Ropes and Dreams (8 page)

“And don’t think it’s because I’m scared, or don’t want you touching me. I do.” Ian sighed, and some of that stern exterior softened. “You said this guy, Rigo, called you a couple of weeks ago. You’ve been tested how, since then?”

Drake wished they weren’t having to discuss this, but they were and he needed to step up to the plate. “The first was just the mouth swab. The second was a blood test. They were both negative, but the doctor said it could take up to six months to be sure.” Drake had to look down then, because he couldn’t keep the words back. He bent and grabbed his underwear and pants, pulling them up as he stood upright again. The condom he’d deal with later even if it was messier then. Right now, the conversation between him and Ian was more important—and Drake couldn’t keep back the admission that was pushing its way out. “I’m so scared.”

Ian pulled him into a hug that felt even better than the blow job had. “I know, but you have friends here, and if you let me, I’ll be here, too.”

Oh, oh, dang it all.
Drake tried to keep it back, but the sob tore through him, so powerful it left his throat feeling raw.

“It’s okay,” Ian murmured. Drake turned his hips away as he was brought up against Ian’s body. He didn’t want to risk getting any of his sperm on Ian. “Drake, it’s okay. Let it go, I’ve got you.”

Drake only cried harder. His entire body shook with the power of his fear, his anger, his grief. Ian held him through it all, whispering about being there and other tests he’d take Drake in to get, saying he’d pay for them himself.

No one had been so kind to Drake since he’d been a child. Once he’d come out to his mom and grandma, the physical affection had stopped. Oh, they’d said they still loved him, despite him choosing to be gay. He’d never been able to make them understand it wasn’t a choice. He’d rather have kept their hugs and kisses than to be someone untouchable.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Drake heard Carlos snap sometime later. Ian tensed but didn’t release him.

“Er, I think that’s called cathartic crying,” Will said. “Seriously, Carlos, you’re dangerously close to frothing at the mouth.”

Carlos grumbled, and footsteps retreating told Drake what his swollen eyes couldn’t, that Carlos and Will had left them alone again.

“We’ll do the dishes tonight,” Will yelled a moment later. “Keep cuddling with Officer McStudmuffin!”

Ian made a choked sound.

“Oh geez,” Drake whined, burrowing his face against Ian’s chest. It was a very nice chest, not too muscled or broad. Just the right size, Drake decided. “I’m sorry,” Drake rasped, throat aching from crying.

“I…” Ian rubbed his back. “Actually, I don’t guess I have a problem with that nickname. God knows I’ve been called worse.”

“I try really hard not to cuss because Rigo would go crazy on me when I did, especially during sex,” Drake confessed, surprising himself. “It was like he wanted me to be more innocent than I’ve been in years or something.”

Ian tipped his head up with two fingers so that Drake had to stop hiding his face. “Do you want to cuss instead?”

Drake considered the question, but he couldn’t figure out the right answer. Did Ian want him to be more…manly? Did cussing make a guy manly? Surely not, because women cussed too.

“Drake, I’m not waiting for you to read my mind and tell me what you think I want. I’m waiting to hear what
you
want, whether you want to swear or not. That is entirely up to you.”

“I don’t know,” Drake answered. “I don’t know what I like anymore.” He’d let Rigo dictate too much.

“In case you’re worried about it, I don’t want the D/s life twenty-four seven,” Ian said. “I’ll always be a Dom, but I won’t strip you of your personality, or of your identity. I won’t isolate you and keep you all to myself. I only want what is best for you.”

“That’s what Rigo said,” Drake mumbled, shivering. “He only wanted what was best for me.”

“Fuck him,” Ian snapped, anger so sharp in his tone that Drake blinked in surprise. “He didn’t want what was best for you. You know what—
you
need to decide what’s best for you, Drake.” Ian nodded as if to himself, Drake thought. “Yes, you do that. Think about it. Figure out who you are here”—Ian touched Drake’s chest—“and here”—and his head. “I know who I think you are, but that’s my opinion. You need to discover that information yourself.”

How was he supposed to do that?

Ian kissed his cheek. “Call me when you’re ready to.” Then he let Drake go. “You going to be okay now?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Drake told him, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again. Somewhere along the way in his life, he’d lost himself. No, he’d given himself away in bits and pieces to men who didn’t give a flip about him as a person.

“You’ll figure it out,” Ian said.

Drake wished he was as certain of that as Ian was.

* * * *

As soon as he got home, Ian turned on his laptop and started researching HIV. He knew the basics, or so he thought, until he really started reading. In the back of his mind, he kept replaying what Drake had told him about Rigo. Ian wanted to be sure that Drake could distinguish the difference between who Ian was and who Rigo was. Or what they were. Ian got off on causing pain to subs who wanted it, on controlling them and so many other things. He absolutely did
not
find bullying anyone or dominating someone who didn’t want it in the least bit erotic. In fact, the very idea made him sick.

But to someone like Rigo, control was everything. He must have been furious when Drake left him. It would have been a kick in the balls, and only one thing would fix the blow to Rigo’s pride—getting Drake back.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking, and he wouldn’t risk his life on it, but Ian would bet that Rigo was trying to manipulate Drake with the claim of being HIV positive. Some people would do anything to keep the person they considered their property, even tell a foul lie that could destroy their lives. Ian really wanted to find Rigo and beat the truth out of him.

He wished he’d got Drake’s number. Ian grunted at his own stupidity. He didn’t need to have been in a serious relationship to know he should have fucking asked for Drake’s number. If he had it, he could at least call and see if Drake was okay. He’d had a pretty rough breakdown in Ian’s arms.

He trusted me enough to let go. That has to mean something. He’ll call me and give us a shot. He has to, otherwise I’m going to find a way to win his trust.

Ian did some more reading online and made notes. He took down the phone number of a clinic in Bozeman that specialised in HIV care and testing. Tomorrow he’d call them and schedule Drake an appointment. If Drake didn’t want to go, then he could cancel. Ian wasn’t going to make Drake do anything, but he hoped Drake would be proactive with his health.

A thought coalesced from a wisp of an idea. Drake had never been treasured, not if what he’d told Ian was true of all of his relationships. It sounded like he’d never had anyone treat him like he was special, precious even. As corny as it sounded in Ian’s mind, he still wanted to do that for Drake. But how did he go about…?
Courting, holy shit, that’s what I’d be doing! Who the hell does that nowadays?

Ian did, apparently. He Googled the subject, but typing in ‘how to court a man’ turned up nothing useful. All he found were dating tips and dating sites, neither of which he was interested in.

“Shit. I’m just going to have to do what people did before the Internet was around—think on my own.” Ian got up but left the laptop on. He walked to the sink then jumped when the home phone rang. “Fuck.” Returning to the table, he saw the unknown listing again. Ian didn’t duck the call tonight. He had some repressed anger he could use to his advantage if it was someone obnoxious calling.

“Hello?”

“Hey there, little bro, how they hanging? Short and to the right?”

“Fuck you,” Ian snarled at his stepbrother Norman. “I’m not the one with the miniscule dick. We both know exactly why you’re so jealous of me.”

“Fuck you, you little faggot,” Norman shouted. “You’re nothing but a cocksucker! You’re not any better than me. At least I’m not a pervert queer!”

Rage seethed beneath Ian’s skin. “I
am
better than you, asshole, and it drives you crazy. Otherwise, you’d get on with your destined-to-be-short life and leave me the fuck alone. I stopped letting you pick on me when I was thirteen. I guess you’re just too stupid to realise there’s no going back to you bullying and abusing me.”

“You wanted it,” Norman growled. “You queers like having a real man smack you around, just like women do. You can fucking lie all you want—”

Ian had had this argument with Norman before. The man was fucking delusional, and twisted beyond any hope of redemption. Ian was wasting his breath, yet he couldn’t keep quiet. “Right, I wanted it so bad you had to threaten to kill my mother if I told her you hit me. Fuck you, you bastard.” Ian slammed the phone down.

The truly horrific part of it was, Norman had already been a registered sex offender at the age of fifteen, after he’d been convicted of attempted assault on his girlfriend. When he’d come after Ian, Norman had been eighteen. Ian had been younger than that. By the time he had finally stood up to Norman, when he’d actually told on the fucker, neither his mom nor his stepdad had believed him.

At least, they’d said they didn’t, and had threatened Ian with psychiatric hospitalisation. Ian had in turn told Norman he’d cut his goddamn dick off while he slept if he hurt Ian again. Ian had been shorter back then, and skinnier, but he’d got plenty mean. Norman had laughed and Ian had taken the small bat he’d had behind his back—it’d only been about a foot and a half long, and made of wood.

He knew he was lucky he hadn’t killed Norman that day. The fear he’d felt when Norman had hit the ground had quickly replaced the surge of satisfaction Ian had experienced at putting an end to being Norman’s punching bag. Norman had left him alone after that—physically, at least.

Less than a month later, Norman had been arrested again, that time for assaulting a young mother down the street. Norman had served six years for that crime. Ian wished a judge would lock the twisted fucker up for life before he killed someone.

Ian’s mom and stepdad were still proclaiming Norman’s innocence. Norman was still trying to hurt Ian, albeit not physically. Ian refused to let him. To that end, he unplugged the phone. He’d make sure his cell was within reach, as he usually did.

Ian calmed himself down with thoughts of Drake. What had he been thinking about?
Right, courting Drake. Making him feel special, wanted.
Ian went back to the laptop and started looking up the best gift ideas for men. He quickly realised he didn’t know Drake well enough to guess what he’d like.

He could call Troy. Ian dismissed the idea immediately. No, that could get him fired, pulling Troy’s number from the report to ask personal questions. Ian would just have to tough this out, unless he happened to see Troy, Will or Carlos in town. Then he’d throw himself on their mercy, which really meant he’d force himself to ask them what they thought Drake would like.

Chocolates and flowers seemed too trite. Ian wanted something that spoke to Drake, that showed him Ian thought of him as more than a possession or a fuck.

Not that Ian had got to fuck him, but that was okay. Ian was kind of getting used to walking around with a damn hard-on since he’d met Drake.

Ian ran over what he knew of Drake. The man had been abused, whether he’d admit it or not. He was scared, and he had a cute, hyper puppy. He also cooked well, but Ian doubted Drake would want any cooking utensils as gifts. If he did, he’d have to write out a list for Ian, because Ian knew jack shit about kitchen stuff other than the basics—silverware, pots, pans, plates, glasses, cups and bowls if he could find one. Those damned things kept disappearing on him.

Drake was scared, which was heartbreaking. Ian wanted to go back to the ranch and hold Drake until the fear was gone. He couldn’t. Not without Drake making the next move.

Except, Ian was kind of making the next move, if he was going to send Drake gifts. Shit, Drake would think he was just trying to sway Drake his way.

Ian wanted him, but not out of guilt or bribery. He needed Drake to desire him as much as he wanted Drake. To that end, he could send gifts anonymously.

“Which isn’t creepy at all. He’d probably think they were from Rigo.” Ian sighed and shut down the laptop. He needed a shower, and an orgasm or two, then sleep. Tomorrow he’d figure out what his next step in winning Drake would be.

Chapter Six

The knock at the door surprised Drake when he was setting out trays of sandwiches for lunch. The ranch hands would be heading in to eat soon, but none of them would be knocking on the door.

He heard the roar of a big engine, and when he reached the front door, he saw a FedEx truck pulling away. Figuring there was a package for one of his bosses, Drake was surprised to see his name listed as the recipient.

“Huh.” His first thought was that Rigo had sent him something out of spite—shredded clothes or the like—but he quickly realised Rigo wouldn’t bother spending money to torment him. He’d just call and call. Drake had become a master at avoiding answering his cellphone, and he had the voicemail turned off. Rigo could go fuck himself.

The box was about two feet long, and half as wide. The shipping address was from a company in New York. Drake didn’t recognise the name of it. He shook the box cautiously, excitement mixing with fear. He could be wrong about the sender, but… Well, Rigo was kind of dumber than a bag of rocks.

Drake took the package inside and set it on the kitchen counter. Anticipation built as he finished preparing lunch, making tea and side dishes for the guys. He kept sneaking looks at the box, as if he’d suddenly develop X-ray vision and be able to see through the cardboard.

Once he had everything ready, Drake stepped out onto the back porch and rang the dinner—and lunch—bell. Salt and Rocky would take care of calling in the workers for their meal. Drake peeked in on Buddy, who was playing happily in his pen with his siblings. Secure in the knowledge that he could have a few minutes alone, Drake went back inside.