One for Sorrow

by Louise Collins

  “Where was he?”

  “Trying to catch rats down some alley. He came back with one, dropped it at my feet. I’d never been more relieved in my life to see him, gave him lots of fuss, and he thought I was rewarding him for the rat, started bring me more.”

  Romeo snorted. “Sounds like he was very attached to you.”

  “It went both ways,” Chad said, looking up at Romeo.

  “What happened to you both?”

  “It got colder, harder, and I went back to the children’s home. It was like those nine months hadn’t happened, but when I went to sleep, I still remembered the shouting, the fights, the threats, Toby’s growling when someone he didn’t like the look of came near me. It wasn’t much different to being with my mother, colder, but only just.”

  “You’ve come from that and look at you now. You’re a detective.”

  “I always pushed myself, got to the top of the division, then changed. Even being a detective, I wanted more, I wanted sergeant, I wanted inspector, eventually chief.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with aiming high.”

  “But it all felt so empty. What if I got to the top, and still felt empty, what then?”

  “Don’t focus on the what ifs, focus on the present. That’s what I do.”

  “Right now, I’m a detective who’s been captured by a killer. I had a good career, colleagues I got on with, a fiancé that spoiled me—”

  “You’ll still have that … minus the fiancé.”

  “I had all that, but I still felt lonely. I’ve never told anyone about living rough, or how bad it was with my mother, but I told you, why? I don’t understand it.”

  “You’re worried they’d look at you differently.” Romeo smiled. “I’m looking at you the same, and I like what I see. There’s nothing you could say or do to make me not like you—except stopping me of course… That would hurt.”

  “Hurt?”

  “Yes,” Romeo said, giving Chad a long, sad look.

  ****

  Chad stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. His second attempt at shaving with a shaking hand had resulted in fewer nicks and slices, but red still beaded above his lip, and on his chin. It didn’t bother him, but his long, messy hair did. He’d needed a haircut before he’d even met Romeo in the woods, and six weeks on, his unruly hair had grown so long his naturals curls had started to form.

  “What you doing?” Romeo asking, coming up behind him.

  They linked gazes in the mirror.

  “I’m gonna cut my hair.”

  Romeo ruffled his damp strands. “Why, you look fine?”

  “I look a mess. You told me so a few days ago.”

  “Perfectly imperfect.”

  Chad compared his tattered, pale-faced look, to the modelling world standard behind him. If they were a couple, people would’ve wondered why Romeo settled for a disaster like him. Chad scrunched his face up at the thought, earning him a flick to his cheek from Romeo.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I said you’ll be out of here in a few days, and you can get a haircut then.”

  Chad pinched a strand of his hair between his fingers, then smoothed it out, testing the length. “I can’t wait.”

  He picked up the nail scissors, and before Romeo could protest, he started hacking away at his hair. He kept it a few inches long, but it was impossible to keep it even. Romeo pulled a pained expression next to him, wincing at each snip.

  “Nice to see my childhood picture inspired your look.”

  “Are you gonna stand there being an asshole, or you gonna help?”

  He held the scissors up, and Romeo took them.

  “I can’t reach the hair at the back.”

  “I’m on it,” Romeo said.

  Chad leaned forward, staring at the sink full of his discarded hair. It felt nice to see it gone, to see the dry strands cut from his scalp. He may’ve looked like he was an escaped convict, but he was feeling much freer without it.

  Chad could smell Romeo’s shampoo and shower gel, could feel his fingers brushing hair off his bare shoulder. Him being close was a nice feeling, and Chad’s insides fluttered.

  “Done.”

  Chad looked up, connecting with Romeo in the mirror. “Looks good,” Romeo said, and then he pressed a kiss to Chad’s temple. He accepted the kiss, so soft, and alien to him, but still welcomed in a messed-up kind of way.

  Chad wrinkled his nose. Ge could detect a weird smell coming from Romeo, underneath the shampoo, but definitely there. Romeo seemed to notice Chad’s sniffing and lifted his hands for him to see. The tips of his fingers were stained black.

  “I was polishing my shoes.”

  Chad pushed the information to the back of his mind, and instead grimaced.

  “You’ve put your dirty fingers through my hair.”

  “You can’t even see it.”

  “It’s not the point. You’ve stroked my shoulders, too.”

  “There’s the smallest of smudges.”

  Chad glared at Romeo through the mirror, until he gave in, and wiped his shoulders with a damp towel.

  “All done.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll let you pick the movie tonight.”

  “It’ll be another sci-fi.”

  “Thought it would be. Do you actually like them, or do you pick them to make me suffer?”

  “A little of both,” Chad said.

  Romeo huffed, backing out of the bathroom. “I’ll make us ice cream, be down in five minutes.”

  “I will be,” Chad whispered.

  He looked back at the mirror, but he barely recognized himself. The worst was not knowing whether he preferred the Chad he’d started out as, or the one he’d turned into. Realizing he didn’t miss his life before at all.

  ****

  They had ice creams on the sofa, watched a sci-fi-movie of Chad’s choosing, then got ready for bed. Romeo helped Chad get comfortable, then fiddled with the fire. The room was so hot, Chad struggled out of his t-shirt. Not his t-shirt he reminded himself, he was wearing one of Romeo’s. His shirt was back in the washing machine.

  Romeo told him his clothing would be dry and ready for him to go home. The word “home” sparked daggers in his gut. He had no home anymore.

  Romeo took off his own t-shirt, then lay down on the bed. His arm ended up behind Chad’s neck, but he didn’t protest. He closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They were in the kitchen, and Chad was sitting at the table reading crossword clues aloud, while Romeo ironed his shirt, blazer and smart pants.

  “Four letters,” Chad said. “Marked by keen caution.”

  Romeo hummed, looking up from his task. “Got it.”

  “Of course you have…”

  “It’s something you were when you first came here.”

  “Scared.”

  Romeo frowned. “Strangely you weren’t. You’ve never been afraid of me … even knowing who I am, what I do. It’s one of the reasons I like you.”

  Chad ignored him and thought hard about the clue. “Wary,” he said.

  Romeo smiled. “Yes, you were very wary.”

  “No, the feelings I had towards you were: 4 letters, dislike intensely.”

  Romeo gasped. “Hate, you hate me?”

  “Well, not anymore.”

  He put the iron aside. “You don’t hate me anymore?”

  Chad tried to think of a crossword clue to explain his feelings, but he came up with nothing, and sighed. “My feelings for you are complicated.”

  “That’s because you like to overcomplicate. You like me, plain and simple.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, there doesn’t need to be.”

  Romeo picked his shirt off of the ironing board, then hung it on a hanger. The blazer was already crease free; he only had the pants to do.

  “You’ve got that constipated look again.”

  “Constipated?”

  “Yeah, when yo
u’re struggling to work something out, which means it’s time for a joke…”

  Chad dropped his head to the table. “No.”

  “Want to hear a joke about a piece of paper?”

  Chad lifted his head off the table and pointed at Romeo. “It’s tear-able, ha, I know that one.”

  Romeo smirked. “You’re acting all proud of yourself, but which of us is the real loser? The one that told the awful joke, or the one that knew the punchline?”

  “Shut up.”

  Romeo made a zipped mouth gesture across his lips, then went back to ironing. They carried on their tasks in silence, Romeo flattening his suit, and Chad struggling with the crossword, and other puzzles in the Canster Times.

  When Romeo had finished, he folded the pants on the hanger, then put it on the hook by the back door, ready for when he needed it. Chad scribbled so hard on the newspaper that he made a hole. He didn’t want to think about what was coming. He wanted a distraction; he needed one.

  “Has it got the better of you?”

  Chad didn’t answer, and Romeo came over. He craned his neck to see the clue Chad was struggling on. Chad liked him close, liked the smell of him, the heat, even the amusement lacing his tone as he mocked Chad’s efforts.

  “Not everyone can be an expert like me.”

  “Modest, aren’t you.”

  “I’m honest with you, and honest with myself. Hopefully you’ll get at least one while I’m out.”

  “Out?”

  “No need to panic, I’m only going outside. I need to chop some more logs.”

  He massaged Chad’s shoulders, then released him, heading for the door. Chad didn’t look over; he continued to stare at the crossword.

  He heard the sound of chopping a short while later and looked up. He couldn’t see Romeo from where he was sitting, but he imagined what he looked like chopping the wood. He’d watched him do it enough, and squirmed when he returned, filthy with sweat, and panting.

  “Depraved desire,” Chad said aloud. “Four letters.”

  Lust.

  The bottle of lube was still on the side, an open invitation to something completely forbidden. Chad rolled his fingers into his temples, trying not to think of sex, but failing miserably. He turned his attention to the Sudoku puzzle, trying to remember what numbers were, but the sound of the chopping, and his blood flowing south, turned his mind to mush.

  He didn’t have long left with Romeo. Was it so bad to indulge, to see what it would be like to give himself over completely?

  Chad got up out of his seat and hobbled without his crutches to the back door. He could see Romeo, topless, swing the axe high above his head, then the ripple of his muscle, the different sections of his anatomy all tensing in sequence.

  Chad limped outside. Each step on his bad leg hurt, but he needed a bit of pain. He needed some reason to stop even if his desire overrode it. Romeo seemed to sense his slow approach, turning around. His brow tightened, and he shook his head.

  “What are you doing? Your leg.”

  He dropped the axe to the ground and rushed towards Chad. He got to him as he tripped on a clump of mud, and caught him by the hips, steadying him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Shut up,” Chad said. Then he grabbed Romeo’s head and brought him down for a kiss. Not a gentle kiss, but one that was sure to aggravate Romeo’s almost healed lip. He grunted, and Chad sucked harder until he pulled away. He stared wide-eyed at Chad, shock clear to see on his handsome face. It was only the second time Chad had shocked him, and it felt good.

  “Chad?”

  “I want you. No lines.”

  Romeo widened his eyes and stared so deeply into Chad’s he swore he saw straight to the center of his soul. Not detective and killer, but Chad and Romeo, and Chad wanted Romeo so badly it hurt, especially when he knew it was days until he’d only ever see him as the killer again. He was going to hell, but he’d enjoy himself first.

  “You want me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ve got me.”

  Chad yanked him down by his shoulders, lifting himself on his tiptoes in an act of desperation to kiss Romeo again. As soon as Romeo started to lead the kiss, Chad pulled his mouth away, starting on his body.

  He could only reach Romeo’s pecs. He licked over the tight stretch of muscles, following the trails in his skin, the dips of his collarbone. Chad sank his teeth in Romeo’s flesh, feeling the shiver and the involuntary jerking motion.

  He continued to bite, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to leave red dents. He could smell and taste the dirt and sweat, and couldn’t get enough of either on Romeo’s skin. He shivered at the feel of hands in his hair, then fed his fingers through Romeo’s in return, and tugged hard.

  Romeo was walking him backwards in the direction of the house. Chad’s cock throbbed each step they took, and his heart rate soared. They all but fell through the door, and Romeo managed to keep a hold of Chad, hauling him over to the kitchen table. He turned Chad around, then pressed between his shoulders ‘til his chest was flat against the tabletop.

  He yanked Chad’s pants and boxers down, exposing his ass. Chad tried to rear off the table, but Romeo pinned him.

  Chad nodded, knowing Romeo wanted him to stay right where he was, bent over, no shame, no embarrassment, only unbelievably needy. He moved his head slightly so he could see Romeo, his focused expression as he stared at Chad’s ass while stripping off his clothing. He got the lube from the side, lathered his cock, then spread Chad’s cheeks.

  “How do you want it?”

  Romeo’s cheeks were red, his eyes still wide from surprise, and he stared at Chad with unmasked want.

  “Rough,” Chad said. “I want it rough.”

  It was sex after all, not love. He couldn’t feel guilty about sex, at least not in comparison.

  Romeo’s lashes fluttered, and a soft noise left his lips. Chad wasn’t sure if it was a moan, or a curse, but Romeo seemed pleased Chad desired it rough.

  He pushed two wet fingers past Chad’s rim with no apology. Chad cried out at the burn, curling his hands into fists on the table.

  “You sure?” Romeo asked.

  Chad nodded. He really was. He wanted the pain, the roughness, and Romeo didn’t disappoint. He took his fingers out, added more lube to them, then sank them inside again, stretching and loosening. Then he lined himself up, pressed his cockhead on Chad’s opening until his rim stretched enough, then popped inside, and Chad let out a long moan.

  Not only did his stretching skin burn, but Romeo punched the breath out of his body with his thrusts. Chad clawed at the table, clinging on. The pain gave way to a dominating pleasure. Chad’s body yielded, accepted the harsh treatment, willed it, until his prostate throbbed and his hard-on left smears on the table. The pain faded into insignificance, until Chad was a mewling mess, sobbing quietly, trying his best not to come.

  Romeo flattened Chad to the table with his chest. The scent of him, the breath on the back of Chad’s neck, and the powerful thump of his heart were nothing short of intoxicating. The wet pants, the slapping flesh, and his nails scoring the table, Chad lost himself to the noises, trying his best to arch his back, lift himself, but he knew his efforts were feeble. Still, him trying excited Romeo, and he panted louder, holding Chad’s hips harder, pressing down with his chest firmer, until Chad was completely incapable of moving. He was on the edge of letting go.

  “Wait,” Romeo whispered.

  Chad frowned. He couldn’t have been talking to him, only himself. Romeo stopped, eased his cock out, but still stayed plastered to Chad’s back.

  “What’s wrong?” Chad panted.

  “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

  “You stopped.”

  “Okay, maybe something is wrong…”

  Romeo straightened, then maneuvered Chad on to his back. His leg flared, but the pain vanished when he looked at Romeo. His eyes were black, and his messy hair and sweaty brow made him
look feral. He spread Chad’s legs, realigned himself, then sank inside. He closed his eyes and parted his lips as he pressed all the way in.

  Chad preferred it the other way, not face to face, not romantic. He squirmed, doing his best to roll onto his front, but Romeo shushed him, then reached for his throat. He pinned Chad to the table, pressure building, grip tightening, holding Chad’s neck to keep him in place.

  “Now this … this is right…”

  Chad should’ve been scared, feared what Romeo was doing, but he shivered at the possessive hold, and his stomach fluttered. Romeo restricted Chad’s airflow, until black edged around his vision, closing in until he could only see Romeo’s face, then nothing at all.

  He didn’t know whether he’d closed his eyes, or whether they’d just given up seeing. Heat built in his skin, in his cheeks, behind his eyes, all through his body. He heard the wheeze of his body, the breathless gasp rushing in his ears, hearing it internally instead of externally.

  There was a touch to his mouth, and he opened up instinctively to let Romeo’s tongue inside. He tasted even sweeter when he was clinging on to consciousness.

  A heat so all-consuming and suffocating took over everything until his awareness started to fade. He couldn’t recall his own name, let alone the man’s pinning him down, and caressing his lips with poison. He needed air, but he wanted his kiss more.

  His prostate tingled, his cock felt tight, overly tight, and the knife’s edge he was on seemed to last forever, a build-up of euphoria he’d not experienced before. He started shaking, an involuntary tremble, and his mind spun, faster and faster, until he was dizzy with the pleasure of it all.

  Only one thought surfaced from his cotton-stuffed mind: he was about to orgasm, couldn’t warn or moan, could only do, and when the moment came, he slipped away, no longer able to think, only feel as his orgasm ripped through him.

  He was floating high, so high he could only see the black of space when he stared straight ahead. Every sensitive tingle rushed to his cock, and he gasped at the force of his orgasm. The rush of pleasure was so intense it stopped his heartbeat, the muscle squeezing extra hard the beat after to compensate.