Nifty has been a source of inspiration and a means to indulge my creative imagination. It has been a pleasure to contribute to the site. Please help Nifty keep our stories alive and donate! https://donate.nifty.org
I'm always happy to hear from my readers, so if you wish to reach out, please email me with your comments and feedback to casualwandererniftystories@gmail.com
You can also check my Patreon at: https://www.patreon.com/CasualWandererEroticStories for more stories (or you can join as a free member to gets updates on what I'm doing)
This story is an original work of fiction. Copyright 2024 CasualWandererEroticStories - Please do not copy or post without permission.
Author Intro: My name is Casual, and I'm, first and foremost, a storyteller. I write about erotic, sensual, sexual, and emotional connections between gay men. Although grounded in reality, my stories are still fantasies, not meant to promote or glorify any sexual practices. I can go from romantic, sweet, uplifting to rough and edgy. If you wish to be taken on wild, exhilarating, magical, and sensual adventures, my imagination is the place for you.
Casual Wanderer © 2024 All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and specific other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Chapter Seven "Neither One Of Us"
The house's silence felt suffocating, magnifying every creak and rustle in the stillness as Nicholas paced around nervously. He reached for an armchair and sank into it, feeling the weight of his lingering suspicions pressing down on him.
The oppressive darkness seemed to squeeze in on Nicholas from all sides, engulfing him in a suffocating embrace. He buried his face in his hands, desperately trying to make sense of the chaotic whirlwind consuming his mind. The haunting thought of Brandon and Tom together played repeatedly, like a relentless loop etched into his consciousness, leaving him feeling hollow and sick to his core.
His mind became engulfed in a disruption of self-blame. He couldn't shake the feeling that his behavior had led Brandon to this point. Was it his unpredictable actions and disloyalty to Beth that had influenced his son's decisions? Nicholas felt the heavy burden of guilt and remorse weighing down his heart. He had always held himself in high regard as a father, but now it seemed like everything was falling apart, slipping away from his grasp like grains of sand.
His body sank into the armchair, the hours slipping away unnoticed as he delved deeper into the intricate maze of his thoughts. The house lay in shadowy silence, the air heavy with anticipation, as if bracing itself for the impending release of tension. Nicholas felt his mind accelerating, darting from one excruciating memory to the next, each serving as a poignant testament to the profound disintegration that had taken place.
Suddenly, Nicholas's heart pounded in his chest as he heard a faint noise, a delicate rustling that barely registered above the beating of his own heart. His senses sharpened, and he listened intently, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. The noise grew gradually louder and more distinct, the unmistakable scrape of someone or something climbing up the side of the house. His pulse quickened, and he strained to hear more, his every sense on high alert as he braced himself for what might come next.
Nicholas stood frozen in the dimly lit living room, the only sound the gentle ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. Suddenly, a faint creak broke the silence, followed by the soft thud of a window opening. Nicholas's heart pounded in his chest as he rose from the comfort of the armchair, each movement deliberate and cautious. As he made his way to the foot of the stairs, he strained his eyes to peer into the darkness above. The entire house felt as if it were waiting, holding its breath, the oppressive silence weighing heavily on the air.
He cautiously ascended the stairs, mindful of every creak and groan beneath his feet. Upon reaching the top, he advanced towards Brandon's room, and the door cracked open just a fraction. A soft glimmer of light escaped through the slight opening, projecting a slender, illuminated path across the hallway.
Nicholas cautiously pushed the door ajar, just enough to peek inside the room. His eyes immediately landed on Brandon, who stood in the center of the space, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. Brandon appeared disheveled, with his clothing wrinkled and his hair tousled. His face bore a striking expression of fear and confusion, mirroring the inner turmoil that Nicholas himself was experiencing.
Brandon's heart pounded in his chest as he felt a chill run down his spine. His eyes widened as he realized he was not alone in the dimly lit room. He turned slowly, the creak of the floorboards echoing in the silence, his gaze locking with Nicholas's across the room. Time seemed to stand still as they stood there, neither speaking, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air, adding to the tension between them.
Brandon began to peel off his clothes, stripping to his undies until his body stood under the pale morning light. He slipped into the bed and lay sideways, his face facing the window, concealed from view. Nicholas could see his son's chest moving delicately, peacefully. Given everything that had happened, everything he had just uncovered, Nicholas still felt compelled to step forward, his broken heart still hanging by a single thread, one that desperately clung to the boy and the love he still bore inside for him. He sauntered over to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching over and touching the soft skin on the boy's back.
"I know you're hurt," Nicholas said, his voice calm and soft, like a whisper in the soothing darkness that enveloped them. "When things change... it's scary. I'm scared too," he admitted before pausing, breath turning heavier. "But there's something that'll never change, no matter how much we both fuck up," Nicholas stated. "I'll always love you. And you'll always be my baby boy," he professed.
Under his palm, Nicholas could feel his son's skin shiver, and for a moment, that little boy he had held under him so many nights was right there, under his grasp again. Nicholas fell over the bed, skated his arm around Brandon's chest, and spooned him. As his nose inadvertently brushed his son's back, Nicholas's eyes closed in disgust, feeling Tom's stench on the boy's skin. But he pushed through, and under it, he found what he had been looking for: Brandon's vulnerability. He could feel his son exhaling, the silence in the house covering the room like a blanket, shielding them from every hurtful word and wrathful moment. Suddenly, he felt Brandon's hand cover his.
"Dad," the boy muttered, his voice but a faint whisper. "I think there's something wrong with me..." Brandon whispered. His words were layered, like a conflicting admission, heavy and burdened.
"What do you mean?" Nicholas questioned, his words brushing the back of Brandon's neck.
"I think and do things...that I know I shouldn't," the boy murmured. His face met the window, from where the softest blue light peeked through. But as Nicholas felt his son's body tighten under his embrace, the light dimmed, becoming darker and more menacing. Nicholas's arm immediately tightened around Brandon, coiling his distress. "I feel...angry...all the time," he muttered, clenching his jaw.
Nicholas paused, his eyes slowly blinking under the dim blue layer that now enveloped the room. He could feel a dark, menacing presence obliterate the peace he had just uncovered.
"I'm right here, Brandon," Nicholas replied, closing his hand around his son's, deleting the boy's body moving further into him.
"Dad?" Brandon called softly.
"Yeah?" Nicholas replied.
"Will you always love me? No matter what?" the boy asked.
"Of course," Nicholas immediately replied.
"What if I did something bad? Something you'd be ashamed of...that you couldn't possibly forgive?" Brandon insisted, causing Nicholas to pull the boy's hand and roll his body, their eyes now facing each other.
It seemed years had passed since Nicholas last gazed at Brandon like that. He was immediately overcome with emotion, his eyes glistening with unconditional love and affection for the boy he had nurtured and still adored.
"Nothing you could do would shame me," Nicholas stuttered, his undying love for his son seeping through his every word. "There is nothing you would do I wouldn't forgive," Nicholas professed. A twinkle emerged from inside Brandon's chestnut gaze.
"You promise?" the boy whispered.
"I promise," Nicholas whispered back.
It was the closest they had ever been in their lives, and for a split second, everything Nicholas had gone through: the pain, doubt, anger, and frustration that had consumed him recently suddenly faded. All there was left was Brandon's eyes, looking into his, mending the last remaining piece of his broken spirit.
But Nicholas's momentary joy was short-lived as he witnessed Brandon's semblance revert to his cold self.
"Good," the boy said, his lips stretching into a deviant grin. Then he rolled over and turned his back to his father.
Nicholas lay there, his spirit dazed with a strange and lingering omen. He eventually pulled himself up, ambling away from the bed and out of the room. As he closed the door, a large exhale escaped his lips, and he remained rooted to the spot for an eternity, seeking solace amid darkness. The din of the outside world faded into obscurity, leaving only the palpable connection the two had shared, quickly sliced by the seemingly unsurpassable chasm that separated the two.
The following day, Nicholas stirred from his sleep to the soft murmur of whispered conversations and the gentle clinking of dishes. As he blinked away the remnants of his slumber, he wobbled to the kitchen. The morning light flooded the room, creating a golden halo around the breakfast table. Beth flitted about, meticulously attending to every detail, while Jett sat perched at the table, his legs swinging with restless energy as he hummed a cheerful melody.
Brandon sat beside his brother, gaze fixed on his plate as he absentmindedly pushed the scrambled eggs around with his fork.
"Good morning," Nicholas said, trying to inject some cheer into his voice. Beth looked up, her expression cold and distant.
"Morning," she replied curtly. She placed a plate of toast on the table and then took a deep breath. "Are you finished?" she asked, holding Brandon's plate. He nodded slowly before she yanked the plate from under him. "Take your brother upstairs and start packing. I wanna leave before lunch," she directed.
Jett's expression turned crestfallen, his shoulders slumping as he absorbed the news. He wordlessly acknowledged the information with a heavy heart and quietly pulled his body away from the table. Meanwhile, Brandon's complete lack of reaction perplexed Nicholas. He had anticipated some response, yet Brandon remained entirely impassive -- no hint of anger, no trace of sadness, only an unsettling and empty indifference.
As they slowly emptied the kitchen, Nicholas wavered. He knew he had at least a couple of hours before Beth left with the kids, and despite his gloom regarding their departure, something was pinching the back of his mind. Something he couldn't shake off.
He needed to confront Tom.
Nicholas hastily snatched his car keys and told Beth he'd return to see them off. Absorbed in getting their boys ready for the day, she barely responded to his announcement. As he drove to Tom's house, Nicholas's thoughts swirled with wrath and disgust as he fought the urge to give in and do something rash. As the car finally stopped, he gazed out at Tom's beach house, standing proudly amidst the tranquil backdrop of the ocean. The pristine white exterior gleamed in the sunlight, giving the impression of an impenetrable fortress guarding its secrets. Nicholas's heart raced as he made his way up to the front door, jaw clenched with a steely resolve, ready to confront whatever awaited him. Tom answered the door, looking surprised but not entirely displeased.
"Nicholas," he greeted with a nod. "Come in," Tom invited.
"I'm not coming in, Tom," Nicholas replied, his voice cold as he stepped back. Tom's eyebrow raised slowly as his eyes meticulously scanned Nicholas's body language. The tall blonde stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him.
"What's this about?" he asked, leaning casually against the railing.
"Brandon," Nicholas said, his voice low and dangerous. He immediately could see Tom's expression shift. Yet, despite being caught, his gaze had an underlying amusement, a rush.
"What about him?" the blonde questioned, his tone soft and eerily suggestive.
"You piece of shit..." Nicholas muttered, shocked by the tall man's fearless arrogance. "He's my son," he added. Tom's eyes narrowed, but he didn't look away.
"He came knocking at my door, Nicholas," the tall blonde stated calmly, raising his hands.
"And you took advantage of him," Nicholas countered, pointing his finger at Tom's face. But Nicholas's words had once again pinched something, causing Tom's expression to shift, his blue eyes grinning.
"I think you're underestimating your son," he said, smirking before scanning Nicholas intently. "I can see why he'd resent you," the tall blonde whispered, almost as a thought.
"What are you trying to do? Get back at me because I didn't let you fuck me?" Nicholas reacted, trying to get under Tom's skin only to quickly realize he was utterly and entirely out of his league. Tom had the ball, and he had the upper hand. And he had played Nicholas this whole time.
"Why would I do that if I can have a better version of you?" Tom taunted, pushing his body away from the grid. Suddenly, he seemed taller, more menacing. "You know, Nicholas... I've fucked a lot of ass in my life. Some of the best. But Brandon?...Jesus Christ...that kid is something special," he continued, his eyes glistening with fascination. "The way his tight little virgin hole hugs around my cock," the tall blonde whispered as his tongue glided along his lips. "The way his skin smells...the way he begs to be fucked. And those beautiful eyes, surprised at first...but then so eager to take it. Eager to please," Tom recalled, his massive figure casting a shadow over Nicholas. "You must be out of your mind if you think I'm giving that up," he provoked, chuckling sarcastically as he pulled back.
Nicholas froze, distraught. The charming, charismatic man he had met weeks ago was an illusion, a thin layer of flesh meant to conceal the cruel, sadistic monster that now stood before him. Then, Nicholas's eyes suddenly shifted, squinting over Tom's tall shoulder. Jodie stood near their porch, her arm reluctantly waving to Nicholas, who returned the gesture before landing his sight back on Tom.
"Don't even think about it," Tom warned calmly. "Unless you want Beth to know about Marcus," Tom shot back, the words falling between them like a sharp, cold explosion, causing Nicholas's eyes to flare. Tom's lips stretched into a smile, oozing with sadistic pleasure. "Yeah, I know about you're little summer fling," he revealed with an unsettling calm.
"You're a sick fuck..." Nicholas muttered through gritted teeth, causing Tom to chuckle.
"That's rich coming from the guy who's fucking the town's whore," Tom fired back. With boldness, he moved closer and held Nicholas's neck, his giant finger brushing against his friend's unshaven beard. "That's your problem, Nicholas. You're utterly incapable of facing the truth," he whispered, breath spewing between them.
"And what truth is that?" Nicholas whispered back, fists clenching with revolt.
"That the ugliest, darkest, nastiest parts of yourself...the ones you so desperately try to hide all the time..." the tall blonde said, leaning his lips against Nicholas's ear. "That's you, Nicholas. That's who you really are," he added.
It was like a knife, slowly sliding into Nicholas's gut, a sharp pain carrying the most disturbing, inadmissible truth. Nicholas's arms punched forward, pushing Tom's towering body against the grid, loudly slamming the tall blonde's body into it.
"Stay away from my son," Nicholas stated.
The two men stood silent before Nicholas slowly stepped back, opening an invisible, dark chasm between them. One harboring secrets that forged an invisible bond, each holding a crucial fragment of the other's potential downfall. Nicholas stood there, his hands balled into tight fists, the urge to wipe the smug look off Tom's face almost overwhelming. The fiery rush of anger surged within him, but he fought against it, sure that giving in to it would mean relinquishing power to Tom. With a deep breath, he pivoted on his heel and strode back to his car.
"We could've had so much fun..." Tom's voice uttered from behind Nicholas as he walked away. "But you're such a fucking pussy, Nicholas!" he provoked as Nicholas got into the car, the tall blonde's words waning as he pulled away.
Nicholas meandered through the winding coastal roads of Seagull's Bay, his mind in turmoil. The haunting image of Brandon and Tom lingered relentlessly in his thoughts, and his contribution to the unfolding chaos weighed heavily on him. It felt as if he was teetering on the edge of losing control, with the carefully crafted facade of his life showing signs of unraveling.
He pulled over to the side of the road and took out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen momentarily before he finally wrote a message to Marcus.
Can we meet later at your place?
He hit send and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. He needed to see Marcus, to find some semblance of peace in the chaos. The reply came almost immediately.
Sure. What time?
Nicholas glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was still early, and he had time to figure things out.
Around 6. See you then.
He put his phone away and started the car again, driving with no particular destination. He needed to clear his head and find some way to deal with the storm brewing around him. But no matter how far he drove, he couldn't escape the feeling that everything was spiraling out of control.
The sun was already setting when Nicholas made his way home. He drove with a heavy heart, the weight of the impending goodbyes pressing down on him. The streets of Seagull's Bay blurred past as his thoughts swirled. He knew this was necessary but didn't make the pain less acute.
He pulled into the driveway and deeply breathed before exiting the car. The house loomed before him, its familiar facade now seeming foreign and unwelcoming. He steeled himself and walked inside, his footsteps echoing in the silent hall.
Beth was in the living room, packing the last of their things. She looked up as he entered.
"Hey," she greeted, her voice tinged with sadness.
"Beth," he replied, nodding slightly. She nodded back, setting down the box she was holding.
"It's okay," she said, her tone softer now. They sat on the couch, their silence heavy with unspoken words. Nicholas took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.
"I never wanted it to come to this," Nicholas acknowledged. Beth looked at him, her eyes filled with hurt and understanding.
"I know," she said quietly. "Me neither, but... here we are," she said, letting the faintest smile escape her lips. All those years of intimacy, love, and affection were still there, holding itself up, refusing to cave. They had changed, grown irrevocably out of their feelings for each other. But the history they had built had not.
Nicholas nodded, swallowing hard.
"I want...to make this as easy as possible for the boys. They don't deserve to be caught in our mess," he carefully suggested. Beth's expression softened.
"I agree. We'll deal with this once you get back," she suggested. "I think I could use some time away..." she tried to add before Nicholas cut her off.
"From me?" he interrupted playfully, prompting her to chuckle.
"From us," she concluded.
They sat silently for a moment, the enormity of their decision settling in. Nicholas nodded and watched her leave the room. He walked down the stairs and made his way to the driveway, helping Beth stuff the last couple of bags inside the Uber and waiting for them outside. Jett came running out of the house, his face lighting up with a smile.
"Daddy!" the boy screamed. Nicholas knelt and pulled Jett into a hug, holding him close.
"I'm going to miss you so much," Nicholas whispered. "But I'll see you soon, okay? And we'll talk on the phone every day," he promised. Jett's lip trembled, but he nodded bravely.
"Promise?" Jett whispered.
"Promise," Nicholas said, hugging him tightly again. "I love you. Always remember that," he professed, fingers digging into his son's soft back. Nicholas closed his eyes, his spirit struggling to let go.
"I love you too, Daddy," Jett whispered, his tiny arms wrapped around Nicholas's neck.
It felt definitive. Nicholas knew that after that moment, their family would never be the same. Finally, he pulled back and stood up, ruffling Jett's hair as he placed the boy's feet on the cement pavement.
Brandon suddenly emerged from the house, his step rushing. He carried a backpack in one hand while the other scrolled through his phone. He didn't acknowledge Nicholas's presence, his body language radiating aloofness.
"Bran," Nicholas said softly, stepping closer. But the boy rushed to the Uber, jumped inside, and closed the door, popping his headphones on and purposely ignoring his father. Nicholas's eyes scoured around to find Beth's, who stood on the sidewalk.
"He'll come around. Just give him time," she advised. Nicholas nodded, albeit reluctantly.
He knew Brandon. Much like himself, his eldest spirit raged, a shackled animal under the softest shell, where the slightest tilt in the wrong direction could disrupt that delicate balance. He had felt Brandon's heart the night before, but he had also felt his son's darkness creeping underneath.
Nicholas stood there, watching his family enter that car and slowly drive off, his eyes glistening with emotion. At the last second, just before it veered off the block, Nicholas saw Brandon's head turn. The boy's eyes locked on him through the glass, latched to his until the car finally disappeared.
(Two weeks later)
The summer house had fallen silent. Nicholas had managed to move out of the motel and take advantage of the down payment Beth had transferred, allowing him to store his stuff there until the end of that month. The quiet was both a solace and a curse for Nicholas. It allowed him time to think, but thinking also meant confronting the changes that had unraveled his life.
In the absence of his family, Nicholas had found an unlikely camaraderie with Marcus, Ledger, and Dawson. He now spent most of his time in Marcus's house. What had started as a tentative, somewhat tense alliance borne of necessity had transformed into a close-knit group bound together by secrets, desires, and the strange comfort of shared debauchery.
That night, the four of them were gathered at Marcus's house. The living room was laced with a haze of smoke hanging from the joints being passed around. Empty beer bottles littered the coffee table, and the pungent smell of weed mingled with the faint scent of cheap cologne and sweat. A deck of cards lay sprawled between them, signaling the start of another round of the usual strip poker.
Nicholas took a long drag from the joint, feeling the familiar warmth in his chest. He glanced around at his companions, his eyes scouring the room. Marcus, gleaming with mischief. Ledger, whose rough exterior had slowly softened over the past weeks, and Dawson, always the mediator, his sexy laughter a constant background to their nights together.
"Alright, boys, ante up," Marcus said, dealing the cards with practiced ease. His shirt was already off, revealing the lean muscles beneath, layered with his soft, snow-white skin. Nicholas couldn't help but admire how the young man's body moved, a reminder of the desire that had initially drawn them together.
"You're gonna lose this round, Bowman," Ledger teased, nudging Nicholas with his elbow. Nicholas chuckled, the sound rough in his throat.
"We'll see about that. I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve," Nicholas teased.
As the game progressed, clothes accumulated on the floor. Shirts, socks, and eventually pants were discarded as laughter and banter filled the room. The stakes were low, but the thrill of the game kept them engaged. It wasn't just the game that held them together. It was the sense of belonging, the feeling of being part of something, however unconventional. They shared stories, some true and some embellished, weaving a tapestry of camaraderie as intoxicating as the substances they consumed.
"Remember that time in high school?" Dawson began, a grin spreading across his face. "When you tried to impress that girl by jumping off the Mckenzy's roof into their pool?" he recounted, pausing to admire the beauty of his unearthed memory. Ledger groaned, burying his face in his hands.
"Why do you always bring that up, man? It was a long time ago," Ledger groaned, leaning back and burying his heavy frame into the couch.
"Because it's fucking hilarious," Dawson said, slapping Ledger's thigh. "And because you missed the pool by a couple of inches," he added, propelling Nicholas and Marcus to look at each other and laugh, the sound echoing off the walls. Nicholas leaned back, a smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in weeks, he felt a semblance of normalcy, a break from the relentless guilt and confusion.
As the game went on, the pile of clothes grew, and the tension in the room shifted from playful to charged. Marcus was down to his boxers, his bare chest glistening under the dim light. Ledger and Dawson were in similar states of undress, their bodies relaxed and at ease.
Nicholas, on the other hand, was down to his pants. He looked at his cards, then at Marcus, who was watching him with a knowing smile.
"What's it gonna be, Nicholas?" Marcus asked, his voice low and teasing.
Nicholas hesitated for a moment before throwing his cards down. "Fold. I'm not losing these pants."
"Boo! No fun," Dawson jeered, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.
"Alright, alright," Marcus said, gathering the cards. "Next round, we'll up the ante. Truth or dare?" he teased.
Ledger groaned but didn't object. Dawson raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. Nicholas just shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. The game took a turn as they transitioned from strip poker to truth or dare. The questions and dares ranged from silly to deeply personal, each revelation adding another layer to their bond.
"Truth," Dawson said, his eyes locking with Nicholas's.
"What's the craziest thing you've ever done?" Nicholas questioned. Dawson smirked, leaning back in his chair.
"You mean besides this?" he gestured to the room, lifting his arm and exposing a smudged tattoo of a cactus under his armpit, eliciting laughter from everyone. "Alright, craziest thing... I hitchhiked across the country a couple of years ago with only fifty bucks and a backpack. Ended up in a commune in Oregon for a month," he admitted.
"Of course you did," Ledger said, shaking his head. "Dare me," he provoked. Dawson grinned wickedly.
"I dare you to kiss Marcus," Dawson jeered.
You could hear a pin drop inside the room. The boy's lips immediately stretched, and he jumped across the table, saddling Ledger's waist. They lingered there for a few seconds before Ledger grabbed Marcus's arms and pulled him in, pecking the boy's lips before pulling away.
"What the fuck was that?" Dawson questioned.
"What?" Ledger shot back, visibly uncomfortable.
"Kiss him like you mean it, man," Dawson ordered.
There was a brief silence where Ledger's eyes twitched aimlessly, unable to focus. And that's when Marcus's voice broke through, tender and melodic.
"C'mon, Adrian. Just do it," the boy voiced, his words shifting the mood. It wasn't long before everything around them faded, their bodies and minds now the only clear things in a misty surrounding.
"Don't call me that," Ledger groaned, trying to pull away. But Marcus held him, his hands wrapping around the cop's neck.
"Why?" the boy drilled.
"I don't like it," Ledger replied, his eyes desperately fleeing Marcus's gaze.
"Remember when you and your friends would pick on me at school? You'd chase me around recess...? They'd always end up beating the shit out of me," Marcus recalled. "But not you. You never touched me," the boy added, leaning into Ledger and softly nestling his forehead against the cop's. "You'd just stand back and say...leave that faggot alone. He ain't worth it," Marcus reenacted, his alluring breath coating the inches that separated them.
"I..." Ledger stuttered, his eyes closing as he rubbed his skin against Marcus's.
"It's okay...I know why you did it," Marcus interrupted his words, causing an audible exhale to break from Ledger's lungs. The cop's arms came forward, wrapping around the boy's waist, and his fingers dug deeper into the soft skin around it. "I never said this to you, but...thank you. For always protecting me," he said, propelling the cop's eyes to open. Ledger glanced up, exposing his tear-soaked eyes.
From the armchair where he sat, Nicholas watched, overwhelmed with emotion. The way Marcus's pure spirit had punctured a hole through Ledger's impenetrable shell and exposed his vulnerability was the most beautiful, disarmingly precious thing he had ever witnessed. Looking sideways, he saw Dawson's eyes glistening under the soft darkness coating the room.
"You're still a faggot," Ledger uttered, his eyes scanning Marcus's lips. "But you're my faggot," he added before he lunged at the boy, kissing him passionately.
Their moans filled the room, a cacophony of lust, desire, and profound adoration. Ledger knew he would never be afforded the luxury of publicly acknowledging what he felt for Marcus. He would never allow himself to say what he really felt out loud. That town where they had grown up was too small-minded to hold their affection.
But inside that passionate kiss he so willingly surrendered himself to, Ledger poured all the unspoken desire, eros, and deep-seated love he felt for Marcus.
As the evening wore on, the conversations grew more profound and intimate. They talked about their fears, regrets, and the parts of themselves they rarely showed the world. Slowly but surely, the night turned into early morning as they sat together, the silence comfortable and filled with unspoken understanding.
Casting a glance at the group he now called friends, Nicholas basked in an unusual blend of thankfulness and sorrow. These dark evenings had morphed into a sanctuary, offering some respite from the chaos that typically enveloped his life. Strangely enough, it also presented itself as an unexpected passage to uncover who he truly was beneath the weight of expectations and pretenses. Still, a lingering question danced within him: Could this peculiar freedom become more than just fragments of respite? Would there come a time when he could fully immerse himself in this newfound existence without severing the invisible bonds tethering him to his family?
As they settled to sleep, Nicholas's mind drifted to Beth, his boys, and the uncertain future ahead. He didn't have all the answers, but for now, he was content to take it one day at a time, surrounded by the unlikely family he had found in the most unexpected place.
He awoke at dawn, the light filtering through the half-closed blinds. The remnants of the previous night's debauchery lay scattered around him: empty bottles, a deck of cards, and discarded clothing. The house was quiet, and Ledger and Dawson lay naked on the bed, their sweaty, musky-scented bodies resting peacefully beside him. He lay there momentarily, savoring the stillness and serenity that only the early hours could bring. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his eyes, the faint pulse of a hangover starting to become known. He glanced around the room. Marcus was nowhere to be seen.
Curiosity piqued, Nicholas stood and stretched, then quietly approached the back door. Stepping outside, the cool dawn air hit him, awakening his numbed spirit. He inhaled deeply, the scent of the ocean filling his lungs. Walking towards the beach, he saw a figure emerging from the water.
It was Marcus, completely naked, an image, much like the first time they had met, that quickly lit Nicholas's soul. His skin glistened with seawater droplets, catching the day's light and making him look almost ethereal. Nicholas's heart skipped a beat, a rush of emotions flooding him. He watched as Marcus walked towards him, his movements graceful and effortless.
"Morning," Marcus said with a smile, his eyes sparkling with the moment's joy.
"Hey," Nicholas replied, his voice soft, laden with awe. They stood there momentarily, the waves crashing gently behind them, soothing their silence. Nicholas handed Marcus a towel he had found on the way out, and Marcus wrapped it around his waist, shivering slightly from the cool morning air.
"I didn't think you'd be up this early," Nicholas said, breaking the silence. Marcus shrugged, looking out at the ocean.
"Couldn't sleep," the boy replied, his dark eyes brighter than ever.
Nicholas nodded, letting himself sink into the sand. Marcus wrapped a towel around his body and sat next to him. They stood side by side, their shoulders almost touching, watching the sun begin ascent. The sky was a canvas of colors, pinks, and oranges blending to create a breathtaking display. The beauty of the moment was almost overwhelming.
"You know," Nicholas began, his voice trembling slightly. "If someone came to me and told me I'd be sitting here with you today...I wouldn't have believed them," Nicholas said, a sense of peace washing over him. He was beginning to understand that Marcus was the source of that peace. The boy turned to look at him, his eyes soft, glistening. "I feel like I lost a lot," he stated, wrapping his arms around his legs and pulling them into his chest. "And I don't really know what will happen, but... I'm glad I walked into Moe's that day," Nicholas professed.
"Nicholas..." Marcus whispered.
Nicholas took a deep breath, reaching into his neck and pulling a worn-out necklace from under his shirt, where a small wooden cross lay hidden. Marcus squinted, surprised that he had never noticed Nicholas wearing it. The piece was simple, but the boy immediately felt Nicholas's connection to it.
"I want you to have this," he said, holding it out to Marcus. Marcus's eyes widened in surprise.
"I couldn't..." the boy stuttered, trembling before Nicholas interrupted him gently.
"My grandfather gave it to me," Nicholas explained as he carefully undid the knot. "It's called a Tau cross in honor of Saint Francis of Assisi," he continued, his fingers brushing the cross as if it were a person. "It's made of olive wood," Nicholas explained. He tilted his head to the side, signaling Marcus to turn his back to him. The boy obliged, dropping his towel slightly and exposing his smooth neck, allowing Nicholas to wrap the chord around it. "Once you tie it around someone's skin, you and that person will be bound forever," Nicholas revealed. Tears welled up in Marcus's eyes, his hands trembling.
"It's beautiful," Marcus's trembling voice uttered. "No one's ever given me anything," he whispered, his voice breaking. Nicholas smiled, feeling a lump in his throat.
"Well... it's yours now," he replied. Marcus clutched the necklace tightly, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
"I'm never taking it off," he managed to say, his voice choked with gratitude.
They clung to each other, their bodies interlocked as though sculpted from the same stone. There, they lingered, absorbing fortitude and solace from one another's grasp like oil on parched skin. They gradually separated as dawn stretched its fingertips across the sky, casting them in a symphony of golden hues. Marcus sent a tentative glance downward, where a humble charm dangled against his ribs like a small beacon tethering him to Nicholas.
Side by side, they stood, drinking in the sight of the world, rubbing sleep from their eyes with the outline of a dew-kissed ocean melting into soft focus at daybreak.
Nicholas wore peace like a new garment that fit after many failed tries. A comfort that had been playing hide-and-seek with him for ages finally deigned to reveal itself. He dared free his gaze back to Marcus. Echoes of tranquility reverberated within those dark depths staring back at him. Words were useless currency between them, and their connection sailed beyond physical shores. They constructed their home within an unseen sanctuary that revered raw truth and authenticity that coursed through their veins.
Their journey together was still penned within the parchment of pain, yet Nicholas and Marcus seemed inseparable as they observed sunrise painting brilliance over the slumbering sea. Onlookers privy only to each other during this ephemeral presentation worthy of the gods' attention. The tapestry of existence contracted around them until nothing else remained but their shared heartbeat.
About an hour later, Nicholas drove back to the hotel. But as soon as he pulled the car into the parking lot, he noticed the familiar black SUV near the entrance. His heart skipped a beat, suspicion, and unease gnawing at him. Without thinking, Nicholas sped towards the SUV, determined to confront whoever was inside. But as soon as the driver noticed him, the engine roared to life, and the vehicle peeled out of the lot. Nicholas gave chase, his adrenaline spiking, but the SUV had the advantage. It weaved through traffic effortlessly, disappearing into the distance before he could catch up. Frustrated and on edge, Nicholas returned to the hotel, his thoughts racing.
Later that day, Nicholas found solace at the Rusty Anchor, the town's favorite dive bar. He sat at a corner table with Marcus, Ledger, and Dawson, the stench of stale beer and smoke surrounding them. Despite the nagging thought of the SUV driver having eluded him again, Nicholas tried to focus solely on his companions. So they talked and drank for hours, and the barriers between them wholly dissolved. As he glanced around the table, Nicholas couldn't believe how deliciously unexpected his life had turned out. For the first time in a long while, Nicholas felt a sense of belonging, a feeling he had yearned for but never entirely found.
As the evening progressed, a group of men at a nearby table began making disparaging comments about Marcus. Their words were crude and laced with malice, targeting Marcus's sexuality and their apparent closeness. Nicholas's blood boiled, but Ledger, surprisingly, reacted first. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor, and stormed to the group.
"You got something to say?" Ledger's voice was low and dangerous, his eyes blazing with fury. One of the men sneered, looking Ledger up and down.
"Easy, Ledger. I'm just showing the town's homo some hospitality," the man provoked, his large belly pressing against the table.
"You better watch your fucking mouth, Flick?" Ledger threatened, his fingers gripping the thick beer mug he slowly swirled over the wooden table.
"It's fine," Marcus whispered before the table beside them erupted in complicit laughter.
There was a brief silence before Ledger's voice broke from under the crackling.
"No... it's not," he groaned. "You shouldn't have to take this," he added, hands tightening around his beer mug. Nicholas and Dawson looked at each other. But before they could intervene, the heckler rose, pushing his chair back with his kneecaps, the sound dragging across the floor echoing inside the bar.
"What, Ledger? You a fuckin' faggot now, too?" Flick roared.
There was no warning and little time for anyone to react before Ledger's mug smashed against the man's jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor along with thousands of tiny glass shards. Chaos erupted as the man's friends jumped to his defense, and soon, the bar was a whirlwind of flying fists and overturned tables.
Dawson and Nicholas sprang into action, joining the fray without hesitation. Nicholas's knuckles cracked against the flesh, each punch fueled by anger and a fierce need to protect his newfound family. Marcus, though smaller in stature, fought with a surprising intensity, his movements quick and precise.
And there, through the violence, Nicholas felt an unexpected sense of freedom. Each punch, each dodge, and each moment of chaos seemed to strip away the layers of doubt and fear that had plagued him. Here, amidst the turmoil, he felt alive and whole, a part of something greater than himself. Despite the chaos, there was a unity among them that Nicholas had never experienced before. They fought not just for themselves but for each other, their bond solidifying with every blow. The bar's patrons watched in horror and fascination, but Nicholas didn't care. At this moment, he belonged.
"You were a pussy then, and you're a pussy now, Flick," Ledger roared as he pinned Flick's arms against the ground, punching his face.
"Get the fuck off me!" Flick begged, completely surrendered to Ledger's powering stature and overwhelming strength.
"While you're down there, why don't you suck his cock, Bitch!" Marcus shouted down at Flick, whose chin hung inches from Ledger's crotch. Marcus's voice was exhilarated with rage. Ledger looked back at him, a proud smile pushing through his bloodied lips.
A curtain had suddenly fallen, and the four friends' souls were now exposed in the open, raw and untamed. Their spirits were free, as nature intended. They had become Seagull's Bay four musketeers, an unlikely group of men whose kinship forged by the bonds of righteousness, honor, and authenticity, now soared proudly above hate and prejudice.
As the fight ended, they stood together, bruised and battered but unbroken. The group of aggressors had retreated, nursing their wounds and muttering curses. The bar's patrons resumed their activities, though the atmosphere was tense. Nicholas wiped the blood from his lip, his breathing heavy. He looked at his companions, seeing the same exhaustion and exhilaration in their eyes. Despite the physical pain, there was a sense of satisfaction, a fleeting moment where everything felt right. Marcus touched Ledger's shoulder, his expression one of gratitude and pride.
"Thanks," he said softly before Ledger turned around, a string of blood running down his bottom lip. Marcus walked forward and gently brushed his finger over it, eyes glistening.
Though usually stoic, Ledger cracked a rare smile before lunging forward and kissing Marcus passionately. Dawson's arm crawled up Nicholas's back, his hand grabbing his back and pulling him in. They both stood there, smiling as they witnessed Ledger's emotional liberation. Dawson laughed, leaning against Nicholas's ear.
"Looks like we make a pretty good team," the blonde whispered.
Nicholas felt warmth as they settled back into their seats, ordering another round of drinks. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't just existing. He was living. He had found his place, his people. Nicholas raised his glass, his hand steadier than ever.
"To us," he toasted.
"To us," the others echoed, clinking their glasses together.
And they were more than the sum of their parts for that brief, shining moment. They were a family bound by blood and sweat, shared battles, and lustful desires. And Nicholas knew, deep in his heart, that he had finally found where he belonged.
Ledger and Dawson's shift was about to start, and they reluctantly pushed away from the bar. With their faces still flushed, they nodded at Nicholas and Marcus, their usual stern expressions softened by a rare moment of solidarity.
"We'll see you guys later," Dawson said, giving a brief wave before they headed out the door. As they left, Marcus turned to Nicholas, his eyes shimmering.
"You want a ride home?" Nicholas offered.
"I brought my bike," he said, gesturing to the alley where it was chained up. "You don't have to walk me," Marcus added. Nicholas shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.
"I want to," Nicholas replied.
As they stepped outside, the air was crisp with the scent of the ocean as they walked. The streets were quiet, the town settling into the late hour. Marcus's bike clinked softly as he wheeled it beside him, the two moving in a comfortable silence before the boy chuckled softly.
"What?" Nicholas questioned.
"I don't know..." Marcus mumbled as they stopped at the corner where Nicholas's car was parked. The dim glow of a streetlamp hanging above them seemed to coat their bodies with a glorious aura. "I'm just..." the boy stuttered.
"Happy?" Nicholas asked. He could see Marcus struggling to hold his joyous tears as he nodded. "You're not used to feeling that, are you?" he questioned. Marcus shook his head slowly from side to side.
He had always dreamed of leaving Seagull's Bay. To evade his profound loneliness. But for the first time in his life, Marcus felt differently. He felt loved.
He had a reason to stay.
Nicholas smiled, and even though Marcus never said anything, he knew that, in some way, he was responsible for it. They moved closer, the world around them fading as they shared a tender and deep kiss. When they pulled apart, Marcus's eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"Are you sure you don't want me to drop you off?" Nicholas asked. Marcus looked around and breathed deeply, his chest filling with the night breeze. But Marcus shook his head, a soft smile on his lips.
"I'm sure," the boy replied.
Nicholas reluctantly nodded, getting into his car and watching Marcus climb onto his bike. As Marcus was about to drive off, Nicholas's voice broke the evening's quietness.
"Hey, kid?" he called. The boy's head swirled back, his beautiful dark curls blowing with the breeze. "I love you," Nicholas professed.
Marcus smiled. The most beautiful smile Nicholas had ever seen.
Full of life, hope, and love.
He stood inside his car, the engine still off, and watched the boy pedal away before turning the key in the ignition and driving off, the feeling of Marcus's lips still lingering on his.
As Marcus scooted along the moonlit beach sidewalk, feeling the crunch of sand beneath his tires and tasting the faint saltiness in the air, Nicholas's car drifted into oblivion, where the main road stretched out. The tranquility was rasped apart by an unfamiliar low hum and a vehicle creeping up behind him. Emerging from the night like a beast from a shadowy lair, an ominous black SUV slid up beside him. Marcus's heart rattled against his ribs at a rapid-fire rhythm, and an icy dread slicked his stomach.
At once, the window whispered open, offering a glimpse into darkness that ate away at the light, revealing only fragments of shadow that hinted at a hidden figure nestled within. An unmistakably familiar voice then uncoiled itself from within this obsidian abyss, slinking out to engulf Marcus in its chilling tone.
"Can we talk?" the deep voice questioned. Marcus hesitated, his grip tightening on the handlebars of his bike as he glanced around.
"I don't think that's a good idea," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
"C'mon..." the voice continued, luring Marcus into its darkness, a note of desperation creeping in. "Just leave the bike," it continued, slowly scanning the reluctance spread across the boy's face. "Don't worry, I'll bring you back to pick it up," the voice promised.
Marcus was wavering, the voice's spine-tingling familiarity causing his firm stance to crumble like a sandcastle caught in high tide. He released an audibly heavy sigh that tasted of regret and bitter-sweet nostalgia. Casually, his bike was left leaning against the worn-out beach railing, its cool metal chipped and scarred from countless encounters with the salty sea air.
Reluctantly, the boy climbed into the imposing SUV before the door punctuated his decision with a severe thud that echoed in the empty night. Controlled by someone else's will, the vehicle smoothly slipped into the sultry summer's evening, taillights gradually dimming around an unexpected bend. Their fiery red glow fell victim to darkness as they ventured beyond sight, leaving behind gravelly tire tracks and fragments of soft illumination dancing on dew-kissed leaves.
The beach quickly regained its serenity. Left behind as an isolated testament of his questionable choice was only Marcus's beloved bike, which stood alone amidst finer granules of sand, whispering tales of past wanderers on this secluded strip of life. Its glossy frame glinted under the moonlight, laced with silent reproachful judgment toward him, turning from friend to mute bystander within minutes.
The following day, Nicholas woke up with a heavy heart. The sunlight filtering through his window seemed almost mocking, too bright for the darkness his mind seemed enveloped in. He laced up his running shoes, trying to shake off the lingering sense of unease. After all, running had always been his escape, a way to clear his head and find peace.
The morning air of Seagull's Bay was crisp and cool, the kind that clung to the skin and kissed the lungs with each breath. Nicholas felt it like a tonic, a reminder of the endless expanse of possibility that had begun to shape his days here. Once unfamiliar and unsettling, the streets had started to feel like the threads of a tapestry he was slowly weaving--a home he was building from the pieces of his fractured life.
The town unfolded around him as he ran, a quiet harmony of pastel houses and whispering palms. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand, and Nicholas breathed it in, letting it ground him. He passed by the old fishermen mending their nets, the bakery with its open windows and the scent of fresh bread, the diner with its faded sign and promise of coffee and familiarity. Each turn of the corner was like a gentle affirmation that this was his place now. He was becoming a part of it, and it was a part of him.
His pace quickened as he neared the beach, the rhythmic sound of waves growing louder with each stride.
But something in the air shifted, and the wind carried a low and urgent murmur. As he approached the lighthouse, he noticed a large crowd gathered in the sand, their silhouettes stark against the morning light. A police car and two ambulances stood stationed around the area.
Nicholas slowed, his pulse pounding in his ears, an unspoken dread tugging at his insides. There was a tension in the air, an unease that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He pushed through the crowd, his eyes scanning the faces turned toward something on the ground.
And then, he saw it. A familiar body splayed on the wet sand, pale and lifeless.
It was Marcus.
Naked, vulnerable, his skin marred with bruises and cuts, like a canvas torn and defiled. Nicholas felt the world tilt, his knees buckling as he stumbled forward, his breath catching in his throat.
Marcus's body was contorted, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, and his face bruised beyond recognition. Blood stained the sand around him, dark and viscous, trailing down from a gash that cleaved his forehead. The violence of it all was overwhelming. Every inch of Marcus told a story of brutality, of a life extinguished with a callous, unforgiving hand. The boy who just hours ago had been so full of life and light now lay silent and broken. Nicholas felt a wave of nausea rise within him, bile burning at the back of his throat as he tried to comprehend the horror before him.
His mind raced, thoughts colliding in a chaotic jumble of disbelief and agony.
Not Marcus. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening, Nicholas thought.
But the sight of the boy's lifeless eyes, half-open and staring blankly at the sky, was inescapable. Its cold, unyielding reality pressed on Nicholas, crushing him with its weight. He wanted to scream, to reach out and shake Marcus awake, but he seemed rooted to the spot, his legs heavy, his chest tight with grief.
Amidst the crowd, Nicholas caught sight of Ledger, hunched over Marcus's body, his shoulders heaving with sobs. His face was a twisted mask of anguish, tears streaking down his cheeks as he clung to Marcus's cold, lifeless form. Dawson was beside him, his usual stoic demeanor cracked, one hand resting on Ledger's back in a futile attempt at comfort. The rawness of Ledger's grief, his cries torn from somewhere deep and primal, sent a shiver through the crowd of bystanders straight into Nicholas's soul.
It must have been seconds before Nicholas felt the vomit climb up to his throat, spewing out of his mouth and onto the ground as his legs finally caved, drilling his knees into the cold sand.
(To be continued...)