Adermoor Cove: Dissolved Girl - 2. Chapter 2

Lane had been practicing, trying to hone his skills. He started out with candles, making them levitate through the air and spin around the room. Hey, look at this: A new magic trick. He found he could go quite a while before he began to get a headache, but discovered it wasn’t a good idea to keep going until his nose began to bleed. The day before he had pushed himself so hard his stomach was cramping painfully and it felt as if someone had caved his skull in with a hammer.

But the tide was like a muscle: the more he worked and flexed it, the stronger and more durable it became. Now he could lift all the candles in his bedroom and the bed. And he found he could access the tide at will, without the help of his doppelganger who seemed gone for good. Before the tide had always been a subconscious thing, a defensive reflex he couldn’t control. Now I can control it.

He stood in the center of the bedroom, arms spread out at his sides, taking deep breaths. The bed rose steadily towards the ceiling, then lowered itself towards the ground, and then rose again. A dozen lit candles revolved around him like objects orbiting a planet.

He could feel the first twinges of a headache beginning to take root. The bed lowered itself onto the floor; the candles set themselves back on the table, wicks still aflame. He took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. Already that warning twinge was beginning to recede.

Outside the lighthouse night was beginning to take over day. From the window he could still see the top curve of the sun. Carlos had said he would be coming by to pick Lane up at eight, which meant he had an hour to wash up and get dressed.

As he rifled through his closet - God, what a pigsty, he thought, tossing aside clothes that had fallen off hangers - Lane's mind raced nervously. Was this a date they were going on or just two people casually going out to dinner? In the end he decided on a black button up shirt from H&M with red roses printed all over it. It was a colorful shirt without being effeminate.

He showered, brushed his teeth, and put on deodorant. By the time he pulled on his leather jacket and stepped out on the porch, Carlos's car stopped before the house at exactly eight o' clock.

The wind coming off of the Atlantic stung Lane's cheeks as he made his way towards the car. Husks of leaves flew haphazardly through the air. Lane's insides danced with a mixture of anxiety and excitement.

"Hey," he said, closing the door behind him. Carlos must have gone back to his house on Magerly Road to change out of his uniform; he was dressed simply in a polo and khakis.

Carlos looked him up and down. "You look nice," he said after a moment.

"So do you."

Carlos smiled before putting the car into reverse. “Do you like Italian food?” he asked.

“I love it. It’s been ages since I had real Italian food - excluding spaghetti.”

“There’s a restaurant here in town called L’uliveto. It’s downtown.”

“Sounds boujee,” said Lane. “Boujee means ‘fancy’,” he added helpfully when he noticed the frown on Carlos’s face. “It’s a stylized word of an already stylized word. It’s in the urban dictionary.”

“I suppose it is a little boujee,” said Carlos. “But that’s okay, right?”

“Sure...but perhaps I should buy dinner.” Lane regretted the words the moment he said them.

“Why?”

The younger man blushed. “Never mind. Just know I’m totally okay with going to a burger joint.”

Carlos seemed to pick up on the meaning because he said, “I was the one who asked if you wanted to go out to dinner, therefore I’m buying.”

Lane decided to let the subject drop and switch to a different one. The only thing was, he didn’t know what to talk about. Conversation has never been my thing, he thought.

L’uliveto was indeed very boujee. Their waiter wore a tuxedo and was actually of Italian descent. Olive vines sprouted throughout the wall paper; white sheets were draped over the tops of the tables. Lane looked around the place, feeling both impressed and out of place. A woman sitting two tables over with a man, probably her husband, was doing a bad job at hiding the fact she was whispering to her husband about him.

"Relax," Carlos said. "You look like you're ready to jump out of your skin."

Lane forced a smile. "Sorry, it's just that I've never been anywhere like this."

"I wanted to take you somewhere nice." Carlos looked at Lane over the top of his menu. "Should we start out with some wine?"

One of Lane's dark eyebrows lifted sardonically. "Are you trying to get me drunk? What are you up to, Sheriff?"

"Just taking a sexy young man out for dinner."

When their waiter came to the table, Carlos ordered a bottle of wine. By the time Lane was on his second glass and their orders had arrived, the woman and her husband were leaving and Lane was feeling more at ease. The conversation between Carlos and he flowed easily. It was strange how comfortable Lane felt around him.

When they left an hour later, Lane was full from pasta and breadsticks and had a pleasant little buzz going. For the first time...in a while...Lane felt a sense of excitement and adventure.

They were walking down Poplar Street side by side. "Do you play pool?" Carlos asked.

"Yeah. I'm not bad at it."

Carlos nodded at a pub called The Billiard across the street. "It's a pub with duckpin bowling and pool tables. No kids allowed."

"A playground for adults - sounds awesome. I'm game."

                                   …

Carlos thought the night was going well. Before, going on dates - if this truly was a date - had always been painfully awkward experiences. It always felt more like a job interview, trying to watch what to say and what not to say, and gauge the other person's reactions.

Tonight he was actually enjoying himself. He felt completely comfortable with Lane. Perhaps it was the fact they had already gotten to know each other and had been in a few life threatening situations together.

As it turned out, Lane was being modest when it came to his skills at pool. He played with the accomplished air of a veteran.

"You tricked me," Carlos said, voice raised against the country music playing around them. Beside them, by the duckpin area, a woman made a whooping sound against the clatter of falling pins.

Carlos narrowed his eyes teasingly at Lane. "You said 'not bad'. You didn't actually say you were good."

Lane stood at the other end of the pool table, with a small smile on his face. The low lighting coming from the fixtures and the brighter lights coming from over by the duckpin area accentuated his features: his high cheekbones, narrow nose. He looked young enough to pass for fifteen. His eyes had widened in feigned indignance. "Feeling insecure?" he said in a mock child's voice.

"A little. Okay, so you kicked my ass at pool but what about duckpin bowling." Throughout the last couple of hours Carlos had restrained himself from touching Lane, from kissing him. Now he was so turned on he didn't know if he could restrain himself.

"I think you should save yourself the embarrassment." Lane had moved so he was now just inches away from Carlos. He seemed unaware of the height difference between them. Lane Hardy was never one to back down. Carlos was all too aware of his close proximity: the smell of the cologne and hair gel he had on, the dimples that formed when he smiled. He realized they were both hurtling towards something. For the past hour and a half in which they’d been playing pool, something had been building, a momentum Carlos couldn’t resist and didn’t want to resist.

“Keep getting smart with me and I’ll have to bring out the handcuffs and read you your rights,” Carlos growled before he could stop himself.

Just as he began to blush in embarrassment, Lane arched an eyebrow. “Promise? I’ve always had a handcuff fetish.”

Carlos was at a loss for words. Unable to think of a reply, his mouth wasn’t working. But his dick was. He could feel it stiffen and rise. And worse yet, Lane was looking down at his crotch with a knowing grin. Then he lifted his eyes. “Should we get out of here?” he asked coyly.

                    …

The back exit led out to a narrow alley that led back onto the street. Lane and Carlos stepped through it. Carlos pressed Lane gently against the wall, their lips and tongues dancing against one another’s. Lane was all too aware of the heat pressing up against the front of Carlos’s jeans as well as his own.

“I’m so horny right now I could eat you up right here,” Carlos growled.

Lane felt an involuntary shiver go up his spine. “Yes, but then there’s the chance we could be arrested for public indecency. What kind of example would you be setting as sheriff?”

“At this very second I really don’t care. I never liked this town anyway. So, back to your place?”

“Yes,” Lane said automatically.

The drive back down Donovan Road was almost unbearable. Lane tapped his fingers on his knees impatiently in an attempt to cope with the anticipation coursing through him. The night pressed on both sides of the car, broken only by the looming presence of pine trees. He started, surprised at first, when he felt fingers wrap through his own. He risked a glance over and found Carlos looking back at him.

Part of Lane’s anxiety - and fear - came from his past with men. Charlie and Brendan’s deaths were all too fresh on his mind, as well as the deaths of Craig Hardy, Aunt Vanessa, and Enzo Santino. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself the blame of their deaths was not on him, he couldn’t push the guilt away. And yet his sense of shame was at war with the physical and emotional need for intimacy. It was the realization he shared something with Carlos he didn’t share with anyone else that caused him to return the grip. Carlos knew what he was getting himself into and didn’t seem to care. We’re in this together, Lane thought.

Once at the lighthouse, Lane grabbed the keys from his jacket pocket. He could feel Carlos’s lips on the back of his neck, running his fingers through his hair. It was distracting. Finally, after uttering a few curses under his breath, Lane got the door open.

He barely remembered climbing up the steps or walking down the hallway to the bedroom. Now that they were in the privacy of his home there was no stopping. Carlos was backing him towards the bed already. Lane managed to pull his jacket off and throw it carelessly onto the floor before falling back onto the mattress. His hands slid under the hem of Carlos’s shirt before fumbling at the buttons of his jeans.

Within seconds they were both undressed, bodies aglow in the dancing light thrown by numerous lit candles. Lane pulled back to take in a breath. He could feel the rapid drum of Carlos’s heart beating against his own, relishing the feeling of his weight pressing down on him.

“Grab the handcuffs,” Lane said. "I have a pair in the drawer."

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "Where did you get handcuffs?"

"Maybe I stole a pair the last time I was in your office."

Carlos laughed. "You didn't."

"No, I found them in my trunk. You know how much shit I have back there. I can't remember where I got them, but I decided to keep them until they come of use."

Carlos found them in the top drawer. "Are you sure?"

Lane grinned wickedly. “Yeah.”

Carlos got out of bed. His back turned. Rising on his knees, Lane watched. He felt slightly lightheaded. The handcuffs gleamed, reflecting the light in the room. Lane took them and told Carlos to lay down on his back. Carlos gave him a questioning look but did as Lane asked.

Moving languidly, Lane straddled Carlos. He could feel the head of Carlos’s penis brush up against his tailbone. Once Carlos was lubed up and the handcuffs had been slid into place, Lane lifted himself up with his legs. His hands were handcuffed to the bar of the headboards. He smiled when Carlos cursed in pleasure as he lowered himself onto Carlos’s member.

Though his hands were of no use to him at the moment, Lane took charge. He started slowly at first until he was comfortable enough and then began to speed up. Before long he became lost in the pleasurable sensations passing through his body: the pressure of Carlos’s cock inside him, the curses whispered from the man bucking under him, the shifting and squeaks from the bed, the sweat dripping down his back, and Carlos’s hand on his penis, jacking him off.

“I’m going to come,” Carlos said huskily just seconds after Lane had burst into orgasm.

Lane opened his eyes and looked down just as Carlos let loose. The bed was levitating an inch off the hardwood floor. Carlos seemed unaware of the fact, his eyes clenched shut, gasping in pleasure. Slowly Lane willed the bed to lower on the floor. Once Carlos had removed the handcuffs, Lane slid into the empty spot next to him. The sheets were covered with sweat. He felt embarrassed - he hadn’t meant to make the bed float, hadn’t even been aware he was doing it.

At least Carlos didn’t notice, he thought.

“You’re something else, you know that?” Carlos said. He began to run his fingers through Lane’s hair.

“Yeah,” Lane said with an ironic chuckle. “I know.”