Chapter Eighteen
Andrew
Andrew hadn’t intended to leave, but he found himself at home, sitting in his living room, drinking a beer and hating himself. For leaving. For watching. He’d felt like an invader, like he hadn’t belonged there, and watching Nick get worked over with that cane was something Andrew hadn’t expected.
It was one thing to know that people did that, that it got them off, but it was another thing to witness it. And another thing entirely to be jealous of it. Maybe not the caning, that had looked painful, but all the other stuff. The way Rory petted Nick and spoke to him in hushed tones. The way he looked at him. It had all felt intense and private.
He walked out of the room, on impulse, he’d grabbed his clothing and slipped it on. He wasn’t sure if he could explain it himself, why he left, so he sat in his apartment, alone, on a Sunday afternoon. His phone vibrated on the coffee table where he’d abandoned it, but he made no move to answer. Leaving was wrong, he knew that. He should’ve stayed and talked about his feelings, about what went on in that room. He should’ve at least made sure Nick was okay. But he didn’t need Andrew there.
The thoughts churned around in his head. Did he leave because he had been upset about what went on, or that he didn’t feel as if he were a part of what happened? Seeing Nick, who was usually so strong and composed, reduced to a shaking mass of tears, had shaken something inside of Andrew. He had a million questions, but he’d run from the people who could answer them.
The phone vibrated again and Andrew ignored it in favor of opening another beer. He stared at the phone and told himself that if he got another text, he’d answer it and at least apologize for ditching them. But he’d made the same promise ten minutes ago and hadn’t kept it.
Andrew dropped into his chair and shut his eyes, but all he saw was Nick. Nick hanging from the cross. The cane biting into his skin. His washed-out, tear-stained face that flashed between pain and bliss as Rory fucked him.
When they’d entered the room and undressed in front of each other, Nick had told him that no matter what Rory would do to him that day, that he was okay with it. They’d discussed limits a long time ago, and many times since then. He’d reassured Andrew again after he showed Andrew how to kneel that everything he went through in this room, he went through willingly, and most of the time, enthusiastically. But by the time Rory had taken out the cane and started hitting Nick with it, Andrew had forgotten Nick’s speech. It wasn’t that he thought Rory did anything to Nick that he didn’t enjoy, but it was hard to see how someone could enjoy getting hit with a stick until they cried, then not-so-gently fucked after. And Andrew especially didn’t understand how his cock had stayed hard the entire time.
An insistent pounding on his door brought him out of his fog. On the other side, in between the banging, he could make out two voices. Tentatively, he approached the door, and when he looked through the peephole and saw Everett and Xavier, his first reaction was disappointment, followed immediately by relief, and then anger. Andrew yanked the door open.
“What do you want?”
Everett gawked at him with wide eyes and an incredulous expression that quickly morphed into concern. “You’re not okay, are you?” He shoved his way into Andrew’s apartment and wrapped his arms around Andrew. “You’re shaking.” Everett pulled away from the embrace but rubbed his hands up and down Andrew’s arms as if he were trying to warm him up.
Xavier glanced at Andrew’s beer, then reached for it, taking it from the counter before he could protest. Marching to the sink, he dumped the rest down the drain and set the empty on the counter. Then he shot Andrew a steely look. “Leaving was a shit thing to do, Andrew.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” Everett shook his head. “Rory can’t chase you down and ask you what happened because he has to look after Nick, who is a mess right now.”
“Because you bolted.” Xavier added, which earned him a chilly look from Everett.
Andrew’s legs quaked and threatened to buckle. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I panicked, I think.”
“Rory says he’s been texting you non-stop, and you won’t answer. He’s worried sick, Andrew. They both are.” Xavier was angrier than Andrew had ever seen him. “Of all the stupid times to walk out, you choose the moment right after a scene. You should’ve stayed and let Rory take care of you. After care is crucial, Andrew.”
There was no good excuse for what he’d done. The panic he felt had been small at first, but then it grew and it seemed to consume him. He tried to swallow it down and ignore it, but panic had sharp edges and he couldn’t force it to leave. He was climbing into his car when he realized that he’d left without so much as a word to them.
“You need to go back.” Xavier said, his tone softening a little. He stood near the door still, with his arms folded in front of his chest. He scowled at Andrew, but then the expression melted into what Andrew thought looked like gentle concern. “Whatever you’re going through, you need to go through it there, with them. You can’t just leave like that.”
“I know.” Andrew groaned.
“No, you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like to be responsible for someone like that. You have no idea what you did to them. If Everett ever walked out after a scene, I’d shit myself. I’d be destroyed. I’d think that I fucked up and hurt him or something.”
“Rory didn’t even touch me. It wasn’t my scene. They let me watch that’s all.” Andrew tried hard not to sound petulant or indignant.
“There’s more than one way to be hurt, Andrew. Rory put a collar on you, he tied you to a bed and let you watch him dominate Nick. Whether you were two inches away, or two feet, or ten, you were there. Your participation was part of that scene. You needed to stay and let them take care of you.”
Andrew swallowed a lump of emotion and nodded. “I’ll need a ride back there.”
Everett walked over to Andrew and pulled him into his arms. He gave him a long, hard, squeeze, then pulled away. “When you get back there, you need to tell Rory what happened, the truth, the whole truth, Andrew.”
“I will.”
“Will you? Because you are good at not telling people things.”
“I will.” Andrew insisted.
“Text Rory. Tell him you’re on your way back.” Xavier commanded. He waited by the door while Andrew shot Rory a text. Once Andrew sent the text, he shoved his phone in his pocket and followed Everett and Xavier out to Everett’s car. Xavier climbed into the driver’s seat.
The drive to Rory’s seemed to take forever. The conversation in his apartment weighed on his mind. Nick had told him about aftercare. He explained why it was important, but Andrew hadn’t thought it applied to him. Xavier said he’d been part of the scene, but he hadn’t felt like he was. He’d sat separate from everything, chained to a bed. Rory had barely spared him a second glance and once Andrew was out of the way, it felt like Nick hadn’t known Andrew was in the room. It made him wonder if they’d needed him there.
When Xavier stopped the car outside Rory’s house, he didn’t turn it off. He turned in his seat and offered Andrew a weak smile. “Andrew, if you want to get together, once all this is sorted, and talk about things, I hope you know you can talk to me.”
Words failed Andrew, who feared he might start bawling if he opened his mouth, so he nodded and slipped out of the car. Everett climbed out after him and slung an arm around his middle. He escorted him to the door. “Rory said you could go on up. They’re in the bedroom.” Everett pulled Andrew into another crushing embrace then reached out and opened Rory’s door. “It’s going to be okay. Did you want me to walk you up?”
Andrew shook his head and Everett nodded. “Okay. I’ll call you in the morning.” Everett slipped back to the car. Andrew waited until they’d driven away, then grabbed the doorknob.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped into Rory’s house and took his shoes off. He prolonged the inevitable by taking the time to bend over and pull his shoes off instead of toeing out of them the way he usually did. The door clicked shut behind him and he headed for the stairs. He passed by the kitchen, the soup that they were supposed to have eaten hours ago still sat on the stove. Beer sloshed in his empty stomach, mixing with the guilt and making him feel queasy.
He stopped outside of Rory’s bedroom door. The door was open a crack, but he couldn’t step inside. He was unable to make himself look. Dread curled out from his stomach. He’d messed up earlier. How could he have run off like that? He should’ve stayed. And now he had to face them both, and he didn’t know what to say. Sorry didn’t seem as if it would be enough.
“Come in, Andrew. It’s all right.” Rory’s voice propelled him forward. Andrew stepped into the room. Leaning against the headboard, Rory sat with Nick half-laying in his lap. Rory stroked his fingers through Nick’s hair. “Come here, cub. It’s okay.” Rory shuffled over, creating a gap between him and Nick and he patted the empty space. “Come here.”
Looking at the floor to avoid the disappointed looks on their faces, Andrew tentatively climbed into bed between Nick and Rory, who slid a slender arm around him and tugged him close. Andrew let himself be tugged into Rory’s side, and he didn’t protest when Nick snuggled close, burying his face in the crook of Andrew’s neck.
“If I’d have known you were going to bolt, I wouldn’t have undone your restraints.” Rory’s hand smoothed up Andrew’s back.
“I’m sorry.” To his horror, his voice broke and his throat closed. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears came anyway.
“This is why you needed to stay.” Nick cleared his throat and tugged Andrew closer, but didn’t speak again.
Rory’s fingers found their way into Andrew’s hair and he toyed with the strands, sliding his fingers across Andrew’s scalp, soothing him. Answering the question he hadn’t had the courage to ask, Rory let his fingers drag lightly down Andrew’s spine. “We’ll talk about the scene later, and what you felt, and why you left, but right now, Nicky needs you. He needs to know that you’re not going anywhere. He needs what your little detour deprived him of earlier. And you need it too, don’t you, cub?”
Turning slightly, Andrew looked up at Rory and saw no disappointment or reproach, even though he knew he’d fucked up in a big way. Rory had every right to be angry with him, but he wasn’t. Rory dragged the tips of his fingers down Andrew’s cheek. “Kiss him, cub. It’s okay that you need him. He needs you, too.”
Until Rory had said it, Andrew hadn’t realized he needed Nick. He didn’t yet know if the need was a temporary feeling that came with the connection he felt to Nick, something that would fade once they left the bedroom and rejoined their daily lives, or if it was something deeper and more personal.
He turned to Nick and didn’t have time to see if Nick looked at him with disappointment before Nick’s mouth was on his. His tongue licked at the seam of Andrew’s mouth. Whimpering, Andrew kissed him back, battling with his tongue, plunging his fingers into Nick’s hair. The bed shifted a little as Rory wiggled over to give them room. Nick rolled over on top of Andrew, he gripped his wrists and pinned him to the mattress. Andrew tried to move, and couldn’t, and then he found that he didn’t want to get away.
He was exactly where he wanted to be.