11 comments/ 43236 views/ 7 favorites You Have No Right to Ask Me That By: anixter400 This is my first submission and I'm not sure where this is going. It's a project I've been working on when it pleases me. I finally decided to submit it as I find I write more often if there are other people who want me to continue a story. This is also my first erotic story, though I have yet to get to that part. Any comments on my writing, good or bad, would be wonderful to hear as I love getting feed-back. Calling the warehouse old was an understatement. Paint peeled on the sides, and the red brick showed through in places. Weeds grew in the cracks of the foundation, and an old vine climbed towards the roof, hiding the entry way. To the left of the warehouse was a wide alley, surprisingly clean and well paved. Three long, steel loading doors faced the alleyway, rust spots flecking their surface. Hidden amongst the vines at the front was a high tech surveillance camera, its face watching the front sidewalk as well as the short walkway to the door. The appearance of frequent use was only supported by the fact that none of the low-set, reflective windows in the entire building were broken, as is common in most abandoned warehouses. A newer, green, Ford pickup had parked in front of the building, tinted windows reflecting the street lights. One of the loading doors opened smoothly, issuing not a creak or a groan, and bathed the alley with a warm, yellow light. Before the door had opened half way, a short, wiry man with unruly hair came stomping out. His chest was heaving, brown eyes filled with turmoil, fists clenched tightly at his sides. To the confused and worried call of his name from inside the warehouse, he paid no mind. He made straight for the pickup, continuing to ignore the tall man with emerald green eyes filled with worry that jogged to catch up with him. The concern on the taller mans face deepened when he placed his hand on the fleeing man's shoulder, only to have the short blonde wrench himself out of his grasp. "Shaine please! What the hell's gotten into you?! Talk to me," he begged, trying to keep up with the smaller man. Shaine Morgan glared at the taller man, hands shaking as he fumbled for his keys. When the emerald eyes continued to survey him worriedly, he growled, "Get the fuck away from me James, I have nothing more to say to you." The hurt that flashed through Austin James' eyes caused Shaine to flinch, but he resolutely shoved his key into the truck door, unlocking it and nearly jerking it off its hinges as he opened it. Without another word, he slammed the door shut, tearing down the street, as fast as the pickup would go. ***** Shaine downed another fifth of whiskey and swayed with a new bottle of the fiery liquid to the couch. There he plopped upon the soft leather surface. He squeezed the bottle tightly in his fist as he stared broodingly into the empty fireplace. The ashes from an old fire still lay in the hearth. He'd realized this morning that he didn't know how long he'd been this way. Sleeping only when he'd passed out from the booze, Shaine smelled foul and his clothes clung disgustingly to his body. How many days he'd sat like this, he wasn't sure, and it didn't appear that he much noticed, or cared. When the pounding on his door started, he glanced briefly in its direction, but moved only to bring his attention back to the non-existent flames. As the pounding continued, and then stopped altogether, he sighed and changed his position form sitting to lying, sipping lightly from his whiskey bottle. Only when the sliding glass door shattered on his right, did he finally lurch to his feet. He raised the whiskey bottle, turning it upside down and getting a relatively strong grip upon the neck of the bottle. Swaying on his feet, Shaine faced the man who had just broken into his home. He took one look at the startled and disgusted look on James' face, then another down at the whiskey coursing from the overturned bottled and on to himself, as well as the floor, and promptly doubled over. He let out a low moan before he emptied the contents of his binge on top of the spilled whiskey. Feet crunched on glass, alerting Shaine that James was coming closer. The wiry young man tried to back away while continuing to retch. Strong hands grabbed him by the back of the shirt and began hauling him down the hallway. He swung at the taller man, kicked and struggled. Several of the kicks and punches met their targets, but James just grunted and ignored the weakened hits. The door to his bathroom was kicked open and Shaine was tossed bodily into the shower, the shower curtain coming down on top of him, and the pole nearly braining him into unconsciousness. Shaine struggled against the entangling curtain, but in his inebriated state, he quickly became disoriented and dizzy. Dimly he heard the shower being turned on, forcing him to redouble his efforts to escape the cursed curtain. When it was pulled off of his struggling form, the cold water stung his heated flesh making him yelp and attempt to get to his feet. James' foot found his chest and pushed him back, easily keeping the thoroughly tanked man in the tub, on his back, and in the spray. Shaine roared his fury as James began stripping the soaked, soiled clothing from his body. The ensuing struggle left James just as soaked as Shaine, and Shaine far from decent. Face a cherry shade of red, Shaine curled up under the freezing spray, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs. Silence reigned in the bathroom for what felt like an eternity to Shaine. Neither had spoken a word to each other since Shaine had stormed out of James' home. He closed his eyes tightly, the embarrassment fading with the effects of the alcohol, leaving him shivering against the porcelain. Finally, the spray was turned off, and he was hauled up by his upper arm like a naughty child. He said nothing to James, nor did he look at him. James met the smaller man's silence with a stoic expression. Shaine put up no resistance as he was dragged into his bedroom and pushed on to the bed. The smaller man flinched as James placed his hand on his chest and used gentle pressure to get him to lie down. Shaine flinched again as the covers were pulled over his nakedness and tucked around him. He trembled as a gentle hand was placed upon his head and caressed his hair back from his forehead. He lay there for a long time, trembling, expecting James to begin berating him at any moment. Eventually, he began to doze; the warmth of the bed and the soothing touch too much for his exhausted mind. Just before he slipped into murky depths, he heard, or thought he heard, "You're a damned fool," murmured from the man at his back. Shaine slept soundly, a smile across his face. You Have No Right to Ask Me That Ch. 02 Going to try for a long chapter after this one. The events I've written for now aren't really conducive to length without getting overly tedious. Thanks to those people who submitted comments. I really appreciate the input. Lastly, I've been told my transition between perspectives could use a little work, so any tips or suggestions there would be phenomenal. * James woke to energetic music pulsing through the house. He had been so comfortable he didn't even remember falling asleep. The music wasn't anything he was used to, so he stayed in the bed for a bit trying to understand the fast lyrics. Also, there was something missing, but it took his half-awake brain some time to realize that thing was Shaine. Glancing around the room, frowning, he confirmed that Shaine had left, but the music meant he was probably still in the house. Relief flooded through him that his friend had not run from him yet again. He tossed the comforter to the side, still trying to get a grasp on the stupid music. Stretching his arms above his head with a yawn that caused his jaw to crack audibly, James tried to locate his clothing. An amused smile spread over his face as he stood and walked to where someone had neatly folded the mess he'd made of his clothing the previous night. He retrieved his T-shirt from the top of the pile, pulling it quickly over his head with a chuckle. Shaine's voice had popped into his head, "Everything has a place. If something's not in its place, I have to put it there." Not bothering to put on anything else, James walked out of the room and into its adjoining bathroom to satiate his bladder. He walked back into the room to the sound of more extraordinary guitar work. Finally, he could make some sense of what was being said. The lyrics to the window vibrating music were like something out of a fantasy novel. "Flying on dragons with shining swords?" Shaine's taste in music was something else. Shaking his head and grinning widely, he headed down the hall towards the living room. To his surprise, the area hadn't been touched. The sliding glass door, now minus glass, was letting in the afternoon sun as well as a nice breeze. Glass glittered over much of the carpet, while the music pumped from the stereo above the television. Shaine must have turned on the stereo, and then ignored the mess. "I guess broken objects don't really have a 'place' then," James thought. Noises from the kitchen caught James' attention, so he headed in that direction. Not being a morning person, or good at waking up at all, James' mind wasn't working at top performance. Halfway to the kitchen door, James regretted not having put his shoes on. Putting his food down, a large shard of what was left of the sliding door cut deeply into the sole of his foot, shooting pains up and down James' leg. James made soft grunting noises, immediately taking his weight off the injured appendage. Gritting his teeth, he hopped over to the wall and leaned against it. Propping his injured foot on the thigh of his other leg he bent to inspect the damage. A half-inch of glass stuck out of the skin, blood dripping out of the wound, off his foot, and onto the carpet. Looking up, James could see he had dripped on the way to the wall, the bright red drops contrasting sharply on the white carpet. There was no way Shaine would be able, after the vomit, vodka, and now his blood, to keep the carpet. It would have to be replaced along with the door; two permanent reminders of the last few days. Looking down again, it looked like he'd have a reminder of his own. The wound was going to need stitches, maybe a shot, and would probably leave a scar. Gritting his teeth so his neck muscles bulged, James tugged the fragment out. Holding up the shard, it looked like it had only gone in about half an inch. Shaking his head, James made to move again towards the kitchen when he froze. The entire pathway there was littered with glass, as was the way back to the hall. He was stuck unless Shaine either brought him his shoes, or carried him over the glass. With a sigh, he took a deep breath and hollered for his friend. ------------------------------ James' bellow cut through the driving music. Shaine turned from the stove where he was cooking breakfast, to the doorway. Confused, he grabbed a washcloth to wipe his hands on, and walked to the door. It was obvious to Shaine, after that morning's excitement, that James wasn't going to just leave him be. He would be harassed, manhandled, and quite possible institutionalized until he told James why he'd been acting so oddly. So, the only thing to do was tell the stubborn ass enough to satisfy him and pray that he would never guess the truth, or that he wasn't being told all of it. It probably wouldn't be too hard; James wasn't known for reading people entirely well. Shaine had decided, after he'd woken and seen the disaster area that was his living room, to start making an early dinner. James liked food, so maybe it would put him in a better mood. Plus, if they were eating, it might be easier to disguise the fact that he was hiding things. If nothing else, it would put more distance between him and the bedroom. It had been very hard to leave the protective embrace he'd woken up in. Now, with James calling for him, Shaine's thoughts raced back over the time since he'd woken up, and he wondered if he should have cleaned up the living room instead of cooking. The mess might have reminded James of the earlier scene. James could want to start at inquisition sooner, rather than later. He feared the bellowing from the living room could be the beginning. Getting to the doorway, Shaine gasped when he saw James leaning against the wall. The man was certainly a sight to behold: brown hair standing at awkward angles, tousled and messy; t-shirt a little too tight, revealing well-defined muscle under a shirt stretched tighter from its owner's position; jeans rumpled from being slept in; and blood running freely onto the carpet from a deep wound in his foot. The idiot must have cut himself on the glass that was scattered over most of this part of the living room. Shaine heaved a sigh; what a way to start an afternoon. "Congratulations," Shaine groaned. "You know, shoes would have been a smart move." Seeing the embarrassment in James' eyes caused a twinge of guild in the blonde's stomach, but the man should have known better, and now he was hurt. Annoyance flashed in his eyes as he walked towards the brunette. James shouldn't have gotten hurt, shouldn't be making him worry. "Look," James said with a half-hearted smile, "it's not like I meant to have this nice, long piece of glass make its way into the bottom of my foot. I mean, it's really fucking painful. Who'd want that to happen?" The attempted joke fell flat as Shaine crouched down to take a good look at the hole in James' foot. He wasn't in a joking mood. He was worried and anxious about what James would say to him later. The wound appeared clean, yet deep. It was going to need stitches, which meant a trip to the hospital. Shaking his head, Shaine stood again. "It's the emergency room for you, genius," Shaine said, disgruntled. "You should know better than to walk over broken glass without shoes on, for Christ's' sake." James winced at the sharp tone, causing Shaine another twinge of guilt. Gazing back down at his gash, frowning, James stayed quiet. Shaine cursed himself in his head; he was supposed to be putting James in a better mood, not a worse one. Shaine, sighing again, said, "Okay, I'll go find your shoes, and then I'll help you to the truck. This is one hell of a way to start a afternoon." He headed down the hallway to the bedroom he'd avoided all morning, retrieving shoes for the one person he least wanted to be around. You Have No Right to Ask Me That Ch. 03 First I want to say thank you to those people who posted and sent me messages. I know there weren't very many of you, but this only got written because of you. It really is amazing how much your small messages mean. That being said, I'd like to apologize for this entry taking so long and not being as long as it could have been. As usual, any comments on my writing, good or bad, are wonderful to hear so please feel free to comment. On a side note, I'm really sorry about the little inconsistencies between these three chapters (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, PLEASE don't go looking T_T). I'm doing my best to correct or explain them, but I'm still sorry they're there at all. j - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - James sat in one of the rooms at County General, reflecting on all the disasters since he'd woken up that morning. He didn't really have much else to do as the doctor had just left, and Shaine was in the bathroom. It had started so well, but damn if it hadn't gone downhill fast. The man was still upset with him and James was starting to get pissed. It wasn't his damn fault that he'd stepped on the glass splinter. Alright, maybe he could have been more intelligent than to walk through a glass covered area without shoes, but that didn't make this whole thing his fault. If Shaine had just opened the door for him, he never would have had to break that door in the first place, so maybe it was all Shaine's fault. James pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated hospitals, hated the way the doctors talked to you like you were stupid, the nurses who were half bitchy and half sugar, and most of all he hated the waiting. That was all you ever did in a hospital was wait. James didn't want to wait anymore, wanted to leave. He wanted Shaine to stop being pissy, and he wanted to leave. They'd cleaned, sewn up, bandaged his injury, and given him a shot of something for the pain. That was about a half hour ago. The nurse had told him to try and stay off of it. "Like he couldn't come up with that on his own," he'd thought. They were waiting for a prescription for something to prevent infection as well as another pain killer he could take home with him, and then they could go - most likely. James wouldn't put it past these hospital people to make them wait for something else that was completely unnecessary. Now that he thought about it, the car ride to the emergency room had been unnecessarily quiet. It only hadn't been silent because the radio had been turned up so loud. With it being the only sound between the two of them he'd keenly felt Shaine's annoyance. Even before that, Shaine hadn't spoken to him when handing over his shoes, or when helping him into the Ford. The annoyed expression on Shaine's face had been enough to stop him from even attempting to make conversation. So, James had hopped into one of his shoes, and then hopped to the garage with only murmured thanks. He'd used the socks Shaine had brought to try and staunch the bleeding on the ride to the hospital, but otherwise let Shaine sit in his silence. At least Shaine had helped him into and out of the truck. He'd even gotten a wheelchair for James to use once they'd arrived at the emergency room. James was still grateful that he hadn't needed to hop up to the counter and therefore be forced to stop putting pressure on his wound. Shaine hadn't said a word through it all. He'd just brought the clipboard bearing the paperwork for James to fill out, then sat down across the aisle. He'd just as silently taken the clipboard back to the window and wheeled James around as told by those thrice-damned nurses. James' self-restraint was waning. With what he'd learned from the girls at work, he really didn't want to yell at Shaine right now, but the man wasn't making it easy to contain himself. If this kept up, he'd be hollering at Shaine even if they were in the middle of the emergency room. The people who worked here didn't need that stress, and neither did the people who were being tended. Rubbing his temples, James again prayed they'd be leaving soon. - - - - - - - - - - - Water ran from the faucet, into the basin in a continuous stream. Shaine leaned against the porcelain, listening to the steady drum of the water. A migraine throbbed incessantly just behind his eyes and he shifted his grip on the edges of the sink to ease the ache in his hands. God, he'd been in this bathroom for too long. Running a hand through his now tussled hair, Shaine sighed deeply. What a mess he was making of everything. How was James going to believe what little he could safely reveal if he continued to act like this? Maybe he could have pulled it off if James hadn't gone stupid and managed to shove a giant hunk of glass into his foot, but certainly not after this torturous journey. He sighed again. The hospital atmosphere was wearing on him. It wasn't fair to blame James for the accident. The memories of those months spent here were taking far too much effort to push aside. The dread filled drives preceding the wrenching hours spent at her bedside, the blurry trips home, and the numb hours afterwards. Certainly not to blame, but James definately wasn't helping the situation with his attitude. As soon as they had entered the emergency room doors, he'd behaved as though the hospital staff were actively trying to sabotage him; especially when it came to the nurses. Shaine had never seen James be so rude to people he didn't know, but there he had sat, all but biting the heads off the poor women who were trying to help. When it comes to hospitals, I guess we all have our demons, Shaine brooded while staring at the cascade emptying down the drain. Between his demons and James', he wasn't sure where he would find the strength to leave the sanctuary of the bathroom. Shaine gingerly released the sink edges and placed his hands under the chilling stream. Watching the rivulets run over the dips and planes of his skin, he tried to banish all the negative thoughts from his mind. There was a chance, slim though it was, that if he could manage a calm façade, he could use James' demons to distract from any in depth inquiries into his recent odd behavior. Pain killers, painful memories, and good food could be his salvation. Shaking his head, Shaine slowly pressed his nails into his skin. He had become so pathetically desperate to keep his secrets to himself that he would use his friend's pain to deflect dangerous questions. If he failed at dancing around the truth, there was a good chance all the evading would hurt the friendship he had with James. Shaine had few friends, and none were closer to him than James. Shutting his eyes, Shaine took a shaky breath. "Remember why you've kept quiet for so long," he murmured to himself. The only time Shaine had ever heard James mention homosexuals, he had been trying to figure out how James had lost ten thousand dollars while James was on the phone with an old college roommate. Shaine had overhead James' half of the conversation about someone the brunette had attended college with. The man's name was Mark and, at first, Shaine hadn't thought anything of the disparaging remarks being made about the unknown man. After all, there were some people James just could not get along with. Shaine smiled briefly; James was the kind of person who made friends or enemies, never acquaintances. The relationships James had with his enemies were toxic at best, and violent at worst. Immersing himself in the memory of that day, Shaine heard James' voice again just as clearly as he had then, "If I never see, hear or smell the faggot again, I'll consider myself a blessed man. And do you remember that club he'd always go to? I still pray that the cesspool burns down. The sooner, the better, too." With a slow, fortifying breath, Shaine opened his eyes and turned off the faucet. Drying his hands on some paper towels, he focused on his mission. He would not lose his best-friend because of this. He would not fail to keep it all secret, even if it meant locking up his heart forever. - - - - - - - - - - - - - James' head snapped up as the door opened. Wincing at the harsh motion, he was both relieved and annoyed to see Shaine re-enter the room. Annoyed that he still had to wait to be released, and relieved his friend was done hiding in the bathroom. At least for now, he mused to himself, a half smile slipping onto his face. James was beginning to feel the drugs creeping up on him. He reluctantly concluded that the conversation he had planned to have with Shaine would have to wait until tomorrow, at the earliest. Eyes catching on the bit of chest hair just visible with the top button of Shaine's shirt undone, he also resolved to stay the night with the man again, though that information would be shared at a later time. James was brought back to himself by Shaine finally moving away from the closed exam room door. He cursed the drugs in his system, though they kept the pain in his foot a dull ache. Unable to focus, he was pretty damned sure he had been staring. The blonde, at least, seemed far more relaxed than before, even if he had stood at the closed door for far too long. Clearing his throat, James was again jerked from his thoughts, this time on how Shaine's hair looked when mussed, like it was now. If the shorter man noticed the staring, he didn't show it. Instead he asked, "Do you know how much longer we'll be?" in a soft, but clear voice. James shook his head, then quickly reached behind himself for balance as the world moved far more than it should have. "Blasted drugs," he murmured before frowning. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. Shaine smiled, letting out a small laugh. Irrationally James found himself bothered by the response up until he remembered his decision about the talk they needed to have. Catching him by the upper arm, he pulled the smaller man to his side. As he did, he discovered that he liked it when the blonde was caught off guard; he looked delightfully vulnerable. Leaning in even closer, so they were mere inches apart, James kept his voice lowered. "Now look," he started, "I don't want you to think you're off the hook here, 'cause you're not, but I'm in no way capable of having- of holding the kind of talk with you that I need to without messing the whole blasted thing up. And this is one o' those things that you do not mess up, so! You and me, we're gonna hold this conversation that we need to hold, you mark my words, we're just not gonna have it right this now. You hearing me, Shaine? 'Cause," James frowned, his train of thought lost in the delightful way Shaine had run his hand nervously through his hair. "Um," he said in an attempt to gather the threads of his concentration, "'cause, uh, holdings will, uh, be had. Right." Flushing, James was saved from his ramble by the nurse finally returning. With her she brought a square of white paper, some crutches, a small paper bag, and an orderly pushing a wheelchair. Turning straight to Shaine, the blasted woman ignored James completely. James was irked the woman didn't have the curtsey to talk to him about him. The orderly at least had the decency to speak to him as he was loaded into the wheelchair. "He needs two of these for the pain," the brown-haired she-devil was saying to Shaine, "but never more than four every four hours." Holding up another of the stupid orange bottles, she continued, "One of these with each meal, and he needs to come back for a follow up in two weeks." James groaned. A follow up visit at this hell-hole would be horrible. And he'd have to come alone. Both Shaine and the she-devil laughed alerting James he wasn't alone with his misery. He narrowed his eyes at his friend, apparently the bastard was on their side. Apparently he was doomed, and drugged. "Blasted drugs," he heard himself mutter again. The orderly joined in on the second round of laughter. "As I'm sure you've noticed," The she-devil was talking to Shaine again, "he's a bit addled from the pain killers. He'll be needing someone to stay with him tonight, and someone will need to check in on him in the coming weeks. These things are fairly strong. Will that be you or should I write down the instructions for someone else?" Shaine opened his mouth to answer, but James was sick of the two talking about him like he wasn't there. "He will be staying with him," he snapped, punctuation the "him" with a jerk of his thumb in the traitor's direction. Shaine watched him for a moment during which James couldn't decide if he was surprised or amused by the outburst. Finally he nodded at the devil-in-nurses-clothing. She too only nodded, obviously thinking the entire scene hilarious. She held out the bag of pills with the prescription refill tucked away inside, as well as the crutches. Shaine took the bag, and handed the crutches to James. The nurse then pulled the small blonde into a warm hug, much to James' surprise and displeasure. As he returned her embrace, she said, "It's good to see you again, Shaine, honey. Especially under much more pleasant circumstances." Responding too softly for James to hear, Shaine pulled away. The nurse smiled again, and walked out of the room, assumedly towards the nurse's station. Pushed out of the exam room and into the hallway by the orderly, James twisted around in his wheelchair to get his first real good look at the woman who had helped stitch him up. Just as they arrived at the elevator, he decided she couldn't be an ex-lover of Shaine's as she was much too old. Plus she is a she, he reminded himself with a mental slap. Turning to question his friend about the mysterious relationship he had with the woman, they stepped into the elevator and Shaine placed his hand on James' shoulder. The contact made James shiver, and he once again lost hold of his train of thought. He needed to get a grip on his emotions or he was liable to make a fool of himself. "I hate being drugged," James whined, and promptly hated himself for whining. Defeated, he dropped his head onto his chest. Shaine laughed again and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.