Antidote (Don't) (16 page)

Jack chuckled and that touch to my jaw traced around into my hair, where he rubbed strands together almost distractedly. “Taking the piss, huh?”

“Just a little.”

He forced my head back hard, straining the muscles. Now he reared up against me, his one hand crushed almost painfully into my balls, the threat clear enough against the backdrop of my grunt. Christ, I’d forgotten he did this for a living, making play, professional.

“A little?” said Jack, against my neck, squeezing harder and nearly forcing out a cry.

“A lot. Jack, kiss me, please.”

A brush of lips came at my jaw, the threat there still against my balls. “Say please again, boy.”

“Jack.” I groaned. “Please.” And it came, just a brief touch of lips against lips. Soft, so tender, and betraying every hard grip in my hair, every cruel threat against my groin. This Dom, he wasn’t so tough, just wanted touch, love, and he purred so goddamn contentedly when he found it. But something had set him off; I didn’t know what, just wanted to fall at the feet of who ever or whatever it was that was pushing this side of his need and—

“Jack’s car’s around the back. Jan’s is in the courtyard. They’re here somewhere,” said someone, and Jack was suddenly alert, head out of my neck and looking back towards the dining hall door.

“I’ll check in here, then get some supper ready,” said Ed, from in the hall.

“Old fuck,” said Jack, and I dropped my head against his shoulder, chuckling.

“Aw come the fuck on,” he murmured as the door to the dining room eased open; then he was suddenly away from me a touch, hurriedly tucking in my shirt with heat filling his cheeks, a quiet chuckle bit back as he caught his bottom lip between teeth.

“There you are—oh—” said Ed, freezing in the doorway. Jack shuffled away, suddenly whistling, scratching at his head, and gazing very innocently around the dining room. “So,” he said, managing to find some art on the wall, “this is a really interesting picture—”

“Painting,” I mumbled, hiding it under my hand.

“By some bloke—”

“—Woman—”

“—Bird. Who likes...” He seemed to really struggle as he looked at it, shrugging. “Grass?”

“Landscapes.”

“Landscaping.”

Oh for... I looked away, trying not to chuckle.

“Hmmmmm. Hungry?” said Ed, coming in, narrowing his eyes, then grabbing at the ice bucket on the table.

“
No
.” The shout from Jack startled me a touch, let alone Ed, as Jack reached over trying to pull the bucket back and sending a few ice cubes onto the table from the Tug-of-War that went on. “Let me get that, Ed. I’ll—”

Ed tried to wrestle it off Jack and I couldn’t understand the fascination on Jack’s part as he wrestled the old man.

“Jack,” I said.

“It’s okay, Jan. I’ll take it,” said Ed. “It’s been in the family for genera—”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s old,” said Jack, and he seemed to curse and spin away when Ed managed to pull it from him. “It’s why I chose it.”

“Please, don’t choose it again. Ever,” said Ed, frowning distastefully at him, then heading for the door. “I’ll arrange something proper for you gentlemen to eat. You know, so you don’t have to resort to cannibalism and carry on eating each other.”

“Fuck,” mumbled Jack, shifting just a second afterwards and slipping in front of him. “At least let me carry the bucket for you. It looks heavy.”

Ed came to an abrupt halt and glanced warily at Jack. “What’s in the bucket, Jack?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Jack gave his best smile. “Nothing.” He lost it as Ed reached in the bucket and pulled something out from amongst the ice cubes.

“
Jack
.” That came from me as I doubled, choking laughter and fighting a deep blush for both of us. Ed was holding up a very homemade-looking ice dildo, one covered in a red and ribbed condom and giving a huge, thick cucumber a run for its money.

“I... I can explain that,” said Jack, scratching at his head again.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Really?” He actually looked a little perplexed that he didn’t have to offer at least something. “Because, well, you really only need a bit of ten-inch ribbed tubing, lube the inside, line it with a ribbed condom, then fill it with water and—”

“I really insist you don’t finish that,” said Ed, dropping the dildo back in the bucket and turning away.

“At least let me empty the bucket for you,” said Jack, glancing back, giving a helpless shrug, before going after Ed. “My mess. I clean up my own messes.”

“Then dress yourself.”

I couldn’t stop hiding my chuckle anymore and finished tidying myself up knowing how ruffled Jack still looked. His shirt was pulled out on one side, some of the buttons undone: everything about him still caught mid-heat and up for it.

“Kinky. Would you like me to dress for any particular occasion?” said Jack as they started to disappear down the hall.

“Decency?”

“Hey, wash your mouth out saying that. Keep this... decency away from my delicate ears, okay?”

“I will so long as you never use my walk-in freezer for fashioning sex toys again.”

“You know people get paid millions for ice sculpting.”

“Not when its cock shaped, Jack; they just get arrested.”

And whatever else was said was lost to the length of the corridor, and I closed my eyes to my own chuckling and tried to ignore the growling in my stomach. Food. I needed food.

Giving a last glance around to check everything was back in its less heated place, I took a left out of the dining hall and headed into the kitchen. The ice bucket was on the side with a plastic bag around it, evidence bagged and tagged, and I bit back another chuckle wondering if there was a note attached to it somewhere telling Gray exactly why, where, and, well—it was Jack. Again.

I managed to pull a salad sandwich together as noise drifted through from the bottom of the stairway. Making sure everywhere was again tidy, sandwich in hand, I munched my way through one half as I followed the noise.

True to form, and obviously having gotten away with poisoning the Doms and subs at the Christmas party so he didn’t have to don paper party hat and hit the Wii dance party, Gray was back and obviously letting off a little seasonal steam with Jack. From the sounds of the kicks and grunts, they were sparring.

Sparring?

My cock found life with that thought.

Both were shirtless, Jack in just his black suit trousers, Gray in lighter charcoal, and both bare footed. Gray had tempted me with a few lessons, but this sport was something worth sitting back and watching when it came to Jack and Gray. With Jack, it was a way to keep his body toned, a way to give back to the kids he taught, but with Gray, there was something about his stance that told me he humoured Jack, held back, because the kind of fights Gray got involved in only upped the missing person statistics.

Jack could hold his own, and proved it by sweeping Gray’s feet from underneath him, sending him to the floor, to which Jack then did this victory flip, landing lightly on his feet, adding a little dance to finish, and shouting, “Oh, yeah. Who’s the daddy, Who’s—”

He caught sight of me and he was already trying to hide his grin, his eyes giving me plenty of pleading on not saying anything over the ice dildo or the bucket. “I thought you were tired?”

I was? Finishing chewing some of my sandwich, I padded over to the row of tables. “Don’t mind me,” I said, resting back against one and enjoying the show. I waved them both on. “Continue.”

Gray had gotten back to his feet and was looking over as he dusted himself down. After a moment, his smile fell.

“What?” I said, noticing his long stare. He looked away, and I frowned. Then the weight around my neck was more noticeable as I remembered the collar. After resting my sandwich on the table, I reached up to slip the collar off and let it rest behind me before tucking back into my sandwich.

“Hey,” said Jack, frowning, then starting to come over. “Did I say you could take that off you—”

Gray caught his foot as he passed and sent Jack tumbling to the floor with a
hmph
.

“Pick on me if you have a problem,” said Gray as he reached down and pulled Jack to his feet. Pushing him away, Gray sent a kick to the back of Jack’s legs that would have taken him down again, but Jack jumped out of its path with a chuckle. “Ooh.” Jack waggled his eyebrows. “Gray... he wants to p-lay.” He took up a stance, body side-on to Gray, legs wide apart, wiped a thumb over his nose, then did this
come on, then
with his hand. “Better Dom up, Raoul. Make it real fucking peach—”

Jack caught a kick to his ribs that instantly sent him down, doubling over on the floor with a grunt, followed by a quick glance up that said that had more than hurt. “Fuck—”

My sandwich went on the table seeing Jack stagger to his feet, looking pretty badly winded, one arm now across his ribs.

“Fucking peachy, Jack?” snarled Gray, and Jack looked a little confused as Gray threw another kick at his ribs that was about as friendly as the last one.

“What?” Jack caught Gray by the ankle, then pushed him away, taking a few paces back. “Time out,” he said angrily, and that meant he was one step away from calling his safe word. I’d learned that over the past few months with his contracts. But Gray was already coming at him with a roundhouse kick. Jack ducked, but at the last moment, Gray quickly changed direction to anticipate Jack’s duck and caught Jack a vicious blow on the jaw with the back of his heel.

“
Gray
.” That one came from me as blood spilled from a split lip. “
Jesus fucking Christ
.”

Jack had stumbled back a touch, his back hitting a table, forcing out a grunt, and Gray was suddenly on him, grabbing his wrists, forcing him down over it.

“
Life still fucking peachy for you, is it, Jack
?” shouted Gray in his face.

“Off,” snarled Jack and I was there, trying to get Gray to do just that as he grabbed Jack by the jaw. He brought Jack up close, close enough I swore he wanted to lick the spilled blood, taste it.

“Shall I show you how
fucking peachy
real bastards get, you fuck?”

Jack went to say something, but Gray never even gave him chance, just pushed him away, leaving Jack there frowning. He went to push up, looking seriously confused, then something washed through Jack’s eyes.

What the fuh? Stepping heatedly up to him, wiping the blood from his lip, I gave Jack a hard kiss, then pushed away with a snarl and went after Gray. He was in the darkness of his lounge, pouring himself a drink as I went over and pulled him around to face me. “What the fuck was that in there?”

Gray pulled away from my grip on his arm, then took a long drink of his bourbon, ignoring me by doing that whole denying a sub acknowledgement by not looking. I put my face in his, forced him to look. “Trust? Respect?” I snarled. “Where the hell did all that go, huh?
You drew blood
.”

Gray let his hand fall to his side, his drink spilling over his fingers as he gently tapped his thigh. “You want to see trust and respect? You want to see that fuck of a sub’s trust and respect?”

Gray went over to his computer, touched a few icons, and the flat-screen came on-line. A few more taps, a room came into view, voices, laughter, singing—a house party from the sound of it.

I moved a little closer.

The lounge was packed with bodies, music blared in the distance, paper peeling like a scab from the walls and pulling dry plaster away from the walls with it. No lightshade kept the ceiling light company, taking with it every ounce of taste as every now and again, whoever was holding the camera would get jostled.

“Smile for the camera, Jack,” said a voice from behind the lens.

All his youth came into view. Caught taking a swig of beer away from all the other party goers but one, Jack stood next to Steve. Steve. They’d both been under Cutter’s knife, but the home movie made their history more real, more vivid. Although he was a good five years older than Jack, Steve looked so much younger than him, paler, thinner. Jack’s smile was shy but with an edge that told the camera user he’d get hit if he didn’t get lost. And he proved it a moment later, smothering the lens and pushing the camera up. The image on screen blurred for a moment as Jack was heard saying, “Get the fuck out of my face.”

The camera focused on Jack again, but now from a safe distance away. Jack’s black hair was shorter this time, shaved at the sides with tram lines giving him a hard-edged fashion look, yet certainly carrying that un-tempered look that he still hadn’t managed to shake in maturity.

Jack looked irritated that the camera was back on him again, and it took Steve’s tug at his arm to stop him coming over.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” came a voice from behind the lens. “Cutter’s got a few friends out back, Jack.” A pause. “Wants you, baby.”

I frowned, remembering that voice. Mark Shaw. How could you not recognise Mark Shaw’s voice? And yet Jack had forgotten all about him growing up. Not surprising, really. His head wasn’t in a good place back then. Yet Mark had still taken exception to Jack forgetting, then of course even more exception to when Jack had gone under Gray’s protection to get Cutter sent down. Mark had attachments to Cutter that were even unhealthier than Jack’s.

“Get the fuck out of my face, then,” said Jack, giving Mark the finger; then he took a fresh beer from those on offer on a very ill-looking paste board spread with a cheap plastic table cloth. His empty beer went in a black bag underneath it. Everything going on there looked wrong on so many levels all ready. Mark kept back, casting the camera at Steve, who only shook his head. Then Mark followed Jack through the crowds of teenagers. Jack seemed to snake through them, politely so, until someone stepped back and knocked into him, spilling Jack’s beer and crowding into his personal space.

“
Th’ fuck off
.” He shoulder-shoved the older kid out of the way, making him fall. A cheer went up through the lounge, beers held high. Then the other boy was up, inciting more cheers now he was back in Jack’s face again.