The Hands

by Andrea Speed, A. B. Gayle, Jessie Blackwood, J. J Levesque, Katisha Moreish

  (Flynn, you bastard, he thought to himself. You know damn well you’re gonna end up hurting this kid. You always do.)

  Aiden loved when someone else took control, and he felt like his body was about to melt through the couch. He had the strange thought of Dante, who was in the other room, coming to investigate and it bothered him. But the dog was asleep. And damn if being on the couch like this wasn’t hotter than his bed. The blush that covered his face at the images flowing through his mind spread down to his neck and chest.

  Flynn looked down at Aiden and saw the flush in his pale skin. Aww, Little Red Riding Hood probably had no idea how sexy he was. How had that happened? “You’re so fucking hot when you blush,” he told him, grabbing Aiden’s shirt and pulling it off over his head. He then kissed his neck, his chest, working his way down, enjoying the heat from his body. He smelled good, like he was fresh out of the shower. (Oh shit. How did he smell since he slept in his clothes all night? Couldn’t have been that bad, since he hadn’t noticed himself.)

  With his hands free, Aiden slid his hands down Flynn’s back and then back up to slip his fingers in the strands of Flynn’s short hair. It was soft and felt nice. It also gave him something to distract himself with while the other man moved down his body. God, he thought he was going to lose his mind. He also hoped like hell Flynn wouldn’t turn around and want him to take over, though he didn’t see a problem there.

  Flynn traced a pattern on his abdomen with the tip of his tongue, tasting the salt of Aiden’s skin, following his treasure trail, feeling him writhe beneath him. He couldn’t believe he finally got to him. He really thought teacher was going to make him clean his erasers after school for a year before giving him a shot at the good stuff. He grabbed the waist of his track pants and underwear and pulled them down, giving him a look at naked Aiden for the first time. Just as hot as he thought he would be. The guy worked out. “If you want me to stop, just say so,” he said, tossing the clothing aside. Now why had he said that?

  This was not how Aiden usually did things. Far from it. Dating, then sex. He just always was that way. So he surprised himself when he shook his head and said, “No, don’t stop.” The way Flynn looked at him... he shivered and licked his lips.

  Flynn found himself looking down at Aiden like he’d never seen him before. He thought Little Red Riding Hood had a wild side, if he could just open up. Now here it was. He kissed him again, feeling how hard he was, and wondered, not for the first time, how long it had been since Aiden had had a really good fuck. Poor kid probably needed it. (But from him? Damn his conscience!)

  Aiden added pressure to the kiss, sliding his tongue between Flynn’s lips and tasting the coffee with all that added sugar. It was sweet, almost too sweet, but he liked it. His hands slid from Flynn’s hair, down his back and to the waist of his shorts. He tugged at them insistently, trying to get his point across without breaking the kiss. Skin on skin was great, but just this wasn’t enough.

  Flynn sat back on his knees and pulled down the waist of his shorts, but not before pulling a condom out of his front pocket. He may never have been a Boy Scout, but he was always prepared. “You sure?” What the fuck was he asking?! You don’t ask the innocent hot guy if he wants to back out of sex with you! Had he been taken over by a pod person or something?

  “Positive.” Aiden glanced at the condom suddenly in his hand and smiled, a tiny giggle slipping through his lips. His mind was so far gone he’d stupidly forgotten. He wasn’t even going to question why Flynn just happened to have one in his pocket. It worked to their advantage right now.

  Flynn tore the condom packet open with his teeth, and felt a last vestige of conscience as he rolled the condom on, spitting in his hand to lube himself up.He was sure he was nothing but bad news for this guy, who seemed as sweet and perfect as a fairy tale prince. (Making him, by process of elimination, the frog.) But no one ever said he had to make this a regular thing. What was a fuck between friends, huh? He went in for a kiss, burying his tongue in his mouth as he parted Aiden’s legs and slipped inside him, wondering if he kissed Aiden enough if he’d become a real prince too.

  Aiden wasn’t quite prepared for it, and cringed, trying to lose himself in the kiss and forget about the temporary pain. He had to pull back and take a deep breath, fingers digging into Flynn’s shoulders. “Wait a second,” he managed to breathe out. “It’s... been a while.”

  Flynn took a moment to catch his breath. “I don’t want to hurt you. We can go slow, yeah? Whatever you want.” He meant it too. Aiden was so hot he really just wanted to fuck him stupid - the fact that he was showing some restraint meant ... something. He wasn’t sure what. Flynn kissed the rain off his face, the sweat, although it all tasted like tears.

  “Slow is good,” he agreed, closing his eyes through the kisses. He sighed softly as his body began to relax and allowed himself a moment to hope this was not just a one time thing.

  Flynn kissed Aiden until he felt him relax, felt his body soften beneath him, and he had a weird realization that he wanted to freeze this moment. Aiden was so not like him, he almost envied him. Too late to turn back now, though. He moved slowly at first, never moving his mouth from his, waiting to see how he would react, enjoying the friction of their skin.

  As his body relaxed, Aiden pushed his body against Flynn’s, increasing the contact, and shifted one leg to wrap around his waist. It had been so long since he’d been with someone he didn’t know how long he would last, so he tried to encourage Flynn to keep the pace slow.

  It was almost painful, he wanted to just pound him, but he moved slow, responding to Aiden’s wishes, kissing his throat and feeling his pulse flutter beneath his warm flesh. How could a guy this hot want him? Jesus, why weren’t there guys beating down his door? He didn’t care, not really, but he had to keep himself distracted so he didn’t hurt him.

  Aiden shifted underneath Flynn, and the move caused him to cry out as his length pressed against that bundle of nerves. “Oh God,” he managed to get out. “Move. Please.” All pain disappeared and pleasure took its place. Any thought of taking it slow vanished with the pain.

  Flynn started to be less gentle, quickening his pace, finding a good rhythm that they could both live with. Aiden’s moans were so sexy he had to kiss him, cover his mouth with his, or he was just going to lose it. He loved to make him moan.

  As their bodies moved together, Aiden wrapped his other leg around Flynn’s waist, thankful for his flexibility. He felt his climax quickly rising and struggled to fight it off. Hands moved over Flynn’s back, covering every inch of it, exploring it and committing it to memory. He felt so damn good.

  Flynn began to thrust into him hard. He didn’t want to hurt him, but he’d been so good up until now he wasn’t sure he could hold back any longer. He grabbed one of Aiden’s hands and pinned it down over his head as he looked into his desire glazed eyes, searching for any sign that he should stop. He saw none, so he determined to lose himself in Aiden as long as he could last.

  Without any help from his hand or Flynn’s, just the pressure of their bodies together had Aiden cry out once more as he spilled between them. His hands grabbed at Flynn’s slick skin and nails dug in as he slowly came back to reality.

  A combination of the pain of Aiden digging his fingers into his flesh and the contractions of his muscles had Flynn orgasm hard, in a way that seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body. He collapsed on Aiden, panting for breath, waiting for the feeling to stop rolling through him. It occurred to him to tell him he was much better than Javier Bardem, but just the thought of it, silly as it was, made him feel terrible. Aiden deserved better than him. Maybe someday, he’d get it.

  Aiden released his tight hold on him and lay there, breathing just as heavily, completely at ease. This felt... different, somehow. Aiden smiled to himself and closed his eyes. Unable to resist, he stretched up just a bit and pressed a brief kiss to Flynn’s forehead and then dropped back to the pillow.

  Haven Fall
s #81: Whose Hand is it Anyway

  Aiden Parker, Flynn Archer, Henry Vale, Miles Sutherland

  ________________________________________________

  “Stop pulling. I’m going as fast as I can.” The lead Miles had attached to Roofie’s collar stretched taut as the dog took off again. The stupid mutt only had two speeds: ‘On’ and ‘Off’.

  Miles sighed. From the looks of Roofie’s newly mud-caked legs, he’d need to give him another bath tonight. Haven Falls Park still squelched underfoot from the effects of the morning’s downpour. You’d think the rain would have washed away any interesting scents, but the dog still insisted on sniffing every bloody tree and marking it. It was a wonder it had anything left to piss.

  Lucky the weather had been kind enough to stop raining during his lunch break. Instead of his usual cafeteria burger he’d gone home to see if his new acquisition was okay. His neighbor, Mrs Danvers, had knocked ever so politely on the front door within minutes of his arrival and complained in that prissy voice she had that his new “animal” had whined the whole time he was away.

  What did she expect, for Christ’s sake? At least he’d managed to avoid most of the licks when he’d walked inside, but he’s almost been knocked off his feet. A quick jog around the park seemed to be the only solution. Wear him out so he’d sleep for the rest of the afternoon. Hopefully the exercise wouldn’t have his owner nodding on his desk too.

  Up ahead, a figure trudged through the park toward them, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched against the cold. A breeze had sprung up during the morning, changing the steady rain to intermittent downpours. The sun hadn’t made its appearance all day.

  Flynn had to get out of Aiden’s place, even if just for a little while. He lied, said he was due to show up at the Steele for a fitting, which wasn’t true. That absurdity was over and done with. No, he just had to get out of there before the guilt made him explode. He liked to think he wasn’t a complete bastard (a partial bastard he would have to cop to), but Aiden was so innocent, so sweet; he made him feel like a fucking mass murderer. And he couldn’t get mad at him about it because he wasn’t doing it on purpose. It was just him, his problem, all his jackassery suddenly evident, making him feel like the world’s biggest asshole. He needed to get out of there, clear his head, and mentally talk himself out of just running, catching the first bus out of Haven Falls. He couldn’t stop now anyways - someone tried to kill him! Clearly, he was close to something.

  He decided to distract himself by walking the fringes of the wood, seeing if there were any more spare body parts that the cops might have missed. Funny that there’d only been one hand.

  Miles stopped for a second and eyed the man walking toward them. It was Flynn. What was he doing here at this time of the day? Roofie jerked suddenly and took off after the approaching figure. “Look out!” Miles was pulled along by the dog who was yapping excitedly at the man as if he were a long lost friend.

  At the sound of the shout, Flynn looked up in time to see a scruffy dog heading for him like a furry torpedo. At least it wasn’t angry, or he’d have had to kick it. Then he saw who was coming after the dog. “Hey, Mad Max, you looking for clues too?”

  Mad, bloody Max? Who did this guy think he was? Calling him names. Once it might have been a compliment, but now not so much given Mel Gibson’s latest antics. Miles studied the man in front of him. He was wearing one of those cocky grins that probably used to work on his mother when he stole the last cookie from the jar, but it wasn’t impressing him. Anyway if he wanted to go down the name-calling path what about his namesake, Errol Flynn? Did the phrase ‘In Like Flynn’ match what this guy was probably thinking he could do with all the guys in Haven Falls? Miles managed to control his new pet before it knocked the little punk over, although he was tempted to let go of the lead and watch him jump up and put some paw marks over the smart-ass git. “What’s with the Mad Max, buddy? You have some problem addressing people by their real names?”

  “I can never remember names. Nicknames are easier. When did you get a mutt? Is there some sort of town rule? Is everyone assigned a dog when they move here?”

  Miles snorted as he switched hands holding the lead. Roofie kept scrambling around his legs, trying to wrap him up like a mummy. The kid may be a punk but he sure didn’t take a step back. “Don’t you recognize him? He’s the hound that dug up the hand. I found him last night, hiding from the firework display.”

  “What? No shit!” Flynn crouched down and looked at the dog more closely. This was the hand-chewing mutt? “Are you sure? I thought he was more brown.”

  “I spent two hours last night, picking burrs out of his coat and then bathing him. He cleans up alright, as long as you ignore the battered ears and the scars from too many fights.” Miles rubbed the spot behind Roofie’s ears which he’d noted always calmed him down. “Speaking of the number of dogs in Haven Falls. Have you noticed that the animals seem to match their owners? I saw a pedigree Akita here the other day. I wasn’t sure which was the better looking, the owner or the dog. Now this one....” Miles glanced down at Roofie who was looking up at him as if he was listening. “You’re about as ugly as me, aren’t you, mate?” Miles crouched down so he was on eye-level with the dog, taking care to keep a strong grip on his collar and only just managing to avoid a thorough tongue-lashing as he picked a few more grass burrs out of his coat.

  Flynn frowned, feeling an unfamiliar pang of jealousy. This was the second time this had happened concerning Aiden. Either he was getting soft, or something about Little Red Riding Hood just brought out his protective side. “Give the dog a break. He’s much cuter than you.” He gave Miles a tight smile, just to let him know he was joking. Kind of.

  Miles laughed out loud that time. The sound was strange. Not one he’d heard for a while. Life hadn’t exactly been a Saturday Night Live laugh-fest for a few years. He stood and stretched his knees...they weren’t getting any younger either. “You asked me before whether I was looking for clues, too. You reckon there might be more body pieces lying around? The sheriff’s office did a pretty good hunt the other day.”

  “Yeah, but ... only one hand? They usually come in pairs. Besides, why would only one hand be out here? If someone lopped it off while chainsaw juggling, you’d think they’d remember to come back and get it. I mean, how would just a single one get out here? Can you think of any scenario where that could happen?”

  “Maybe it’s a sign to someone, a warning?” Miles started to walk down the path and Flynn fell into step beside him. “Would you like me to let the bloodhound off the leash and see if he finds anything?”

  “Got a taste for human meat, does he? Sure, if you think he’ll come back with a leg next time.” Flynn considered what Miles had said. Something wasn’t sitting well with him, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. “Why would it be a warning? I mean, if it was a warning, why not mail it to the guy, leave it on his doorstep?”

  “Maybe they did and the dog knicked it. He was pretty hungry when I found him. Miles leant down and unclipped the leash from the brand-new collar he’d bought from the hardware store this morning. “Now the only problem is, you have to catch Roofie if he doesn’t come back.” Miles glanced over and laughed at the look of horror on his companion’s face. “What’s the matter think you wouldn’t be fast enough?”

  “It’s you I’m worried about. How’s the ticker?”

  Miles scowled. Was there a book being run on him in the town on the likelihood of their doctor carking it someday soon. He hitched up his sweatpants. He’d stopped drinking beer lately, surely they were a bit looser than they had been yesterday? “Hang on, what’s Roofie doing now? He seems to be digging for something.”

  Flynn edged closer to the dog, but suddenly he felt a bit queasy. Shouldn’t he be at home, changing clothes, maybe packing? Oh god, why did he ever believe that photograph he got in the mail? If he ignored it, he could be having a quiet, stupid life. “Yeah. What if it’s a head?”

  A sh
udder ran through Miles. He’d seen his share of barbaric ‘signs’ during his stint in Africa. The warlords weren’t averse to sending all sorts of ‘messages’ to keep control. Rule by fear had been their creed. He sidled up to the bitser who had found whatever he’d been digging for. It can’t have been buried very deeply, maybe the dog had found it elsewhere and buried it as if it was a regular bone that he planned to come back for later? His first dog, Rufus, had been like that. Half the time the beef-bone went straight into the ground to be savored at a later date... when it was nicely ‘aged’. His namesake’s tail was wagging like a whirlwind as he did a final scrabble and came up with something in his jaws. “It couldn’t be....”

  “Oh shit, hand number two! Well, I guess that rules out careless chainsaw jugglers.” Flynn was trying to be blasé, but he was a little skeeved out. “What, is there some serial killer lopping off hands? Supposedly there was that one in Vancouver who left behind nothing but one of the victim’s feet.” Maybe it was a psycho-fetish thing.

  Miles lunged for Roofie’s collar and managed to grab hold. The dog didn’t want to relinquish his prize though. It was only when he got him in a headlock and prized the jaw open that he managed to extract the grisly remains. As soon as the smelly and now slightly putrid hand was in his grasp, he flick-passed it to Flynn. “Here, hold this while I re-attach the leash. Sorry, need two hands for that.”

  “Ugh. Gee thanks. I always wanted a hand, but not like this.” Flynn held the hand by its pinky, which was more or less intact, although the thing smelled like death took a shit in a Dumpster. He didn’t want to stare at it, but Flynn couldn’t help himself. As discolored, bloated, and rotten as it was, it almost didn’t look real anymore. More like a particularly gory, over the top special effect.