Chapter 9
Next morning, Spencer woke early, the sun still milky in the sky.
His mouth parched, his body mildly aching, he turned to the nightstand, surprised, that there was a bottle of water there, but it felt divine, to take large swigs, letting it trickle down his chin.
He wiped it off, and turned to Duncan, sleeping face down, the covers slipped down to his ass, barely covering it.
His legs were bare, one arm clutching a pillow to his face.
Soft breathing. Spencer’s eyes glided down his shoulders, his spine, almost tempted to glide his hand down too, on that skin marred with bruises and scars, when he caught the scars on either side of Duncan’s hips.
He had maybe felt them, maybe, a hazy memory of his hands gliding down his hips as they had fucked the night before…
the skin different there, but he had dismissed it, floating, stoned.
Frowning when he pushed himself up to sit to see them better.
Eyes going a bit wide. Surely not… he glided his hand on the right one, tracing that badly scarred, abused skin which hadn’t seen any stitches.
Four cuts crossed by a fifth one. Hard lines.
Deep cuts which had healed as best as they could. Same on the other side.
Duncan stirred at the touch, waking slowly, knowing where Spencer’s hand was. He kept his eyes closed. Shit… there was no way he could escape this, he knew, musing a bit on what he should say. Fuck… Turning on his back, looking up into his eyes.
“What are those scars?”
Duncan pushed an arm behind his head. “What do you think they are?”
Spencer shrugged, but that lingering horror was in his eyes. “Somebody did these to you?”
Duncan sighed, a bit puzzled Spencer seemed to care at all. “Yes.”
“But they look like…” His lips parted, waiting maybe for a different answer from the one he suspected.
“Like?”
“Like tallies…”
Duncan’s lips curled up, bitter. “You’re cleverer than you think you are.”
“That kind? Like in…” He was losing his words as he felt his breathing quicken.
“That kind. Just say it. Don’t keep it in.”
“You have tallies like these in porn… when guys keep a score on another guy’s ass or…” Spencer swallowed, a genuine fright in his eyes as he whined a laugh. “Tell me it’s not fucking true…”
“Why would I make it up?” His own heart was hammering at the memories his words had brought to the light.
Spencer was breathing softly, his eyes a bit wide, as his lush hair caught the rays of the sun licking up the walls.
Duncan’s heart melted a bit at his sight, even if he knew feeling anything was utter madness, he didn’t want to shock him either. Wondering for a moment if Spencer would let him, but then, he just took that limp hand in his own, rubbing his thumb on that cold skin.
“It was what you think it was. When I was captured… and rescued then… you found it out, just not what I had to heal from… well, not just this…”
Spencer’s eyes flooded with wrath, but he left his hand. “How?”
“With a knife…” He pulled a small face, the memories ramming into his throat. Fuck… “Uh… let’s just leave this, ok?”
Spencer just watched him, trying to find that abysmal hate he had for him, and somehow failing. Failing, that hate melting under his tortured grey eyes, his touch, that warm hand around his trembling one, his thumb rubbing on it, on that pale skin.
“I’m sorry…” The words, soft, as if they had died on his tongue. He felt dizzy, visions intruding on the canvas of his mind, the blood draining out of his head.
“Hey…” Duncan sat up and caught him, laying him back on the pillow.
He put his hand on that clammy forehead, then took the bottle of water, tilting Spencer’s head up.
“Drink a bit… You shouldn’t work yourself up.
It’s past history.” Trying to bottle all those memories pouring out like a dark tide.
Failing a bit, but he was more concerned about Spencer also becoming sick without his morning drink.
He stroked that lush hair out of his face, feeling how he had soaked in seconds.
“I don’t have anything stronger here… and if we walk out together…
” He was almost sure he would lose his job, though, hoping nobody had seen Spencer sneak up.
Spencer breathed softly against that sudden nausea, trying not to faint. Somehow, he had found Duncan’s hand on the sheet and grabbed it. “I’ll walk back… I’ll be ok…”
“Eat something first?”
Spencer smiled feebly. “Maybe…”
“I’ll make some pancakes.”
Feeling the mattress bend as he got up, hearing him walk out.
The toilet flushing. The sink’s tap. The door.
The kitchen cabinets. The tap again. The fridge.
Spencer was floating a bit, trying to stay conscious, to tame his trembling hands.
Letting his tears pearl, because he could mourn whatever the fuck, alone.
His mask gone for a fleeting moment, he got so scared of himself, that he had to moan and turn to his side, bite the soft pad under his thumb.
That pain… washing the other one out… so good…
He might have slumbered because he woke to a shake to his shoulder, meeting Duncan’s eyes, the scent of pancakes and syrup filling the air.
“Hey… breakfast?”
Spencer pushed himself up to sit, dizzy. “Ok…” Eyeing that plate which got pushed into his lap. The raspberries on top, swimming in syrup.
Duncan sat next to his legs on the bed, holding a plate too. “Some fruit will do you good.” Looking at the raspberries, he remembered that cake sliding down that white wall. Chuckling a bit, he pushed a bite in his mouth.
Spencer looked up. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me though? Now that you laughed.”
Duncan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Ah, alright… before I took this job, my boyfriend, almost fiancé, kicked me out… and I had bought a raspberry and cream cake, and flung it against the wall when he broke up with me… over the phone…” He had to laugh a bit to kill that misery surging up.
Spencer snickered, eyeing him as he pushed a bite in his mouth, the sugar finding his blood, that sweet and sour taste flooding his senses. “I see…”
“I left it there too… on the floor…”
Their eyes meeting, somehow, that grief and darkness had to be laughed away. Spencer’s miserable nausea, their pain, those dark thoughts churning like storm clouds. Laughing, until tears started pearling out of their eyes, and they had to stop eating, holding their plates as their shoulders shook.
It was Spencer who realized first he had never done anything like this before, killing that laughter. “Yeah, well… good on you for being so vengeful.”
Duncan shrugged, wiping his tears off. “I mean, he deserved it… so…” That joy had turned into an icy grief in a moment, a moment when he let his guard down. Fuck. Eating to push that clenched throat apart.
Spencer’s laughter had turned into that icy hate he knew so well. He put the plate down. “I have to go…” He eyed the wrinkled sheets, those sheets stained with sweat and cum. “We made a right mess…” Almost a smile there, his skin warming at his memories. Fuck this.
Duncan shrugged. “It’ll go in the wash, no worries.” Even if, somehow, he didn’t even want to wash the sheets yet… he glanced at Spencer. “You’ll be grand walking there on your own?”
Spencer smiled, dark. “I could manage to sneak here… I might be able to manage to sneak back…” Giving him a mocking wink.
“Alright.” Watching Spencer stand on wobbly legs, pick his clothes up off the floor. That scarce clothing pulled on fast.
He raked his hair back, and turned to Duncan, and for a fleeting moment, Spencer looked regal, like on that portrait in his room. For a fleeting moment, his eyes lived too, until they filled with scorn.
“Well… I’ll see you around. I might go out soon, so be ready.”
Duncan didn’t move. “Sure…” Wondering how fast would Spencer reveal their night and have him kicked out.
Watching him leave, his swaying hips, hearing the door.
He blew a breath, putting his plate down as he leant back on the bed.
Their scents lingering. Fuck… He’s a hateful little shit…
doesn’t deserve any feelings… Knowing he had been probably used and discarded like a rag, he felt a bit like shit, a bit mad at himself that he had gone all the way. Fuck… maybe damage control…
He took his phone and dialled, waiting for that smooth voice.
“You’re either calling to resign your client, or you slept with the young man.”
Duncan couldn’t speak for a few seconds. “How?”
Sinclair chuckled. “So the latter. Ah… and what do you want me to do?”
“Nothing… I wanted you to know first, in case they call you to terminate my contract.”
“And why would they?”
“I mean…”
“Knowing you, the young man must have been very insistent… and let’s be honest, looking at his photos, one would not blame you for succumbing to his charms.”
“Your flowery language doesn’t make this any better.”
“You have guilt? Deal with it then. The rest is up to the young man. Either he tells and then has you dumped, or he keeps quiet. Whether you keep fucking or not is none of my business. Unless you want to share…”
“Fuck you!” Sighing, he paced the room, raking his hair back. “I don’t know what he’ll do…”
“Sounds to me he has you already wrapped around his fingers. I would wage he’s going to trample your heart to a pulp. Good luck.”
The call cut, and Duncan looked at his phone, lost. Fuck.
Knowing that Sinclair was right, that somehow, Spencer had crawled under his skin already, when, maybe, this was all a game to him.
Nothing more. A cruel game. He rubbed the back of his neck, that small anger soaring up at himself.
Just what you needed…. Great fucking going… Just great…
Sure enough Spencer hadn’t called all day, and not the next morning either, walled up in his room, he only accepted their butler delivering food up to his door.