The Gift

by A. F. Henley

  "You've had a busy night then, I take it?"

  Again, silence followed the man's question.

  The clerk, however, didn't seem to mind. He walked slowly around the desk and leaned towards Doren, cautiously, before grabbing Doren's shoulder in an effort to steady Doren's body. Doren gave in to the fatigue and slumped against him. "There, there, sir," the clerk said, patting Doren's shoulder. "You're going to be just fine now. Just fine indeed." The clerk reached around and slipped his hand around Doren's clasped one.

  Doren looked at the juncture of both their arms and it took him a full minute to realize he had the CD clutched in his grip. When? How? He didn't recall grabbing it from the car ... yet there it was … back to haunt him, back to steal him away again. Horrified, Doren looked up at the clerk, questioning the man with his eyes as if the answers ought to be right there.

  He smiled at Doren's expression, but the look was full of kindness, as if to a child. "How's about you just give that to me? I'll take care of that for you." The clerk pulled at Doren's fingers, forcing Doren to release the grip that he himself could not seem to shake, and when the CD finally left Doren's hand, a shivery sigh passed his lips.

  An enormous weight lifted from Doren's shoulders, tears flooded his eyes, and he looked up gratefully at the man who, at that moment, seemed very near to Christ-like.

  "Now," the clerk continued, slipping the blood-smeared CD out of sight on the desk. "Perhaps you have someone you would like to check in on, hmm?"

  Fear, then guilt, flooded Doren's expression, unleashing memories he would have just as soon forgotten. "August," he moaned, lurching from the clerk and down the hall. It was the only word he had spoken since Medea.

  August

  Even if he hadn't wanted to, August had to go back to the hotel. For one thing, he needed money for the cab driver that undoubtedly already thought he was a total loon. And who could blame the man? He hadn't been able to stop the tears from dribbling out the corners of his eyes the entire time he'd sat in the cab. He hadn't been able to respond to the driver's repeated concerns and questions. The man hadn't been impressed when August asked him to wait out front, but since he hadn't offered any explanations as to why, the driver had no choice. Nor did August bother to go back down; he just ran the cash out to the concierge and asked the smiling girl to bring it down for him.

  Then he locked the door with trembling hands and slid down against it, sitting with his knees up and his back straight, weighing his options and trying to regain some peace. Too much calm, however, brought a striking need for clarity. And at that point, his mind did not have the ability to clarify any of the events that had taken place. His thighs and calves screamed from running so hard for so long. His lungs burned and his feet ached. Even his palms were scraped and raw from falling as he'd raced along the roads, stumbling, in an agonizing attempt to get a sense of direction in a city he did not know, in a darkness that had been merciless.

  So when he heard the slow, steady footsteps advancing in the hall behind him—footsteps that stopped and waited at his door—the only thing August had the strength left to do was pray.

  Anton

  "You stupid, stupid bitch!" he screamed, staring wildly into the mirror at the gashes on his face. "Look what you've done!"

  "Anton," she wailed, running to his side. "He caught me off guard, I wasn't prepared."

  He slammed his fist into the mirror. "And worse yet, you let him get away!"

  He was fast getting tired of the stupid cow; he had played her foolish games and put up with her flippant manners for too long. She had an awakening coming, this one.

  As though Morana could read his mind, she clung to his side, trying to appease him. "Anton," she begged. "Anton, don't be upset. For you see, now I know what we're up against. Now I have a plan!"

  He eyed her, not trusting a word of it. "Really?" he said dryly, ignoring the hands that had flittered to his face and began to stroke his wounded cheek.

  "Yes," she purred, "you see ... perhaps we have been looking at this all wrong. Why do we fight for Doren yet push away the very thing that amplifies and controls the power that we crave within him?" The pain began to ease from his face. Her fingers kneaded his cheek, rubbing and stretching the skin underneath them. "Would he even be useful if not of his own will? Can we be sure that we can manipulate him? But if August was working with us: tempting him, leading him, transforming Doren's capability by infinite degrees ..."

  She pulled away and turned Anton back towards the shattered mirror. The welts that had slashed his face had disappeared entirely. "After all, what good is current without a switch?"

  August

  The footsteps did not pass and fade like August had hoped. Rather they stopped, paused, and were followed by the sound of sliding—as if someone had slipped a package down the wall and left it there. August waited, ear pressed to the door, holding his breath to seek out further indication. None followed. The hallway grew silent. The seconds ticked into minutes. He dragged himself to his knees and unlocked the door, praying the tumblers would fall in silence. He inched the door open and peered into the hall with visions of crouched demonic masters and drooling horrific beasts and found, instead, Doren.

  Doren sat against the wall, facing the door, with his long legs splayed across the hallway. His eyes were unfocused, vacant; he stared with the absent gaze of a drug addict.

  August slammed the door and locked it, overcome with a ferocious wave of anger and betrayal. He would not open that door again. Not to that bastard. It had been the worst night of his life and he would never go through something like that again. Ever! First Morana, then Doren, then Anton—then Anton and Morana in pair, what the hell? He was sick of them—sick of all their games and all their … whatever the hell that had been. He was not going to their puppet, their toy, their … punching bag!

  But mostly? More than anything? He was definitely not going to do feel sorry for that creep out in the hall.

  Even in if Doren had looked like total crap. Even if Doren had looked like a beaten puppy. And had that been blood on Doren's hands?

  Not that he cared. Not even if Doren was hurt … except, it really wouldn't kill him to just take one more look.

  Not that he had any intentions about doing anything about it even if Doren was out there dying. Hell, no. Doren could bleed to death for all he cared!

  He nudged opened the door again and Doren was staring straight at him. My God, August thought. Doren looked so … broken. He checked the hall, both ways, before crawling out to where Doren sat.

  He watched Doren watch him approach, Doren's eyes full of emotion, and August had to turn away from them before they shattered his resolve. He would not fall for a liar again. He would not.

  "What's wrong?" August whispered, but still his voice echoed in the empty passage.

  Doren lowered his eyes, shaking his head almost indiscernibly.

  "Are you hurt?"

  Again the soft shake.

  August lifted Doren's hands, turning them over. The stains were definitely blood.

  "Did you do something bad?"

  Doren looked down the hall, avoiding August's eyes.

  "Doren." He shook Doren's arm firmly. "You have to answer me. Did you hurt someone?"

  "No," Doren whispered hoarsely. "Yes. But I don't think badly."

  "What happened?"

  As Doren blinked, fighting tears, August could feel his heart softening even while his mind screeched at him not to let it happen.

  "Auggie?" Doren looked directly in August's eyes, speaking so quietly August had to strain to hear him. "Everything got all fucked up, Aug. I didn't know what to do."

  Though August thought it would probably kill him to soothe, it killed him more to watch Doren suffer. He patted Doren's arm awkwardly.

  "Did he hurt you, Auggie? Are you all right?"

  August figured that he should be surprised that Doren knew, but after everything that had taken place, he wasn't in the least. "I don't know,
Doren. I don't know if I'll ever be all right again."

  Doren lifted his hand to August's face but stopped, pulling them back sharply when he saw the stains on his skin. "Do you hate me?" His words sounded empty and hollow; his face was wracked with emotion.

  "Yes." The answer flew to August's lips before he could stop it and Doren flinched from the impact of the word. "No, that's not true," August sighed. "I don't hate you. But this," he waved his arm around them, "I hate this. I can't do it anymore. I can't be this anymore. I'm too simple for all this drama. And as self-righteous as it might sound, I'm too good for all this pain." He lowered his eyes, unable to hold Doren's wounded gaze. "I'm sorry, Doren. I quit."

  Doren reached for August's hand, forgetting the filth on his own. "Please, Auggie. Please don't leave me. I don't care if you quit. I don't even care if you really do hate me. Just please don't leave."

  August laid his head against the wall, seesawing between feeling like a tool and feeling like he had every right in the world to be ready to run. "I just want to go home, Doren. I need to get away from all these horrible people. If I never, in my entire life, have to see Anton or Morana or any of those crazy bitches again then I will live a blessed existence."

  "After the show? Please, Aug, if you wait until after the show then I'll go with you. I promise."

  "And what do you propose we do until then? Anton isn't going to just give up." August couldn't stop the shiver when he spoke Anton's name. "You should have seen his face. He was furious. He wanted to kill me, Doren, and I don't think what I did to stop him is going to make that feeling any better. I'm not even exaggerating. Anton wants me to die. You know: stop living, cease breathing, forgo existence ..."

  Doren smiled, shaking his head lightly, and it transformed his entire face. August couldn't help it; his chest swelled when he saw it. For Christ's sakes, August, he told himself. You are such a sucker.

  "Great," August teased with a pout. "My expiration makes you smile."

  "Never!" Doren pulled August against his shoulder. "And don't be so convinced of Anton and his skill. He is, after all, afraid of us." He waved his finger in a circle and August sighed against Doren's neck. "Of this."

  "And what is this, Doren?"

  "You know ... us. Together."

  August shook his head, the heat from Doren's body seeping in as if Doren was a furnace. "Is that what we are? Together?"

  "I don't know ... I guess. I mean, I thought so."

  August didn't reply until Doren looked down and caught his eye. "Yeah, me too. But I'm not so sure anymore."

  "I swear, Auggie, it wasn't me. Something was all ... well … I guess I don't know. Fucked up."

  "Well you better know. Because I need to understand what's going on if you expect me to stay with you."

  Doren looked down at his hands and spread his fingers, cracking the blood that had dried into a second skin. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

  August snorted. "You might be surprised what I'd believe right now."

  Doren took a deep breath, debating. Finally he shook his head, "Okay then, if you say so. But don't blame me if it sounds totally crazy. It was the music, Aug. You remember the band from the bar?"

  August nodded, his frown urging Doren to keep speaking.

  "I don't even remember liking them that much; I mean, they were all right, but nothing that really got me going or anything. But they kind of sucked me in or something. And then Anton talked me into taking their demo with me and suddenly I couldn't stop listening to it, I couldn't stop thinking about it. There was something on the CD, something recorded and hidden under the music that fucked with my head. I didn't even notice it until the CD went screwy. But the second I found it in the music, I couldn't not hear it anymore. How they hid it from me in the first place, I'll never know. I'm usually pretty good at picking stuff up, you know what I mean?"

  "Yeah, I figured that out." August smiled. "Is that why Anton wants you so badly? Because you can do that?"

  "I don't know. At first I thought he was just a guy—just a guy trying to make some money off me. But I don't think so anymore. And it's not just me, babe. There's something about you that drives him nuts too."

  "Why? What?"

  "I'm not really sure, Auggie. I only know he's been spending a lot of time and effort to keep us from getting together. And then when we did anyway, he expended even more trying to pull us apart."

  "And when that didn't work," August finished for him, "he decided to try and get me out of the way altogether."

  They both sat quietly, digesting the thought. "So how do we avoid him until after the show?" August asked.

  "I guess by doing just that. Avoiding him."

  August chewed on the inside of his cheek. Sure, easy for Doren to say. Anton loved him. Anton would move mountains for him. It was August that Anton wanted gone. "Do you think we're strong enough?"

  Doren shrugged. "We have to be."

  Doren

  The shower felt good. Hot beads of water raced down Doren's chest and over his shoulders, soothing muscles he hadn't even realized ached as badly as they did. He lifted his hands into the stream of water, watching dry blood mix with clear liquid, swirling clean into pink filth before falling away to the tub. He had an uneasy recollection of knuckles against teeth, cartilage against bone, and the slippery sensation of wet hands sliding over soft flesh with evil intent. Truly evil intent.

  He gritted his teeth and tried to erase the memories by scrubbing at his palms with the soap. He still couldn't believe he would do that, that something inside him had found an attraction to it. It made him sick to his stomach to think of his dick getting hard while he hurt something.

  He stuck his head under the shower head and lifted his face into the direct force of it, letting it beat at his eyes and his mouth, letting it fill his ears and drown out his senses. So when the shower door slid open, Doren met it in a panic, unaware that anyone had entered the tiny bathroom in the first place. "Jesus, Aug! I almost knocked you out!"

  August grinned. "Great, I invite you into my room to protect you from all the things that go bump in the night, I make you a drink, I even order you food, and that's the thanks I get?" His smile did more to clean Doren's soul than the water flowing over him ever could. The man was beautiful. How he'd ever thought anyone else could play substitute, he'd never figure out. He reached through the water and touched August's face.

  "Quit it," August scolded. "You're getting me wet."

  Now that didn't sound like a bad idea at all, Doren decided. Far better than drinks or food or sleeping. Getting August wet sounded like just the thing to do, as a matter of fact, preferably while August was moaning his name underneath him. He banged the shower off and tweaked his fingers in a come-hither gesture.

  "Why do I even bother to argue with you?" August asked him, leaning against the sink with a look on his face that Doren was sure the law would call "intention."

  For the first time ever August approached him, pushing away from the sink and walking to where Doren waited. That shouldn't have been as salacious as it was. But the act of coming forward, of bringing one's self to him like that, seemed so perfect in the moment.

  Doren stepped out of the shower, dripping wet and not caring a hoot about that fact. He threaded both hands into the hair at the back of August's head and pulled August's face to his own. "I'd really like to fuck you, August."

  Sound rushed from August's lips, hidden in August's breath. There was fear in it. Almost as much fear as there was need. He could push—Doren knew that. They were both vulnerable; they both needed something to cling to. If he made it a demand … but it was a stipulation he couldn't make. Doren shook his head and kissed August lightly. "It's okay, we don't have to. I'm just glad you're here."

  "Bed?" August asked. "We could …" The pink already on his cheeks darkened while August sought words. "Use our mouths or … something."

  August had shed his shirt, the buttons lost, the fabric peppered with stains of wh
at he'd said were most likely not all his and Doren hadn't asked for details. It had been balled up and trashed, along with Doren's t-shirt and spattered jeans. Good things, indeed, Doren decided. Not just for the symbolism but because now August stood in front of him, half naked and gorgeous. He traced the lines in August's chest, the natural indent that separated August's pecs, the rise of chest muscles and the sharp collarbones. "I'd like that."

  He toweled his hair and his body as he followed August from the bathroom, but his eyes never left the swell of August's ass as August moved. I could make him want me, Doren thought. If he'd just give me the chance, I could annihilate that fear with pleasure. I could make him beg me to take him all the way.

  The look in August's eyes would have to be enough: the heat and the need and the fulfillment that shined through like a light. Doren didn't wait to pull August on to the bed beside him. Both of them fell together, reaching for each other like they could sustain themselves physically through oral intensity. While mutual lips and tongues enticed hard bodies into lengths of steel it was hard to complain about needing more. Still, Doren's fingers wandered, and August caught a breath over Doren's cock when his fingers began to stroke and nudge the place he so desperately wanted to be. August swallowed Doren faster, deeper, and in return Doren's mouth was August's to use as August pleased. He only paused once, and that was merely to wet his fingertips with his tongue.

  Thrust matched swallow as August moved against him and Doren used August's own movement to work one of those wetted digits, just a tease, just half an inch and no more, into August's hole. Vibration rolled over Doren's cock as August groaned his approval and sensation compounded in every part of Doren's body. Whether August's channel moved to push him away or let him in, Doren couldn't say, but the sound of August as he wiggled his fingers deeper, as breach gave way to slide, as he fingered tightness that made him want to flip August over right then and there and just force his way into it, did more to stimulate Doren's pleasure pinnacles than the wet suction on his cock.