He is Mine

by Mel Gough

  “What happened at the hotel?” Brad suggests. Damien’s arm brushes against his cock every time either of them move, and Brad would prefer not to have to talk, or think. But yes, they have to.

  “Well, yeah…,” Damien says. “That was a real dick move.”

  Brad says nothing. Instead, he waits to see how Damien wants to approach this.

  “I think I fucked up,” Damien says after a moment. “I never meant to start anything serious with Vivienne. We met on set in Vegas. Her husband cast me in his movie.”

  Great way to thank your boss, Brad thinks.

  “She’s so goddamn beautiful,” Damien says with a sigh. “I saw her in Eve, and I wanted her so bad, before I’d even met her.”

  Brad makes an indistinct noise in his throat, and Damien glances up. “You don’t think she’s beautiful?”

  “I guess.” Brad shrugs. “I mean, I can appreciate the symmetry of her face, and that she conforms to the current beauty standards for women—”

  “You sound like a professor,” Damien interrupts him, grinning.

  “Well, she’s the wrong flavor for me.” Brad shrugs. “I’ve crushed on a girl or two in my time, sure. But that’s as far as it goes. And, well, Vivienne Aubert is not very nice.”

  “No,” Damien agrees. “She’s not.” He’s silent for a moment, his hand absently stroking the inside of Brad’s thigh. “I’m sort of stupid like that. I see someone beautiful, and my brain just…”

  “Empties of blood and sense?” Brad suggests.

  “Yeah,” Damien says. “My ex, she hit it on the head. She says I lust for anyone with a beautiful body and fuck the consequences.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” Brad asks. He’s aware of the effect he has on men, and women. He likes to keep in shape and enjoys the rewards. But the thought that Damien is only here for that reason makes him feel depressed.

  Damien half rolls over on top of him and fixes Brad with his best bedroom eyes. “I lust for beauty,” he says for effect. “But I fall in love with kindness.”

  That isn’t quite what Brad had anticipated, either. It’s much too soon, to talk of love. Must be the dramatist speaking from Damien’s lips. So he decides to ignore what Damien just said. “I gather Vivienne has different ideas about your future?”

  Damien’s expression darkens. “I don’t know what she wants,” he says, sounding troubled now. “I never encouraged her. I definitely never told her to come to New York or to leave her husband.”

  “She’s not staying with you, then?” Brad asks.

  “God, no. I haven’t seen her since the gala. I didn’t take her home with me after that spectacle. I should’ve never let her come along, period. It was all too much, that night. Stuff’s going on right now, and I…” There’s a level of pain in his voice that’s disproportionate to what he’s saying. Brad glances at him. Damien’s eyes are big and shining, as if he battles back tears. Whatever else troubles him, he’s struggling to put it into words. Brad strokes his arm. It hurts to see Damien so miserable.

  “Tell me some other time what’s going on, when you feel you can,” he says as gentle as possible, then adds, “I won’t lie. I was pretty pissed. I’ve not been stood up in a while. And I can confirm, it still blows.” He gives Damien a little smile. “Look, it wasn’t the best first date, but shit happens. Shall we just start over?”

  Damien nods, looking like a huge weight has been lifted off him. He still frowns, though. “You know I have an ex-wife and a kid?” he asks.

  Brad nods. “It’s difficult not to know at least a few things, when you’re…” He wants to say a celebrity, but it seems almost an insult to call someone that to their face, in bed. Damien huffs, and flops back down on his back. His curls tickle Brad’s shoulder.

  “I hate that bit about my job,” he declares. “When I meet people, they think they know all about me already, and they already have an opinion.” He takes a deep breath. “Idil and I, we got some issues to sort out. That’s the fucked-up bit I…I find hard to talk about right now. But I wanted to warn you, that there’s more. I’ll tell you soon, all right?”

  “Sure,” Brad says. “No sweat.”

  After a small pause, Damien continues, “Have you also heard the rumors about me swinging both ways?”

  Brad smiles. He isn’t quite sure what Damien tries to get at here, but it shows real guts, that he wants to explain that part of himself to Brad. He strokes Damien’s bare shoulder and says, “I don’t need to hear rumors about that. I have firsthand experience now.”

  Damien laughs. “True. What I mean to say is, I had an affair with a dancer from the New York City Ballet. That was before I met Idil, and I wasn’t ready to come out then. It’s messy, when you do what I do. People don’t like it when you don’t fit in a box. Sergei, he wanted us to be out and proud, but I wasn’t having it. I’d only done a couple of indie films at that point, and I didn’t want to be cast as the gay guy for the rest of my career.” He sighs and rubs his face. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

  “No, it didn’t,” Brad says. “You’re not gay, and you didn’t want that label. I get it.” He hesitates. “I hate it too. What does it matter at work who I sleep with in my own time? It doesn’t impact on my abilities as a detective, yet somehow, if you’re not straight, that becomes your whole identity.”

  “Are you out at work?” Damien asks.

  “I am. Always have been,” Brad says. “It might annoy me sometimes, but not standing by who I really am seems worse. And NYPD is a great champion for the cause in the city.” He decides to leave it at that. No need to overshare and explain his much more complicated relationship with his family back in Baltimore.

  “Considering I’m in your bed, I don’t suppose there’s someone serious in your life right now?” Damien’s voice is casual, but Brad, trained to listen carefully, detects a slight tremor.

  He hesitates, but only for a moment. Damien laid his soul bare, the least he can do is tell him the truth. “I’ve just come out of a long-term relationship. My ex, he…he’s not doing so good, and it destroyed…well, us, I suppose.”

  “I’m sorry,” Damien murmurs, glancing up at him. “That must be hard.”

  “I’m learning to live with it,” Brad says. He’s unwilling to discuss the whole sorry Aiden tale again in detail. “We’ve all got our demons.”

  Damien snorts. “Yeah, I got plenty of those. Boys, girls…it was confusing enough with just those skeletons in my closet. Now I’ve added adultery to the list, too.”

  “Do you think Vivienne will cause a scandal?” Brad asks.

  “I’m not sure, to be honest. She’s an odd one. I never know what she’ll do next. But she and I…well, that’s not going to go any further, whatever she might think.” He rolls over onto his front again. “I didn’t come here tonight just to explain about her, you know. I wanted to see you, and I also wanted to tell you about some of the other stuff that’s going on. I didn’t want you to find any of this out from the gossip rags.”

  “I’m not planning on reading any gossip,” Brad reassures him. “I’ve seen your show, and sure, it’s a thrill, that I met you, and…well, that you ended up in my bed. But I’m not interested in Hollywood.”

  Damien smiles. “I didn’t think you would be.” He leans down and kisses Brad on the bridge of the nose. Brad gives a snort and pulls away, eyebrow raised.

  “What?” Damien asks. “That little detail is one of the details that makes you so sexy.” He trails the lump on Brad’s nose with his finger. Brad feels goosebumps erupt on his arms. Then, with a smile, Damien kisses him on the mouth.

  The kiss starts innocently enough but soon they’re back in the middle of that high school petting session, and Brad doesn’t mind at all.

  Damien’s lips don’t stay on Brad’s for long. He places small, quick kisses along Brad’s jaw, then, as Brad stretches and arches his head back, he kisses his throat, his chest. Carefully at first, he bites and sucks Brad’s collarbone, then lets his
hand glide down Brad’s side. When his fingers tighten on the bulge in Brad’s boxer briefs, Brad gives a hiss.

  Damien’s face comes up, a mischievous grin on his lips. “I see all the talking hasn’t let your enthusiasm wilt.”

  “No way,” Brad murmurs, then, without warning, he pushes himself up, grabbing Damien by the wrists and flipping him onto his back. He’s so quick, he’s straddling the other man before Damien even knows what happened. His eyes are wide with shock for a split second, then he grins again.

  “You learn that at the academy?” he asks, breathless.

  “And I’ve also got a black belt in karate.” Brad chuckles at the surprised look on Damien’s face.

  “I gotta think of something we can use that for,” Damien says. “That, and your handcuffs, too.” He wriggles around until Brad raises himself up on his knees, then brings his leg up and presses his thigh against the underside of Brad’s balls. Brad inhales and bears down to increase the sensation.

  “Fuck me,” Damien whispers.

  Brad doesn’t need telling twice. He gets up and strips off his boxer shorts. Then he finds lube and condoms in the bedside cabinet. No more risky shit tonight. When he turns his attention back to the bed, Damien is just dropping his boxer briefs over the side of the bed. Brad’s eyes wander down to the main prize. Damien’s dick is lying dark and heavy against his belly, which, Brad notices with a sudden tender satisfaction, looks much more average than his well-developed biceps would suggest. He reaches out and takes hold of Damien’s dick, climbing onto the mattress at the same time.

  Damien’s eyes are narrowed and fall almost closed as Brad starts stroking his erection. He arches his back, and Brad is reminded of a cat stretching before the fire. When Brad lets go of Damien to prep himself, Damien’s eyes open a little wider and he begins to stroke himself, eyes on Brad’s dick.

  This isn’t a first time for either of them; they’ve both known many lovers. It’s not the perfect, unforgettable first night together either, promising soul mates and eternal love. It’s two men comfortable and relaxed with each other, mindful of their own needs, delighting in providing pleasure to the other. It’s gentle, then it’s rougher, then it’s sweet again. They kiss and caress and are in the moment, at ease, without distraction and without the need for a fairy tale ending just then.

  Damien falls asleep after they finish, curled up into a ball, his back warm against Brad’s chest. Aiden hadn’t been one for spooning, or for touching much once their lust had been satiated, even on his good days. Brad lies awake for a while, not discontent to have this moment to himself, to notice the sticky smell of sex, the body in his arms, the soft breathing of Damien fast asleep.

  He wonders what will come next. He wants Damien to be more than this one night, and he has a feeling Damien might want more, too. He’s still not sure what to think of the Bowery Hotel incident. Damien’s strange behavior is linked to Vivienne Aubert, and Brad has a bad feeling about that woman. Sooner or later, she’ll cause trouble, he’s certain. Brad guesses she won’t go quietly, whatever Damien tells her. And there’s something else going on in Damien’s life, something to do with the ex-wife and possibly their kid. Trying not to let it trouble him, Brad closes his eyes, willing himself to relax, and eventually falls asleep.

  When he wakes up, it’s light outside. He’s alone in bed, the sheets around him crumpled from two people making love and sleeping in them. The space by his side still feels a little warm. Brad can hear clattering from downstairs and quiet music.

  He sits up and rubs his face. He’s surprised to find he’s smiling. This is what he misses, waking up to a house holding another living presence.

  After he’s peed, brushed his teeth, and splashed his face with water, Brad makes his way downstairs. Halfway down, he can smell the coffee.

  “Morning,” Damien says when he sees him. He has just sliced a bagel and now puts it into the toaster.

  “You’re making breakfast,” Brad observes, bemused. Then he adds, “I had bagels?”

  “Ha!” Damien grins at him when Brad approaches the kitchen. He turns the radio to a barely audible background murmur. “I went to the store and bought some. Also cream cheese, lox, and OJ. Or there’s bacon, if you prefer that.”

  “The non-kosher option,” Brad says, laughing. “Bagels are great, thank you!”

  Damien looks a little sheepish. “I went through your pants pockets for your keys, sorry. They’re on the coffee table.”

  Brad waves that away. “That’s okay. I’ll put up with a creep for this service.” He walks around the breakfast bar and reaches for Damien, who wears jeans and shoes, but no shirt. “You go out like that?” Brad asks and pulls him close.

  “Nah,” Damien says, leaning into Brad with a sigh. “But I spilled juice on myself. Can I borrow a shirt when we’ve showered?”

  Brad lets his hands travel up Damien’s back and along the broad shoulders. “You’ll pull it out of shape,” he says, smiling. “I’ve never seen shoulders this wide on a little guy like you.”

  Damien pulls back, giving Brad a slap on the wrist. “Who’re you calling little, eh?” He grins. “You’re not exactly the Golem yourself.”

  He goes over to the coffee maker, which has just announced the completion of its task with a beep. Damien pours, and Brad takes the mug from him, holding on to Damien’s fingers a moment longer than necessary, their eyes locking over the coffee.

  At that moment, Brad’s phone starts to ring. He lets go of Damien reluctantly and walks over to the sofa. The phone buzzes across the coffee table. Brad can see Eric’s name flash on the little screen. Frowning, he snatches up the phone and answers the call.

  “Hey, Eric,” he says. “What’s up? Is your flu on the way out?”

  “Brad I…,” Eric stammers. His voice is choked, and it doesn’t seem to be from a stuffy nose. “It’s Aiden, he… Oh man, I’m so sorry…”

  All the air vanishes at once from Brad’s lungs. His vision blurs, and his legs give out from under him. He just about lands on the sofa, and the coffee mug clatters hard onto the table, hot liquid sloshing over the rim and onto Brad’s hand.

  “What…what happened?” Brad croaks.

  “He jumped off Brooklyn Bridge.” Eric sounds like he’s crying. “They pulled him out downriver, a couple hours ago. Sydney, that girl at the art commune, she called me. Didn’t have your number…” Eric babbles. “She asked if I could tell you. She said Aiden was better, after…after you came to see him. They thought he’d be okay, they really did.”

  “I’ll call you back later.” Brad barely gets the words out. He hangs up before Eric can say anything else.

  The phone falls into Brad’s lap from senseless fingers. He feels numb and very cold. The room tilts with sudden vertigo, and Brad grabs the sofa’s armrest.

  And then Damien is there, and his strong arms are around him. A soothing hand rubs him hard between the shoulder blades.

  “Breathe, man,” Damien’s voice says from far away. “Deep breath, c’mon, that’s it… and again…”

  Brad hadn’t realized that he’d held his breath. He takes a deep breath as instructed, then another. There’s an odd sound, like the keening of an animal. It takes Brad a moment to realize it comes from himself. With pure willpower, he stops it.

  But he can’t stop the shaking. His whole body quivers, the trembling transferring to Damien and the sofa as well. With an iron grip he grabs on to Damien’s arm wrapped around his chest. Damien hisses, but keeps rubbing his back and pulls him into an even tighter embrace. Brad collapses against him, unable to speak or even think for a long time.

  He doesn’t know how long they sit there until he’s aware of his surroundings again. Damien asks nothing and says nothing, but the first thing Brad can focus on when his senses return is Damien singing very softly under his breath. Brad tries to understand, but the words seem nonsensical. He glances up.

  Damien blushes. “My gran used to sing that to me, whenever I was upset. She�
��d murmur it over and over, until I’d calmed down and stopped crying.”

  “What is it?” Brad asks, his voice rough.

  “A Yiddish children’s song. It’s called Rozhinkes mit Mandlen.” Damien grimaces. “I don’t even know what the words mean, or whether I say any of them right.” He puts a hand against Brad’s stubbly chin. “Something really bad happened,” he says.

  Brad nods. “Aiden,” he croaks. “My ex. He…he committed suicide this morning.”

  Damien’s eyes grow wide. The fingers on Brad’s face move onto his neck and squeeze with just the right amount of pressure. “I’m so sorry,” Damien whispers. “Oh God, that’s…that’s awful.”

  “It’s my fault.” The words force themselves from Brad’s mouth before he’s aware they come.

  “How is that possible?” Damien asks, frowning. “You were here with me.”

  Brad swallows. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to think, but he has no choice. “I told you, last night. Aiden wasn’t…doing so good. He…he’s tried it before…”

  Before his eyes are flashes of crimson on the cracked bathroom floor, red drops on Aunt Hedda’s tiles, smears and puddles of dark blood, pink water filling the tub. Aiden, so white, so cold, in the tepid water. Brad shudders. Damien tries to pull him close again, cards his fingers through his hair. “Hey, shhh…”

  But Brad pulls away. “’m gonna puke,” he mumbles, and tries to get up, managing only on the second try. He strides across the living space into the guest bathroom near the back, his stomach in painful knots. He sinks onto his knees, the black slate tiles rough and cold under him. Tasting bile at the back of his throat he gags a few times, but nothing comes up.

  Then Damien’s arms are around him again. “I’m here, Brad,” he says. “It’s okay, whatever you need to do, it’s okay.” Brad leans into Damien’s chest, glad not to be alone despite the embarrassment. They crouch for a few minutes. Brad keeps his eyes closed, gagging a few times more, waiting for his body to tell him what’s going to happen next. He feels very cold, and very sick, but eventually concludes he won’t throw up.