Don't Read in the Closet volume one

by Various Authors

  Jaime Samms – MOURNING (Hurt/Comfort)*

  Selected by Jaime Samms

  Dear Author,

  Why is this man so sad? Can you make him happy?

  [PHOTO: A big man sits on the mattress of a white iron bedstead, lit by a blind-slatted window. He is burly, with a smooth bald head, close-cropped beard and a wealth of tattoos across his naked back and down his arm. His bowed shoulders, his eyebrows drawn down, his hand slack on his knee, suggest sorrow.]

  Sincerely,

  Jambrea

  Genre: contemporary

  Tags: hurt/comfort, power exchange, age difference

  Words: 6,530

  MOURNING

  by Jaime Samms

  He didn't deserve it. That's about all Bruno could think as he sat there trying not to look around the room or listen to the soft breathing of the man in the bed behind him. Sun filtered in through the gauzy curtains, flashing across his feet and lower legs every time the breeze blew the light material up towards him.. Glimpses of bright swaths of green dotted with yellow dandelions peeked at him from between the shifts of silk. He should get out now, while his companion was still asleep. Then nothing that had happened the night before had to mean anything.

  "What are you thinking?" His companion's sleep-jumbled voice came as soft as the morning light and the spring breeze, and Bruno's stomach did a peculiar, swishing motion that left it puddle-like and uneasy.

  "Nothing," he said. "Go back to sleep." His own words were gruff, shaky, and he reached for the pack of smokes on the bedside table.

  Fingers ghosted over his back. He froze.

  "You were thinking about leaving me here."

  "N—"

  "Don't lie to me." Far from the gripping, demanding touch and tone Bruno tensed for, Micha kept his voice soft, his fingers light as air on Bruno's skin. He didn't dare demand. Only one person had ever demanded anything of Bruno, and he was long gone. Micha traced the green and gold scales of ink across Bruno's back. "Just talk to me."

  "Nothing to say." Bruno shivered, unable to control the cascade of goose bumps that chased after Micha's touch.

  Micha sighed. "Never anything to say." He replaced fingers with lips, knowing it was the one thing that would trump Bruno's need for a cigarette. Sex trumped everything for Bruno.

  "Don't..." breath drew Bruno's words away to meld with the spring breeze and in a few moments, Micha had him laid out on his stomach, legs spread. Maybe there would be a repeat of the night before, with the big man's tattooed ass in the air and Micha allowed to rim him again. But Bruno had been more than a little drunk last night, and even then, rimming had been as far as it went before Bruno had twisted it all around and nailed Micha to the mattress.

  Not that Micha was going to complain about that. No one fucked with the quiet intensity of Bruno Kebin, and nothing ever melted Micha as fast.

  He should have known sober Bruno was not going to let him get far.

  "Not likely," Bruno growled, rolled and pulled Micha down onto his back. He didn't have to hold Micha down. The man was as pliable as a wet noodle, spreading and opening to him at the slightest provocation. Bruno knew he was being manipulated. With Micha spread before him like a feast, he didn't much care how easily Micha got him to stay. Damned if he would give the boy what he wanted, though. Even with his own cock achingly hard, Bruno changed position, crouched to take Micha in his mouth, and spread the younger man's thighs.

  He held out his hand and Micha squirted the last of the lube onto his fingers.

  Preparation was not something to which Bruno usually went to great effort, so Micha was surprised at the unspoken request for lube. Surprised and not a little bit smug. He'd had his doubts about coming up here with this guy for an entire weekend, however much he needed the cash. Too much time and too many memories... the first night had been pretty much what Micha expected. Lots of drinking. Lots of fucking. Lots of hard, almost brutal drinking and fucking. Bruno was by no means a mean drunk. Just a sad one. Sad all the time, now it seemed, and Micha had a slim hope he could maybe do something about that. Last night hadn't seen much of a crack in the shield Bruno always put up, though.

  Despite the unexpected access to the big man's ass, Bruno had been closed off and silent. Almost like the sudden capitulation in allowing Micha to go where he'd never been allowed to go before was a consolation prize for the fact he was obviously not getting anything more personal.

  "Pay attention," Bruno snarled, raising himself on his knees just high enough to glare at Micha and get his attention. Dark purpose gleamed in his hooded eyes and Micha nodded.

  "Good." Fingers rammed home and Micha grunted, hissing at the raw stretch, and then Bruno's lips were closing around his straining cock. Micha's autonomy vanished between the big man's mouth and hands, pinned as helplessly as if Bruno had tied him down.

  All of Bruno's focused intensity was bent on getting Micha off, and there was no fighting that tide. No point, really. Micha rode the wave, rising higher and higher, his body jerking spasmodically between thrusting fingers and sucking mouth.

  He clawed at the bed spread, then at Bruno's inked shoulders. The big man groaned around his cock and he tried to ease his grip, but every thrust of those thick fingers drove him wild. Bruno was not a small man. It felt like he had his whole hand in there, reaching deep and finding every hidden corner of Micha's being.

  "Say my name again," Bruno demanded.

  Micha babbled; "Bruno, Bruno, Bruno, Bruno," over and over again into lost whispers as his hips jerked and the realization dawned he was about to come undone from just the other man's fingers up his ass. But then, this man had always done terrible, wonderful, delicious things to him.

  "Come for me, Micha. Now."

  "Oh God. Fuck!" No one could make him come on demand. "Shit!" The world disappeared behind a blinding sheet of white need. His hips rose off the bed, Bruno drove deep and the sound of his own voice was drown out by the sound of blood rushing in Micha' ears. Every muscle tensed in an agony of anticipation, tight, hard and absolute. The explosion ripped him apart. Cum spurted to mingle with the rolling sweat across his stomach. "Fuuuck..." he moaned, dropping back in an exhausted heap. Almost no one could make him come on demand.

  "Haven't fucked you yet," Bruno pointed out. He leaned over Micha, licked up the mixture of sweat and cum and peered into the other man's face. "Micha."

  "Mmmm."

  The young man didn't open his eyes. His entire body convulsed in deep, repetitive shudders. Bruno frowned, unsure what to do. This was always Danny's part, soothing the trembling and wiping away the residue of an explosive orgasm.

  Laying his palm on Micha's chest, Bruno gave him a little shake. "Micha."

  "What?" Micha struggled to open his eyes. He wasn't ready yet. His entire body ached and shivered with the chill spring breath gusting over him. He couldn't quite think straight.

  "Did I hurt you?" Dread turned Bruno's stomach in on itself.

  "Mm-mm" Micha's head rolled side to side slightly, but he still didn't open his eyes. "'M fine."

  He didn't look fine. He was still shivering and Bruno pulled the comforter over his prone form. They'd fucked harder than that last night. How far had he pushed the younger man, in his drunken stupor, and not even realized it? Feeling his own hands begin to shake, Bruno pulled back, resting on the edge of the bed as he watched Micha drift back into sleep.

  Now would be the time to go. Before he did any more harm. He could boot across the lake and send the marina attendants back for Micha, leave him enough cash for the long cab ride back to the city. He reached for his smokes on the side table, but only yanked a sheet off the floor, wrapped it round himself and went out onto the balcony. He lit and puffed, the ritual more soothing than the actual bitter taste of the thing. They weren't his regular brand. He hadn't had any when they'd arrived at the docks last night, since he was trying to quit. But everything about his place made him crave the comfort of old routine. The booze and the sex would just fuel tha
t fire, and he'd picked up what he could find at the marina before they'd crossed the lake.

  Below him the lawn, peppered with obnoxious yellow flowers, spread its fresh, spring green right to the lake's edge. Sunshine glittered off the blue and silver surface and far out, a white sail caught the wind, a tiny puff of glowing human existence in this isolated spot.

  Micha watched him from the bed. He hadn't actually fallen asleep, though he was about as limp and finished as he'd ever been.

  Just outside the French doors, Bruno leaned on the railing, puffing and grimacing at his cigarette, staring out over the water. Micha wondered what he was thinking. There were a dozen things he could have said; that the cancer sticks were going to kill him, that he really should learn how to take care of a lover afterwards, if he was going to be so thoroughly devastating in his amorous assault, or that he'd mourned long enough. Instead, he watched.

  He wasn't even sure what it was about this guy. He paid well, sure, but it was more than that. Micha didn't particularly like taking on repeat customers. They got presumptuous. Possessive.

  Or worse, they got under his skin.

  He glanced at the side table, The envelope was still there. He could take it. Cut and run. Bruno would never come after him. He'd let him take the money and go.

  And Micha would never see him again.

  Something about the guy—the awkwardness, his tattoos, his bald head or his age and the power imbalance that entailed that revved up Micha's libido–maybe all those things rolled into one, commandeering package—made him lie there and watch and not leave. It wasn't even that Bruno was a Dom or Micha exactly submissive. Just that they fit. They liked the same things. Rough, hard sex, sure, but also the quiet spaces between. And that was the problem. The missing element; the one who had always known when to break the silences or ease the rough; Danny wasn't here. Micha missed him and the feeling was an itch under his skin he couldn't reach to scratch.

  Maybe that's why he'd agreed to come, hoping Bruno could ease the discomfort. Maybe, Bruno had hoped the same thing.

  Missing a good trick and learning to live with half of you missing after ten years was not the same thing. Micha had to admit that.

  Danny was gone and Bruno was dying inside without him.

  "How long has it been?" was what he finally asked when he wandered out onto the balcony, pulling the soft fleece of Danny's lime green robe around his shoulders. He had to hike it up with the belt to keep it from dragging.

  Bruno didn't flinch. Somehow, it wasn't much of a surprise that Micha wasn't really asleep. He glanced over. More green. Danny's green. The shade that brought out his eyes and contrasted with his black hair, before the hair had all fallen out. It made Micha's pale skin turn a delicate, creamy shade. His gold hair dusted the collar, like tones blending to become a new source of light. "How long has what been?" he asked, deliberately forcing himself to look away. If the asshole was going to appropriate Danny's things, he could be decent enough to say it out loud.

  "Since Danny died." Fine. If Bruno wanted rough, he could have rough, all the way.

  Bruno winced and Micha felt a tiny pang of remorse, but then, Bruno could back down if he wanted. He couldn't push Micha around and not get called on it.

  Bruno dropped his head, crushed out his cigarette on the side of the railing and watched it drop away down into the garden at the foot of the balcony supports. "Two years back in March."

  Micha nodded. "Two years, three months and four days."

  The glare Bruno shot him, from that lowered position, was like a bull, full of challenge and anger.

  Micha stood his ground. "You act like you're the only one who cared."

  "We were together ten years."

  "I know. Five years of cheating on each other, pissing each other off—"

  "And five years of him dying of cancer. I was there, you weren't. Shut the fuck up."

  "I was there for every anniversary," Micha pointed out, turning to stare into the brush tumbling down toward the shore to hide the sting of Bruno's sharp words from him. "Every birthday. How many Christmases did you freaks wrap me up in bows under the fucking Christmas tree? Hell, I was there for most of the makeup sex. And the funeral."

  "Just because he fucked you doesn't mean you knew him."

  "Oh, that's right." Micha gripped the collar of his commandeered bath robe, trying to appear tougher than he felt in the naked, suddenly very exposed position he'd just put himself. "I'm just the whore you hired for Danny to fuck because you couldn't give him that."

  "Don't try and tell me you didn't like it."

  "Who's saying I didn't?" Micha let the robe go, tore at the belt and let it fall to the planked floor of the balcony. "It's why I'm here, isn't it? Why you called. Why I came." He turned his back.

  "Is that all you think you are?" Bruno asked.

  Micha shrugged. It's what the envelope on the bedside table proclaimed him to be. He was a fool to think there was anything else here.

  Bruno's big hand clamped down on his shoulder, pushed, and though Micha bent, physically pliable, something inside resisted, pushed back until it snapped with a sharp twang and recoiled through his guts. It was too late to say no. Too late to take it back, and anyway, this was what he was.

  Bruno was going to be whatever he was going to be, and so what? It was easier than wishing for him to be what he wasn't. He heard the smack of spit landing in Bruno's palm, felt the blunt pressure at his still-stretched hole and closed his eyes. Whatever the broken thing inside him was, a good pounding would smash it to bits and it would be gone.

  The lack of resistance was satisfying. At first. Bruno needed the control, needed the feeling that everything he knew and loved wasn't slipping away. Then he looked down at the fading bruises, the evidence that someone else had been here, someone else had inflicted pain where they shouldn't have, someone else had marked what he'd come to think of as his. Only Micha lived a life outside Bruno's care, and whatever happened to him out there, there was no one to make it right.

  His hard rhythm slowed, faltered.

  "Don't stop," Micha grunted, shoving back, impaling himself, using the railing as leverage to push his will and his body onto Bruno. "Don't stop fucking now. This was your idea."

  "Micha—"

  "Don't you dare!"

  Bruno pulled out, bent to pick up the robe, but Micha swung round, fists flying.

  "Force me!"

  "No!" Bruno caught his wrists and held tight.

  "You brought me here. This is what you want, so do it!" Pitting all his weight against Bruno's greater height and strength, Micha managed to free himself. "This," he ran past Bruno into the bedroom and snatched up the envelope of money, "this is what you pay me for!" he threw the envelope and it hit Bruno in the chest, bills exploding out of it to get caught in a gust of spring. They fluttered up and over the bed, falling in a rain of soft rustling across the pillows. "Don't change the rules now," he pleaded.

  All the blood drained from Bruno's limbs, leaving him feeling like he might blow away next. He didn't know what the rules were any more. He just shook his head, helpless. This was his last connection to Danny. To the life they should have had, and this was not how it was supposed to go.

  "Bastard." Micha rampaged through the room, tossing things about until he found his jeans. He hauled them on and ran.

  "Hey!" Bruno suddenly saw Micha, not for his last connection to a future he couldn't have, but as the future he wanted. His future, which was pulling on his jeans and heading for the door. "Micha!"

  Even the sharp command in his voice didn't stop the younger man. He faltered, but he didn't stop.

  Just outside the house, Micha slowed. The warmth of the spring morning, cut through by the cool breeze, blended with the heat of humiliation and anger and the chill of goose flesh and fear. The last bits of the post-orgasmic lethargy curdled into a thick mucus of disappointment.

  He shouldn't be disappointed. Bruno had hired him for a weekend's entertainment. He'd
known that going in. It wasn't different than any other time. Not from the birthdays and Christmases when he'd been the present wrapped in pretty bows, or the last few times when Danny had only had the strength to watch and smile.

  "You watching now, Danny?" he shouted at the sky. Thin wisps of clouds scudded past his waving fists, ignoring him. "You see this? You fucker! You shouldn't have died!"

  What did he even care? The guy was a trick. A dead trick. A trick who'd lavished him with kind words and soft touches, who'd rubbed ointment into sore muscles and bruises he'd had no part in inflicting. A trick who had never once treated Micha like a whore.

  "Fuck!" he spat the foul taste of loss into the grass. "You shouldn't have died."

  The back door banged open, making Micha jump, and his feet carried him off through the damp grass.

  "Micha!"

  He just ran. Screw Bruno to the wall. He wasn't going to let that asshole tell him what he didn't know, or that he had no right to mourn, too. Maybe it wasn't love like the kind that could forgive cheating and betrayal, or the kind that could share what he had with a ratty little whore, but it was something. It was his, and Bruno wasn't going to taint it.

  There wasn't really any place for him to run. The isolated cottage was accessible only by boat, and Micha wasn't so far gone in anger he was about to leave Bruno stranded. But he couldn't face him. Not yet. Ignoring the sharp dig of sticks and pine needles in his bare soles he pounded out onto the dock, feet making hollow thumping sounds, right to the end.

  Putting distance between himself and Bruno seemed appropriate. If he didn't, he'd end up apologizing. He'd give in just to have the heat of fast, hard sex. He didn't even want the money any more. That was hardly the point now. But he'd let Bruno have him, on whatever grounds the big man wanted him, and deep down he knew, whore or not, he deserved more.

  Stupid of him to come here in the first place, wanting what he couldn't have. This wasn't Pretty Woman. That just didn't happen in real life.

  He skidded to a stop at the last, worn plank of the dock, hardly able to forget the water here was well over his head; too deep for his rudimentary swimming skills.