Caleb was trying to get March to move before they were surrounded.
“Where do you think you’re going?” shouted a guy who wore just a T-shirt, even though it was freezing.
“Get them,” one of the women shouted.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Caleb said.
His legs were swept from under him by a rough kick and he fell onto the sand. So much for his theory that they always took the bigger guy out first. March was in front of him in an instant. “Leave him alone.”
“What you going to do? Hit me with your handbag?” The guy laughed and swung at March.
As Caleb scrambled to his feet, March knocked the man down and thumped another in the stomach. Caleb caught hold of March’s coat and pulled him back. “Forget fighting. Run.”
He was relieved when March did as he’d told him. They raced off down the hard-packed sand in the direction of town. Their attackers came after them, threw their bottles, and one caught Caleb on the head and brought him crashing down. March ran on and Caleb had a sinking feeling he was being deserted, until he realized March hadn’t seen what happened. When Caleb cried out, March turned and rushed back. Caleb brought his hand from his head and looked at the blood on his fingers.
The first kick caught Caleb in the lower back and he yelped. March waded in with fists flying and Caleb struggled up to help him. They stood back to back for a short while before Caleb was knocked down again. The women were yelling encouragement, but not to them.
Their attackers finally stopped and ran off. March staggered to where Caleb lay on the sand and dropped to his knees.
“Are you okay?” March panted. “I’m phoning the police.”
“Don’t. Let’s just go.” Caleb pushed himself up.
“Why shouldn’t I phone the police?”
“Because it won’t do any good. Even if they catch them, they’ll get a slap on the wrist, if that. The word of seven against two? They’ll say we started it. Do you want to go into the police station, give a statement, tell them we were kissing?” He sighed. “It’s my fault.”
“Why the fuck is it your fault? Weren’t there two of us involved?”
“Come on.”
They headed off the sand onto the promenade and Caleb slumped onto one of the benches that faced the sea. At least his lenses had sorted themselves out. He glanced at March and winced. “Your cheek’s bleeding.”
“I’m okay.” March sat beside him and pressed a tissue against Caleb’s head. “Why is it your fault?” The aggression had gone from his voice.
“You’re a beginner at the gay thing. I’m supposed to know what I’m doing, except when I’m around you, I forget my own name.”
“They shouldn’t get away with behaving like that. What message does it send if we ignore it?”
“You have to learn to pick your battles. They were drunk. They’re not worth the trouble it would cause us. You think I need stitches?”
“No, it’s not deep. Just took some skin off. The bastards. We’re near the lifeboat station. There’s a first aid kit there.”
Caleb pushed to his feet and they walked side by side along the seafront.
“Does stuff like that happen often?” March asked.
“A kiss from a gorgeous guy making my world stop for a moment? A few times in the last couple of days.”
March gave a quiet chuckle.
“I’ve only been attacked on…three occasions,” Caleb said. “I’m careful.”
“You might have been attacked even if you hadn’t been careful.”
Unlikely, since Caleb went out of his way to avoid any sort of confrontation. If March hadn’t been with him, he might have run into the sea to get away.
When they walked into the lifeboat station, Brian came out of his office.
“What the hell’s happened to you?”
“We were attacked by some drunken louts. I’ve brought Caleb in to clean him up.”
Brian’s gaze flicked between them. “You’re hurt too. There’s blood on your cheek. Have you called the police?”
“No point,” March said. “They chucked bottles at us and ran off. We didn’t get a good look.”
“You need any help?” Brian asked.
“We’ll be fine, thanks.”
March led Caleb to a small room with a couple of camp beds. A first aid box was fastened to the wall. Caleb sat on a chair and let March clean him up. He thought he could guess what was going through the guy’s head—“The first day I come out as gay and I get beaten up. Is that what I want in life?” Caleb knew it was his fault, no matter what March said. He should have warned him about PDAs, warned him about rancid homophobes and drunken idiots. He winced when March pressed a piece of gauze against his head.
“Ouch.”
“Stop thinking what happened was your fault or I won’t be so gentle.”
A jolt of lust snapped Caleb’s cock back to life. “You’re being gentle? Where did you learn your bedside manners?”
“You think I’m going to bail on you because of this?” March said. “If I hadn’t been so worried about you, I might have ripped the fuckers’ heads off.”
Caleb gulped. For a guy who hadn’t been sure what he was a short while ago, March was coming over as a dominant top, as opposed to Caleb’s not-so-dominant top and pushy bottom. And he knew that didn’t make sense, even to him. Maybe I’ve been waiting for the right guy to show me what I am. Maybe I’ve found him.
“Why the shocked look?” March asked.
“I’m not used to anyone standing up for me.” Not for a long time.
“Do you like it?” March asked quietly.
“I wouldn’t be saying yes if one of those louts had smashed your jaw and broken your teeth, or knocked you over and you’d hit your head on a rock and died of a brain hemorrhage.”
March put his hand on Caleb’s cheek and stroked it. Caleb turned into the caress and closed his eyes. Please don’t hurt me. And I don’t want you hurt. I can’t deal with you getting hurt.
“You worry too much,” March whispered.
Caleb opened his eyes. “I live to worry.” I want to stop but I can’t. “I’m a professional worrier.”
“What’s making you anxious? Can I fix it?”
Maybe he could, but Caleb wasn’t opening his heart. Not yet. “I worry whether the sun will come up in the morning. I worry what would happen if the Earth lost its gravitational field while I was outside. I worry because what if time travel—”
“Is happening right now,” they said together, laughed and stared at each other.
“Might be,” Caleb whispered. “I could be from the future.”
“You’d know though, so, no, you’re not.” March sighed. “We’re a match. And I can’t stop touching you.”
Me? Or is it just that I’m a guy and you’re exploring your new world? Please let it be me.
“Change places and let me sort out your cheek.”
The graze had already stopped bleeding, but Caleb kept wiping March’s cheek longer than he needed to because he was wondering how, despite his innate caution, he’d managed to fall so hard, so fast. And how the hell had March come up with the time travel happening now?
“Going to come home with me?” March asked. “I don’t want to… Well, I do, but you’re right. Not too fast. We don’t…I was thinking… Oh fuck. I’ll know for certain, won’t I, if we…do stuff?”
Caleb made sure his disappointment didn’t show on his face. “Do stuff? You mean if you stick your cock in my mouth, I suck it and you like it, then you must be gay? What about if you close your eyes? Can’t tell who’s on their knees then.”
“Don’t. That’s not what I meant.” March dragged his fingers through his hair. “Okay. Right.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to rush into this.”
Caleb held in his
laugh. How old was he? How long had March been in denial? “We don’t have to fuck right away. Is that what you mean?”
March nodded and Caleb didn’t miss the flicker of relief on March’s face.
“We don’t have to fuck at all,” Caleb said. “Some guys don’t. They’re happy doing other things. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You probably don’t even know what you want to do.”
March’s eyes darkened. “Yeah I do.”
Caleb heard the words “fuck you” even though March hadn’t said them.
“I know what I want to do to you,” Caleb fired back and March gulped. “But neither of us knows what you’re in to.” Caleb couldn’t help himself. “Cock rings, cock cages, sounds, piercings, cock rings, flogging, slapping, frotting, rimming, docking, pegging, fisting?”
He watched March steadily pale.
“I have no idea what some of those mean. And you said ‘cock rings’ twice.”
Caleb smiled. “Did I? Well, fisting is when you stick your fist into a guy’s arse.”
March glared. “That one I know.”
“Know?”
March flushed. “I mean I could guess. Are you into that?”
“No.” Caleb pushed to his feet. “I’ll follow your car.”
Which gave Caleb a short amount of time to wonder what the hell he was doing, but not enough time to talk himself out of it.
Chapter Fifteen
When being in the room grew too much to bear, when he couldn’t even dance his way to oblivion, Tye pretended Baxter wasn’t dead, pretended he was there. He talked to him, held him, kissed him. He jacked off under the covers, imagining Baxter lying next to him, Baxter touching him, loving him.
It might have happened if Baxter had lived—that moment might have come when Baxter understood how much Tye loved him, that perfect moment when Baxter told Tye he loved him too. Maybe…in another world where they’d never met Liam.
Tye knew he had to be calm and patient. He’d be rescued. Or Liam would make a mistake and he’d get the chance to run.
The supply of books never faltered. Not just schoolbooks, but fiction as well as pub-quiz books, and Tye learned the answers, tested himself, thought how clever he’d look when he got out.
But as months passed, it grew harder and harder to remember what the world outside was like, the taste of fresh air, how it felt to swim, to ride his bike, to eat fish and chips. Harder to think of a life other than the one he had. Harder to remember what Baxter looked like.
One day, Tye couldn’t bring Baxter’s face into his mind, and on that day part of him withered and died.
One day, Tye orgasmed when Liam fucked him.
One day, he wanted Liam to touch him.
After that, each day he died a little more, but his spark never went completely out because his hatred of Liam kept it burning.
The good thing was Liam wanted to make him happy.
Liam gave him stuff when Tye behaved and let his hair be bleached. Tye had an endless supply of sketch pads, pencils, books and hand-held computer games. The best thing was his book about ballet. Tye did every exercise. Practiced all the time. Sang in his head. He kept thinking, When I get out, I can be a dancer. I can be anything I want.
When Tye asked, Liam gave him balsawood to carve and a tin of tiny bits and pieces of metal. Tye broke open a pencil sharpener and made a tool because Liam wouldn’t give him a craft knife. Tye had wanted to scream at him. What use was wood to carve, without a knife?
In any case, if Tye killed Liam without knowing the code to the door, he’d be trapped with a dead body.
The bad thing was Liam wanted to make him happy.
Tye had no clothes. The room was mostly warm, but when it was cold even with heaters working, he spent the day wrapped in the duvet. Liam made him clean his teeth and floss—Tye guessed visiting a dentist wasn’t something Liam could let happen. Liam forced him to take vitamins—he said they were vitamins, but how could Tye know for sure? Liam drugged the food some of the time—that was when he did everything he wanted to Tye’s body.
Liam took pictures, filmed him. As bad as that was, Tye wondered if he’d be recognized, if someone would tip off the police. When Tye was older, another man came into the room wearing a mask and carrying a video camera. Liam wore wigs and Tye guessed the film would be edited to hide Liam’s identity. Tye had changed. He was no longer a child and Liam still dyed Tye’s hair. Who would recognize him? Tye begged for the cameraman’s help but learned it was less painful to say nothing Liam didn’t tell him to say.
Liam said he’d begun making a movie about Tye’s sexual journey from the age of eleven, that the new stuff would be spliced with the old and that he wanted to capture the change in Tye’s beautiful green eyes. Tye thought then that Liam didn’t care who saw him, that Liam believed no one would guess who he was. Liam made Tye learn a script, and though it made Tye sick to say some of it, if he refused, what Liam did made him sicker.
Sometimes Liam made Tye watch himself being abused and Tye never reacted, never accepted he was looking at a blond version of himself, his green eyes dulled, because it wasn’t him. It was his shell. Liam would never have the part of him he hid away, the part that would forever belong to Baxter, the part that would one day make him strong enough to kill Liam.
Liam had endless ways of causing Tye pain or fear. Leave the light on all the time. Burn him with cigarettes. Put a snake in with him. A big spider. Then turn off the light. Tye had wet himself as he’d stood frozen, not daring to move, not screaming because that was what Liam wanted.
But the sex was the bad thing. Tye fought and struggled but Liam wore him down. Captivity wore him down. Even his dancing failed to bring him joy. He only had pain, suffering and death in his head when he moved across the floor. Never joy.
Tye yearned for small things. He longed to sit in the sun, feel the wind in his hair, touch snow, pet a dog, dance in the rain, run into the sea, eat chocolate. The only place he could escape was in his head, his imagination fueled by the books he read. Without them he’d have gone mad. He often thought he had, that he was in some mental asylum and this was his world forever.
* * *
Caleb left his coat in the vehicle and followed March into the house, glad the guy flicked every light switch on the way to the kitchen because as much as Caleb needed the dark to hide his back, he needed the light at most other times.
March turned to him. “Do you want tea or beer or something?”
“Or something.” Time to push a little.
Caleb unfastened March’s coat, shoved it from his shoulders, then peeled off March’s sweater and dropped it. There was already a tent in March’s pants. When Caleb ran his thumb up the straining material before curling his hand over it, March sounded as if he was having trouble breathing. Caleb could feel the heat and weight of him, imagined March fucking him. When Caleb thought about it being the guy’s first time, he had breathing problems of his own. His first time had been terrible. It had hurt so much. He wanted March’s to be wonderful.
March tentatively settled his hands on Caleb’s hips and when Caleb moaned at the sensation, March smiled and tightened his fingers. Oh God, that smile. Caleb stared into his eyes as he unfastened each button of March’s shirt. He could feel March’s chest heaving, and as much as he was turning March on, he was turning himself on even more.
Don’t go too far. Don’t rush this. Don’t freak him out. Because for all his talk of going slow, Caleb’s desperation was a dark mass inside him, growing like a thunderstorm turning every shade of gray to black and about to break open with electric light. Once the shirt was gone and Caleb had the chance to sweep his hands over tense, chiseled abdominal muscles, he sucked in a breath. No matter how hard he’d tried, he never managed to get well-defined muscles like that. He traced each shape with his finger, smiling when March’s skin twit
ched.
“You have the most beautiful body,” Caleb said.
He bent to brush his mouth over March’s stomach, and his reward was a long, deep groan. Caleb licked and blew along the edge of March’s waistband.
“If it’s not too much trouble, you think you could stop breathing?” March asked.
Caleb fluttered his tongue around March’s navel.
March wobbled. “Shit, I need a wall.”
Caleb nudged him until his back rested against the door. “That better?”
“I said wall, not door. There’s something hard jabbing my backside.”
March was nowhere near the handle.
“Dreaming of being the filling in a sandwich?” Caleb asked.
He was half joking but he watched March’s Adam’s apple move up and down and wondered. This guy didn’t know what he wanted. He might be coming to terms with being gay, but a whole new world was about to open up for him. Caleb’s stomach sank at the thought of not being enough for March, the realization that maybe he’d want more than Caleb would give, could give. Some of Caleb’s secrets had to stay secrets forever. He’d learned to live with them—just about—but to expect someone else to understand was a step too far.
Caleb circled his thumbs around March’s nipples, and March arched his back.
“Shhhiiit,” March hissed.
Caleb dropped his mouth to one nipple while he twisted and flicked the other. He fluttered his tongue over the hard nub, licked it, gently bit it, then swapped and did the same on the other side before letting his mouth wander over March’s chest.
“Oh Christ.” March’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I need to sit before I fall.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Licking and mouthing are on the list with breathing. I can’t think when you’re doing that.”
“You said you could multitask.”
“I used to be able to. Damn you, you’ve stolen my superpower.”
Caleb gaped at him. “Not the power to lick your own elbow. I’ve always wanted that.”
Give Yourself Away Page 15
