Deliver Us (15 page)

The brighter lights of what seems to be the pub appear in the distance, cars parked in clusters out front, bugs and mosquitoes buzzing and arcing through the air, another sure sign of the approaching spring.

“Wait,” Gabriel says suddenly, grabbing Darrek’s arm. “Wait. Please, Dare.”

Darrek stops and turns to Gabriel with a question in his eyes, but Gabriel just reaches up for Darrek’s face, his fingers twining back in his hair and pulling him down. He kisses him softly and unhurriedly.

“What was that for?” Darrek asks, adding, “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

“I wanted to kiss you before we go inside, and before we talk. In case you change your mind about me. And I’ve needed that kiss all day.”

“Really?” Darrek smiles. “You needed me?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel sighs, touching Darrek’s lips.

“I’m not gonna change my mind, you know.”

We’ll see about that
, Gabriel thinks to himself, and says, “Come on. I’m starving.”

They order drinks right away, opting for rum and cokes over beer at Darrek’s suggestion. Darrek drinks his too quickly, unable to think of much else besides Kyle’s warnings about Gabriel from the previous day and Gabriel admitting, perhaps not in so many words, that he didn’t trust Darrek.

It doesn’t help that Gabriel looks so good in his tight jeans and button-down white shirt, the top two buttons undone to reveal a swath of his tan chest and the sleeves rolled up to the elbows due to the heat in the thick air of the small, crowded space.

As Darrek finishes off his first drink, Gabriel waves over the waitress for a second while Darrek asks him, “So why ‘Diadem,’ anyway? Why’s it called that?”

“Oh, that was Ben’s idea. Once Trace talked him out of wanting to call the business ‘Whips and Chains, Incorporated’... no, I swear to God,” he adds, laughing softly after Darrek starts giggling. “He had business cards printed and everything with a watermark of a big, swollen, veiny... never mind. What was I saying?”

“Diadem?” Darrek offers with a grin.

“Thank you. So after that, he went in the complete opposite direction, wanting to be all subtle and sly with the name, so that you could talk about the company around anyone, freely, in public, and no one would suspect it was a BDSM business unless they were in the know. I think he got the idea from all the porn he orders, how it comes in those plain boxes in the mail. Diadem is associated with power. It’s traditionally a type of crown, so it’s like a metal band, an adornment that marks you with distinction, and the word’s origin translates as ‘to bind across.’ Ben was all proud when he told Trace and Sam all of this. Gave a little presentation and everything, or so I’ve heard. That was before my time. He’s not usually one to whip out the ol’ dictionary, so....”

Still smiling, Darrek says, “Big improvement over Whips and Chains, Inc.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“How did you get into this line of work? I’ve never met anyone who did this kind of thing professionally, or, like, full-time.”

“Well...” Gabriel sighs, “I have a bunch of different responsibilities at Diadem. It’s kind of like a partnership between the four of us. Ben, Trace and I are like independent contractors working together under the umbrella of the company. Sam runs the business side of things, coordinating shit and all. Alyssa does office work, janitorial stuff, just whatever the hell we need help with. I um... I started out in janitorial, and worked my way up. Ben kind of took me under his wing, training me, showing me what to do, and when he saw how much I love photography, got me involved in doing the glamour shots that we run in magazines sometimes. I do most of the video now, and I’m the webmaster for our site. I have a guy that helps me out on the more complex programming side of things, but I keep it all running.”

“I had no idea,” Darrek admits. “I haven’t even looked at the site yet. You really take video and all of sessions?”

“Yeah. It’s another revenue stream. Ben and Trace star in the videos with some select clients who express an interest in it. Some of the videos are duplicated and put up for sale on the site, and others are webcast to our paid subscribers. I... I only really started doing the Dom stuff a few years ago. Had a knack for it I guess, but I have a lot more limits than the others do. I... uh...” Gabriel laughs nervously, taking a long sip of his drink before continuing. “I never... and I mean
never
, had sex with a client during a scene before you. I don’t even touch them unless I’m wearing gloves, and even then, not so much. I don’t even do hand releases at the end for people, like other Doms do. Never kiss; never touch them with my mouth. But with you... it sounds lame, but I had to taste you. I had to feel you and take you and make you mine. But I need you to know that, Darrek. I don’t go around whoring myself out all the time. I’m not that guy. If I had my way, I’d get into mainstream photography or photo journalism instead. That’s my dream. But you gotta do what you’re good at, I guess. And I’m really fucking good at my job. Or so they tell me.”

“But how did you... how did you even
find
Diadem. Why work as a janitor for them, and not for an office company or whatever?” Darrek asks, dragging his finger through the condensation on his glass and the ring of it gathering on the tabletop.

Gabriel sighs, and throws back his drink, his mouth puckering up slightly at the taste as he mentally prepares himself for what he has to say next.

His hand going still on the table, Darrek asks, “What, Gabe? You look freaked.”

Gabriel rubs a palm over his mouth, his eyes darting around as he decides. Then he says, “I’m gonna answer, just... just let me... give me a second.”

“Okay.”

Darrek watches the wheels turn in Gabriel’s head, the way he keeps looking at the door, the exit, like he’s considering darting through it and out into the night.

Eventually he says quietly, “I left home, or... well, okay more like
ran away
from home when I was seventeen. I hitchhiked north through a few states, and then I kind of was sleeping in a bus station for a little while. I had nowhere to go. I saw in one of the papers lying around that there was a company nearby that was looking for help, and I took a chance. It was Diadem. Sam... she figured out that I was underage. She’s pretty fucking sharp, man—watch out for her. But she knew. It was illegal for me to work there, but she also figured out that I was homeless, that I needed the job and a place to live. She gave me that. They all did. Trace let me have the spare room in his house. I had a job. Ben warmed up to me real fast and he’s been my best friend ever since. That’s how it all started. That’s my story.”

“My god,” Darrek frowns, reaching across the table and taking Gabriel’s hand in both of his. “I’m so sorry. Why did you run away like that if you had nowhere to go?”

“Darrek... this isn’t... this isn’t shit I talk about...” Gabriel tells him, not meeting his eyes, but also not pulling his hand free.

“You can trust me with this. I have bad stuff in my past, too. I’ll tell you my sob story if you tell me yours. Promise.”

“It’s... it’s just
stupid
. It’s so fucking cliché! It’s almost laughable. Fucking pathetic and... I just can’t... fine. I’ll just say it.”

His heart hammers against his ribcage so hard he feels like it’s going to break right through the bone, rip through the skin and muscle and fall with a splat onto the worn wooden table between them. Gabriel actually pauses for a second to wait and see if it’ll really happen. He can almost see it there, pulsing and bleeding.

“My stepfather molested me. Started when I was fourteen and never stopped. So I left. End of story.”

Gabriel wishes desperately for another drink, and when Darrek pushes his closer to Gabriel’s side of the table, Gabriel takes it gratefully and downs it in one gulp.

“Thanks,” he hisses, “Really needed that.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Darrek says quietly. “Sorry is too small of a word for what I want to say in response to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. That’s not why I told you. And anyway, it’s done. Past. Explains a lot, though, doesn’t it? I’m no psychoanalyst, but I think it makes sense why I enjoy torturing people sexually for a living. They don’t get to touch me, but I get to hurt the fuck out of them, and they pay me handsomely for it.”

It’s quiet between them and Gabriel can feel Darrek looking at him, can feel the words even before he says them, like he’s gone suddenly psychic or something.

“May I hug you?” Darrek asks softly. The formality of
sir
or
Master
hangs unspoken in the air between them, potent enough that it may very well have been said anyway. And Darrek understands. He knows now why it feels right to have this dynamic between them—the power and distance of Gabriel, the Dominant and Master, and the loyalty, reverence and obedience of himself, the submissive and slave. Gabriel craves the power, needs the distance to survive. Darrek in turn needs to be validated and cared-for.

“Sure,” Gabriel nods, head bowed.

Darrek stands, walking around the small table and pulls Gabriel up out of his chair and into a hug. Burying his face in Gabriel’s neck, listening to him take a long, shaky breath, Darrek whispers, “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I’m so damn sorry. But thank you for trusting me with that.”

Gabriel pulls away and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands and says with a sad laugh, “Can we not talk about it anymore? Let’s talk about you instead. Why are
you
troubled, Darrek Grealey? Come on, it’s sharing and caring hour at the town pub. Lay it all out and we’ll drink it away.”

Darrek sits back down. The waitress appears again and they order some steak sandwiches and more drinks.

Once she’s gone he admits, “Well... okay. It’s either a very long story or a very short story. Here’s the short version, since you gave me yours: I fell in love. Hard. Found the love of my life—little birds and hearts floating around my head like in those old cartoons when people get hit with cupid’s arrow. The day before our wedding I walked in on her fucking my brother.”

“Jesus....”

“Oh, and my daddy’s a preacher—the worst kind. Beats his kids, tells ’em they’re going to hell for being lousy people,
sinners
. Always hated me, and I mean
hated
me. Told me I wasn’t man enough for Sara, and that’s why she ran off with my brother, Steven. It was
my
fault. I’m the screw up, the disappointment, so it
must’ve
been my fault, right?” Darrek scratches restlessly at the table, feeling the old anger and shame flood him again. “And hey, he’ll be real proud when he finds out I’ve gone queer. Just added fuel to the fire with that one.”

“When did this happen? With Sara?” Gabriel asks, taking Darrek’s hands in his, stilling them and brushing his thumbs soothingly over them.

“June,” he mutters.

“June?!” Gabriel exclaims.

“Yeah. But I got the hell out of there right away. Moved close to Kyle. Started working under his foreman. I’d been doing carpentry in my hometown; I just bought my house and set up shop here instead.”

“So this, like,
just
happened to you...” Gabriel gasps.

“No. It happened millions of years ago. Another lifetime. Might as well have been, anyway.”

Their sandwiches arrive and another round of drinks.

“Good thing we’re walking home,” Darrek murmurs, grabbing the new, full glass tightly, like a man who’s been dying of thirst.

“How pathetic are we? We should go be on Oprah or something, man,” Gabriel sighs, shaking his head. Darrek giggles into his drink. “Are you drunk already or is this the sugar rush thing again?”

“Probably drunk. I don’t drink much. Daddy didn’t allow the ‘devil’s nectar’ in his house. Can’t really hold my liquor,” Darrek mutters, taking a bite of his sandwich and hoping that it soaks up some of the rum in his stomach.

“But you’re so... big,” Gabriel squints. “How can you be drunk off of, like, two rum and cokes?”

“Just another example of how pathetic I am, I guess. So, you don’t talk to your family at all? Not even your mom? Got any siblings?”

“Nah. And it’s better this way. For all of us. But yeah, I’ve got siblings... somewhere. I’m sure they left home, too. Fuck it,” he grumbles, drinking more. “How ’bout you?”

“Mom calls once in a while. Don’t talk to Steven anymore.
Obviously
. The prick. Oughta cut his dick off....”

“Listen to the violence from Mr. Homegrown-Carpenter,” Gabriel laughs. “I’m shocked.”

“Cut your stepdad’s dick off too,” he squints, pointing a finger. “I can start a collection.”

Gabriel laughs harder, his head buzzing with the rum. “Go right-the-fuck ahead, Dare. But that’s what serial killers do, you know. They collect shit. Are you a serial killer?”

“I’m not gonna
kill ’em
, Gabey, I just wanna cut their
dicks
off. You don’t
die
from that.”

“How do you know?”

“The Discovery Channel told me,” Darrek says seriously, like he’s conveying a great secret.

Gabriel chuckles, “Man... I gotta start watching cable more.”

“You should. You learn things,” Darrek tells him earnestly before taking another bite of food.