Hearts Under Fire (10 page)

Adam. In short order, I’d bet. With his face buried in Daniel’s lap.

“Hm,” Tristan said. “Maybe unhook the chain, Daniel? Might help him brace if you’d just like to enjoy.” He shrugged. “Up to you.”

Daniel unhooked Adam’s right cuff, letting the links dangle before he stroked Adam’s arms and shoulders. Adam wrapped one arm behind Daniel while his right hand teased, aiding his mouth. Tristan leaned to grab the bottle next to his knee, squeezed clear slick into his left, uncovered hand, and reached around to stroke Adam’s length. He used his right hand to steady Adam.

“
Mm... mmph...
yes... please, Master...” The words were high-pitched and muffled, and Clark felt them like electric shocks. Daniel groaned and leaned into the couch, and Clark had to catch his balance as his body mimicked the motion. Daniel placed his right arm about Adam’s head and shoulders, while his left petted the warm, flawless skin of Adam’s back.

Meanwhile, Tristan teased Adam and shifted closer to use both hands and roll the condom over the sub’s cock. Adam responded predictably; Clark could hear him moaning from where he stood.

Frowning, Clark looked down at his nearly-empty glass. He should enjoy the show. He should leave before the memories got any worse. He should return to the bar and act like he wasn’t bothered. He should walk over to Daniel and kiss the man while Adam worked in his lap.

Too many conflicting impulses, and Clark felt worry gnaw at his insides when he heard another sound like a gunshot. It wasn’t real, but it was a warning.

Clark looked up, feeling sick, and he saw Tristan glance over his shoulder at Clark before turning back to Adam. Clark frowned.

“Such a good boy,” Tristan said with affection.

Clark shook his head. Tristan squeezed Adam’s right ass cheek with the gloved hand and then brought his hand down in three fast blows of varying intensity: moderate, mild, hard.

Adam gasped, noise dampened as he pressed himself closer to Daniel. “Oh, God--” he managed to say before Tristan did it again, four strikes this time.

“Shit,” Adam groaned.

“Something to say, boy?” Tristan asked.

“Thank you, Master,” Adam said immediately, the words blurring into one as he spoke them fast.

Tristan drew back and waited, watching Adam with a small smirk on his face. The boy in Daniel’s lap squirmed after three seconds of nothing happening.

Clark flinched when Tristan’s hand met Adam’s skin again, harder and unforgiving, and Clark counted five as he took an involuntary step forward. He blinked, dazed, and let his eyes slide up Daniel’s body.

“Nngh -- please!”
Adam called.

Fingers threading through Adam’s hair, Daniel wrapped his arm about Adam’s upper body and looked up at Clark, gaze heated and desperate, almost longing. Clark jerked backward, the intensity in Daniel’s eyes nearly a physical blow.

Not for me. Wouldn’t want me and shouldn’t. Can’t.

Cold panic slithered and stirred in Clark’s body, and he knew with utmost clarity that he needed to get out of here. Now. After years of practice, he could sometimes predict when a “blackout” was coming. The anniversary, the confusion, the club, the scene in front of him...

Daniel.

This one’s going to hurt.

Daniel’s eyes and expression held Clark still, feet frozen as Tristan said something to Adam, the words lost to Clark. Tristan moved to one side to tease Adam’s ass with soft blows while his hand reached around to stroke the boy. Adam’s cry was high and needy, and his body rocked when Tristan began to work him.

“Face up, boy,” Tristan commanded. “Let Daniel see how you look when you get what you need.”

Adam rolled to his left, turning his face to the side to rest on Daniel’s leg so the man could watch. Clark shuddered in longing and pain. Sweat stood out on Adam’s skin; his eyes were half-closed, mouth open, lips dry; and he shivered when the teasing blows Tristan delivered grew harder.

Daniel traced along Adam’s damp skin, a thumb brushing under the half-closed lids, and his other arm tightening about the vulnerable, shivering body. “God, you’re gorgeous,” Daniel said softly.

Adam panted and grunted as he let Tristan move his body. The strikes to his behind turned into clutches and clenches, and Tristan looked down at Adam with a heated, sure gaze.

“He’s beautiful,” Tristan agreed, tone reverent. He stroked Adam harder and watched as Adam’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, brow furrowing. “Stunning when he comes... ass red...” Tristan swatted again, and Adam’s entire body jerked and then went still. “Voice high... let’s hear you, boy.”

With one more strike hard enough to rock Adam against Daniel, the sub called out a long, strangled sound of relief and release. Tristan gripped Adam’s abused flesh, and Adam writhed, falling silent in his ending, but mouth open and arms clinging desperately to Daniel. The professor held Adam close and sure, murmuring sounds of reassurance, hands stroking along the shaking sub’s hair, back, and sides.

For a few rapid heartbeats, Clark found clarity and silence like a break in cloud cover. He stared at the tender way Daniel held Adam, memories flickering beneath the stillness --

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

-- in a way that didn’t hurt for that one, frozen moment of time.

Chapter 6

Tristan soothed Adam with hands and voice, leaning over and holding him. Clark watched the men, sucked in a breath to steady himself, and that’s when the pain hit.

Lancing though his eye and shooting in from his spine to fan out over his side, the pain made Clark jerk. It was phantom -- he knew that. Some sort of nasty brain cocktail that made things
seem
real; ghosts of evils past.

But that didn’t make it hurt a damned bit less. In fact, Clark felt sure that the phantom pains hurt more than the injuries that initially caused them. He managed for a second or two, and then nausea hit with a force that made Clark break into a cold sweat. He bent slightly, head going down and arm wrapping protectively across his abdomen before he checked himself and stiffened his spine.

I will not panic. Pain is nothing. Illness is manageable. Just get outside. And breathe.

Clark set his glass down on a nearby table and paused until he was sure he could walk without calling attention to himself. He blew out a breath and calmly turned with a smile on his face as he began making his way toward the door. He didn’t run for the closest exit -- it would be too obvious -- and chose instead to suffer as he nodded and winked at patrons.

Lucian stepped away from his high table and frowned at him. “Clark?” he said.

“Early day tomorrow,” Clark said with a wave. “Fantastic time as always, Lucian.”

Lucian didn’t reply, and Clark’s long stride had him at the door and out into the ‘combs in less than five seconds.

“Leaving already, Clark?” a woman asked, as he barreled down the stone hallways.

Clark flashed a grin. “Hot date, can’t keep him waiting.”

The woman’s laughter grated on his eardrums as he pumped his legs faster and rounded the final corner. Goddamn but these hallways were entirely too long, Clark thought as he half-trotted toward the exit.

Clark slowed down to make his way up the spiral staircase. Panic beat hard against him, and he held it off by sheer magic. It wasn’t willpower -- that had exactly no effect on the blackouts -- so perhaps it was temporary luck and God’s grace.

Definitely more of the first.

Clark squared his shoulders and calmed himself, despite the fact that his vision threatened to tunnel. If he showed an ounce of distress to the two hulks guarding the entrance, they’d make him stay or call someone or do something else Clark didn’t want.

“Gentlemen,” Clark said easily as he passed out the door. “Enjoy your stargazing, all right?”

“Good night, Master Clark,” said one of the guards.

Mission accomplished, Clark spun on his heel. Once he was out of their line of sight, he broke into a stumbling jog. It was chilly, and he remembered his jacket and phone were still back at the coat check. But that thought was quickly erased by the image of a smiling man with military-short hair.

Focus.

Clark looked at the path and slowed the jog when it jarred the echoes of pain too much. Dizzy, breathless, and kicking himself for staying too long at the club when he knew he was in bad shape, Clark barely made it beyond the trees to the sidewalk before he staggered. He forced his hands into fists tight enough to feel the bite of his nails and made himself glance around, hating the small noise that escaped his lips. There was no one in sight. Above Clark, the safety lights buzzed obnoxiously. Clark felt the familiar stages of red-alert panic begin to overtake him, and he sucked in a gulp of air, trying to stay calm and maybe avoid this. Maybe, if he could just breathe --

-- and then the landscape changed.

Gone were the cars, the lot, the sidewalk, and anything else solid and real. Instead, Clark saw a narrow, dirt road next to a line of shabby buildings. He heard voices.

“The fuck is this place, Patterson? Goddamned Iran?”

“Fuck off. It’s right down here. Keep your panties dry, Morrell.”

Clark heard himself chuckle, saw it all from his two matching eyes. He could feel Sergeant Brian Patterson brush against his arm and knew the movement was deliberate. They were going to grab food off-base, a rare treat. People passed the small group of American soldiers, some casting wary eyes, but most just ignoring them. Clark looked down at the dirt with a hidden smile, loving the way Brian would risk simple gestures to let Clark know how he felt, that he remembered, that he didn’t take anything for granted.

Looking up, Clark saw a sign and turned to ask Brian if this was the place. But the world blew to pieces in a roar of religious rage.

Clark lay on his side when he came out of a shocked daze. He couldn’t see well and didn’t understand what that meant. He knew he was hurt, but he put aside the pain to take stock of his men -- his friends, his unit, and his...

“Brian?” Clark rasped as he turned a head that felt full of needles. He knew he spoke, but the cotton-dampened ringing in his ears drowned out the sound. Maybe he shouted, maybe he cried, he didn’t know. What his body did couldn’t matter so long as it obeyed Clark’s command.
Get. Up. Help. Them.

Clark flipped to his stomach and felt things shift inside his body; not mortal, but bad. He looked around, coughing as he breathed in air full of dirt and plaster and smoke. Faintly, he heard screams, but that, too, was lost in the angry buzzing of the million bees droning in his head. His face felt tacky -- bleeding -- and his clothing was torn nearly off. He skin felt sand-blasted, but then he stopped trying to gather facts when he saw Brian.

Patterson lay not three feet away in a pool of blood and other things best left inside a human body. Clark had a clear view of Brian’s face, and while Clark watched, Brian’s dark eyes blinked once, slowly. An outstretched hand spasmed, and then Brian was gone.

Clark screamed in the memory -- for help, for God, for agony -- and then, thankfully, the world twisted again.

The sidewalk was too close, and Clark realized he was kneeling, caught on one hand as he bent forward with his head down. Vomit churned in his gut, and he gagged. He turned his head and spat, trying to go through the mental exercises that told him it wasn’t real. Memory -- just memory. Painful, awful, in vivid color and enough to make him wish for death again, but not real.

Clark gasped for air, then forced himself to breathe in slowly through his nose and out his mouth.

So stupid. That was years ago. Get over it, already. And breathe, damnit. Breathe.

Running footsteps approached. “Clark?”

Sucking in a harsher breath at the sound of the familiar voice, Clark jerked his head over his shoulder.

Which was a huge mistake.

Grimacing, Clark fought nausea and spat again, keeping the contents of his stomach where they should be despite their protests.

Get up. Do not let him see you like this. Get. Up.

“Daniel,” Clark rasped and moved to put one foot on the ground.

“No, don’t.” Daniel barked, taking two steps closer. “You fell. You can’t...”

“The fuck I can’t,” Clark snarled. “Get
back
.” A part of Clark’s brain quietly suggested that he should be nice to the kind man who was obviously concerned for Clark’s well-being.

Clark told it to fuck off.

Struggling and hating every second of it, Clark got up on shaky legs. When the vomit rose, he swallowed it and faced Daniel. He knew exactly how he looked: drawn, pale, sick, and doing a great imitation of a thunderstorm.

Daniel didn’t stand back, but he didn’t try to touch Clark, either. Clark grimaced when his eye gave a twinge. For a second he was at an utter loss for what to say, and his mind flailed, still roiling with the attack.

“I’m... sorry you saw this,” Clark said, and that was most definitely the truth. “Go back. I’m fine.”

“I can’t,” Daniel said in a tremulous voice that made Clark wince.

“Of course you can,” Clark said. “It’s easy: turn, go, forget.”

Keeping his gaze steady on Daniel was hard. Seeing Daniel distressed after the scene earlier with Adam was beyond horrific.

“Tell me what you want...”

“... I... don’t know...”

“More of my mouth. You want that?”

Clark’s eyes widened as that particular memory assaulted him, and he cursed the gods, and fate, and the universe at large for being such utter dicks. Knowing that Daniel watched him intently, Clark cleared his throat and swayed on his feet. Before Clark could protest, Daniel wrapped arms around him and said firmly, “No, I can’t.”

“Bri-- “ Clark stopped, froze, and put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder, eyes to the side and not returning the embrace. “Daniel,” he said more steadily. “Please...”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sergeant? Or should I call you something else?”

Clark shivered, and he knew the shakes were coming. Cold sweat doused his skin, and he leaned into Daniel by a fraction of an inch.

Daniel held on. “I’ve got you. I saw you go down, and you’re cold, so I’m worried about shock. I can’t let you go, Clark, not in the shape you’re in.”

Clark swallowed, nearly choking on his own saliva, and he pulled back as much as he could, but didn’t meet Daniel’s gaze. He frowned. “What did you...”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you...”

The words echoed in a round robin, and Clark hissed a gasp through his teeth. He made a quiet sound that was entirely too close to a whimper, and he damned himself for not being man enough to let the dead stay buried.

“I said it’s okay,” Daniel answered. “That I’m all right with seeing you like this. I’ve got you, and I won’t let you fall. I can’t just turn my back on you. For all that you make me think too much and go through some damned dizzying loops on nothing but a few clues as insubstantial as a freaking hen’s tooth, I think I’m starting to like you.” Daniel laughed.

Clark gave up trying to breathe through his nose and panted out his mouth. The sound of rushing air gave him something to focus on, and his legs shook from panic, adrenaline, and sheer proximity to Daniel. The want and heat swirled with everything else in Clark’s head, and it was just...

Too much. This is too fucking much.

Clark bent until the bridge of his nose rested on the back of his own hand on Daniel’s shoulder. The movement was jerky and halting, but he did it. “Just starting to... huh...” he managed to say. His voice was small and weak, for all it attempted humor.

Daniel chuckled and stroked Clark’s back. “No, I liked you the moment I first saw you, the strength of your hand, your wit, your confidence, and your smile. I just... I knew too much, like you said. Your reputation preceded you, and I just couldn’t see.”

Under normal circumstances, Clark knew he’d be humiliated at how much relief washed over him, but the hand on his back felt nice, and nothing about Daniel seemed to fall into the category of normal anything.

“Couldn’t see...” Clark repeated, and he turned his head and breathed against Daniel’s neck. This helped. He didn’t feel like his insides were struggling to find outside air anymore, and the shakes weren’t nearly as bad as they should be. His legs still trembled, but he could stand. Clark told himself that anything that helped the attack aftermath was good.

Daniel wrapped an arm around Clark. Fingers gently stole into Clark’s hair, and Daniel sighed while rubbing the back of Clark’s stiff neck. Clark bit back a moan and held still, wanting to cling to Daniel and unable to let himself.

Turning his face so that his chin brushed Clark’s face, Daniel sighed. “What do you want, Clark? What do you really want of me?”

Clark stopped breathing, and his brain misfired. Everything Daniel did felt exactly -- no, check that, it felt
better
than Clark imagined it would. He tried for a second just to feel it and not think too much about anything at all, but he struggled with the flashes of memory -- all painful, all horrible -- and with the question Daniel had asked. Clark knew too many levels of answers, and part of him balked and wondered what in the hell Daniel meant, wondered who in the hell the professor was to ask
Clark
such a thing.

The fuck? What do I want?

Clark pulled away from Daniel, and when he felt resistance, he struggled against it. Not hard, but it did occur to Clark that he could kill this man in no fewer than four ways.

“I think I want you to give me a ride home,” Clark said, frost in his voice. “I wouldn’t ask, but my damned phone’s back in the club so I can’t call a cab, and I’m plenty aware that I shouldn’t drive.”

“I’d be glad to,” Daniel said, releasing Clark, who missed Daniel’s arms as soon as they left. “So long as you let me in to see you settled.”

Clark nodded, feeling a mix of irritation and heat at the thought of Daniel in his home. “Fine,” he said. He wasn’t out of the woods yet with the attack, he knew, so, really, it made sense to have someone see him home.

Good sense. Nice, rational sense.

Clark scowled, uncharacteristically ill at ease.

Daniel turned toward the path and waited. “I’m not letting you too far out of arm’s reach. I saw how hard you went down.”

Clark took a step and realized his knees ached. That was a good sign -- feeling things that were real was a good way to gauge recovery from one of the damned fits. Wincing, he nodded and found he wanted Daniel close, which inspired a fresh wave of heat and exasperation.

“Okay,” Clark said with a shrug. “I can... that’s fine.” Face still twisted into a scowl, Clark managed two unsteady steps before Daniel sighed, pain tinting the sound.

“Please, can I just...” Daniel took Clark’s arm and slid under it.

Clark didn’t say anything. He got lost in how solid Daniel felt, and the texture of his shirt was surprisingly pleasing to the touch. He gripped at fabric and let Daniel help him. Old anger flared, but he ignored it, exhausted.

Honest to God, there are going to be so many reasons to lock yourself away in a dark room for the next week with whiskey, what’s a few more going to hurt?

Together, they made their way to their cars. The little Tesla lit up when Daniel came within range. He took Clark over to the passenger side of the car, opened the door, and hovered.