Clean Slate

  Andrei nodded again. “Good night.” He walked with them to the sliding door and drew his mostly closed.

  John stopped and peered back in. “We’ll keep the other door open so we can hear you if you need to call for us.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Oh come on,” Chris said, slapping his ass. “Strip, then lie down and let me loosen your ass up.”

  John’s jaw dropped open. “Are you crazy?”

  Chris slapped his ass again. Harder. “I meant your back. You’re tense as hell. I promise not to molest you. I once knew a girl from a massage parlor where they actually gave massages.”

  “I should go downstairs,” John said as Chris began to disrobe.

  “And that will look suspicious, won’t it?”

  “I’ll wait till I’m sure he’s asleep.”

  Chris stripped down to his black briefs. “I’ll keep these on all night. I promise not to touch you any lower than your waist… even though you’d sing a different tune if I did.”

  “I’m going to brush my teeth.”

  Chris followed and did the same, then saw John was playing for time, doing the flossing as well. He was a little hurt that after working together for two years, John still didn’t quite trust him, at least not on a personal level.

  “Listen. He’ll catch on if we’re not friendly enough with each other,” Chris said in a low voice.

  “He might not do it, Chris.” John glared at him in the mirror, changing his grip on the silk thread. “We saw him with a hooker. Female. Right bloody here.” He indicated the floor where the prostitute had lain.

  Chris realized he would be standing on her belly, so he shifted his position to the side, calling himself stupid even as he did it. “No point bringing up ghosts now, is there?”

  “You’re not getting it. He might not be gay at all.”

  “No. He’d be bisexual.”

  “We have no evidence for that,” John hissed back. “Regardless of your track record of turning the supposedly straight.”

  Chris grinned. “And my ‘track record’ tells me he’s more open than you think. What’s your problem? We’re not raping this guy. We’re the only ones that are here for him. He’s alone. For his side, he’s a fucking ghost.”

  “It’s not kindness, Chris. Don’t try to tell me it is.”

  “No.” Chris shrugged. “Yes, it’s a mess. But who knows, it might all come back.”

  “And then? If it doesn’t come slowly back, but all at once, and he knows what we’re doing with him?”

  “We can still turn him. Or kill him, if everything else fails.”

  John rinsed out his mouth and stayed there, bent over, both hands on the basin. “Yes. I guess that’s always a possibility.”

  Chris placed both hands on John’s back, tracing the tense muscles there, the lats and the little diamond-shaped muscles between the shoulder blades. Gradually, very slowly, John relaxed, then shook his head. “Just to the waist, right?”

  “Hand on my little black heart.”

  John chuckled. “If you can find it.”

  While Chris may not have had a heart within easy reach, John had to concede the man had an amazing touch. That boast about the masseuse wasn’t bullshit. John’s most recent memory of when he’d felt this relaxed was when he last paid a visit to his relatives in Chinatown and succumbed to one of Grandfather Liu’s acupressure sessions.

  So content was he that it took a solid minute for John’s brain to process that Chris Gibson’s strong fingers were gliding along the muscles of his upper thigh.

  John half-turned. “Hey now, stop that. Nothing below the waist.”

  Chris stilled his hands. “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes… I think so.” John hated the way Chris’s slow grin called him out. And he loathed the way his body responded to the simple way Chris dipped his head to plant a kiss on this thigh.

  “I know it’s been a long time for you,” Chris said, that focused gaze of his never wavering.

  John turned his head back to the pillow, telling himself it was because his neck was feeling stiff from bending backward.

  Another soft kiss, Chris’s beard stubble gently rubbing John’s upper thigh, before Chris moved, came to lie next to him on the enormous soft bed. “That guy was a leech. He drained you.”

  John turned his head to the other side. “Be quiet. You don’t know anything about what Wayne and I had.”

  “Relax,” Chris said, rubbing his hand along the tense knot of John’s shoulder. “I call ’em as I see ’em.” He trailed his fingers over to glide across John’s cheek. “You fought a lot, probably about you being so secretive about work and not returning his calls and messages when we were on a case.”

  John tensed; Chris swiftly eased the knots from his back.

  “Relationships don’t work in this profession, if they even work at all.”

  John closed his eyes, fully aware Chris had moved to straddle his ass and hips, yet he did nothing to stop it. He simply let Chris pick up the massage where he’d left off.

  When Chris spoke again, his voice was low, hardly more than a whisper. “This is a tricky one. We have to immerse the mark in our set-up world.”

  He shifted, stretched himself out to lie atop John’s back, and still John was powerless to resist, though his cock was clearly responding.

  “Let’s get into it,” Chris whispered, his breath minty hot as it blew across John’s ear. “Let me suck you off. I bet you’ve never had a good blowjob. I won’t even ask you to do me back.” He paused and chuckled ever so softly. “Of course, I’m not going to refuse if you offer later….”

  Andrei suddenly awoke. He hadn’t taken the full dose of painkillers; they made him sleepy and slowed his mind to a crawl. Of course, he paid for that with the dull thudding pain from his head, and a less dull, less thudding pain in his wrist. But at least he didn’t feel quite so helpless anymore, not quite so passive. They’d overmedicated him, probably out of kindness or medical generosity, but Andrei much preferred his head to be clearer than they’d allowed. No wonder, though; doctors were most concerned with the body first.

  Another sound confirmed it hadn’t been a dream that had woken him. Not even the pain. Groans. The sudden realization ran hot and cold across his skin. Pleasure. Sounds that might be strangled words. Maybe endearments, encouragements, tender and passionate. Johnny and Chris. He wondered what they were doing, how they were doing it. Was Chris on top? He seemed the type. Johnny seemed the softer of the two, or at least less aggressive.

  He imagined it, Johnny on all fours, Chris behind him, fucking him slowly. His hand crept down to his cock, played with it. It was the first time in ages he was horny, maybe another thing the painkillers took away. He imagined Johnny bent over, imagined sliding into the heat, making him sound like that. He spit into his hand and settled on a slow rhythm, teasing himself more than rushing to climax.

  He didn’t remember them, didn’t remember their bodies or their responses, how they touched, but the sounds were almost enough. He substituted images he felt he’d seen at some point: two mouths on one cock, imagined Chris on his knees and taking him deep, Johnny then taking over when Chris’s jaw tired. He imagined grabbing his neck and stopping him from just teasing, plunging deep into the throat….

  Andrei groaned into the pillow as he came, finally. Lying there, breathless, heart pounding, he noticed the sounds from the other bedroom had stopped. Ironic, that he’d finish with them.

  He wondered what they’d talked about; were they losing their patience? As patient and gentle as they were about all this—visiting him, seeing to things like food and bills and transportation—he still thought they were hiding something. Bad conscience? They’d been a couple before (and he got that, they clearly knew each other very well,) but why would they hang around a third guy who didn’t even remember them, with the swelling and discoloration and the scars barely hidden by his buzzed
-short hair? Why not simply leave him?

  He could almost hear Chris. “Sorry, buddy, it didn’t work out.” That thought cut like a glass shard through the pleasant post-orgasm haze that tried to drag him under into sleep.

  In their place, wouldn’t he leave? Yes, he was certain he would. He didn’t have that kind of patience, and he wondered if they had. And why. Maybe they felt bad for leaving him? For how long?

  The longer he pondered that question, the more miserable he felt. If they left, he was alone. No phone calls, no visitors, no memory. No past. Nothing beyond this sense of how he might react and automatic, intuitive responses, like physical arousal and longing.

  This was all still too new, too frightening. He didn’t want to go out and craft a new life. He didn’t want to discover what he wanted, what he could do. He certainly didn’t want to consider all that went into meeting anybody, into forging relationships. He wanted to hole up and never leave his house again, or his bedroom, or his bed. Anything could happen to him, because he didn’t know what to expect, what to do, whom to trust. He was utterly alone. If these men left him, he was lost.

  Chapter 4

  Breakfast was a luxurious affair. Chris found himself whistling as he scrambled eggs, fried bacon, and added a generous amount of some semi-hard cheese and a little sambal oelek to the eggs. His take on scrambled eggs was inspired by a Swiss guy he’d once met.

  John and Andrei had to be awake after he’d started the coffee grinder; the machine’s infernal howl with the terrible crunching noise served as a good alarm clock. But because of the promise of freshly ground coffee, Chris found it hard to keep a grudge.

  His hunch was proved correct, as he soon heard the shower upstairs. Chris set up food downstairs, then took a plate and a mug into Andrei’s bedroom. The man looked delicious; he was just sitting up, looking at him with still-bleary eyes.

  “Good morning! I’ve brought breakfast.”

  “Good morning. What about you?”

  “Ah, we can….” Chris gestured towards the stairs.

  Andrei shook his head. “No. I’ll come downstairs.”

  “I thought breakfast in bed….”

  “Thank you, but I’d rather have breakfast with you.”

  Chris grinned, surprised at the way Andrei took the initiative. “Didn’t mean to implicate….”

  “No, but I don’t feel like acting like a patient. Life goes on, doesn’t it?”

  As Andrei stood, Chris savored the strong body, the cock that showed signs of life too. “I’ll just… take the plate downstairs. Join us when you’re done.”

  “This is excellent,” Andrei said, finishing off a second helping. “Are you a restaurateur?”

  “Me?” Chris laughed. “Hardly. I find myself stuck in hotel rooms on business and listening to cooking shows for company.”

  “What do you do?”

  Shit. He was okay at seductive bullshit, but this was John’s usual forte. “I’m freelancing at the moment. A bit burned out from the financial commotion of recent months.”

  John cast him a half-smile. “Actually, Chris is ‘freelancing’ as my personal assistant and bodyguard. I represent certain interests in Hong Kong and the United Kingdom and often carry… sensitive materials.”

  “Ah,” Andrei said as if mulling over the implication.

  Was he remembering his own business associates? Chris finished his coffee. “Please don’t be alarmed by either of us having a weapon when we go out.” Andrei studied him, his eyes, his hands, as if comparing something in his mind. Damn, but the Russian was sharp. “Did you take the painkillers?” Chris asked.

  “No. I’m done getting drugged.” Andrei sipped his coffee. “I’m taking only as much as I absolutely need.”

  “That might be a wise choice,” John said quickly. He reached across the table and touched his hand to Chris’s, as if sensing his thoughts.

  Chris pulled back and smiled. “Agreed. No sense walking around like a zombie. But, hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. If it hurts, take the meds you need. There’s no shame in that.”

  He offered the others coffee; John covered his cup, but Andrei took another. Chris refilled his own cup as well. “Why don’t we go for a drive? Maybe have lunch at a nice outdoor café? Get some fresh air?”

  “What do think?” John asked Andrei. “Are you up for it?”

  “I think so.”

  “Great.” Chris quickly cleaned the plates and mugs and cutlery away, while Andrei headed back upstairs to get properly dressed. He still moved carefully, like it took him concentration to maneuver, but while John seemed watchful, he didn’t mother the man.

  Chris sent a quick status update via cell phone to their supervisor (never saving anything on the smart phone), and then Andrei reemerged, fully dressed, wearing Aviator sunglasses to hide most of his bruises around the eyes.

  They went for a tour along the Riviera and up towards Nice, where they had a light lunch in a street café: salad and more coffee. Chatter, laughter, banter… Chris was amazed how easily Andrei fell into a new rhythm, joking with them, even, a few times, touching a hand or a shoulder, touch lingering. Chris also noticed Andrei seemed to divide his attention equally; whenever he’d talked to Chris for a little, he then turned to John and spoke to him. Not your typical dour Russian.

  Later, they had quiches and salad for dinner; by this time, Andrei had to take some painkillers, and they headed back towards the lodge. On the way, Andrei fell asleep in the back of the car. After some uncomfortable shifting, he lay there, knees pulled up, head resting on John’s lap.

  “Poor guy’s all tired out.” John was hardly aware he was stroking his fingers through the Russian’s close-cropped hair until he heard the forced throat clearing from the front seat and caught sight of Chris’s reflection in the rearview mirror.

  Christ put the radio on, and John settled back, eyes closed, trying in vain to stop remembering last night.

  What the hell had come over him? Chris had started the seduction, but he hadn’t put up much protest to stop it. Who was he kidding? He’d turned into the aggressor pretty quickly. Before they were spent, he’d had Chris Gibson writhing all over that bed and coming like he hadn’t had an orgasm in a year.

  Andrei picked the worst time to turn his head. John bit his lip, hoping the press of his hardening cock didn’t disturb the sleeping man. Thankfully Andrei remained still, though he stirred and sat up shortly before they reached the access road to the lodge. John hoped he hadn’t noticed, but if he had, he didn’t mention it.

  “I hate the painkillers,” Andrei muttered, rubbing his face. “Home already?”

  “Yes. You could go straight to bed.”

  “Maybe.” Andrei didn’t seem convinced and was actually quite awake now.

  Chris parked the car and turned in the seat. “Or you could just come to bed.”

  Andrei’s jaw muscles tightened for a moment, and John wondered why Chris was pressing for it. He was about to protest and assure Andrei that, of course, he didn’t have to, when the Russian nodded without looking at either of them. “Yes, maybe.”

  “There’s no pressure,” John assured him. “If you come to the master bedroom, we’ll sleep. Just sleep.”

  “Right,” Chris said flatly. He got out of the car and opened the rear door for the others.

  “I think I’d like some wine,” Andrei announced as soon as they were all inside. He took the initiative and headed toward the kitchen. Chris gave John a shove to follow.

  Andrei had already chosen a bottle of Merlot and three glasses. “Upstairs?”

  John nodded. He took the stemmed glasses in one hand. “Take your time on the stairs.”

  “I’m fine,” Andrei said sharply, walking ahead.

  John frowned. Was any of Andrei’s memory coming back? Had he planned to do something to the wine? Shit, he should have grabbed that first. Of course, he couldn’t slip anything now when they’d both be watching. Perhaps it was more, perhaps this was just some of his
normal personality waking.

  Up in the master bedroom, Andrei looked around, frowning, and John wondered what was going on in his mind. What if he remembered being shot here? Fighting off assailants? John put the glasses down. A glance to Chris told him Chris was intrigued, his tongue visible between his teeth for a moment like he was a playful cat.

  Andrei turned, studying them, that concentrated frown darkening his features. For several long moments, he seemed at loss for words or thoughts, lacking most of his panache and energy. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”