Chapter 15
On Edge
Jackson had hugged Rune goodbye. Rune was still fucked up over it.
He hadn’t signed or said anything, just came over, dragged him in, and smacked a kiss to his head before letting go and leaving.
Who were they to each other? Rune couldn’t say. He only knew he missed Jackson once he was gone, even though they hadn’t even spent much time together.
But Jackson’s presence calmed Oliver. So did Adam’s. Rune saw it, plain as day. Oliver’s gaze snapped to theirs constantly, checking in, keeping tabs, maintaining balance. They migrated together like magnets pulled by an unseen force.
Rune was starting to feel the pull, too. He fought it as hard as he could. He didn’t want to be owned, kept, or monitored. Freedom had always been his biggest driver. There was no use to having ties. Traditional employment killed the spirit. Families came laden with drama. Costly possessions added weight, forbidding ease of movement. Getting off, getting high, having fun, feeling alive—those were worth living for.
Or at least that’s what he would have said before the accident.
Now, when he needed to feel Oliver against him in the dark, when the doubts crept in, chewing at him, he didn’t know how to face it. He couldn’t resist the urge to seek out the comfort he craved, but the shame of caving to the itch was just as big as the reward.
It had hurt just as much to see Oliver’s shock at the blood and injury when Rune had arrived the night before as it had to feel the knife slashing at him. Truthfully, Oliver’s upset was worse because it hadn’t come with the rush of flying down the road through the dark, adrenaline pushing Rune to go faster, and faster. There had only been the stillness and the inability to explain.
He’d welcomed it when Oliver bent him over and reamed him out, giving it hard and angry. He’d even been eager for the humiliation of realizing Adam was there, watching, and the piercing jealousy of the kiss he’d shared with Oliver. All of it was deserved. None of it was enough.
Adam kept staring at him.
Rune would have thought he’d had quite an eyeful already, after witnessing the lovemaking between him and Oliver, and photographing it, then sitting beside where Rune lay after. Adam’s fingertips had skimmed over Rune’s arms, back, neck, chest, fingers, scrutinizing each tattoo and scar. Rune had laid there, submitting to it, while Oliver showered and changed. Adam had taken hold of one arm at a time, turning it this way and that, spreading Rune’s fingers. He’d tipped Rune’s chin up with the back of a knuckle to trace the edge of the climbing vines tattooed on his neck. There had been no hesitation in it, like Adam knew he had every right to touch or take of Rune as he liked.
Which maybe he did.
It had been in the rules, the first emails from Oliver, that he shared everything with Adam. They supported one another in whatever ways were needed. Adam needed more than Oliver, due to his lack of family support, and because Oliver was by far and away his closest friend. And from what Rune had seen, Oliver needed to be needed, so it worked out well.
The same reason why Oliver had fallen for David’s offer of Rune was the same reason he clung so hard to Jackson and Adam as well.
Adam sat in front of the couch on the ottoman, scrolling through photos from his trip on his tablet. Oliver made constant commentary, but Rune wasn’t interested, so he’d given Oliver permission to stop trying to sign everything too. Rune sat on the couch beside Oliver, with Oliver’s hand wrapping his upper thigh, the fingers curled around. Head reclined, Rune rested, and plotted. But he kept catching Adam’s gaze, and it kept giving him the chills.
Whatever Adam saw when he looked at Rune was going to influence his interactions with Oliver. They’d be discussing him, maybe planning ways to fuck him or use him, together, one at a time, or with friends. Rune didn’t really want to know. He didn’t want forewarning.
It was a given that Adam would be inside him soon. The knowledge of that had Rune scrambling for purchase, like he was sliding down a rocky slope. He used to solely be a top. He had done the fucking, called the shots, picked who he took. Now, he had relinquished all control.
The bitch of it was, he did trust Oliver. Completely.
He wished he didn’t. He wished he had the excuse to use to fight back.
Because Oliver was a good guy. He didn’t want to see the ugly shit Rune had in his face constantly, willingly. He didn’t want Rune leading monsters on a chase just to save some strangers, if it meant he could get hurt or die.
And Rune didn’t know what to do with that.
So he reclined and felt Adam’s gaze like another set of fingers fondling him.
The image of that photo he’d taken earlier haunted Rune.
It showed how hard Oliver was going to fight to keep Rune safe, and how willing Rune was to do what he wanted anyway, no matter the casualties it created.
Maybe Adam was pissed at him. Maybe he was plotting ways to keep Rune caged and spare Oliver’s feelings.
The complications around Rune were a web. Adam was the razor-sharp blade ready to slice through and send the ends tumbling down. Oliver was the force behind the blade, driving it on, invisible but more responsible for each slice than the weapon itself.
The next time Rune looked over at the others, Adam was focused on his tablet. Oliver was watching Rune.
Rune signed, I’m leaving soon.
Oliver said, over-enunciating and shaking his head, “No.”
Rune rolled his eyes.
I’m your prisoner?
Sneering, then running his hand over his face, Oliver turned away.
They’d been over this earlier. Oliver’s desire for Rune to be safe was not outweighed by Rune’s need to keep his attackers from hurting others. He’d told Oliver he was willing to break their contract if he wasn’t afforded some freedom to handle his personal matters his own way. Rune suspected Oliver didn’t know how much Oliver had begun to mean to him, and how Rune was truly afraid of losing him as a Dom.
They were at odds, in a tug of war. Both of them stubborn, but Rune quite certain Oliver’s feelings kept him more restricted.
I’ll be fine, Rune promised. No stunts.
Don’t go after them on your own, Oliver’s fingers told him, his face steely and tense with anger.
Okay.
Promise.
Okay.
Adam glanced between them, trying to follow the signing. Oliver wasn’t speaking his commands.
Adam said something Rune didn’t catch. Oliver replied.
Pulling out his phone, Oliver typed something. Sighed. Showed it to Rune.
If you show up a bloody mess again, it’ll be the last time.
Adam looked like he had something to say but was just barely able to bite his tongue.
Rune shrugged. Okay.
Again, Oliver and Adam exchanged words. Oliver typed something else.
Adam will be staying with us tonight. We start the scene at ten. Don’t be late. If you are, there will be consequences you won’t enjoy. We expect you showered, douched and ready to go. Understand?
Rune nodded, eager to put Oliver and Adam to the test.
“Do you remember Blaine?” Adam smirked. He picked at his vegetarian omelet, the twin mugs of coffee emitting long plumes of pale steam that snaked up through a band of bright sunlight slanting in through the café’s window. Their table was tucked around a corner, out of sight of most other patrons. No one was in ear shot, except a teenage waiter that came and went at irksome speed.
“God, spare me,” Oliver groaned. He risked scalded taste buds in order to get a sip of the caffeine-rich brew. The chocolate cherry blend had an overpowering smell, but he liked the arrogance of the bold scent. Sometimes it was refreshing to find something so obnoxious.
Other times, like with Blaine, not so much.
“It was hilarious. You have to admit,” Adam chuckled. “A soap opera saga for the ages. I still think of the way he would fawn at you in Earth Science, doodling your name in a heart in the margins of his notebook.”
“That didn’t happen.”
“Just because you block it out doesn’t erase it from reality.”
Oliver waved a slice of toast. “I was embarrassed for him. I’m still embarrassed for him.” He ripped off a bite, chewed, tucked the food in his cheek and asked, “Why are we talking about this?”
“Humor me,” Adam asked. “How did it start again? You snuck a look at him after swim practice?”
“No, he just thought I did. Screamed bloody murder to the whole locker room.”
“You were out by then, right? Junior year?”
“No, not officially. But you were, and I was your bestie,” Oliver smiled with a snide edge to the word. “Two plus two.”
“So he just assumed. Had a moment of homophobic paranoia. Caused a scene. God, I wish I’d been there.”
“I don’t. Would’ve just made it worse,” Oliver grumbled.
“Worse for who?”
Oliver gave him a look, shrugged, wondering where this was headed.
“But I wish I’d seen it!” Adam laughed. “They ganged up on you.”
“No,” Oliver argued. “It wasn’t that dramatic. No one else wanted to get detention or cared enough to intervene. Blaine was just… unhinged.” Adam waved him on. Oliver kept going, humoring him. “He came close, got up in my face, chest puffed out, flipping that stupid long hair back from his eyes, arms spread. ‘You lookin’ at me, faggot?! You lookin’ at my junk?!’” Oliver mimicked, raising the pitch of his voice, adding a douchey, marble-mouthed accent but kept his volume low.
“And he faked a punch,” Adam supplied.
“Yep. Pulled it way too soon. But I was pissed.”
“You gave him a right hook, right in the gut.”
“Collapsed. Whimpering. Calling for Mommy,” Oliver recited, not nearly as thrilled by the memory as Adam.
“And they all scattered. No one had his back,” Adam beamed, shaking his head. “How long before he started mooning over you? Slipping you notes in your locker? Trying to corner you in empty parking lots after practice?”
“It was like right away. Fucking stalker.”
“I saw him.”
“Wait… saw him recently?” His mind reeled, trying to advance the clock and picture Blaine in his mid-twenties.
“Yeah, down at Spark a week ago, dressed like a twink, drooling over some leather daddy.”
“You are fucking shitting me.”
Adam raised his eyebrows, took a bite of omelet.
“You led him on,” Adam said. “The whole time. You gave him the barest hint of possibility, and then the utter refusal to engage even a little… it was brilliant. Masterful. He would have done anything for you. He’d have signed a lifetime contract, no stipulations.”
“Probably.”
“Hmm,” Adam hummed, laughing to himself at the memory. He shook his head again. “So what happened?”
“To who? Blaine?”
“No, you, Olly.” Adam set down his fork, leaned forward, lowering his voice. “What the fuck has happened to you? You destroyed that guy’s life. He’s probably still got a shrine to you that he jerks off to nightly. You saw it was killing him, for years, and didn’t bat an eye. And it wasn’t just Blaine. It was everyone who tried to get in your pants until Jackson. You cast spells over these guys with no effort at all, igniting obsessions. You were a legend. Still are to some. And I go on one trip, miss one introduction. One night. I hardly recognize you now.”
“Is that why you took so many photos, then?” Oliver asked, drinking more coffee now that it had cooled a little.
“You do admit it!” Adam jabbed a finger.
Oliver rolled his eyes, sat back, spread his legs a little more. “Go fuck yourself, Buchanan.”
Adam set his chin on a hand, studying him. “But… it’s so bizarre.”
“Yes, my life is hilarious.”
“Is it purely the challenge? I can respect that, if it is. Or do you really get off that hard on his self-destructiveness?”
“Keep trying. Go on. It’s fine.” He checked his watch, then pulled out his phone. Adam snatched it away, set it out of reach. Oliver gave him a weary look.
Adam squinted, tilting his head like Oliver was a particularly baffling painting. “There is something there. Can’t quite put my finger on it. I saw it when I walked in last night, with blood splattered everywhere, before he knew I was there, when you were rage-fucking him. The act itself was brutal, but Rune… he welcomed it. Trusted you. And this morning? He hated me for interrupting like that. Why? Jealousy? Possessiveness?”
Oliver gave him a fake smile, not rising to it. He’d had several years of practice at resisting Adam’s banter and inquisitions.
“You really think he’ll listen to you? That he won’t show up in pieces again?”
Oliver slowly knocked his knuckles against the table.
“Okay. That’s enough.”
Angry now, the cool waters of his eyes set on fire, Adam seethed, “He could be out there, right now, getting his fucking brains blown out by some pants-wetting skinhead cum-stain and you could lose him!”
Cool, collected, Oliver said, “I’m always losing him. I was losing him before I even had him.”
It crossed some bad line then. Oliver calmly witnessed Adam’s terror seep over a sacred boundary. With wet, glassy eyes, he glared at Oliver, then pushed out of the booth and began to walk away, wiping a hand over his mouth.
“Adam.”
He paused, kept his back turned.
“You don’t have to save me from this. You’re absolved. Officially. You don’t owe it to me. Okay?”
Softly, a whisper. “Fuck you, I owe you everything.”
And then he left, stalking over to the exit, blasting through the doors into the cruel light of day.
He was surrounded. Rune’s whole body throbbed with the beat of his heart. The wind blew an arctic blast from the east, hard enough to nearly knock him off balance. Planting his feet wider, leaning into the gust, he focused his vision, keeping his target in sight. Nothing else mattered.
Lips moved. Expression contorted. Energy swirled with deadly force from all directions, but he was the eye of the storm. Nothing could stop him if he didn’t want to be stopped.
Not even the voice whispering in the back of his mind, telling him it might be unrelated. That the crime against him and the crimes of the man on his knees in front of Rune might have nothing to do with each other.
They were still crimes. It was time for a little justice for once.
The circular, cross-shaped white pride symbol inked into the blond’s neck stretched as his head was forced back by multiple hands yanking fistfuls of hair nearly hard enough to tear large bloody chunks from his scalp. Tendons popping, veins bulging, the pale-skinned, six-foot-whatever redneck dressed in a flannel and jeans sneered up at Rune with disgust, then hocked phlegm and spat it in Rune’s direction.
Dodging the gob of saliva, Rune bounced on his feet and hit squarely, his fist whipping around as hard as he could.
He felt the snap. The crunch of bone against bone and the soft give of flesh before blood began to spurt from the blond’s nostrils.
Max and Goat yanked harder at the golden tresses, keeping the homophobe still, forcing him upright with violent twists of the man’s shoulders and a few kicks to the back.
Rune tuned it all out. Everything but the smashed ruin of the blond’s nose, and the print-outs from the blond’s social media account. His name was Kurt Radner. Each post was decorated with a clear photo of his face in the profile shot. Sometimes another guy was in the background, farther away, walking away, like the blond was following him. Kurt would hint in the post about what he’d done when he caught up with the other guy, without flat-out admitting it. Comment after comment on public posts, peppered with bigoted, hateful slurs, told teenage gay kids to go kill themselves and do the world a favor. Sometimes he just flat-out offered to do the job for them.
Rune yanked up the front of his shirt, flashing an old tattoo on his hip of an inverted rainbow triangle. He made sure the blond saw it. Then he cocked back his fist and let the blows rain down, long after his hand started to ache, letting the boiling of his blood carry him along and unleash a little hatred on the hateful.
The CCTV system was wired to the flatscreen in the bedroom. Adam lay reclined on the bed, arms folded behind his head which was propped up with pillows.
“You sure he’s on his way?”
“Any minute now,” Oliver replied.
“You’re pacing again.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
“You’re welcome. Here’s something equally obvious: you can handle this, Olly. You can handle him. Whatever he brings you. I know you can. You know you can too, for the record.”
Simultaneously keyed up and already exhausted by it all, Oliver shot him a weary look.
“He gets to you. He makes things more real than they usually are with your more boring, run-of-the-mill subs. I get it. And something tells me Rune gets it too. I think he keeps coming back here because he knows you can handle his shit more than any other Dom he’s worked with before. Am I wrong?”
Oliver sighed and folded his arms.
“You know what I think?” Adam continued. “I think David facilitated this because he sensed Rune would get to you in precisely this way. That he’d wake you up and shake you up and force you to focus. Are you telling me you’re not up for the job? When everyone else knows you can do it? When giving up would mean Rune’s precious faith in you is all for nothing? If he steps over the line again and pisses you off, use that. Use that emotion, that energy to get his ass in line. You can care about him by holding on, but care about him like this too. It’s what both of you want. And need.”
Without knowing how to respond, Oliver just absorbed the words and watched the camera aimed on the apartment’s front door, waiting and hoping.
The message he’d sent had been clear:
Let yourself in. Get undressed. Get cleaned up. Meet us in the bedroom. We’ll be watching.
Rune had replied that he was on his way up five minutes ago.
Soon enough, it happened.
The front door inched open. Rune stuck his head in, looked around, then slowly came in, shutting the door behind him.
“You owe me twenty bucks,” Adam sighed.
“What? Where? Is he okay? I don’t—”
“His hand. The right one.”
“Are you fucking kidding— Jesus wept.” Oliver groaned, covering his face with a hand. Peering between his fingers, he saw the dark spots on Rune’s knuckles and the way he kept the hand curled in front of him. “I need to take him to the hospital. Have them check for fractures. He needs his hands to speak!”
“Olly, breathe.” Adam got off the bed and came around to him. Wrapping Oliver in his arms from behind, Adam held him by the shoulders, kissing Oliver behind the ear. Oliver overlaid a hand on Adam’s, frowning, trying to calm down.
Rune toed off his sneakers, then crossed right to the kitchen. He took a bowl out of the cupboard and filled it with ice from the machine in the door of the fridge, the sound of cubes clunking in the bowl audible down the hall. Rune kept glancing around like he had something to hide, not like he was in pain. He let his hand slip into the ice and seemed to let out a deep breath, wincing only slightly.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Oliver marveled.
“No, you’re not.” Adam took Oliver’s hand, squeezing it. “He didn’t mention it over text. Let’s just see what he does. He knows himself and what he needs better than we do.”
“He’s been beating the hell out of someone! Look at his knuckles!” He kept his voice down, even though he knew how ridiculous that was. Ingrained instincts continued to be hard to break.
“I have. Maybe they had it coming. He seems committed to going through with the scene. There’s a reason for that. Let’s see if he has any other visible injuries, hmm?”
After a couple of minutes, seeing Oliver and Adam hadn’t emerged to scold him, Rune took the bowl of ice with him to the bathroom connected to his room. As he moved, they switched to the feed in the hallway, then the bedroom, then the bathroom, pulling up both camera angles, side by side.
Favoring his right hand, but using it a little anyway, Rune shrugged off his hooded sweatshirt, then pulled his shirt over his head. Bare-chested, he opened his pants, pushing the jeans and underwear down to his ankles. They both came off, along with his socks, which he plucked off by the toes.
“I think he’s okay. He hasn’t flinched while using the hand.”
“That’s your official medical opinion? I should call Jackson.”
“He’s out with Jo. Leave him alone.”
Oliver glanced over his shoulder at Adam, who was giving Rune’s nude body a long once-over with plenty of interest. Adam noticed him looking, met his gaze and said, “I don’t see anything.”
“Yeah, right.”
Adam did an exaggerated shrug, hands up-turned. “I’m here to fuck your boy toy. I’m not supposed to look? If looking makes you jealous, just wait until my cock is inside him.”
“I’m not jealous,” Oliver murmured, biting at his lip, studying the screen. He didn’t see any new cuts or bruises. Rune wasn’t looking for any injury in the mirror either.
“Should I go?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You know why. I need him in a submissive mindset. When I’m alone with him, the instinct isn’t to dominate.”
Adam breathed out a laugh.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“His guard comes up with you. He feels like he needs to protect me from you for some godforsaken reason.”
Adam laughed again, louder this time. He’d had a hand cupping Oliver’s chest, feeling his pulse race. He caressed downward, grabbing a handful of Oliver’s bulge instead.
Oliver knocked the hand away. “Not yet.” He took the roaming hand, weaving their fingers together, leaning back into Adam to feel the heat of him against his back. “He needs to know we’re in charge. That he needs to obey. That he can trust us.”
“Present a united front. Mom and Dad, laying down the law.”
“Something like that. I’ll take the lead though.”
“Of course.”
Rune was in the shower, suds sliding down his wet, inked body. He rolled his head on his shoulders, the tension leaving his body.
“Doesn’t seem to mind the voyeurism.”
“Mmm.”
After the shower, Rune started to use the douching bulb. He filled it with water, squirted it up his ass, and waited before letting it out again. Craning his neck to look in all corners of the room, he soon spied both hidden cameras, staring steadily into one, then the other.
When he’d finished and flushed, he washed his hands again, mostly using the left to soap up the right. After patting it dry, he wound some gauze around the knuckles, taping it in place, ripping off pieces with his teeth.
“He should keep icing it,” Adam said.
Oliver glanced back at him and said nothing.
“Are you even capable of doing this?” Adam asked, an edge coming into his voice.
“Yes! Fuck,” Oliver replied, knowing he sounded defensive but unable to do anything about it.
“Are you sure?”
He shot him a look of warning, then shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Hate when you get like this.”
“I’m always like this,” Adam answered calmly, not backing down. “It’s why I’m here in the first place, right?”
Oliver didn’t say anything to that, either.
Adam’s prodding caused Oliver to think of all the times he’d helped Jackson work through his stress. The mental load of responsibility for his patients’ lives, and the lives of his family weighed so heavily. It’s why he came to Oliver to find ways to let go. If he could do that for Jackson, he sure as hell could do it for Rune, who was only responsible for himself and his own actions. Though he seemed to feel responsible for taking down every violent bigot he encountered, Oliver could show him how to let go of that too, at least for a night. If anyone was capable of doing that, it was him.
“We can change plans. Make it quick and dirty. Exhaust him and let him sleep.”
“No. We stick with the plan. It’s a good one.”
He felt Adam looking at him, scrutinizing, measuring. “You still think you’re losing him.”
It was a knot in his chest, a rising panic that never quite bubbled over. Oliver avoided eye contact and watched eagerly as Rune headed out into the bedroom.
“I have him tonight.”