8

It rained, and the wind was strong as if the autumn storms had begun. Yet it was barely June. I clutched my opened hoodie to my body when we ran the short distance from Joel’s car to the hospital main entrance. We took the lift to the fourth floor, where Joel checked us in with the receptionist. She knew him; he’d been there several times a week for the past month.

I could claim the achy feeling in my stomach wasn’t fear, but it would have been a lie. Arthur Sandstrom was an intimidating man, and his impending death made him even more fearsome. However, I wasn’t afraid for my sake. Okay, a little. What I dreaded the most was what he could say and do to Joel.

My man walked fast, purposefully. We passed a few rooms, all of them singles—I supposed when you were going where these people were going, you deserved some privacy.

The door was open, but Joel knocked anyway and waited for his father’s hoarse voice.

“Come in.”

We entered the murky room, and what I noticed first was the large window overlooking the park. The trees were bent and trembling like grass in a breeze as the storm raged outside. The hum and shrieks of nature sounded as if the whole building was being dragged through a tunnel.

“What is this?” Joel’s father asked, and I ripped my gaze away from the storm.

“Good afternoon,” I said.

Arthur Sandstrom didn’t reply. He closed the book he was reading and let it lie on the blanket. Surrounded by Idiots read the title. He was sitting in bed, his back supported by a mountain of pillows.

Joel was quiet, just watching his father’s face.

The old man’s gaze flicked back and forth between Joel and me a few times. He was even thinner than the last time I saw him. His cheeks were sunken, lips thin and dry. His bald skull shone, and he wore a plush robe over his white pajama shirt. His eyes hadn’t lost their sharpness. Quite the opposite. They peered at us over small reading glasses, quick and fearless as ever.

What had me frowning and clenching my fists with apprehension was the lack of surprise in the old man’s face.

It didn’t take long for me to figure it out.

The bastard knew. He’d always known.

And the cruelty of that had me dumbfounded.

He knew his son was gay. He’d known for a long time. And yet he’d continued to plague Joel with his raging homophobia, his nasty comments, demands, and hatred.

“You just couldn’t let it be,” Arthur said, his tone bitter and tired.

“You knew.” Joel exhaled. His features were calm, but his skin was paper-white.

Arthur sighed, and his mouth curved down in disgust. He folded his reading glasses and put them on the generic plastic table next to the bed. The book slid from his lap and stayed precariously balanced on the edge of the bed. The old man didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Of course I knew,” he replied. My stomach clenched. This would be bad. Worse than I imagined. Much worse… “I kept hoping you would be strong enough. Instead, you got involved with this freak. You even have the audacity to bring him here.”

Joel took a step closer to the bed. “Strong enough? What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was close to a whisper, disbelieving.

“I know very well it’s something you are born with.” Arthur waved his frail hand casually. The slight tremor in his bony fingers was a result of muscular atrophy, not nerves. His eyes were cold. “I am not stupid, Joel. I have known since you were fifteen. But I raised you well. You were supposed to understand what was the right thing to do.”

“What the hell?” I asked. Joel lifted his palm to stop me from interrupting. He wanted to hear. Okay. I could bite my tongue for a bit longer.

Joel’s father continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “You were brilliant, so gifted, so strong. I was convinced you could fight it and win.”

“Win? What was there to win?” Joel exclaimed, exasperated. “You wanted me to stay in the closet? For my whole life?”

Arthur Sandstrom blinked slowly and sighed. “I hoped you were strong enough. I used to be proud of you,” he said.

Joel just gaped. We were both lost for words.

“And you choose to disappoint me on my deathbed. Do you have no respect?”

“Respect?” Joel repeated, voice breaking.

I reached out for Joel instinctively even though I couldn’t protect him from the next avalanche of poisonous words. I managed to grab his forearm and took two steps closer to him. Joel covered my hand with his, hugging my arm. My baby.

The old man’s grimace was victorious. “I have always known!” Gone was his calm disdain. He spoke too fast while he morphed in front of our eyes. His gaunt face couldn’t contain the hatred, and Arthur Sandstrom suddenly looked grotesque, like a creature from a low-budget horror movie, eyes bulging and teeth bared. I saw the death in his gaze already.

Barely aware of what I was doing, I stepped in front of Joel.

“I knew my son was sick, and I used to be proud of him anyway! Because he’d made. The right. Choice! You had it more difficult than others, yet you fought it for years.” Sandstrom senior’s claw-like hands lifted from the sheets and clenched, trembling fiercely. “I used to admire you for it! And now this? What did you think? That you would bring this faggot, and what? Shock me with your honesty? Throw some leftist gay rights clichés my way and kiss me goodbye before I die?” Arthur Sandstrom laughed, and I shuddered.

Joel stood behind me—I could hear his choppy breath, and his grip on my arm tightened.

“Jesus Christ, Dad…” Joel mumbled.

“You are a sentimental fool, Joel. This will ruin your life. And I won’t be here to help you.”

As if Arthur slapped him awake, Joel pushed me aside and gestured at his father with both arms. “Help me? How the fuck did you ever help me with anything?!”

“I made you what you are!” The old man’s voice boomed before it went hoarse and hollow again. He was weak. Yet the force of his hatred was energy enough. “And you throw it all away because of your disgusting inclinations! I worked hard all these years so you could succeed and live a good life. Such a waste!”

I wanted to yell at him. I opened my mouth to shout that he didn’t do shit. That Joel was a brilliant man despite his father and not because of him. But Joel’s voice rose, echoing between the bare hospital walls.

“You fucking knew! You evil, disgusting piece of shit! You knew!” He trembled with rage.

Arthur Sandstrom lifted his watery eyes towards me. The contempt in them made me want to punch him in the face.

“Go away, both of you,” he spat.

Joel stared at his father for a few more seconds. Arthur’s mouth was pinched shut. Watching his expression, the urge to fight left me. There was no point.

The book slid off the bed and landed on the floor with a loud thud.

“I did my best to love you,” Joel said. And even though his words punched a hole in my chest, his father didn’t move a muscle.

He was dead already, had been for a long time.

Joel turned around, grabbed my hand, and we walked out of the room and into the storm.

***

Arthur Sandstrom’s state worsened during the coming few days. He was on heavy pain medication and didn’t regain full consciousness until the end. Even so, Joel continued to visit him. It took two more weeks for the cancer to consume the old man.

He’d left specific instructions for his funeral, including a clause which prohibited his son from attending “with a companion.” We chose to respect his wish, mostly because it didn’t matter to us. Joel spent an hour in the church while I waited in the car. I drove him to the wake and kissed him in the parking lot before he disappeared into the luxury restaurant his father had chosen.

With Joel’s house keys in my pocket, I drove his car to his home, let myself inside, and cleaned the kitchen out of sheer boredom. Joel came home in a cab only a few hours later, sober and tired.

I made a simple pasta dinner for us, knowing Joel hadn’t managed to eat much. Then we had two beers each, cuddling on the sofa, talking about the upcoming projects for Sandstrom Studios. We showered at ten and went to bed. The peace and quiet was suspicious to me.

He clung to me, humming when I caressed his body. He needed me—needed the reassurance and gentleness. We kissed and stroked each other, barely sighing as we spilled our orgasms on each other’s skin—I came a moment before Joel.

He fell asleep before I came back from the bathroom with a wet towel.

***

During the next few days, I thought Joel would be tired or pensive, maybe angry or just plain sad. Last thing I expected was his murderous efficiency. He was like a pit bull at work, ferocious, focused… We didn’t have much time together, and when we did, he talked about work or wanted to fuck. It freaked me out, but I was giving him time. At some point, the stress and grief would catch up with him, and I needed to be there for him when he broke down.

However, days passed one after another, and he just went on like a damned machine. It was terrifying. I hoped at least the weekend would bring some quiet.

On Friday, I had to work late, and Joel had an afternoon meeting in the city. We agreed I’d come to his place at nine. I brought a few beers. I thought we would sit on the sofa and cuddle. We needed to finally wind down and talk.

He opened the door with a bright smile.

“Hi, baby,” he said, and leaned in to kiss me.

He was shirtless, which wasn’t his habit at home. Suspicion niggled at me, but I shelved it for later. He kissed me again, delving deep, and my traitorous dick was aching already. We needed to communicate, dammit, and not fuck like rabbits until we collapsed.

Joel led me to the kitchen tugging on my hand.

“We’re celebrating, c’mon.”

“Celebrating?”

“Yes! I closed the deal!” His voice sounded just a little too bright.

“That’s great,” I told him. I hesitated in the middle of the kitchen. It was spotless, and there were candles on the window sill.

“It’s for both the autumn and spring campaigns. It will be hundreds of work hours. We might need to employ one more producer,” Joel plowed on, his words too fast.

I tried to keep up, but he flew around me as if he was high. I knew for a fact Joel didn’t do drugs. “Joel?”

Before I realized what was happening, he had champagne ready on the table, with a bucket of ice and glasses and everything. He started working on the cork as I flailed for words. This felt wrong on so many levels.

“Joel…” I began.

“Wait” He popped the cork and filled the glasses, spilling a few drops on the table.

“I’m beat, Joel. Can we lie on the sofa for a while and just chill?”

Joel handed me the glass and grinned. “In a minute.”

He downed his glass while I sipped from mine. It was dry and excellent, honestly. Joel knew his wines. And he was already refilling his flute.

“I figure you’ve already eaten,” he told me.

“Yes,” I mumbled and stared.

Joel unfastened his loose linen pants and they pooled around his legs on the floor. He stepped out of them, and grinned. Reaching down he started stroking his cock as he walked towards me. Naked, champagne flute between his fingers, he smiled, and it was devious.

I guess we won’t talk after all.

I stood there unmoving, with my own champagne glass in my hand, and its brittleness made me feel as if I couldn’t do anything to stop him when Joel kneeled in front of me, completely naked. One-handed, he opened my jeans and pulled out my half-hard cock. He stroked me, staring up at me, the glass in his other hand. He took a sip and licked his lips, never leaving my gaze. Then he tilted the glass over the head of my cock.

“Joel!” I exclaimed helplessly.

Chuckling, Joel licked me clean. By that point, I was painfully hard, my heart thrashing in my chest. I remembered the flute between my fingers and tightened my grip, so I wouldn’t drop it. I drank from it, too much too quickly; the bubbles tickled in my throat.

Joel filled his mouth with champagne and slid his lips around the head of my cock. I gasped.

It tingled on my sensitive skin, the chill a mind-blowing contrast to the heat of his hand around my erection. He swallowed and licked again. The underside, around, dipping the tip of his tongue into my slit. Then he drank the rest of the champagne, put the empty glass on the table and stripped me from the waist down. He swallowed my cock.

“Fuck, Joel!”

His head bobbed, and his eyes stared up at me. I searched for the love and openness in them I used to see. But there was just…frenzy.

My reason played tug-of-war with my arousal. I hesitated.

“Joel…”

He shot up and took my glass, downing it too.

“You’re slow,” he said, laughing. He dragged my T-shirt over my head. “C’mon.” He winked and turned to the living room. “You wanted the sofa,” he called over his shoulder.

Hypnotized, I went after him. I was freaked out, turned on, and stupid.

The light from the lamp danced with a few candles over the empty fireplace. In the warm glow, Joel’s form shone golden. Naked and hard, I was once again helpless facing him.

What he did next had my brain implode. He won.

Joel kneeled in front of the sofa, his back to me, leaned forward supporting himself on his elbows, and spread his legs. He tilted his ass up, and I caught a glimpse of something in his crease. I stepped closer. Joel rolled his hips, his smiling eyes watching for my reaction, and I gasped.

I fell to my knees behind him, my hands gripping the muscles of his perfect ass. I parted them, my eyes transfixed on the handle of the bright-blue plug nestled there.

“I’ve been aching for you for the whole day, Ty,” Joel said. “I couldn’t wait.”

He rolled his hips in a slow rhythm, the plug moving around inside his hole as he did.

I realized I was clutching his ass muscles in my hands, just staring at the plug, not moving.

“Joel…” I breathed. What was it I wanted to do tonight? I forgot.

I bent forward and licked his skin around the plug.

Joel hummed.

Then I caught it between my fingers and tugged.

“Yeah!” he exclaimed.

I pumped it in and out a few times, and then I pulled. It slid out easily despite its considerable size—it was shaped like a large egg with a small handle, and well lubed. I pushed it back into Joel’s gaping hole, and he moaned with pleasure. His fingers dug into the sofa cushions. So I did it again—pulling it out completely and pushing back in, slowly, torturously slow.

“Tyler, god, yes, Ty…” Joel babbled.

I reached between his legs and caressed his cock. It was hard as steel and drooling.

I couldn’t wait anymore.

“Where’s the lube, Joel?”

Joel rooted around the cushions on the sofa and handed me the bottle. I smeared the lube down my length. Damn, I wouldn’t last long.

I pulled the plug out and left it on the coffee table next to me.

My fingers caressed Joel’s stretched hole, dipping inside and circling around.

“Tyler! Tyler, fuck me! Fuck me!” Joel shouted.

I grabbed his hip with one hand, my slick cock with the other and pushed. Hard. I slid inside in one swift movement, to the hilt on the first try, way too fast.

Joel roared.

I didn’t wait. He didn’t want me to wait. He wanted me to fuck him until he shattered. He wanted me to tear him apart. He clawed at the sofa cushions, the blush on his neck and shoulders deep red, and the tendons in his throat looked like they would crack and bleed when he threw his head back and to the side.

“Need! Tyler! I need—”

I knew what he needed.

If I couldn’t make Joel feel something by talking to him, I would fuck him senseless until he fell apart.

I retreated only an inch and forced back in, fast. Again. And again. Our skin slapped as I drilled into Joel’s ass, making him mewl and whine. He fisted the cushions and pushed back, struggling to stay in position as his body absorbed the hard blows.

The heat and friction around my cock was making me crazy. I wouldn’t last long enough. Shit. I needed to last longer.

I backed off and pulled out completely, my eyes fast on Joel’s entrance, glistening and dilated. His ass cheeks reddened where I held him.

“Tyler!” he exclaimed and tried to turn his head around.

“Don’t you fucking move!” I yelled, not recognizing my voice. Joel obeyed.

He waited, frozen, trembling. He whimpered.

I caressed his ass cheeks, his taint, his balls.

“Tyler, please. Please.”

Joel’s empty asshole clenched and released in front of my eyes.

“Ty, please,” he almost sobbed.

I traced the wrinkled skin with a fingertip.

“Please, give me your cock. I need your cock, please, Tyler. Fuck me, please, love, fuck me…”

“On your back,” I said.

Joel flipped around and held his legs under his knees, his ass hanging off the edge of the sofa.

I licked his crease, tasting lube and sweat. I didn’t care. I mouthed the underside of Joel’s hard cock as it strained towards his belly.

“You need me so bad, baby. I love it when you beg,” I told him, hearing the strange frenzy in my tone, like it was someone else in the room who spoke. “Beg for me, baby. I want to hear you.”

“Damn you, Tyler!” Joel whispered. “It hurts. I need your cock, please. It hurts!”

I looked up to see his face.

It was pinched, and from the corner of his eye a tear slid to his temple.

Pain. He felt pain.

“Tyler, please,” he repeated, voice breaking.

This wasn’t a game. My Joel was in pain. Jesus. I scrambled to my feet and crouched so I could sink inside him again. My cock filled him to the hilt, and I covered his trembling body, kissing the tear away.

“Joel, my baby, forgive me. I need you, too. I love you.”

Joel kissed me and clung to me as I rocked into him.

“Harder, Ty. Please, fuck me hard,” he breathed. He was folded in half and held his legs open wide. I braced myself on the underside of his thighs and started moving.

Like this, I could plunge to the hilt on every stroke, fast and forceful. I watched with satisfaction as Joel’s face went slack with ecstasy. The pain was gone. My baby.

He reached for his cock and struggled to pump it, his movements disturbed by my hard thrusts.

I was close.

“Joel, baby, come for me, I need to see you come.”

“Faster,” Joel bit out between clenched teeth.

I obeyed, going as fast and as hard as my burning legs allowed. The friction and tightness around my cock was unbearable.

“Joel!” I warned. I inched one of my feet farther back and swung my hips making Joel’s body move up the sofa with each thrust. He braced a hand above his head and the other flew over his cock.

And then it happened. Joel’s torso lifted, his whole body spasming, and he roared, come splattering all over his stomach and chest in two, five, six waves. He kept twitching, and I sobbed with relief as I fell forward, covering his body and pumping my hips a few times more as my come spilled into his clenching asshole.

His chest was heaving, and he shook in my arms. His hands roamed my body, so I lifted my face and caught his lips between mine. I pushed my tongue into his mouth and circled my hips, my still-hard cock sliding slowly in and out his come-filled hole.

Joel whimpered softly, and I kissed him more, rocking us.

As the short bout of ecstasy dissolved, I thought about the first time we had fucked—about what had occurred to me briefly in that impersonal hotel room and what I’d forgotten since then. Sometimes, Joel craved my cock to the point of physical pain. He needed me to fuck him until he lost his grip on reality, because it soothed a different kind of pain inside him. Today, it had only become worse. And I just went with it. Feeling guilty, I covered Joel’s forehead with kisses. He tasted of salt and smelled of cedar.

I was terrified. Because this time, it wouldn’t be enough. Sex couldn’t be Joel’s salvation. But I had no idea what to do, how to help him. The possibility he only wanted me to fuck his brains out, so he didn’t have to feel anything else…made me feel sick.

Yet, I couldn’t let go of him. He was safe in my arms, however temporarily, and I couldn’t just step back and watch him hurt.

We stayed joined as long as we could, not talking, just kissing.

Then my cock slid out, and Joel sighed heavily.

“I would stay inside you all night if it was possible,” I whispered.

“We can keep trying,” Joel said, smirking.

I pecked him on the cheek and stood, my knees protesting.

Joel stayed spread out on the sofa, staring at me. He was smiling. My stomach heaved at the sight of his bright, fake smile.

He lifted one arm, raising his eyebrows, so I tugged him up.

“Shower?” he suggested.

“I guess we need it,” I replied. We needed to talk. That’s what we needed.

Joel took the plug from the table and strolled casually to the bathroom. I followed. I felt the connection between us dissolving already. Damn it!

I peed while Joel washed the plug and put it away in the cupboard. He stepped into the shower and set the water running.

I followed him, closing the glass doors behind us. How could I approach this?

Joel started lathering his hair, and I washed his belly and chest, scraping the come away.

“We have the whole weekend,” Joel began.

“Hmm.” I washed his cock, and his eyelids fluttered. “Turn around.” He did as he was told, and I stroked his back and ass, watching the suds disappear in his crease. It still made me pause sometimes, how I managed to gain this gorgeous man’s trust and love. Now I needed him to heal.

“We could invite Adam and Christoffer for dinner tomorrow. To pay them back,” Joel said, driving a knife right through my tangled thoughts.

I froze with my hands on his lower back.

“You want to have dinner with the guys?” I asked.

“Yes,” Joel replied breezily. He was never breezy. Fuck.

“Just dinner?”

Joel chuckled. “We’ll see. Depends on the mood.”

I grabbed his shoulders and turned him around, searching his gaze.

“You want to play with them again.” I stared into his eyes, but they flitted around as he reached back into his crease to wash himself.

“Sure,” he said casually.

“No,” I replied.

Joel froze. And I exploded. Epically. The possibility of losing Joel in a sea of orgies and hookups made me burn with helpless rage.

“Your father’s funeral was a week ago, Joel. And you’re dancing around with champagne flutes and planning foursomes. Jesus!”

The corners of his mouth turned down, and his eyes narrowed. He struggled to keep his features calm, but for the first time since I’d known him, he couldn’t. Fury and disgust took over his face.

“What the actual fuck?” he spat.

“You can’t fuck your way out of grief, Joel!”

He bared his teeth, his arms lifted in an instinctive motion, and I jerked away, my back hitting the shower wall. For an insane moment, I thought he’d actually hit me.

His nostrils flared.

He reached to the side and turned the water off. In the subsequent quiet, our breathing became screamingly loud.

“What grief?” His tone was pure ice, just like his eyes. “What grief, Tyler? He was a hateful bastard who didn’t give a shit about me. Now he’s dead, just as I knew he would be. I am not grieving him. He doesn’t deserve a minute of sadness, not even a second of my thoughts!”

“Joel…”

“No! Do you want me to be miserable?” he shouted, and in the closed shower stall, his voice had the force of an earthquake.

Without me wanting to, my voice rose as well. “I am not letting you fuck C and Adam when I can’t even get you to talk to me!”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Tyler, it’s been a stressful week,” he replied coldly. “I have a company to run. I don’t have time to sit and hold hands over lunch.”

I flinched.

“Do you even hear yourself?” I asked. Fear was driving my words. I couldn’t lose him. It was not even an option. “We have to stay connected, Joel. You do understand what it means, right? We can’t go fucking around when we’re not on the same page. It could ruin us!”

“You don’t own me!” Joel yelled. He lifted a finger and jabbed it at my chest.

And I felt like I was drowning.

“Joel!” Desperate, I caught his hand, crushing it against my breastbone. “I do own you! Like you own me, remember?”

He froze. His eyes widened, and his mouth parted. He remembered. He blinked once, and again. And I recognized my Joel. The anger evaporated just as fast as it came, leaving him bare, exposed.

“Ty,” he exhaled. His eyes turned liquid with regret. The pain in them almost made me wish I had said yes to his ridiculous plans.

“Damn it, baby, don’t do this to me,” I sighed and tugged him closer. He all but fell forward, pushing his face into the crook between my neck and shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him, and he hugged me back.

“Please, forgive me,” he mumbled into my skin. “I love you.”