Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Four (25 page)

huffing out a laugh.

“What?” Jake shot him a puzzled look, taking his own chair.

“Oh, I was just thinking about the first time you ever cooked for

me. Hot dogs and macaroni and cheese, if I remember it right. But it

wasn’t the stuff out of a box. It was your mama’s recipe, baked in the

oven, with the buttered breadcrumbs, and all. And the hotdogs had to

be a certain kind.” He laughed softly, “I always figured you’d turn out

to be some fancy chef, somewhere. I’m not too far off.”

Jake laughed with him, at the memory of having made a special

trip to the store, to buy all-beef hotdogs, because they were ‘the best’.

He shrugged not really able to look at his friend, for some

inexplicable reason, just then, “I just wanted it to be good, for you D.”

Catching the double-meaning immediately, Dylan smiled, letting

that damned drawl creep back into his voice, “It was, Jake. It was real

good.”

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 140

Jake nodded studying his food, which looked and smelled

delicious, but he was suddenly unable to take a single bite of. He

rearranged it with his fork, stabbed at a chunk of steak, dropped it

back in his plate, and rearranged it again. He had to know, damn it!

And right now.

Chewing his bottom lip uncertainly, he took a deep breath and

went for it, “I’ve loved you since about half-past forever, D. I know

we didn’t talk about ‘after’, and I’ll understand if you…if this was a

one-time thing, but I gotta’ know. What now?”

Dylan chewed the bite of steak thoughtfully, a small, mischievous

smile played at his lips, “Well…I took care of all the chores, before I

came in. It’s too late to swim, so I guess we could watch TV, or

maybe have a beer on the patio and listen to the grass grow.”

Dropping his head into his hands, Jake shook his head, mumbling,

“Damn it, D, I’m trying to have a serious conversation here!”

Dylan snorted out a laugh at his obvious agitation. Jake had never

been good at talking about the things that bothered him. Some things

just would never change, which Dylan found reassuring. Feeling like

he’d pressed his luck about as far as he could without seriously

pissing his friend off, he reached out, and cupped Jake’s stubbled

cheek, causing the other man to look up, eyes pleading for an answer.

Dylan sighed, an earnest look on his face, prepared for once to be

completely serious, “Truth is, Jake, I think I’ve been in love with you

probably just as long. I can’t say we’ll last forever, because who really

knows? I
do
know I love you, Jake. I think I have, at least a little,

from the first time we met. I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.”

Jake offered him a crooked smile, “Well, good help
is
kind of hard

to find…”

Uttering a low growl Dylan proceeded to kiss him until he

couldn’t see straight, before standing and leading him in the direction

of the sofa. The meal grew cold, as they made love slowly in the

dying rays of the summer sun streaming through the windows, neither

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 141

caring about anything except each other. They would deal with

tomorrow, and all of their tomorrows, as they came along. As he

drifted in the happy afterglow, holding a sleeping Dylan in his arms,

Jake realized he felt completed in a way he’d never known. He had

everything, now, that he would ever need.

FIN

Author bio:
In real life, R.L. Ferguson makes a living as a cook.

She is the single parent of two lovely pre-teen daughters, and is the

human staff for two cats, a horse, and a newly acquired Australian

shepherd puppy. She has been writing short stories and journaling

since the age of 9, but has recently returned to writing after a 5-year

hiatus. Her preferred genre is m/m erotic romance. She lives a

‘selectively secluded’ life, on a farm in northeast Missouri.

She firmly believes the famous Eleanor Roosevelt quote: “Well-

behaved women rarely make history.”

She can be found on Twitter at
: http://twitter.com/clvr_witch

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 142

S.A. Garcia – BOUND TO BE SUITED (BDSM/Humor)

Genre:
contemporary

Tags:
leather, voyeurism, BDSM, sex, control,

Dear Author,

humor, HEA, rock-n-roll, business men gone

These men need their tale

wild

told, don’t you agree? Is it a

Words
: 6,775

delicious case of forced

seduction? A high-powered

BOUND TO BE SUITED

attorney seeking an outlet

after work? A Master and

by S.A. Garcia

submissive playing out a

scene? What is the story

July 13, 12:15PM New York City

behind two such different

“Fucking bloody hell!” Glass number six

men ending up in such a

situation? And why aren’t

sailed across the specious room. The fragile

you writing it right this

vessel smashed again the teal wall in impressive

minute? :D

force. Sharp fragments tinkled down, slid, and

[PHOTO: Backstage, a man

piled against the previous five glasses’ remains.

in a business suit is tied by

The result? A sparkly pyramid worthy of any

ropes spread-eagle, upright.

drunken pharaoh crept higher up the abused

His suit jacket and dress

shirt are open, his chest

wall.

being caressed on the right

Glad to see his aim held true. Sebastian

side by a shirtless man in

scowled at the stained wall. “Fucking cunt.

leather pants standing

behind him. It reads: “Wild

Fucking bloody cunt.” Wait, what the fuck,

gay sex with men in suits? I

calling betraying Nonce a cunt swerved into the

would”.]

wrong territory. “Fucking bloody hole.” Better,

Love and dirty inspirational

yes indeedy-doodie with a cherry on top, much

thoughts,

better.

Fae

Asshole, wait, try again, how about a black

hole. Sebastian clapped in agreement. During

their

relationship

his

Nonce

gradually

transformed a deceptive endless pit of despair,

yes, what a perfect description. Sebastian had

poured in his love and Nonce had gleefully

sucked him dry. Fucking greedy Nonce

consumed Sebastian’s rarely offered love. He

devoured love and affection like an emotional

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 143

vampire. In turn Nonce supplied physical betrayal and mental pain.

How embarrassing. Sebastian Warchylde, hardcore king of speed

metal, had been screwed over by a slim, sweet keyboardist possessing

a pale face worthy of Aphrodite. Bloody hell, the pale, pretty boys

always weakened the singer’s sexual knees. But for Nonce to skip out

and end up with Biter Tartan of Bag of Maggots really massacred

Sebastian’s heart and ego. Wait until prissy Nonce discovered that

when drunk Tartan’s favorite sex sport involved golden showers down

the throat. Sebastian gave the new romance three months. Nonce

better not scamper back to him, hell no. He’d discover the romantic

gates locked against his wiles.

Before Sebastian took the romantic plunge last year Healy had

warned Sebastian not to bring Nonce into the band. Did Sebastian

listen to sage Healy’s advice? Of course not. During their time

together poor Healy had watched Sebastian succumb to too many

pretty boys. Once Healy realized Sebastian thought with his cock

again, the brilliant guitarist abandoned advising Sebastian against

emotional self-destruction. He stepped back and waited for the next

disaster.

Not listening to wise advice left Sebastian feeling more like

Sebastian Silverman, geeky musician always failing at frail romance.

Yeah, the pimply-faced musical genius who hid behind long black

hair had finally clawed his way into music’s celestial heights but why

did he always ruin his romances?

Wads of money never dissolved the initial loser sting. Epic failure

always bit the ankles in neat, bloody snips. Now Sebastian’s paranoia

grew so rampant he wondered if the pretty boys wanted him, fame or

fortune. How sick.

Fresh bourbon splashed into the new glass. He had lined up twelve

glasses for destruction. Sebastian sipped. He thought the strange

splatter wall pattern needed to feature more drastic tentacles. His next

glass needed to provide more splash. The glass pyramid needed more

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 144

perfect balance. Everything needed more everything times fucking

everything needed. Hell, the word tangle sounded like a lyric.

Before he performed the next toss, the front desk line politely

beeped for attention. How the fuck did the only working phone in

Sebastian’s palace managed to interrupt his game? Sebastian almost

dumped his drink on the annoying phone. His free hand strangled the

slim black handset. “Excuse the bloody hard fuck, what part of no

fucking interruption do you not fucking understand?”

The respectful voice on the opposite end barely broke a whisper.

“Please, Mr. Warchylde, a messenger from Mr. Dom Atkins is here

for you. You did ask…”

Hearing the magic words straightened Sebastian to attention. His

invigorated spine yanked him into the upright, locked position. “Yeah,

sorry, send him right the fuck up. Astrid, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sorry for barking at you like a right mad cunt. I am on edge

today. Please send him up.”

Astrid’s cringing voice gained a little more strength. “Yes, Mr.

Warchylde.”

The phone slammed down. Fuck. Sebastian hated acting like a

pompous ass. His mind pictured his stern Yorkshire Mum slapping

him in the head for daring to inflect base rudeness upon others. Yeah,

yeah, right, sorry, apologies all around. Blaming the bourbon sounded

cliché but why not?

He needed his yellow notepad. There, great and wow, a

functioning pen sat alongside. Sebastian scribbled a note reminding

him to purchase expensive tropical flowers for Astrid, something

colorful and cheerful. His therapist really drilled thanking others into

his skull, especially when he acted like King Asshole. Barking at poor

Astrid slid into the King Asshole column.

Never in any blue baboon moon did Sebastian imagine needing a

therapist to tell him not to act like an asshole. Too bad his Mum had

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 145

passed away five years ago. Strict Grace Wardmore-Symthe

Silverman would have set him straight. Problem was Mum tried to set

him straight in a serious manner. Mum never endured her gay son.

She went to her deathbed denying his sexuality.

No wonder Sebastian drank and turned into King Asshole. Still,

his band name celebrated his parents in an obscure, fractured manner,

yeah, just like his fractured childhood.

Enough, stop, obey the blinking red signs looming ahead. Hands