. But he put his other hand down and onto the dog’s harness and let it lead him out, helping him avoid furniture obstacles and whatever else stood in the abyss between Alyssa’s second bedroom and kitchen. “Jesus,” he put a hand over his nose. “Put out that candle, it’s killing me.”
He heard her blow out the disgusting scent, the residual smoke wafting and dissipating before the air finally cleared, then proceeded to carefully cut onions, tomatoes, peppers and mash garlic for what used to be his special lasagna sauce. “Make sure the noodles aren’t too done,” he said as somewhat soothing cooking smells suffused his brain. “Here, put more garlic in that. It needs it.” Alyssa obliged, chattering away about Ian’s little boy, about their parents’ beer and wine wholesale company that she now ran, everything under the sun. “Could you…just be quiet a minute,” he whispered, putting the knife down and feeling his way back to a chair.
“Sorry,” she ran her fingers through his hair, and he grabbed her, held on for dear life as depression rolled him under a now-familiar wave of depression. He gulped, determined not to start crying like a girl. “Come on, help me over here,” she hauled him to his feet then let the dog guide him to the stove where he stirred, tasted, demanded more oregano and yet more garlic until the sauce was right. He sat back down, exhausted, but pissed off now, as the chemical mix of medicines his body absorbed ebbed and flowed and made him a walking contradiction on the verge of yelling at the dog, his sister, anyone within hearing distance, yet again.
He touched Brutus’ ears. Poor SOB, to be saddled with him as his token handicapped human. Because Nick was a war hero, had saved three of the men in the escort platoon that day, even blinded and with a shattered leg, he was chosen as a guinea pig. He was given the dog, along with his Purple Heart and Navy Cross at some ceremony he barely remembered.
A trainer gave him a grand total of three hours’ worth of instruction that he ignored in favor of dozing on and off in between bouts of bone crushing pain. Thank God for Alyssa. She took it all in and demanded that he move in with her, new pet and all. He muttered under his breath when he felt the canine’s head on his leg. “Stupid fucker,” he muttered, as he rubbed the animal’s soft ears. He steadfastly ignored the calming sensation he got as he sat there. The contrarian in him would not accept that just petting the dog’s head would make him actually feel better although it did.
He felt Brutus’ vocal cords rumbling on his leg before the growl hit his ears. “They’re here,” he mumbled, about ten seconds before the doorbell rang. Alyssa put a cold beer bottle in his hand. He gripped it, and waited in the kitchen as she greeted her boyfriend and the man’s brother.
Nick had met them once when he could still see, while on a leave, what felt like ages ago. They were in Alyssa’s office at the distribution company waiting to talk to her. Nick didn’t give two shits about his father’s company anymore and ignored all the news he got from it now that his sister was in charge. He had just been there to visit her, recharge his batteries, then return to his life, and his lover.
As he sat in the kitchen listening to her greet them, he recalled how struck he had been by the two men. They could not look more opposite, even for fraternal twins. Gavin was tall, with coal black hair that Alyssa claimed was now salt and pepper, and bright blue eyes. His brother Ian was slightly taller, with a head full of wavy, dark blond hair, deep green eyes and even broader shoulders. Nick had experienced the distinct sensation of being checked out that day, and he’d liked it. Ian Donovan was an undeniably hot guy, and the few moments they stood and talked had made him a little nervous, given the signals his brain had thrown at him – the ones that had him picturing Ian’s strong, lean body over him, the man’s full lips brushing his.
By the time Alyssa had come out of her office to meet them, Nick was fairly jumping out of his skin and needed to escape. His relationship with Dan had been wonderful. He’d had no reason to even consider anything else. But something about the man had gotten to him. He had stared at Nick with those green eyes, sending a blatant “let’s skip this and find a dark corner, what d’ you say?” message that got him so worked up he’d had to drive to Alyssa’s house, flop down on her couch and jack off.
Of course, now, he was just Nick; the poor blind asshole with a dog and a sad sack hero story. He could give a shit who came to dinner.
Nick sighed and sipped his beer. He was allowed exactly two servings of alcohol a day, on his current medicine cocktail and he never skipped it. An alarm from the stove sounded. He felt around until he quieted it and decided to join the little party in the other room. He stood in the doorway, cleared his throat, and informed his sister about the timer.
When a distinct male presence loomed near his he sputtered, nearly choked. The testosterone coming off the man was like a not-so-subtle cologne, oozing in and out of Nick’s brain, warming his libido and making him flinch away when someone touched his arm. “Hey,” Ian’s voice was low. Nick kept one hand on the dog’s harness, the other on the doorframe. Sweat dripped between his shoulder blades. There was an uncomfortable extra beat of silence in the room. Then, as if drawn by something he could not explain he put out his hand, knowing Ian’s would meet him halfway. “Nick, it’s good to meet you.”
Some sort of conversation resumed and flowed around him. He tried to still the sudden tremor in his hands and voice. “Better take out the lasagna Lyssa,” he said at one point and then moved to the couch to sit, letting Ian’s warm, somehow malty scent fill his brain. Their thighs brushed together when Ian stood to get beer for everybody. Nick heard the happiness in Alyssa’s voice when she and Gavin joked about their professional conflict of interest. He was content that Gavin Donovan did indeed love his sister the way she deserved. Not thrilled mind you, as no man would ever really be worthy of her, but the familiar sound of her voice devoid of stress whenever Gavin was around suited Nick just fine.
He jumped when Ian put a fresh cold bottle against his bicep. “Thanks,” he muttered grabbing it.
“So, Nick, I hear they got the computer set up for you. You’ll be starting work next week?” Gavin’s voice broke through the erotic fantasy loop he had running in his head when he felt Ian’s leg close to his again. Jesus he was horny
. He hadn’t even given a half-thought to sex in the past months as he recovered in Germany and then discharged home to Michigan, to a life of nothingness plus excruciating pain.
“Uh, yeah.” He grunted, sipping and realizing he should slow down since he had just taken all those pills. His headache had retreated to a back corner, still muttering and promising to return, but his neck felt less tense thank all the gods. Acknowledging the fact that he felt more relaxed at this moment, sitting next to a near stranger named Ian Donovan, than he had in what seemed like forever, Nick blew out a puff of air. The dog shoved his muscular body between the men then dropped down on top of Nick’s feet as he’d been trained to do, never far or off-duty, just at ease. “Um,” he put the bottle down, adjusted the dark glasses that covered his sightless eyes. He tried to form coherent words, but every inch of his skin was on the alert, a sensation he’d not had since losing Dan, and his brain wouldn’t engage and cooperate.
“Yeah, my brainiac brother will be an analyst for an internet security company based in Detroit. He’ll work from home, but take the bus downtown a couple of days a week. His computer is way cool—giant keyboard and a sexy woman telling him what’s on the screen. No more of that weird robot voice—it’s fabulous,” Alyssa said, pride evident in her tone as she put a hand on his shoulder. “He picked up Braille in something like three weeks, not that I’m surprised. He’s always been the genius who can do anything when he puts his mind to it.”
Nick’s flushed at her words. Truth be told he was a nervous wreck about the whole damn thing, but the CEO of the company had assured him that it was no sympathy job. Nick Traynor had top security clearance from his work in Counter Intel with the Marines. He also knew his way around the internet like no one else. Nick gulped back the urge to disparage the whole thing and start a pity party, another thing his therapy sessions had been drilling him about. “Yeah, should be, uh, interesting; especially the part about having the computer tell me what’s on the screen. Not quite sure how that’s gonna work yet.”
Ian put a hand on his arm and the pure jolt of sexual energy that Nick got from the touch made him gasp in a strange combination of lust and embarrassment. He jumped up, hit the underside of the table with his knees and heard the various cries of dismay at what was likely a huge mess of beer. The dog whined, and stuck his head under Nick’s dangling hand, propping him up and providing calm at the same time.
“I got this,” he heard Gavin moving around beside him. Standing there, the smell of spilled beer up in his nose, his canine companion growling at the guy who’d turned him into a giant hard on with one touch he felt like the world’s biggest idiot. He put his hand to his eyes, found the glasses, fiddled with them before grabbing the dog’s lead and starting to walk the hell away from Ian. One thing he surely did not miss were the no doubt multiple and sincere glances of sympathy floating around him. He gritted his teeth and let the dog lead him outside and to a chair. How the animal knew that was exactly where he wanted to go, he had no idea, but he was grateful.
Chapter Seven
Nick sat, frozen, revved up, and miserable for a few minutes before he heard the conversation make its way toward him. Plates plunked down on Alyssa’s glass table, the delicious-smelling lasagna was doled out, wine poured, and he let the conversation roll around him again. He kept silent, knowing he was coming across as belligerent, but not caring. He could practically hear his therapist chiding that he would never integrate if he stayed mad at everyone around him who could still use their eyes.
Ian sat on his left, Alyssa on his right. His fork rattled when he put it on his plate. The distinct sensation of a hand on his left thigh made him jump, but he bit back the urge to pull away. “Relax,” Ian said, low and easy. Brutus shifted under the table, but Nick moved his foot, indicating the dog should back off. He could sense the animal’s unhappiness, was aware of his tension.
Nick’s cock resumed its painful exploration along the back of his zipper as he tried to sip wine, take another bite, then gave up and just put his hands on the table. He missed Dan, missed his life and everything he used to be. Nicholas Traynor had been strong, sure, loud, boisterous, and in-charge ninety-nine percent of the time. But, right now, he felt like a horny little kid—a blind, useless, handicapped horny little kid. His ears started to buzz with the onset of serious fury. Ian pressed down on his leg ever so slightly. The buzzing receded. Nick turned his face to the left. The dog leapt up then, shoving his body between the two men again, his low rumble sending an ominous and unmistakable message.
“Shit,” Ian said, taking his hand off Nick’s leg. Nick tried not to beg him to put it back. The calm he’d felt for a split second at the other man’s touch, he wanted back.
Nick shoved the dog back under the table with a curse and a warning, but the moment was broken. Alyssa cleared her throat. Nick picked up his wine glass, and the conversation that he no longer heard or contributed to resumed.
The table was cleared. Everyone except Nick had another glass of wine, and he sensed a distinct shift in the atmosphere. His headache was back in its full glory. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, willing it away. He heard traffic, kids playing, early onset of crickets, the earth rolling on its axis, every god damned sound in the entire universe pressed onto his eardrums. That was nothing compared to the scent which screamed “Ian” that had settled into his psyche, nice and cozy and annoying. The malty warmth, slightly astringent tang of him made Nick want to lean over and run his tongue down the man’s neck. He clenched his fists on his knees. Jesus, Traynor, get a grip.
“Okay, we’re gonna be late, babe, let’s hit it.” Gavin’s voice broke through the cacophony of noises boring a hole in Nick’s brain. His neck tensed again and his shoulders crept up around his ears.
Alyssa knelt down beside him, took his hand. “We’re going to a movie. You okay here with Ian?” she whispered. He nodded, but he was very much not sure that he would be. The dog whimpered.
“Later brother,” Gavin called out. “Talk soon, Nick. Good luck next week with the new job.”
Ian walked into the house with the couple, leaving Nick alone with his swirling thoughts and pounding skull. Brutus repositioned to Nick’s left between him and the chair Ian had just vacated. He put his huge head on Nick’s hand. “Dude,” Nick said softly. “I think I just figured out why you’re upset. And let me tell you now, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m … agitated, but it’s normal.” He rubbed the dog’s ears, then leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him, relieving the pressure building once more under his jeans.
He heard Ian rummaging around in the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge. Nick took a long, deep breath and made a decision. He smiled when Ian pressed the cold water bottle to his shoulder and took it, but then set it on the table that he knew was to his front right. His mind kept roiling, but he kept a lid on his urge to suck in a breath when he sensed Ian pulling a chair up on his other side, avoiding the guard dog. “I don’t think he likes me,” the man declared.
Nick put a hand on Ian’s leg. He heard the other man’s breath hitch, and would swear on a stack of procedure manuals he heard his heartbeat increase. Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t hear a heartbeat. He smiled, and leaned back, leaving his fingers trailing along the denim covering Ian’s thigh. “Oh, he’s fine, but I think I figured out how in tune to me he actually is.”
“Oh?” Ian touched his fingers, brushed the back of Nick’s hand once, then again, making him shiver.
“Yeah, I think he senses how fucking horny I am. Since he has no frame of reference for it, it’s making him nervous, protective.”
“Wow,” Ian leaned over and Nick could feel the other man’s lips near his throat. “Impressive,” he said, putting his hand over Nick’s erection.
“Yeah,” Nick croaked out, suddenly nervous. “So, I’m typically not….”
“Shh….” Ian’s hand left his cock, made its way up his torso, and wound around the back of his neck. “Yo
u are pretty amazing.”
“No, not really. Just blind. Without a real job. Living in my sister’s house.”
“But you look damn good doing all that, trust me.”
“You make a point of seducing blind guys you just met?”
“I didn’t just meet you. I remember you from a few months…before.”
Nick shivered again. This whole thing was somehow right and wrong at the same time. He needed a physical connection, bad, but was unsure if it should be with Ian Donovan. This, of course coming from his now humming and thankfully pain-free brain while his body screeched at him to grab the guy and kiss him.
Nick sighed when Ian’s fingers twined in his newly grown hair. He hadn’t had hair this long in over ten years. He’d forgotten what color it was. He sighed, raised his face to the cooling night breeze when Ian’s lips found his jaw and made their slow way down his neck, then up. “You are…very attractive.” Ian’s words curled in and around Nick’s amped up libido. He ground his teeth, trying to distract his body from what was obviously happening.
He gasped when Ian slid his zipper down slowly then reached in to grab his aching flesh. “Jesus, man, I won’t last long, It’s…been a while.” His head had cleared, his neck no longer hurt and he felt the familiar, pleasant rush of lust wash through him. “I need this…but that’s all though, you know? I’m in no position to start a relationship or anything.” He gulped, felt his throat closing up and his eyes begin to water. “We clear on that?”
“It’s clear. I don’t need anything more from you…yet…but, I think we could both use a nice hard fuck.” Ian whispered against his neck. “I want you…to relax, Nicholas.”
Nick groaned and leaned back, giving into the amazing sensation of Ian’s hand then his lips and tongue up and down his shaft, letting the man’s earlier firm words and no-nonsense commands soothe him. He reached out and threaded his fingers in Ian’s hair. His first thought—that he wished he could watch—was drowned out by the exquisite sensation of suction and the caress. It was even, somehow, better, this dark place where all he knew was lips and hands on his battered and neglected body.
