Don't... (41 page)

Needing to take a piss, I asked the bartender to keep my seat and threw him an extra twenty for the trouble. The restroom seemed similar to Artisan’s, nice big wash basins just ideal for fucking Ja—

I forced the thought away and took care of business. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep one foot in front of the other, and I didn’t particularly like how the lights in the restroom started to spin. Damn bad trick to pull, having one of those moving balls in here. Managing to find the door back into the lounge, I suddenly had someone pushed into me, nearly knocking me over.

“Fuckssake,” I snarled, pushing the man away and sending him stumbling forward into whoever had been stupid enough to push him into me.

“Easy, mate,” said a youth, well he looked and smelled like a youth: all gel and over-cologned. He’d steadied his mate, then stood brushing down a third at the bar who now had half of his drink over him.

“Keep your kid on a leash,” I snarled back, “and you and me, we’ll stay fucking peachy, got it?”

I didn’t really give a shit about an answer, just took my place at the bar and downed two more Jack D’s.

I felt a nudge on my knee as someone shuffled into the seat next to me. Anniversary couple had disappeared somewhere.

“Beer, please,” I heard a man shout, and I winced into my drink, “and whatever this gentleman’s having here.”

I glanced sideways and waggled my glass as a thanks at the newcomer.

“Rough day?”

I narrowed my eyes and wasn’t entirely disappointed with what I saw. Early thirties, just a little older than me, but... I caught on then just what he was wearing.

“You know you have a skirt on, right?”

The guy looked down and inched the tartan material up over his knees, revealing long socks and some strange-looking shoes. “You know it’s not a skirt but a kilt, right?”

A chuckle, I took a long sip of beer. “For a Scotsman, you have a pretty shit accent.”

He nearly choked on his beer, and I smiled at the reaction.

“Twice removed on my uncle’s side.” He looked like he was trying to calculate his heritage, and it looked way too complicated for me. “I think,” he finished, and I chuckled seeing it was maybe a little too complicated for him too. “Stag do,” he added, tilting his beer in my direction. “And you?”

“Vacating.”

He frowned. “You mean vacation?”

“Nope.” I finished my beer, downed half of the one he’d bought me, then stood to leave.

“Easy.” I got an arm on mine as I swayed a touch. “How about I help you find a cab, huh?”

I threw an arm around his shoulder and patted his chest with my free hand, (a good firm chest: note to dick). “You wouldn’t be trying to cop a feel would you, Scots?”

“Dunno.” A hand snaked around my waist. “Would it work, slim?”

Slim? I knew I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, but I wasn’t bloody anorexic. “Name’s Jack.”

“As in Happy?”

I burst out laughing. “As in getting laid, mate.” I didn’t ask him for a name, and he didn’t offer one either.

He took my hand and pulled me through the mass of people. Hitting fresh air made things a whole lot worse, and Scots was there catching me before I fell arse over tit over some imaginary brick someone had left outside the door.

“Fucking thing,” I growled, and I got a few bored stares off the doormen. (Nice big doormen, three-sizes-bigger-than-me doormen: further note to dick.) “Can we brings them too?”

Scots spat a laugh and then a few apologies back over his shoulder, blaming the drink. I dunno, the one on the left looked a little interested in the offer, maybe if we’d stayed around a little longer....

“Your place or mine?” I said, waggling my eyebrows.

“Here’s just about fine with me, gorgeous.” Pushed into an alley out of sight of streetwalkers, my back hit the wall, and a hard kiss of the lips and a groping of my dick had me suddenly, and fully, awake. Grabbing Scots hair, I pulled him off me, and he suddenly found himself kissing the wall.

I kissed his neck, bit, and he ground into the wall groaning, “Fuck yeah, please.”

I was already hitching up his kilt, curious to see if the rumour was true, and, fuck me, I felt bare ass first, then pulled back to see tartan hitched up over a tight white ass. How the English could run from a load of these coming at you, I’d never know.

“Like what you see, Jack?”

Damn stupid question. Biting at his neck, I fumbled with my zip, shirt tugged out because it annoyed the hell out of me, then made damn sure he knew I was interested by rubbing my cock between his ass cheeks.

“Dad?”

I heard the call, but didn’t really understand just who’d called it until someone tugged at my arm.

“I’m sorry, mate.” Sam reached for Scott’s kilt and gave him decency. “My old man’s going through a bit of a rough time, our...” he seemed to sort around in his head for something, “dog—cat—thing, died.”

“Huh?” that came from me, but a pull toward the street knocked it out of me.

“He doesn’t look old enough to be your dad,” said Scots, not looking happy.

“Yeah, well,” said Sam, “he’s one of them young pre-teen dads. Y’know, twelve—thirteen.” I got a pat to my shoulder and I nearly threw up with the motion. “Did a whole TV show on him and everythin’.” Sam gave a wave and a taxi came over, a big fucking black one that made me groan. No-way was I going to get far in that without throwing up.

A hand to my head made me duck, and then I was in, the door slamming shut. Sam followed next through the other door and started talking to the driver.

“Where are you staying, Jack?” said Sam.

I mumbled something, I think, then faced the window, forehead pressing hard to the glass, eyes closed to stop the dizziness and need to hurl. We made it to the hotel; then I gave up the fight and threw up in some bushes outside.

“C’mon, Jack, you can’t stay here.”

Strange, ’cause there was a tree close by and it looked perfect for curling around.

“Up, yeah?”

Seems I had little choice as hands under my arms pulled me up.

“Okay, okay,” I said, doing a lousy job of patting down my clothes, trying to look as if I was more than capable of putting one foot in front of the other.

“Jeez, just how much have you had?” Sam was suddenly under the crease of my arm, holding me up. I gave him a little measure of Jack D between thumb and finger, then told him to go times it by
none of your fucking business
.

We made it up to my room some carefully placed footsteps later. At least I hadn’t bad-mouthed anyone and was quite pleased of the fact. One eye open, one closed as I leaned precariously against the wall, I watched Sam as he shut the door. “Erm, whatay.” Nope, I needed to try that again. “Whadaya doin’ here, Sm, Sam?”

He showed me his shirt as he passed by. A dark stained covered the cream material, just below the left pec.

“You been in for some... some T-shirt wetting.” I wagged a finger at him.

“Nope. You christened me earlier at the club. Never even told me you were my old man, or anything, nor bought me a present.”

I chuckled at that and followed him into my lounge, then my bedroom like I was a lost fucking puppy.

“You...” I tried to find the words. “You live... London.”

Sam was grinning as he turned the covers down. “Yep. I live in London.”

“Oh, okay.” I sat on the bed and ran a hand through my hair. Then it hit me. “But thisiz Essex.”

“Yeah.” Sam was heading off for the bathroom. “Go you for the geography knowledge, boss.”

“So.” I hiccupped and tried to figure how bad a world could be with two Sams in it: I was seeing double. “Whatya doin’ here? You skydivin’?”

Didn’t quite understand why Sam was chuckling as he came back holding a glass of water. “Skiving?” He shook his head and offered me the glass. “No. Not skiving. Picking up a car for Steve’s birthday.”

I took the water, although thoughts of drinking it turned my stomach.

“Drink.”

“Fuckssake,” I said after downing it in one. “How comes he gets a birthday... car for his birthday? I only gets socks?”

“You own a garage, Jack,” said Sam, taking the glass off me as I pushed to my feet, “you’ve got lots of cars, including one gorgeous Merc.”

I scowled as I undid the cuffs to my shirt. “You wannit?”

“The business?”

“The Merc.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re doing a me and spending the money from the big deal before you’ve got it, huh?”

I shook my head, then regretted it when the room carried on spinning after I’d stopped. “’S good to save money. The deal with Brastrap, Strachtap—”

“...Strachan.”

“Whatever.” I grinned. “’S good deal. We did good, huh?”

“Yeah, we did good.” Sam wasn’t smiling. “What’s up, Jack?”

My face screwed. “I, I need to be sick.” I stumbled for the bathroom and managed to make it to the porcelain goddess before I knelt and paid homage. “Aww, crap,” I murmured. “Not good.” Managing to get to my feet, I pushed my way to the sink and somehow managed to get some paste on a brush.

“Did you have any johnnies on you?”

“Huh?” I said, just about focusing on Sam’s reflection in the mirror as I brushed.

“Simple question,” said Sam quietly. “Did you have any johnnies on you? Because you know how stupid it is to have unprotected sex with a stranger, Jack?”

I spat, rinsed, then wiped at my mouth. “Yeah, Mom.” The towel was tossed on the bath as something else fell on the floor, wasn’t quite sure what, and I pushed past Sam and headed for the bedroom.

“Show me.”

“Huh?” I stopped by the bed and looked at Sam. He stood next to me, arms folded.

“Show me that you had protection.”

“Fuck off.”

He shifted his feet a little and just gave a raised brow. Christ, he could have been my old lady looking like that.

“You don’t look the type to need to go and fuck-mess around up some alley.” Sam gave a sniff. “You have no johnnies on you either, do you?”

Trying to do the impossible, bar laughing at Sam and his serious side, I pulled my shirt over my head and attempted to kick my shoes off. “Sam, you’ve got no fucking idea at all, have you?” I knew I was dancing around now, but couldn’t quite figure out why, or when exactly, I’d gone blind.

“Jack.” Sam was in hysterics, and I yelped as I got a tug at my shirt. “You’ve got bloody buttons too—ah.”

Sam had pulled a little too hard, tugged the shirt off my head, freeing up one hand, but I was caught in a tangle of shoe, and we both went down. Sam first, me a split second after, both laughing hard as I landed on top of him.

“Sam, you’re bloody useless,” I grouched; then I noticed him twist away, hiding his blush. “Sam?” I felt the focus of his blush dig into my thigh. My leg was between his and with the Scots leaving me in a pretty bad state, my own dick automatically reacted.

“Whoa, not a good place to be.” Mind muddled, even I could see it was a bad place to be. I went to push away, but Sam slipped his hands onto my hips, down to my ass, and pulled me back.

“You don’t have to, Jack.”

“Sam.” He looked up at me, all lust lowering his eyes. Nineteen. I’d been just a year younger when I’d met Gray, and I’d willingly humped Gray’s leg to kingdom come just to get his attention. Exactly the same as Sam now as he shifted slowly into me.

“Jack,” His voice was tentative, and his bashful blush infected the tip of his nose. He was pale, blond-headed, usually looking so damn cheeky, now, just plain sexy.

“If it stops you doing something stupid tonight, stay with me, yeah?”

Shoulders raised off the bed, hips pressed tight into his because of it, I watched him for a minute. He smiled, just a slight pull of his lip at the corner, and I dipped my head and kissed him, gentle. He offered his tongue, and I played, not serious at first, just tasting, then as Sam shifted his hands off my ass, dug fingers into my back, enough to scratch, to pick at the scab of a darker liking, I heated up in his mouth.

Sam arched his hips up and groaned into my kiss. Was this what Gray had felt first fucking me? Wondering if I was tight, tighter than any other guys he’d fucked? Was that what his fascination with me had been? Was—

I pulled back. “Fuck, Sam, what the hell am I doing to you?” He had all the lust shading his face I’d held at that age, all the need to find a release point, anything, just the need to fuck. And what had Gray done? When exactly had he fucked me? He hadn’t. He’d shown restraint, he’d shown respect, and he certainly hadn’t taken my trust and screwed about with it in a drunken fumble.

Groaning, I pushed off the bed, away, and stumbled back to the bathroom. Falling by the toilet, I threw up; then I threw up until it hurt.

“Jack.”

“No. Sam, get the fuck away from me.” Slumping down between toilet and sink, I buried my head in the arms across my knees, so fucking conscious of the toilet, the long stem of the sink, all the shit around them. Tears came pretty easy, enough to leave me shaking and wishing to God my old man were here. I hadn’t needed my old man in a very long time, and it only made me worse knowing a big part of me craved him now, but it was that or think about Gray, about Jan. And that just hurt too much. Thumping the wall, I cried out. “Get the fuck out, now.”

Then the stupidest fucking thing; the cap off the toothpaste had fallen on the floor and was inches from my feet.

I stared at it for a minute, just counting the ridges, the play of light off its round opening, then I was holding it in my hand, up and looking for the toothpaste, just to fit it back together, drop it casual on the sink. Three times I turned, three times I didn’t see it, and then I pretty much lost the ability to see anything after that point.