Kingsley Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, products, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This story is also set in a southern state; please keep in mind that accents are different all over the world and I like to use them. It isn’t a typo or a lazy way of typing. It’s how it’s spoken.

  Enjoy : )

  Prologue: Kingsley

  The music is loud as hell tonight and it’s nowhere near the type of music I listen to. Techno? Not for me. Unfortunately, it’s the only gay club in a 70-mile radius. I count myself lucky because it’s only a twenty-five-minute drive from the tiny ass town my brother and I moved to, to be closer to our little sister. We didn’t find out about her until our mothers passing; apparently, she’d been an infidelity surprise from my father. Our mother was all about family, there was nothing greater to her than those she considered her family. Apparently, our mother had known about the affair shortly before finding out about Kadence; our sister. She’d written in a letter; one to me and one to my brother, explaining how sorry she was for keeping it all a secret.

  “I thought I was doing the right thing because after your father refused to leave me; the mother had taken her daughter and moved away. I didn’t want you boys to wonder about a sister you may never get to see; but it was one of my biggest regrets in this life because my boys have so much love to give, I just know you would love her like the big brothers that you are.” She’d written to me in my letter and I guessed she wrote something similar to Kayson in his. We hired a private investigator after failing to get any information out of our worthless, piece of shit father. When we’d finally gotten word after four long months; we’d only gotten a couple pictures and an address, we were shocked as shit to find out that the affair had been our long-time housekeeper, Merissa. Why we didn’t think of that sooner is beyond me.

  Four days later, we were packing up our lives in California with our best friends; Jody, Jinx and Layla, and bought a house about four miles away from our baby sister, In Madison, Georgia.

  Fortunately, everything had been great the past several months, getting to know our sister. It didn’t take Kadence no time to get used to having big brothers. It has been well worth our 2500 mile uproot. Changing our location from a bustling big city to a small town in Georgia, was risky; fortunately, again, Layla had an obsession for social media and we gathered more of a following after we moved than we did in the big city. People travelled from all over the country to get a portrait from me or Kayson’s amazing eye for detail and abstraction. Jody was also amazing at portraits but specialized in fonts and lettering. Scripts, quotes, signatures; the man could legitimately copy any writing in the world. I’d seen it done and tested him frequently. He could forge any signature, ever, dating back to before letters were even a thing. You wouldn’t think it’d be a talent to have; unless you were say, someone who needed to forge a signature, but you’d be surprised at the people who come to him for old English letters or a deceased loved ones’ memorial by having their signature or something, forever marking their skin. It was cool, I’d give him that.

  Lastly, we had Jinx and Layla. Jinx is our body modification artists. He done piercings and implants and was engaged to our receptionist extraordinaire, Layla; who’d come to us for help by chance, years ago, while running from an abusive boyfriend. She ran into our shop with a busted face and we haven’t let her go since. She was a receptionist and shop manager and done all the stuff that needed doing so that the rest of us could just come in, ink and go home.

  They’d also rented a condo just outside of town because they wanted time to do… I don’t know; whatever it is that hetero people do in relationships. Jody, Kayson and myself, shared a five-room, ranch home also a few miles from town. Of course we joked that they didn’t want to live with us three gay guys in our den of iniquity. To be honest, I think they were just in that place that they wanted to stop playing house and actually have one of their own. It worked for them and as they were just recently engaged, I was glad I didn’t have to share the living space of all their “boot-knocking.”

  Also, if I was honest with myself, it was also partly because as a gay man in a small town; it could get lonely. Depressingly lonely at times and the last thing you want to remind you of that is a sickeningly sweet, beyond happy, couple in love. Hence, why I’m sitting at a gay club, twenty-five miles from home, getting a headache from shitty music and bordering on having too much to drink.

  I grab another beer from the bar and get surrounded by twinks. My brother and I are a little over a year apart in age. He’s about to be 28 and I’m 26. Where Kayson was well-toned and had taken care of himself by going for runs and keeping active; I spent a lot of time at the gym, eating healthy and getting buffed up. At 6’5, I wasn’t a muscle head, but I took care of my body. I had tattoos, ranging from neck to ankles and I had spikey, short, black hair. I was a “type” to these guys and that’s all they saw. None of them were interested in getting to know me or anything more than whether or not I could pin them to the wall. I mean, I was at a club, so it kind of goes with the vibe of the place; but I was out of options and tonight, I just wanted company.

  “You look like you belong here about as much as I do” I hear in my ear from someone standing really close next to me. I turn, and he’s unexpectedly cute. Tall; around 6’, I’d say. He has blonde, neatly combed hair, light eyes and he’s wearing a shirt and tie. He looks like he’s put in a long day at the office. His smile is friendly, as are his eyes. I don’t get the feeling his does this thing any more than I do.

  “It’s loud.” I half yell back so he can hear me. He smiles and I can’t help but smile back.

  “You wanna dance?” He asks me. The look on my face must show how much I really don’t want to do that. Stupid, since I’m in a dance club and all; but I’ve found with my size and mass, I’m just too big to be coordinated. Other than in the bedroom, I have zero moves and I couldn’t/wouldn’t dance to this shit if someone gave me a million dollars. His smile shone brighter though, he didn’t seem to mind.

  “I’m Stephen.” He half-yelled his introduction. This place was shit for having a conversation.

  “Kingsley” I answered just as loud. I was going to have a raging headache tomorrow. He was looking at me like he was weighing his options; maybe I wasn’t the type he was looking for, maybe I looked intimidating, I didn’t know. It took him a minute of him thinking it over, while I quietly let him. Eventually, his eyes snapped back to mine and he smiled.

  “Come with me.” He half-yelled and turned to walk away. I downed my beer and stepped off my stool and followed. I took the time to appreciate his well-toned body. He was slim and lean; maybe like a swimmer or something athletic. He took care of himself, his appearance told me that. We walked outside where the cooler, October air was refreshing compared to the sticky, sweaty, sex-filled air inside the club.

  “That’s better.” He says a little louder than needed but I figured it would take a few minutes for our ears to work themselves out since being abused from the loudness of the shitty music. I looked up and down both sides of the street, trying to remember in which direction I’d parked my truck. Other than this guy, no one had captured my attention, so if all we done was stood out here and chatted, I was calling it a night.

  “You live around here, Kingsley?” He asked me seductively; looking over the ink on my arms and what was exposed on my neck.

  “I don’t.” I tell him, somewhat honestly. I’m not too far from here but, he didn’t need to know that. Not yet, anyway.

  “I do.” He smiled and takes my hand. His hand is soft in a “I’ve never done man
ual labor in my life” kind of way. It’s different, but nice, I guess. In California, I dated a construction worker for a time; then a man who owned a saw-mill. I also dated carpenters, contractors, a bouncer and a fisherman. They’d all had weathered, rough hands and fuck if I didn’t love that about them. The way their hands, caught on my clothes or rubbed against my skin. I loved that shit. This guy didn’t have that, but he had a friendly face and a nice smile; and again, I was lonely. I could enjoy his company for a night, couldn’t I? There was no harm in a one-night stand, as long as it’s consensual and equally beneficial, what could it hurt?

  “I’m close, if you want to come back have a drink; coffee or something?” He asked. His eyes were flirty and he’d not lost the smile he’d been wearing since I turned to look at him, inside. I’ll admit that I wasn’t usually one for a one-off; I’ve had a friends with benefits situation in college, but nothing like going home with strangers and all that. It was kind of unnerving, but this guy didn’t give away any creeper vibes and he lived close, meaning I wouldn’t run into him back at home. So, I agreed.

  When we got to his place, it wasn’t anything like I had pictured for him. From his suit-minus-the-jacket and the Luxury Lexus he pulled into the small, cobblestone driveway; I expected him to have a big, luxurious house with a pristine yard and a three-car, garage. Instead, I followed him down a secluded, dirt road, side-lined with the most beautifully colored, trees. I loved this time of year and this view was amazing, even in the dark. I could hear the waves of a large body of water, I assumed was behind his house, somewhere close at least, but I couldn’t actually see it, due to it being so dark.

  I followed him up the cobblestone walkway and into the warm feeling house. It felt like a home, like my home did. Lived in and loved. Straight through the door was a little entry-way; there was a table to one side, with what looked like bills and magazines in a small pile. There was a place to hang our coats, had we been wearing them, but there were a few dangling there and a few pair of running shoes. He threw his keys on the table and kicked off his shoes. I kept mine on but followed him through a small walkway before ending up in a kitchen.

  “Can I get you a drink? We have wine, water, coffee, milk, juice?” He asked, eyebrows raised in question. I settled for water and he brought it to me before going back and pouring himself a glass of wine. He asked me to follow him into the living room where there were pictures and paintings lining the walls. It was a beautiful place and I suddenly wanted to know the person who made it so welcoming.

  The minute I sat down, he sat close. Despite there being plenty of room for both to sit comfortably, he fit himself to my side with ease. For some reason, I’d almost forgotten that this was a hook-up, while I was enjoying the mental imagining of what kind of person he was, based on his living space.

  “All those guys in the club, tonight; the second I saw you, I had to get your attention.” He tells me, licking his lips and looking at me directly in my eyes. He’s so sure of himself and that’s an attractive quality. “I want to kiss you, can I?” He asks. Fuck it, this is why I’m here isn’t it? I reach up behind his neck and pull him to me; his mouth opens immediately, so I take advantage.

  He crawls in my lap, mouth still attached to mine and I can taste the red wine on his tongue. His hands are moving all over my chest, flicking the rings I have in both nipples, making him groan and me growl in pleasure. I’m assuming/hoping he’s a bottom, because we didn’t talk about it beforehand; hell we didn’t talk about anything beforehand. He’s either an aggressive bottom or he and I are going to have to talk, because no way in hell I’m bottoming and especially not for a random hook-up.

  “Take this off, I want to see what else is hiding under here.” He says, unbuttoning his own shirt with one hand while trying to lift my t-shirt with his other. I reach behind my neck and pull it over my head and his eyes go wide as he takes in the intricate ink on my torso. I’ve got tribals, flowers, portraits, quotes and everything in-between on my body. I couldn’t count them all if I tried, but in saying that; I still have some room left and everything I’ve ever gotten has meant something to me. The most important, being the memorial I have for my mother on my ribs. It’s a small pond with three shadowed people playing in the water. My mother, Kayson and I, as kids. It’s from a picture someone took when I was about 7-8ish and Kayson a little older. He runs his fingers over it but it seems too personal for him. I don’t share that with many people. Instead, I tilt his head and tongue his mouth until he’s shaking. He unbuttons his slacks in a frantic way as I unbutton the buttons to my jeans and he’s pulling himself out and grabbing me in his fists, the second I’m free. His soft hands feel amazing now; now as he lines us up, side by side and strokes us together.

  The way he moans in my mouth has me wanting to bite his lips and squeeze him closer to me. He’s a practiced hand at this because he’s drawing it out to make me crazy. Slow and sure; and rough and ready; it doesn’t take but a few more strokes for him to start losing his rhythm. He’s getting close. The squeeze of his hand and the embarrassingly long time it’s been since I’ve done anything with anyone other than myself, has me ready to go in no time too.

  “I’m close.” He confirms, hips jerking back and forth. “So close.” He whispers just before a long, white rope lands across my chest, setting me off as I come all over us both. He jerks in my arms and keeps his lips on mine; panting into my open mouth. He stays on my lap while we both try to come down, his hands are stroking my skin and it feels nice. My eyelids are getting heavier and I lean my head back against the couch as he grabs something to clean us up. Before he comes back, I’m asleep.

  Chapter 1: Morgan

  My skin is on fire. Nobody told me this part when they explained to me what chemotherapy entailed. Nobody told me that, just the skin of your body touching your clothes, feels like it’s ripping the flesh from your bones. I’m telling you, it hurts.

  I’m weeks in now, so, I know what I’m up against when I get home. Heat flashes, sweating, more pain, vomiting, shaking, crying. I’m a completely different person after radiation treatment. I’m tired, so very tired already. I gingerly try to get the phone from my coat pocket, but my hand feels like I’m retrieving it from a cheese grater. How is that even possible? I call Stephen but it continues to ring until his voicemail picks up. Stephen is my boyfriend of two years and even though things have been strained since my diagnoses, we were happy once. It’s been a while, but we were. I hope that when this is all over, we can get back to that. I miss him and if I’m honest, I need him now more than ever. I hang up and try again with the same results. He knew I had treatment this evening; hell, it seems like all I do anymore. We revolve around my appointments.

  I schedule my appointments for late evening, normally, because I always hope he’ll come with me. It takes a while and sitting there alone with no one to help you pass the time, just makes it a longer process than it already is. I usually bring my notebook for ideas or a sketchbook to doodle or something. Because it’s so late and it takes a lot out of me, the night-staff usually let me nap it off before sending me home. Tonight though, I was more tired than normal, I hadn’t been sleeping too great on account of the side-effects being worse than I could ever have imagined.

  Because the weather was starting to get colder, I could risk walking the two and a half miles’ home; used to, I could have done that in no time flat, but since I got sick; just walking to the bathroom wore me out somedays. So, I called a cab and waited.

  I felt like shit and I knew that the contents of my stomach would not stay there for long. Luckily, I’d only had toast and juice for breakfast; and a soup with breadsticks for lunch, but all that was hours ago. However, the dry heaves were almost worse. When my stomach was empty, I would heave until my muscles hurt; like, it felt like I was going to throw up an organ or something. I mean, something had to come up, didn’t it? It hadn’t yet, but….it was still early days.

  The cab turned up around twenty minutes later a
nd it had started to sprinkle a bit while I’d been waiting. My skin was clammy and cold from the wind and rain, but feverish from the medicine. I doubted I’d even shower off all the guck of the hospital and falling dirty rain water before falling into bed. Wiping my skin would be akin to torture, so I’d just put on something soft and crash.

  “You alright, man?” The cab driver asked as I carefully sat in his back seat and rested my head on his soft headrests.

  “Yeah, thanks.” I told him, in no mood to recount my day. I figured since he’d picked me up from the hospital and I donned the ever noticeable, beanie on my recently shaved head that, he’d realize what was up with me. People always did and they always wanted to talk about how you were feeling and give you advice about keeping a positive attitude and all that. It was shit, utter bullshit. Keeping a positive attitude when you had cancer was impossible and if it wasn’t, until you’ve had it yourself, you can’t tell me how to feel about it. Therefore, I felt like shit and I didn’t want to talk about it.

  We pulled up to my little cottage only a few minutes later and I noticed a couple lights on in the house. Stephen’s car was parked in its usual spot in the driveway but there was a giant truck, sitting empty behind him. I wondered what could be wrong that would have someone at our house at 1 in the morning; had he bought another vehicle? There were lights on in the kitchen and the low light of the lamp on in the living room, I could see through the windows. Stephen was the one always complaining about lights being left on so I was assuming he was still awake. I paid the driver, tipped him well and waddled my sore body into the house.

  I checked my phone while grabbing a water from the fridge, maybe he’d been worried about me when I’d called after treatment. Nothing, not even a text. The thought makes me sad, but a wave of nausea pulls my mind from it quickly. I’d kicked off my shoes and thought about calling out to him, but I figured I’d get comfy in my spot first, then maybe he’d come in and doctor me up or at least put me in bed and lay beside me; I’d settle for that. It wasn’t often that he’d be home during the day and usually by the time he was off work, he was tired and cranky, so I was looking forward to just being with him tonight, just the two of us, even if all I got to do was lay beside him. We didn’t get too many good days, not anymore; not since I got sick and I’d kill for a warm body against me when my body would get the shakes. Sometimes, I’d be so hot, I’d feel like my skin was about to melt off my bones, but other times, I felt like ice was being poured straight into my veins. I couldn’t stop the shakes or my teeth rattling and sometimes, it got scary. Just having someone beside me would help.