Don't... 04 Backlash (31 page)

“You sure about
this?” That came from the audio. A two-way link was set up,
allowing Gabe to talk as well as see and listen. Trace stood by
Jack in the hall. Jack had his arms folded across his chest, and
Gabe switched a look over to the corner where Jack’s unease kept
wandering. Craig stood by the double doors, black case at his feet.
His smile back was easy enough, although his arms were folded, too.
Jack’s warned that personal space needed to be respected, or else;
Craig’s said personal space would be breached without a moment’s
thought. Trace stood almost between them, keeping both at arm’s
length.

Gabe walked
over to where the TV monitor nestled in some fancy unit. Evening
had set in, casting a few unwelcome shadows into the hall, and a
little adjust of the contrast and focus took care of the ailment.
Light from the outside pool didn’t help, only managing to give
Trace’s and Jack’s outlines almost an alien hue.

“Hey, peaches,”
Trace said, hitting Jack’s arm lightly and drawing Gabe’s attention
back to the camera. “You okay with this?”

Jack shook his
head and Trace nodded as Craig shuffled uneasily, his foot catching
the case and forcing out a scraping on the floor. A punch bag swung
freely in the far corner, and it told how this hall was mostly used
for Jack and Gray’s sparring sessions. Gabe shook his head at
Trace, knowing it had been done specifically to raise hackles in
Jack, unsettle him a touch, and get him in fighting mode. This
wouldn’t be Gabe’s choice, but he was just an observer now.

Trace rubbed at
Jack’s shoulders, giving a heavy sigh with it. “I’m not gonna piss
on your training with telling you how to breathe, peaches, but I do
promise this’ll stop the moment you tell me you need out.”

Jack nodded
briefly, the look a little stiff as Trace smiled. Gabe raised a
brow when that grin was directed at the camera.

“Jack tell you
about the tights, Gabe?”

Jack groaned
and an arm slipped around his shoulder.

“Tights?” The
corner of Gabe’s mouth flickered. Jack tried to wrestle Trace’s arm
off his shoulder, but Trace ruffed his hair, leaving Jack scowling
up through black locks. “What do you need to tell me about the
tights, Jack?” added Gabe.

“Don’t you
fucking start.”

“Tights?” Craig
was already up off the wall. “Jack, what the fuck are you doing
with tights? You’re not... not...”

“Oh fuh—” Jack
buried the curse, but the blush was there on his cheeks, he wasn’t
going to get away with that. “You can shut it,” he said, pointing
at Craig. “Just do what I’m not paying a fucking penny for you to
do.”

But Craig
couldn’t seem to shake the image, and he looked grief stricken.
“You don’t—?” He groaned. “You don’t let us guys down by wearing
bloody lady tights, Jack?”

“Man
stockings,” said Jack, looking like he was ready to dive at Craig’s
feet and knock himself out with the sedative just to escape. “And
to keep my bollocks warm—”

“On the cold
floor.” Trace snorted. “Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses.” He was
caught reaching to grab at Jack’s T-shirt to tug it up, but Jack
hit his touch away.

“Off, get the
fuck off.”

“Ooh.” Trace
looked down Jack’s body. “Bet they shape that ass of yours damn
good, peaches.”

“Fuck off,”
said Jack as Craig buried a chuckle. But Trace was having none of
it, and Gabe grinned seeing Trace finally tug Jack’s shirt up a
little; there was a real curiosity there to see if they did shape
Jack’s ass. And as skin was exposed, so too was just a fine black
line of stocking that touched lower than the small dimple in Jack’s
back.

“
Not a
garter guy, then?” said Trace as Jack yelped and tried to rush both
hands down his body to get the T-shirt out of Trace’s grip. “Hm...
could do some serious teeth and tongue work around the clips to
work ’em free, Jack.” Jack got a flash of eye. “Then there’s what
to do with the clips after. Would you moan for me if I
played
peg Jack’s
balls
?”

Jack levelled a
finger, then spun around and down so fast, taking Trace’s legs from
underneath him. It gave Gabe a look at some of Jack’s martial art
skills, and he winced at just how easy Trace was taken down. But
Jack was a little unsteady, maybe a little out of practice, and
only choked back laughter as Trace caught his foot with his own,
then grabbed him by the waist and pulled him down.

Jack landed on
top of Trace, the bigger man’s arms circling Jack’s waist and
keeping him close as Jack tried to roll away.

“Off—”

“What do you
think, Gabe? When we write the contract, fancy those tights shaping
Jack’s ass when you scene him?”

Jack was
laughing hard, legs and arms... everywhere. “He... fuck me, Trace.
Gabe... Gabe’s not that sadistic. You’re not that fucking sadistic,
Gabe.”

“Oh...” Trace
added a run of tickling up Jack’s side. “You need to ask babydoll
about his trip to the Florida Keys a while back, what the Dom in
him had Dare wearing.”

Jack
stopped struggling and Gabe was glad his grin couldn’t be seen back
here. Craig put his fingers in his ears, too professional to close
his eyes, but looking close to singing out
I can’t hear this shit, don’t make me hear
this shit.

“How the fuck
did you squeeze Dare into a skirt?” Jack was looking up at the
camera. “We are talking skirts here?”

“A bikini with
a skirt, actually. A shimmery, baby-pink one. And pigtails,” said
Trace and Jack twisted to look down at him.

“Scrunchies?”

“Huh?” said
Trace.

Jack waggled a
strand of his long black hair. “Y’know, scrunchies? Hair tying
bollocks... things.”

“Pink bows,”
said Gabe. “Think Roger Taylor, ‘I Want to Break Free.’”

“No?” Jack was
back with the camera. “Seriously?” There was a wicked grin. “Taylor
was goddamn sexy.”

“Fuck, Jack.
You’ve got a bony ass.” Trace tried to wrestle Jack off his hips.
“Keep fucking still.”

“You get any
pictures?” said Jack and this time Gabe laughed.

“I’ll show you
mine if you let me into seeing Gray’s DVD collection of you, in the
different gear he’s had you in.”

That was it,
Craig started humming now and Gabe swore it was a cover version of
“I Want to Break Free”, but for a whole different reason.

Pointing over
at Craig and nearly doubled from watching him, Jack cried out as
Trace finally tugged him off, now bringing his body on top of
Jack’s and pinning him on the floor. Jack buried his head in the
curve of Trace’s throat as he tried to control his laughter.

“Stop
giggling,” said Trace.

“Hey, manly
fucking chuckles down here.”

“What, in those
tights?” Trace’s hand wandered down Jack’s side. “Lemme look.”

“Fuck off,”
said Jack, giving a shove at Trace’s shoulder and forcing him to
thud onto the floor.

“Okay,” Trace
lifted his head for a split second. “You’re in for it now, Jacky
boy.”

Jack cried out
as Trace made a scramble for him...

Now on the
lounger, Dare kept a close watch on Jan. He’d moved moodiness away
from him more or less as soon as the door had closed behind Jack.
Dare had gotten out of the pool at some point, drying himself down
and getting dressed as Jan rested against the side of the pool,
head down. But as the moments passed, Jan had eased away.

The quiet
forced Jan to tilt his ear in the direction of the poolroom door.
He’d started sluggish laps again soon after, that same focus, that
same aggressive pull looking more and more tired, more ill. Dare
stayed close to the pool edge because of it.

The first week
of detox could cause heart failure; Jan was in the worst period:
just past the first twenty-four hours, and he had that sick itch,
that need to keep moving, for fear of falling and crawling to the
nearest med cabinet. There was no argument with Dare here on Jan
not knowing he was on detox: most hardcore addicts screamed and
sweated their selves through a different reality, not really
registering the detox in those first twenty-four hours. Crying hate
to it certainly, but never with it enough to say Jan would voice
his faults and flaws. Verbally acknowledging it would mean he’d
have to admit he had a problem first.

Dare looked
down at his hands, how some hurt was easier sculpted into the shape
of a desk, a cupboard... anything. He missed home. How the air had
been easier to breathe there than here. Jan hurt, was hurting. The
splash of water drew his attention as Jan pulled himself out and
padded over to the folded towels. He looked unsteady on his feet,
forcing Dare up off his as Jan nearly slipped. Then Jan started to
dry himself, stripping down under the cover of a huge towel that
kept his privacy at all times.

He’d been shy
over in America, and Jack had tried to pull him out of his shell
and had wound up collared at Gray’s feet for getting Jan involved
outside of his comfort levels. Now there seemed no level of comfort
there, no peace. Not even with Jack. Again Dare looked at his
hands, how it was easier to shape and smooth wood sometimes.

The way Jan
spoke to Jack... the venom and bite was something Dare hated
understanding. The frustration with what lay beneath the surface,
what niggled, dug deep. Most times lurking out of sight and leaving
a person needing to see the hurt in someone else’s eyes, to try and
understand the hurt through hurting those closest.

Dare turned his
hands this way... that. He’d been there. He’d chipped and sculpted
a life to his own needs to fuck almost as easily as he’d chipped
and sculpted wood, and he’d almost taken Kyle with him. Jan offered
a purity in soul that hadn’t been touched yet. The need was there
to keep it that way.

“I’m... I-I
just need to go and get a drink.”

Dare looked up,
hearing Jan. He stood scratching at his towel-tousled hair, slim
fitting jeans showing just how thin his frame was, but complemented
beautifully with a white shirt and black jumper. Trace was right:
even casual here came with a certain class. Illness, though, was
universal, and those rings around Jan’s eyes couldn’t be denied
now.

“Yeah, me too,”
said Dare, stretching his long limbs. He didn’t like the crack that
came from his knees. “I need a walk.”

“Don’t, all
right. I’m fine, I’m fine.” Jan came over and folded up Dare’s wet
towel. The intensity with keeping things clean and clear for Jack
was still there. Jan seemed to do it unconsciously, and that was
the sad part here; just how much he still loved Jack, soul-deep and
beyond any drugs. Their time together with Vince had proved that.
Jan just seemed to have forgotten it.

“I need a drink
too,” he said, watching him a little longer. Then Dare patted his
own stomach when Jan looked up at him. “Maybe get some food?”

Jan narrowed
his eyes for a moment; then a rumble had Jan rubbing at his own
stomach as he straightened. “Bacon buttey?” He didn’t look as
though he extended that offer to himself, though. His look said he
didn’t care too much about food.

“Bacon, but
no... buttey,” said Dare, not liking the sound of whatever the hell
a buttey was. There was a time and a place for butts; mention of
thick slices of bacon sizzling on them wasn’t one of them.

“Sandwich.” A
tug came at Dare’s T-shirt. “Or bacon bap, to be more precise.” Jan
looked really awkward. “Listen, ’bout earlier... sorry.”

Dare rubbed at
his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I know how the flu can mess with
your head.”

Guilt was there
then, and Jan almost, almost went to say something. Then he
stalled, looking away.

“You know, Jack
might need a drink too when he’s done.”

Jan nodded,
that guilt deepening. “Yeah. More than,” he said gently, even
offering a small smile. “More than.” He struggled away and Dare
glanced enviously at the pool table as he followed him out. He’d
kill for a beer and a game of pool that didn’t get him wet.

They’d reached
the bottom of the stairs and Jan turned his ear back towards the
hall.

“Jan?” said
Dare, gently. Jan was back with him for a minute, but then
something else caught his attention. Something that Dare hadn’t
heard or seen.

“You okay?”

“Hm?” He barely
looked at Dare. “I’m....” He gave a distracted scratch of head.
“I’m just... just gonna go back there, check... check something
out, all right?”

Dare followed
Jan’s turn of ear to where he knew Trace and Jack would be. “No.
Don’t interfere, Jan. For your own safety. Trace asked you to stay
away.”

“S’o...
s’kay....” Jan was already pulling away and heading down the
reception hall. Dare followed, and they passed the lounge, then a
few more doors, finally coming to a stop when voices drifted
through the fine wood and the hall beyond. Jan stood away from it,
eyes closed, head down—listening.