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Dancing With Tears In My Eyes Ch. 01

By: velvetpie



Shawn Anderson pulled the sheet up over the lifeless body and bit his lip, fighting back tears of hollow anger and bitter frustration. Damn this disease! Yet another victim of the relentless, uncaring infection known as AIDS. Someone’s father, someone’s son. This one was Alan Dunlop, a locally famous photographer who had introduced him to the beauty of Robert Mapplethorpe. Dunlop had been positive for thirteen years but three years ago, the sleeping virus had awakened into full-blown AIDS, ravaging his already thin frame and finally, robbing him of his life.

He knew that he shouldn’t feel so deeply but he couldn’t help it. AIDS wore many faces but it predominantly preyed on gay men and being gay himself, he took it personally. Years ago, when he’d first started practicing medicine, he was a starry-eyed intern, bent on finding the cure and ridding the world of AIDS, but the coldness of clinical trials and clean labs didn’t fit his ideal of conquering the seemingly unconquerable. 

Shawn had learned long ago that human contact had to be part of his practice. It was part of the reason that he had become a doctor. To feel. To remind him of how important it was to feel. To give a hug and silently support tears. To clasp a hand and ease the way into death. 

He thought about how thin Alan’s fingers were as they were intertwined with his. Shawn had tried to will his strength into the failing man, ignoring the death-rattle in his breaths and the putrid smell that emanated from his ruined body. He had only seen the clear lucidity in the professor’s hazel eyes and the pain-pinched smile on his quivering lips. Then the long, silent sigh as the photographer gave up his fight.

He looked down again at the snow-white sheet, his heart beating in his hollow chest. Sometimes, there was nothing that could fix the pain, especially the pain of losing a friend. Daphne’s hand on his shoulder jarred him back into reality and he accepted her heartfelt embrace, tears pricking his eyes. “Go home, Shawn. You’ve been here too long.”

Shawn laughed shakily, wiping his eyes and not bothering to contradict her. She was right. When he’d known that Professor Dunlop was near the end, he had spent every moment he could with the man, recalling the brilliance that he had learned in his classes and the grateful friendship that they had strengthened during the illness. It had been a long time since he’d wielded his Pentax, but the bit of craftsmanship that he possessed had come from Dunlop. “Do I look that bad?”

Daphne took a few steps back, cocking her blonde head to one side and scrutinizing him with dark brown eyes. “In a word, yes.”

“You wound me, friend.”

She cracked a smile, shoving her stethoscope into her pocket and looping an arm through his as her attention was drawn to the sheet. “He was so proud of you.” She gave him a gentle squeeze. “He said that he knew you were the one that left groceries on his doorstep.” Shawn couldn’t help the tears from falling at his friend’s words. “After everyone found out that he was positive and he lost clients, he said that your friendship was the only thing that kept him going.”

“He was very special to me.”

“I know.” Daphne whispered. “But he’s at rest now. And it’s time that you get some rest of your own.”

Shawn nodded. “I have to call the next of kin first.”

“Don’t bother.” Daphne opened the file, shoving the steel-encased chart holder into his hands. “He listed you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. He did it when he first came in years ago. He never changed it. Probably should have, but didn’t.” She paused. “Besides you, there was only one other person that ever came to visit him.”

“Who?”

“His son, Conor.”

*****

Shawn left the hospital and was on automatic pilot for most of the ride home, including the usual rush hour traffic and Tommy Barone hogging the road on his new electric scooter. He didn’t remember pulling into his driveway. He didn’t remember activating the garage door and pulling inside. He only remembered lifting his head and noticing that he had been sitting in the car for nearly an hour and that his face and shirt were wet with tears.

His cellphone chirped in the beverage cup holder and he cleared his throat a few times before trusting his voice to answer. “Hello?”

“Dr. Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“This is Conor Dunlop.” It was a voice that would have projected strength in the best of times. Today, it was strained, riddled with tears and emotion. “My father … “

“Professor Dunlop, I know. I’m very sorry.” The person known as Conor Dunlop burst into tears on the other end of the connection and Shawn took a deep breath, steeling himself against his own tears. “I didn’t mean … “

“I’m sorry, doctor.” Conor snuffled. “I … it’s just … “

“Listen, I’m at home. Why don’t you come over here and we can talk about Alan over some pizza?”

“I don’t think I can eat.”

“Well, just come over anyway.” Shawn rattled off the address and gave him directions. “See you in a few.”

An hour and a half later, the doorbell rang and Shawn opened the door to a handsome young man. He could tell that Conor was Alan’s son; they shared the same lanky frame, the same dark blond hair and the same dazzling hazel eyes. Except where Alan’s eyes were always filled with joy and hope, Conor’s were flat and blank with pain and confusion. A spear of pain shot through Shawn’s innards as their eyes met.

“Dr. Anderson?”

“Yes, come on in.” Shawn watched the tall young man step into the house and offered his hand. “And it’s Shawn. Please.”

“Conor.”

Shawn noticed his red eyes and quickly shut the door. “Come up here.” He led Conor into the heart of his split-level home, taking the bag he held and aiming him towards a bar stool on the other side of the counter. The man sat woodenly, his glazed eyes filling with tears again. “Here. Drink this.”

Conor took the shot of Cabo Wabo tequila without questioning the contents and swallowed it, wincing at the slight fire that followed. “I’m really sorry, Dr. Anderson. I meant to introduce myself weeks ago but … “

“It’s okay, Conor. I understand.”

“I went to see Dad’s lawyer and when he told me that you were Dad’s executor, I had to come see you.”

Shawn dropped a Warsteiner into Conor’s hand and perched on a stool opposite him, shaking his head. “I honestly don’t know how that happened, Conor.”

“I do.” Conor took a long swill of beer. “He adored you.”

“But … “

“No buts, Shawn. When you took that photographic course from him, he thought that you should always have been a photographer. He was surprised to find out that you were a doctor.”

“But I’m not his son.”

Shawn watched Conor’s handsome features wrinkle in sadness. “He didn’t know I was his son until a few weeks ago.”

“What?”

Conor sighed shakily. “Can I have another shot?”

“Sure.”

Shawn watched as the younger man poured a hefty slug of tequila and tossed it back. He was surprised to find himself committing the details to memory. The way his lips touched the edge of the shot glass, the silky motion of his Adam’s apple sliding up and down sheathed in golden skin, the tiny blond hairs that fluttered on that skin. It had been a long time since he’d been attracted to anyone.

“My mother kidnapped me when I was three. I guess Dad told her that he wanted a divorce because he had realized that he was gay so she took me away to prevent me from being ‘turned into a queer’.” Conor wiped his tears away, accompanied by a shaky laugh. “I turned into one any way.”

Shawn’s heart leaped at his admission but he tried to ignore the feelings, instead concentrating on the young man’s words and the honest feelings they expressed. “And Alan never knew where you were.”

Conor shook his head. “No. My mother … “ He spat the word out like a globule of foul-smelling phlegm. “She wouldn’t tell him. When I was eighteen, I started looking for him, but she gave me a false name to look for. It took me three years before I found out who he was.” Tears threatened to crest his thick eyelashes again. “And not enough time to repair her damage.”

“I’m sure he knew you loved him.”

Silence followed Shawn’s words and the sound of Conor’s snuffling touched his heart. Without a second thought, he enfolded the young man in his arms, allowing himself to cry as Conor released his own years of lost memories and irretrievable moments. A man that he hadn’t had a chance to know, the man who had helped to create him was gone and there was no chance to mend those bridges. No birthday parties, no Christmas carols. Just a cold rose marble slab that would proclaim where his father lay.

The feeling of Shawn’s arms around him felt so natural that he didn’t have a chance to think about the fact that a stranger was holding him. The heart beating under his ear was strong, almost as strong as the arms that surrounded him and for a few long minutes, he allowed himself to crumble, to give someone else control. And then he heard something else. Muffled sobs coming from the doctor. Did Shawn love his father as much as he did?

That thought sobered him and he sat up, breaking Shawn’s hold and hastily wiped his eyes again, standing and heading for the door. “I need to go.”

“You don’t have to, Conor. You can stay here if you want.”

Conor shook his head, watching Shawn wipe his eyes and wondering how he felt about that. Had Shawn been his father’s lover? Was that why his father had made Shawn the executor of his will? It was too much to think about. Especially because Conor was finding himself attracted to the handsome but tired-looking doctor. He couldn’t handle it if Shawn had been his father’s last lover.

“No.” He faked a smile and knew by the lack of change on Shawn’s face that it hadn’t convinced the doctor. “I – I’d better go.”

Shawn followed Conor to the door and stood in the doorway as he let himself out and skipped down the concrete steps. “I’ll be here if you want to talk.”

Conor had no words to say. His heart was much too heavy.

***** The funeral of a well-known artist such as Alan Dunlop should have been teeming with people. Unfortunately, the chapel at St. Peter’s stood largely empty, except for a handful of the professor’s faithful followers. A mixture of university students, gay men and family members crowded together on a few pews, gazing at the 20’ X 30’ photo gracing an easel at the head of the polished casket and murmuring prayers or curses. Shawn had arrived early, wanting to make sure that everything was in order and had been surprised to find Conor there, kneeling at his father’s side, touching his cold, dead flesh and talking to him.

Conor couldn’t help himself. He felt compelled to talk to his father, to touch the silvery strands of gray at his temples and to smooth the lines away from his eyes. His conversation had begun simply enough but had quickly grown into a confession of sorts. He’d never told his father that he was gay. He was sure that his father would have had a heart attack if he knew that he was following in his footsteps. He had just wanted his father to be happy. And that’s what he strived for with each subsequent visit.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, Dad.” Conor loosened his father’s tie and proceeded to tie a proper Windsor knot. “I just didn’t want you to worry about me.” He flattened the silky fabric down, tucking it under the lapels of his dark blue jacket. “Jesus, if you were alive, you’d hate this outfit. You’d probably jump up and down screaming. You look like a fucking lawyer!” He laughed, tears creasing his cheeks. “I wish we’d had time, Dad. I wish that bitch that you married had told me who you were the first time. I wish that I could have carried your cameras and loaded film for you.” His fingertips traced the unfeeling flesh of his father’s hand. “Did I tell you that I’m a photographer, too?”

Shawn stopped in the center of the aisle, feeling as if he was interrupting something private. It was obvious that Conor had come early to be alone and express himself to his father. Just as he turned to leave, he heard something that made him stop.

“Did you send him to me?” The breath caught in Shawn’s throat when he heard the childlike quality in Conor’s voice. “Don’t pretend that you don’t know who I’m talking about. That’s why you made him executor, didn’t you? You wanted me to meet him.”

Conor thought about what he was saying and was instantly disgusted with himself as his cock hardened. The doctor was handsome, there was no doubt about that. Conor couldn’t help remembering the man’s strong arms around him nor the beauty of his weary-bright eyes. He had fought against himself as he left, admonishing himself against the feelings that he had, thinking about his father. But he knew that his father would not want him to grieve too long and his father would never want him to pass up a chance at maybe … love?

“You always talked about him.” Shawn heard Conor continue, longingly watching him rearrange his father’s bangs with the caring fingers of a child. “Do you really think he has your soul?”

Shawn gasped before he realized that he had and Conor shot up, his gaze falling upon the doctor’s shaded eyes. “I – I’m sorry. I was just leaving.”

“That’s okay.” Conor whispered, pressing a kiss to his father’s forehead. “You just startled me. I thought I was alone.”

“I just got here.” Shawn joined him beside the casket, looking down at the man with whom he’d shared a long friendship.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.” Shawn smiled wistfully. “He was such a pistol before he got sick and he was always a great listener. And he always had great stories about his shoots.”

“I would have liked to have heard them.”

Shawn extracted a manila envelope from his pocket. “He wanted you to have this.” A beautifully bound leather volume slid out into Conor’s trembling hands. “I helped him write some of it because he … he didn’t have much motor control near the end.” Shawn fought the urge to push the hair out of Conor’s eyes. “He really treasured the time you two had together, even though it was so little.”

Conor just stared at the journal, his face dissolving into a mask of tears. “Thank you.”

Just then, the first of the attendees came in. “We’ll talk later.” The service went smoothly and most of the people attended the interment. Soon, it was just Shawn and Conor at the graveside, both wracked with tears, trying to contain the grief that so obviously spilled from their hearts. It was Shawn that moved next to Conor and it was Conor that reached for the doctor’s hand.

Shawn stood, coaxing the sobbing son into movement and both walked to the side of the grave. “Goodbye, Mr. Dunlop. Thank you for everything.” The single calla lily gently swayed down, landing atop the shining wood and delicately balanced on the lid for a moment, before sliding into the dark recesses of the grave.

Conor dropped his simple bouquet of lilacs and daffodils, his sight blurred with tears. “’Bye,” His voice broke, escaping in a whisper. “Dad.” 

Dancing With Tears In My Eyes Ch. 02



The offices of Feldman and Rosenbaum were located downtown in a tall, sparkling granite building boasting burled oak and brushed stainless steel. Shawn had worked most of the morning, attending to patients before driving down to the lawyer’s office and listening to reading of Alan Dunlop’s will.

Conor had been there also, a mass of emotions as he heard the words that his father had written for him and the fortune that had been left to him. Dunlop had left the contents of his various money market accounts and CDs to his son and had left the rights of his art to Shawn. An inconsolable Conor had bolted from the room, overwhelmed by the fact that his father had publicly recognized him as his son. It had taken the doctor nearly two hours to find the young man.

To anyone else, it would have seemed that the young man was simply feeding the pigeons but Shawn knew better. Conor was so emotionally drained that he didn’t even recognize Anderson but he let the doctor lead him away. Shawn had seen this type of behavior before and knew that it would take time for the young man to work through his grief and to come to terms with reality. Shawn took Conor to his apartment and laid him down on the couch, covering him with a blanket and slipping his shoes off.

“Sleep.” The word was the last that Conor heard for nearly five hours but it was the soft forehead kiss that made his sadness melt away like snow during a spring thaw.

The smell of onions and sizzling meat filled his nostrils and Conor stretched languidly, sitting up and running a hand through his mussed hair. His eyes met Shawn’s over the kitchen counter and the older man came around the island, examining him with a practitioner’s eye.

“How do you feel?”

“Better.” Conor answered truthfully. He knew his eyes told a different story and that Shawn wouldn’t be fooled. “What are you cooking? It smells fantastic.”

“Steak and homemade onion rings. Shit!” He jumped up and dashed back into the kitchen, fishing a pile of golden brown circlets out of the deep fryer and dumping them unceremoniously onto folded thicknesses of paper towels. He swiftly followed the actions with a generous sprinkling of salt and freshly ground pepper, then turned his back on Conor, dipping raw ringlets into beer batter and carefully sliding them into the hot oil. Shawn wiped his strong hands on a dishtowel emblazoned with snowmen and gave him a dazzling smile. “Want a beer or wine?”

“What are you having?”

Shawn took a sip, then pushed his glass towards Conor. “Santa Margherita, a Pinot Grigio and it’s one of my favorites. Try it.”

Conor raised the globe, feeling the ice-coldness of the wine through the clear glass and inhaling the fruity aroma. He turned the glass and drank from the edge that Shawn’s lips had touched moments before, an action that didn’t escape the doctor’s notice. A sexy vibration thrummed through Conor as Shawn’s fingers grazed his as he reclaimed his glass.

“Yeah, I’ll have some of that.”

Shawn shook his head, his breath caught in his throat as the sexual tension in the air threatened to turn him into a blushing teenager. He took a few seconds longer than usual to grab a glass from the cabinet, hoping that the heat would subside from his cheeks. He pulled the wine from the wine fridge and poured a healthy measure, sliding it across to Conor and avoiding further contact.

Conor watched, sipping silently as Shawn rescued another batch of onion rings, dumped and salted them. “I think that’s enough.” Two three-inch slabs of T-bone were sizzling on the adjacent grill and Shawn used tongs to flip them over, spreading a thin layer of Montreal steak seasoning on them. “These should be ready in about fifteen.” He took another drink of wine. “I took the liberty of making up the guest room and laying out some of my clothes for you. We’re about the same size, so I thought they would hold you over until you went home tomorrow.”

What if I don’t want to go home? Conor squashed the thought with a sad shrug. The dirt wasn’t even settled on his father’s grave and he was thinking about boning his father’s lover. Hardly appropriate behavior. 

“That is, if you want to stay.” Shawn watched for an indication of Conor’s thoughts and received none. “I can drop you back at your car … “

“No, I’ll stay.”

“Okay. I was going to suggest that you take a shower while I’m finishing up with dinner.”

“Sounds good.” The half-smile Conor gave Shawn made him grin. “Can I take my glass?”

“Absolutely.”

Conor slid down from the seat and trudged up the stairs, admiring the Dali prints as he ascended. A print of Picasso’s Three Musicians sat at the head of the stairs and the upper hallway branched off into two directions. Turning right, Conor found the master bedroom and held his breath as he entered Shawn’s inner sanctum. The room was decorated in soft shades of plum and the queen-size bed was tastefully appointed with a dark purple fitted sheet, comforter and pair of large pillows with dark pillowcases highlighted by a flat sheet and two smaller pillows with white background and lilac-sprigged fabric.

He couldn’t help but reach out and touch the crisp sheets, imagining Shawn’s naked body on them. He closed his eyes and visualized being taken by the doctor. He wondered what Shawn liked. Top or bottom, tongue or fingers … or both.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

It had taken Shawn almost five minutes to coax words out of his constricted throat. Watching Conor’s fingers drifting across the 270-thread count sheets and the thick comforter made him want to throw him down and fuck him until he painted the sheets with his cum. He cherished the guilty look on Conor’s face as he realized that he’d been caught. To his credit, Conor let out a bark of laughter, falling backwards on the plump mattress with his arms outstretched.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Neither could I.” Shawn plopped down next to him, smiling. “The color is just … “

“Mysterious.”

Shawn raised himself on an elbow, looking down into Conor’s eyes. His breath hitched again as he noticed the golden motes floating in Conor’s eyes like Goldschlager and it drew him like a magnet. The space between them decreased, Shawn’s blue eyes slowly closing as his lips gently opened. The touch of the warm flesh was electric, drawing an unexpected moan from him and his free hand pushing through tousled curls and cradling Conor’s skull like a precious baby. He turned his head so that their mouths fit perfectly and tentatively stroked Conor’s bottom lip with his tongue.

“Jesus!” Conor leaped from the bed as if he’d been electrocuted, his fingers touching his mouth. “Uh, sorry.” He backed toward the door, fear filling his eyes. “I – I’d better hit the shower now.”

Shawn watched him run off, the taste of Conor still on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah. Mysterious, just like you.”



*****

Hi, Conor.

Conor reached for the tissues and wiped his already tearing eyes, snuggling into the warm depths of the comforter and taking a deep breath. He had expected to be moved by his father’s words, but he hadn’t expected to see the nearly thirty-year old snapshot of himself pasted to the first page. It took his breath away and quickly reminded him of Shawn’s kiss.

Wow. Where to start? That’s a hard question. If I had access to a computer, I’d arrange my thoughts like a contact sheet, but alas, all I can do is talk into this damned recorder and ask my good friend, Shawn, to translate my words to paper for you. When this is all over, I hope and pray that this will be enough for you and I hope that you’ll be able to follow my disjointed ramblings and find the story of Alan Thornton Dunlop, your father.

I guess I should start out with the simple facts. I am 47 years old and I’m dying of AIDS. I contracted the disease thirteen years ago. Never have been sure of from whom, but I know where. Brazil. Most probably a street urchin I fucked between shoots. That was one of the sweetest nuts of my life. That might sound disgusting but I have no other choice than to be myself as the last days of my life dissipate like late-morning fog.

I have enjoyed fucking each and every chance that I got. There’s nothing like having your cock thrust deeply into a welcoming ass and dripping sweat onto that undulating body and gritting your teeth and firing off a hot load. I’d had gay sex before I met your mother but I never realized how ‘into’ gay sex I was until I had to cum in her. It just wasn’t the same. Of course, the plumbing was different but it went deeper than that. When I look into a woman’s eyes, I see a lumbering ball and chain. Weddings, babies, etc. When I look into a man’s eyes, I see hot sex. I see mouths and tongues and fingers and cocks and cum.

When Brenda told me that she was pregnant … well, I have to be honest. The first thing I did was throw up. I couldn’t believe that I had knocked her up. Me, a gay man had made a straight woman pregnant! Of course, I wasn’t sure that I was gay yet, but I was well on my way to making a dent in the homosexual population in Philadelphia. I’d just come back from a shoot downtown where I’d gotten a fantastic blow job from the PA when she greeted me at the door with a vodka martini. I knew that wasn’t good, but I had no idea of how bad it was.

She smiled, a fake smile by the way, and sat on the living room chaise with a huge smile. “Guess what, Alan? You’re going to be a father!”

I’ve hated the bitch ever since.

She was horrible the entire pregnancy. Demands for odd foods at odd hours topped the list of indignities inflicted on me. Popsicles, pickles, Little Debbie brownies … it went on and on until I got a phone call in my darkroom-slash-warehouse and she told me that you were on the way.

Have to be honest again, when the doctor set you in my arms, I bawled like a great, big old fairy. You were a little chubby, blond cherub. In fact, one of the first pictures I took of you was with laurels wrapped around your head, like you were one of Zeus’ children, newly born. Brenda kept it. She kept all of the pictures I took of you. I suppose she thought I’d wank off looking at your pictures. But you already know that she’s a bitch so no more need to waste breath on that subject.

I think that she was upset because she had wanted to hurt me. We weren’t as close as we had been and I think, no, I knew that she thought that I was cheating. But you and I bonded. I took you on shoots and let the models fawn over you. Everyone thought that you were so cute. The older you got, the cuter you got. And surprising, even to me, you had the eye. I’d lay prints down in front of you and you’d always pick the best shots. It was amazing. No one would believe me until I had Wally Summers from Vogue do the same thing and your inner artistic eye zeroed in on three photos. They were the best in every way; lighting, composition, wardrobe, makeup.

Then Brenda caught me fucking one of the male models while one of the girls was watching you and the shit hit the fan. Within two weeks, our apartment was empty and you and your mother had disappeared. I scoured the Philly area and even hired a private investigator but I could never locate you. Losing you did more than just piss me off. It made the wheels fall off my wagon. I started dabbling in drugs and drinking more and more … next thing I knew, I was an addict. My work was selling like mad but I was out of touch with reality.

You see, I could never get the picture of this lovely little boy out of my mind. My baby. My son. My little Conor. The photo in the front has been around the world several times, always close to my heart. Always a reminder that good had come out of this jaded soul. Always a reminder that you were out there somewhere, that hopefully one day, we could reconnect and have some kind of father-son relationship.

But my wild ways caught up with me and rightly so. There’s only so many times that you can stick your dick in the lion’s mouth before he clamps down on it. I have teeth marks and then some. I’d always been afraid of facing my death alone but Shawn, my doctor, has been a godsend. Could you imagine how I felt when you showed up? My son! And that you were so willing to look past my illness and the debauchery that my life has been filled with and see me, Alan, your father ... I wondered what kind of game God was playing on me, but I didn’t question.

I’m getting tired now. Think I’ll stop here and continue later. Poor Shawn is probably ready to kill me. I hope that you have a chance to have a friendship with him after I’m gone. Shawn is an exquisite human being. You’ll never meet anyone like him. If I were a younger man and believed in love … I’d better stop now. I know Shawn will definitely kill me now.

Till later,

Your father,

Alan



Conor slowly closed the volume, hiccupping with suppressed sobs as his fingers traced the indentations of the written words. His father’s thoughts, Shawn’s hands. His lover? His friend? It was all too much to comprehend and he snapped the light off, his mind filled with confusion, his eyes overflowing with tears and his heart aching for love.



Dancing With Tears In My Eyes Ch. 03



Conor arose to an empty house the next morning and a hastily scribbled note taped to his door. Got a call and had to go to the hospital. Hopefully I'll be back by the time you get up. Please wait for me. Shawn. Conor's heart fluttered at the last words. Please wait for me. Again, a vision of their kiss arose unbidden and he shuddered, his cock stiffening under his fingertips. He laid back down on the bed and started stroking himself in earnest. He closed his eyes and thought of Shawn, of his warm, blue eyes and of being lost in them. 

That kiss ... that kiss had been so hot. So tender and innocent and soul-searing hot. Conor never could have imagined that just a kiss could have gotten him so worked up but it had. Electricity had crackled between them, adding a dimension to their connected mouths that set the air on fire. He thought he was dreaming. He slid his hand down, opening his palm to cup his balls and gave them a rough tug, moaning as he stroked his thick stalk again.

A bone-weary Shawn climbed the stairs, heading for his bedroom and hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before Conor awoke and paused on the landing when he heard the sound. He wasn't quite sure but it sounded like a cry. Maybe Conor was having a nightmare. The door was open and Shawn froze in place at the sight of Conor's naked body, sprawled across the sheets, his hand on a fairly thick cock. His dick sprang to life in the painful constraints of his jeans and he freed himself, rubbing his cock until it was covered with pre-cum.

How would it feel to have Shawn's callused hands on his body? Delicious, he thought. God, he could probably just cum from that feeling alone. He gave himself a few long strokes, squirming as he felt his abdomen tighten, pleasure unfurling throughout his body. He suddenly wanted to be on his knees in front of Shawn, letting him skullfuck his mouth to his heart's desire. 

"Oh, yes, Shawn." Conor's whimper sent trembles down Shawn's spine. "Fuck my mouth! Let me suck you dry!" Shawn leaned against the wall, one hand propping him up on the door jamb while the other stroked his meat. Conor looked good enough to eat. His lean, muscled body was rapidly becoming covered with a light sheen of sweat and every downy inch beckoned to Shawn's tongue. "Oh, I want to taste you!"

Conor imagined the scene. On his knees, looking up into Shawn's eyes. Shawn's hand forcing his head forward, filling his mouth with hard cock. The moment when his glorious cum flooded his mouth ... the breath caught in Conor's throat as Shawn did something different in his daydream. With a rough turn, Conor was pushed around and fingers were pushed into his asshole, warming him for an assault. "Oh, yes! Oh, Shawn! Please!"

Shawn's hand moved faster now, his breathing light but deep, his brow wet with sweat. Conor's legs were wide open and in the air, three fingers plunging deep into his asshole while his other hand moved with blurring speed over his cock. Shawn closed his eyes, imagining that his dick was sinking into Conor's body, slamming home then pulling out again. He felt his balls drawing up and the familiar prickling made his skin dance with anticipation. He tried to hold it back but when he heard Conor's last exclamation, he was lost. 

"Fuck me! Fuck me, Shawn, please! Oh, God, I'm cumming!" Conor gave himself over to his climax, loudly whimpering Shawn's name over and over as ropes of cum spurted from his prick, splashing onto his chest. Out in the hallway, Shawn was fiercely biting his hand as he erupted into his palm, his body jerking uncontrollably and his legs threatening to collapse. As Conor's whimpers echoed down the hall, he silently moved away, heading back down the stairs and washing up in the kitchen. Then, he slammed the front door and pretended that he'd just gotten home.

Ten minutes later, a freshly showered Conor came down the stairs, wearing a borrowed robe and a smile. "Morning."

"Hey."

"Just getting back?"

"Yeah. I'm beat."

"Hungry?"

"Starving."

"Good. I'm making breakfast."

Shawn slumped into the chair, partly exhausted from work and partly from cumming so hard minutes earlier. "You don't have to, Conor. It's okay."

"I don't know you very well, but would you do me a favor? Shut up." Conor walked over to where Shawn sat and smoothed his hair back. "You've been up all night while I've been sleeping. The least I can do is cook for you."

Shawn closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Conor's fingers in his hair. He was so tired. He could just fall asleep right now but his grumbling stomach was bound to wake him up. "Conor ... "

"No. Let me take care of you, please?"

The softness in Conor's voice wove a spell around Shawn's drained mind and the doctor found himself being walked up the stairs and led into the bathroom. Conor's gentle hands peeled the clothing from his body: first, the jacket, then shirt, shoes and finally pants. Shawn heard the shower go on and Conor held the plastic curtain back as he stepped in. The steamy water felt good, pounding his insensate skin. But he just suddenly felt so tired, so bone-weary that he didn't have the strength to stand.

Conor watched in horror as Shawn slid to the floor, his blue eyes glazed. "I'm sorry." His whispered words ensnared Conor and he stripped quickly, stepping into the tub and helping Shawn to his feet. "Sorry. I'm just so ... tired."

"How much sleep did you get last night?"

"An hour."

"And the night before?"

"None."

"And the night before that?" When Shawn offered no answer, Conor swore. "You haven't had any sleep in three days?"

"Alan was dying. I couldn't sleep." Shawn's words were slurred and he was doing everything he could to stay standing. "I couldn't miss his last breath. I had to be there for him."

Conor soaped Shawn's back, rubbing the roughened washcloth across his broad shoulders, over his narrowed hips and around strong legs. He slowly turned and Conor scrubbed his chest, groin and legs, then pushed him under the pulsating jets, rinsing him clean. Once outside the tub, he toweled Shawn dry and led him to his bed, watching him lay down and tucking the crispy sheets around him. 

"Do you have to work tonight?"

"No, but I'm on call in case someone dies."

"Fine. Then go to sleep. I'll wake you for lunch." Conor turned to go. Then, 

"Kiss me."

This kiss was even more tender than the one they'd previously shared because they weren't on equal ground. Now it was Conor who sought to seduce Shawn's senses with his passion and Shawn who sought the peace and comfort of Conor's embrace. Conor firmly fitted his mouth over Shawn's, pressing down until Shawn's jaw opened and his tongue slipped gently against his. Fear overruled his stronger senses and he pulled back, pressing his mouth across Shawn's brow and touching his lips to each closed eyelid.  

"Sleep well."

"Thank you."

Conor stood in the doorway for a long time, watching the doctor sleep and crept back over to his side, running his fingers over Shawn's lips and jaw. He was so handsome, even with the scar on his chin. So handsome. He won't want you, not after he learns the truth. Conor slowly arose, pain etched on his features and silently slipped from the room.

* * * * *

The phone's jangling awoke Shawn from a deep, restful sleep and he reached for the phone, astonished to see inky darkness between the slats of the blinds. The sun had gone down and velvety black was punctured by a multitude of stars, stretching over the horizon and broken only by lazy streetlights perched atop the hills.

"Hello?"

"Hey, sleepyhead! Did you forget our dinner date?"

"Oh, Daphne! I'm sorry. What time is it?"

"Nearly eight."

"Eight? At night?"

"Yes, dearie. Post meridian."

"Daphne, I've never slept this late in my life."

"Who is he?"

"Wha – what?"

"You heard me, Shawn. I didn't stutter. Who is he?"

"Who is who?"

"Whomever you've got there that's allowing you to sleep so well." Her voice was filled with laughter. "What's his name?"

The house was quiet so Shawn's answer was subdued and disappointed. "No one, Daph. Just a dream."

"Never had anyone describe me like that." Conor wanted to shout with laughter at the look of astonishment on Shawn's face. He shoved the hot mug into the doctor's hand and took the phone from him. "Hi, Daphne. I'm Conor."

"Oh! You're Alan's son!"

"Yes."

"So you've been taking care of our fine young doctor?"

"As much as he'll allow me to." Conor glanced over at Shawn and watched him take a tentative sip from the mug, humming in delight. "Listen, I've made dinner. Why don't you come over here?"

"I'll be over in a jiffy! Should I bring anything?"

"A few more bottles of wine and clothes to spend the night. Cool?"

Daphne giggled. "Cool."

"Oh, and if you have any interesting PlayStation games or X-rated DVDs, those would also be welcome."

Snorting in glee, Daphne signed off. "Okay. See you in a few."

"What the hell is this? It's wonderful!"

"A bastardized version of grog. Apple cider, spices and Captain Morgan's silver rum."

"Mmmm." Shawn turned over on his back, the sheets falling away to expose a patch of curly dark pubic hair at his waist. "Oh, this is so good!"

"I usually make it for Christmas but I thought it would be good now. Besides, it is cold outside and it is nearly Thanksgiving." Conor stepped back, smiling at Shawn's reaction. "I think it's close enough."

Shawn took another sip, loving the way the hot beverage warmed him to his toes. "Thanks for putting me to bed. I was exhausted."

"Doesn't surprise me after you told me how much you didn't sleep." Conor balanced on the edge of the bed, desperately trying to ignore the tempting exposed expanse of Shawn's skin. "Now get dressed. Daphne's on her way over and I have to set the table!"

Shawn watched Conor leave, then pulled on a respectable pair of sweats and hopped down the stairs like a kid at Christmas. The kitchen island was set with festive dishware that he'd forgotten he'd owned and the scent of cinnamon and cloves filled the air. Conor was removing a large roast from the oven and basting it with its delectable juices when Shawn pulled up a chair. 

"Wow! And I thought I could cook!"

Conor blushed at the compliment. "Well, you were sleeping so I went out and bought some things. You looked like you hadn't had a good meal in a long time."

"Hey! I can cook!"

"Sure, Shawn. Tacos, hamburgers, steaks ... whatever happened to veggies and salads?"

"Uh, nothing."

Conor laughed at the doctor. "Nothing, except they don't exist in your kitchen." He poured the juices into a pan and added flour to thicken it. "Why don't you get us another bottle of wine and a glass for Daphne?"

* * * * *

"I'll be leaving tomorrow."

Shawn desperately wanted to pretend that he hadn't heard Conor's words but he knew they'd be coming soon. The words put a damper on the otherwise fantastic evening. Right now, Daphne was passed out in the guest room and both he and Conor were close to passing out themselves. Conor's dinner of beef roast with gravy, roasted whole red-skinned potatoes and baby carrots and store-bought apple pie had started the party. The pot Daphne had brought and the wine Shawn provided had continued the merriment.

Shawn hadn't had that much fun in a long time and he had watched Conor all night, falling in love with his easy manner and his quick wit. Falling in love with him. He'd known it the instant that he'd seen him at the funeral, touching Alan's lifeless hand and speaking his heart. Something in Conor's face spoke vulnerability in volumes. An emotional vulnerability that Shawn had sensed in their kisses and wondered what secrets the man was hiding. He also wondered if he was smitten enough to ignore that fact ... 

"Shawn?"

"Uh, yeah. I heard you."

"Maybe you'd better get to bed."

"Yeah, it's awfully late." Shawn stretched. "You take my bed."

"What? I can't do that. Where will you sleep?"

"The couch. It's quite comfortable."

"I can't take your bed, Shawn."

"Well then," The words came out of his mouth before he thought about what he was saying. "Share it with me."

"Okay." Conor was surprised at his own answer but chalked it down to the weed. No, fuck that. He'd said it because he wanted to say it. Because he wanted to share this beautiful man's bed. Even if he couldn't have sex with him, he could enjoy being near him. Being near him was like being near his father and he felt comforted and wanted. "But don't hog the sheets."



Dancing With Tears In My Eyes Ch. 04



Shawn thought he'd heard something and struggled into wakefulness. Darkness blanketed the room except for a smudge of pale moonlight. He felt disoriented but held his head up to listen for the noise again. 

"No, please. Please! I promise!"

It was a plea, spoken in a broken voice. A voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. A voice that came from Conor.

Shawn switched on the light and turned toward his bed partner. Conor's back was to him and the breath left Shawn's throat when he saw the healed but still livid welts across his back. Conor had been beaten and beaten badly.

"Oh, God, no! Please! Not again!" His cries screamed with desperation and fear. Conor's body curled into a tight fetal ball, his arms thrown up to fend off invisible blows and the young man trembled so violently that the doctor was frightened himself. Shawn reached over and touched Conor's shoulder. Conor shrieked, his crazed eyes meeting Shawn's but not recognizing him. "No, please! Don't beat me again!"

"Conor!"

"No. No!"

"CONOR!" At Shawn's shout and forceful shake, the brilliant hazel eyes cleared of terror and brimmed with bright, silvery tears. Conor stared up into Shawn's concerned face and panic gripped him anew. Had he talked in his sleep again? Had Shawn heard? "Are you all right?"

Conor couldn't speak. His throat was closed with tears and his heart was pounding so loudly that he couldn't hear. He nodded quickly, grabbing for the sheet that Shawn pulled from his fingers.

"Who beat you?" He had seen. Conor fought his tears as he blindly groped for the sheet. He was naked in the light and Shawn had seen something he'd shown to no one, not even himself. "Answer me, damn you!"

"Please ... "

"No! You tell me!" Shawn hadn't realized how hard he was gripping Conor's arms until he saw the angry markings. "You've been holding something back. Now tell me!"

Tears spilled from Conor's eyes and his chest ached with the effort of holding back sobs. "Shawn, please. Ask me anything ... anything but that."

"You won't trust me?"

"I ... " Conor's voice trailed off into an anguished whisper. "I can't."

Something in Shawn hardened. He should have known that it was too good to be true, that the feelings that he thought they shared were nothing but echoes of something he felt for Alan. "Suit yourself."

Shrugging on his robe, he flicked off the light and tramped downstairs to spend a restless and sleepless night on the sofa. Conor curled up in the heated sheets, sobbing in painful silence and wishing that he could have told him the truth.

* * * * *

It took Conor three days to go through everything in his father's spacious townhouse. He was surprised to find a volume with Shawn's name on it and with a sick stomach, he flipped the cover open, expecting to see naked pictures of his father's lover. Instead, he found photos, artistic photos taken by someone who had a keen eye and a light touch. Of all the shots, there was one that really struck Conor. It was a child with a paper sailboat. That in itself was simple but the details were not. The child's expression was priceless.

That dealt a blow to Conor's innards and he closed his eyes as he heard the walls he'd so carefully constructed come crumbling down. He knew that Shawn wasn't like his ex but ... he paused when he realized that he was absent-mindedly rubbing his scarred shoulder. He just couldn't return to that. He couldn't allow anyone to have control over him, no matter how much he desired it.

Conor leaned back and closed his eyes. God, he was fucked up! First, his ex, now, his father, then Shawn. He rubbed his eyes, feeling a bit of his insides melt. Ha! The hot, arrogant progeny of Alan Dunlop doesn't have life figured out! He tried to ignore the voice in his head and looked down at Shawn's pictures. 

It was time.

* * * * *

"His name was Frank."

Shawn looked up from his bowl of tepid vegetable soup and gazed into Conor's troubled eyes. The din of the hospital's cafeteria covered the pain in the young man's voice but Shawn heard it clearly. 

"Stop." Oh, how he wanted to pull him into his arms!

Conor stood there, his emotions engraved on his puerile features, his large eyes filled with anguished tears. "Shawn ... "

"Here. Take my keys and go home. I'll meet you there." Shawn's keys rubbed the numbed pads of Conor's fingertips and he lifted his eyes to him. "I might be a little late but you get something to eat and get some sleep, hear me?"

"You don't want to hear what I have to say?"

"Yes, Conor. I want to hear what you want to tell me, more than anything. But this is not the place." Shawn touched his cheek with gentle fingers. "Have something to eat, take a bath and crawl into my bed. We'll talk when I get home, okay?"

Conor gazed into the mesmerizing blue eyes. "Promise?"

"Yes, I promise." Shawn watched the young man walk away, his heart thumping in his chest and his appetite gone.

* * * * *

Hi, again!

 

Kinda strange that someone that's dying would be so happy, eh? Well, to tell you the truth, I'm happy to be going. I fucked up my life and for what? Sensation without protection? Partly. Sex without emotion? Exactly. As long as I was able to fuck anyone I wanted, there was no necessity, at least in my mind, to cultivate a 'relationship' with the person. And why the hell would I want to have a relationship? Why the hell would I want to be tied down? To be irrevocably tied to someone via 'emotion'?

 

Not me.

 

Alas, dear Conor, I learned too late. When I declared myself 'gay', I decided that I would never grow up, that I would recoup all the missed opportunities of my childhood. Little did I know that my stupidity would be the cause of my eventual death. Yes, dear son, I was stupid. I equated sex with a connection. Of course, it didn't happen. Why? Because the dudes I hooked up with were just looking for a romp. Of course, being the 'man' that I was, I insisted that I was, also. But to be truthful, I was always looking for my soulmate. I was just too jaded. I never thought I'd find that person.

 

Then I met Shawn.

 

Before you get too twisted, we've never had a physical relationship. Strangely, Shawn has never been someone that I wanted to fuck. I'm not sure why, except that something inside me recognized him as a good person, as a person that I would rather cultivate a friendship with. That was a strange development for me. I've never wanted nor needed friendship before. But something about Shawn ... I just can't explain it. If I were a different person and much younger, then I would choose Shawn for my partner. Shawn's a man that could make a man believe in love ...

 

But you're a smart guy. If all goes well, you'll find this out for yourself.

 

I first met Shawn at a medical fundraiser some years ago and I was very flattered that he knew my work. He told me that he had signed up for my course but had been turned down because he wasn't a photography student and the course was closed to anyone who wasn't a photo major. I invited him out to lunch the next day and told him to bring his photos. He brought his portfolio and I was astounded to say the least. His shots were simply perfection. Spartan. Clean. Focused. They were, in a word, fantastic.

 

I closed the album and took a closer look at him, wondering who had touched him with this magnificent gift. I asked who taught him to take shots. He told me about his uncle Jesse and the ancient Pentax that he still had. I asked who taught him about composition. He told me about his aunt Maybell and his grandmother Earlene who were watercolor painters and avid floral gardeners. I finally asked him who took the shots for him and I instantly regretted the question. 

 

The look on his face was a seductive mix of anger and incredulity. He stood up very calmly, gathered his books and dropped some money on the table and left without a word. It took me three weeks to find out who he was and get his phone number. When he answered the phone, it was as if winter had descended. I told him that I had gotten him into the class and told him when it would begin. He told me that he was no longer interested because of my comments. It took three phone calls and a ticket to Taboo to get him to take the class.

 

Believe me when I say that it was one of the best things I'd ever done. The work that Shawn turned in was the best I've ever seen from a student. If I hadn't known that they'd come from him, I would have sworn that they had been done by a professional. I urged Shawn to pursue his hobby but he told me that he was too in love with being a doctor to turn his back on it.

 

Little did I know how much Shawn loved being a doctor. 

 

When I was diagnosed, I pretty much ignored it. I read the pamphlets, shrugged my shoulders and set off to find positive partners. I still was not done with the idea of fucking. It was kind of a relief, knowing that the person whose ass I was using as a cum repository, was positive as well. No questions, no answers, no problems. I was at least responsible enough not to pass the disease to anyone else. You should be proud of me for that. But from time to time, I'd feel ill and I found myself in the emergency ward with Shawn attending.

 

He stayed up with me all night that first night. He was concerned about my health, he later told me. I wasn't eating the right foods. I wasn't taking care of myself. I didn't care. Death was death, wasn't it? Did it matter if you dropped off with a six-pack or a beer belly? It was of vast importance to Shawn. Better health meant longer life. He made me take vitamins and started coming by the apartment to take me on long, torturous hikes. He wanted me to care about myself. I didn't give a shit, but he did.

 

I'll never forget how mad he was when he found out that I was still having sex. He told me that it was disgusting that a positive person was still going at it. I told him that my body was dying but not my soul. I think I taught him something that day. I never thought that there was anything that I could have taught Shawn ... 

 

A strange warmth awoke Conor.

He drifted into wakefulness and flexed his numb hand. His limb had fallen asleep while he read his father's journal and the sharp edge digging into his forearm had cut off his circulation but as much as he hated that sensation, another made him more concerned. Lying completely still, he could feel every muscled inch of Shawn's body. He thought of nothing of the sexuality of the situation; Conor only thought of flight.

Shawn's soft whisper caught his attention and momentarily froze him into place. "You said his name was Frank."

A shudder skated through Conor's innards. He knew that Shawn was giving him an opportunity to continue the dialog that he'd begun earlier, in the cafeteria. Conor thought about feigning sleep, then turned in Shawn's arms, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Yes."

Shawn pushed a damp curl of hair out of Conor's sunken eyes and leaned close, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. A supportive kiss. "Tell me what you want me to know."

Tell me what you want me to know. Easy words to say. Conor gazed into the doctor's eyes and did something that he never thought he'd do. He started speaking.

"I met Frank when I was 8. He ran an ice-cream parlor down the street from Mom's house. I used to spend a lot of time there, eating ice cream and cleaning up. He'd give me a quart or two of ice cream every night for payment. Mom liked that. She ate most of it every night. On my eighteenth birthday, Frank hired me and gave me the apartment above the parlor to live in. My job entailed security as well as clean-up. I didn't have a problem with that. Frank did."

Shawn listened to Conor's voice, drawn to the beauty of his pain-filled features. He listened to the story of a human being and observed the young man's countenance as he relayed the tale. The arrangement with Frank had gone horribly awry. The man had accused Conor of eating ice cream at night and whittling away his precious profits. So ...

"He beat me." Conor could barely breathe as he spoke the words. "He brought the whip as a joke, I thought, but I was so wrong."

Shawn felt Conor's body start to tremble; a deep tremble that started from his heart and made its way outward. "It's okay, baby." He ran his hand over Conor's shoulder, down to his elbow and over his hip. "He can't hurt you now."

He can't hurt you now. Conor wanted to believe in his words. He felt a shiver course through his body as Shawn's fingers intertwined with his. His warmth not only soaked into his skin but into his heart and that fact made Conor want to pull away. He made a token attempt but Shawn would not allow it. He worked his hand down past the knuckles and clamped down on Conor's hand.

"The nightly whipping wasn't enough for him after awhile. He found out that I was gay and decided that I should service him." Conor waited for the words. Why didn't you leave? Words that he could never supply a satisfactory answer to. To his amazement and relief, Shawn didn't speak those words. "He started beating me every night and fucking me after I was bleeding."

Shawn's stomach twisted into uncomfortable knots. "Conor, you don't have to tell me any more."

"Yes, I do."

The doctor listened closely as Conor related the rest of his story. The continuous beatings, the unsavory couplings, the multiple partners. He was lucky that Frank believed in condoms. Except when it came to his own prick.

"One day, my mother called and said that she'd heard from my father." Conor recalled that day: the day he'd wanted to commit murder. She had sounded so lively and gay when she'd imparted the news. Your sperm donor called. "I didn't find out who he was right away but at least I knew that she was in contact with him."

"Did you want to talk to him?"

"Of course!" The bravado he'd clung to melted quickly. "I've always wanted to talk to my father but that bitch ... "

"She wouldn't let you."

"She told me all kinds of stories about him." Shawn watched as Conor's eyes opened and those haunting hazel eyes trained on him, making his cock twitch. "Mostly that she hated him."

"What happened to Frank?"

"I called the police about him and he was arrested for trying to molest another child."

"Good for you." Shawn touched Conor's cheek, seeing the dark shadows moving behind his eyes. "Did you save that other child?" 

No. Conor knew what Shawn was asking. That other child was himself. No. That other child had not been saved. "No."

"Maybe I can save him."



Dancing With Tears In My Eyes Ch. 05



"Can you?" Conor heard the words float out of his mouth but he couldn't resist saying them. He needed to hear the answer. He wanted to hear the answer.

"Yes." Shawn leaned forward, his lips brushing Conor's trembling ones. Tears gathered at the corners of those breathtaking hazel eyes and he gently kissed them away. "But you have to let me in."

Terror seized Conor. He hadn't let anyone in for such a long time and the idea of opening himself up absolutely terrified him. But his father's words suddenly echoed in his head. I told him that my body was dying but not my soul. And he knew the truth of those words and what they meant to him. The exact opposite was happening to him. His soul was dying but not his body. He didn't want to become his father: an empty shell looking for something he never found.

His hands moved on their own, his fingers disengaging from Shawn's and traveling up to the doctor's face, tracing the sexy contours of his lips. "Shawn?"

"Yes."

"Please don't hurt me."

"I would never hurt you, Conor." Shawn pushed Conor onto his back, the breath catching in his throat as he felt Conor's thick, hard cock rubbing against his thigh. He straddled the younger man, grabbed his hands and pulled them above Conor's head, his mouth poised over Conor's glistening and trembling lips. "Not unless you wanted me to."

Conor thought that his heart would pound a hole through his chest when Shawn's hot mouth seared his neck flesh and his teeth nibbled his jawline. The breath left his throat as his lips left a wet trail over his Adam's apple and collarbones, then slid tantalizingly around his already-hard nipples. He wanted to touch Shawn but the doctor kept his hands pinned tightly to the pillows. The exquisite torture of Shawn's teeth on his nipples made his body arch upwards and he felt every inch of Shawn's body as his weight bore him back to the mattress.

"Oh, God, Shawn."

Shawn bent and captured Conor's nipple again, rubbing the ridges of his teeth across the hard bud and flicking his tongue over it. "Like that?" His hot whisper culled a sincere whimper from Conor and he repeated the actions over and over again until Conor was writhing in ecstasy. He let his tongue trace a path up Conor's upstretched arms and pressed his body against him, shuddering as his pre-cum coated cock swam through Conor's prickly pubic hair, his sensitive head mushrooming with blood. "Keep your hands up here."

Conor shivered at the menace in Shawn's voice but knew that it was liberally laced with care. Shawn's touch told him what he needed to know and he released his fear, praying that what he felt in his heart was the truth. He reached upward as far as he could and closed his eyes, reveling in the mystery of Shawn's next movement. A puff of warm breath alerted him just before Shawn's mouth encircled his nipples again, giving each a cursory hard suck before the scratchy hairs of his Van Dyke proceeded his agile tongue on a journey to his groin area.

Shawn breathed deeply, taking in Conor's natural musky scent, coupled with the sweet tang of pre-cum and the earthiness of sexual sweat and he was surprised to find his mouth watering for a taste of the thick tube of meat that arose just under his nose. He ignored the veined shaft and went for the sensitive spots on the insides of Conor's thighs. His tongue worked into the creases where his legs and groin met, laving deeply and thoroughly as he moved down the muscled thighs, biting the creamy flesh. 

Conor shouted in joy, fighting the urge to press Shawn's face into his fragrant groin. He wrapped his hands around the headboard's spindles and gritted his teeth, breathless with the sensations that streamed through him. Without warning, Shawn's mouth engulfed his hard prick, softness enveloping hardness, passion conquering fear. A long, low groan parted Conor's lips and he fought to keep from cumming right away. And it was a hard fight. Shawn's tongue wrapped around the head of his cock, the rigid tip laving the underside and the fat curl slithering around the purpled ridge, propelling him toward the sky.

Shawn felt Conor's body respond and moved lower, lifting the heavy sac of balls and giving them a loving lick, then sucked one inside his mouth, rubbing his tongue all over it. He paid the same attention to the second nut, then lifted Conor's legs, letting his tongue glide over his sensitive perineum's flesh and aiming for his flexing pucker.

"Shawn."

Conor could only utter one word as his lover's tongue breached his outer ring, pressing inside and spreading him open. He kept hold of the bars, pushing down into Shawn's tongue and wishing that it was his cock that was forging the path. He had never been loved like this before. Part of him understood why his father had been so addicted to the act of fucking. It was so exciting, so exhilarating. Every bit of his flesh was pulsing with fire and he couldn't breathe, so staggering were the sensations.

"Please, Shawn." Shawn's mouth encircled his pucker and sucked, drawing a loud hiss from Conor. "Fuck me."

"What?" Shawn arose, rubbing his cock in Conor's spit-slimed crack. He nipped at his nipples and bit just under his left armpit. "What do you want?"

"Please."

The fear was still in his voice. Shawn heard it and wanted to erase it. He wanted Conor to own this. "What do you want, Conor?"

"You. Inside me."

Shawn rubbed the head over Conor's spasming hole again. Conor whimpered and tried to push down but Shawn moved back. He moved his hand over Conor's smooth ass flesh and slid his thumb into his asshole. Again, Conor whimpered, his body stiffening as a shudder flashed through him. "Is this what you want?"

Shawn's finger pushed in again, grazing Conor's prostate and sending electrical tremors down his spine. "Yes." He answered breathily, coasting on a wave of pure pleasure, then, "No."

"What do you want?"

"Your cock." Conor hissed, gripping the spindles harder. "Quit fucking teasing me and fuck me!"

"Is that what you want?" Shawn lined the head of his aching prick up with Conor's waiting hole, then let the slick head touch. "This?"

"Yes. Fucking take me!"

The beauty of Conor's angry eyes was too much to deny. Shawn pressed in until the head popped in, then in a long, slow slide, plunged into Conor until he was balls deep. "Oh, Conor." Shawn didn't know that the words had slipped out of his mouth until he met Conor's eyes and saw the love reflected there. Love? Yes, love. That thought took the breath from Shawn's throat and he leaned down, touching his mouth to Conor's and letting his tongue dance.

Conor pulled his arms down, hoping that Shawn wouldn't be angry, but he wanted to touch and hold his lover. His hands curled around Shawn's neck, his fingers lacing into his thick, black hair. Shawn moaned softly into Conor's mouth. Conor sucked on his tongue, returning the moan as Shawn pulled out and pressed in, filling Conor more completely than he'd ever been filled before. 

He hadn't told Shawn the complete truth. That he hadn't been able to make love to anyone since escaping Frank. That he saw himself as a whore, someone not worthy of love. Something told him that Shawn wouldn't have listened had he told him. Something told him that it wouldn't have mattered. The kiss they shared was fiery but Conor felt the care that bubbled beneath. It wasn't a kiss of ownership; it was a kiss of passion. He broke the kiss, leaving Shawn confused but he lifted his legs over Shawn's shoulders to allow him better access and grabbed the spindles again.

Yes. Shawn put his hands on either side of Conor's hips and drove into him, desperately trying to ignore the tingles that fired his skin. Conor's ass was so hot and tight that Shawn had to work to keep himself from exploding. And the tasty sight of his disheveled blond curls and rosy cheeks didn't make it any easier. He found a steady rhythm and closed his eyes as Conor matched him stroke for stroke, their bodies moving perfectly together, their eyes locked.

"Yes. Yes. Yes! Shawn!" Conor bucked underneath Shawn, his cock spurting ropes of thick, white cum into the space between their bodies. The first spurt landed on his upper chest and neck, the next on his chest and the last three on his stomach. He was so busy cumming that he didn't realize that Shawn was cumming too.

Shawn felt the rippling of Conor's ass muscles and he couldn't fight any longer. With a deep growl, he exploded into Conor's body, gasping with each release of sperm, relentlessly drilling Conor's asshole. His arms gave out and he half-fell into Conor's arms, trying to catch his breath and shaking with aftershocks. He groaned as his flaccid prick slid out of Conor's ass while Conor's hands roamed over his overheated skin.

"Conor?"

"Yeah."

"Did I hurt you?"

"No." That single word loosed a flood of tears that Conor valiantly tried to stem but failed and Shawn held him gently, touching his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Shawn whispered. He gathered Conor against him, pulled the sheets over them and said a quiet prayer, hoping that this connection would not pale in the morning light.

* * * * *

Conor awoke first.

He swam slowly to the surface of deep sleep, blinking into wakefulness and looking down at sun-browned arm that curled around his middle, then at the peaceful features of his sleeping lover. Did last night really happen? Did he really make love with Shawn? He closed his eyes, letting his fingertips drift across Shawn's forearm, recalling the evening's events. Yes, it really happened and yes, Shawn had made love to him. Made love. Yes, made love. Conor now knew something that his father had never known; something that quite possibly might have changed his life had he known it. He had never experienced love.

"Good morning."

Shawn's velvety voice warmed Conor from his head to his toes and he pressed back into Shawn's warm body, squeezing his forearm and closing his eyes. "Morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Yes."

Shawn wanted more than just a one word response but realized that Conor might not be ready for that. He rubbed his cock against Conor's ball sac, nipping at Conor's neck. "You felt so good last night."

"Did I?"

"Mmm, yeah." Shawn licked Conor's ear. "Would you like to fuck me?"

Conor turned over in Shawn's arms, searching his eyes. "No." His voice shook. "I'd like to make love to you."

Shawn searched Conor's eyes, blue meeting hazel, heart meeting heart. "I'd like that very much." He whispered just before Conor's mouth covered his and they began the dance again.

* * * * *

Daphne noticed the change in Shawn immediately. The dark circles had disappeared and his usually immaculate hair was standing up in odd places. She burst out laughing when she saw him.

"What's the joke?"

"You are!" She motioned for him to bend down and combed the more unruly areas into an artful disarray. "I've never seen you without your hair perfect."

Spots of color arose on his cheeks. "Uh, I was in a rush to get here."

"Yeah, I just bet you were." Daphne gave him a knowing smile. "It's Conor, isn't it?" He blushed again. "Ha! I knew it!"

"Sshhh!" He shushed her, finishing some notes on his last patient. "Don't advertise, will ya?"

She grinned. "I can't help it! I'm happy for you."

Shawn smiled to himself. He was happy, too. Deliriously happy. A tingle coursed down his spine as he recalled the last time he'd made love with Conor. He'd never imagined such intimacy. Conor moving inside him, their mouths locked, exchanging groans and breaths, arms wrapped around each other ... he took a deep breath and winced as his cock jumped. And then afterwards, the cuddling, the sweet kisses and a huge roast beef and Vidalia onion sandwich with Dijon mustard that they shared in bed.

"Want to come over for dinner?"

"Naw, that's okay. I wouldn't want to intrude."

"You could never intrude, dear Daphne." Shawn gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as he hurried down the hall. "Come by at eight."

* * * * *

Conor checked his lasagna again and turned the oven off. Perfect. Everything was ready. The garlic bread was crusty and buttery, the salad was tossed and covered with thinly-sliced plum tomatoes and six bottles of Santa Margherita were ice-cold, sitting in a galvanized bucket nearby. Three places were set, Al Jarreau was in the CD player and candles awaited lighting. This was something that he'd always wanted. A relationship with someone whom he could trust, someone that loved him for who he was and who he could become.

"Lovely table. Who's joining us for dinner?"

The salt cellar Conor was holding crashed to the floor at the sound of the voice. He turned slowly, his heart sinking into the depths of his churning stomach as Frank Bushings strode into the kitchen. "Get out."

"What? Is that any way to greet your long-lost lover?"

"You're not my lover. You never were."

"And this doctor is?"

Conor felt the anger in his heated face and tried to force his fear back as horrible memories flooded him. "Get out, Frank."

"Can't do that." The tall man pulled out a chair and laid one of the linen napkins over his leg. "Not unless you have the money you owe me."

"What money? I don't owe you any money."

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You know perfectly well what our deal was."

Shame washed over Conor. "We didn't have a deal, Frank. You coerced me into your sick game."

"Coerced you? Is that how you think it was?" Frank threw his head back, his oiled hair falling out of place. He brushed it back into place with his hands, a mocking smile on his dark features. "You're living in a dream world, Conor. You're not a doctor. What makes you think that he'd want a whore for his partner?"

Hot tears stung Conor's eyes as Frank's words hit home. But I'm not a whore. He knew the truth of his relationship with Frank and he was not a whore. But would Shawn believe that? Probably not. "I'm not a whore."

"Does he know how many cocks have been in that tight ass of yours?" Frank laughed. "I should hang a set of golden arches over your ass. 'Hundreds served daily'."

"I don't owe you any money, Frank. Our relationship is over."

"That's where you're wrong." Frank arose and closed the space between the two, his hand gripping Conor's neck and propelling him back against the counter. "You belong to me and I'm not letting you go."

"I don't belong to you!" 

Frank's smile twisted as his free hand worked his belt open and his pants dropped to the floor. "Let me jog your memory."

Conor tried to fight but Frank was much larger than he was. The man twisted him around and jerked his shorts down. "No, Frank, Please!"

His cry echoed through the house as Frank rammed his cock home.



Dancing With Tears In My Eyes Ch. 06



"Did you hear that?"

Shawn paused in helping Daphne out of the car and cocked an ear towards the house. A few seconds later, he heard it again. A scream. And it was coming from inside his house. Shawn raced up the path and flung the door open.

"Shut up, you little pussy!"

Up the stairs. His heart was pounding in his ears as he took the steps two at a time and rounded the corner to see ...

"Stop!"

Time froze. Shawn couldn't hear anything but the blood hammering in his ears and his heavy, hard breathing but he could see that Conor was screaming. He was spread-eagled on the bed, naked and bloody, his face streaked with tears and his right eye blackened. A large man, also naked, loomed over Conor's slender body, a wicked-looking cat-'o-nine tails in his hand.

"Ah, the good doctor, I presume." Shawn didn't need to ask who the man was. He already knew. He moved to untie Conor's arm and felt the lash sting his hand. "I must ask you not to do that."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"I am the proud owner of this slave." Frank stroked his prick, waking it up. "Didn't you know that I bought Conor?"

"You can't buy someone."

"You can if his father is dying and has no money."

Fresh tears dripped from Conor's eyes and his mute body shook with sobs. Confusion ruled Shawn as his eyes swung from his tortured lover to the smirking interloper. Alan had told him that he had enough money to take care of his other bills. But that had been a lie. Conor was secretly bankrolling his dying father. So had he lied about not knowing his father until the last days? And if he'd lied about that, what else had he lied about? Shawn saw the comprehension of his uncertainty dawn in Frank's dark eyes and that made him even angrier.

"Daphne, call the police."

Frank's smile spread even wider, Cheshire-like and something malevolent moved behind his eyes. The innocent part of Shawn was instantly struck with fear but the doctor part, the part that had seen the absolute best and worst of humanity homed in on it and girded him for what was coming. He heard Daphne's heels pounding down the wrought-iron staircase and said a quick prayer, hoping that he would have the strength to do what he needed to do.

"An audience." Frank hissed, his rock-hard prick jutting out in front of him. "I love an audience."

"I bet you do." Shawn bent to untie Conor again and receive another stinging lash. He had expected that so instead of recoiling, he attacked the knot even harder. Frank whipped him again and again and by the fifth lash, Conor's right arm was free and Shawn launched himself at the man, grabbing for the whip. Unfortunately, he wasn't as strong as Frank. The man had him on his back, his knees on his shoulders and his cock dribbling pre-cum on Shawn's chin.

"So you want to take the little pussy's place?" Shawn bucked underneath Frank's bulk but the man brought his knees down onto Shawn's shoulder joints, making skeins of pain radiate through his entire body. "Why don't you start by sucking my dick?"

"No."

Frank moved up a bit and turned around, delivering a punch that drove the breath from Shawn's lungs. When Shawn's mouth opened, he shoved his prick in with a satisfied grunt and pressed it in until the doctor was gagging. "Now suck. And if you bite me, I'll kill you."

Shawn groaned in pain, his eyes screwed shut as he fought the urge not to vomit. Frank's cock reeked of feces and the tang of an unwashed body part, not the sweet scent that he associated with Conor. He tried to shout. "No."

"Suck me, doctor-boy. Suck me good and maybe I'll forget about you when Conor and I leave."

"NO!"

There was a loud crash and Frank slumped over Shawn, his cock still nestled in Shawn's mouth. It was a long time before the man's heavy bulk was shoved off of him and even longer before Shawn could lift himself up. A shaking Daphne dropped to her knees next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Shawn nodded and crawled to the side of the bed where Conor still lay tied. "Conor." Silence met him and the young man refused to look at him. "Conor, please. Talk to me." A loud hiccup preceded a deep sob. "Please, honey."

Conor couldn't bear to speak to Shawn. He couldn't bear to look into his eyes and see the disgust written in his baby blue eyes. He felt tender fingers pushing the hair from his forehead, then those same fingers gently chafing the angry marks left by the necktie that had bound his wrist. Conor opened his eyes, dreading the reaction and was surprised to see Daphne, gazing at him with tears creasing her beautiful face. He felt another set of fingers on his other wrist and slowly turned to face Shawn.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Conor." Shawn wiped Conor's face, ignoring his own wet cheeks. "He forced you."

"He said that he'd kill you if I didn't go back with him." Conor sobbed, covering his face. "I ... I offered him my body, hoping that we'd be here long enough for you to come home."

"And I did. And I'm here, baby." He touched Conor's hand, intertwining fingers with him. "You did what you had to do."

At that moment, the blare of approaching sirens broke the air and Daphne draped the blood-soaked sheet over Conor's shoulders, then went to check on Frank, who was still unconscious. "I'll let them in."

Shawn nodded to her, then returned his eyes to Conor. "You have to tell them everything."

Conor shook his head, sitting up wearily. "You won't leave, will you?"

"Absolutely not. I'm here for as long as you need me."

Tears brimmed from Conor's bruised eyes again. "If I don't remember to tell you, thanks."

* * * * *

The next three days passed in slow motion.

Frank Bushings was arrested for aggravated assault and was not allowed bail due to probation violation for his previous incarceration. He was escorted to the lock-up and transported to the emergency room for treatment of the deep laceration that Daphne had created. While in the ER, he stripped a policeman of his service revolver and attempted to escape. The nurse he took hostage was trained in survival tactics and was able to get the gun away. Bushings was shot in the leg, but managed to elude the pursuing officers.

Fifty-three miles away, the police were called to investigate a car that had run off the side of the road. They arrived to find Frank Bushings in the front seat of a stolen car, dead from blood loss. His femoral artery had been nicked and the floor boards of the car were soaked with his life fluid.

Conor was admitted to the hospital for his injuries, which were at first believed to be superficial. Later, the admitting doctor found an anal fissure and it was necessary to have surgery done. Conor begged not to have the surgery but Shawn convinced him of how important it was. He agreed to have it done as long as Shawn would meet him in the recovery room. The surgery went well and the doctor told Conor that he could go home in seven days' time.

Shawn was bruised but didn't require any further treatment and he returned to work, spending his free time visiting Conor. The openness that they'd shared days earlier seemed to erode with each passing day and he found himself trying to pry words out of Conor. He'd overlooked the questions that still swirled around his head and had focused on Conor's recovery but now found himself wondering what the hell was really going on.

Finally, Conor's release day came and he awoke with a heart full of pain. His feelings left him confused and he only knew one way to deal with that.

During his long stay, he had read almost all of his father's diary and had been transported to all of the foreign places Alan had seen and the sex that his father had experienced. He opened the last entry, made just days before his death. The handwriting changed here. It wasn't as nice and clean as before and the realization that it was his father's own brought tears to Conor's eyes.

Hi, Conor.

I hope that you can read this. I decided to write this last entry because even though Shawn's been a trouper, translating my broken thoughts into coherent long hand, it's not the same as touching the paper and gripping the pen. It's also not as intimate and I want my final words to you to be as close to you as I can possibly get.

So, you've read the entire diary and you've got an idea of who I am or should I say, who I was. I don't want you to be me, Conor. I don't want you to be a shriveled up old man who has no friends, except for the doctor who's caring for him. You may see people at my funeral, but they are not my friends. Friends care for each other. Friends love each other. No one has ever loved me except your mother (at one time), Shawn and you. At least, I hope you do.

I so regret not being able to be a proper father to you. I don't regret the fun I had and I can't regret the disease I caught, since it was caused by my stupidity but I do regret not being able to be your friend. Not being able to sit down and have a beer and ogle the gentry. Not being able to call you and tell you about my latest conquest. Not being able to go to a movie together or just hang out.

I guess what I'm trying to tell you is to look for a friend. Look for someone that accepts your faults and flaws instead of trying to grind you into the ground. Look for someone that will laugh at your horrible jokes and then tell you ones that are worse. Look for someone that will throw cold water on you in the shower and laugh hysterically as your balls shrink to marbles.

Look for someone who makes you comfortable being yourself.

Shawn was the person that did that for me. We were not lovers. We were friends. He accepted who I was with good-natured aplomb and with very little censure. 

When it comes time for me to go, there will be two people that I'll say I love you to. Make sure that you don't miss out on that. No one wants to dance with tears in their eyes.

With much love always,

Your father,

Alan Dunlop

* * * * *

"Doctor Anderson?"

Shawn turned from his patient and smiled at Nurse Gagnon, a duty nurse who worked on the fourth floor. "Hey, you're a long way from home, aren't you?" When she didn't laugh at his joke, he froze. "What's wrong with Conor?"

"He's gone." She held out an envelope stamped with the hospital's insignia. "He asked me to give this to you." 

Shawn took the envelope with shaking hands. "I – I don't understand."

"I'm sorry."

He should have seen it coming. 

The Conor that he'd come to know had all but disappeared, crawling back into his shell. Even Daphne had noticed the change but had hoped that it was only temporary. Conversations became terse exchanges and his mood was often broody, shunning his touch and avoiding his gaze. Rejecting him. Shawn had tried to ignore it and pretend that it would get better but in his heart, he knew the truth. Whatever Frank had done to Conor had affected him and had extinguished the best relationship of his life.

He looked down at the envelope, wondering if he had the strength to open it. Did he really want to hear the truth? Fighting the shaking of his hands, he ran a finger under the flap and extracted the sheaf of paper.

Shawn – 

I'm not exactly sure how to begin this.

First, please know that I love you and that you're the only person that I've ever loved in my entire life, other than my father. There's nothing more that I'd like than to spend the rest of my life with you.

But I can't. At least not right now.

Why? I have some things that I need to fix before I can be the man I want to be for you. You deserve someone who can return your love without suspicion and who can manage their baggage. Right now, that person is not me.

I'm a coward for not saying this to your face but every time I look into your eyes, I see so much love there. Love that I want and love that I don't deserve. I can't ask you to wait for me. You are a diamond that some lucky guy will scoop up. I just wish that lucky guy was me.

Until we meet again,

Conor 



Dancing With Tears In My Eyes Ch. 07



The little girl's father knelt beside her, his arms around her waist as they watched the squirrel creep closer. She was clearly afraid. She crowded into the half-circle of her father's arms, her wide blue eyes tracking the animal's approach. Her father said something to her and put an unshelled peanut in her hand, gesturing for her to give it to the squirrel. At first, she shook her head violently. No. Too afraid. Her father gave her a gentle nudge and a few coaxing words of encouragement and she tottered forward, her eyes locked onto the animal, who froze into place. She tossed the peanut near him and stepped back, watching in innocent amazement as the squirrel scampered forward, gave the nut a sniff then picked it up and started gnawing at it.

It was such a beautiful portrait that Shawn couldn't resist snapping a few shots. There was nothing more compelling than a first. And with a child, especially as lovely as she was, it was pure magic. He introduced himself to the father and gave him a card, jotting down his contact information and patting the girl's tiny hand. As he watched them walk away, the toddler instinctively reaching for her father's hand, he realized that he envied the man and the relationship they had. 

Shawn raised the Pentax and scanned the park's inhabitants, looking for another photo opportunity and saw ... his heart stopped for a long moment, the eyepiece drifting down. He raised the camera again and dialed the focus in, searching for the face he'd just seen. And there it was. The same wild dishwater blond curls. The same haunting hazel eyes. The same luscious pink mouth. It was Conor.

Conor saw Shawn and it was all that he could do to keep from running to him. He'd visited the hospital a few days ago and was very surprised to find out that Shawn had taken a sabbatical. Daphne had told him that the doctor had not been himself since Conor had left and begged him not to see him if he was going to hurt him again. He didn't want to hurt Shawn at all. He wanted to beg for his forgiveness and hoped that they could start where they left off.

"Hi."

Shawn was so stunned that he almost couldn't speak. "Conor."

"Daph told me that you'd probably be here."

"You went by the hospital?"

"Where else would you be if you weren't at home?" Shawn shook his head, trying to calm his heart beat. "So I hear that you took a sabbatical."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Yeah. Why? What the hell was he going to tell Conor when he could barely admit it to himself? That he was so in love with someone that he couldn't focus on his work? "I needed some time off."

"Like me?"

Blue eyes met hazel. "Maybe." Shawn snapped off a picture. A nondescript oak tree with leaves. He released his breath, his shoulders slumping. "So, why are you here?"

"I don't have a key to your apartment."

Shawn lowered the camera and just glared at him. "What?"

"I can't fix dinner if I can't get into your apartment." Conor held out his hand with a smile. "I need a key."

A burst of anger boiled in Shawn's stomach. "What the fuck are you talking about? You leave me and just expect ... "

Conor grasped Shawn behind the neck, moving his mouth as close to his as he dared. "Let's cut the bullshit, Shawn. I know why you took the sabbatical. I also know that you haven't dated anyone since I left. You want me and only me. Do you deny that?"

Shawn had forgotten who he was and where he was. "No." He whispered, aching to kiss him.

"And I don't deny that I've been an asshole by not letting you in all the way. But I'm here to beg for your forgiveness and to ask for you to take me back."

"I can't." Shawn stepped back, his brilliant eyes silvery with tears. "What if you decide to leave again?"

"I won't." Conor touched his cheek. "I can't leave when you have my heart." 

His hands shaking, Shawn fished his keys out of his pocket and pulled the house key off, placing it in Conor's palm. Conor closed his fingers around it and bent over Shawn's hand, planting a wet, open-mouth kiss to his palm, smiling when Shawn's eyes darkened.

"See you at home."

* * * * *

Shawn opened the door and paused, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Mmmm ... He'd forgotten that Conor could cook. He left the Pentax and the camera bag on the couch and took the stairs to the kitchen, smiling at the sight that met him. 

Conor was dressed in a short purple kimono, large silver oven mitts on his hands as he pulled a muffin pan out of the oven. He set the hot rolls on the stove top and shucked off the gloves, basting the bread with melted butter and turning to stir another pot. He jumped at first when he felt the hands at his waist and the lips on the nape of his neck, but it took him mere seconds to adjust and to lean back against Shawn.

"Smells good in here."

"What'd you expect?" Conor turned in Shawn's arms and gazed into his eyes. "Welcome home." Their lips and tongues met, clashing fiercely, then calmed as emotion kicked in, stroking softly. Conor sighed. He was really back in Shawn's arms. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." Shawn closed his eyes and rubbed his nose against Conor's. "I've missed you so goddamned much. I've had such a hard time without you."

Conor pulled back so that he could see into Shawn's beautiful eyes. "It's been hard on me, too, but I had to get myself right."

"What did you have to get right?"

"Frank said a lot of things to me, things that had me doubting my feelings about myself and about us. Things that I had to face up to and find out if they really were true."

"Conor ... " Shawn touched his face. "I know how Frank used you. You told me about that."

Conor shook his head. "But you didn't know about the money." Conor released him and poured them both a glass of wine, drawing him over to the couch. "I was a whore, Shawn. A slave that was rented out by his master." He watched as the blood drained from Shawn's face. "And I enjoyed it." Those words stuck in his throat. "Somewhere in my mind, my 18-year old mind, I equated this with love. Frank loved me because he made them wear protection and they loved me because they fucked me."

"But you didn't know ... "

"No, I didn't. But when Frank came here and started in on me, he made me think the opposite. He made me doubt what I felt for you, made me wonder if you were just like the other guys, fucking me for pleasure."

"You know I'd never treat you like that." Shawn said softly.

"I know that now. I was pretty sure about it then but Frank still made me doubt it." Conor took a breath, pausing to have a sip of wine. "So I decided that the best thing would be if I left for awhile to get myself together. To make sure that I deserved what you were offering me. I went home to my mother."

"I thought you hated her."

"I did. I still do to a point. You see, I sent the money I made home to her. She knew where Dad was and she was the one who sent the money to him. I thought she was using it for herself. I didn't find out until much later."

"Wow."

"She helped me work through things. She and my dad." Conor searched Shawn's face. "Did you know my father made an entry of his own in the journal?"

"In his own handwriting? No."

"He said that he wanted to talk directly to me and he told me how much he loved and cared about you because of how you accepted him." The tears building in Conor's eyes matched the ones in Shawn's. "He told me to look for someone who made me comfortable being myself." His fingers sought Shawn's and looped through them. "Ever since we first me, you've accepted me. You never asked a question; you just accepted me. And you gave me your heart and never asked for mine in return."

"I hoped ... " Shawn took a shuddering breath. "I hoped that you would give me yours in time."

"You already had it, Shawn. I was just too scared to show you." Conor set the glass down, taking Shawn's face in his hands. "But I'm not scared now, Shawn. I know what and who I am."

"And what are you?"

"A man who deserves love."

"And who are you?"

"A man in love."

Shawn's heart burst at the soft love in his words. "And you love me?"

"Oh, yes. I know it with every bit of my heart."

His hands shook as he set his glass down, a trembling that transferred to his voice. "Then show me."

Conor crawled forward, straddling Shawn's lap and gently touched his mouth to Shawn's lips, shivering at the sensations. This was what he wanted, what he'd craved for so long. Shawn's firm hands slid up his hips and over his back, urging him to move closer and he turned his head so that their mouths fit. His hum of satisfaction was interrupted by the stove's timer going off.

"My dinner!"

Shawn erupted into laughter as Conor leaped off of the couch and dashed to the kitchen. He followed with the glasses of wine and watched, his mouth watering, as Conor removed a beautiful pastry out of the oven. Conor turned with a smile and a flourish. "Beef Wellington."

"Let's eat!"

* * * * *

Dinner had been superb. Cold, crisp Pinot Grigio accompanied medium-rare, mushroom-covered chateaubriand in a buttery puff pastry crust, otherwise known as beef Wellington, asparagus spears swimming in butter and shaved parmesan and savory sage-and-basil dried tomatoes, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil. Hot rolls served to sop up the hunter sauce Conor had painstakingly crafted and dinner was simply finished with raspberry sorbet.

Shawn sat back on the couch, listening to the sound of Conor humming as he loaded the dishwasher and popped the cork on a fresh bottle of wine. He skipped down the stairs, pausing as he felt Shawn's eyes on him and blushed like a new bride. Shawn thought he'd never seen something as beautiful as the shyness evinced in Conor's face and the innocent expectation in his hazel eyes.

"See something you like?"

"Mmm-hmm." Shawn watched as Conor filled his glass but found his eyes drawn to the creamy round of his shoulder, peeking out from the silk kimono's edge. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the exposed skin, gently tugging the fabric down. Conor sighed, welcoming the tremble that coursed through him. Shawn took his glass, took a sip and set it down, gazing into Conor's eyes. "You taste good, too."

"I thought you were full."

"Not yet." Shawn pulled his mouth down. "Not even close." He hoped that Conor wouldn't take offense but he couldn't resist. He thrust his tongue into Conor's mouth, ravaging the soft insides until Conor was whimpering with need. "Let's shower first." Shawn pulled him up, rubbing his lips against Conor's prickly cheek. "I like whatever I eat to be washed."

The breath caught in Conor's throat at the implications of those words and dreamily allowed Shawn to lead him upstairs into the bathroom, strip and wash him thoroughly, then lead him into the bedroom.

"Is this going to be all right for you?"

Conor surveyed the bed, memories rushing up to greet him but surprisingly, they were memories of the first time they made love, not of Frank. He grinned at that realization. "Yes, but I have a request."

"A request?" Shawn knelt on the bed, holding his arms out to Conor who joined him. He leaned forward and nuzzled Conor's soap-fragrant neck, sliding up along his jawline. "What might that be?"

"I want to be your slave."

Shawn pulled back, examining Conor's face. "What?"

"I want to belong to you, and only you. No sharing, no exchanging. Just you."

A million answers leaped to Shawn's lips but he thought carefully. There was more to Conor's simple request than this. It was a cleansing of sorts. It was Conor's way of erasing Frank. He liked some parts of his domination but wanted it on a romantic level now. "Get me a tie from the closet." 

Conor read Shawn's intent and scrambled to find a tie and return to the bed. His eyes met those of his lover and he knelt before him, holding his wrists out for binding. He gazed into deep blue depths, breathless from both the passion and love that he saw there and gave Shawn a nod when the tie was tight enough. He raised his bound hands over his head, laying on his back and patiently waiting while Shawn secured him to the bed.

Shawn didn't waste any time. He immediately bent to claim Conor's mouth, thoroughly kissing his lips until they were swollen with his attention. "This will be your first and only lesson." He felt his prick jump at the look in Conor's eyes. "You belong to me." He whispered as he pressed kisses along Conor's neck. "And only me."

A whimper escaped Conor's lips as Shawn lowered himself and bit the sensitive skin of the inside of his thigh, sucking relentlessly until there was a good-sized mark on his thigh. He shook with pleasure, his cock thickening with every bit of pain. Shawn's tongue licked the mark gently and Conor squirmed.

"This marks you as mine. Understand?"

Conor shuddered at the dominance in his voice. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, master."

Conor's whispered response lit a fire in Shawn's loins and he rubbed his cum-sticky cock against Conor's, moaning at the feeling of hot silk and steel. Conor's hips raised against him, his body responding and begging for Shawn's touch, quieting as Shawn's fingertips rasped across his skin. Shawn set about learning every inch of Conor's lean body, from his slightly muscled shoulders to the elegant arches of his feet. His mouth, tongue and teeth mapped the sensitive areas, grazing over hardened nipples, lipping taut stomach flesh and nibbling tender thigh meat. He is mine. The words echoed through his mind and fanned the heat in his groin.

Conor groaned with every taste and touch of Shawn's mouth and fingers, his body shaking. His wrists chafed against the bonds but he fought against them in absolute pleasure. He felt Shawn's hot breath and wet tongue as he licked the insides of his thighs, moving down to curl that same tongue around his aching balls and suck on them. He shouted in pleasure, crying Shawn's name out as he fought not to cum. Shawn's adventurous tongue moved down to his asshole and slowly circled the pink pucker.

"Oh, yes."

"I didn't tell you to speak." Shawn bent and shoved his head into Conor's crack, burying his nose and mouth in his tasty ass, loving the smell of his freshly-scrubbed hole. His tongue pressed inward, sawing in and out and driving Conor insane. He pushed his tongue in again and wrapped his tongue around the hole, sucking rhythmically while his hand encircled Conor's cock and stroked. Conor's body stiffened and he cried out, his climax sudden and unexpected.

Shawn smiled knowingly and scooped up a gob of Conor's cum, applying it to Conor's hole. Conor's heavy lidded eyes opened halfway, still dazed but raised his legs, a slight smile on his mouth. He lined his cock up with Conor's waiting hole and bent low to the younger man's ear. "Now I make you mine."

Conor could only moan as Shawn slid home. His body was on overload, quivering with aftershocks but he was surprised to feel his prick tingling in response to the attention Shawn was paying to his prostate. His toes curled tighter at each pass and his breath hissed between gritted teeth. Shawn's glorious prick played him like a song, stroking and thrusting over and over until Conor couldn't keep quiet any longer.

Shawn's seven-inch cock breached Conor, sliding deep and riding hard. He kept his eyes locked with Conor's, occasionally bending to bite a nipple or lick his neck in an attempt to stave off his climax. He could feel it coming and the pressure was delicious in its slow build. He wanted to hang on, to make it last but he couldn't. Conor was just too delicious. On a whim, he reached up and untied the tie, welcoming the gentle touch of his lover's hands as he pumped into his body.

"I love you."

The words sent both men toppling over the edge. Conor went first, wrapping his legs around Shawn's waist as his mouth connected with his lover's and his cum greased the already-sweaty planes of their bodies. Shawn moaned, his cock exploding and sending pearly ropes into Conor's body, his anal muscles milking him dry and his tongue sucked into Conor's mouth. He was in heaven, he knew that now. He'd found the love of his life and he hoped that Conor felt the same way.

It took several moments before either man could talk and Conor cuddled against Shawn, hearing his heartbeat thump under his ear. "I meant it."

"I know." Shawn pulled Conor closer, covering them with the sheets and snapping the light off. "I love you, too."

* * * * *

Hi, Dad!

I took your advice and I hope you're happy. I've found someone who is perfect for me and your illness brought us together. But then, you knew that, didn't you? You hoped I'd find Shawn, didn't you?

I will be writing you every day from now on and I hope to make you proud. But I must tell you that you were wrong about one thing.

Everyone wants to dance with tears in their eyes ... as long as they are tears of happiness.

Love always,

Conor Dunlop-Anderson