Dancing with Tears in My Eyes

"Did you hear that?"

Shawn paused in helping Daphne out of the car and cocked an ear towards the house. A few seconds later, he heard it again. A scream. And it was coming from inside his house. Shawn raced up the path and flung the door open.

"Shut up, you little pussy!"

Up the stairs. His heart was pounding in his ears as he took the steps two at a time and rounded the corner to see ...

"Stop!"

Time froze. Shawn couldn't hear anything but the blood hammering in his ears and his heavy, hard breathing but he could see that Conor was screaming. He was spread-eagled on the bed, naked and bloody, his face streaked with tears and his right eye blackened. A large man, also naked, loomed over Conor's slender body, a wicked-looking cat-'o-nine tails in his hand.

"Ah, the good doctor, I presume." Shawn didn't need to ask who the man was. He already knew. He moved to untie Conor's arm and felt the lash sting his hand. "I must ask you not to do that."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"I am the proud owner of this slave." Frank stroked his prick, waking it up. "Didn't you know that I bought Conor?"

"You can't buy someone."

"You can if his father is dying and has no money."

Fresh tears dripped from Conor's eyes and his mute body shook with sobs. Confusion ruled Shawn as his eyes swung from his tortured lover to the smirking interloper. Alan had told him that he had enough money to take care of his other bills. But that had been a lie. Conor was secretly bankrolling his dying father. So had he lied about not knowing his father until the last days? And if he'd lied about that, what else had he lied about? Shawn saw the comprehension of his uncertainty dawn in Frank's dark eyes and that made him even angrier.

"Daphne, call the police."

Frank's smile spread even wider, Cheshire-like and something malevolent moved behind his eyes. The innocent part of Shawn was instantly struck with fear but the doctor part, the part that had seen the absolute best and worst of humanity homed in on it and girded him for what was coming. He heard Daphne's heels pounding down the wrought-iron staircase and said a quick prayer, hoping that he would have the strength to do what he needed to do.

"An audience." Frank hissed, his rock-hard prick jutting out in front of him. "I

love

an audience."

"I bet you do." Shawn bent to untie Conor again and receive another stinging lash. He had expected that so instead of recoiling, he attacked the knot even harder. Frank whipped him again and again and by the fifth lash, Conor's right arm was free and Shawn launched himself at the man, grabbing for the whip. Unfortunately, he wasn't as strong as Frank. The man had him on his back, his knees on his shoulders and his cock dribbling pre-cum on Shawn's chin.

"So you want to take the little pussy's place?" Shawn bucked underneath Frank's bulk but the man brought his knees down onto Shawn's shoulder joints, making skeins of pain radiate through his entire body. "Why don't you start by sucking my dick?"

"No."

Frank moved up a bit and turned around, delivering a punch that drove the breath from Shawn's lungs. When Shawn's mouth opened, he shoved his prick in with a satisfied grunt and pressed it in until the doctor was gagging. "Now suck. And if you bite me, I'll kill you."

Shawn groaned in pain, his eyes screwed shut as he fought the urge not to vomit. Frank's cock reeked of feces and the tang of an unwashed body part, not the sweet scent that he associated with Conor. He tried to shout. "No."

"Suck me, doctor-boy. Suck me good and maybe I'll forget about you when Conor and I leave."

"

NO!

"

There was a loud crash and Frank slumped over Shawn, his cock still nestled in Shawn's mouth. It was a long time before the man's heavy bulk was shoved off of him and even longer before Shawn could lift himself up. A shaking Daphne dropped to her knees next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Shawn nodded and crawled to the side of the bed where Conor still lay tied. "Conor." Silence met him and the young man refused to look at him. "Conor, please. Talk to me." A loud hiccup preceded a deep sob. "Please, honey."

Conor couldn't bear to speak to Shawn. He couldn't bear to look into his eyes and see the disgust written in his baby blue eyes. He felt tender fingers pushing the hair from his forehead, then those same fingers gently chafing the angry marks left by the necktie that had bound his wrist. Conor opened his eyes, dreading the reaction and was surprised to see Daphne, gazing at him with tears creasing her beautiful face. He felt another set of fingers on his other wrist and slowly turned to face Shawn.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Conor." Shawn wiped Conor's face, ignoring his own wet cheeks. "He forced you."

"He said that he'd kill you if I didn't go back with him." Conor sobbed, covering his face. "I ... I offered him my body, hoping that we'd be here long enough for you to come home."

"And I did. And I'm here, baby." He touched Conor's hand, intertwining fingers with him. "You did what you had to do."

At that moment, the blare of approaching sirens broke the air and Daphne draped the blood-soaked sheet over Conor's shoulders, then went to check on Frank, who was still unconscious. "I'll let them in."

Shawn nodded to her, then returned his eyes to Conor. "You have to tell them everything."

Conor shook his head, sitting up wearily. "You won't leave, will you?"

"Absolutely not. I'm here for as long as you need me."

Tears brimmed from Conor's bruised eyes again. "If I don't remember to tell you, thanks."

* * * * *

The next three days passed in slow motion.

Frank Bushings was arrested for aggravated assault and was not allowed bail due to probation violation for his previous incarceration. He was escorted to the lock-up and transported to the emergency room for treatment of the deep laceration that Daphne had created. While in the ER, he stripped a policeman of his service revolver and attempted to escape. The nurse he took hostage was trained in survival tactics and was able to get the gun away. Bushings was shot in the leg, but managed to elude the pursuing officers.

Fifty-three miles away, the police were called to investigate a car that had run off the side of the road. They arrived to find Frank Bushings in the front seat of a stolen car, dead from blood loss. His femoral artery had been nicked and the floor boards of the car were soaked with his life fluid.

Conor was admitted to the hospital for his injuries, which were at first believed to be superficial. Later, the admitting doctor found an anal fissure and it was necessary to have surgery done. Conor begged not to have the surgery but Shawn convinced him of how important it was. He agreed to have it done as long as Shawn would meet him in the recovery room. The surgery went well and the doctor told Conor that he could go home in seven days' time.

Shawn was bruised but didn't require any further treatment and he returned to work, spending his free time visiting Conor. The openness that they'd shared days earlier seemed to erode with each passing day and he found himself trying to pry words out of Conor. He'd overlooked the questions that still swirled around his head and had focused on Conor's recovery but now found himself wondering what the hell was really going on.

Finally, Conor's release day came and he awoke with a heart full of pain. His feelings left him confused and he only knew one way to deal with that.

During his long stay, he had read almost all of his father's diary and had been transported to all of the foreign places Alan had seen and the sex that his father had experienced. He opened the last entry, made just days before his death. The handwriting changed here. It wasn't as nice and clean as before and the realization that it was his father's own brought tears to Conor's eyes.

Hi, Conor.

I hope that you can read this. I decided to write this last entry because even though Shawn's been a trouper, translating my broken thoughts into coherent long hand, it's not the same as touching the paper and gripping the pen. It's also not as intimate and I want my final words to you to be as close to you as I can possibly get.

So, you've read the entire diary and you've got an idea of who I am or should I say, who I was. I don't want you to be me, Conor. I don't want you to be a shriveled up old man who has no friends, except for the doctor who's caring for him. You may see people at my funeral, but they are not my friends. Friends care for each other. Friends love each other. No one has ever loved me except your mother (at one time), Shawn and you. At least, I hope you do.

I so regret not being able to be a proper father to you. I don't regret the fun I had and I can't regret the disease I caught, since it was caused by my stupidity but I do regret not being able to be your friend. Not being able to sit down and have a beer and ogle the gentry. Not being able to call you and tell you about my latest conquest. Not being able to go to a movie together or just hang out.

I guess what I'm trying to tell you is to look for a friend. Look for someone that accepts your faults and flaws instead of trying to grind you into the ground. Look for someone that will laugh at your horrible jokes and then tell you ones that are worse. Look for someone that will throw cold water on you in the shower and laugh hysterically as your balls shrink to marbles.

Look for someone who makes you comfortable being yourself.

Shawn was the person that did that for me. We were not lovers. We were friends. He accepted who I was with good-natured aplomb and with very little censure.

When it comes time for me to go, there will be two people that I'll say I love you to. Make sure that you don't miss out on that. No one wants to dance with tears in their eyes.

With much love always,

Your father,

Alan Dunlop

* * * * *

"Doctor Anderson?"

Shawn turned from his patient and smiled at Nurse Gagnon, a duty nurse who worked on the fourth floor. "Hey, you're a long way from home, aren't you?" When she didn't laugh at his joke, he froze. "What's wrong with Conor?"

"He's gone." She held out an envelope stamped with the hospital's insignia. "He asked me to give this to you."

Shawn took the envelope with shaking hands. "I – I don't understand."

"I'm sorry."

He should have seen it coming.

The Conor that he'd come to know had all but disappeared, crawling back into his shell. Even Daphne had noticed the change but had hoped that it was only temporary. Conversations became terse exchanges and his mood was often broody, shunning his touch and avoiding his gaze. Rejecting him. Shawn had tried to ignore it and pretend that it would get better but in his heart, he knew the truth. Whatever Frank had done to Conor had affected him and had extinguished the best relationship of his life.

He looked down at the envelope, wondering if he had the strength to open it. Did he really want to hear the truth? Fighting the shaking of his hands, he ran a finger under the flap and extracted the sheaf of paper.

Shawn –

I'm not exactly sure how to begin this.

First, please know that I love you and that you're the only person that I've ever loved in my entire life, other than my father. There's nothing more that I'd like than to spend the rest of my life with you.

But I can't. At least not right now.

Why? I have some things that I need to fix before I can be the man I want to be for you. You deserve someone who can return your love without suspicion and who can manage their baggage. Right now, that person is not me.

I'm a coward for not saying this to your face but every time I look into your eyes, I see so much love there. Love that I want and love that I don't deserve. I can't ask you to wait for me. You are a diamond that some lucky guy will scoop up. I just wish that lucky guy was me.

Until we meet again,

Conor