For the Love of Luke Page 15

  Luke sat up and opened his eyes wide. It was the first time he had consciously considered returning to America. Until now, America had been just another country on the map. For a brief moment, it had seemed like his homeland. And that felt good.

  The front door opened and, a moment later, slammed shut. Luke heard footfalls in the hallway. He stood and turned to the living room doorway.

  “Hey, Rupert,” he said. “How was your day? I’m fixing dinner, really I am. I just came in here to get some music on.”

  Rupert’s face looked thunderous. He stood in the open doorway, his mobile phone in his hand. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and he breathed heavily.

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  Chapter 21

  THE WHIRRING of the electric fan behind Luke sustained a steady bass line. Its slow, easy rhythm contrasted with Rupert’s uneven, angry panting as he gasped for breath. Against this soundscape, the noise of Luke’s blood pumping throbbed in his head. His ears seemed about to burst from the pressure. His chest was tight, and his own breathing was shallow and panicked.

  Luke could think of nothing to say. Rupert’s arrival and immediate outburst had shocked him into silence. A moment ago he had been planning a journey to America with a beautiful man. A man he had only met five days ago but who had already changed his outlook on life. A man who had given him hope, comfort, and a passion for life, love, and long, sustained sex. That should have been the same man who stood before him now.

  But the man in front of him was an alien. Anger had exploded from Rupert’s lips. Those lips that only a few hours ago had hungrily explored every inch of Luke’s body. Rupert’s eyes held a look of fury. Those eyes, which over the past five days had melted Luke’s very being each time he gazed into them.

  Luke inhaled deeply and held his breath for several seconds. He allowed the inhaled air to escape slowly, resisting his body’s urge to gulp a fresh intake. It was a technique Dr. Ballantyne had instructed him to use. The throbbing in his ears diminished a little. He repeated the procedure—once, twice, three times. Finally, he was confident the moment of panic had receded, and he could resist his base instinct to simply run from this new threat. He gripped the arm of the couch to steady himself. He swayed slightly and felt his legs weaken. The reassurance of the couch’s solidity bolstered his confidence.

  “I was showing the final builder your bedroom,” he said. “You remember? I offered to stick around today so I could let them in. Even though I had to reschedule my appointment with Dr. Ballantyne.” Luke turned to face Rupert square on. He straightened his legs, arched his back, and stood tall.

  “And I fixed supper,” he continued. “So. What the fuck’s gotten into you, Rupert?”

  “I didn’t know where you were,” replied Rupert. “And you didn’t answer your phone.”

  Luke walked across to the windowsill and picked up his mobile for Rupert to see. “I dropped it in the sink this afternoon. I’m drying it out.” He put the phone down, turned to face Rupert, and folded his arms in front of him. It was instinctive. But he knew it was a clear signal of his mood. “So I should check in with you every hour? Always be by the phone, waiting for your call? Is this how relationships work with you, Rupert? You’ve gotta somehow own me? ’Cause if it is, you can fuck off right now.”

  “No. I didn’t mean—don’t get so defensive,” said Rupert. “I was worried about you. I’ve got good reason—”

  “I’m a big boy, Rupert. I’ve managed perfectly fucking well for the last six months before you showed up. And frankly, I’ve got enough to think about without having to cope with your mood swings—”

  “Mood swings?” Rupert stepped into the living room and stood by the end of the couch. He too folded his arms in front of him. The two men squared off to each other. The last rays of the evening sun reflecting off them heightened the drama of the moment in Luke’s mind.

  “Yeah, mood swings,” replied Luke. “Do you know what I was thinking, before you stormed in like a fucking hurricane? I was thinking we could go away together. I could take you to America. To my home.” He could see the words made an impact on Rupert. “Yeah, that’s what I said. My home. Surprised to hear me say it? I sure was. But then you storm in and stand there like you think you fucking own me or something—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” countered Rupert. “I don’t think I own you. I know I don’t own you. And if you want to talk about mood swings, then take a look at yourself, why don’t you? My phone rings and you run away like a….” Rupert’s voice rose in both pitch and volume. “Like a frightened deer, for God’s sake. One minute you say, ‘Oh, I’m complicated,’ and then the next you’re suddenly all over me like a rash.”

  “That’s fucking mean.” Luke was shouting now. Had he been deceived by Rupert’s previous affection? He no longer had confidence it was sincere. “I’ve spent six months learning to trust people. It takes time. Do you know how much I’ve been hurt?”

  He paused for effect, but not for an answer.

  “No, you fucking don’t. I really thought… in the last few days… since I’ve met you… it’s been like….” Each phrase escaped Luke’s mouth like air from a deflating balloon. His shoulders sagged, he dropped his arms to his side, and he opened the palms of his hands in supplication. “What’s your fucking problem, Rupert?”

  The ringing of Rupert’s mobile punctuated the moment. Its effect on Luke was immediate and violent. His chest pulled tight until his ribs stopped him from breathing. His vision clouded, and the walls of the room felt as if they were closing in on him. He had to escape. Saw the open doorway and knew he had to run before his legs gave way and he would no longer be able to run.

  “No you don’t.” Rupert leapt forward and wrapped his arms around Luke. He threw him to the ground and pinned him down with the weight of his body. Luke struggled to escape. He could hear the ringing of Rupert’s phone, which had landed close to them, and he could feel its vibration through the floor near his head. He twisted his head away from the noise. He had to avoid looking at the screen. If he did, the voice would start. The voice that told him to do terrible things.

  “It’s a phone,” said Rupert. His hot breath was on Luke’s face as he spoke. His head was just inches away. “Nothing more, Luke. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Why are you afraid? Open your eyes. Look at me.”

  Rupert was shouting now.

  Luke screwed his eyes tight shut. He dare not look at the screen. Rupert could not make him. He could not be that cruel. Luke struggled to escape from Rupert’s hold. He arched his back and pushed hard against Rupert’s hands.

  The touch of Rupert’s lips against his own made him freeze. It was as if an electric charge shot through his body. The tightness in his chest eased, and he opened his mouth to inhale a gasp of air warmed by Rupert’s breath. Luke exhaled, and at the same time allowed his muscles to relax. The phone continued to ring and vibrate close to his head. But it no longer held any power over him. He inhaled, and Rupert’s tongue gently caressed the perimeter of his lips. Finally he opened his eyes and gazed into the deep blue of Rupert’s, staring down at him from inches away.

  “You’re safe,” breathed Rupert, the edges of his face crinkling in a smile. “I won’t let them harm you.”

  Luke lifted his head and kissed Rupert on the lips.

  “Thank you.” He mouthed the words silently.

  Luke lowered his head back onto the floor and turned to stare at the mobile phone. It shook violently from side to side as it vibrated and rang. After two more rings, it finally stopped. Luke looked at Rupert and repeated the words again. “Thank you.”

  With Rupert on top of him, Luke’s groin stirred. He pulled his arms free from Rupert’s restraint and wrapped them around the Englishman’s shoulders instead. The two men opened their mouths, and the anger of a moment ago morphed into passionate kisses of forgiveness. Rupert slipped his hands under Luke’s shoulders and cradled his head above the floor. He squeezed his shoulders
tight so that together they shared the very air they breathed. The bristles of Rupert’s beard dug into the surface of Luke’s skin, over and over again, as they rolled until Luke lay on top of Rupert. He tugged his arms from beneath Rupert’s shoulders and extended his hands along the length of Rupert’s arms until he had them pinned to the floor. Luke gazed down at the panting figure beneath him. Rupert’s cock pushed hard against his own, and he swiveled his waist in a slow gyration, enjoying the sensation that coursed through his body. Enjoying the pleasure he was giving Rupert.

  Once more, the ringing of the mobile phone punctuated the moment. Both men froze as the shrill sound stabbed the air. Luke slowly relaxed his grip on Rupert’s arms. He pulled himself into a kneeling position astride Rupert and reached for the phone, which lay facedown on the floor. He picked it up, flicked it over in his hand, and looked at the screen. Turning to Rupert, he said, “It’s someone called Christian.”

  Rupert took the phone from Luke and looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face as he answered the call.

  “Hi. … No, I’m not. … Yes, that was him. He’s right here. Do you want to…? … Sure. … Sure.”

  There was a long pause as Rupert listened intently. Luke reached forward, placed a hand on Rupert’s chest, and massaged gently. Rupert used his free hand to take Luke’s and intertwine their fingers.

  “We can go to my parents,” said Rupert finally, still speaking into the phone. “They’re out in the country—Buckinghamshire. Northwest of London. I can text you the address. … So what do you think might…?”

  Rupert tried to sit up. Luke rolled off his chest and lay back on the floor beside Rupert.

  “We have to tell the police,” Rupert continued. “No. Listen. If that’s what you think, then you have to tell the police. … Why not?”

  Rupert scrambled to his feet. He walked over to the far corner of the living room and held the phone close to his mouth. Luke sat up and strained to hear what he was saying. “Christian, you have to tell me more. Who is the…?”

  Rupert paused to listen to the response. He looked across at Luke.

  “Don’t you think you have a responsibility to him? You know he’s right here. Why don’t you tell him yourself? … I don’t care. If you won’t, then I will.”

  Rupert ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. He leaned against the wall and folders his arms in front of him. There was a look of fury on his face.

  “Who was that?”

  Rupert ignored the question. He reached back into his pocket, pulled out his mobile, and sent a text. Luke got to his feet and crossed the living room to stand in front of Rupert. He placed his hands on Rupert’s waist and gently tugged him forward.

  “Rupert. Speak to me,” said Luke. “What’s happened?”

  Rupert rested his forehead on Luke’s and wrapped an arm around his waist. He gazed into Luke’s eyes and sighed. “You really don’t know who Christian is?”

  “No. Who is he? It sounds like you’ve told him we’re going to your parents. We’ve only known each other five days. Don’t you think that’s a little…?”

  Rupert leaned back and laughed. “Yeah. Definitely. And it will be a first. Fuck knows what Father will say.”

  “But why?” asked Luke. “What’s happened?”

  Rupert placed his hands on Luke’s as they rested on his waist. He leaned forward from the wall and took one of Luke’s hands in his.

  “Come on,” he said. “I need to show you something.”

  He led Luke down the corridor to the bedroom, sat Luke on the bed, and crossed to Archibald on the wooden dresser. From Archibald’s lap, he picked up the photo and carried it over to Luke.

  “Look closely,” he said. “What do you see?”

  Luke stared at the photograph and examined each face in turn. He looked up at Rupert and shook his head.

  “Look at the boy on the far right,” said Rupert. “Look at him closely.”

  Again, Luke stared intently at the photograph. The shape of the boy’s face. The way he stood. He looked vaguely familiar.

  “Luke,” said Rupert gently. “It’s you.”

  The photograph blurred in front of Luke’s eyes. He blinked several times and tried to refocus on the image. His heart rate quickened, and the sound of his own blood pounded in his ears again. His eyes flicked rapidly from one face to another, but they were ultimately drawn to the severe lines of the face in the middle of the photograph. Unfocused though it was, he knew. His shoulders shook, his fingers loosened, and the photograph fell from his hands. He looked up at Rupert’s face, partly obscured by the tears that flooded his eyes. Rupert reached forward and pulled Luke’s head to his chest. He enveloped him in his arms and allowed Luke to sob.

  Wave after wave of long-stifled emotion flooded out of Luke. He held tight to Rupert and simply allowed himself to vent his anguish. Minutes passed. Rupert tenderly stroked Luke’s head, as a mother or father might console their distraught son.

  Finally, Luke’s shoulders stopped shaking, and his breathing became more controlled. He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked up at Rupert.

  “You’ve got to help me,” he said. His body gave another involuntary shudder of emotion. “I hate him so much.”

  Chapter 22

  THE LEATHERS Rupert brought for Luke were a snug fit. They clung tight to almost every part of his body. Luke admired himself in the full-length mirror. He turned side on. They felt good. He had to admit it. They looked damn good. Tight, black leather jeans enhanced the bulk of his thighs and the narrowness of his waist. They sagged a bit in the ass, but Rupert explained that was necessary to allow Luke to sit comfortably on the motorbike. Luke turned up the collar of the black leather jacket and closed the zips on both sleeves. Kevlar protective panels in the back, sleeves, and shoulders of the jacket filled out the upper part of his torso, adding bulk to his hours of work in the gym. He crossed to the bed and sat to pull on the reinforced bike boots, fasten their zips and Velcro covers.

  Luke smoothed his hands across the surface of the leather stretched tight across his thighs and grinned at a stirring in his groin. The sensation both surprised and pleased him. He stood, and the rigid shape of the boots forced him to lean forward, like a skier about to descend a black run. He attempted to stand straight, the upper part of his body compensating for the enforced bend in his knees. The jeans pulled tight against his crotch, and his cock rose to the stimulation of the leather hugging his body.

  “Sexy man.” Rupert’s voice came from the doorway. Luke turned. Rupert wore a one-piece racing suit made of red leather. White leather panels stitched into it enhanced the shape of his torso and legs. He crossed the bedroom to stand behind Luke at the mirror and placed his hands on Luke’s thighs. “I’ve not worn those leathers for a long time.” He studied Luke’s reflection in the mirror with an admiring grin. “They fit you really well. How do they feel?”

  Luke took Rupert’s hands in his and pulled them to wrap around his waist. “They’re making me horny,” replied Luke. “I was getting a hard-on just standing here, even before you came in.”

  Rupert slipped his hand down and caressed the front of Luke’s leathers. “And now you’re rapidly outgrowing those jeans. By the second, it feels like.”

  He placed both hands on Luke’s shoulders and pulled him gently forward. He bent his head and kissed the side of Luke’s neck, slowly and tenderly, his tongue warm and moist against Luke’s skin. “I could fuck you right now, the way you look and feel,” breathed Rupert. “But we’ve got to get moving. It should take us only an hour and a half to get there. But my parents go to bed early. I don’t want to upset them by arriving late.” He raised his head from Luke’s neck, to look at him in the mirror. “Especially when I’m bringing you as well.”

  “Are they going to be okay about it?” asked Luke.

  Rupert shrugged. “Who cares? They’ll have to put up with us. What’s important is your safety.” He gave Luke one final kiss and squeezed tight
on his thickly padded shoulders. “Have you packed what you need?”

  Luke turned to the bed, picked up a small rucksack, and showed it to Rupert.

  “That’s good,” said Rupert. “The BMW’s got decent-sized panniers, but there’s a limit to how much you can get in. The crash helmets are downstairs. Let’s get off.”

  “Have you got room for this as well?” Luke picked up his half-size folio case. “If you haven’t, I’ll hold it for the journey. But if we’re staying there a long time I need to draw.”

  THEY CRESTED the brow of a small hill, and the sign for Middle Claydon flashed in the headlight of the motorbike. Night had fallen. As the bike sped along the tree-lined lanes of Buckinghamshire, Luke breathed the clear, cold air, which was laden with the scent of damp vegetation. He had never ridden pillion on the back of a motorbike before, and he found the experience exhilarating.

  The sun had not quite set when they left London, and the city’s streets were still crammed with cars. Late commuters made their way home after long working days. Rupert expertly wove the powerful BMW motorbike in and out of the streams of traffic. He filtered to the front of lines of cars so they could get away quickly when the lights changed to green. At first, Luke clung tight to Rupert’s waist. He followed Rupert’s instruction to lean when the bike leaned and not to fight against it. Luke felt good holding Rupert close, and he followed each move of the Englishman’s body. It was as if they were one with the bike. Before long, Luke relaxed his grip on Rupert’s waist and settled back to enjoy the sheer power and independence the motorbike afforded them both.

  When they reached the open roads outside central London, Rupert opened the throttle wide. The powerful bike roared and carried them west. Ahead of them, the final glow of the sun painted the sky a vivid and rapidly darkening orange. Mile after mile melted past, and they soon left the urban sprawl of the dormitory suburbs behind. They sped on to the Chiltern Hills and rural north Buckinghamshire, once home to the poet John Milton and the author Roald Dahl.