by C J Baty
The trees lining the driveway were beginning to change color, and blooming hedges still looked vibrant. You would never know that the winter months weren’t too far off. Light from the porch bounced off the azaleas growing close by, nearly as tall as he was. Their dark pink blossoms would look glorious in the morning sunlight. The far off rumble of thunder caused Justin’s heart to jump. The storm he had predicted earlier this morning was finally rolling in, just like he’d told Robert. He used his key to unlock the front door.
Walking through the silent house without flipping a light switch until he reached the kitchen, Justin smiled at what awaited him there. Winnie had left a piece of her amazing apple crumb cake. It was displayed neatly on a platter sitting on the table. There was a note beside the plate. No coffee, Mr.
Justin. You drink some milk with this here cake. She worried about him, and he loved her for it.
He picked up the cake and grabbed a glass from the cabinet beside the refrigerator. He filled the glass half full with milk, knowing he wouldn’t drink much of it, but it would please Winnie if he drank even a little.
The first streak of lightning flashed across the sky by the time he had changed into his sleep pants and finished his nightly routines. He’d managed to drink some of the milk and nibbled at the cake.
He burrowed into the crisp cotton sheets on his bed. Sleeping with the window open had become a habit while he had lived at the Warfield. Leaving the window open tonight was not feasible with the fast approaching storm.
The sounds of the ocean at night had been his lullaby for years. But there were no sounds of the ocean here at the Manor. It had taken him a week to get used to the sounds of night insects and the house settling.
Thunder shook the house and lighting lit up the sky once again. The sound of large solid raindrops pounded the tile roof over his head. Eventually the thunder stopped and the flashes of light faded leaving a steady rhythm of patters that lulled Justin to sleep. His last thought was of another storm on the beach. A man with damp, dark curls filled his thoughts as well. The salty sweet taste of his lips and the way he felt pressed tightly to Justin’s own body. Marcus.
––––––––
THE ROOM was spinning, or he was spinning. It didn’t matter which it was because he just wanted it to stop.
“Stop!”
A soft chuckle floated up to him from the floor. He looked down, which made his head spin even more, to see a pair of eyes smiling at him from behind a pair of dark-rimmed glasses.
“You want me to stop?” a soft throaty voice asked.
Wet warmth engulfed Justin’s cock, and he groaned loudly. Closing his eyes, he forgot about the spinning room and concentrated on the feelings spreading through his body.
“God, no, don’t stop.”
He reached down with his hand to feel the silky hair on the head of the man whose mouth was giving him such a mind-bending blowjob. It felt so damned good. Everything he did was bringing Justin closer and closer to the place he needed to be. Whoever this guy was, he knew exactly what he was doing to Justin. Every drag of the man’s lips down the length of his shaft and the just-right suction as he pulled back was bringing Justin closer to the edge. He hoped he sobered up enough to remember this and remember to ask the guy his name.
Just when he thought he was going to explode, cool air brushed against his sensitive skin and it made him ache. He missed the warmth of the man’s mouth around his cock.
“Turn around.” The throaty whisper was back, but it was closer now. Right next to his lips.
He did as the voice said and hands helped him get comfortable as he leaned over the back of a large armchair. The leather of the chair caused his heated skin to prickle with goose bumps. He was naked. When had he taken all his clothes off?
The touch of slick fingers in his crease brought him back to the moment. A single digit pressed into him and the familiar burn tingled along his spine.
“Damn, baby, you’re so tight. Relax for me, Just.” The voice cooed against his back where moist lips left tiny kisses against his shoulder.
The pressure of the finger pushing in and withdrawing soon became not nearly enough.
“More . . . please . . . more.” Justin heard himself beg.
Another finger and more wetness joined the first. Whoever this guy was, he was treating Justin like a lover not a quick fuck in the backroom of the Club.
An emotion Justin hadn’t felt in a long time tried to surface. Being treated so tenderly touched him deep inside where he had closed all the doors tight. A third finger pressing into his entrance stopped his breath and made him cry out.
“Oh God!”
He pushed back on the fingers wanting them to go deeper. A graze across his gland. It had him bucking with every press inside him.
“You ready for my cock, Just?” The fingers withdrew leaving him panting and wanting.
Justin heard the distinctive sound of foil being torn. Yes, he needed this.
Needed to be fucked into that space where nothing else existed. No thoughts. No pain. No emotions. Just the sensation of your body melting into nothingness.
The press of the other man’s cock against his ass felt so good. The ring of muscle gave way as Justin pushed out. Slowly he was filled up, and it felt like a little piece of heaven.
“Let me know when I can move,” the voice choked out. “Don’t want to hurt . . . you.”
Justin smiled inwardly. He could feel the tension in the other man’s legs as they brushed against him. Could feel it in his grip on Justin’s hips. He’d have bruises tomorrow. And yet, the man waited. Waited for Justin to say he was
ready. But Justin couldn’t find the words, so he thrust back hard, sure the other man would get the message. He did.
Justin liked vocal lovers. This one didn’t disappoint.
“So damn good. You feel so good.”
Justin groaned as his prostrate was hit over and over.
“Waited so long . . . wanted you so badly!”
One hand let go of his hip and slid around his waist to find his cock. The grasp was firm and warm. The man matched the tug on Justin’s cock to the rhythm of his body as it pressed into Justin.
“Want to hear you come, Just. Can you come for me?”
The other man’s thrusts were becoming erratic, and he kept repeating Justin’s name over and over.
“Justin. God. Justin.”
The way he said Justin’s name sent shivers along his spine. They mixed with the electric tingles already racing through his body and the world went white as he shuddered between the chair and his lover.
He woke up sometime later alone in the room. He was partially dressed and reclining in the chair he’d been fucked over. The clothes not on his body were folded neatly in a stack beside the chair.
Justin woke with a start, unsure if the creaking sound was in his room or from his dream. He hated that damned dream. Not because it was about sex with someone he couldn’t remember. It reminded him of just how low his life had gotten after Caroline had miscarried the baby. He never did find out who the man was. A crash shattered the quiet in Justin’s bedroom. The dream was forgotten as Justin listened to the sounds around him. Still partly asleep, he wasn’t sure if there was something pounding the side of the house or heavy footsteps crossing the floor above him. The sound of something scraping along the floorboards above him woke him completely.
Sitting up in his bed, he strained to hear the rhythmic pounding again. He waited. Yes, he heard it again . . . footsteps. He reached for the bedside lamp. Nothing happened when he hit the switch. The electricity was out. The battery operated alarm clock on the table flashed 4:30 a.m. Justin grabbed his robe, pulling it on as he went. He knew there was a flashlight in the hall linen closet.
Checking to make sure it still worked, Justin aimed the light down the hall toward the door that opened onto a staircase that went up to the attic. As soon, as he opened the door, the sound of wind and rain multiplied. At the top of t
he stairs Justin could see why.
A window on the east side of the house had been shattered by a huge tree limb. A branch was pounding the side of the house and rain poured into the room. The old hurricane shutters banged against the house too. Justin
suddenly felt very foolish. That was probably the sound Justin had mistook for footsteps.
He hurried across the attic floor and pulled the shutters tight, locking them closed. The rain could still blow in but not nearly as heavily. The floor was slippery from the rain that had already poured in. Justin’s feet slid out from under him, and he came down hard, banging his bad shoulder on some overturned boxes near the window. He cursed while rubbing the new ache in his shoulder trying to sit up on the wet floor.
The flashlight was still on, though it had dropped to the floor when Justin fell. It was aimed away from Justin toward the west side of the house. As his jarred body adjusted to the fall, Justin saw for the first time the total disarray of the attic floor across the room from him.
Boxes were busted open. Their contents scattered half in and half out of them. Wooden crates that had housed pottery or glass were smashed.
Shards from their contents littered the attic floor. The storm had not created this mess.
Getting to his feet Justin retrieved the flashlight from where it lay. He shone the light on the wooden slats of the attic floor so he could avoid the pieces of glass strewn across the wooden planks. He tried to remember the last time he or anyone for that matter had been up here. Why would anyone leave a mess like this? What on earth could they have been looking for? Bending over one of the larger boxes, he picked up a pink scarf among the litter. It had belonged to his mother. A memory of her danced at the edges of his mind.
He was young, maybe nine or ten. There was a party on the lawn in front of their home. Lots of people, his parent’s friends all dressed up. Men in suits.
Women in soft, flowing, colorful summer dresses. Some were wearing hats, others with scarves on their heads. The wind was blowing. His mother and father were standing on the porch by themselves away from the crowd of people. They were arguing. His father’s stance was cold, rigid, unbending, and rage filled his face. His mother was quietly crying. Tears filled her eyes but didn’t spill over onto her cheeks. She dropped her pink scarf and headed toward the front door, away from her guests.
The memory over, Justin realized that was the moment he knew his parents didn’t love each other. Every time he saw them alone talking after that, his father was always angry and his mother was always crying.
Justin was just about to pick up a box with several leather bound books in it that had been overturned when another loud thud hit the house. The floor creaked behind him. He turned, but something hard hit the left back side of his head. He hit the floor face first. Tilting his head up slightly, he blinked and saw two large muddy boots on the floor in front of him, just before his own lights went out.
4
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MARCUS GROANED AS the banging grew louder. He buried his head under the pillows and cursed whomever it was knocking on his door at this God forsaken hour of the morning. He had a sneaking suspicion that Peter was the asshole behind the pounding. Finally, silence filled the space around Marcus, and he breathed a sigh of relief drifting back into a fitful sleep.
What seemed like a very short time later, Peter was standing over him, calling his name and shoving him. His friend was going to regret it, if he didn’t stop, and stop right the fuck now!
“Stop shoving me and go away!”
He was damned tired, and he wasn’t going anywhere but back to sleep. It had been nearly two in the morning before he reached the Warfield. The storm was still raging at that time.
The drive from Atlanta had taken longer than he’d anticipated. When he left home, the radio stations were announcing that the strong storm out over the Atlantic was beginning to pick up strength and speed. It wasn’t hurricane force, but it had the potential to cause major havoc when it hit land. He’d driven through the torrential rain and strong winds that had pelted the coast of South Carolina for hours. Finally it passed through Beaufort heading west toward Georgia, losing force as it went.
He hadn’t bothered to get his bags out of the trunk of his car when he arrived at the Warfield. He’d only grabbed his laptop case and made a run for the veranda. Stopping at the desk, leaving puddles of rainwater behind him, the night clerk, who’d introduced himself as Jay, handed him several large towels to dry off while he checked Marcus in. Jay was quick, though he supposed that was to be expected since there was no one else in the lobby at two in the morning. He’d handed Marcus his key and wished him a good night.
Marcus had frozen when he recognized the number on the key in his hand.
It was Justin’s old suite. He’d tried to get Jay to exchange it for another, but the man insisted that Mr. Warfield had personally chosen that suite for him.
Marcus couldn’t ask which Mr. Warfield. He’d suddenly felt too exhausted and stressed from the drive in the storm to argue over it any longer. He’d taken the key and rode the elevator to the top floor with his eyes closed.
“Come on, Marcus, wake up. Where’s your keys? Jay said you left your bags in the car; I’ll go get them for you.”
The room grew peacefully quiet again. Marcus cracked one eye partially open. The clock on the bedside table said six thirty. Great, he’d had a whole four hours of fitful sleep. Stretching, he flipped over onto his stomach, burrowing his head in the pillows. Cool air brushed across his bare ass, and he smiled. It served Peter right to walk in on this picture.
“Damn it, Marcus! How many times do I have to tell you: I do not want to see your junk!” Peter yelled as he dropped Marcus’s bags on the floor.
“Cover it up. Better yet, get up. No! Wait till I leave the bedroom then get up.”
Marcus rolled over to see Peter shut his eyes tight and throw a hand over them dramatically.
Peter headed back to the main living area of the suite. He started talking as Marcus began to move about the bedroom and rummage through his bags.
“Michaels just called. They’ve taken Justin to the hospital. I’ve got to get there as soon as I can.”
“Hospital? What happened,” Marcus asked when he heard the lost sound in Peter’s voice.
“Michael’s wasn’t sure but he was very upset,” Peter answered back. “He said something about the storm, broken windows, attic . . . it was all jumbled up and confused.”
“Give me five and get me some coffee.” He smiled through the doorway at his friend. “It will be okay.”
Peter nodded stiffly and left Marcus alone.
Marcus jumped into a cold shower, quickly toweled off, then grabbed something from the pile of clothes he had pulled from his bag. Everything he’d worn last night was still in a wet pile on the bathroom floor where he’d left it. Looking around the bedroom brought an onslaught of memories and feelings, but he didn’t have the time to waste thinking about the past right now. Foremost, was the feeling of utter stupidity when he thought about how he had longed for years for a man who would never feel the same about him.
It nearly swamped him, it was so strong. He rubbed his eyes hard with the heels of his hands. His lack of sleep was not going to make him a very social person today. Facing Justin again was not going to be easy either.
Marcus walked into the living area where Peter stood holding out a cup of steaming coffee. Marcus hummed his approval as the first sips crossed his lips.
“I know. I know. The nectar of the gods.” It was one of their old jokes, but Peter wasn’t laughing.
Nodding his head in agreement, Marcus finished half a cup in silence. The fog was finally lifting from his brain. He set the cup down and looked at his friend. Worry clearly etched his face. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, giving Marcus time to get his head together. It was evident in Peter’s body language he needed to get going.
“So, Michaels didn’t have any mor
e details?” Marcus asked as he moved toward the door. Relief quickly replaced the look of worry on Peter’s face.
“He said Justin was awake and yelling that he didn’t need to go to the hospital. Michaels also said there was a huge knot on his head and a lot of blood on the attic floor.”
They pulled the door closed behind them and headed for the elevator. The ride was quick and quiet, and in no time they were walking through the lobby doors onto the veranda into the early morning sunlight.
“Shit!” Marcus exclaimed under his breath. Several trees and bushes had been uprooted along the drive heading out to the main road. Huge puddles of rainwater had accumulated in low areas around the hotel grounds. A tree branch had fallen across a car in the parking lot, and the shattered windshield hung in pieces from its frame. Debris of all sorts littered the grounds and parking lot. It was a mess, but it could have been worse. The storm had been strong but not a hurricane. Marcus wondered if inland would be better or worse.
“Wait a moment!” Peter called out as he ran back into the hotel, returning a few minutes later with a very good-looking man that Marcus remembered clearly. Robert Wyler, the barman who seemed to have taken a vast dislike to him the last time he was here. He looked different this time. Robert was dressed for business. Dark-blue slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a tie with pale-blue and black horizontal stripes. He still wore his dirty-blond hair up in a ponytail however.
As Peter barked out orders to the man—to call someone named Joe Thompson from the manor house and to get extra staff—Robert’s attention was focused entirely on Marcus standing by Peter’s SUV. Appraising him.
Robert had stopped as if in shock at seeing Marcus, but then his face had tightened in anger and after a few moments had morphed into a cool aloofness.
“Robert, did you hear me?” Peter snapped his fingers in front of Robert’s eyes.
Robert turned to face Peter.
“Sorry. I hadn’t been outside yet this morning. I didn’t know it was this—”
“Justin is in the hospital. There was an accident at the manor.”
