by K. C. Wells
Vic prided himself on his ability to read people. Often, he knew what they needed before they knew themselves. It was an invaluable skill he’d honed over a lifetime, then perfected while employed by Montgomery and Trypp. He’d worked his way up from laying sod to helping to design public spaces. People loved to work with him because he always understood their unspoken needs.
It also helped to make him a formidable Dom.
However, the young man who sat beside him, trembling as he wound his arms around his body, perplexed him. Rob had a hard shell, probably one he’d cobbled together over the years as a means of survival. And though there was anger beneath it, Vic was convinced there was also a desperate longing to be accepted and shown he wasn’t broken or damaged. Or, if he was, then put back together. More succinctly, Vic was certain young Rob wanted to be owned. To be given direction, discipline, and love. Most definitely love. But it wasn’t something Vic could do in one night, and once he dropped Rob off at the train station, it was more than likely he’d never see him again.
Rob’s voice broke through his reflections. “Why are you being nice?”
“I told you. Sometimes those who feel they don’t deserve something are the ones who need it the most.”
“I’m not gay,” Rob snapped, his face twisted in anger. “I won’t be spreading my legs for you.”
Vic kept his expression blank. He wondered if Rob even understood the words he’d spoken. He didn’t say he wouldn’t have sex with Vic. Instead, he said he wouldn’t let Vic fuck him. Add to that, it was the second time Rob had felt it necessary to point out his orientation, and Vic’s interest was definitely piqued. Shakespeare had nailed it, even if the gender didn’t fit this particular circumstance.
The lady protests too much, methinks. There was more about Rob to interest him than Vic had previously thought.
“I’m not interested in sex with you,” Vic replied. “I’m fairly certain I already say that.”
“You’re… not?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the consternation on Rob’s face. He was a beautiful boy, Vic decided. Normally he wouldn’t look twice at someone like Rob, but there was a sadness there that called to Vic. Rob was searching for… something. His vehement claims not to be gay only served to convince Vic that Rob was in the closet. In fact, he was probably so deep, he’d barricaded himself in. Rob needed someone who would yank him from the place where he’d hidden himself.
In short, he needed Vic.
“No, I’m not. You can choose to believe it or not, but not all gay men want to pounce on every other man they see.”
Rob snorted. “If you say so.”
Then he leaned his head against the window as the world went by. By the time they’d reached Vic’s place, Rob was asleep. He was snuffling softly as Vic pulled into his garage. When Rob wasn’t being antagonistic, there was an air of vulnerability about him. It suited him much better than the anger that cloaked him.
Vic reached out and tapped Rob lightly on the shoulder. “We’re here,” he said gently, not wanting to startle him.
A yawn and Rob’s eyes fluttered open. He looked at Vic, then at the garage. He gripped the door handle tightly. “Where are we?” he asked, a hint of fear in his voice.
“My house, remember? You’re going to stay in the spare room until tomorrow, and then I’ll take you to the train station.”
Realization dawned in Rob’s eyes. “Oh, sorry. I forgot.”
“You don’t have to stay,” Vic reminded him. “I will gladly take you to the train station now, or I can drive you home.”
Rob shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I just… forgot.”
“If you’re sure. Let’s go in and get you dry.”
Rob followed behind as Vic led him into the house. The large, two-story home was Vic’s sanctuary. He never brought anyone here from the club, and only had a few friends visit. Normally this was where he’d go to shed the stresses of his job. When he was here, he decompressed from the pressures of the outside world.
So why bring Rob here?
He’d been asking himself that question the whole way home, and he still didn’t have an answer.
Vic escorted Rob to the bathroom. “You can take off your wet clothes and leave them at the door. There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door. I’ll leave your stuff outside the bedroom when they’re dry. You’ll find towels in the cupboard, and a toothbrush in one of the drawers. You’re welcome to use the soap and shampoo. When you’re done, I’ll be downstairs making some tea, if you’d like a cup before you go to bed.”
Rob shook his head, but there was none of his previous attitude. If anything, he seemed deflated.
Vic shrugged mentally. It was far too late and he was too tired to deal with it.
“Suit yourself. Your room is the one down the hall, on the right side. Last door, so you can’t miss it. I’ll lay out something for you to sleep in. It may be a bit big on you, but I can’t help that. If you need anything else, my room is along the landing. Sleep well, young Rob.”
As Vic closed the door, the patter of the shower spray began, followed by a soft sigh. Vic stared at the white door, shaking his head. Why am I doing this? Rob had been nothing but trouble since he’d laid eyes on him at the club, so what was it about the young man that drew him in so quickly? Vic tore himself away and went into his room for something for Rob to wear. Vic didn’t possess a single pair of pajamas, but he found a pair of gray shorts that would do just fine. He left them on Rob’s bed. Okay, so they’d be too big, but it wasn’t as if Rob would be parading himself around the house. That would probably be the last thing he’d do, for fear of being pounced upon by the Big Bad Gay Man.
That made him chuckle.
After ensuring the guest room had adequate fresh linens and blankets, Vic exited the room to find a heap of sodden clothing awaiting him outside the bathroom door. He scooped them up and made his way downstairs to the utility room. Vic shoved the clothes into the drier and went into the kitchen. It was too late to cook anything, but he could nibble some toast with his tea. He put two slices of bread in the toaster, then filled the kettle.
Upstairs, the bathroom door opened and closed. Then, a moment later, another door closed.
When the kettle began to boil, Vic grabbed a tea bag from the cabinet and made himself a mug of chamomile tea, buttering his toast while the concoction steeped. He half expected Rob to come downstairs, but when he didn’t, Vic finished his snack, then cleaned up after himself. The paperwork for the coming week called to him, demanding to be done, but it could wait. Right then he was weary. He’d put in nearly seventy-five hours this week, and it had finally caught up to him. He climbed the stairs, his feet dragging, and paused outside Rob’s door. All was quiet. Vic opened the door to his own bedroom, then collapsed on the bed, ready for a peaceful night’s sleep.
THE ALARM clock read four thirty, but it felt as though he’d only closed his eyes mere seconds ago. Is that a function of age? Time didn’t fly by these days—it zoomed, with all the speed of a guided missile.
Vic rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes. He’d figured the boy would have come to his room before this point. Rob clearly had preconceived notions about gay men, and Vic wasn’t about to live up to them. And if Rob wanted something from Vic, he would have to admit it first.
That’s the only thing I am sure about. Rob wants—needs—something.
When a door clicked open and soft footsteps pad along the landing, he sat up and flicked on the light. A few moments later, he heard the toilet flush, more footsteps, and then a door closing.
“What is it about you?” Vic murmured into the ether. “I want to turn you out, send you packing, but every instinct tells me that you need someone more than you’re willing to admit.”
He slipped out of bed and walked over to the desk that sat in the corner. After pulling a pad of paper from it, he returned to his original spot. The pillows supported him as he sat back and started making
a list of why he should or shouldn’t be helping Rob. When he finished, the only thing he could truthfully admit was that Rob’s rudeness had thrown him. Vic was used to boys who knew their place in life. Even those with a chip on their shoulder knew where they truly belonged. Rob’s uncertainty told Vic a lot about the kind of person he was.
You’re fighting some kind of internal battle, aren’t you, Rob? That much was obvious. Maybe he’d recently discovered something about himself that he didn’t like and, more importantly, couldn’t accept. Those were the types one couldn’t force. He’ll either figure it out and admit it, or he won’t. Vic had seen such behavior so many times. His fear was that if Rob couldn’t accept himself, in the light of whatever self-discovery he’d made, he’d turn his anger back on himself or lash out at others in a more violent way.
Listen to yourself. You’ve known him for all of five minutes and you’re already psychoanalyzing him. You don’t even know why he interests you.
Except he did have an idea about that. In the plus column, Vic had written two words—sadness and loneliness—and these spoke to the Dom in him. Whenever that occurred, Vic knew better than to ignore it.
He put the paper on the bedside cabinet. Nothing would get settled tonight—well, this morning—and he needed sleep.
It was a long while before he drifted off, however.
When he glanced over at the clock for a second time, he saw with surprise that it was almost seven. The first thought to cross his mind was that the trains had already started running, but he wasn’t in a hurry to wake Rob. The boy needed sleep more than anything else.
Sleep would have been good, he thought ruefully. What is it about Rob that ties me up in knots? The kid had been mouthy, rude, and downright obnoxious at Secrets. If he hadn’t stormed out when he did, they would most likely have thrown him out on his ear. But after he’d picked him up, Vic had watched Rob. He could see the anguish written all over him. From his expression to his body language, Rob screamed “save me.”
Vic shivered, his dreams not entirely dissipated. There still lingered the vague memory of them, the feeling that if he hadn’t picked Rob up, the young man would either do something foolish or find himself in a situation he couldn’t get out of. An unaccountable feeling that Rob brought unrest, even trouble.
And yet here he is, in my house.
Vic groaned at his own stupidity. Who the hell brings a stranger into their home? I should have dropped him off at the train station, and that would have been the end of it. Yet Vic had worried about Rob spending the night there. Would he be safe? Would he have something to eat? Would he be warm?
Shit. He didn’t understand why he was putting himself through this. He’d get the kid up and out the door, and then life would go back to normal.
Well, maybe after breakfast.
Vic launched himself into the shower and let the hot water soak away what remained of his tension. Once dressed, he went into the utility room and pulled Rob’s clothes from the drier, kicking himself for not doing it the night before. After folding them and leaving them outside Rob’s door, he went down to the kitchen and prepared a couple of omelets with diced ham and cheddar cheese, serving them with some wholemeal toast. After he plated them and left them to keep warm in the oven, he went upstairs to knock on Rob’s door. The clothes were where he’d left them.
“Breakfast,” he called.
No answer.
He knocked louder. “Breakfast, Rob.”
“Huh?” Rob sounded groggy.
Vic opened the door a crack. “Breakfast is served,” he called, then closed the door.
A few minutes later, a rumpled Rob came stumbling into the kitchen. His hair was askew and in need of a good comb. Those beautiful eyes were red rimmed.
And there it was again, something tugging him toward the young man, a feeling Vic couldn’t account for.
“Didn’t you sleep well?” he asked, serving up the food and placing it at their settings.
Rob shook his head. He stared at the plates on the table. “What’s this?”
“Breakfast?” Vic said with amusement. “I thought you might be hungry.”
Rob frowned. “I’m not eating that.”
Silently Vic counted in his head to five before speaking. He confined his reaction to a shrug. “Okay, that means more for me. I like a hearty breakfast.” He reached over for the plate.
Why the hell did I bother?
“Wait. Please?”
It was the plaintive edge to the please that stayed Vic’s hand. “Something to say?”
Rob scuffed his shoe against the floor. “I’m… would it be okay if… could I….”
“Go on,” Vic urged.
“Could I have the omelet?” Rob said in a small voice.
In that moment everything about Rob confirmed Vic’s suspicions. Rob was desperate, reaching out for something—or someone—to hold on to. He was a man drowning in emotions he didn’t understand.
And Vic wanted to help him.
“Yes, you may.” Vic withdrew his hand.
“Thank you.” Rob sat down and picked up the fork. His first bite of the eggs had him closing his eyes and humming softly in appreciation. Vic had never seen such a sensuous reaction before over a simple breakfast.
That internal tugging was back, only this time it was stronger.
“I’m sorry you had a bad night.”
Rob shrugged. “I just couldn’t fall asleep.”
“Oh? Was the bed not comfortable?”
“No,” Rob hastened to reply. “It was fine. Just not used to being in a strange place, I guess.”
Vic smiled. “I understand that. When I go away for work, I have problems sleeping.”
“What do you do?” It was the first genuine show of curiosity from him.
“I’m a landscape architect. Most of the time I work out of an office, but I also travel around England, checking out the jobs the company I work for has been hired to do. When it was founded thirty years ago, they mostly took care of homes. People liked their work ethic, so the jobs got bigger. Eventually they branched out to include landscaping for businesses and the like.”
“Sounds fun,” Rob murmured, lifting the last forkful of eggs to his mouth.
“It’s not bad. What about you?”
Rob blinked. “I work in a supermarket. I do whatever they need done, but usually it’s stocking shelves or working on the tills.” He lowered his gaze to the table.
Vic smiled to himself. “That’s a good, honest job.”
Rob jerked his head up, his nostrils flaring, his lip curling. “It’s a shit job,” he snapped. “Not like what Alex—” Rob stopped. His gaze dropped to the table again. He put his fork down, then pushed his plate away. “Never mind.”
The unexpected vehemence of Rob’s reaction briefly robbed Vic of a reply. But after a moment, he came out with the only response that seemed fitting.
“Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll take you to the station.”
Rob lifted his chin and looked him in the eye. “Now. I’m ready now.”
The swiftness of his reply saddened Vic more than he’d expected.
He can’t wait to get out of here.
“Fine. I’ll get my keys.”
THE FLUTTERING in Rob’s stomach wouldn’t quit, and he had no idea as to the cause.
Vic drove in silence into the center of London, not even swearing at the sheer volume of traffic on the roads and the constant stop-start as they headed for Euston.
He works here. Maybe he’s just used to it.
Rob stared through the windscreen, looking at a leaden sky, heavy with the threat of yet more rain. The journey gave him time to think, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
In spite of Rob’s misgivings the previous night, Vic had turned out to be a surprisingly all right guy. Not that it mattered. Rob had no intention of returning to London, to Secrets.
You’ve said that before, more than once, and yet you still keep catching
that train. Moth—meet flame.
Maybe it was time he tried to figure out why.
Except he already knew the answer. It was just easier to deny it, to push it down deep where he couldn’t find it. A habit that was plainly not working for him, because it messed up his head and his emotions. Rob took a deep breath and forced himself to confront what he knew to be the truth.
I wanted to prove that Alex was wrong. Prove that you can’t find love like that, from being spanked, beaten, whatever. Why it was so important to prove his brother wrong was the part Rob found more difficult to understand.
Except that was a lie too.
He recalled all those times he’d visited the club and stared at the men who gathered there. Those times when he’d told himself that it was wrong, that it wasn’t for him. If he were honest, the antics at the club didn’t bother him at all. After all, he kept going back, didn’t he? He wouldn’t do that if it were all as big a turn-off as he kept repeating to himself. He knew another reason existed to explain his visits.
Rob had to prove that he was wrong. That he wasn’t like Alex.
Chapter Six
WHEN MONDAY morning arrived, Rob walked into work with a spring in his step.
I got Vic all wrong, didn’t I?
Rob was man enough to admit it. When they’d arrived at Euston, he’d figured Vic would wait until he was out of the car, then take off. He was shocked when Vic parked in a nearby car park, accompanied him into the station, and then waited with him at the barriers until they’d announced the train’s imminent arrival. His final words had been for Rob to have a safe trip.
Rob’s good mood had even survived the stack of unpaid bills that still lay on the table when he arrived home. He knew the money he’d spent to go to London could have been put to better use, but he’d had a… well, not a good time, and he’d escaped his problems for one night, so that was worth it to him. It had been enough for him to ignore Monday’s gray skies and to get ready for work feeling more positive than when he’d left it.
He went to his locker, grabbed his uniform, took his apron from his bag, and dressed quickly. He passed by the bakery, inhaling the delightful aromas, said hello to Megan and Alicia, the two women who worked the counter, and headed to the front to work on the tills.
