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A KID SCREAMED OUTSIDE. That’s what woke Eli up, mostly because his apartment building didn’t have any kids, and there was no outside to speak of.
He froze. Where was he? And why?
Kitchen noises drifted to him from not too far away, and he caught scent of coffee and bacon. A timer dinged.
Eli stirred. Rough fibers of an old army blanket scratched his shoulders and knees, itching his neck. As he moved, his naked ass rubbed against something cold and wet.
A nasty, red wave of panic flooded him. Fight or flight? Flight or freeze? He covered his mouth and nose in an effort to quiet his panicked breathing. Strange place, naked, wet, and hurting didn’t make for that happy fuzzy feeling he associated with sleeping in on the weekends. Eli was hung over and his belly ached as though he’d been kicked in the nuts during a soccer match.
Slowly, carefully, Eli cracked his eyes open the smallest bit, just enough to see, but narrow enough so he could pretend he was still asleep in case someone walked in.
Was he being held? A memory of coercion and restraint invaded his mind. Adrenaline flooded his veins. He didn’t remember much, but he knew he had to get away. Now.
Not stirring enough to make noise, Eli took in the layout of his prison. It looked much like a living room. Filtered sunlight crept in through the gaps in the almost-shut venetian blinds, and a light breeze made its way through the cracks between the slats and stirred the sheer, moss-green curtains. The walls were covered in an old, yellowed wallpaper, dated but without tears or stains. Only a flat-screen TV hung on the wall, right above the dark wood entertainment center across from the sofa. Two stuffed chintz chairs faced it, one by Eli’s head and the other by Eli’s feet.
A stuffed leather ottoman sat where most people kept their coffee table. Its surface was cluttered with magazines. A TV remote peeked from under the pile.
He heard footsteps and quickly shut his eyes.
Go away, go away, go away.
“Hey, Eli? There’s coffee and I’m making breakfast. The bathroom’s around the corner, and the one with the shower is right upstairs.” The vaguely familiar voice stilled, but Eli felt a man’s presence loom over him. “I know you’re faking sleep. That’s okay. Here’s a bathrobe. There’s clean towels upstairs and a change of clothes that ought to fit ya. I’ll go in the kitchen now and give you fifteen minutes or so.” More watchful silence. “Holler if you need anything.”
The steps receded. Eli cracked his eye open.
Bo Bartowski. How the fuck had he ended up in Bo Bartowski’s apartment? Or was it a house?
A shower – or maybe he could pretend to be taking a shower and make his escape. He wondered whether the bathroom window was up very high. In any case, getting off this wet sofa sounded like a good start to unraveling what the hell happened last night.
ONCE Eli was sure Bo wasn’t watching him, he peeled off the blanket and clambered off the sofa like a creaky automaton.
Everything hurt.
His throat was hoarse, his knee ached as though he’d fallen on concrete, and his shoulders stiffened with a dull and persistent pain he’d never experienced before. He rubbed his arms, standing naked in Bo Bartowski’s living room. Long, thin abrasions criss-crossed his forearms. A hiss of pain, a flash of memory. A restraint of some sort – and, oh yeah. His privates.
He looked down, fearing what he would find.
His cock was still there, limp, and tired, and sore. Its crinkled skin advertised no action in the foreseeable future. He ran his hand down to fluff up his balls and hissed with pain again. Was he bruised? What the fuck had Bo done to him last night?
His position, standing naked in Bo’s living room, struck him as both surreal and vulnerable. He grabbed for the folded bathrobe – a well-worn blue terrycloth – and shrugged in on. The hem reached to his ankles, the sleeves almost covered his fingertips, and its bulk crowded his armpits as he belted it on. Yet it was a garment of clothing and smelled of clean laundry detergent, and Eli didn’t feel quite so vulnerable anymore.
The proffered change of clothes consisted of a pair of elastic shorts and a Pirates T-shirt. There was no underwear, and there were no socks. Not that he wanted to wear Bo’s.
His eyes fell on a pile of clothing on the floor. Skinny jeans, a jock strap, a black mesh shirt. His stuff. The carefully selected wardrobe he’d worn to that new club – what was its name? And he didn’t go there with Bo. He went with Matt and Jeff, his best friends.
Matt and Jeff.
Eli didn’t know why the floor fell from under him.
He stumbled and crashed. The sound of breaking glass was like an accusation.
Look how bad I am. Look how I’m getting caught.
Eli grabbed the back of the arm chair next to him as he waited for the world to stop spinning. Something was very wrong.
“You okay?” Bo Bartowski charged in from the kitchen. He had a wild look on his face. That, together with his chiseled features and his imposing stature, made Eli feel very small. “Hey...”
Bo reached for Eli.
Eli flinched away.
“Stand still,” Bo said. “You’re barefoot.” He looked around. “The tall lamp, huh?”
“I’m sorry. I just...” Eli held onto the armchair for dear life.
“Don’t worry, it was cheap.” Bo’s gaze raked over him. “What happened?”
Eli didn’t have it in him to shrug. “I’m not sure. I was thinking ‘bout last night, trying to figure out what the fuck happened, and then... was there an earthquake? It felt like an earthquake.” It did, too. Eli had experienced one in California. It had almost thrown him off his feet back then. He looked up at Bo for confirmation.
Bo’s features softened. “No, there wasn’t no earthquake. Sit down, will ya?”
Eli let go of the chair one finger at a time. He tried to turn and take those two steps so he could sit, but his arms. His legs. His everything.
“Here, buddy.” Bo appeared from nowhere. His hands were on Eli’s elbows, squeezing tight, but not too tight. “Lemme help a bit.”
Eli sat down and winced.
“You don’t remember what happened?” Bo had a frown on his face now.
“Um... not really. I mean, I know I went to a club. And you were there, and we...” He felt heat rise to his face. This was fucking embarrassing, but he needed to know. How far did they go? He remembered Bo’s caress all over his body. His arms, his back, his legs. It had felt so good, the vibration of what Bo had been going to his cock and balls. There was no way he was going to forget that. “I remember us making out, but... um...” The frown on Bo’s face confused him. “Were we safe, right? Did you use a condom?”
Bo crouched by his chair. His eyes were below Eli’s level now, and as he looked at him, Eli saw concern in his eyes.
And those eyes... icy grey and blue and deep. With little dark specks around the irises, so beautiful, pupils narrowed. Eli thought he could drown in them.
“We never did it, Eli.” The words came out at a hoarse whisper. “We... I saw you dance with two guys. I was in the band and I thought you saw me, but maybe... maybe you didn’t recognize me. An’ that’s okay. Then I went upstairs with this guy, Steve. Or Sol? Some old-fashioned name. An’ I saw you up there with those same two guys.” Bo cleared his throat. His gaze became guarded. “You don’t remember anything?”
Shit.
Eli stared at him. Yeah, he remembered the stage and the lights and Bo. “You play the bass,” he said. “And it felt so good. Like...” Like being touched all over. Except Eli couldn’t say that.
“Yeah?” Bo’s lips upturned into a small, short-lived smile. “But those two guys. What do you remember?” He stood up and rubbed his knees, as though staying crouched didn’t feel all that good. “You want some coffee first? Eat first, shower later? Whatever you want, man, I’ll be happy to help. I felt terrible when I saw you...” Bo cut off the sentence, a veritable torrent of words compared to the curt statements Eli had to drag out of him at work.
“Coffee sounds nice,” he replied with all the gratitude he could muster. “Just... give me a minute or two. I’m a bit sore.” He stood slowly and shuffled his way to the kitchen, feeling like an old man. He was stiff and aching all over.
But why?
––––––––
THERE WAS SOMETHING pitiful and endearing about Eli Winkler, Bo reflected as he watched him make his way into his kitchen. He was almost sweet. Gone was the geeky staffer who demanded information and quizzed Bo and his foreman about every single detail about their work procedures.
Gone was his power, too.
The man who’d made Eli’s workday miserable, a man Bo feared and resented for his power to point out his shortcomings, wasn’t so scary anymore.
His own thoughts sickened him. Winkler might’ve been an asshole, sure, but nobody deserved to be found naked, strung up, and humiliated – or worse - by two guys who didn’t have his best interests in mind. And now he wasn’t a lot better than those two, thinking how he liked Winkler taken down a couple of notches.
Nobody deserved that sort of shit.
Bo felt his nostrils flare. If he ever ran into them again... he’d almost slugged one of them. God, he’d hoped the guy was gonna give him a fucking reason to rip him a new one and rearrange his face. Even now, his knuckles itched for contact as he made a fist and quickly released it.
He reached for a coffee mug and filled it, doctored it with a spoonful of sugar and a splash of half-and-half. “Here.”
Eli reached his hands toward it, cradling the hot mug while resting his forearms on the table. Bo’s bathrobe looked huge on him, as though he was playing dress-up in his grandpa’s winter coat. He looked so lost, too.
“Thanks.” Eli’s voice wavered. He pulled the mug toward him and sipped a bit carefully. Then he looked up. “How did you know how I take my coffee?”
“The vending machine. Remember? You always pay extra for white and sugar.”
“But that’s because the vending machine coffee’s lousy. This coffee’s great. It doesn’t need anything.” Eli took another sip and sighed with contentment.
Bo hoped this would be the end of things, Eli would finish his mug, take his shower, and remember what happened all by himself. That would’ve been too easy, though. Too simple. Too kind to both of them.
Eli looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m sorry about the sofa,” he said. “This is horribly embarrassing, but there’s a wet spot. I think I, um, I must’ve had one of those bathroom dreams.” He paused. “Not that I have them or anything, but I’ve heard it say sometimes people will dream they’re in the bathroom and they pee while asleep, and...”
“Wait,” Bo said, raising his hand up. “No, that’s just water.”
“Water?”
“From your ice pack,” Bo said, his words slow and deliberate. He had to think of each one separately to make sure it came out in a way that wasn’t misleading. “I had to put an ice pack on your, um, cock. And your balls. And the bag leaked.”
“Oh.” Eli applied himself to his coffee. Silence flowed past them like a river, irritating the unsated curiosity, opening wounds, engendering concern. Bo wanted to make the eggs and reheat the bacon just to do something, anything, that would break the awkward stillness. Even banging pans on the stove. Anything that would stop Eli thinking about it.
“Why?” Eli’s expression was the one of a lost wild animal, with big brown eyes and tousled hair and smudged eyeliner. Kissable.
No, not kissable. One didn’t take advantage of a guy in Eli’s situation. Eli’s been... well... how did you explain to a guy you worked with that he’d been drugged, tortured, and possibly raped in a gay club?