BSG fic announcement: Caveat Emptor
Title: Caveat Emptor
Author: Widget
Pairing: Lee/Zak
Rating::NC-17 and D for dirtybadwrong
Warnings: See the pairing? See the rating? Yeah. Consider yourself warned.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be (otherwise Lee would be dressed in that towel permanently! Mmmm…towel). No money is being made.
Spoilers: none; pre-mini, AU
Summary: Everything comes at a price
Notes: There is an appalling lack of Rent!boy fic in this fandom so I decided to do my part to rectify this grievous oversight. Heh. I love my brain sometimes. Written as a shameless bribe for the lovely romanticalgirl who also graciously performed beta duty because she’s awesome like that.
He can’t stop staring.
He knows he shouldn’t, knows he was raised better than that, but he can’t help himself. Every time he tries to look away, his eyes just drift of their own accord, back to the stunning blonde seated at the table at the far edge of the terrace. Sunlight gilding her pale skin and turning her hair into a shimmering halo, she demurely sips her coffee, seemingly oblivious to the looks she’s getting, but then, Zak supposes she’s probably used to being stared at. She’s like a frakking vision of Aphrodite, too perfect to be real, too perfect to ignore. He can’t tear his eyes away from her.
Grimacing, Zak takes a sip of his coffee and tries to focus on the text book sitting open on the table in front of him.
He hadn’t planned to stay; he’d intended to just run in and get a coffee then head back to the dorms to study. He’d expected his first semester to be hard, but he hadn’t expected the Academy to kick his ass this badly. Admittedly, he’d never exactly been a great student, and if he was being perfectly honest, he’d acknowledge that more often than not he’d skated by on charm and bravado rather that the diligent application of his brain. That might have been good enough for Caprica City U or Delphi College, but not the Academy, the great bastion of the military elite.
Zak has no illusions; he knows perfectly well that his father had pulled strings, used his clout to get Zak a coveted slot at the Academy, one that he never could have gotten on the basis of his grades alone. Zak’s a lot of things, but he isn’t a fool. It doesn’t matter, though. The old man might have opened the door, but Zak is determined to prove that he deserves to be there, to show everyone that he’s Husker’s son in more than just name. He isn’t going to disappoint his father. He’s suffered enough disappointments as it is. Flunking out isn’t an option, and unfortunately for him, that means studying until his brains dribble out of his ears. All he needed was a jolt of caffeine and he’d be ready to crack the books.
That was the plan, at least until he’d seen her.
He’d been standing at the counter waiting for his order, mentally reviewing the lecture he’d just attended. And then he’d turned his head and seen her and all thoughts of the principles of quantum physics had just up and disappeared. Eyes still riveted on the stunning blonde, he’d made a distracted noise when the girl behind the counter handed him his coffee and before he’d even realized what he was doing, Zak had seated himself at an empty table that afforded an unimpeded view of the mystery woman. He told himself he could study here just as well as back in the dorm, even retrieved his lecture notes from his backpack and opened his textbook with every intention of doing just that. Except, even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. He tried. He’d stare at the lines of text, pen clutched in his hand, ostensibly taking notes, only to find his gaze drawn irresistibly back to her.
She was mesmerizing, captivating…
And completely out of your league, an amused voice whispers in his mind, the voice that always sounds like Lee. Zak’s hand tightens around the pen, knuckles turning white. Six years since his brother left, run off without a word or a backwards glance, and still Zak isn’t free of him, never will be. Even after all this time he misses his brother like a limb, and he can’t entirely tamp down the mixture of grief and anger and longing that he feels every time he thinks of him. He wonders if he’ll ever get past this. He wonders if he even wants to.
They’d looked for him, of course. Police and private detectives, appeals in the press. Zak knows his dad called in a lot of favors and that Uncle Saul had talked to some of his shadier friends, but to no avail. Days turned into months and then into years and still no word and finally they’d had no choice but to give up the search. Zak knows everyone thinks Lee’s dead, but Zak refuses to believe it. He won’t believe it, not until he sees the proof with his own eyes.
Maybe he really is a fool after all.
Lee’s disappearance is an old pain and he knows no good will come of dwelling on it. Shaking his head, Zak loosens his grip around the pen and turns his attention back to his textbook. This, at least, is something within his control.
He manages to study for a full six minutes without thinking about Lee or the mystery blonde, but it doesn’t last. He looks up and his eyes automatically slide over to her. She’s talking on her cell, the phone cradled daintily in one perfectly manicured hand. Zak’s eyes drift lower, focusing on the way her red tinted lips move, imaging the things she could do to him with that pretty mouth.
In your dreams, little brother. In your dreams.
Zak breathes an exasperated sigh; he doesn’t need this, not now. He’s about to turn away when he realizes the woman’s looking straight at him. Zak drops his gaze at once, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. Idiot he tells himself, ignoring the whisper of laughter in the back of his mind. When he gathers enough courage to look up again, the table is empty. Relieved and a little disappointed, he returns to his reading. A shadow crosses over him and he looks up eyes widening with surprise.
It’s her.
He gapes at her, stunned and embarrassed and a little bit dazzled. She’s tall for a woman, towering over him where he sits and she’s even more beautiful up close. It makes for an unnerving combination.
“Um…hi,” he says, wincing at his own awkwardness. Zak’s never had a problem talking to women; even as a boy he’d possessed a measure of charm that few women could resist. But she’s different. He feels it at once, and suddenly he’s acutely aware of his youth and relative inexperience, feeling like the callow teenaged boy he is. She is out of his league and he can’t stop the blush that spreads over his cheeks.
“You were watching me.”
Zak looks up at her trying to gauge her mood, but her face is unreadable, as smooth and impassive as if it was carved from marble. He knows there’s no point in lying. She caught him out, he might as well own up to it. He raises his chin and looks her in the eye, determined to brazen it out.
“Yes, I was.”
To his surprise, her lips curve into a coy, kittenish smile, one that sets his heart to racing and his blood heading straight to his dick.
“I thought so.” Her voice is low and musical and there’s a hint of amusement to it, as if somehow she’s surprised and delighted by this, as if strange men staring at her isn’t a daily occurrence.
“I didn’t mean to stare,” he confesses, cheeks warming at the unintentional admission.
Her smile widens, lighting up her whole face. “I don’t mind.” She tilts her head and looks down at him. “What’s your name?”
“Zak.”
“I’m Shelley.”
He stares up at her, eyes lingering over the curve of her breasts and the swell of alabaster skin peeking out from beneath her low-cut top. He catches himself, eyes shooting back up to her face, half expecting a caustic remark, but she’s still smiling and the look in her eye is all too knowing.
“Would you…” He coughs, suddenly remembering his manners. “Would you like to sit down?” He waits, breathlessly and feels a jab of disappointment when she shakes her head no.
“I can’t. I’m meeting someone.”
“Oh,” he says, certain she can hear the regret in his voice.
“You can come and see me, though.”
Zak looks up at her, brow creasing. “What?”
When she laughs, it’s like the silvery tinkling of bells. “Here.”
She slides a card across the table, next to his book. She lets her fingers ghost across the back of his hand as she pulls away, the touch gentle and not at all accidental. Zak feels a shiver ripple through him at the fleeting contact.
“Don’t forget,” she says then turns and walks away.
Zak watches her go, admiring the sway of her hips and the curve of her ass beneath her silk skirt. His cock gives a twitch of appreciation at the sight. He watches until she’s swallowed up by the crowds and it’s only then that he picks up the card, turning it over in his hands.
It’s a business card with an address printed on the back in neat copperplate text. On the front is a single word in embossed gilt lettering: Cythera.
Zak stares at the card until his coffee goes cold then slips it into his pocket, grabs his books and heads back to the dorms. He has a terrible suspicion that he won’t be getting any studying done tonight.
[][][]
He manages to resist the urge to seek her out for three days. Three days during which he’s moody and distracted and utterly incapable of concentrating on anything. Three days during which the card practically burns a hole through his pocket and the urge to pull it out and finger the raised lettering is almost too powerful to resist.
His inattention doesn’t go unnoticed; his professor reprimands him for “wool gathering” in the middle of his military ethics seminar; his roommate chews him out for forgetting to reset his alarm on the one morning they don’t have early classes. And then to top it all off, he misses not one, but two easy goals during a pick-up pyramid game in the quad.
“What’s with you?” Matt asks, scrubbing his face with a threadbare towel. “You’ve never missed a cross court shot like that before. And two in one game?”
Zak slams his locker with more force than intended. “Nothing. I’m just…” What? What could he say? I’m fixated on this really hot blonde chick who I’m pretty sure was just winding me up in the first place?
“Just what?”
Zak shrugs. “Just stressed.” It’s lame, but it’s not entirely off base. “Finals are coming up and my grades haven’t been so hot. If I flunk out in my first semester…”
He leaves that thought hanging. Even as a cover, it cuts too close to the truth. Matt’s expression softens into something like concern.
“You’ll do okay, man. First semester, everyone’s a little off. It’s a steep learning curve.”
Zak nods; that’s true enough. Unless, of course, you’re the son of William “Husker” Adama, practically raised from the cradle to be a Viper pilot. Somehow Zak doubts his father would buy that excuse. The old man never offers excuses for his own failings and he’s never tolerated them coming from his sons. Either of them.
Zak frowns, not liking the dangerous path his thoughts are treading. He turns away, grabbing his tanks from his bunk, tugging them roughly over his head. He slants Matt a look, relieved to see the previous concern replaced by his roommate’s easy smile.
“Hey, a bunch of us were gonna go to the Red-Eye tonight, grab some drinks, maybe play some pool. You in?”
Zak shakes his head. “Nah. Thought I’d get some studying in, maybe have an early night.”
Matt shoots him an odd look. “You sure you’re okay, Adama?”
“Frak you, Ayers,” he says laughing. He takes a fake swing at Matt who steps back and raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. If you change your mind, you know where to find us, okay?”
“Sure,” he says smiling. “Go on. You can give me the full report later.”
Matt nods, tossing the abandoned pyramid ball at Zak’s head. He catches it easily. “Later, Adama.”
He gives Matt the finger and listens to his laughter trail away down the hallway. Only then does Zak open his locker and retrieve the card he’d tucked carefully into his wallet, nestled between his emergency condom and a faded, dog eared picture of Zak and Lee.
Zak stares at the card, mesmerized, as he drags his thumbnail across the raised lettering. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Tonight. He’s not going to wait any longer. One way or another.
[][][]
He knows what this place is. He’s not a child after all. He’s even been to one before, during his senior trip to Aerilon. They’d snuck out one evening, he and a couple of friends, slipping their chaperone’s loosely held leash, to head to the entertainment district. They’d planned to hit one of the bars where they didn’t card, didn’t give a frak if you were underage, just as long as you had the cubits to pay, but then one of them, Zak isn’t even sure who, had suggested another destination. A sanctum of Aphrodite.
Sanctum. A pretty euphemism, but a whorehouse is a whorehouse even if it has been consecrated to Aphrodite. Zak had never been devout and as far as he could tell all the religious trappings were just a genteel veneer to hide the fact that people were paying money to frak and be frakked. And that is exactly what happened that night. He’d stumbled back to the hotel just before dawn, smelling of cheap ambrosia and sex, his wallet two hundred cubits lighter. It had been a hell of a night, though he’d never been keen to replicate the experience. Until now.
Standing in the grand lobby of Cythera he realizes that he’d had it wrong, that the sanctum back on Aerilon was barely worthy of the name compared to this place. Cythera looks more like a high class hotel catering to the wealthy and privileged than a dodgy whorehouse and suddenly Zak feels terribly self-conscious, out of his depth. He feels awkward and ungainly like some backwoods kid in the big city for the first time, his trousers and button down shirt too casual. Unsuitable. He feels the urge to flee and almost does, but at the last minute he holds his ground. He has every right to be here. She invited him here and unless someone plans to throw him off the premises - a distinct possibility, he admits privately - then he’s going to stay. Squaring his shoulders he marches across the lobby like it’s a parade ground.
He stops in front of the reception desk and waits until the pretty receptionist looks up before sliding the business card across the counter. She takes it from him, a cool professional smile on her lips then passes it through the scanner. For a moment, Zak thinks he sees a look of surprise cross her face before it disappears behind that carefully neutral mask though he can’t imagine why. She quotes him the price; it’s high enough to make him wince, but not enough to weaken his resolve, and he hands over the money without protest. She directs him towards the bar and he doesn’t protest that either.
He lingers in the threshold and lets his eyes scan the room. There are a number of people, men and women too pretty to be anything but staff, and a number of men and a few women who are just as clearly customers. A lot of them are Fleet, he notices and realizes he should hardly be surprised. This close to the Admiralty and the Academy, of course they’d cater to Fleet clientele. It still makes him nervous though, being surrounded by brass, knowing that at least some of those high ranking officers must know his father. He’s suddenly very glad he’d opted for civilian clothing rather than his cadet’s uniform.
He takes a seat on a leather sofa, as far away from the other officers as possible. The sofa is luxurious - sinfully, his mind whispers - and he perches carefully on the edge unwilling to simply sink into the plush cushions. His hands are sweating and he wipes his palms along his thighs, swallowing back his nerves. When a girl carrying a tray full of drinks comes over, he’s ridiculously grateful, both for the distraction and for the drink. He grabs a glass of ambrosia, and before he can think about it, grabs a second as well. If the girl’s surprised, she gives no sign.
He swallows the first drink in one go, needing it to settle his nerves. He sips the second one slowly, eyes darting around the room once more. He doesn’t know how things work here. On Aerilon, it had been simple; they’d walked into a room where the prostitutes were gathered looking bored and disinterested as they lounged on sofas and tried to appear enticing. Here though, it looks and feels more like some gentlemen’s club and Zak isn’t sure if he’s supposed to approach someone or wait until he’s approached. He hasn’t felt this uncertain since his first mixer in middle school.
He takes another drink, welcoming the burn.
The issue resolves itself when a girl takes a seat next to him. “Well, hello there,” she says, arranging herself on the cushion. She’s pretty, very pretty and exactly his type, lean and athletic with soft, subtle curves and a cascade of blond hair that fans out across her shoulders. When she smiles, he can’t help but smile right back at her.
“You looked like you could use some company,” she explains as she shifts incrementally closer. And even though he knows it’s a come on, she sounds oddly genuine.
“Yeah, I could. Thanks.”
“I’m Cassiopeia.”
“I’m…” He gets no farther. She places a finger against his lips and shakes her head. “No names. Not yet.”
He nods, accepting this stricture as part of the house rules.
She smiles again, and he notices her eyes are hazel. “You look like you could use another drink.”
He looks down at his glass, surprised to realize that it’s empty. He doesn’t remember finishing it. Cassiopeia waves the girl with the drink tray back over and there’s a fresh drink in Zak’s hand before he can even ask for it. He takes a sip before slanting his gaze back towards his companion.
Cassiopeia watches him with a small smile that’s almost, but not too overtly amused. “I’ve never seen you here before. First time?”
He nods even though she clearly knows the answer. It’s part of the game and he’s willing to play along.
“Thought so. I’d remember someone as handsome as you,” she says as she reaches up and lets her fingers toy with the hair curling against his nape.
Zak dips his head, feeling his cheeks heat in spite of himself. He half expects Cassiopeia to laugh and ruffle his hair like a child’s, but to his relief she doesn’t. Instead he can feel her nails scratching lightly along his nape.
“Maybe you need someone to give you a tour, show you the ropes,” she says her voice a low purr as her nails continue to trace abstract patterns in his skin. It’s distracting but oddly arousing as well.
“I was…” he clears his throat. “I was wondering if Shelley was around?”
“Shelley?” Cassiopeia gives him a blank look before her expression clears. “Oh, you mean Aphrodite.”
“Aphrodite?”
Cassiopeia shrugs then leans in, giving him a conspiratorial grin. “It’s a conceit. The owner is Geminese; I think it makes it easier for him to pretend that this is an honest to Gods consecrated sanctum rather than…well, you know,” she adds with a wink.
Zak nods, feeling the disappointment like a weight in his belly. He suspects it must show on his face because Cassiopeia moves closer still, their legs pressed against one another’s.
“I’m not her, but I’m sure I could make your visit…memorable.” She places her hand in his thigh as she says the last, her meaning unmistakable.
Zak licks his lips and considers. He’d come here for her though clearly that is out of the question. But he’s already paid, and paid a hell of a lot, too, for the privilege to be here. Cassiopeia is clearly willing and gods…her hand is stroking his thigh, slow and steady and it’s getting harder to think, to come up with a good reason -any reason - why he should leave.
“Are you…” he swallows, starts again. “Are you consecrated?” he asks, trying to slow things down. They’d gone from zero to ninety in about two seconds flat and he needs a moment to think. And, if he’s being honest, he’s a little curious as well. He’s never met an honest to the Gods acolyte before; the whore back on Aerilon might have been skilled, but Zak was certain she’d never been trained in the Temple, and had sure as Hades had never been consecrated.
“Me?” she tilts her head back and laughs, even as her hand creeps up his thigh. “No, I’m not one of them,” she says and there’s something in the tone of her voice, wistful and perhaps a little envious. “I’m just a common whore.”
She might not have trained in the Temple, but there’s nothing lacking in Cassiopeia’s technique. Her fingertips graze across the front of his pants and Zak knows he’s not going anywhere. He bites back a gasp and lets his eyes flutter closed.
Cassiopeia leans in and presses a kiss beneath his ear. Zak releases a soft moan and his eyes flutter open. His gaze flits past the top of her head to the bar and stops, freezes on the sight of a Colonial officer engaging in an intimate embrace with another man. Zak’s eyes linger on the other man, dark haired and fair skinned and when he turns his head Zak can see that he has blue eyes.
Zak’s hips jerk upwards and a startled sound escapes his lips. Cassiopeia looks up at him with a grin. “You like that?” she asks but Zak isn’t paying attention, his gaze still fixed on the couple across the room, on the man with the blue eyes.
“Oh.”
Zak blinks and shifts his gaze back to Cassiopeia who’s looking at him with eyes that are entirely too knowing. “So that’s how it is.”
He frowns, wondering what she’s saying, only belatedly following her line of sight back to the couple at the bar. “No!” he says, voice sharper than intended.
Cassiopeia smiles at him, sweet and perhaps a little sad. “It’s okay, baby. Nothing wrong with that.”
“No,” he tries to explain. “It isn’t like that…” Once again she stops him, her finger pressed lightly against his lips.
“Are you sure?”
That wasn’t the question he was expecting and Zak can only stare at for a moment before his eyes helplessly flick back to the blue-eyed man. “I…”
“There’s one way to find out,” she says before her smile widens into a dazzling grin. “I know exactly what you need.”
“What?”
Cassiopeia lays her hand against his cheek. “Trust me?”
Zak nods in spite of himself. He watches as she waves someone over. It’s an older man, steel gray hair and dark suit, clearly neither customer nor prostitute. Another member of the staff, then. “Bellows, is Apollo free?”
The man pulls a PDA from his jacket, quickly tapping a few buttons. One eyebrow quirks upwards in what might be surprise, but the rest of his face remains impassive. “Actually he is. He had a client who cancelled at the last moment.”
Cassiopeia beams. “Do you think he’d be willing to entertain a new client?”
Bellows studies Zak openly. He does his best not to flinch under the scrutiny. “I believe he might.”
“Could you check?”
Bellows nods, sliding his PDA back into his pocket and retrieving his cell. He turns away, his voice too soft for Zak to overhear, but he can guess the gist of the conversation even before the man turns around and nods.
“He’s available. If you’ll follow me?”
Zak’s gaze shifts between the man and Cassiopeia, head spinning. It’s all happening too fast. He’s not sure he wants to do this. But then Cassiopeia leans in to brush an almost sisterly kiss to his cheek and some of his unease fades. “Trust me, baby. Apollo will take care of you. He knows how to make a client happy.”
Zak nods dumbly, but stands and follows the man out of the bar to the elevator then down a series of hallways. It feels vaguely surreal, and Zak wonders when he’d surrendered up his good sense and free will. Perhaps when he’d first stepped foot in this place. Perhaps when he’d taken the card from Shelley. If he was being honest, really honest, maybe it went back a lot further than that. Zak’s fists clench at his side. He isn’t going to think about that. Not now. Maybe never.
He pulls up short when he realizes that Bellows has come to a halt in front of a door at the far end of the corridor. The man gives him a somber look. “He’s expecting you,” is all he says before turning on his heel and leaving Zak standing there alone in the middle of the hallway.
Zak frowns at the closed door. He can leave. Right frakking now. He doesn’t have to go through with this. He doesn’t need to knock on that door. He can turn and leave and he doesn’t have to explain a frakking thing to anyone.
Except…then he’ll never know. Of all the regrets Zak carries with him, it’s the not knowing that haunts him the most. He’s not sure he wants to go through with this, but he’s pretty sure not knowing would be even worse.
Screwing up his courage, he knocks on the door.
The voice is muffled but there’s no mistaking the words. “Come in.”
Taking one last deep breath, Zak turns the knob and walks through the door.
He stands just inside, his back braced against the door, adrenalin tingling along his nerves, fight or flight. He takes a steadying breath, looks around. He wasn’t that far off before when he’d compared this place to some upscale hotel. The room is palatial, like a luxury penthouse suite, all done up in warm, earthy tones and sleek clean lines, decidedly masculine in design. He doesn’t know why that surprises him, but it does. Apparently today’s the day for getting all his expectations overturned. There’s a bar along one wall, adjacent to an enormous bed that faces a wall of smoky mirrors. But most striking of all is the windows that stretch from floor to ceiling across the far wall. He bets it offers a hell of a view.
The one thing he doesn’t see is his host, Apollo. Another conceit and if Zak were a religious man he’d almost find it blasphemous but now he’s curious in spite of himself. Shelley - Aphrodite - was beautiful enough to be a goddess made flesh. Would Apollo be any different?
“Hello?” Zak calls out, his voice sounding tentative in his ears.
There’s a pause. “Over here.”
Zak pushes off from the door and moves farther into the room, the carpet muffling his footfalls. He can see a pair of legs clad in dark trousers stretched our in front of one of the armchairs that dot the room. It’s turned away, facing the window as if the occupant were relaxing and enjoying the view. Perhaps he is.
He cranes his neck, but the man remains hidden from view. “You Apollo?”
“That’s what they call me,” comes the reply. There’s a note of wry humor in that voice and something else, something oddly familiar, though Zak can’t quite place it. At least, not until the chair swivels around and Zak gets his first look at his host. His jaw literally drops as he stares in stunned silence. It can’t be. It’s not possible. But when the man smiles at him, blue eyes crinkling with amusement, the truth of it slams into him like a punch to the gut.
“Lee?” he croaks out.
The smiles grows wider. “Hello, Zak.”
Zak shakes his head, struggling to reconcile the evidence of his own eyes, his own ears with everything he knows to be true. It’s his brother, all right. The intervening years might have changed him, but on a fundamental level he’s exactly as Zak remembers him. Zak’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.
He continues to stare, frozen in place, so it’s Lee who bridges the distance. Zak watches as his brother rises from his seat moving with a liquid grace he didn’t possess at fifteen. He studies him, automatically comparing the boy he’d known with the man before him. Lee’s no taller than he was, Zak notes at once, but he’s broader through the shoulders, the chest. Zak can’t help but notice how the silk shirt clings to his body, accentuating the taut swell of hard muscle. His skin is tanned, not the fake color that comes from a spray or a tanning bed, but a rich bronze that only comes from hours spent in the sun. His face is leaner, sharper, the line of his jaw square like his own, like their father’s. But it’s his eyes, those vivid blue eyes that erase any doubt and hold him spellbound.
“Care for a drink?” Lee asks, heading towards the bar without waiting for Zak’s reply. Zak watches him pour them each a glass of ambrosia, his movements graceful and his manner self-assured. Lee walks back and offers a glass that Zak takes in nerveless fingers. He throws it back in one shot.
Lee watches him over the rim of his glass, eyes bright with amusement. “Careful,” he warns, his voice light and teasing. “That’s forty year old ambrosia you’re knocking back there.”
Zak throws his empty glass against the wall. If he’d hoped to get a rise out of Lee, he’s disappointed. Lee doesn’t even flinch, just sips his drink and watches Zak with amused eyes. He sets the drink aside and waits for the next explosion. He doesn’t have long to wait.
“Gods damn you, Lee! Six years! Six frakking years without a word. Everyone thought you were dead.”
“You didn’t though, did you, Zak?”
There’s not a trace of uncertainty in Lee’s voice and that infuriates Zak more than anything. Without even thinking, he’s striding forward. He grabs the front of Lee’s shirt then pushes him backwards, slamming him hard enough against the wall to leave Lee breathless.
“You bastard,” Zak snarls, hands twisting in the shirt, slamming his brother backwards again. “How could you?”
With a sudden motion, Lee raises his arms and breaks Zak’s hold. Zak stumbles away. He’d forgotten how good Lee’s reflexes were and clearly all that new muscle isn’t just for show. At least Lee’s not smiling anymore, all traces of his earlier amusement gone, replaced by a stony expression that oddly reminds him of Dad at his most pissed. Lee hasn’t moved from where Zak pushed him, back against the wall, merely crosses his arms over his chest, coolly defiant.
“How could you, Lee?” Zak tries to keep his voice steady, but some of the old hurt bleeds through.
“I had to.”
Zak frowns. “You didn’t have to go.”
“Yes, I did,” Lee shoots back, voice rising with the first real emotion Zak has heard since this frakked up encounter began. “I’d had enough. I was sick and tired of being the family whipping boy. All I ever got was reminders of how I didn’t measure up. Mom, always telling me how I’d ruined her life, how I was a mistake, that she never wanted me in the first place. And Dad who only wanted a carbon copy of himself, another little viper pilot to carry on his legacy. Except I never quite measured up. My grades were never good enough, my test scores were never high enough. I was never good enough. So, I left and started a life of my own.”
“As a whore,” Zak sneers, his own anger flaring.
Lee’s eyes narrow but when he speaks his voice is smooth and controlled. “I’m an acolyte of Aphrodite, consecrated in the Temple by the priestess. It’s an honorable vocation, commended in the scriptures.”
“So, a well paid whore, then.” Zak snorts, making no effort to hide his disdain. “And since when did you ever care about the Gods and the scriptures?”
Lee shrugs. “Since it pays the bills. Besides, if you find it so repugnant, what are you doing here?” Lee challenges, chin raised high, self-assurance in every line of his body.
Zak doesn’t have an answer to that. He feels his face flame, with embarrassment, with anger. With other emotions he doesn’t dare consider.
“Typical,” Lee makes a sound that might be a laugh. “People are always so quick to condemn, but they’re more than happy to take advantage of our skills when they get a chance.”
“You can’t be happy, Lee,” Zak says, the note of pleading in his voice unmistakable.
“It’s Apollo now, and yes, actually I am happy.” Lee pushes off the wall and settles himself in a nearby chair, sprawling comfortably. “I’m very good at what I do. One of the best. I’m well paid, well treated and highly sought after.” Lee smiles then, a slow, lazy smile that’s pure provocation. “I didn’t get named after Apollo because I enjoy archery.”
He stares at Lee, something twisting inside him at those words, something dark and needy and dangerous. This is his brother, he reminds himself, even as his eyes slide lower to trace the planes of hard muscle, lingering at the V of Lee’s spread legs. Lee’s body is loose and languid, spread out like an invitation to sin. Zak pulls his gaze up, away, only to meet those damned perceptive blue eyes. Zak feels heat crawl across his face, down his neck. Lee had always been able to read him; apparently that’s another thing that hasn’t changed in the interim.
Lee looks up at him and his smile shifts, taking on a darker edge that sends a shiver down Zak’s spine. “Would you like to find out?”
Zak feels his throat go dry and he swallows sharply. “What?”
Lee rises, unfolding his body in one smooth motion, all feline grace once more. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Zak? This is what you came for.”
Zak wants to protest, to explain that it was Shelley and that frakking card that brought him here but he knows how weak that would sound, especially when he’s here with Lee, not her. He tries to think of something to say, anything, but the words just die in his throat when he sees the predatory gleam in Lee’s eye and watches helplessly as his brother begins to unbutton his shirt with the ease of long practice.
“Lee…” Zak tries again but Lee doesn’t stop. He finds he can’t look away, standing there spellbound as Lee peels the shirt from his body, rolling his shoulders in a consciously seductive manner before dropping it to pool around his feet.
Zak was wrong in thinking that the shirt somehow accentuated anything; Lee’s cut, all hard, toned muscle and Zak can’t help but wonder how many hours Lee puts in at the gym to maintain that kind of physique. He almost asks, desperate for a distraction but then Lee turns slightly and Zak sees the tattoo adorning Lee’s right bicep, the circle and staff intersected with an arrow. Aphrodite and Eros, love and sex, the consummation of desire. The promise of release.
Before he even realizes it, Zak is moving closer, irresistibly drawn to the emblem etched into his brother’s flesh. He traces the pattern with his fingers, intensely aware of the feel of warm skin beneath his fingertips. He’s seen it before, of course, but only in books. He’s never seen one for real and certainly not up close. “The mark of Aphrodite,” he breathes out.
“I told you I was consecrated,” Lee says, his voice a low, seductive purr in Zak’s ear.
Zak looks up, flustered, suddenly aware of how close they are and how very warm and inviting Lee’s body is. He can feel Lee’s eyes on him, watching him intently, can feel Lee’s breath fan across his cheek. This close, Zak can smell Lee, the scent of his cologne, something exotic and no doubt terribly expensive and just beneath, the sharp tang of sweat and musk, heady and primal. Heart pounding, Zak feels a shiver race along his spine that has nothing to do with cold. Drawing a shuddering breath, Zak draws back, letting his hand drop to his side.
It’s quite possibly the hardest thing he’s ever done.
If Lee’s disappointed, he gives no sign. He simply smiles at Zak, a small feline smile that incongruously reminds Zak of Shelley. Zak frowns; Lee had never smiled like that growing up. Suddenly Zak wonders if that was something they taught at the Temple, just another bit of artifice designed to distract and seduce. He wishes he knew. There’s so much he doesn’t know. Questions are crowding his mind, too many questions, buzzing like angry insects. One, however, rises above the din.
“What’s it like?”
Zak doesn’t know where that particular question came from, but once it’s out, he doesn’t regret it. He burns with the need to know, to understand.
Lee doesn’t seem surprised at all. He dips his head, expression shifting from smug to sympathetic. “Liberating.”
Zak frowns. That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.
“I make my own rules,” Lee explains in a soft, patient voice. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Or anyone,” he adds with a hint of a leer. “Complete freedom. Complete control.”
Zak shakes his head in confusion and denial. “But you’re a whore!”
Something flashes in Lee’s eyes - anger maybe, or disappointment - but it’s gone as quickly as it surfaced. “We’re all whores, Zak. We all sell off bits of ourselves to get the things we want. Relationships, a better job, a promotion at work. Respect. Love. Everything’s negotiable and everything comes with a price tag. We’re just a little more honest about it.”
Zak cringes at the cynicism in his brother’s words. Lee had always been such an idealist growing up and Zak had half expected him to defy their father’s wishes and follow their grandfather’s path into the law. Lee would have been a good lawyer, he thinks. But then, didn’t people joke that lawyers were just whores with nicer suits, selling their services for outrageous fees? Zak quickly pushes the thought away.
Lee continues, chin held high, unashamed by what he is and the choices he’s made. “So, yes, I’m a whore. But I’m a very good whore. Which means I call the shots. I just let my clients think they’re running the show.”
The mention of clients sends Zak’s mind spinning in another direction. “They said you had a client who cancelled.”
Lee nods. “Stephan Hibel. We have a standing appointment.”
Zak knows that name. “Wait…Stephan Hibel. The Stephan Hibel? Picon’s representative to the Quorum?”
Lee flashes him a bright, boyish grin. “One in the same.”
“Frak,” Zak mutters, eyes wide with astonishment.
“Oh, we do, rest assured,” Lee laughs. “He likes to bottom,” Lee adds, his tone casual, as if they were discussing the weather and not the sexual habits of an elected official. “I guess after spending his days frakking his constituency up the ass, it makes for a nice change of pace.”
Zak stares at him dumbly, blushing bright red. He doesn’t know this man who wears his brother’s face and shares his blood, he realizes. He knew Lee, knew the smart, serious, socially awkward teenager who chaffed under their father’s expectations even as he stood as a buffer against their mother’s anger. But this man - Apollo - with his sly smiles and knowing eyes, is a complete stranger. Zak doesn’t know how to talk to him, how to connect with him. Worst of all, he doesn’t know how to stop wanting him. The wanting isn’t new; what is new, however, is the thought that teases the edges of his mind, the one that whispers that he no longer has to try.
“Do you really want to know, Zak?”
Lee is standing before him, perhaps a foot away, and Zak blinks, wondering when Lee had moved closer. Or had he been the one that moved?
“What?” he asks, flustered. He takes a half step backward, Lee following and maintaining the same distance between them
Lee’s mouth stretches into lazy grin. “Do you want to know what it’s like to be with an acolyte, Zak? Do you want to know why they all come to me?”
Zak swallows and stares at Lee. His eyes are so blue, a vivid, piercing blue and Zak can’t tear his gaze away from them. Not when Lee steps closer, not when he cups Zak’s cheek, the gesture so tender it makes Zak’s skin burn. And not when Lee leans forward and presses his lips to Zak’s.
It’s little more than a faint brush of lips, but Zak jumps like he’s been hit with a jolt of electricity. Lee pulls back, and studies Zak, his gaze intent. In that moment he looks so much like Lee, his Lee, that Zak nearly sobs, the loss and the grief of the last six years rising up to choke him. He’s missed Lee so much, more than he ever allowed himself to acknowledge because it hurt so frakking much. And now he’s here, right here.
This time it’s Zak who bridges the distance, covering Lee’s mouth with his own. It’s wrong, he knows, but he doesn’t care as he surges forward, the kiss rough and demanding as he pulls his brother closer, clutching his body to his own. Lee doesn’t fight Zak, just melts beneath him, mouth opening, accepting, welcoming the assault. Zak feels Lee’s arms circle him, sliding up his back, braced against his shoulder blades. Zak moans, wanting more. He wants to kiss Lee until he runs out of air and then kiss him some more. He wants to crawl inside Lee’s skin and hold on to him so he can never leave again. He wants. He burns.
Zak reluctantly breaks the kiss, gasping and breathless and stares at Lee, his cheeks hot, lips red and swollen. Lee stares back at him, eyes dark and heavy lidded, steeped in lust. Lee smiles then, a small, triumphant smile, edged in something dark and dangerous. Zak shivers and wonders which of them has surrendered.
“Lee…”
Lee shakes his head then leans in and kisses Zak hard before pulling back again. And then Lee’s hands are moving over Zak’s chest, nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt while Zak stands mute with surprise and need. Lee removes the shirt with smooth efficiency, tossing it to the floor with a flick of his wrist. Lee’s hands are warm against Zak’s bare skin, his touch confident, skilled. It shouldn’t come as a surprise; after all, this is what Lee’s been trained to do, yet Zak can’t stop the small noises of pleasure that escape his mouth as Lee zeroes in on every sensitive spot with clever fingers and lips and teeth. Lee’s hands roam across Zak’s chest, tracing patterns of arousal while his mouth moves along Zak’s jaw, his throat, then down his chest.
Zak watches Lee’s movements, feeling dazed and punch drunk. It’s all happening so fast, but he’s helpless to stop it. He doesn’t want to stop it. Not when Lee drops to his knees and gazes up at Zak with that keen look in his eyes and a mischievous smile on his lips. Zak jumps a little when he feels Lee’s hands at his waist, tugging at his belt, at the fasteners of his trousers. He holds himself steady, knowing what this is, what Lee’s offering, too needy and too weak to refuse it.
He’s hard long before Lee pulls his cock free from his boxers. Lee flashes another smile, predatory this time, and Zak remembers what Lee said about being the one in control. That’s his last coherent thought before Lee lowers his head and takes Zak into his mouth.
Lee’s mouth is warm and wet and Zak groans, loudly, embarrassingly so, as Lee works him expertly, slow rhythm combined with the curl of tongue and the rasp of teeth, driving Zak towards the edge but not allowing him to cross over it. His hands fist tightly in Lee’s hair urging him on, but Lee refuses to be rushed.
A low keening moan escapes Zak’s throat and Lee hums, sending vibrations across sensitized flesh. So good, so very good, but Zak wants more. Gathering all his willpower, Zak drops his hands to Lee’s shoulders and pushes him away. Lee releases him and Zak’s cock slides from his mouth with a wet sound.
Lee looks up at him, curious and amused, and Zak can hear the unspoken question.
“I…” Zak swallows sharply. “I want to frak you.” The words come out in a rush, tripping over his tongue like hot coals to scorch the air between them before he has a chance to think about them or call them back. His entire body tenses, anticipation, fear, he doesn’t know and his heart is pounding in his chest like a trip hammer. No turning back now.
Lee’s answering grin is dazzling. He rises to his feet with far more grace than Zak could muster and takes two steps away from Zak before he begins to unfasten his own trousers, sliding the fabric down past his hips and letting them drop to the floor with a playful shimmy. He’s wearing a pair of black silk boxers beneath that probably cost as much as Zak’s watch. The thin fabric does nothing to hide Lee’s arousal and Zak’s mouth waters at the thought of tasting Lee, of swallowing him whole.
Lee’s smile widens as if he’s heard the thought, or perhaps he can simply read the desire blazed across Zak’s face. Eyes locked with Zak’s, Lee hooks his thumbs beneath the elastic of his boxers, drawing them downwards with an almost agonizing slowness before they too fall to the floor to puddle around his ankles and Lee kicks them aside.
Lee stands before him, arms loose at his sides, his head tilted challengingly, naked and unashamed. Zak remembers how self-conscious Lee had been about his body growing up, awkward and ungainly as teenage boys tend to be. At fifteen, he’d only just moved past the gawkiness of adolescence, settling in to a more adult body, but the old shyness had lingered even as his body had begun the fill out and the softness of boyhood gave way to the angles and planes of manhood.
There’s no hint of embarrassment now, however, and staring at his brother’s body with thinly veiled hunger, Zak can see why. His gaze travels over Lee, admiring sleek lines and hard-packed muscle, as beautiful as any statue of his namesake. Zak’ eyes catch sight of another tattoo, a stylized sun, just beneath the jut of Lee’s pelvic bone. Idly, Zak wonders if Lee consecrated himself to Apollo as well as Aphrodite, or if this one is merely decorative. Staring at it, Zak has a sudden urge to drop to his knees and trace it with his tongue, along with another headier compulsion to mark Lee’s body in other ways, to claim it as his.
He tears his gaze from the tattoo to find Lee watching him closely. Lee stares for a moment longer before slinking towards the bed like a cat on the prowl. He settles on the edge of the mattress then leans back on one elbow in an artful sprawl, his eyes never leaving Zak’s face. There’s invitation there, as well as challenge, and Zak is incapable of refusing either. Lee licks his lips as he trails his free hand down his breastbone to where his erection curves against his belly. He curls his hand around the base of his shaft and begins to stroke himself slowly, oh so slowly. Zak swallows sharply, his own cock giving a twitch of excitement as he drinks in the show.
Lee smiles back at him. “You just gonna stand there, Zak, or you gonna do something already?”
Lee’s voice is a low, sultry drawl, and it’s the tone of his voice as much as the words themselves that galvanizes Zak at last.
“Shut up,” Zak snarls. He crosses the room in four long strides then plants the flat of his hand against Lee’s chest and pushes. Lee doesn’t fight, lets pressure and gravity bear him back against the mattress. He grins up at Zak, practically daring Zak to wipe that smirk off his face. A low, growling noise rises from Zak’s throat as he shoves his trousers and boxers down his legs, toeing off shoes and socks before he straddles Lee and takes his mouth in a bruising kiss.
Zak grabs Lee’s hands as they light on his hips and pins them to the mattress. Lee flexes his wrists and even though he makes no effort to pull free, Zak tightens his grip anyway. Zak grinds down, biting back a gasp of pleasure when his erection rubs against Lee’s cock, heat and friction and want all tied together. He could get off like this, the press, push and slide of hard flesh, Lee’s body spread out, trapped beneath his. He feels a thrill of excitement at that thought, of caging Lee and taking what he wants, but then Lee plants his feet flat on the mattress and thrusts up sharply. Zak hisses, rhythm faltering as Lee grins up at him, all smug self-confidence. Zak glares at him but Lee just keeps smirking up at him.
“That all ya got, Zak?” he asks a hint of laughter in his voice. “I thought you wanted to frak me?”
Zak’s eyes narrow at the taunt. He releases one of Lee’s wrists and wraps his free hand around Lee’s cock to stroke him roughly.
“Mmmm,” Lee all but purrs, rolling his hips with the motion of Zak’s hand. “C’mon, Zak. I know you want more.”
He does. Zak wants everything Lee has to offer and then he wants everything else, everything that Lee keeps for himself and never gives away. Zak wants it all. He kisses Lee roughly, teeth sinking into Lee’s lower lip, drawing blood. Lee moans and bucks up against him. Zak does it again before moving lower, kissing and biting his way down Lee’s chest and belly until his chin bumps the head of Lee’s cock where it curves against his stomach.
Zak changes direction then, mouth moving sideways, towards Lee’s hip. He follows the line of Lee’s pelvic bone until he reaches the tattoo, black ink etched into sun golden skin like a negative image. He swirls his tongue over the pattern, tasting sweat and musk. Lee moans loudly and Zak doesn’t stop, keeps tasting until Lee is writhing beneath him, offering up breathy, needy sounds that make Zak’s cock even harder. Zak wants him so badly it hurts. Images flash through his mind, each raunchier than the last, the possibilities almost too dizzying to contemplate. In the end Zak decides he wants him like this, spread out on his back, his legs in the air as Zak takes him. He wants Lee to know exactly who’s frakking him, wants to feel Lee’s eyes on him.
It takes more willpower than Zak knows he has to pull back. He rises and sits back on his heels, breath coming in heavy pants. “I need…”
Before he can finish. Lee is pressing something into his hand. He looks down at the foil packet and the small tube resting in his palm then back to his brother’s face. Lee smolders up at him, sweat damp hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed and damp, looking wanton and debauched.
Not quite Zak thinks as he flips the lid on the tube. Soon. The gel is cool but he doesn’t waste time letting it warm as he slathers it on his fingers and slides one inside Lee’s ass.
Lee hisses, from the cold or the sudden breaching of his body, Zak doesn’t know or care. Lee’s tight around his finger but he can feel his brother relax even as he slides a second finger inside. Zak’s never done this before but he knows the basics. He figures he must be doing something right when Lee jerks his hips upwards with a cry. “Yesssss.”
Zak repeats the movement and is rewarded by another thrust and more sounds of pleasure tumbling from his brother’s lips. Zak watches him, fascinated as Lee’s eyes go wide and dark, mouth forming an ‘O’ as his whole body trembles. Zak thinks he could come just from watching the pleasure flickering across Lee’s face, but he’s too greedy to deny himself. He wants everything and nothing else will do.
Tossing the tube aside, he grabs the foil packet, but Lee plucks it from his fingers. Zak watches as Lee tears it open with his teeth then carefully rolls the condom down Zak’s cock. Zak bites his lip to keep from coming as Lee’s fingers circle him, covering the latex with more of the lube. He gives Zak a heated look, more demand than plea as he sprawls against the mattress, legs spread wide in unmistakable invitation.
Zak drapes Lee’s legs over his shoulders, positioning himself at the entrance to Lee’s body as he draws a shuddering breath. Before he can move, however, Lee is arching up, taking him in. Zak gives a startled cry and his body acts on instinct, hips driving forward, slamming his cock home until he’s buried to the hilt.
Zak gulps for air and tries to hold himself still, let his body adjust, but Lee has other plans. And so, it would seem, does his own body. Lee presses against him and Zak’s body jerks instinctively in response, needing more.
It’s a hard, desperate, dirty frak and somehow that seems appropriate. Zak pounds roughly into Lee’s body, his thrusts brutal and his pace demanding, but Lee just meets him thrust for thrust. Words spill from Zak’s lips, hot, angry words that he can’t help but knows should probably shame him. He slides his hands under Lee’s ass, lifting him up, seeking a better angle, wanting, needing to go deeper. He pulls out and slams back in, making Lee cry out. Zak repeats the movement again and again, the sound of Lee’s moans like music in his ears.
Zak slides his hands upwards along Lee’s sides, over his shoulders before bracing them on either side of Lee’s head. He leans in, kissing him hard, all tongue and teeth and the faint coppery tang of blood. Lee’s eyes are wide and blue as they stare up at him, holding Zak as the pressure builds unbearably inside him. Dimly he’s aware of wet warmth splashing against his belly, signaling Lee’s release, feeling Lee tighten around his cock. Zak jerks frantically, wanting to bury himself deeper, and then he’s coming as well. He hides his face in Lee’s neck, teeth digging into Lee’s shoulder as his body stiffens, shudders then collapses, boneless and spent.
Zak doesn’t know how long he lays there, his body still tingling and his mind wiped blank by an explosion of dazzling pleasure. He’s exhausted, yet he feels feather light, like he’s run a marathon then gotten a dose of really amazing drugs just after crossing the finish line. So he lays there, waiting for his breathing to settle and for his heart to stop pounding like a drum, floating on the wave of contentment.
It’s the soft rumbling noise of satisfaction next to his ear that draws Zak from the haze of satiation, reminding him of where he is and what he’s done. And with whom. It slams into him, like a punch to the gut, or maybe a bucket of ice water poured over his head, sobering him in the blink of an eye.
Zak pulls back, rolling away from his brother as if he’s been scalded. He takes a deep breath, then another, scrubbing his face with his hands. When he hazards a look at Lee, Lee’s lying on his side, head propped on his fist, mouth quirked into a wry smile. Zak swings his legs over the side of the bed and fusses with the used condom, needing something to distract him as the full weight of what he’s done comes crashing down on him.
He’d frakked his own brother. It doesn’t matter that Lee was just as eager, that he goaded Zak at every turn, pushing him until Zak broke and finally acted. It doesn’t matter that Lee’s an acolyte - a whore or whatever term Lee chooses. It’s wrong. It’s a sin in the eyes of the Gods and society, a perversion that should never have occurred and one that must never, ever happen again.
Zak throws a cautious look over his shoulder. Lee’s sitting up a little, a cigarette in one hand, a silver lighter in the other. Zak stares as a small blue flame flares to life, thinking the lighter looks oddly familiar, but then it’s gone from sight. Lee takes a drag from the cigarette and cocks a brow at Zak above the exhalation of smoke.
Zak turns back and stares at the wall. He flinches at the touch of Lee’s hand on his back.
“Gods, Zak, you’re not going to turn into some green nugget, are you?” Lee says, a hint of laughter in his voice. “It was just sex!”
Zak whirls around and stares at his brother. His hands curl into fists on his thighs. Lee’s eyes drop to Zak’s hands then back up to his face. “Are you going to hit me, Zak? Are you going to pummel me to a bloody pulp for seducing you?” Lee’s voice is light, but there’s no mistaking the mockery in it, not the hardness in his eyes.
Zak’s eyes drop to his lap. Lee’s right; that’s exactly what he wants to do. It’s Lee’s fault. Zak would never have acted on those feelings if it hadn’t been for Lee, if Lee hadn’t kept pushing and pushing….But Lee didn’t make Zak feel that way. He might have goaded Zak, but the feelings were Zak’s alone. He runs his hand through his hair, the sweat damp strands clinging to his fingers.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
“Grow up, Zak,” Lee says, his tone dismissive. “I didn’t do anything you didn’t ask for. I gave you exactly what you wanted. What you’ve always wanted. Don’t you dare pretend otherwise.”
Zak turns and looks at Lee again, sitting there disheveled and debauched with the glow of the recently well frakked. Zak can see the tattoo half hidden in the crease of Lee’s thigh, remembers how he’d yearned to taste it, the way he’d coveted his brother’s body.
His gaze shifts higher to the bite mark adorning the juncture of neck and shoulder. The impression of Zak’s teeth remains, the flesh surrounding it an angry red that Zak knows will turn violet and black before fading to a sickly yellow. He did that. He’d wanted to mark Lee, to stake his claim, announce his possession and he’d done just that. And now he can’t look away, his eyes riveted to the mark he’s left, the blemish that mars the otherwise perfect flesh.
Zak feels his gut twist with shame and self-loathing. He all but leaps from the bed and gathers the pieces of his clothing that litter the rug, pulling them on one by one. He keeps his back to Lee the entire time even though he can feel Lee’s eyes burning into him. Only when he’s finally dressed does he dare turn around.
Lee hasn’t moved from the bed though he’s put out the cigarette. He watches Zak with an inscrutable expression, eyes distant and expressionless. Zak wants to hate him, wants to blame Lee. But he can’t. Zak wanted everything that Lee had to offer. Apparently guilt and shame were all part of the deal.
Lee was right; everything comes at a price. Zak just never stopped to consider the cost until it was too late.
“We’re done then?” Lee asks, his tone neutral.
Zak nods his head.
“You can find your way out?” It isn’t really a question and they both know it. Zak nods again.
Lee smiles coolly at him and Zak turns away and heads to the door. He’s about to leave when Lee’s voice stops him.
“Good bye, Zak.”
Zak’s hand tightens on the doorknob, and he draws a steadying breath. “Good bye, Lee.”
Zak closes the door behind him. He doesn’t look back.
Finis
Author: Widget
Pairing: Lee/Zak
Rating::NC-17 and D for dirtybadwrong
Warnings: See the pairing? See the rating? Yeah. Consider yourself warned.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be (otherwise Lee would be dressed in that towel permanently! Mmmm…towel). No money is being made.
Spoilers: none; pre-mini, AU
Summary: Everything comes at a price
Notes: There is an appalling lack of Rent!boy fic in this fandom so I decided to do my part to rectify this grievous oversight. Heh. I love my brain sometimes. Written as a shameless bribe for the lovely romanticalgirl who also graciously performed beta duty because she’s awesome like that.
He can’t stop staring.
He knows he shouldn’t, knows he was raised better than that, but he can’t help himself. Every time he tries to look away, his eyes just drift of their own accord, back to the stunning blonde seated at the table at the far edge of the terrace. Sunlight gilding her pale skin and turning her hair into a shimmering halo, she demurely sips her coffee, seemingly oblivious to the looks she’s getting, but then, Zak supposes she’s probably used to being stared at. She’s like a frakking vision of Aphrodite, too perfect to be real, too perfect to ignore. He can’t tear his eyes away from her.
Grimacing, Zak takes a sip of his coffee and tries to focus on the text book sitting open on the table in front of him.
He hadn’t planned to stay; he’d intended to just run in and get a coffee then head back to the dorms to study. He’d expected his first semester to be hard, but he hadn’t expected the Academy to kick his ass this badly. Admittedly, he’d never exactly been a great student, and if he was being perfectly honest, he’d acknowledge that more often than not he’d skated by on charm and bravado rather that the diligent application of his brain. That might have been good enough for Caprica City U or Delphi College, but not the Academy, the great bastion of the military elite.
Zak has no illusions; he knows perfectly well that his father had pulled strings, used his clout to get Zak a coveted slot at the Academy, one that he never could have gotten on the basis of his grades alone. Zak’s a lot of things, but he isn’t a fool. It doesn’t matter, though. The old man might have opened the door, but Zak is determined to prove that he deserves to be there, to show everyone that he’s Husker’s son in more than just name. He isn’t going to disappoint his father. He’s suffered enough disappointments as it is. Flunking out isn’t an option, and unfortunately for him, that means studying until his brains dribble out of his ears. All he needed was a jolt of caffeine and he’d be ready to crack the books.
That was the plan, at least until he’d seen her.
He’d been standing at the counter waiting for his order, mentally reviewing the lecture he’d just attended. And then he’d turned his head and seen her and all thoughts of the principles of quantum physics had just up and disappeared. Eyes still riveted on the stunning blonde, he’d made a distracted noise when the girl behind the counter handed him his coffee and before he’d even realized what he was doing, Zak had seated himself at an empty table that afforded an unimpeded view of the mystery woman. He told himself he could study here just as well as back in the dorm, even retrieved his lecture notes from his backpack and opened his textbook with every intention of doing just that. Except, even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. He tried. He’d stare at the lines of text, pen clutched in his hand, ostensibly taking notes, only to find his gaze drawn irresistibly back to her.
She was mesmerizing, captivating…
And completely out of your league, an amused voice whispers in his mind, the voice that always sounds like Lee. Zak’s hand tightens around the pen, knuckles turning white. Six years since his brother left, run off without a word or a backwards glance, and still Zak isn’t free of him, never will be. Even after all this time he misses his brother like a limb, and he can’t entirely tamp down the mixture of grief and anger and longing that he feels every time he thinks of him. He wonders if he’ll ever get past this. He wonders if he even wants to.
They’d looked for him, of course. Police and private detectives, appeals in the press. Zak knows his dad called in a lot of favors and that Uncle Saul had talked to some of his shadier friends, but to no avail. Days turned into months and then into years and still no word and finally they’d had no choice but to give up the search. Zak knows everyone thinks Lee’s dead, but Zak refuses to believe it. He won’t believe it, not until he sees the proof with his own eyes.
Maybe he really is a fool after all.
Lee’s disappearance is an old pain and he knows no good will come of dwelling on it. Shaking his head, Zak loosens his grip around the pen and turns his attention back to his textbook. This, at least, is something within his control.
He manages to study for a full six minutes without thinking about Lee or the mystery blonde, but it doesn’t last. He looks up and his eyes automatically slide over to her. She’s talking on her cell, the phone cradled daintily in one perfectly manicured hand. Zak’s eyes drift lower, focusing on the way her red tinted lips move, imaging the things she could do to him with that pretty mouth.
In your dreams, little brother. In your dreams.
Zak breathes an exasperated sigh; he doesn’t need this, not now. He’s about to turn away when he realizes the woman’s looking straight at him. Zak drops his gaze at once, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. Idiot he tells himself, ignoring the whisper of laughter in the back of his mind. When he gathers enough courage to look up again, the table is empty. Relieved and a little disappointed, he returns to his reading. A shadow crosses over him and he looks up eyes widening with surprise.
It’s her.
He gapes at her, stunned and embarrassed and a little bit dazzled. She’s tall for a woman, towering over him where he sits and she’s even more beautiful up close. It makes for an unnerving combination.
“Um…hi,” he says, wincing at his own awkwardness. Zak’s never had a problem talking to women; even as a boy he’d possessed a measure of charm that few women could resist. But she’s different. He feels it at once, and suddenly he’s acutely aware of his youth and relative inexperience, feeling like the callow teenaged boy he is. She is out of his league and he can’t stop the blush that spreads over his cheeks.
“You were watching me.”
Zak looks up at her trying to gauge her mood, but her face is unreadable, as smooth and impassive as if it was carved from marble. He knows there’s no point in lying. She caught him out, he might as well own up to it. He raises his chin and looks her in the eye, determined to brazen it out.
“Yes, I was.”
To his surprise, her lips curve into a coy, kittenish smile, one that sets his heart to racing and his blood heading straight to his dick.
“I thought so.” Her voice is low and musical and there’s a hint of amusement to it, as if somehow she’s surprised and delighted by this, as if strange men staring at her isn’t a daily occurrence.
“I didn’t mean to stare,” he confesses, cheeks warming at the unintentional admission.
Her smile widens, lighting up her whole face. “I don’t mind.” She tilts her head and looks down at him. “What’s your name?”
“Zak.”
“I’m Shelley.”
He stares up at her, eyes lingering over the curve of her breasts and the swell of alabaster skin peeking out from beneath her low-cut top. He catches himself, eyes shooting back up to her face, half expecting a caustic remark, but she’s still smiling and the look in her eye is all too knowing.
“Would you…” He coughs, suddenly remembering his manners. “Would you like to sit down?” He waits, breathlessly and feels a jab of disappointment when she shakes her head no.
“I can’t. I’m meeting someone.”
“Oh,” he says, certain she can hear the regret in his voice.
“You can come and see me, though.”
Zak looks up at her, brow creasing. “What?”
When she laughs, it’s like the silvery tinkling of bells. “Here.”
She slides a card across the table, next to his book. She lets her fingers ghost across the back of his hand as she pulls away, the touch gentle and not at all accidental. Zak feels a shiver ripple through him at the fleeting contact.
“Don’t forget,” she says then turns and walks away.
Zak watches her go, admiring the sway of her hips and the curve of her ass beneath her silk skirt. His cock gives a twitch of appreciation at the sight. He watches until she’s swallowed up by the crowds and it’s only then that he picks up the card, turning it over in his hands.
It’s a business card with an address printed on the back in neat copperplate text. On the front is a single word in embossed gilt lettering: Cythera.
Zak stares at the card until his coffee goes cold then slips it into his pocket, grabs his books and heads back to the dorms. He has a terrible suspicion that he won’t be getting any studying done tonight.
[][][]
He manages to resist the urge to seek her out for three days. Three days during which he’s moody and distracted and utterly incapable of concentrating on anything. Three days during which the card practically burns a hole through his pocket and the urge to pull it out and finger the raised lettering is almost too powerful to resist.
His inattention doesn’t go unnoticed; his professor reprimands him for “wool gathering” in the middle of his military ethics seminar; his roommate chews him out for forgetting to reset his alarm on the one morning they don’t have early classes. And then to top it all off, he misses not one, but two easy goals during a pick-up pyramid game in the quad.
“What’s with you?” Matt asks, scrubbing his face with a threadbare towel. “You’ve never missed a cross court shot like that before. And two in one game?”
Zak slams his locker with more force than intended. “Nothing. I’m just…” What? What could he say? I’m fixated on this really hot blonde chick who I’m pretty sure was just winding me up in the first place?
“Just what?”
Zak shrugs. “Just stressed.” It’s lame, but it’s not entirely off base. “Finals are coming up and my grades haven’t been so hot. If I flunk out in my first semester…”
He leaves that thought hanging. Even as a cover, it cuts too close to the truth. Matt’s expression softens into something like concern.
“You’ll do okay, man. First semester, everyone’s a little off. It’s a steep learning curve.”
Zak nods; that’s true enough. Unless, of course, you’re the son of William “Husker” Adama, practically raised from the cradle to be a Viper pilot. Somehow Zak doubts his father would buy that excuse. The old man never offers excuses for his own failings and he’s never tolerated them coming from his sons. Either of them.
Zak frowns, not liking the dangerous path his thoughts are treading. He turns away, grabbing his tanks from his bunk, tugging them roughly over his head. He slants Matt a look, relieved to see the previous concern replaced by his roommate’s easy smile.
“Hey, a bunch of us were gonna go to the Red-Eye tonight, grab some drinks, maybe play some pool. You in?”
Zak shakes his head. “Nah. Thought I’d get some studying in, maybe have an early night.”
Matt shoots him an odd look. “You sure you’re okay, Adama?”
“Frak you, Ayers,” he says laughing. He takes a fake swing at Matt who steps back and raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. If you change your mind, you know where to find us, okay?”
“Sure,” he says smiling. “Go on. You can give me the full report later.”
Matt nods, tossing the abandoned pyramid ball at Zak’s head. He catches it easily. “Later, Adama.”
He gives Matt the finger and listens to his laughter trail away down the hallway. Only then does Zak open his locker and retrieve the card he’d tucked carefully into his wallet, nestled between his emergency condom and a faded, dog eared picture of Zak and Lee.
Zak stares at the card, mesmerized, as he drags his thumbnail across the raised lettering. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Tonight. He’s not going to wait any longer. One way or another.
[][][]
He knows what this place is. He’s not a child after all. He’s even been to one before, during his senior trip to Aerilon. They’d snuck out one evening, he and a couple of friends, slipping their chaperone’s loosely held leash, to head to the entertainment district. They’d planned to hit one of the bars where they didn’t card, didn’t give a frak if you were underage, just as long as you had the cubits to pay, but then one of them, Zak isn’t even sure who, had suggested another destination. A sanctum of Aphrodite.
Sanctum. A pretty euphemism, but a whorehouse is a whorehouse even if it has been consecrated to Aphrodite. Zak had never been devout and as far as he could tell all the religious trappings were just a genteel veneer to hide the fact that people were paying money to frak and be frakked. And that is exactly what happened that night. He’d stumbled back to the hotel just before dawn, smelling of cheap ambrosia and sex, his wallet two hundred cubits lighter. It had been a hell of a night, though he’d never been keen to replicate the experience. Until now.
Standing in the grand lobby of Cythera he realizes that he’d had it wrong, that the sanctum back on Aerilon was barely worthy of the name compared to this place. Cythera looks more like a high class hotel catering to the wealthy and privileged than a dodgy whorehouse and suddenly Zak feels terribly self-conscious, out of his depth. He feels awkward and ungainly like some backwoods kid in the big city for the first time, his trousers and button down shirt too casual. Unsuitable. He feels the urge to flee and almost does, but at the last minute he holds his ground. He has every right to be here. She invited him here and unless someone plans to throw him off the premises - a distinct possibility, he admits privately - then he’s going to stay. Squaring his shoulders he marches across the lobby like it’s a parade ground.
He stops in front of the reception desk and waits until the pretty receptionist looks up before sliding the business card across the counter. She takes it from him, a cool professional smile on her lips then passes it through the scanner. For a moment, Zak thinks he sees a look of surprise cross her face before it disappears behind that carefully neutral mask though he can’t imagine why. She quotes him the price; it’s high enough to make him wince, but not enough to weaken his resolve, and he hands over the money without protest. She directs him towards the bar and he doesn’t protest that either.
He lingers in the threshold and lets his eyes scan the room. There are a number of people, men and women too pretty to be anything but staff, and a number of men and a few women who are just as clearly customers. A lot of them are Fleet, he notices and realizes he should hardly be surprised. This close to the Admiralty and the Academy, of course they’d cater to Fleet clientele. It still makes him nervous though, being surrounded by brass, knowing that at least some of those high ranking officers must know his father. He’s suddenly very glad he’d opted for civilian clothing rather than his cadet’s uniform.
He takes a seat on a leather sofa, as far away from the other officers as possible. The sofa is luxurious - sinfully, his mind whispers - and he perches carefully on the edge unwilling to simply sink into the plush cushions. His hands are sweating and he wipes his palms along his thighs, swallowing back his nerves. When a girl carrying a tray full of drinks comes over, he’s ridiculously grateful, both for the distraction and for the drink. He grabs a glass of ambrosia, and before he can think about it, grabs a second as well. If the girl’s surprised, she gives no sign.
He swallows the first drink in one go, needing it to settle his nerves. He sips the second one slowly, eyes darting around the room once more. He doesn’t know how things work here. On Aerilon, it had been simple; they’d walked into a room where the prostitutes were gathered looking bored and disinterested as they lounged on sofas and tried to appear enticing. Here though, it looks and feels more like some gentlemen’s club and Zak isn’t sure if he’s supposed to approach someone or wait until he’s approached. He hasn’t felt this uncertain since his first mixer in middle school.
He takes another drink, welcoming the burn.
The issue resolves itself when a girl takes a seat next to him. “Well, hello there,” she says, arranging herself on the cushion. She’s pretty, very pretty and exactly his type, lean and athletic with soft, subtle curves and a cascade of blond hair that fans out across her shoulders. When she smiles, he can’t help but smile right back at her.
“You looked like you could use some company,” she explains as she shifts incrementally closer. And even though he knows it’s a come on, she sounds oddly genuine.
“Yeah, I could. Thanks.”
“I’m Cassiopeia.”
“I’m…” He gets no farther. She places a finger against his lips and shakes her head. “No names. Not yet.”
He nods, accepting this stricture as part of the house rules.
She smiles again, and he notices her eyes are hazel. “You look like you could use another drink.”
He looks down at his glass, surprised to realize that it’s empty. He doesn’t remember finishing it. Cassiopeia waves the girl with the drink tray back over and there’s a fresh drink in Zak’s hand before he can even ask for it. He takes a sip before slanting his gaze back towards his companion.
Cassiopeia watches him with a small smile that’s almost, but not too overtly amused. “I’ve never seen you here before. First time?”
He nods even though she clearly knows the answer. It’s part of the game and he’s willing to play along.
“Thought so. I’d remember someone as handsome as you,” she says as she reaches up and lets her fingers toy with the hair curling against his nape.
Zak dips his head, feeling his cheeks heat in spite of himself. He half expects Cassiopeia to laugh and ruffle his hair like a child’s, but to his relief she doesn’t. Instead he can feel her nails scratching lightly along his nape.
“Maybe you need someone to give you a tour, show you the ropes,” she says her voice a low purr as her nails continue to trace abstract patterns in his skin. It’s distracting but oddly arousing as well.
“I was…” he clears his throat. “I was wondering if Shelley was around?”
“Shelley?” Cassiopeia gives him a blank look before her expression clears. “Oh, you mean Aphrodite.”
“Aphrodite?”
Cassiopeia shrugs then leans in, giving him a conspiratorial grin. “It’s a conceit. The owner is Geminese; I think it makes it easier for him to pretend that this is an honest to Gods consecrated sanctum rather than…well, you know,” she adds with a wink.
Zak nods, feeling the disappointment like a weight in his belly. He suspects it must show on his face because Cassiopeia moves closer still, their legs pressed against one another’s.
“I’m not her, but I’m sure I could make your visit…memorable.” She places her hand in his thigh as she says the last, her meaning unmistakable.
Zak licks his lips and considers. He’d come here for her though clearly that is out of the question. But he’s already paid, and paid a hell of a lot, too, for the privilege to be here. Cassiopeia is clearly willing and gods…her hand is stroking his thigh, slow and steady and it’s getting harder to think, to come up with a good reason -any reason - why he should leave.
“Are you…” he swallows, starts again. “Are you consecrated?” he asks, trying to slow things down. They’d gone from zero to ninety in about two seconds flat and he needs a moment to think. And, if he’s being honest, he’s a little curious as well. He’s never met an honest to the Gods acolyte before; the whore back on Aerilon might have been skilled, but Zak was certain she’d never been trained in the Temple, and had sure as Hades had never been consecrated.
“Me?” she tilts her head back and laughs, even as her hand creeps up his thigh. “No, I’m not one of them,” she says and there’s something in the tone of her voice, wistful and perhaps a little envious. “I’m just a common whore.”
She might not have trained in the Temple, but there’s nothing lacking in Cassiopeia’s technique. Her fingertips graze across the front of his pants and Zak knows he’s not going anywhere. He bites back a gasp and lets his eyes flutter closed.
Cassiopeia leans in and presses a kiss beneath his ear. Zak releases a soft moan and his eyes flutter open. His gaze flits past the top of her head to the bar and stops, freezes on the sight of a Colonial officer engaging in an intimate embrace with another man. Zak’s eyes linger on the other man, dark haired and fair skinned and when he turns his head Zak can see that he has blue eyes.
Zak’s hips jerk upwards and a startled sound escapes his lips. Cassiopeia looks up at him with a grin. “You like that?” she asks but Zak isn’t paying attention, his gaze still fixed on the couple across the room, on the man with the blue eyes.
“Oh.”
Zak blinks and shifts his gaze back to Cassiopeia who’s looking at him with eyes that are entirely too knowing. “So that’s how it is.”
He frowns, wondering what she’s saying, only belatedly following her line of sight back to the couple at the bar. “No!” he says, voice sharper than intended.
Cassiopeia smiles at him, sweet and perhaps a little sad. “It’s okay, baby. Nothing wrong with that.”
“No,” he tries to explain. “It isn’t like that…” Once again she stops him, her finger pressed lightly against his lips.
“Are you sure?”
That wasn’t the question he was expecting and Zak can only stare at for a moment before his eyes helplessly flick back to the blue-eyed man. “I…”
“There’s one way to find out,” she says before her smile widens into a dazzling grin. “I know exactly what you need.”
“What?”
Cassiopeia lays her hand against his cheek. “Trust me?”
Zak nods in spite of himself. He watches as she waves someone over. It’s an older man, steel gray hair and dark suit, clearly neither customer nor prostitute. Another member of the staff, then. “Bellows, is Apollo free?”
The man pulls a PDA from his jacket, quickly tapping a few buttons. One eyebrow quirks upwards in what might be surprise, but the rest of his face remains impassive. “Actually he is. He had a client who cancelled at the last moment.”
Cassiopeia beams. “Do you think he’d be willing to entertain a new client?”
Bellows studies Zak openly. He does his best not to flinch under the scrutiny. “I believe he might.”
“Could you check?”
Bellows nods, sliding his PDA back into his pocket and retrieving his cell. He turns away, his voice too soft for Zak to overhear, but he can guess the gist of the conversation even before the man turns around and nods.
“He’s available. If you’ll follow me?”
Zak’s gaze shifts between the man and Cassiopeia, head spinning. It’s all happening too fast. He’s not sure he wants to do this. But then Cassiopeia leans in to brush an almost sisterly kiss to his cheek and some of his unease fades. “Trust me, baby. Apollo will take care of you. He knows how to make a client happy.”
Zak nods dumbly, but stands and follows the man out of the bar to the elevator then down a series of hallways. It feels vaguely surreal, and Zak wonders when he’d surrendered up his good sense and free will. Perhaps when he’d first stepped foot in this place. Perhaps when he’d taken the card from Shelley. If he was being honest, really honest, maybe it went back a lot further than that. Zak’s fists clench at his side. He isn’t going to think about that. Not now. Maybe never.
He pulls up short when he realizes that Bellows has come to a halt in front of a door at the far end of the corridor. The man gives him a somber look. “He’s expecting you,” is all he says before turning on his heel and leaving Zak standing there alone in the middle of the hallway.
Zak frowns at the closed door. He can leave. Right frakking now. He doesn’t have to go through with this. He doesn’t need to knock on that door. He can turn and leave and he doesn’t have to explain a frakking thing to anyone.
Except…then he’ll never know. Of all the regrets Zak carries with him, it’s the not knowing that haunts him the most. He’s not sure he wants to go through with this, but he’s pretty sure not knowing would be even worse.
Screwing up his courage, he knocks on the door.
The voice is muffled but there’s no mistaking the words. “Come in.”
Taking one last deep breath, Zak turns the knob and walks through the door.
He stands just inside, his back braced against the door, adrenalin tingling along his nerves, fight or flight. He takes a steadying breath, looks around. He wasn’t that far off before when he’d compared this place to some upscale hotel. The room is palatial, like a luxury penthouse suite, all done up in warm, earthy tones and sleek clean lines, decidedly masculine in design. He doesn’t know why that surprises him, but it does. Apparently today’s the day for getting all his expectations overturned. There’s a bar along one wall, adjacent to an enormous bed that faces a wall of smoky mirrors. But most striking of all is the windows that stretch from floor to ceiling across the far wall. He bets it offers a hell of a view.
The one thing he doesn’t see is his host, Apollo. Another conceit and if Zak were a religious man he’d almost find it blasphemous but now he’s curious in spite of himself. Shelley - Aphrodite - was beautiful enough to be a goddess made flesh. Would Apollo be any different?
“Hello?” Zak calls out, his voice sounding tentative in his ears.
There’s a pause. “Over here.”
Zak pushes off from the door and moves farther into the room, the carpet muffling his footfalls. He can see a pair of legs clad in dark trousers stretched our in front of one of the armchairs that dot the room. It’s turned away, facing the window as if the occupant were relaxing and enjoying the view. Perhaps he is.
He cranes his neck, but the man remains hidden from view. “You Apollo?”
“That’s what they call me,” comes the reply. There’s a note of wry humor in that voice and something else, something oddly familiar, though Zak can’t quite place it. At least, not until the chair swivels around and Zak gets his first look at his host. His jaw literally drops as he stares in stunned silence. It can’t be. It’s not possible. But when the man smiles at him, blue eyes crinkling with amusement, the truth of it slams into him like a punch to the gut.
“Lee?” he croaks out.
The smiles grows wider. “Hello, Zak.”
Zak shakes his head, struggling to reconcile the evidence of his own eyes, his own ears with everything he knows to be true. It’s his brother, all right. The intervening years might have changed him, but on a fundamental level he’s exactly as Zak remembers him. Zak’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.
He continues to stare, frozen in place, so it’s Lee who bridges the distance. Zak watches as his brother rises from his seat moving with a liquid grace he didn’t possess at fifteen. He studies him, automatically comparing the boy he’d known with the man before him. Lee’s no taller than he was, Zak notes at once, but he’s broader through the shoulders, the chest. Zak can’t help but notice how the silk shirt clings to his body, accentuating the taut swell of hard muscle. His skin is tanned, not the fake color that comes from a spray or a tanning bed, but a rich bronze that only comes from hours spent in the sun. His face is leaner, sharper, the line of his jaw square like his own, like their father’s. But it’s his eyes, those vivid blue eyes that erase any doubt and hold him spellbound.
“Care for a drink?” Lee asks, heading towards the bar without waiting for Zak’s reply. Zak watches him pour them each a glass of ambrosia, his movements graceful and his manner self-assured. Lee walks back and offers a glass that Zak takes in nerveless fingers. He throws it back in one shot.
Lee watches him over the rim of his glass, eyes bright with amusement. “Careful,” he warns, his voice light and teasing. “That’s forty year old ambrosia you’re knocking back there.”
Zak throws his empty glass against the wall. If he’d hoped to get a rise out of Lee, he’s disappointed. Lee doesn’t even flinch, just sips his drink and watches Zak with amused eyes. He sets the drink aside and waits for the next explosion. He doesn’t have long to wait.
“Gods damn you, Lee! Six years! Six frakking years without a word. Everyone thought you were dead.”
“You didn’t though, did you, Zak?”
There’s not a trace of uncertainty in Lee’s voice and that infuriates Zak more than anything. Without even thinking, he’s striding forward. He grabs the front of Lee’s shirt then pushes him backwards, slamming him hard enough against the wall to leave Lee breathless.
“You bastard,” Zak snarls, hands twisting in the shirt, slamming his brother backwards again. “How could you?”
With a sudden motion, Lee raises his arms and breaks Zak’s hold. Zak stumbles away. He’d forgotten how good Lee’s reflexes were and clearly all that new muscle isn’t just for show. At least Lee’s not smiling anymore, all traces of his earlier amusement gone, replaced by a stony expression that oddly reminds him of Dad at his most pissed. Lee hasn’t moved from where Zak pushed him, back against the wall, merely crosses his arms over his chest, coolly defiant.
“How could you, Lee?” Zak tries to keep his voice steady, but some of the old hurt bleeds through.
“I had to.”
Zak frowns. “You didn’t have to go.”
“Yes, I did,” Lee shoots back, voice rising with the first real emotion Zak has heard since this frakked up encounter began. “I’d had enough. I was sick and tired of being the family whipping boy. All I ever got was reminders of how I didn’t measure up. Mom, always telling me how I’d ruined her life, how I was a mistake, that she never wanted me in the first place. And Dad who only wanted a carbon copy of himself, another little viper pilot to carry on his legacy. Except I never quite measured up. My grades were never good enough, my test scores were never high enough. I was never good enough. So, I left and started a life of my own.”
“As a whore,” Zak sneers, his own anger flaring.
Lee’s eyes narrow but when he speaks his voice is smooth and controlled. “I’m an acolyte of Aphrodite, consecrated in the Temple by the priestess. It’s an honorable vocation, commended in the scriptures.”
“So, a well paid whore, then.” Zak snorts, making no effort to hide his disdain. “And since when did you ever care about the Gods and the scriptures?”
Lee shrugs. “Since it pays the bills. Besides, if you find it so repugnant, what are you doing here?” Lee challenges, chin raised high, self-assurance in every line of his body.
Zak doesn’t have an answer to that. He feels his face flame, with embarrassment, with anger. With other emotions he doesn’t dare consider.
“Typical,” Lee makes a sound that might be a laugh. “People are always so quick to condemn, but they’re more than happy to take advantage of our skills when they get a chance.”
“You can’t be happy, Lee,” Zak says, the note of pleading in his voice unmistakable.
“It’s Apollo now, and yes, actually I am happy.” Lee pushes off the wall and settles himself in a nearby chair, sprawling comfortably. “I’m very good at what I do. One of the best. I’m well paid, well treated and highly sought after.” Lee smiles then, a slow, lazy smile that’s pure provocation. “I didn’t get named after Apollo because I enjoy archery.”
He stares at Lee, something twisting inside him at those words, something dark and needy and dangerous. This is his brother, he reminds himself, even as his eyes slide lower to trace the planes of hard muscle, lingering at the V of Lee’s spread legs. Lee’s body is loose and languid, spread out like an invitation to sin. Zak pulls his gaze up, away, only to meet those damned perceptive blue eyes. Zak feels heat crawl across his face, down his neck. Lee had always been able to read him; apparently that’s another thing that hasn’t changed in the interim.
Lee looks up at him and his smile shifts, taking on a darker edge that sends a shiver down Zak’s spine. “Would you like to find out?”
Zak feels his throat go dry and he swallows sharply. “What?”
Lee rises, unfolding his body in one smooth motion, all feline grace once more. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Zak? This is what you came for.”
Zak wants to protest, to explain that it was Shelley and that frakking card that brought him here but he knows how weak that would sound, especially when he’s here with Lee, not her. He tries to think of something to say, anything, but the words just die in his throat when he sees the predatory gleam in Lee’s eye and watches helplessly as his brother begins to unbutton his shirt with the ease of long practice.
“Lee…” Zak tries again but Lee doesn’t stop. He finds he can’t look away, standing there spellbound as Lee peels the shirt from his body, rolling his shoulders in a consciously seductive manner before dropping it to pool around his feet.
Zak was wrong in thinking that the shirt somehow accentuated anything; Lee’s cut, all hard, toned muscle and Zak can’t help but wonder how many hours Lee puts in at the gym to maintain that kind of physique. He almost asks, desperate for a distraction but then Lee turns slightly and Zak sees the tattoo adorning Lee’s right bicep, the circle and staff intersected with an arrow. Aphrodite and Eros, love and sex, the consummation of desire. The promise of release.
Before he even realizes it, Zak is moving closer, irresistibly drawn to the emblem etched into his brother’s flesh. He traces the pattern with his fingers, intensely aware of the feel of warm skin beneath his fingertips. He’s seen it before, of course, but only in books. He’s never seen one for real and certainly not up close. “The mark of Aphrodite,” he breathes out.
“I told you I was consecrated,” Lee says, his voice a low, seductive purr in Zak’s ear.
Zak looks up, flustered, suddenly aware of how close they are and how very warm and inviting Lee’s body is. He can feel Lee’s eyes on him, watching him intently, can feel Lee’s breath fan across his cheek. This close, Zak can smell Lee, the scent of his cologne, something exotic and no doubt terribly expensive and just beneath, the sharp tang of sweat and musk, heady and primal. Heart pounding, Zak feels a shiver race along his spine that has nothing to do with cold. Drawing a shuddering breath, Zak draws back, letting his hand drop to his side.
It’s quite possibly the hardest thing he’s ever done.
If Lee’s disappointed, he gives no sign. He simply smiles at Zak, a small feline smile that incongruously reminds Zak of Shelley. Zak frowns; Lee had never smiled like that growing up. Suddenly Zak wonders if that was something they taught at the Temple, just another bit of artifice designed to distract and seduce. He wishes he knew. There’s so much he doesn’t know. Questions are crowding his mind, too many questions, buzzing like angry insects. One, however, rises above the din.
“What’s it like?”
Zak doesn’t know where that particular question came from, but once it’s out, he doesn’t regret it. He burns with the need to know, to understand.
Lee doesn’t seem surprised at all. He dips his head, expression shifting from smug to sympathetic. “Liberating.”
Zak frowns. That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.
“I make my own rules,” Lee explains in a soft, patient voice. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Or anyone,” he adds with a hint of a leer. “Complete freedom. Complete control.”
Zak shakes his head in confusion and denial. “But you’re a whore!”
Something flashes in Lee’s eyes - anger maybe, or disappointment - but it’s gone as quickly as it surfaced. “We’re all whores, Zak. We all sell off bits of ourselves to get the things we want. Relationships, a better job, a promotion at work. Respect. Love. Everything’s negotiable and everything comes with a price tag. We’re just a little more honest about it.”
Zak cringes at the cynicism in his brother’s words. Lee had always been such an idealist growing up and Zak had half expected him to defy their father’s wishes and follow their grandfather’s path into the law. Lee would have been a good lawyer, he thinks. But then, didn’t people joke that lawyers were just whores with nicer suits, selling their services for outrageous fees? Zak quickly pushes the thought away.
Lee continues, chin held high, unashamed by what he is and the choices he’s made. “So, yes, I’m a whore. But I’m a very good whore. Which means I call the shots. I just let my clients think they’re running the show.”
The mention of clients sends Zak’s mind spinning in another direction. “They said you had a client who cancelled.”
Lee nods. “Stephan Hibel. We have a standing appointment.”
Zak knows that name. “Wait…Stephan Hibel. The Stephan Hibel? Picon’s representative to the Quorum?”
Lee flashes him a bright, boyish grin. “One in the same.”
“Frak,” Zak mutters, eyes wide with astonishment.
“Oh, we do, rest assured,” Lee laughs. “He likes to bottom,” Lee adds, his tone casual, as if they were discussing the weather and not the sexual habits of an elected official. “I guess after spending his days frakking his constituency up the ass, it makes for a nice change of pace.”
Zak stares at him dumbly, blushing bright red. He doesn’t know this man who wears his brother’s face and shares his blood, he realizes. He knew Lee, knew the smart, serious, socially awkward teenager who chaffed under their father’s expectations even as he stood as a buffer against their mother’s anger. But this man - Apollo - with his sly smiles and knowing eyes, is a complete stranger. Zak doesn’t know how to talk to him, how to connect with him. Worst of all, he doesn’t know how to stop wanting him. The wanting isn’t new; what is new, however, is the thought that teases the edges of his mind, the one that whispers that he no longer has to try.
“Do you really want to know, Zak?”
Lee is standing before him, perhaps a foot away, and Zak blinks, wondering when Lee had moved closer. Or had he been the one that moved?
“What?” he asks, flustered. He takes a half step backward, Lee following and maintaining the same distance between them
Lee’s mouth stretches into lazy grin. “Do you want to know what it’s like to be with an acolyte, Zak? Do you want to know why they all come to me?”
Zak swallows and stares at Lee. His eyes are so blue, a vivid, piercing blue and Zak can’t tear his gaze away from them. Not when Lee steps closer, not when he cups Zak’s cheek, the gesture so tender it makes Zak’s skin burn. And not when Lee leans forward and presses his lips to Zak’s.
It’s little more than a faint brush of lips, but Zak jumps like he’s been hit with a jolt of electricity. Lee pulls back, and studies Zak, his gaze intent. In that moment he looks so much like Lee, his Lee, that Zak nearly sobs, the loss and the grief of the last six years rising up to choke him. He’s missed Lee so much, more than he ever allowed himself to acknowledge because it hurt so frakking much. And now he’s here, right here.
This time it’s Zak who bridges the distance, covering Lee’s mouth with his own. It’s wrong, he knows, but he doesn’t care as he surges forward, the kiss rough and demanding as he pulls his brother closer, clutching his body to his own. Lee doesn’t fight Zak, just melts beneath him, mouth opening, accepting, welcoming the assault. Zak feels Lee’s arms circle him, sliding up his back, braced against his shoulder blades. Zak moans, wanting more. He wants to kiss Lee until he runs out of air and then kiss him some more. He wants to crawl inside Lee’s skin and hold on to him so he can never leave again. He wants. He burns.
Zak reluctantly breaks the kiss, gasping and breathless and stares at Lee, his cheeks hot, lips red and swollen. Lee stares back at him, eyes dark and heavy lidded, steeped in lust. Lee smiles then, a small, triumphant smile, edged in something dark and dangerous. Zak shivers and wonders which of them has surrendered.
“Lee…”
Lee shakes his head then leans in and kisses Zak hard before pulling back again. And then Lee’s hands are moving over Zak’s chest, nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt while Zak stands mute with surprise and need. Lee removes the shirt with smooth efficiency, tossing it to the floor with a flick of his wrist. Lee’s hands are warm against Zak’s bare skin, his touch confident, skilled. It shouldn’t come as a surprise; after all, this is what Lee’s been trained to do, yet Zak can’t stop the small noises of pleasure that escape his mouth as Lee zeroes in on every sensitive spot with clever fingers and lips and teeth. Lee’s hands roam across Zak’s chest, tracing patterns of arousal while his mouth moves along Zak’s jaw, his throat, then down his chest.
Zak watches Lee’s movements, feeling dazed and punch drunk. It’s all happening so fast, but he’s helpless to stop it. He doesn’t want to stop it. Not when Lee drops to his knees and gazes up at Zak with that keen look in his eyes and a mischievous smile on his lips. Zak jumps a little when he feels Lee’s hands at his waist, tugging at his belt, at the fasteners of his trousers. He holds himself steady, knowing what this is, what Lee’s offering, too needy and too weak to refuse it.
He’s hard long before Lee pulls his cock free from his boxers. Lee flashes another smile, predatory this time, and Zak remembers what Lee said about being the one in control. That’s his last coherent thought before Lee lowers his head and takes Zak into his mouth.
Lee’s mouth is warm and wet and Zak groans, loudly, embarrassingly so, as Lee works him expertly, slow rhythm combined with the curl of tongue and the rasp of teeth, driving Zak towards the edge but not allowing him to cross over it. His hands fist tightly in Lee’s hair urging him on, but Lee refuses to be rushed.
A low keening moan escapes Zak’s throat and Lee hums, sending vibrations across sensitized flesh. So good, so very good, but Zak wants more. Gathering all his willpower, Zak drops his hands to Lee’s shoulders and pushes him away. Lee releases him and Zak’s cock slides from his mouth with a wet sound.
Lee looks up at him, curious and amused, and Zak can hear the unspoken question.
“I…” Zak swallows sharply. “I want to frak you.” The words come out in a rush, tripping over his tongue like hot coals to scorch the air between them before he has a chance to think about them or call them back. His entire body tenses, anticipation, fear, he doesn’t know and his heart is pounding in his chest like a trip hammer. No turning back now.
Lee’s answering grin is dazzling. He rises to his feet with far more grace than Zak could muster and takes two steps away from Zak before he begins to unfasten his own trousers, sliding the fabric down past his hips and letting them drop to the floor with a playful shimmy. He’s wearing a pair of black silk boxers beneath that probably cost as much as Zak’s watch. The thin fabric does nothing to hide Lee’s arousal and Zak’s mouth waters at the thought of tasting Lee, of swallowing him whole.
Lee’s smile widens as if he’s heard the thought, or perhaps he can simply read the desire blazed across Zak’s face. Eyes locked with Zak’s, Lee hooks his thumbs beneath the elastic of his boxers, drawing them downwards with an almost agonizing slowness before they too fall to the floor to puddle around his ankles and Lee kicks them aside.
Lee stands before him, arms loose at his sides, his head tilted challengingly, naked and unashamed. Zak remembers how self-conscious Lee had been about his body growing up, awkward and ungainly as teenage boys tend to be. At fifteen, he’d only just moved past the gawkiness of adolescence, settling in to a more adult body, but the old shyness had lingered even as his body had begun the fill out and the softness of boyhood gave way to the angles and planes of manhood.
There’s no hint of embarrassment now, however, and staring at his brother’s body with thinly veiled hunger, Zak can see why. His gaze travels over Lee, admiring sleek lines and hard-packed muscle, as beautiful as any statue of his namesake. Zak’ eyes catch sight of another tattoo, a stylized sun, just beneath the jut of Lee’s pelvic bone. Idly, Zak wonders if Lee consecrated himself to Apollo as well as Aphrodite, or if this one is merely decorative. Staring at it, Zak has a sudden urge to drop to his knees and trace it with his tongue, along with another headier compulsion to mark Lee’s body in other ways, to claim it as his.
He tears his gaze from the tattoo to find Lee watching him closely. Lee stares for a moment longer before slinking towards the bed like a cat on the prowl. He settles on the edge of the mattress then leans back on one elbow in an artful sprawl, his eyes never leaving Zak’s face. There’s invitation there, as well as challenge, and Zak is incapable of refusing either. Lee licks his lips as he trails his free hand down his breastbone to where his erection curves against his belly. He curls his hand around the base of his shaft and begins to stroke himself slowly, oh so slowly. Zak swallows sharply, his own cock giving a twitch of excitement as he drinks in the show.
Lee smiles back at him. “You just gonna stand there, Zak, or you gonna do something already?”
Lee’s voice is a low, sultry drawl, and it’s the tone of his voice as much as the words themselves that galvanizes Zak at last.
“Shut up,” Zak snarls. He crosses the room in four long strides then plants the flat of his hand against Lee’s chest and pushes. Lee doesn’t fight, lets pressure and gravity bear him back against the mattress. He grins up at Zak, practically daring Zak to wipe that smirk off his face. A low, growling noise rises from Zak’s throat as he shoves his trousers and boxers down his legs, toeing off shoes and socks before he straddles Lee and takes his mouth in a bruising kiss.
Zak grabs Lee’s hands as they light on his hips and pins them to the mattress. Lee flexes his wrists and even though he makes no effort to pull free, Zak tightens his grip anyway. Zak grinds down, biting back a gasp of pleasure when his erection rubs against Lee’s cock, heat and friction and want all tied together. He could get off like this, the press, push and slide of hard flesh, Lee’s body spread out, trapped beneath his. He feels a thrill of excitement at that thought, of caging Lee and taking what he wants, but then Lee plants his feet flat on the mattress and thrusts up sharply. Zak hisses, rhythm faltering as Lee grins up at him, all smug self-confidence. Zak glares at him but Lee just keeps smirking up at him.
“That all ya got, Zak?” he asks a hint of laughter in his voice. “I thought you wanted to frak me?”
Zak’s eyes narrow at the taunt. He releases one of Lee’s wrists and wraps his free hand around Lee’s cock to stroke him roughly.
“Mmmm,” Lee all but purrs, rolling his hips with the motion of Zak’s hand. “C’mon, Zak. I know you want more.”
He does. Zak wants everything Lee has to offer and then he wants everything else, everything that Lee keeps for himself and never gives away. Zak wants it all. He kisses Lee roughly, teeth sinking into Lee’s lower lip, drawing blood. Lee moans and bucks up against him. Zak does it again before moving lower, kissing and biting his way down Lee’s chest and belly until his chin bumps the head of Lee’s cock where it curves against his stomach.
Zak changes direction then, mouth moving sideways, towards Lee’s hip. He follows the line of Lee’s pelvic bone until he reaches the tattoo, black ink etched into sun golden skin like a negative image. He swirls his tongue over the pattern, tasting sweat and musk. Lee moans loudly and Zak doesn’t stop, keeps tasting until Lee is writhing beneath him, offering up breathy, needy sounds that make Zak’s cock even harder. Zak wants him so badly it hurts. Images flash through his mind, each raunchier than the last, the possibilities almost too dizzying to contemplate. In the end Zak decides he wants him like this, spread out on his back, his legs in the air as Zak takes him. He wants Lee to know exactly who’s frakking him, wants to feel Lee’s eyes on him.
It takes more willpower than Zak knows he has to pull back. He rises and sits back on his heels, breath coming in heavy pants. “I need…”
Before he can finish. Lee is pressing something into his hand. He looks down at the foil packet and the small tube resting in his palm then back to his brother’s face. Lee smolders up at him, sweat damp hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed and damp, looking wanton and debauched.
Not quite Zak thinks as he flips the lid on the tube. Soon. The gel is cool but he doesn’t waste time letting it warm as he slathers it on his fingers and slides one inside Lee’s ass.
Lee hisses, from the cold or the sudden breaching of his body, Zak doesn’t know or care. Lee’s tight around his finger but he can feel his brother relax even as he slides a second finger inside. Zak’s never done this before but he knows the basics. He figures he must be doing something right when Lee jerks his hips upwards with a cry. “Yesssss.”
Zak repeats the movement and is rewarded by another thrust and more sounds of pleasure tumbling from his brother’s lips. Zak watches him, fascinated as Lee’s eyes go wide and dark, mouth forming an ‘O’ as his whole body trembles. Zak thinks he could come just from watching the pleasure flickering across Lee’s face, but he’s too greedy to deny himself. He wants everything and nothing else will do.
Tossing the tube aside, he grabs the foil packet, but Lee plucks it from his fingers. Zak watches as Lee tears it open with his teeth then carefully rolls the condom down Zak’s cock. Zak bites his lip to keep from coming as Lee’s fingers circle him, covering the latex with more of the lube. He gives Zak a heated look, more demand than plea as he sprawls against the mattress, legs spread wide in unmistakable invitation.
Zak drapes Lee’s legs over his shoulders, positioning himself at the entrance to Lee’s body as he draws a shuddering breath. Before he can move, however, Lee is arching up, taking him in. Zak gives a startled cry and his body acts on instinct, hips driving forward, slamming his cock home until he’s buried to the hilt.
Zak gulps for air and tries to hold himself still, let his body adjust, but Lee has other plans. And so, it would seem, does his own body. Lee presses against him and Zak’s body jerks instinctively in response, needing more.
It’s a hard, desperate, dirty frak and somehow that seems appropriate. Zak pounds roughly into Lee’s body, his thrusts brutal and his pace demanding, but Lee just meets him thrust for thrust. Words spill from Zak’s lips, hot, angry words that he can’t help but knows should probably shame him. He slides his hands under Lee’s ass, lifting him up, seeking a better angle, wanting, needing to go deeper. He pulls out and slams back in, making Lee cry out. Zak repeats the movement again and again, the sound of Lee’s moans like music in his ears.
Zak slides his hands upwards along Lee’s sides, over his shoulders before bracing them on either side of Lee’s head. He leans in, kissing him hard, all tongue and teeth and the faint coppery tang of blood. Lee’s eyes are wide and blue as they stare up at him, holding Zak as the pressure builds unbearably inside him. Dimly he’s aware of wet warmth splashing against his belly, signaling Lee’s release, feeling Lee tighten around his cock. Zak jerks frantically, wanting to bury himself deeper, and then he’s coming as well. He hides his face in Lee’s neck, teeth digging into Lee’s shoulder as his body stiffens, shudders then collapses, boneless and spent.
Zak doesn’t know how long he lays there, his body still tingling and his mind wiped blank by an explosion of dazzling pleasure. He’s exhausted, yet he feels feather light, like he’s run a marathon then gotten a dose of really amazing drugs just after crossing the finish line. So he lays there, waiting for his breathing to settle and for his heart to stop pounding like a drum, floating on the wave of contentment.
It’s the soft rumbling noise of satisfaction next to his ear that draws Zak from the haze of satiation, reminding him of where he is and what he’s done. And with whom. It slams into him, like a punch to the gut, or maybe a bucket of ice water poured over his head, sobering him in the blink of an eye.
Zak pulls back, rolling away from his brother as if he’s been scalded. He takes a deep breath, then another, scrubbing his face with his hands. When he hazards a look at Lee, Lee’s lying on his side, head propped on his fist, mouth quirked into a wry smile. Zak swings his legs over the side of the bed and fusses with the used condom, needing something to distract him as the full weight of what he’s done comes crashing down on him.
He’d frakked his own brother. It doesn’t matter that Lee was just as eager, that he goaded Zak at every turn, pushing him until Zak broke and finally acted. It doesn’t matter that Lee’s an acolyte - a whore or whatever term Lee chooses. It’s wrong. It’s a sin in the eyes of the Gods and society, a perversion that should never have occurred and one that must never, ever happen again.
Zak throws a cautious look over his shoulder. Lee’s sitting up a little, a cigarette in one hand, a silver lighter in the other. Zak stares as a small blue flame flares to life, thinking the lighter looks oddly familiar, but then it’s gone from sight. Lee takes a drag from the cigarette and cocks a brow at Zak above the exhalation of smoke.
Zak turns back and stares at the wall. He flinches at the touch of Lee’s hand on his back.
“Gods, Zak, you’re not going to turn into some green nugget, are you?” Lee says, a hint of laughter in his voice. “It was just sex!”
Zak whirls around and stares at his brother. His hands curl into fists on his thighs. Lee’s eyes drop to Zak’s hands then back up to his face. “Are you going to hit me, Zak? Are you going to pummel me to a bloody pulp for seducing you?” Lee’s voice is light, but there’s no mistaking the mockery in it, not the hardness in his eyes.
Zak’s eyes drop to his lap. Lee’s right; that’s exactly what he wants to do. It’s Lee’s fault. Zak would never have acted on those feelings if it hadn’t been for Lee, if Lee hadn’t kept pushing and pushing….But Lee didn’t make Zak feel that way. He might have goaded Zak, but the feelings were Zak’s alone. He runs his hand through his hair, the sweat damp strands clinging to his fingers.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
“Grow up, Zak,” Lee says, his tone dismissive. “I didn’t do anything you didn’t ask for. I gave you exactly what you wanted. What you’ve always wanted. Don’t you dare pretend otherwise.”
Zak turns and looks at Lee again, sitting there disheveled and debauched with the glow of the recently well frakked. Zak can see the tattoo half hidden in the crease of Lee’s thigh, remembers how he’d yearned to taste it, the way he’d coveted his brother’s body.
His gaze shifts higher to the bite mark adorning the juncture of neck and shoulder. The impression of Zak’s teeth remains, the flesh surrounding it an angry red that Zak knows will turn violet and black before fading to a sickly yellow. He did that. He’d wanted to mark Lee, to stake his claim, announce his possession and he’d done just that. And now he can’t look away, his eyes riveted to the mark he’s left, the blemish that mars the otherwise perfect flesh.
Zak feels his gut twist with shame and self-loathing. He all but leaps from the bed and gathers the pieces of his clothing that litter the rug, pulling them on one by one. He keeps his back to Lee the entire time even though he can feel Lee’s eyes burning into him. Only when he’s finally dressed does he dare turn around.
Lee hasn’t moved from the bed though he’s put out the cigarette. He watches Zak with an inscrutable expression, eyes distant and expressionless. Zak wants to hate him, wants to blame Lee. But he can’t. Zak wanted everything that Lee had to offer. Apparently guilt and shame were all part of the deal.
Lee was right; everything comes at a price. Zak just never stopped to consider the cost until it was too late.
“We’re done then?” Lee asks, his tone neutral.
Zak nods his head.
“You can find your way out?” It isn’t really a question and they both know it. Zak nods again.
Lee smiles coolly at him and Zak turns away and heads to the door. He’s about to leave when Lee’s voice stops him.
“Good bye, Zak.”
Zak’s hand tightens on the doorknob, and he draws a steadying breath. “Good bye, Lee.”
Zak closes the door behind him. He doesn’t look back.
Finis