Patient Privilege (2 page)

Jon just didn't understand him. Sure, the kid's life wasn't perfect either, but it was better than Angel's. That's how Angel saw it anyway, only because Jon had all the looks that Angel didn't have. He could've easily been every gay man's and straight woman's wet dream: muscled and tanned, with blue eyes and long, blond hair that looked like silk. And he could dance like nobody's business. So instead of letting strange men shove their cocks into random orifices for a couple hundred bucks, Jon got to dance half-naked on bars and make three or four times the money Angel did.

Angel, on the other hand, had nearly half his body tattooed or pierced and black spiky hair jutting up from a makeup-covered face. The getup—all the way down to the black on black he was always rocking—made his skin look pale and his eyes look dark. The whole package, tats and all, made him look scary, and everyone knew that was the key to surviving the streets. People always said if Angel would just do something with his hair, ditch the makeup and wear clothes that didn't look they'd been pulled out of Dracula's shredder, he would be hot, but he liked his look. Fuck the conformists, right?

He sat down on the creaky edge of a stinky-ass motel bed and stared down at the bag in his hands. Part of him hated the idea that those little white granules of bliss had so much power over him, while another part thanked God some sorry son of a bitch somewhere had been smart enough to figure out the shit could get people high.

Digging in his coat pocket, he fished out a little black leather pouch. Shaky fingers pulled the zipper around until the pouch fell open. Inside was a bent spoon with a blackened bottom, a needle, and a tourniquet. He had everything he needed for a quick trip to the moon. It was a simple matter of burning down some of the powder, injecting it into his veins, and forgetting everything in his fucked-up world. He could forget about the cock he sucked just to get by, forget about his piece-of-shit parents. And if he really had the balls to do it, he could even let himself forget about Jon—the jealousy, the desire and the joke their relationship had become over the years.

With the rubbery end of the tourniquet between his teeth, Angel pulled hard and thumped his arm until a thick blue vein rose to the surface of his pale skin. He stared down at the vein and thought about everything he'd put into it, the shit he'd done to his body. Only twenty-five years old and he wondered how the fuck he'd managed to stay alive. He wondered how he'd managed to stay clean when half the dudes he'd known since he'd moved to LA had died of AIDS or a drug overdose. Angel wasn't scared, though, not enough to stop. Or maybe he just didn't give a shit enough to clean up his act.

Guess he figured God still loved this little fucked-up fag.

He pressed the needle against his flesh, piercing through to that thick blue vein. He pulled back on the plunger, watched his blood mix with the shit in the syringe, then pushed down and pumped a heavy dose of heroin into his body. In minutes, maybe seconds, nothing would matter anymore. He'd be somewhere else, somewhere far away from the hell of his existence, somewhere far away from the joke of living life in his body.

He fell back against the bed. The syringe rolled out of his hand and hit the floor. The tourniquet loosened and the high consumed him. He was so far gone he didn't even hear his phone ringing. It would've been Jon anyway, calling to check in on him, making sure he wasn't getting fucked up. Too late.

Then, the crashing of the hotel door and the pissed-off sound of his best friend growling, "What the hell, bro?" started pulling him away from his high.

Angel laughed, eyes rolling back in his head. He lifted his hand a few inches from the mattress, fingers wagging to call Jon over.

"I've been looking for you all night, asshole! You're going to sit there and laugh at me?" Jon stalked toward the bed, arms crossed over his chest. He muttered, "God, I don't know why I put up with your shit."

"Because you're in love with me," Angel somehow managed to mumble through his high. "You've been in love with me since we met. Admit it."

"Go to hell," Jon said in a soft, defeated voice.

Angel only smiled as his eyes fluttered closed again. He just wanted to ride out the high, but Jon barging in had sort of ruined that chance.

"Angel? Angel, wake the fuck up!" Jon demanded.

Angel felt the entire mattress jostle, like Jon had just kicked the shit out of it. He didn't budge though, didn't even bat a lash. The heroin high crashed into his consciousness and drowned out everything around him.

"Dammit!" Jon bit out, slapping Angel's face so hard it made a loud clap which stung his ears almost as much as the hit stung his face. "Wake up!"

Angel's eyes slowly opened. His lips curled into a playful grin as he wrapped his arms around Jon's tiny waist. He pulled his friend down into a kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into Jon's mouth.

Jon slapped the hell out of him again. "You're an asshole."

"What did I do?"

"This!"

Angel watched Jon lean down and when he popped back up, he had the used needle carefully held between his thumb and forefinger. To Angel's eyes, Jon looked like nothing more than a blur of color. Angel only saw the needle, the drugs he'd left behind. He only saw the promise of another high.

"You're going to end up dead," Jon mumbled.

A devious grin stretched across Angel's face. He eyed Jon for a long minute before reaching out and grabbing a fistful of his best friend's beautiful, golden-colored hair. His other hand locked over Jon's crotch. He pulled Jon down until their noses touched. "Not so dead, am I?"

Angel's teeth clamped down on Jon's lower lip as his fist tightened in his best friend's hair. He pulled Jon—by hair and lip—down to the bed beside him. "Don't fucking move," Angel said. He jumped up from the worn mattress, stumbled forward and went to his tattered backpack. He dug around until he found the lube and a condom. And when he spun back around, he grinned at Jon with a gleam in his eye.

"Strip," Angel demanded as he began to take off his own clothes.

Jon flinched.

The sight, the feel of the power he had over Jon made a pleasant tingle shoot down Angel's spine and his cock twitched. No matter how pissed pretty boy wanted to be, he always wanted to fuck Angel more. And Angel always met Jon's willpower and anger with double the lust. He'd thrust all that desire into Jon's hot body until blondie came and writhed and cried out to God.

Angel left his clothes pooled on the floor. He tossed the condom between Jon's muscled thighs. Jon reached down to grab it, and as he started to unwrap the rubber, Angel slipped two lubed fingers into his tight ass. He watched Jon's hands tremble as the kid tried like hell to unroll the damn condom without coming all over the place.

In and out, in and out, a little faster and harder each time, Angel's fingers dove deep into Jon's body. And somehow, Jon managed to roll the condom down Angel's hardened cock. He smiled as Jon looked up with eyes that begged for so many unspoken fantasies, things Jon had hinted around about in the past, but had apparently been too embarrassed to ask for.

Angel leaned down and clamped his teeth over Jon's pierced nipple, his tongue flicking the silver ring back and forth with the same rhythm as his fingers. Jon whimpered. Angel knew he wanted to beg to be taken, but begging wasn't allowed. Neither was coming before Angel gave him permission. And somehow, maybe by some freak-of-fucking-nature willpower or some shit, Jon always managed to hang in there until he got his orders.

With his free hand, Angel fisted Jon's hair. "Roll over," he demanded after he released his best friend's nipple from the vice of his teeth.

Jon did just as Angel commanded and raised his ass in the air. Angel thrust his cock inside him and wrenched the blond ponytail until Jon's back bowed. Angel didn't go easy. He always loosened his playmate up first, but he never went easy once his dick got involved. He slammed inside, pulled back slowly then slammed inside again. He rolled and thrust and pushed and pumped against Jon's ass while the guy moaned and groaned beneath him. Angel loved that about fucking Jon; the kid could take whatever he dished out, and most times, beg for more.

Jon's legs opened a little wider. His back arched and his ass raised a little higher, cheeks spreading as Angel's more-than-average girth spread his warm opening. "Oh God," Jon moaned as Angel stroked that special spot inside his body. A few more thrusts and he would be milking Jon for every drop he had.

"You like that?" Angel rolled his hips and wrenched back on Jon's hair.

"Mhm," escaped Jon's lips despite his biting down on the bottom one.

"You ready to come?"

"Please," Jon whimpered.

Angel pulled back harder on Jon's hair, enough so when he leaned forward, his lips could almost touch Jon's ear. He said, "You have my permission, boy." Then he thrust Jon forward and slammed hard inside him, pulled back and slammed home again.

A release that could've been felt three worlds over shot through Jon's body. He cried out to God and begged Angel not to stop. Angel let go of his hair and started pounding faster and faster as Jon came… all over the nasty-ass comforter Angel would be sleeping under tonight.

The fleshy walls surrounding Angel's cock clenched and released with each breath Jon took. He kept the kid's ass in the air as he finished himself off. Once satisfied, he kissed the center of Jon's back and pulled his flaccid cock out of that glorious warmth. A hiss left both their lips and Jon collapsed on the bed. Angel pushed up from his friend's body then sauntered to the bathroom as if nothing had happened.

Angel ripped the condom off his cock and tossed it into the bathroom trashcan. As he washed his hands, he stared at himself in the mirror. Streaks of black mascara and black eyeliner rained down from his slack, brown eyes and over his gaunt cheeks. Sweat beaded on his brow, weaving around the little silver bar beneath his thick brown eyebrows. He hated the man staring back at him, hated what he'd become in his quest to find his freedom, but hey, at least he'd gotten far away from his shithead father. At least now, he could call himself a man.

"If only the kids back home could see me now," he muttered. He looked nothing like the conservative rich boy from Maine anymore.

Without bothering to put on any clothes, he sauntered back into the room, cock swinging in the breeze. He plopped down on the bed next to Jon's sweaty, limp body, reached into his goodie bag and pulled out a joint. Some people wanted a cigarette after sex. Angel wanted to get high.

"You staying the night?" he asked.

"You want me to?"

"Whatever." Angel shrugged. He knew Jon well enough to know the kid was fishing. Jon wanted Angel to ask him to stay, to show a little emotion or some of that romantic bullshit Jon seemed to be so fond of. He probably wanted Angel to bust out the big "L" word, but he wouldn't do it. Angel didn't love, and he sure as hell would never beg Jon—or anyone else for that matter—to stay the night with him.

"I guess I'll stay," Jon finally said.

"Cool," Angel said as he tucked a folded arm behind his head, closed his eyes and took a long, hard pull from the joint.

Chapter Two

No matter how many times Erik walked through the halls of West Clinic, he couldn't get used to the sickly yellow hue of the place. How did they expect people to get better when everywhere those poor patients looked reminded them of just how messed up their lives had become? Hell, even the nurses looked like they were dancing on the edge of death. But somehow, they all made it work. Somehow, the entire staff of West Clinic always managed to turn out patients who rarely ended up coming back or found their way into programs elsewhere. It was a pretty awesome track record, all things considered.

"Hey, Dr Daniels," one of the younger, newer nurses said with a grin and a wave.

Erik raked his fingers through his drab brown hair and cut his hazel eyes away as he staged a nervous smile for her. She always got a little flirty with him and he never had the heart to tell her not to bother. He would hate to let such a sweet girl down.

"Hey, Roni."

"Want to meet for drinks after work?" she asked.

Now, that was laughable—prancing through a rehab clinic, asking one of the doctors out for drinks. "No, I can't. Too much to do." Not to mention the fact Erik was a recovering alcoholic, just over a year sober—though few people knew that little fact.

"Okay," she said, quickly looking away. Her face flushed red as she tucked a fallen blonde curl behind her ear. He felt bad for continually rejecting her, but he just wasn't interested. Nothing personal.

Sadly, plenty of the women at the clinic seemed to have a thing for him. They were nice and made his transfer from San Francisco to Los Angeles a lot easier, but Erik Daniels wasn't a ladies' man. He had zero interest in the fairer sex, actually. Not that he really wanted to date right now anyway. He'd spent the last year and a half pining over the man he'd fallen in love with just after med school.

Right now, Erik only wanted to save lives.

"I should go," he said with a soft smile. "I have things I need to get done before I leave."

"Right." Roni's blush deepened. She chewed the edge of her lip and spun on her heel to make her getaway.

Poor thing
, Erik thought. It was sad really and maybe a bit of his own fault. Anyone would've mistaken him for a straight man. He wasn't macho, but wasn't at all effeminate either. He was just Erik—khakis and a V-neck sweater or polo-shirt, according to the weather. Brown or Black leather loafers, depending on the color of his top. Wire-rimmed glasses. Modest hair-cut. Just plain ol' Dr Daniels, the doctor everyone seemed to love—everyone save for the one person who truly mattered, the one person he no longer had.

At thirty-three years old, he'd had more and lost more than most people do before they die. Losing Marshall hurt far worse than anything else, though. Throwing away six beautiful years with a man who loved him had nearly destroyed him. Just thinking about the night he'd lost his love and almost lost his life made his heart ache.