Flying Free (Rough Love Book 8)

by Leighton Greene

  “Why did he tell you that?” he asks, when Adam is down to the dregs of his bowl. Adam makes an iono noise and shrugs.

  “Raj is pretty vanilla,” he confides, pushing the empty bowl back so he can lean forward on the table with his elbows, face in his hands. “What kind of stuff do you like? You like getting tied up or something?”

  “No,” Xander says. “No. I’m not into it anymore, but when I was, I liked it the other way around.”

  Adam smiles so that Xander can just see a white gleam behind his full lips. “You like tying up boys, Xan? Girls too?”

  “Just boys.”

  “Just boys,” Adam repeats. Just boys, like he’s mimicking Xander’s tone, but it’s only teasing. He’s not being mean, or at least—Xander doesn’t think he is. He longs again for the simple, clear sexual and emotional transactions of the club scene.

  “Just boys,” Xander says again.

  “Boys like me?”

  Xander wants to leave the table, the house; go over to Joe’s and play some stupid console game until early in the morning, maybe even sleep over there—anything to get away from this open temptation.

  He can feel Raj’s resentment and rage seeping down the corridor and into the kitchen, a miasma around him and this sunny, beautiful boy who would be even more beautiful if he cried. His eyes would go all pink, Xander bets, because of his coloring, and maybe his nose too. His eyelashes, dark in spite of his blondness, would clump in little stars to frame those striking eyes.

  “Adam,” he starts, and has nowhere to go with the sentence, except, I’d like to taste your tears. “Adam, I don’t know if Raj—”

  “I think Raj is planning on moving out,” Adam says, standing up. He reaches for Xander’s untouched bowl of soup. “You done?” When Xander nods, Adam clears the table, and looks into the sink at Raj’s broken crockery and cold chicken. “I mean, if he’s going to lose his temper and break shit like this, I don’t want him around. Do you?”

  Xander shakes his head slowly. No. He really, really doesn’t want Raj around anymore.

  Chapter Eight

  One Wednesday morning, secure in the knowledge that Raj left for work two hours previously, Xander ventures out of his bedroom to do some long-past-due laundry. No sign of Raj, or Adam either, until Xander finishes loading the washer, turns, and came face to face with him.

  Adam is holding a bundle of clothes, shirtless himself as usual, and leaning casually against the laundry tub.

  “Hey, Xan. You mind if I put my whites in with yours?”

  “Uh…sure.” He opens the washer lid to let Adam dump his clothes in, but Adam, peering inside, grins.

  “That’s not a load of whites, man.”

  “Yeah, I normally just throw them all in together. Saves time.”

  “So that’s why all your white shirts are going gray? Didn’t your mama teach you how to do this?” Adam places his clothes carefully into Xander’s empty laundry basket, and Xander breathes a mental sigh of relief as he sees Adam is wearing briefs. For a moment there, he’d expected full nudity.

  “Here,” Adam continues. “Let me.” He starts tugging out Xander’s clothes from the washer, shaking laundry powder off them back into the basin with a wrinkled nose.

  “You’re supposed to dilute the powder before you put it in. And anyway, liquid is better.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Xander, feeling chastened, begins to help sort the clothes. “I mean, this is just the way I usually do it. It all comes out in the wash, right?” He gives a weak smile.

  “You need someone to take care of you, Xan.”

  It doesn’t take long to sort the clothes, and Adam puts his into the washer as well. Then, in a moment that Xander has been half-dreading and half-expecting, Adam pushes down his underwear and adds it to the wash.

  Xander stares into the machine, and then out the small laundry window when Adam leans in close to shut the lid, pushing buttons and turning dials. “You should let me do it for you,” Adam says.

  “Excuse me?” Adam is close enough that if Xander moved, maybe an inch, his thigh would be pressing into naked crotch.

  “Your laundry. I don’t mind. You’re going to be too busy soon anyway, right? Big TV star.”

  Xander looks at him then, keeping his eyes above chest level. “Raj is already pissed about the food thing, and he’s not great to live with right now.”

  Adam raises one tan, defined shoulder in a languid shrug. “I can’t help it if I like what you cook better. Besides, he’s out all day.” He raises a hand and pulls up the hem of Xander’s tee, lips parting. “You should put this in, too.”

  Xander grabs his wrist. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Not while you’re with Raj.” He doesn’t blink at all while Adam studies him, amused.

  “You’ll only let me do your laundry if I break up with Raj?”

  “It’s not about the laundry.”

  “Oh, I know that,” Adam replies softly, and takes a step back. Xander steps forward, Adam’s wrist still in his hand, and watches his face. The old predatory feeling buzzes at the back of his brain. “But like I said the other night, Raj is moving out.”

  “When?”

  “A few days. Maybe a week.”

  “Then in a few days, or maybe a week, you can do my laundry.” He squeezes Adam’s wrist and then lets it go.

  Adam gives him a slow, thorough once-over. “It’ll be a pleasure, Xan.”

  In his room, Xander can’t resist rubbing one out, thinking about that wrist in his hand, the fragile bones rubbing together, the flinch it drew from Adam. His subservience, the way he offered—

  The pleasure of his orgasm gives way to self-disgust, and he curls up in bed, pulling the pillow over his head.

  Xander makes himself scarce every night for a week afterwards, even though Joe raises complaint after complaint about Xander having his own home to go to, and his own empty fridge to stare into, and his own collection of expensive wines to drink.

  “No, I don’t,” Xander had sighed the previous night. “I can’t afford that kind of thing.”

  “Neither can I,” Joe growled back with meaning, and so tonight Xander has brought along some imported beer to apologize.

  “Did you get kicked out or something?” Joe sighs, when he opens the door to a hopeful, smiling, Xander-and-six-pack.

  “No. Definitely not me getting kicked out.”

  Joe studies him for a moment. “Let me guess. Your roommates-turned-fuckbuddies are breaking up and you can’t take the tension at home.”

  Xander just shrugs. It’s close enough to the truth, even though he can’t shake the guilty feeling that’s been plaguing him every time he thinks about Raj.

  “Jesus, fine. Come in. And you can pay for the pizza tonight.”

  And so Xander doesn’t return home until late the next afternoon, and when he does, he goes straight to his room, where he flops down on his bed. He needs a moment to readjust to the House Atmosphere. Xander likes being with people—he prefers it infinitely to spending time alone—but every time he comes back in this house he needs to batten down the hatches and prepare himself.

  Raj has abandoned all social pretense recently, and it’s taking a toll on Xander. Everything seems darker when he goes home. He feels guilty, but, as he reasons with himself, why should he? It’s not his fault Raj can’t keep his relationship together. Frankly, with the sulking and arguing and slamming doors, Xander doesn’t blame Adam at all for wanting out.

  After a few moments, there’s a knock on his door.

  “Hey, Xan. You there?”

  “Yeah,” Xander calls. “What’s up?”

  The door opens and Adam slinks through the doorway, then leans against Xander’s chest of drawers. “What are you making for dinner?”

  Xander makes a face. “Man, come on. You know I’m staying out of the kitchen these days. Raj looks like he’s going to impale me every time I run into him there.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah. Raj moved out.
” Adam is watching his own finger trailing across Xander’s dresser, his face blank until he looks at Xander through his eyelashes. “So.”

  Xander sits up. “Really? When?”

  “Today.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “Wow.” Xander tries to stop smiling, but it feels like he’s been set free from prison.

  No more Raj. No more pointed insults thrown his way and no more creeping around the place fearing a run-in. No more feeling guilty every time he looks at Adam a moment too long.

  Xander stares at him now, openly, and Adam appraises him back.

  “It’ll cost some extra for us both for a while, with the rent,” Adam says. “I guess we can find a third if we need to. It might be nice to be just us for a while, though.”

  “Definitely.”

  Adam stands upright and takes a step towards Xander on the bed, and another, and a third until Xander holds up a finger.

  “Stop.”

  Adam stops, surprised, although he’s back to smiling in a split-second. Xander scoots up on the bed so his back is against the wall, and folds his hands carefully over his stomach.

  “I’d like to watch you crawl,” he says, and lets out a slow, shaky breath as Adam sinks slowly to his knees.

  This. This is what he needs right now.

  Control.

  Just this once, he tells God, and then he’ll go back to normal afterwards.

  But what Xander did that first time seemed to have triggered something in Adam, something new and strange bubbling up from the depths, something that Adam never knew about himself. After that first time, Adam was very quiet, very cautious, looking at Xander with something akin to awe.

  It’s a look Xander has seen before, in the clubs, and it was always fifty-fifty whether the guys would ever turn up to the clubs again. But if they did, they’d gravitate to Xander, beg him to do it again to them, to do whatever he liked as long as he made them feel that way again.

  “We don’t have to do it like that,” he tells Adam the next day, when Adam is still too quiet for Xander’s liking. Too thoughtful. “We don’t ever have to fuck like that again if you didn’t like it. Besides, like I told you, I don’t even do that stuff anymore.”

  Adam rolls his head around on his neck, stretching. “It was quite a workout,” he says, and finally, thankfully, he smiles his sleepy smile. “You really do like it that way, don’t you?”

  “I can take it or leave it.”

  Adam comes close to him and rubs his nose on Xander’s before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Liar,” he murmurs, and then takes a step back to look Xander head to foot. “We can do it that way if you like it,” he says after a moment. “We can work something out. Relationships are about compromise, aren’t they?”

  Relationships? Xander’s heart gives a flutter. Is that what this is? If he’d known that was what Adam wanted, he definitely wouldn’t have acted like he did last night. But…it seems like Adam might be into it, after all? He might be the kind of guy who decides he loves it rather than loathes it?

  Xander hesitates, but it has to be said. “I only want to do that kind of thing if you’re into it. I’m not interested in it if you’re not.”

  Adam chews on his lip for a second, thinking. “So if I wanted to keep it vanilla, you would?”

  “I would.” Xander takes a step forward, and takes up Adam’s hand. He has no idea what makes him admit it, but he hears himself saying: “Besides, I made a promise to God that I’d stop.”

  “God?” Adam says, with a contemptuous twist of his lips. “God is dead, man. Didn’t you get the memo?” He pulls his hand from Xander’s, and Xander’s heart drops. That’s it, he thinks. They’re done before they even got started. But then Adam says, business-like: “We can do it your way. I’m into it.”

  Xander is hyper-aware that they’re both standing there lying to each other, but he’ll take what he can get.

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  First things first, Xander figures: Adam needs a safe word. So the next time they end up in bed together, Xander brings it up, explains it, and waits expectantly.

  “What do you mean, it has to be something personal?” Adam asks, and wriggles on the bed.

  “Something meaningful. Something that has a personal resonance.” Xander runs a hand over his chest, marveling at the smooth skin and the way his ribs undulate under the skin, making shallow sand dunes of his golden flesh. Adam is warm, like the sun he soaks up every day radiates back out of him. Xander likes to watch him from the kitchen window, spread out on a lounger in the back yard. Like a lizard basking on a rock, Adam seems to need a particular daily ratio of time sunning himself.

  “I can’t think of anything,” Adam sighs. “You think of something for me.”

  “It doesn’t…It’s not supposed to work that way,” Xander says, disappointed. “It’s supposed to be, you know. Special.”

  “Special,” Adam repeats, deadpan. “Like, wanting you to stop torturing me is special?”

  Xander withdraws immediately. He can feel it in himself, the way the urge curls in on itself like a dying leaf. “Forget it,” he says.

  “No, come on,” Adam says, flipping so he’s on his side. He grabs at Xander’s hand and gives a playful smile. “Give me an example. What’s a good safe word?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. You don’t want to, so—”

  “Hey, Mr. Passive-Aggressive. Come on. Tell me.”

  “I’m not being—”

  “Sure you are.” Adam lifts Xander’s hand and sucks on his finger, smiling around it. “What was your last guy’s safe word?”

  That’s the kind of thing Xander is definitely not going to spill. That shit is private, and not for Xander to share. “We’ll just use traffic lights again,” he says firmly. “Red to stop, yellow to slow down, green for go. That is, if you want to do it at all. Like I keep telling you, I can take it or leave it, this stuff.” He desperately wants to believe he can, anyway.

  “Yeah, I want to,” Adam says, and rolls his eyes. “I told you I did. I just didn’t think there’d be so much drama about it.”

  Xander ignores the dig. “I want to tell you what I’m going to do. No surprises. Okay?”

  “No,” Adam says petulantly. “I’m tired of talking. No more talking; just do it.”

  Every cautious instinct that Zee has instilled in him flares up, but Xander is tired of talking, too. He’s tired of Adam’s sulking, and his insolence, and the way he acts as though he just wants to get it over with.

  Fine. They’ll get it over with.

  Xander leans over to bind Adam’s right wrist. He tugs to make sure it’s secure and to make sure that it’s not too tight. Adam lies passive, his usual resting smile curling his lips.

  It’s not until Xander is seated on top of him, slowly pulling down Adam’s briefs, that he says it: “Red.”

  Xander hauls ass to get the shears and slice the bonds open quickly but safely. “Are you alright?” he asks, alarmed, trying to gather Adam into his arms.

  But Adam is laughing. “Holy shit! You moved so fast.”

  “Are you alright?” Xander asks again. “Did I hurt you?”

  Adam rubs at his wrists, but shrugs. “Nah, man. I just wondered what would happen if I said it.”

  Xander pulls back, strangely aghast. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Another shrug. “Well, now I know I can trust you. Right?”

  Xander stares at the shreds of rope where they lie on the bed limp as over-cooked spaghetti and just as sad. “Right,” he says.

  “Seriously? And you stayed with him even after that fiasco?” Ben has stopped eating, so caught up in the story that his bolognaise has gone cold.

  Xander chuckles at his own plate, stone cold as well. “Yeah. I ended up paying most of the rent. I ended up paying for all the groceries and bills too, and driving him around everywhere, and—”

  “Stop.” Ben push
es back his chair, stands, and paces the room, food forgotten. “Xander, you need to stop, because now I regret not beating his face in when I had the chance.” He gives a few deep breaths, first line of defense in his anger management. “The fact that I know how this story ends just makes me madder.”

  “Well,” Xander points out, “you haven’t heard the rest, yet. And it’s changed now, the way I think about him and what happened between us. At the time…and afterwards, when you and I were first together, and Adam was showing up places, yeah. I still blamed myself completely, especially for the way Raj left. I never thought about his role in the whole thing. I was pretty dumb back then.” Ben gives him a pitying look. “Oh, come on. I’m light-years better at relationship stuff now. I can identify healthy and non-healthy behaviors, and I don’t freak out if we have a minor argument, and—”

  Ben starts laughing at the way Xander is ticking off the list on his fingers, and picks up both their plates. “You’re much better,” he concedes. “Definitely much better. I’m going to microwave these to heat ’em up. Come and tell me the rest of the story.”

  “I’m not sure I want you want to hear it when you’re surrounded by knives. Could get dangerous,” Xander says, but follows him. He’d follow Benjamin anywhere.

  Great view.

  “Hey, pervert,” Ben says, turning around. “Eyes up here.” He grins, and Xander feels himself falling that little extra bit in love. It’s a daily occurrence.

  “Where did I get up to…oh, right. Things got…complicated. He started asking for me to bite him. He’d ask me to be rougher with him. But in the mornings he’d push me away and act horrified by what we’d done the night before.”

  Xander pauses. He wants to be truthful.

  “He wasn’t acting horrified,” he amends. “He was horrified. There was so much back and forth with him, I got whiplash. He started saying he never got enough sleep, so he’d sleep in while I got up and went to work, or sometimes he’d sleep in my old room. I asked him once why he wasn’t sleeping well and…” Xander swallows. Even now, after all these years, he feels the same swamp of shame and agony over the reply.