Title: Shout My Name (at heaven's gate) J2, R, part 7 /?
title: Shout My Name (at heaven's gate)
Author: roxymissrose
Pairings/Characters: Jared/Jensen
Rating: R
Word Count:
Summary: Anno Domini 1951, fifty years after the failed Fertility experiments, the world still deals (somewhat successfully) with the mutations the experiments brought. With the advent of successful mechanical wombs, and a resurgence of female fertility, Carriers finally won full civil rights, and a new type slavery was abolished. Still, in many small towns and rural parts of America, in isolated communities, carriers were still viewed with suspicion, distaste, or horror.
This is the world Jared finds himself having to navigate.
At AO3
A/N: Bless you, fufaraw, you really had your work cut out for you this chapter! It's so much better for your help!
This cabin really was a perfect spot to hide in.
After cleaning up, Jared unloaded his pack on the bed, and took stock. Besides the bag of candy and the canned goods he had left, there were the few candles and matches he'd shoved into his knapsack before running. Though there were plenty in the cabin, he figured he should use his own-he was taking enough from Mr. Beaver as it was. Speaking of which...he pulled the book out of the knapsack, and found a pencil in one of the baskets. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the stove, he opened his book and carefully wrote on the flyleaf: Mr. Jim Beaver: one can of peaches. One sack flour, one sack sugar, one shirt, one pair of pants, two sweaters….
That evening, he heated up a jar of the spiced meat he'd taken from home, and made some rice to go with it.
How strange...Outsiders eat the same thing the Family does, he thought, and then scolded himself. They were Outsiders, but human. Of course, they ate same as Family did, they'd eaten familiar food at the-that, that Runround with those people. Outsiders were just...adrift. Jared sighed. Adrift just like he was. Who was he to judge, in any way?
After his dinner, curiosity brought him inching outdoors; he peered about carefully, before finally deciding it was safe enough to come out onto the tiny sliver of porch. He looked around with interest. There was a small grill welded to a post sitting to one side of the porch-he'd made its acquaintance pretty forcefully the first night here. He couldn't help but smile at the sight. It was a familiar kind of object. They often grilled during the hottest parts of the summer. Daddy had a dab hand with a chicken....Jared wiped roughly at the tears that caught him by surprise.
Sighing deeply, he continued his inspection of the cabin. Right off the porch was a long stretch of dirt. Jared bet himself that it was part of an access road and a place to park their weird cars; at home, they'd had a similar patch of dirt where they parked their carriage. Beyond the patch there was nothing but dense wood, and that settled him quite a bit.
This cabin really was a perfect spot to hide in.
The chill in the air made itself known, sending sneaky, icy fingers down his collar and up under the hem of his thin shirt...Jared shuddered, gladly heading inside to spoon up his evening meal. He trimmed the lantern, making its light bright and clear. Sitting at the table, inhaling heaps of rice and meat, one of the history books laid open on the table for him to read as he ate, it hit him. For the first time in weeks, he felt good. Happy, even. He had no idea what the future was going to bring and what he was going to do with this thing inside, but for the moment, he was just going to enjoy his meal and read his book.
He washed up the dishes, and swept the cabin floor-he was not leaving a mess for Mr. Beaver, no way. After he'd finished his self-appointed chores, he climbed into bed-right under the covers. It was like sleeping on a cloud. The mattress on this bed in this occasional home was softer, more comfortable than the one on his bed in Mountain Grove. The blanket over it was thick, and warm-he'd settled his own thread-bare blanket on it too and it was heaven.
He should take advantage of this luxury and read a bit before sleeping, he really should...he glanced at the history book he'd left on the table-and then at the lurid cover of the book atop the bookshelf. His fingers crept over the blanket, reaching to it, taking it up and staring wide-eyed at the cover. His mouth went dry; his rod twitched as he read the title. Desire In the Dust: The Sheikh and the Carrier. He ran his finger over the word Desire, his breath going faster. "Desire...oh. Gosh."
He flipped it open and midway through was an illustration: two men wrapped around each other, close, but not so close that Jared couldn't see the erection the one man sported, how the other clutched it in his hand. A hot, thick throb rushed through his groin, and Jared whimpered. The description of what was going on, how the carrier wanted the other man in both...both…
Under the cover of his blanket, he shimmied out of underwear he wore to bed, and lay completely, totally, scandalously naked under the sheets. Jared closed his eyes and groaned. His own fingers followed the action of the men in the book. His fingers closed around the tip of his rod, pulling the loose skin up, squeezing, and then pulling down to reveal the wet, pink head of his rod. He did that a few times, until his fingers trembled. He put the tip of one finger into the hood of skin, and rubbed over the tip, pressing against the slit until it was soaking wet. His legs were trembling, his gut jumping, and he took the slick wet finger out of the hood and slid it over his sac, stopping to roll his balls in his fingers and then, slowly, hesitantly, he slid his fingers lower, inserting the tip of one into the slightly puffy seam between his netherhole and his balls.
He hissed at the odd feeling; he almost jerked his finger back out, but pushed on, rotating his finger and waiting for...something. The carrier in the book seemed to love it, but he couldn't say it was especially thrilling. It felt okay-better when he kept the rubbing right at the edge of opening.
He shrugged and returned his attention to his rod, stroking, squeezing...clear fluid dripped from his rod, pooling in the spaces between his fingers. He gathered it up and slipped fingertips back down past his sac, lower until he was trailing them between his cheeks, skating lightly over his netherhole, feeling wicked-and a little unsure-deliberately touching a place one only did by necessity. He rubbed there, just because, and was surprised by a little rush of pleasure. It made him shiver., but in a pleasant way. He pushed the tip of his finger in, and groaned at how good it felt. He kept one hand on his rod, the other working between his cheeks.
This was different, this was better. He was so sensitive there, it felt good to rub around the muscle, pull and push his finger in. He pushed in deeper, bumped into a nub that showered his whole body with sparkles of pleasure-sped up the movement of the hand on his rod in tandem, and it wasn't too long before a long, hot, wave of pleasure swept from his opening up through his rod, wrapped around his belly and rushed into his chest, lighting up all the nerves in between. He came, and spunk flew out and spattered his chest, then dripped over his fingers, fell hot and wet on the slight curve of his belly.
After a minute or two, he found himself shivering even harder, going from quaking in a thick wave of pleasure, to being slightly nauseated. His belly was tightening, and releasing, and it made him feel even more like he'd been invaded. He wiped himself with the wadded up fabric of his underwear, and set the book back into the shelf. He turned away to face the wall and sank under the covers. All the good feelings had flown, he only felt guilty, horrified, and for some strange reason, sad. He pushed his face into the pillow, and imagined brushing Merc, counted the strokes of the brush over and over until he finally fell asleep.
In the morning, he showered, and took those books, and slid them into the knapsack, right at the bottom of the bag. He was not going to look at them again. This was something he'd think about at-at some other time.
=+=
A little more than a week later, Jared found himself jolting upright out of a sound sleep. For a second or two, he couldn't place where he was, until the wood walls swam into focus and he remembered. From outside came the sound that brought him out of sleep-voices. Men talking, low murmurs and occasional bursts of laughter. The sound got steadily louder; he heard a thunk-thunk, and then the voices receded. It was quiet again. Jared sighed.
Well, that was his sign. Time to move on. He felt a real sense of loss; he'd enjoyed every second of being here alone, looking out only for himself. He enjoyed the heck out of it. But now his house of comfortable cards was about to come tumbling down, so….
Jared rose, and dressed quickly, eating a handful of dried fruits instead of the lovely pancakes he'd grown used to having. He leaned against the wall close to the door and waited, listening out to be sure no one was returning, then hurried outside to see what it was that made the dull thunk he'd heard earlier.
It was a sign, driven into the edge of the dirt lot. It appeared that his sanctuary was for sale. Tilting his head, he read the sign, slowly chewing on a piece of dried fig as he did.
"Cabin for sale. Inquire at the main lodge building, or contact Jim Beaver…." And that was followed by and address, and a string of numbers Jared recognized after a few moments as a telephone number.
"Hunh." Jared wondered just how much traffic there was past the cabin-in the two weeks he'd been there, no one had passed by. But that was surely about to change. More than likely there'd be people coming to make it ready for sale, or interested parties dropping in to see if they'd like to buy the place, so as much as it saddened him, it was time to get scarce. This whole idea of camping here for the winter just been a silly dream anyway. Besides, that had never been the plan-he'd just taken advantage of what seemed o be a good deal. It was time to ready himself and get back on the path-bus number five and the big city. Still, it was lucky to have found this out now, instead of in the middle of a snow-storm or something. Silver linings. "More like tin," he muttered and headed back inside.
Jared squashed his almost ever-present feeling of guilt down, and poked through the cabinets, selecting some tinned meats and fruits-he might not be that far from the city, or he might be miles and miles from it. Better safe than sorry.
There were a few cans of corn, plus a can of green beans that he wrinkled his nose at. He pushed it back into the shelf but remembered his mother saying, when she carried Mercy, babies needed good nutrition to grow right. He supposed beans were good nutrition-his mother had said so often enough. With a grimace, he tossed the beans into the knapsack as well. He reshelved the books, but kept the cookbook, which probably would come in handy, and one of the mysteries-and the two featuring carriers; he stuffed them into his bag along with the other items.
Jared stood there, the knapsack in his hands. He was reluctant, but-one of the blankets he'd been using went into the bag as well. It seemed being shunned had turned him into a thief.
"The criminal life…" He sighed, then shrugged. Well, there wasn't anything he he could do about it. He refused to die because the Fathers decided he was such a freak and a monstrosity and so awash in sin that he didn't belong in Mountain Grove anymore-that he wasn't part of Family anymore. "Holerah...no, Hell!" he barked, then immediately blushed at his words, and then was angry with himself for blushing.
"The world's just going to have to get used to my filthy mouth. This is the new, not-nice Jared. Not giving a single fig about anything from now on except me!" He kicked the edge of the bed, and then, anger faded and sadness overtook him and he knnnuckled sudden tears from his eyes.
"And this-this thing, too, I guess," he muttered, and ran a stiff hand roughly over the slight swell of his stomach. His thoughts twisted up around what he was supposed to be now, perverted and filthy, and what that terrible, hateful, life-ruiner had said about him, branding him a slut, and a violent wave of nausea nearly knocked him over. Liar. That boy was a liar-and-and if any one was a thief, he was. He'd stolen Jared's life; he chewed it up and spit it out just for fun.
Jared shook himself like a spaniel, trying to clear his head of useless thoughts. He had a mission, and it was time to get to it. He was so grateful for what he'd had here these few weeks, and he realized just how truly lucky he was that the men hadn't detected the smell of wood smoke. And speaking of wood smoke….
He decided to gamble on his luck holding out-he refused to see it as anything else but a streak of luck. He lit one last fire in the stove, boiled some water to take a one last hot bath. Who knew when he'd be able to do that again, and he just...Jared shuddered. Just couldn't imagine walking around greasy and grimy. If the men come back, he'll just say-he' ll just say-he'll tell the truth and hope the Outsiders take pity on him and don't run him off, jaybird naked into the trees.
Getting out of the tub, he sat back on the bed, bare-butt since the stove kept the room warm enough, and read a final chapter of the history book, enjoying a bit of canned chocolate pudding while he did.
It felt good, even though he knew he had to leave. Jared mulled over the idea that this hadn't been as terrible a punishment as he'd expected. In fact, so far, the lord had been especially lenient and kind-much more so than his parents had been. Jared closed his eyes, and whispered a hesitant but heartfelt prayer of thanks. "It's been good so far, thank you for not instantly smiting me when...you know what happened. Sorry for not talking to you before now, I've wanted to so badly, but I've been really busy. And scared. Too scared to. Sorry again. And thank you. And sorry again."
The light slanting into the cabin was darkening from morning to late afternoon, and he couldn't put it off any longer. He dressed reluctantly, and took the broom to sweep out the cabin one last time. He cleaned everything-emptied and practically polished the tub, cleaned the stove until it was actually cleaner than when he'd first stepped in ite cabin. By he time he finished the little place gleamed. He sighed, wished with all his might he could have stayed but...he sat at the table, and ripped a blank page from the back of his book. He carefully copied down the list he'd been keeping; all the things of Mr. Beaver's he'd used.
"Dear Mr. Beaver,
You don't know me, and probably never will. I confess that I've used your cabin, and stolen things from you, and I'm very sorry. Please believe me, I'm not normally a thief, but circumstances have forced me to be one. I swear, I plan to pay you back, every penny. When I can. I have your address and someday, you'll receive every cent back. I promise you.
Yours,
Jared
P.S. These are the things I took.
One can of peaches.
One sack flour
One sack sugar
One shirt, one pair of pants
two sweaters….
Jared wrote down every single item he'd used, then left his note on the table with a can of peaches weighting it down. Shouldering the now heavy knapsack, he forced himself to leave the cabin which had been such a pleasant sanctuary for him. He hesitated on the porch, looking longingly back inside, taking in the little stove, the bed topped with its homey blanket. Who knew if he'd ever have someplace as nice as this to call home?
Sighing, Jared locked the door, hid the key back in it's not so hidey hidey-place.
He stopped at the end of the drive before setting out across the little dirt patch and took his book from his knapsack. He copied down the address of Mr. Jim Beaver, and after a moments thought, the telephone number as well. He honestly did plan to pay Mr. Beaver back. the Lord willing, he'd find a way to do it.
The sun was beginning to set, and Jared remembered how awful it was to stumble about the woods in the dark, but he was afraid that if he waited until morning to leave, he'd never be able to pull himself out of this bit of comfort and safety. He'd try to nest there like a fool, and get caught and probably end up in jail or in the circus with the other freaks, so-
"Good-bye, Mr. Beaver's cabin. It's been wonderful. I'll miss you so much."
A few hours later, Jared was dripping with sweat, bruised from running into things in the dark, irritated and steadily getting more nervous by the minute. While he identified most sounds out in the dark, the sounds he didn't recognize had him jumping and freezing; staring round-eyed into the night as though bigger eyes would help him to see better.
Shuffling forward gingerly through the darkness brought him crashing down over a low drop-off. He hit soft, almost sugary dirt-small mercies-and rolled a short distance.
"Oh, my aching...aching things. Peanuts!" Jared pulled himself carefully up to sitting, wincing at a few aches and pings and scratches, but certain that he was mostly okay. He had a short, shallow, gash on his wrist that needed cleaning out. Otherwise he was fine-and lucky.
Scooting backwards out of sight of the bright patch of moonlight he'd fallen into, he saw what it was the moon was highlighting-a Jared-sized hollow under the thick, twisted, tree roots of the that had sent him flying down the little hill.
"And you couldn't have shown yourself before I fell off the cliff?" he growled at the moon, before dragging himself underneath those thick roots. He beat the knapsack up into something of a pillow, and wrapping a blanket around himself, he hunkered down and hoped for sleep. He was exhausted enough to feel comfortable in his hole in the dirt. A huge, jaw-cracking yawn shook him, and he almost laughed, recalling the way his sister would dodge and throw her arms up when he yawned, acting as if she was in danger of being eaten by her brother. Laughter leached away quickly and he frowned.
It was certain his sister wasn't thinking of him now, and if she was, if any of them were, it wasn't with fondness. Well, so what? He didn't need them, anymore than they needed him. Jared added another layer to the wall around his heart. He'd never get caught out again, never be betrayed by anyone again, not if he could help it.
His last thought before he drifted off was of his family, wondering if they'd ever truly loved him.
=+=
Jared thought it was another bit of luck when he stumbled across a swiftly-running streamlet the next morning. It was narrow, so narrow he could straddle it easily, but the water was clear and fresh and cold, and he filled his bottles with such a deep sense of gratitude that it almost hurt. He knelt at the wet edge, heedless of the damp mud wetting the knees of his pants.
Searching through the knapsack, he found an empty can he'd saved to use as a cup. Scooping up the icy water, he dumped a cupful over his head, letting out a very undignified shriek-shivering, he wondered if might be worthwhile to heat some water up, but quickly decided against it. If he kept moving, he ought to hit a road soon, and then hopefully, catch the bus and then, the city. Where he'd bathe in hot water, and drink hot caffee, and sleep without worrying what might walk over his face in the night.
He scrubbed a few cold handfuls of water over his face, and lifted his shirt to scrub over his pits too. Sighing, Jared smoothed his shirt back down, quickly whipped a comb through his damp hair as well. Sitting on a drier patch of ground, he watch the sun rise while brushing his teeth. He tossed the brush and comb back into the can, and shoved it all back into the knapsack.
Not coming up with a reason to wait, he started out again, chewing on a strip of horrible dried meat he'd found in the cabinet, and chasing each barely digestible bite with a few pieces of dried fruit. With no other plan, he hiked along the ridge of dirt that loosely followed the swift rill of water, until eventually he was in a thicker part of the woods, stomping along what must be a deer track, an old one, he guessed, what with its width and the way the underbrush was thin around it. Along the way, he stripped a few berries off the canes that stuck up through the underbrush, doing his best to fill his pockets. He was perfectly willing to put up with being pricked and out-right stabbed because those few late berries were a welcome addition to all the canned goods he'd been eating.
The sun was high over head before he decided he'd earned a dinner break. Using another bit of purloined equipment-a key to cut through the top of the can-he revealed a great treat, canned hash. He'd felt guilty taking it-he knew it was a more costly item than most other tinned meat or the fruit, but...he practically stuffed his nose into the can, huffing in the delicious smell of seasoned potatoes, meat, and the Lord knew just how he wished he could heat it up.
Jared sighed. But on the bright side, here he was, with dinner and dessert, and even dinner music-he grinned as a pair of birds trilled up and down the scale over his head. Digging a couple of fingers into the can, he hooked them out covered with hash, and sucked them clean, eyes bouncing over the view in front of him, thinking about what the next few days might bring. That morning he'd noticed that the frost was was thicker than it had been a few days ago, so he knew it'd be a cold night. It was getting dark already and as much as he hated spending another night in the woods, he was resigned to it.
Tomorrow, bright and early, he'd be on the road, he'd find a station, and then be on the bus to the city. And once he was in the city, he was going to have the biggest, darkest cup of caffee ever in the world.
Jared was so fixed on that image he actually moaned out loud. With a tiny, embarrassed laugh, he stuck his hash covered fingers back in his mouth and sucked, twirling his tongue around them until he was only licking and sucking at damp, bare skin, every bit of the salty, meaty taste gone. It only tasted like his skin now, and he was hugely disappointed. He peered into the can, pouting like a little kid. Empty, barely a smell left, he'd worked so hard to clean the can out. "Oh well...guess that means it's time for dessert."
He was chewing his last handful of berries when exhaustion took him over again. With no fire to tend, he settled his scarf and hat as tightly as he could, rolled up in his blankets, said a quick prayer, and hoped for the morning to come quickly. Sleep shoved him over the edge of the real world, into lonely dreamscapes that made him whimper and shake.
When Jared woke again, achy from the cold and trying to sleep on hard ground under him, it took him a second or two to gather where he was. He peered about in the gray dawn light-and almost knocked himself out jerking back from an eye-to-eye with some thing-a huge, needle-fanged creature, with a blood-crazed look in its beady eyes. A beast from hell, finally come for his rancid soul-
"Lord spare my sou-holerah!"
A possum.
A possum that he'd just scared the daylights out of by screaming in its ratty little face. It opened its mouth wide, hissed like Jared was the one that did it wrong and rambled off.
Jared wiped his face frantically-what had the darn thing been doing to his face in his sleep?
He checked himself over carefully, shuddering. He was dry, and only slightly more gritty that when he fell asleep, so he counted that in the good column. Aching bones and cranky hips, and a steady, pulsing pain in his midsection he counted in the bad. It took him more than a few minutes to come crawling creakily upright.
Oh my goodness. Is this is what it feels like to be old? Jared wondered. He was too stiff to move; breathing felt like an overwhelming chore, so much so that he wondered it was worth the effort. He was wondering if maybe the thing to do was just lay back down and let the frost cover him and put his life in someone else's hands, when an odd sound broke into the downward spiral of his thoughts He jerked, gasping in a deep pull of cold air; he heard it again-a hiss, a rumble, a loud bleating in the distance, but not so very far. Less than a day's walk, he was sure of it.
A feeling of sunshine, of lightness built in his chest. A bus. He was sure that's what he'd just heard. A bus and pretty close by. He took off running in the direction of the sounds.
Another couple of hours of non-stop walking, and finally Jared was standing on the edge of the woods, his knees trembling with fatigue, looking out on what had to be a bus station-it occurred to him that he was going to be an oddity, something these Outsiders had never seen before. And when they found out he was a carrier and an abomination….
Would they be able to tell? Would they look at him and see a boy who only felt what his brother described as a "thrilling lift to the heart" when he looked at other boys?
Jared stared across the wide road at the glass-fronted building. There was a bus that was going to take him away from his family and his old life forever. Tears filled his eyes suddenly, overflowed hot and fast down his cheeks. Lord, how he wished he'd never gone on that Runround. He wished with all his heart he'd never talked to that boy. Or drank all of that beer, whiskey, whatever it was. Why had he lain with that life-ruiner and spread his legs and Lord, there were so many things he regretted, so, so many, and….
He'd never be able to forget. He'd have the reminder of it for all his natural life.
Just like that his knees gave out and he fell, crying even harder, so hard his gut contracted painfully, and the hash he'd tucked into the night before started dancing, threatening a return. Words bounced and boiled on the edges of his mind, awful words he tried his best to fight down, but they tumbled and rattled and grew bigger and louder and sharper until hardly realizing it, Jared was screaming "I hate you, I hate you I hate you" into his cupped hands.
Not sure who he meant-that-that-Riley, his parents, the thing inside him? Jared just screamed and screamed until he was sick and exhausted and shaking from the strength of his emotions.
When he was sure he could walk without falling again, Jared took the first steps towards what was sure to be a very different, probably difficult, life-but-he scrubbed at his wet cheeks and runny nose-, and took a shaky breath. It'd be his life at least, on his terms.
=+=
8
Author: roxymissrose
Pairings/Characters: Jared/Jensen
Rating: R
Word Count:
Summary: Anno Domini 1951, fifty years after the failed Fertility experiments, the world still deals (somewhat successfully) with the mutations the experiments brought. With the advent of successful mechanical wombs, and a resurgence of female fertility, Carriers finally won full civil rights, and a new type slavery was abolished. Still, in many small towns and rural parts of America, in isolated communities, carriers were still viewed with suspicion, distaste, or horror.
This is the world Jared finds himself having to navigate.
At AO3
A/N: Bless you, fufaraw, you really had your work cut out for you this chapter! It's so much better for your help!
This cabin really was a perfect spot to hide in.
After cleaning up, Jared unloaded his pack on the bed, and took stock. Besides the bag of candy and the canned goods he had left, there were the few candles and matches he'd shoved into his knapsack before running. Though there were plenty in the cabin, he figured he should use his own-he was taking enough from Mr. Beaver as it was. Speaking of which...he pulled the book out of the knapsack, and found a pencil in one of the baskets. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the stove, he opened his book and carefully wrote on the flyleaf: Mr. Jim Beaver: one can of peaches. One sack flour, one sack sugar, one shirt, one pair of pants, two sweaters….
That evening, he heated up a jar of the spiced meat he'd taken from home, and made some rice to go with it.
How strange...Outsiders eat the same thing the Family does, he thought, and then scolded himself. They were Outsiders, but human. Of course, they ate same as Family did, they'd eaten familiar food at the-that, that Runround with those people. Outsiders were just...adrift. Jared sighed. Adrift just like he was. Who was he to judge, in any way?
After his dinner, curiosity brought him inching outdoors; he peered about carefully, before finally deciding it was safe enough to come out onto the tiny sliver of porch. He looked around with interest. There was a small grill welded to a post sitting to one side of the porch-he'd made its acquaintance pretty forcefully the first night here. He couldn't help but smile at the sight. It was a familiar kind of object. They often grilled during the hottest parts of the summer. Daddy had a dab hand with a chicken....Jared wiped roughly at the tears that caught him by surprise.
Sighing deeply, he continued his inspection of the cabin. Right off the porch was a long stretch of dirt. Jared bet himself that it was part of an access road and a place to park their weird cars; at home, they'd had a similar patch of dirt where they parked their carriage. Beyond the patch there was nothing but dense wood, and that settled him quite a bit.
This cabin really was a perfect spot to hide in.
The chill in the air made itself known, sending sneaky, icy fingers down his collar and up under the hem of his thin shirt...Jared shuddered, gladly heading inside to spoon up his evening meal. He trimmed the lantern, making its light bright and clear. Sitting at the table, inhaling heaps of rice and meat, one of the history books laid open on the table for him to read as he ate, it hit him. For the first time in weeks, he felt good. Happy, even. He had no idea what the future was going to bring and what he was going to do with this thing inside, but for the moment, he was just going to enjoy his meal and read his book.
He washed up the dishes, and swept the cabin floor-he was not leaving a mess for Mr. Beaver, no way. After he'd finished his self-appointed chores, he climbed into bed-right under the covers. It was like sleeping on a cloud. The mattress on this bed in this occasional home was softer, more comfortable than the one on his bed in Mountain Grove. The blanket over it was thick, and warm-he'd settled his own thread-bare blanket on it too and it was heaven.
He should take advantage of this luxury and read a bit before sleeping, he really should...he glanced at the history book he'd left on the table-and then at the lurid cover of the book atop the bookshelf. His fingers crept over the blanket, reaching to it, taking it up and staring wide-eyed at the cover. His mouth went dry; his rod twitched as he read the title. Desire In the Dust: The Sheikh and the Carrier. He ran his finger over the word Desire, his breath going faster. "Desire...oh. Gosh."
He flipped it open and midway through was an illustration: two men wrapped around each other, close, but not so close that Jared couldn't see the erection the one man sported, how the other clutched it in his hand. A hot, thick throb rushed through his groin, and Jared whimpered. The description of what was going on, how the carrier wanted the other man in both...both…
Under the cover of his blanket, he shimmied out of underwear he wore to bed, and lay completely, totally, scandalously naked under the sheets. Jared closed his eyes and groaned. His own fingers followed the action of the men in the book. His fingers closed around the tip of his rod, pulling the loose skin up, squeezing, and then pulling down to reveal the wet, pink head of his rod. He did that a few times, until his fingers trembled. He put the tip of one finger into the hood of skin, and rubbed over the tip, pressing against the slit until it was soaking wet. His legs were trembling, his gut jumping, and he took the slick wet finger out of the hood and slid it over his sac, stopping to roll his balls in his fingers and then, slowly, hesitantly, he slid his fingers lower, inserting the tip of one into the slightly puffy seam between his netherhole and his balls.
He hissed at the odd feeling; he almost jerked his finger back out, but pushed on, rotating his finger and waiting for...something. The carrier in the book seemed to love it, but he couldn't say it was especially thrilling. It felt okay-better when he kept the rubbing right at the edge of opening.
He shrugged and returned his attention to his rod, stroking, squeezing...clear fluid dripped from his rod, pooling in the spaces between his fingers. He gathered it up and slipped fingertips back down past his sac, lower until he was trailing them between his cheeks, skating lightly over his netherhole, feeling wicked-and a little unsure-deliberately touching a place one only did by necessity. He rubbed there, just because, and was surprised by a little rush of pleasure. It made him shiver., but in a pleasant way. He pushed the tip of his finger in, and groaned at how good it felt. He kept one hand on his rod, the other working between his cheeks.
This was different, this was better. He was so sensitive there, it felt good to rub around the muscle, pull and push his finger in. He pushed in deeper, bumped into a nub that showered his whole body with sparkles of pleasure-sped up the movement of the hand on his rod in tandem, and it wasn't too long before a long, hot, wave of pleasure swept from his opening up through his rod, wrapped around his belly and rushed into his chest, lighting up all the nerves in between. He came, and spunk flew out and spattered his chest, then dripped over his fingers, fell hot and wet on the slight curve of his belly.
After a minute or two, he found himself shivering even harder, going from quaking in a thick wave of pleasure, to being slightly nauseated. His belly was tightening, and releasing, and it made him feel even more like he'd been invaded. He wiped himself with the wadded up fabric of his underwear, and set the book back into the shelf. He turned away to face the wall and sank under the covers. All the good feelings had flown, he only felt guilty, horrified, and for some strange reason, sad. He pushed his face into the pillow, and imagined brushing Merc, counted the strokes of the brush over and over until he finally fell asleep.
In the morning, he showered, and took those books, and slid them into the knapsack, right at the bottom of the bag. He was not going to look at them again. This was something he'd think about at-at some other time.
=+=
A little more than a week later, Jared found himself jolting upright out of a sound sleep. For a second or two, he couldn't place where he was, until the wood walls swam into focus and he remembered. From outside came the sound that brought him out of sleep-voices. Men talking, low murmurs and occasional bursts of laughter. The sound got steadily louder; he heard a thunk-thunk, and then the voices receded. It was quiet again. Jared sighed.
Well, that was his sign. Time to move on. He felt a real sense of loss; he'd enjoyed every second of being here alone, looking out only for himself. He enjoyed the heck out of it. But now his house of comfortable cards was about to come tumbling down, so….
Jared rose, and dressed quickly, eating a handful of dried fruits instead of the lovely pancakes he'd grown used to having. He leaned against the wall close to the door and waited, listening out to be sure no one was returning, then hurried outside to see what it was that made the dull thunk he'd heard earlier.
It was a sign, driven into the edge of the dirt lot. It appeared that his sanctuary was for sale. Tilting his head, he read the sign, slowly chewing on a piece of dried fig as he did.
"Cabin for sale. Inquire at the main lodge building, or contact Jim Beaver…." And that was followed by and address, and a string of numbers Jared recognized after a few moments as a telephone number.
"Hunh." Jared wondered just how much traffic there was past the cabin-in the two weeks he'd been there, no one had passed by. But that was surely about to change. More than likely there'd be people coming to make it ready for sale, or interested parties dropping in to see if they'd like to buy the place, so as much as it saddened him, it was time to get scarce. This whole idea of camping here for the winter just been a silly dream anyway. Besides, that had never been the plan-he'd just taken advantage of what seemed o be a good deal. It was time to ready himself and get back on the path-bus number five and the big city. Still, it was lucky to have found this out now, instead of in the middle of a snow-storm or something. Silver linings. "More like tin," he muttered and headed back inside.
Jared squashed his almost ever-present feeling of guilt down, and poked through the cabinets, selecting some tinned meats and fruits-he might not be that far from the city, or he might be miles and miles from it. Better safe than sorry.
There were a few cans of corn, plus a can of green beans that he wrinkled his nose at. He pushed it back into the shelf but remembered his mother saying, when she carried Mercy, babies needed good nutrition to grow right. He supposed beans were good nutrition-his mother had said so often enough. With a grimace, he tossed the beans into the knapsack as well. He reshelved the books, but kept the cookbook, which probably would come in handy, and one of the mysteries-and the two featuring carriers; he stuffed them into his bag along with the other items.
Jared stood there, the knapsack in his hands. He was reluctant, but-one of the blankets he'd been using went into the bag as well. It seemed being shunned had turned him into a thief.
"The criminal life…" He sighed, then shrugged. Well, there wasn't anything he he could do about it. He refused to die because the Fathers decided he was such a freak and a monstrosity and so awash in sin that he didn't belong in Mountain Grove anymore-that he wasn't part of Family anymore. "Holerah...no, Hell!" he barked, then immediately blushed at his words, and then was angry with himself for blushing.
"The world's just going to have to get used to my filthy mouth. This is the new, not-nice Jared. Not giving a single fig about anything from now on except me!" He kicked the edge of the bed, and then, anger faded and sadness overtook him and he knnnuckled sudden tears from his eyes.
"And this-this thing, too, I guess," he muttered, and ran a stiff hand roughly over the slight swell of his stomach. His thoughts twisted up around what he was supposed to be now, perverted and filthy, and what that terrible, hateful, life-ruiner had said about him, branding him a slut, and a violent wave of nausea nearly knocked him over. Liar. That boy was a liar-and-and if any one was a thief, he was. He'd stolen Jared's life; he chewed it up and spit it out just for fun.
Jared shook himself like a spaniel, trying to clear his head of useless thoughts. He had a mission, and it was time to get to it. He was so grateful for what he'd had here these few weeks, and he realized just how truly lucky he was that the men hadn't detected the smell of wood smoke. And speaking of wood smoke….
He decided to gamble on his luck holding out-he refused to see it as anything else but a streak of luck. He lit one last fire in the stove, boiled some water to take a one last hot bath. Who knew when he'd be able to do that again, and he just...Jared shuddered. Just couldn't imagine walking around greasy and grimy. If the men come back, he'll just say-he' ll just say-he'll tell the truth and hope the Outsiders take pity on him and don't run him off, jaybird naked into the trees.
Getting out of the tub, he sat back on the bed, bare-butt since the stove kept the room warm enough, and read a final chapter of the history book, enjoying a bit of canned chocolate pudding while he did.
It felt good, even though he knew he had to leave. Jared mulled over the idea that this hadn't been as terrible a punishment as he'd expected. In fact, so far, the lord had been especially lenient and kind-much more so than his parents had been. Jared closed his eyes, and whispered a hesitant but heartfelt prayer of thanks. "It's been good so far, thank you for not instantly smiting me when...you know what happened. Sorry for not talking to you before now, I've wanted to so badly, but I've been really busy. And scared. Too scared to. Sorry again. And thank you. And sorry again."
The light slanting into the cabin was darkening from morning to late afternoon, and he couldn't put it off any longer. He dressed reluctantly, and took the broom to sweep out the cabin one last time. He cleaned everything-emptied and practically polished the tub, cleaned the stove until it was actually cleaner than when he'd first stepped in ite cabin. By he time he finished the little place gleamed. He sighed, wished with all his might he could have stayed but...he sat at the table, and ripped a blank page from the back of his book. He carefully copied down the list he'd been keeping; all the things of Mr. Beaver's he'd used.
"Dear Mr. Beaver,
You don't know me, and probably never will. I confess that I've used your cabin, and stolen things from you, and I'm very sorry. Please believe me, I'm not normally a thief, but circumstances have forced me to be one. I swear, I plan to pay you back, every penny. When I can. I have your address and someday, you'll receive every cent back. I promise you.
Yours,
Jared
P.S. These are the things I took.
One can of peaches.
One sack flour
One sack sugar
One shirt, one pair of pants
two sweaters….
Jared wrote down every single item he'd used, then left his note on the table with a can of peaches weighting it down. Shouldering the now heavy knapsack, he forced himself to leave the cabin which had been such a pleasant sanctuary for him. He hesitated on the porch, looking longingly back inside, taking in the little stove, the bed topped with its homey blanket. Who knew if he'd ever have someplace as nice as this to call home?
Sighing, Jared locked the door, hid the key back in it's not so hidey hidey-place.
He stopped at the end of the drive before setting out across the little dirt patch and took his book from his knapsack. He copied down the address of Mr. Jim Beaver, and after a moments thought, the telephone number as well. He honestly did plan to pay Mr. Beaver back. the Lord willing, he'd find a way to do it.
The sun was beginning to set, and Jared remembered how awful it was to stumble about the woods in the dark, but he was afraid that if he waited until morning to leave, he'd never be able to pull himself out of this bit of comfort and safety. He'd try to nest there like a fool, and get caught and probably end up in jail or in the circus with the other freaks, so-
"Good-bye, Mr. Beaver's cabin. It's been wonderful. I'll miss you so much."
A few hours later, Jared was dripping with sweat, bruised from running into things in the dark, irritated and steadily getting more nervous by the minute. While he identified most sounds out in the dark, the sounds he didn't recognize had him jumping and freezing; staring round-eyed into the night as though bigger eyes would help him to see better.
Shuffling forward gingerly through the darkness brought him crashing down over a low drop-off. He hit soft, almost sugary dirt-small mercies-and rolled a short distance.
"Oh, my aching...aching things. Peanuts!" Jared pulled himself carefully up to sitting, wincing at a few aches and pings and scratches, but certain that he was mostly okay. He had a short, shallow, gash on his wrist that needed cleaning out. Otherwise he was fine-and lucky.
Scooting backwards out of sight of the bright patch of moonlight he'd fallen into, he saw what it was the moon was highlighting-a Jared-sized hollow under the thick, twisted, tree roots of the that had sent him flying down the little hill.
"And you couldn't have shown yourself before I fell off the cliff?" he growled at the moon, before dragging himself underneath those thick roots. He beat the knapsack up into something of a pillow, and wrapping a blanket around himself, he hunkered down and hoped for sleep. He was exhausted enough to feel comfortable in his hole in the dirt. A huge, jaw-cracking yawn shook him, and he almost laughed, recalling the way his sister would dodge and throw her arms up when he yawned, acting as if she was in danger of being eaten by her brother. Laughter leached away quickly and he frowned.
It was certain his sister wasn't thinking of him now, and if she was, if any of them were, it wasn't with fondness. Well, so what? He didn't need them, anymore than they needed him. Jared added another layer to the wall around his heart. He'd never get caught out again, never be betrayed by anyone again, not if he could help it.
His last thought before he drifted off was of his family, wondering if they'd ever truly loved him.
=+=
Jared thought it was another bit of luck when he stumbled across a swiftly-running streamlet the next morning. It was narrow, so narrow he could straddle it easily, but the water was clear and fresh and cold, and he filled his bottles with such a deep sense of gratitude that it almost hurt. He knelt at the wet edge, heedless of the damp mud wetting the knees of his pants.
Searching through the knapsack, he found an empty can he'd saved to use as a cup. Scooping up the icy water, he dumped a cupful over his head, letting out a very undignified shriek-shivering, he wondered if might be worthwhile to heat some water up, but quickly decided against it. If he kept moving, he ought to hit a road soon, and then hopefully, catch the bus and then, the city. Where he'd bathe in hot water, and drink hot caffee, and sleep without worrying what might walk over his face in the night.
He scrubbed a few cold handfuls of water over his face, and lifted his shirt to scrub over his pits too. Sighing, Jared smoothed his shirt back down, quickly whipped a comb through his damp hair as well. Sitting on a drier patch of ground, he watch the sun rise while brushing his teeth. He tossed the brush and comb back into the can, and shoved it all back into the knapsack.
Not coming up with a reason to wait, he started out again, chewing on a strip of horrible dried meat he'd found in the cabinet, and chasing each barely digestible bite with a few pieces of dried fruit. With no other plan, he hiked along the ridge of dirt that loosely followed the swift rill of water, until eventually he was in a thicker part of the woods, stomping along what must be a deer track, an old one, he guessed, what with its width and the way the underbrush was thin around it. Along the way, he stripped a few berries off the canes that stuck up through the underbrush, doing his best to fill his pockets. He was perfectly willing to put up with being pricked and out-right stabbed because those few late berries were a welcome addition to all the canned goods he'd been eating.
The sun was high over head before he decided he'd earned a dinner break. Using another bit of purloined equipment-a key to cut through the top of the can-he revealed a great treat, canned hash. He'd felt guilty taking it-he knew it was a more costly item than most other tinned meat or the fruit, but...he practically stuffed his nose into the can, huffing in the delicious smell of seasoned potatoes, meat, and the Lord knew just how he wished he could heat it up.
Jared sighed. But on the bright side, here he was, with dinner and dessert, and even dinner music-he grinned as a pair of birds trilled up and down the scale over his head. Digging a couple of fingers into the can, he hooked them out covered with hash, and sucked them clean, eyes bouncing over the view in front of him, thinking about what the next few days might bring. That morning he'd noticed that the frost was was thicker than it had been a few days ago, so he knew it'd be a cold night. It was getting dark already and as much as he hated spending another night in the woods, he was resigned to it.
Tomorrow, bright and early, he'd be on the road, he'd find a station, and then be on the bus to the city. And once he was in the city, he was going to have the biggest, darkest cup of caffee ever in the world.
Jared was so fixed on that image he actually moaned out loud. With a tiny, embarrassed laugh, he stuck his hash covered fingers back in his mouth and sucked, twirling his tongue around them until he was only licking and sucking at damp, bare skin, every bit of the salty, meaty taste gone. It only tasted like his skin now, and he was hugely disappointed. He peered into the can, pouting like a little kid. Empty, barely a smell left, he'd worked so hard to clean the can out. "Oh well...guess that means it's time for dessert."
He was chewing his last handful of berries when exhaustion took him over again. With no fire to tend, he settled his scarf and hat as tightly as he could, rolled up in his blankets, said a quick prayer, and hoped for the morning to come quickly. Sleep shoved him over the edge of the real world, into lonely dreamscapes that made him whimper and shake.
When Jared woke again, achy from the cold and trying to sleep on hard ground under him, it took him a second or two to gather where he was. He peered about in the gray dawn light-and almost knocked himself out jerking back from an eye-to-eye with some thing-a huge, needle-fanged creature, with a blood-crazed look in its beady eyes. A beast from hell, finally come for his rancid soul-
"Lord spare my sou-holerah!"
A possum.
A possum that he'd just scared the daylights out of by screaming in its ratty little face. It opened its mouth wide, hissed like Jared was the one that did it wrong and rambled off.
Jared wiped his face frantically-what had the darn thing been doing to his face in his sleep?
He checked himself over carefully, shuddering. He was dry, and only slightly more gritty that when he fell asleep, so he counted that in the good column. Aching bones and cranky hips, and a steady, pulsing pain in his midsection he counted in the bad. It took him more than a few minutes to come crawling creakily upright.
Oh my goodness. Is this is what it feels like to be old? Jared wondered. He was too stiff to move; breathing felt like an overwhelming chore, so much so that he wondered it was worth the effort. He was wondering if maybe the thing to do was just lay back down and let the frost cover him and put his life in someone else's hands, when an odd sound broke into the downward spiral of his thoughts He jerked, gasping in a deep pull of cold air; he heard it again-a hiss, a rumble, a loud bleating in the distance, but not so very far. Less than a day's walk, he was sure of it.
A feeling of sunshine, of lightness built in his chest. A bus. He was sure that's what he'd just heard. A bus and pretty close by. He took off running in the direction of the sounds.
Another couple of hours of non-stop walking, and finally Jared was standing on the edge of the woods, his knees trembling with fatigue, looking out on what had to be a bus station-it occurred to him that he was going to be an oddity, something these Outsiders had never seen before. And when they found out he was a carrier and an abomination….
Would they be able to tell? Would they look at him and see a boy who only felt what his brother described as a "thrilling lift to the heart" when he looked at other boys?
Jared stared across the wide road at the glass-fronted building. There was a bus that was going to take him away from his family and his old life forever. Tears filled his eyes suddenly, overflowed hot and fast down his cheeks. Lord, how he wished he'd never gone on that Runround. He wished with all his heart he'd never talked to that boy. Or drank all of that beer, whiskey, whatever it was. Why had he lain with that life-ruiner and spread his legs and Lord, there were so many things he regretted, so, so many, and….
He'd never be able to forget. He'd have the reminder of it for all his natural life.
Just like that his knees gave out and he fell, crying even harder, so hard his gut contracted painfully, and the hash he'd tucked into the night before started dancing, threatening a return. Words bounced and boiled on the edges of his mind, awful words he tried his best to fight down, but they tumbled and rattled and grew bigger and louder and sharper until hardly realizing it, Jared was screaming "I hate you, I hate you I hate you" into his cupped hands.
Not sure who he meant-that-that-Riley, his parents, the thing inside him? Jared just screamed and screamed until he was sick and exhausted and shaking from the strength of his emotions.
When he was sure he could walk without falling again, Jared took the first steps towards what was sure to be a very different, probably difficult, life-but-he scrubbed at his wet cheeks and runny nose-, and took a shaky breath. It'd be his life at least, on his terms.
=+=
8