tagGay MaleYou Have No Right to Ask Me That

You Have No Right to Ask Me That

byanixter400©

This is my first submission and I'm not sure where this is going. It's a project I've been working on when it pleases me. I finally decided to submit it as I find I write more often if there are other people who want me to continue a story. This is also my first erotic story, though I have yet to get to that part. Any comments on my writing, good or bad, would be wonderful to hear as I love getting feed-back.



Calling the warehouse old was an understatement. Paint peeled on the sides, and the red brick showed through in places. Weeds grew in the cracks of the foundation, and an old vine climbed towards the roof, hiding the entry way. To the left of the warehouse was a wide alley, surprisingly clean and well paved. Three long, steel loading doors faced the alleyway, rust spots flecking their surface. Hidden amongst the vines at the front was a high tech surveillance camera, its face watching the front sidewalk as well as the short walkway to the door. The appearance of frequent use was only supported by the fact that none of the low-set, reflective windows in the entire building were broken, as is common in most abandoned warehouses. A newer, green, Ford pickup had parked in front of the building, tinted windows reflecting the street lights.

One of the loading doors opened smoothly, issuing not a creak or a groan, and bathed the alley with a warm, yellow light. Before the door had opened half way, a short, wiry man with unruly hair came stomping out. His chest was heaving, brown eyes filled with turmoil, fists clenched tightly at his sides. To the confused and worried call of his name from inside the warehouse, he paid no mind.

He made straight for the pickup, continuing to ignore the tall man with emerald green eyes filled with worry that jogged to catch up with him. The concern on the taller mans face deepened when he placed his hand on the fleeing man's shoulder, only to have the short blonde wrench himself out of his grasp.

"Shaine please! What the hell's gotten into you?! Talk to me," he begged, trying to keep up with the smaller man.

Shaine Morgan glared at the taller man, hands shaking as he fumbled for his keys. When the emerald eyes continued to survey him worriedly, he growled, "Get the fuck away from me James, I have nothing more to say to you."

The hurt that flashed through Austin James' eyes caused Shaine to flinch, but he resolutely shoved his key into the truck door, unlocking it and nearly jerking it off its hinges as he opened it. Without another word, he slammed the door shut, tearing down the street, as fast as the pickup would go.

*****

Shaine downed another fifth of whiskey and swayed with a new bottle of the fiery liquid to the couch. There he plopped upon the soft leather surface. He squeezed the bottle tightly in his fist as he stared broodingly into the empty fireplace. The ashes from an old fire still lay in the hearth.

He'd realized this morning that he didn't know how long he'd been this way. Sleeping only when he'd passed out from the booze, Shaine smelled foul and his clothes clung disgustingly to his body. How many days he'd sat like this, he wasn't sure, and it didn't appear that he much noticed, or cared.

When the pounding on his door started, he glanced briefly in its direction, but moved only to bring his attention back to the non-existent flames. As the pounding continued, and then stopped altogether, he sighed and changed his position form sitting to lying, sipping lightly from his whiskey bottle. Only when the sliding glass door shattered on his right, did he finally lurch to his feet. He raised the whiskey bottle, turning it upside down and getting a relatively strong grip upon the neck of the bottle.

Swaying on his feet, Shaine faced the man who had just broken into his home. He took one look at the startled and disgusted look on James' face, then another down at the whiskey coursing from the overturned bottled and on to himself, as well as the floor, and promptly doubled over. He let out a low moan before he emptied the contents of his binge on top of the spilled whiskey.

Feet crunched on glass, alerting Shaine that James was coming closer. The wiry young man tried to back away while continuing to retch. Strong hands grabbed him by the back of the shirt and began hauling him down the hallway. He swung at the taller man, kicked and struggled. Several of the kicks and punches met their targets, but James just grunted and ignored the weakened hits. The door to his bathroom was kicked open and Shaine was tossed bodily into the shower, the shower curtain coming down on top of him, and the pole nearly braining him into unconsciousness.

Shaine struggled against the entangling curtain, but in his inebriated state, he quickly became disoriented and dizzy. Dimly he heard the shower being turned on, forcing him to redouble his efforts to escape the cursed curtain. When it was pulled off of his struggling form, the cold water stung his heated flesh making him yelp and attempt to get to his feet. James' foot found his chest and pushed him back, easily keeping the thoroughly tanked man in the tub, on his back, and in the spray.

Shaine roared his fury as James began stripping the soaked, soiled clothing from his body. The ensuing struggle left James just as soaked as Shaine, and Shaine far from decent. Face a cherry shade of red, Shaine curled up under the freezing spray, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs.

Silence reigned in the bathroom for what felt like an eternity to Shaine. Neither had spoken a word to each other since Shaine had stormed out of James' home. He closed his eyes tightly, the embarrassment fading with the effects of the alcohol, leaving him shivering against the porcelain. Finally, the spray was turned off, and he was hauled up by his upper arm like a naughty child. He said nothing to James, nor did he look at him. James met the smaller man's silence with a stoic expression. Shaine put up no resistance as he was dragged into his bedroom and pushed on to the bed.

The smaller man flinched as James placed his hand on his chest and used gentle pressure to get him to lie down. Shaine flinched again as the covers were pulled over his nakedness and tucked around him. He trembled as a gentle hand was placed upon his head and caressed his hair back from his forehead.

He lay there for a long time, trembling, expecting James to begin berating him at any moment. Eventually, he began to doze; the warmth of the bed and the soothing touch too much for his exhausted mind. Just before he slipped into murky depths, he heard, or thought he heard, "You're a damned fool," murmured from the man at his back.

Shaine slept soundly, a smile across his face.

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