Variations
on a Corpse 4 (Boxcar), a
Lucky
came awake slowly. The rave had been a success, in a way; they'd found the
killer. Now they just had to get enough evidence on him to put him away,
without putting Emily away right beside him, or getting themselves all killed
in the process.
He
stretched, then winced. His muscles hurt, and his head was a little hazy. It
wasn't like he had a hangover, more like ... he was well used. A phrase his dad
used to say popped up in his head : Rode hard and put away wet. He didn't know
why it should feel so appropriate, but it was.
Then
memory hit him with the force of a sledgehammer to the skull as he was climbing
out of bed and he nearly fell flat on his face.
Oh,
no. He'd had sex. With Nikolas. Last night. After the Rave.
With
Nikolas.
How?
Why? What had happened?
Giving
up on any attempt to begin the new day until he could sort out what had
happened the previous night, Lucky collapsed against the pillows and tried to
think. His memories were a little whacked, but at least they were there. Since
discovering accidentally the other day in conversation with Emily that there
were great gaping holes in his memory, he'd been nervous about losing more
time.
This
time wasn't lost. It was just nuts.
But
it had been good.
One
hand trailed absently down his body, coming to rest against his cock, just
beginning to wake up to the possibilities. Spreading his thighs and leaning
further back against the pillows, he let his fingers explore further back.
Definitely touchy. A little sore, and somehow tenderized.
Not
in a bad way.
The
thought brought him up short, and he snatched his hand away from himself as if
he'd touched fire. Forcing himself to concentrate, he was able to bring up
scattered images of the previous night. Lights. Loud music. Gia, being a bitch.
Jumping
his brother. Pinning him to the bed. Not letting him get away.
Rode
hard and put away wet was a better description of what'd happened than he'd
first thought. His subconscious was talking loud and clear to his id, and the
message was a bizarre one.
Nikolas
hadn't fought him, but then, he hadn't given his half-brother much of a chance to
fight. He'd been all over him like green on grass, feeling him up, tossing him
down, fucking himself on him. He vaguely remembered Nikolas saying something
about it being unfair.
That
was one way to put it.
At
least he remembered it this time. A shudder ran through him as another thought
struck him. It felt ... familiar. Not like this was the first time. Not with
Nikolas, or perhaps not just with Nikolas, but at all. He'd known what to do.
His body had been familiar with having sex with a guy, even if his brain was in
shock over it. He'd done it before. A lot.
During
those times when he had a hole in his memory.
When
Faison had him.
He
was in the bathroom throwing up as soon as the ramifications of that thought
hit him.
When
he could drag himself to his feet, he scrubbed his face and brushed his teeth,
tongue, pallet and would've brushed halfway down his throat if he could have
reached. The thought of having sex with that creepy bastard was enough to make
his stomach heave again. At least with Nikolas it hadn't been disgusting.
The
thought made him pause, toothbrush poised over his tongue. He explored it, much
as he'd probe a sore tooth, to see how it ached.
It
hadn't been disgusting. The opposite, in fact. It had been good. Disturbingly
good.
And
familiar.
Blowing
off work, blowing off Emily, blowing off life in general, he tossed the
toothbrush in the sink and went off to search for his half-brother. His
questions had just doubled, and he'd had a load of them to begin with. It just
kept getting weirder by the minute.
After
tucking his brother in for the night, Nikolas had let himself out quietly. He
spent the next two hours staring up at his bedroom ceiling, then gave it up at
six and went for a long walk, hoping to clear his head.
His
world was disintegrating. His uncle, his surrogate father, was missing and
presumed murdered. He presumed his grandmother had done it; the police assumed
Luke Spencer had done it. Not that he had much use for Luke, but he loved his
half-brother, and Lucky needed to find out who'd murdered Stefan as badly as
Nikolas did.
Then
there was Emily. As close as he came to a little sister, and another anchor in
Lucky's life that was now adrift. One stupid mistake, and suddenly she was
naked in bed with a stranger, a dead stranger, blackmailed about it,
targeted and possibly stalked by a killer, and sure to be up on for murder
charges in the death of an undercover cop if they couldn't find a way to prove
it was the drug dealer at the rave who'd done it.
Which
led them to Gia, who might or might not have drugged Lucky the previous night,
so he might or might not remember the fact that they ended up in bed together.
Again. Which led him right back to his brother.
Who
had something wrong with him. Something that enabled him to jump Nikolas on a
semi-regular basis, then walk away as if nothing had happened.
Or
as if Lucky didn't know that anything had happened. Circling that
thought cautiously, poking at it while letting his feet wander, Nikolas tried
to fit the pieces of the puzzle he did have together. The first time Lucky'd
jumped him,
Might
just be to make him nuts.
Shaking
off an odd combination of desperation and horniness, Nikolas looked up to
figure out where he was. It seemed appropriate when he identified his
surroundings. He was standing in front of the boxcar where Lucky had been
presumed killed.
When
he was actually kidnapped. By Faison. And held for a year. After which, he
reappeared, but things were different.
Lucky was
different.
A
stray thought hit him, and he stared off into the distance, deep in thought. If
the odd behavior did have something to do with what happened to him while he
was held prisoner, could Faison and Helena somehow be tied together? It was a
new thought, and an unpleasant one. It pointed to collusion of the worst kind.
It
had his grandmother's fingerprints all over it.
Sitting
on the edge of the car, he leaned back and rested his weight on the palms of
his hands. His fingers brushed paper, and he glanced over his shoulder. A
notebook. That was strange. Nobody came out here, that he knew of, except Lucky
... his hand was closing over the binding before he finished the thought.
Leafing through the pages, he recognized his half-brother's writing.
Puzzling
through the words, he tried to figure out what Lucky had been trying to do with
the notebook. It looked like a diary, or an attempt at re-creating one,
covering the time Lucky spent as Faison's prisoner. He glanced through it, then
sat up and read through it again with more attention.
A
noise brought his head up, and he stared straight up into Emily's wide eyes.
She looked like she'd seen a ghost, staring at the notebook in his hands. He
was abruptly aware that he was, in a way, trespassing. This was Lucky's
notebook, in Lucky's place, and he was the interloper. His jaw clenched. It
didn't matter. He loved Lucky, and he'd do whatever he had to do to find out
what was going on. Deciding that offense was the best defense, he spoke before
she had a chance.
"What's
going on, Emily? You know something. I can see it on your face."
She stared mutely at him, hands fluttering uselessly in the air. He took a deep
breath.
"Something's
wrong with Lucky. You know it, and I know it, but I think you know more about
it than I do." He deliberately softened his tone, inviting confidence now,
not demanding it. She looked like she was about to run away. "I want to
help. But I can't if I don't know what's going on. C'mon, Emily. He's my
brother. Help me to help him."
Her
eyes were filling with tears and her chin was trembling. He felt like a bully,
but he also felt like he had to do this, had to get her to talk to him. He was
beginning to lose hope that she'd ever say anything when she finally threw both
hands up in the air.
"I
can't do this anymore!" she wailed.
He
moved toward her, shifting to hop down off the lip of the door, but she
skittered away, so he stopped. "Can't do what, Emily?" he asked
gently.
"Can't
be in the middle. Not between
He
considered going after her, then decided being alone -- or with Juan, though
God knew why she'd want him -- would be the best thing for her. At least until
she calmed down. He settled back down in the boxcar and flipped through the
notebook again, trying to figure out what Lucky had been up to. If it was a
diary, it was the shortest diary on record. And if it was supposed to include a
whole year, then either Faison repeated himself a lot, or there was a whole lot
of missing time here.
The
idea hit him hard. Missing time. Of course. He didn't realize he'd said it out
loud until he heard Lucky's voice repeating the words. He looked up, startled,
directly into Lucky's furious blue eyes.
Oh,
damn. Judging by the look in his eyes, and the way he was staring at Nikolas,
he remembered. Last night, at least.
"Are
you okay?" he blurted instinctively. The question gave Lucky pause.
After
enough thought that Nikolas was getting a bit worried, Lucky said slowly,
"Yeah. I think so."
He
heaved a sigh of relief at the lessening of the rage in Lucky's expression,
then sighed again as those narrowed eyes glared at the notebook in his hand.
"It's
my problem," his brother informed him. "I'll deal with it."
Lucky's
chin was sticking out, his fists were clenched, and his posture screamed 'get
outta my way!' Nikolas looked at all that determined ferocity and shook his
head.
"It's
our problem," he corrected him.
"Since
when is what's in my head your problem?" Lucky challenged him.
Nikolas
dropped the notebook on the wooden floor of the boxcar, jumped lightly off the
edge and stalked over to his recalcitrant brother. Grabbing his head with both
hands, he stared hard into his eyes. "Since the first time we did
this," he announced, then kissed him
Hard.
Not
finding Nikolas at Windemere, or along the docks, or at Kelly's, and not liking
the dirty look Elizabeth had given him, Lucky gave up the hunt for the moment
and headed out to his thinking place. Ever since he'd found it the abandoned
boxcar had been his place to escape.
He
had a hell of a lot to think about.
Turning
the corner through the trees he was surprised to see the object of his
all-morning search sitting in the door of the boxcar, feet dangling, head down.
He looked like he was reading.
A
few steps closer, and Lucky saw just what Nikolas was reading. Rage
swept through him. How dare he? How dare he butt in like this? Ignoring the
ache in his nether regions that reminded him just how close the two of them
were, and what sort of liberty Nikolas was apparently used to taking, he
stalked up to his brother.
Nikolas
looked up from Lucky's notebook and his eyes went wide. Good, Lucky growled to
himself. Let him be nervous. He should be worried about himself. Before he
could figure out what to say, Nikolas beat him to the punch.
"Are
you okay?" he asked. He sounded anxious. The question stopped him in his
tracks.
Was
he okay? After what had happened between them last night -- or early
that morning, really -- concern for Lucky wouldn't be the first thing he'd
think Nikolas would come up with. He swallowed. Of course, this was
Nikolas. And he knew his brother did care what happened to him. Most of the
anger drained away.
"Yeah.
I think so."
Nikolas
looked relieved to hear him say it, and Lucky had to look away. His glance fell
on the notebook still loosely held in his brother's grip, and his resolve
strengthened. Like he'd told Emily, the only person he could rely on was
himself. He'd gotten himself through hell in the past year, and if there were
loose boards in his mental attic, then he was the only one who could nail 'em
back down again. It wasn't anybody else's business.
Not
even Nikolas'.
"It's
my problem," he told him roughly. "I'll deal with it." Back off,
he said silently. Nikolas just shook his head.
"It's
our problem," he argued.
Lucky
didn't know where he got off. Well, he had an idea where they both did, but it
was too confusing to deal with that on top of everything else, so he let it
slide. "Since when is what's in my head your problem?" he fought
back.
Nikolas
didn't answer for a moment. He tossed the notebook back into the boxcar, jumped
down and stomped up to Lucky. He looked more than a little pissed off. Before
Lucky could move, or duck, or hit him first, Nikolas took hold of his head in
both his hands. Lucky stood there, stunned, as his half-brother glared at him
then barked "Since the first time we did this" and kissed him.
A
bolt of arousal shot straight to his crotch, only saved from embarrassing him
by the shock of disbelief that rocketed through his brain.
"We've
done this before?" he asked when he got his mouth back. It had been a
world-shaking kiss. Too bad his world was already so shaky it hadn't been
enough to stop the panic spreading through him. He didn't pull away, though.
Nikolas' grip on him was the only solid thing in the universe right then.
Naturally
that meant Nikolas had to let him go. Lucky instinctively reached out and
grabbed hold of his shoulders, not wanting him to get too far away.
"You
don't remember?" The usually calm voice was climbing up into soprano
range. Nikolas looked appalled.
Lucky
shrugged, feeling lost again, and not a little apologetic, although he wasn't
sure why. Not knowing what to say, he simply pulled Nikolas to him and hugged
him. After a moment, strong arms went around his own back, and they stood there
and held on to one another until they both calmed down.
A
little, anyway.
Not
wanting to lose the comfort he found in being held, Lucky didn't move as he
admitted, softly, almost whispering, "I think Faison messed with my
head." Maybe other things, too, he thought, but he didn't want to say it.
"I
think it's more than that," Nikolas answered, just as softly, and Lucky
stiffened in horror. The arms didn't loosen, and he closed his eyes, waiting to
hear what conclusions Nikolas had drawn, waiting for the axe to fall. "I
think
That wasn't at all what Lucky had been expecting him to say. He relaxed again,
almost falling when his knees started to give out on him. Nikolas reacted by
drawing him over to the edge of the boxcar and sitting down, then waiting for
Lucky to sit beside him. Lucky barely restrained himself from crawling onto
Nikolas' lap.
"Why
do you think so?" he managed to say, throat feeling like sandpaper.
"She rescued me from Faison. Or at least, I think she did." Nikolas
gave him a sharp look. "She said she did, and it made sense, but I
don't remember it. It's one of those black holes in my memory. I seem to have a
lot of them."
"We've
got to work together to find out what's going on," Nikolas told him,
determination in every word. "You can't do this on your own. You're not
on your own, and it's about time you realized that."
Lucky
looked sideways at him, then with typical Spencer abandon, decided since he was
already insane, he might as well go for it all. Reaching over to clasp Nikolas'
hand, he looked over at him intently.
"Does
that mean I lose this?"
Nikolas
stared down at their hands, then up into his eyes, then at his mouth. He stared
at Lucky's mouth for so long he could feel his lips start to tingle. He licked
them, and the stare got hotter.
"Only
if you want to," Nikolas finally answered him. He sounded as winded as
Lucky felt.
"Lose
it or do it?" he asked, determined to have everything as clear as
possible. God knew most of his life was a mess. This -- this he needed spelled
out.
"Either."
Nikolas shrugged, using their clasped hands to pull Lucky up next to him. Then
he kissed him.
Well,
something was right in the world. Even if it was only by their own deranged
definition of right. He'd take it.
Every
chance he got.
end fourth variation