This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This story also deals with love and consensual sexual activities between men. If you are not of legal age, reside in an area where viewing such material is illegal, or are offended by such themes, do not read further and leave this site now.
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Two Lives - Two Loves
Chapter 10
"Wait here...I'll be right back." Jon said, jumping from the bed, throwing on his robe and heading quickly downstairs.
Since he was the only one who knew where the stuff was, I figured I might as well just relax and sank back down into the cool pillows, interlacing my fingers behind my head. I listened to the faint sounds of his rummaging around downstairs as a smile began to take over my face. Even the sound of him rooting around down there was getting me hot. It had to be love. Then I heard a small crash.
"Ow! Shit!" I heard Jon shout quietly. Whatever it was must've hurt to make Jon curse...he normally didn't do that.
"You okay?" I called out.
"Yeah," he called back, his voice echoing slightly in the hall. "Just slammed my toe into something's all."
I was going to make a smart remark about but thought the better of it and held back. A few minutes later, Jon came back through the door, limping slightly from where he'd hit his toe, carrying his uncle's digital camcorder and a tripod.
"You sure you're okay," I asked, noticing the way he was favoring his left foot.
"Yeah, it'll be all right," he said as he began setting it all up. "...caught my toe on the credenza."
I watched with faint amusement as he set up the tripod and screwed the camcorder down to it, then connected the power cord. Fortunately, Jon mentioned as he peered through the viewfinder, the afternoon light was good enough even with the rain that we didn't need any other light except the lamp on the bed table.
"Say 'cheese'," he said as he squinted in the viewfinder and fiddled with the buttons.
"I got yer cheese right here," I smirked with a laugh as I flipped him off.
"Now, now, now," Jon said. "Be nice."
Jon knew how to test my patience and mine was starting to wear a little thin as he kept fiddly-farting around with the camera. My impatience was starting to show.
"Will you quit fucking around with that thing already!" I said, pursing my lips. "Get back in this bed now, young man...," I could see him beginning to laugh at my mock parental admonishment. "...before I have to pick you up and throw you in it!"
"I'm done, I'm done," he said, laughing. "Chill."
I saw the little red light on the camera and watched as Jon stripped off his robe and climbed slowly back into bed between my legs and up until our faces met, staring at each other in the afternoon light.
I can't tell you how weird it feels to make love in front of a running camera but when I looked into Jon's eyes and felt his lips against mine I forgot all about everything except us. He tasted especially good at that moment. We were getting very used to each other and he was becoming more at ease with himself. He now let his hands play more naturally over me, slowly, but without the tentative hesitance he'd had before. I loved this. I loved the feel of his tongue, his lips. I loved the sound of the breathing through our noses as we shared each other's breath. I loved the feel of him under my touch.
Jon stopped for a moment, reaching into the drawer of the nightstand and snagging a condom. I smiled and watched as he sat back on his heels and ripped it open, tossing the empty package onto the floor. My erection was already like steel but the feel of him slowly rolling the latex sheathing tightly down over me added a fiery, pulsing tempering that was almost too much for me to take. He applied a generous amount of lube to himself, spreading the excess at my shaved base, then got slowly into position.
He smiled as he reached behind and took he in hand, guiding me. Our bright-eyed smiles slowly faded into the open- mouthed awe of closed eyes. And I caught the faintest hint of some kind of citrus in the air.
We'd catnapped briefly afterwards. Not long, maybe fifteen minutes or so. God, I needed it, though. That nightmare had left me feeling drained and Jon...well, Jon had drained me pretty well, too. It was starting to get late in the afternoon and we were both getting hungry but we both needed showers. We both had that locker room feel of dried sweat that felt almost crusty. We laughed a little as Jon pulled away from me, his flesh kind of sticking to mine, making a slight sound like when you peel tape off of something. He switched off the video camera and returned to the bed for a quick kiss before heading into the bathroom.
I followed shortly behind him, lovingly watching his muscles move under his skin as he adjusted the shower...not too hot...not too cold...my little Goldilocks. When everything was just right, he turned and smiled at me.
"Coming?" he asked, winking.
"Soon, I hope," I replied with a crooked smile.
The hunger from our growling stomachs, however, was shouting at us louder than the hunger from our crotches. This was just quick-shower time. Soap. Rinse. In. Out. We did take turns drying each other off, though, and I lingered over Jon's lats and butt maybe just a little bit longer than was absolutely necessary. He didn't seem to mind; I caught him smiling in the mirror.
"You keep doing that and we'll never get dinner made," he said.
"Yeah, well...," I whispered as I playfully, lightly sank my teeth into his neck.
"OooooooooooooowwwwwwwwWWWWW," Jon moaned as he wrapped his arm around my head, gently pulling me tighter into his neck. I reached around and could feel him becoming aroused again. I stroked him lightly and was a little surprised when he turned, smiling, and softly pushed me away. "STOP it, dude," he pleaded. "I'm hungry! Save your energy for dessert," he grinned.
He was right. I was starving and we laughed at each other's growling stomachs. We threw on some shorts and tees and headed down to the kitchen.
We fished us out a couple of beers and I studied the weather while Jon started browsing the refrigerator.
"Hmm," I muttered. "Looks like it might be letting up a little."
"'Bout time," Jon said. "Whadda ya feel like for dinner? Anything in particular?"
"How 'bout some blond beef? Extra rare," I quipped.
"Oh, somebody's got a one-track mind today," he said, squinting at me, drumming his fingers on the countertop. "How about some grilled pork chops instead?"
"No blond beef?" I asked whimsically.
"You just had that for lunch," Jon quipped back, winking. "You need some variety in your diet." It was pretty plain that Playful Jon must still be upstairs. Serious Jon was manning the kitchen at the moment. Moody.
"Okay, fine," I gave in. "Grilled pork chops, then. You're gonna grill when it's still raining?"
"We'll drag the grill under the awning. In fact, let's get that out of the way now."
We dragged the barbecue under the awning and I got the propane fired up while Jon started getting everything ready inside. When I ducked back inside, I saw that Jon had strapped on his new toy from the dive shop. He was trying very hard to contain a smile, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, seeing if I would notice the small samurai sword he'd strapped to his leg.
"Whoa!" I cried in mockingly mock amazement, stretching my arm out and clutching my chest. "Look out, everyone...DangerGuy's in the house! Back off, people...," I said, continuing my comical tirade as Jon's veneer began to crack into outright laughter. "...don't get in DangerGuy's way!..."
"Dude, shut the hell up!" Jon cried in between gales of his own laughter.
"...He's on an important mission, I'll bet!" Neither of us could take it and we both broke down laughing from the sheer stupidity of my little rant. It took a few moments for us to get our breath back. "Man, what're you wearing that for?" I asked, still chuckling a little, "You expecting trouble?"
Jon shrugged his shoulders and smiled, "I couldn't resist it," he said in an almost child like voice. "I wanted to see how it felt."
"So how's it feel?" I asked.
"Interesting...different," he said. "I'm not used to having something strapped to my leg. How's it look?"
"Fine," I said as I studied him, taking in the entire picture. "Actually," I began.
"Yeah?"
"...if you want my honest opinion..."
"Always."
"...In a strange way, it's pretty cool!" I said, nodding with approval. "It gives you...I dunno...," I paused, tapping my chin, "...a dangerously hot kind of look."
"Oooo, Cool!" Jon said animatedly. "Put yours on; let's see what it does for you!"
I couldn't resist the temptation, either. Taking another gulp of beer, I told Jon to get the food on the grill and that I'd be right back. I sprinted between the raindrops out to the carriage house where I'd left my dive bag and almost bounced off the side door as I grabbed for the knob at near full speed.
"Dammit...locked," I thought to myself as the rain quickly began soaking my tee shirt. I turned to start back toward the house and I heard the unmistakable sound of the leaves of rusty hinges squealing against one another. Squinting, trying to keep the now increasing rain from out of my eyes, I looked to see the door ajar now, the wind pushing at it, making it slowly creak back and forth. For a few moments, I just stood looking at the door, wondering what to do, a quick chill running the length of my spine.
"Sweet Jesus," I thought, "...get a grip! ...probably just stuck, that's all!"
I chastised myself for being a fucking wuss as I pushed open the door and felt around for the light switch. I found it a couple of feet from the door and flicked it up and down a few times.nothing. Burned out. Have to put that on the list of things to do around the house. Fortunately, there was enough light coming in through the windows in the garage doors for me to dimly find my way around. I groped around for my bag and finally found it lying in the far corner. As I unzipped it, though, I felt that subtle change in the atmosphere, giving me that tingling feeling that I was not alone.
Still kneeling over my bag, I stopped fishing around in it and slowly looked around. Nothing. I twisted slowly around and glanced over my shoulder. Nothing. I even knelt down and looked under the cars. Still nothing. And still that feeling hung in the air like the smell of burnt toast...that feeling of being watched.
"Williams, get hold of yourself, would you please?!" I exclaimed to myself again as I tried to shrug off the feeling, my own voice providing little comfort.
I went back to fishing around in my bag and finally found my dive knife. It was an older, more traditional type, not the techno-sword like Jon bought, but it was impressive nevertheless, I thought. I strapped it to the side of my calf and stood up...maybe a little too quickly, though, judging by the head rush I got. Stars...dizzy...a little wobbly. I leaned against the Land Rover for a second for support.
Then I heard it.
Unmistakable.
Clear.
Distinct.
"Listen...," a whispered voice pleaded, trailing off.
I started and gasped in surprise. This was not my friendly neighborhood helper voice; this was something else. I quickly looked around again, thinking Jon might have snuck out to play a trick on me, but, again, I was completely alone. The voice came not so much from one ear or the other, so I couldn't really judge direction. It was like I heard it right in the back of my head.
"Who are you?" I called out, exasperated. Nothing. I don't know why, maybe it was pure instinct, but I started to reach down for the knife strapped to my leg and then stopped, thinking the better of it.
"Yeah, right, Williams," I thought. "Fat lotta fucking good that's gonna do."
Instead, I took a deep breath and tried to clear my mind, which was more than a notion right at that moment, because, in all honesty, just because I'm tall doesn't mean I'm not jittery. A lot of people have this notion that tall people aren't rattled by anything, equating height with courage. Well, I'm here to tell you that that ain't necessarily true, at least in my case. I knew guys a heck of a lot shorter than I was that I wouldn't want to screw around with. Needless to say, it was taking the summoning of a lot of nerve for me to stand there and attempt to communicate with God only knew what.
I stood there for a few moments...eyes closed...deep, regular breaths...quiet...rain on the roof...then thinking..."Who are you?"..."What do you want?"
"Listen to...," came the plaintive plea again. Clear and distinct, same as before, but trailing off to inaudibility. I opened my eyes, still a little surprised by the clarity of the voice but now more interested than frightened, and a picture began to form in my mind. Well, not in my mind really, it was more like it was right before my eyes but not right before my eyes. It was like seeing without seeing. I know that doesn't make a bit of sense but that's the only way I know to describe it.
My mental picture was of the man from the Study. I saw his mouth move and I finally heard and saw that the mournful plea was coming from him. "Please listen to...," his voice trailed off as his image faded away. Once again there was only me and the garage. I shook my head. I was starting to get a headache again and I still felt wobbly.
"Okay...that's enough fun and games for one afternoon," I thought. I opened the side door of the carriage house and nearly crawled out of my skin when I looked at the house. Its dark visage was back. Ominous, foreboding...every window opened wide...every curtain streaming outwards in a strangely cold and gusting wind. And Jon was gone. That nearly set me on the edge of terror. My heart started pounding. I was not asleep and I was not dreaming, but the vision was back and my favorite person in the entire universe, my anchor, my gravity, had been snatched away and replaced with this sepulchral image.
This was not happening. This was not happening and that's all there was to it. But here it was; a waking vision. More than what, I think, they call a lucid dream. This was walking through a door, wide awake, mind you, that I didn't know existed. No, I take that back. It was more like the door came out and swallowed me whole without my realizing it. It was like when Dorothy opens the door on the Technicolor world and proclaims that she must not be in Kansas anymore. I, too, was definitely not in Kansas anymore, but this was definitely not widescreen, full-color, munchkin-fucking-land! The only thing missing to complete this picture was the Crypt Keeper.
I checked myself out. No robes, just shorts, a tee and my Nike's. Very odd. I reached behind me to pat the side of the Land Rover and heard the sound of my hand patting against metal. "At least it's still here," I thought as I turned, beginning to think that I was really just imagining things...maybe it was that head rush I got when I stood up...that's it... maybe it was worse than I thought...maybe the Land Rover... was actually a 1929 Packard sedan!
"Oh, fuck!" I said aloud. I don't know why but I headed for the door and slammed it behind me, sprinting for the house through the pouring rain. I reached one of the French doors and slammed my palm against it so hard that I was lucky it didn't go through the glass. My chest heaving, my heart pounding, I stopped in the middle of the Wicker Room and shouted his name at the top of my lungs.
"JOOOOOOOOOOON!"
No reply. Only the sound of the rain...that relentlessly pounding, mind numbing rain.
"JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!" I screamed louder.
No answer.
I ran through the Foyer to the Parlor to the Study. Empty. Not a soul in sight. At least that fucking telephone wasn't ringing this time. I sprinted back out into the Foyer and yelled again.
"JOOOOOOOOOOON!"
Still no reply. Then I felt that subtle wave of energy pulling me, drawing me towards the stairs. Maybe that's it; maybe Jon's upstairs, although I wasn't holding out much hope. Not waiting for the energy to pull me up the stairs, I bounded up them three steps at a time.
"Pleasebethere, pleasebethere, pleasebethere," I chanted to myself as I landed on the second floor landing, grabbing the mahogany rail for leverage as I swung my weight around to race down the hall to our bedroom.
"JOOON!" I shouted again as I loped down the hall, trying to avoid knocking over the antiques. Antiques. There's a laugh; this stuff is all contemporary, now!
I started to call out his name again as I hit our bedroom doorway. 'Hit' would be a very apropos word at that moment. It was as though I'd run dead into a solid mass of...I don't know...nothingness, I guess would be the best way to describe it.
"JOOO...!" I started to call out again as the breath just left my body and I fell to my knees as they gave out on me.
"....OOOON!" I shouted, waking myself, gasping for air as I shoved myself up in bed on my palms, drenched in sweat. And there was Jon, sitting there on my butt but his hands drawn back in surrender, a frightened, wide-eyed look on his face.
"Oooohhhh, man," I whispered shallowly as I allowed myself to fall back into the damp sheets.
"Dude!" Jon started; I could definitely feel his tension, could almost taste it. "What's wrong, man? You're sweating like a horse! Was I massaging too hard?"
This felt familiar.
"Oooohhhh, man," I whispered shallowly, again. "No, you didn't do anything," I said, reassuringly as I rubbed his thigh. "What happened?" I asked.
My head ached like it was going to split.
"I dunno," Jon said, that little note of empathic concern still in his voice. "I was just massaging your back and then you kind of nodded off," he began. "I kept on working on you and the next thing I knew you started sweating like hell and then jumped up yelling. Man, I'm telling you; you scared the hell out of me!"
"How long was I asleep?" I asked, still trying to calm down.
"I dunno...a few minutes maybe, no more than that," he explained. "What...you have another nightmare?"
This had a really familiar feel to it.
I twisted around underneath of Jon, facing his comforting image, his fearful expression fading into one of concern. "Yeah, you could say that," I said. "Don't worry," I soothed him, "I'm okay...you're here," I smiled as I ran my hands along his thighs. Then I saw his look of concern fade again into the look of smiling, Mischievous Jon.
"Hey, while you were asleep, I had an idea for something different to do that ought to get your mind off of your bad dreams," he said, with a wry smile, a lilting eyebrow.
"Lemme guess," I started. "You uncle's got a camcorder downstairs that we can make our own...videos...with?" I said, smiling. Jon's face went blank in bewilderment. Apparently, I'd just taken a good chunk of the wind out of his sails. Maybe I should've just kept my mouth shut and let him have his fun. For a brief second or two, I don't think he quite knew what to say.
"You know...you psychic types take all the fun out of surprises," he said as he grabbed my nipples and twisted them hard. I instinctively curled up and cried out from the pain that, oddly, felt good in a strange kind of way. Surprises, he said. If only you'd seen some of the surprises I've had in the last day or so.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I pleaded until he let me go. We calmed down and I told him, "Why don't you go get it?"
Jon smiled. "I'll be right back," he said, jumping from the bed, throwing on his robe and heading quickly downstairs.
I could hear him rustling around downstairs when I heard that little voice in the back of my head. It wasn't Study Guy; it was my little helper voice whispering something to me. Oh, yeah.
"Hey, Jon," I called out to him. "Watch out for the credenza."
"Do what?" he called back. "Ow! Shit!"
"Oh, well," I thought. Some thing's're just meant to be, I guess.
I rested with my hands clasped behind my head, waiting for Jon to come back limping with the camcorder. I looked over at the bed stand, then reached over, rapping it a few times with my knuckles and felt along its edges, trying to convince myself that I wasn't in another dream, that I was back in my normal reality, whatever that was; I wasn't sure anymore.
It seemed real enough.
I ran my hands slowly over my pecs and abs, trying to convince myself that I was real and everything was back to normal...still, I wasn't sure how to define 'real' right at that moment, but...
"Hey, don't get started without ME," Jon said, grinning at my reflective self-examination as he came limping back into the room with the camera gear.
....Jon was sure going to help me find the dictionary...again.
(To Be Continued)