Maniac - Necessary Evils #7 - ch. 5 (Patreon)

As always only loosely edited and subject to change. My goal is to have at least 2 but possibly 3 more chapters up before Sunday. Fingers crossed. 

Chapter 5

Thomas

Thomas stayed in the shower longer than he’d intended. He stayed under the spray until his fingers were pruned and goosebumps had erupted along his skin from the chill of the water. His head was a mess. His heart felt bruised. His psyche flayed open. And that had only been one part of the story. The easiest part. The most innocent part.

He’d hidden from his past for so long, but now it was bubbling up from the cracks of his mind, and he couldn’t push it away. He and Shane lying on the floor of the solarium, the shrill sounds of their parents' laughter echoing from the ballroom down the hall as they regaled their rich friends with their business triumphs, usually at the expense of those less fortunate.

Some things were still so clear. The pungent scent of night blooming jasmine. The smell of potting soil and fertilizer. The musty scent of the mist that would jet from the sprinklers at just the right intervals to keep the thousands of plants alive under the huge glass dome. The feel of Shane’s foot as it tapped rhythmically against Thomas’s while they talked.

I hate them. I wish…

Wish what?

Nothing…

You can tell me. You can tell me anything.

How was his voice still so clear in his head all these years later, but nothing else? The mind really was a strange creature. Memories were just neurons firing in various patterns, triggering a sequence of events that could make or break someone’s day based simply on what it pulled from archived files. Somewhere deep down, Shane was an archived file. One he’d done his best to bury deep down. One he’d convinced himself was now only fragments of memories, nothing left that could hurt him.

And over the years, his hazy, broken thoughts of his past had convinced him he was right. That the truly horrible stuff was all gone, erased by time. But he’d been wrong. They were still there, still buried. Once too far away to see, but now almost crystal clear because he was right beside them down in that hole. And that hole was looking a lot like his own fucking grave.

But even down in it, even close enough to touch it felt so far from him, so removed, like it had happened to someone else while he watched. But it wasn’t someone else. It was him. What would happen when Aiden knew the truth? The thought of it made him want to vomit. If it was this hard to tell Aiden—who only thought the worst of him. Who saw him when he was weak and petty and jealous—what would it be like telling his children?

The ones who respected him? Who loved him? His family, as fucked up and dysfunctional as they were, they were his. His pride and joy. A shining example of his own fucking brilliance. He snorted. His own fucking narcissism. It was all bullshit. Smoke and mirrors.

He swallowed back the helpless sound trying to break free. What was wrong with him? He needed to get it together, needed to try to put the armor back on. He needed to be the Thomas Mulvaney the world knew. Somehow. He’d never make it through this if he didn’t go back to faking it.

He took a deep breath and let it out, then wrenched the handle, abruptly cutting off the water before stepping out. He grabbed the heated towel, letting  it return some of the warmth to his body as he dried himself briskly, before wrapping it around his waist and brushing his teeth.

He thought about shaving but quickly dismissed the idea. His hands were shaking so badly he’d likely need stitches before he finished. Instead, he scrubbed his hands over his face, then combed his fingers through his damp hair, his gaze falling to the large tattoo on his side.

His only tattoo.

Medusa holding the scales of justice, her hair made of seven snakes. One for each of them. His children. His weapons. His eyes burned as he blinked back tears. He’d been so fucking righteous. So convicted in his beliefs. No better than any religious zealot, killing in the name of their god. But Thomas had been his own god. Playing judge, jury and executioner.

He was a hypocrite of the worst kind. How had he ever thought passing judgment on others would ever do anything to assuage him of his own guilt? He was no better than those he’d sentenced to death.

Jericho popped into his head then. Of all his sons-in-law, Jericho was the one who spoke his mind plainly. He’d told Thomas to his face he’d made a mistake with Atticus. That he was no psychopath. That Thomas had taken someone soft and turned him into a monster to suit his own twisted need for vengeance. And Thomas had argued with him.

But maybe it was true. Atticus was content to spend his days in his lab and let Jericho—who was decidedly not a psychopath—do his killing for him. Jericho’s boys weren’t on the psychopathy spectrum either, but they did what needed to be done and they didn’t wrestle with their conscience about it. So maybe he’d been all wrong. Maybe Thomas had gone so very wrong.

But…they were happy. His children were happy. Thomas had taken them from broken homes and taught them to kill, but he’d given them every advantage, had put them in circumstances where they’d met the people they loved. August and Lucas had children. Adam…his most broken child…had a boy he loved more than anything and two dogs he doted on. So he wasn’t wrong. Right?

Right?

Project Watchtower was in its final phase. If everything Thomas believed was wrong, what did that mean for the thousands of children in various stages of the project? He closed his eyes, weary in his fucking bones. Had he saved his sons? Had he turned them into monsters? Would he now be responsible for corrupting thousands of others who might have gone on to be normal upstanding citizens?

He flipped the light off, exiting the bathroom into his bedroom, this thoughts swirling round and round in his head. What if he was wrong? What if he was right? His brain was just an endless feedback loop of what if.

He was so in his thoughts he didn’t notice Aiden sitting on the corner of his bed until he was almost on him. It brought him up short, his hand tangled in the second towel he’d looped around his neck.

Aiden leaned back on his hands, expression bleak. “He looks like me.”

Thomas blinked. “What?”

“He looks like me. Shane,” he clarified. “Looked, I guess.”

Thomas took a step back at Shane’s name, feeling like Aiden had invoked some kind of curse. Did Aiden look like Shane? Had he looked like him? He closed his eyes, trying and failing to picture Shane’s face with any level of detail but time had stolen that too.

He remembered some things. Shane and Aiden had once had the same artificial hair color. The same cocky demeanor. But Aiden had been so broken and angry when Thomas had first met him. Nothing like Shane. Shane had been…hollow….void.

Thomas opened his eyes, almost shocked to see this Aiden sitting before him, not a single trace left of the boy he’d been all those years ago. Aiden was a man, tall and broad, creases at the corners his eyes. Older, but still so broken and angry.

Because of Thomas.

“I…” Thomas started, but then trailed off, uncertain as to what he wanted to do. Deny it? Reassure Aiden? To what end? What did it matter?

“Is that why you took me in?” Aiden asked, not angry, but…defeated. “I reminded you of him? Is that why you can’t look at me?”

Couldn’t look at him? There were days when Thomas couldn’t see anything but Aiden, when he was the only thing on his mind for hours at a time. But telling him that would do nothing. “What does it matter?”

“So now the past doesn’t matter?” Aiden spit. “It’s been your excuse forever, but now it doesn’t matter?”

Fuck. As usual, Thomas was getting it all wrong. When it came to Aiden he just always got it wrong. “I didn’t say that. I don’t know why I took you in all those years ago. But I did. I chose you.” Aiden continued to look at him with that same hollow look. Thomas shrugged helplessly. “Shane’s been dead for thirty years, Aiden.”

“Then why does it suddenly feel like he’s been standing between the two of us this whole time?” Aiden asked, voice raw. “Fuck. I don’t even know what he did, but I’m fucking jealous. Do you know how fucked up that is? I’m jealous of the person you said is the catalyst for the worst thing that ever happened to you. That’s so fucked up, you know? You’ve fucked me up so fucking much.”

Thomas felt like his heart was being shredded at Aiden’s words. He was right. Thomas had fucked Aiden up so much. “He’s not what matters. This isn’t about him. It’s about what I did. It’s about who I am.”

“That’s bullshit. I might be dumb about a lot of shit Tommy, but not you. That kid meant something to you then and I know it has something to do with us. You say its not about him, but he’s somehow more important than me. This ghost from your past is important enough for you to keep me at arm’s length for decades.”

Thomas’s eyes went wide at his words. Is that what he thought? That he’d been…so in love with Shane or something that he was still hung up on him all these years later? Did he think Thomas had killed him and regretted it? He supposed it wasn’t that far off from the truth, couldn’t blame him for drawing conclusions from the crumbs Thomas had fed him, but he was wrong about Shane…about Thomas’s feelings. About how he felt about him.

“What? No.” Thomas shook his head. “Christ, Aiden. Do you think I am harboring some—what?—crush on him? Whatever mixed up feelings I have about what happened between him and I when I was a kid have nothing to do with my feelings for you.” Thomas assured him. “The three fucked up years with him are nothing compared to the twenty-three years I’ve had with you in my life.”

Aiden’s lip curled like he didn’t believe him. Not that Thomas blamed him. He’d spent every moment of their lives together assuring Aiden that his feelings weren’t valid, that what they felt for each other wasn’t real, wasn’t right, wasn’t okay. Why should Aiden believe him now that Thomas had finally given him a villain to fight, someone to be mad at other than Thomas.

He shook his head, helpless. “Don’t you get it? The only person who haunts my thoughts is you, Aiden. You’re in my head. Every day. A million times a day,” he admitted, taking a step closer. “At any given moment, at any time of day, you’re the ghost standing just out of view.”

Aiden looked…shell-shocked. When Thomas stepped between his open knees he didn’t protest. When he pulled him to his feet, he went willingly. Thomas wrapped his arms around him, buried his face in his throat, inhaling his scent like a drug, letting his warmth bleed into his bare skin.

“What are you doing?” Aiden managed, body stiff.

Thomas kissed the spot on his throat, feeling his pulse pound beneath his lips. “I have no idea.”

He wasn’t lying. He had no fucking idea what he was doing, but he couldn’t let him go. He couldn’t stop touching him, kissing him. He wanted to hold him like this more than he wanted to keep drawing air into his lungs. The pull was gravitational. It was selfish and borderline evil to give Aiden what had to be false hope, but Thomas couldn’t will himself to let him go.

This was why they stayed away from each other. Being together was death by paper cut and it would hurt so much worse when it was over, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

He needed him to stop looking at him like he’d destroyed him, like he thought someone in Thomas’s life meant more to him than Aiden. Nobody meant more to him than Aiden. They didn’t. They couldn’t. His world started and stopped with him. He just needed him to know that…somehow. And this was all he had.

“Thomas.” Aiden said his name like a warning, or maybe a threat.

“Are you going to stop me?” Thomas asked, heart slamming against his ribs as he pressed the words into his skin, relishing the feel of him. “Please don’t stop me. You’re the only one on my mind. You’re always the only one on my mind. Let me prove it to you.”

This time when their mouths collided, it was Thomas who deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding home with no resistance. Like always, something in him gave way, forgetting everything but the taste of Aiden’s mouth and the heat of his body. How was it possible to feel so instantly consumed by another person, to forget every ounce of sanity?

Aiden’s hands were squeezing his back, then sliding lower, gripping his ass through the towel. Thomas was already painfully hard, his cock trapped between the softness of the fabric and the hardness of Aiden’s hip. Fuck. He felt so fucking good. He smelled so good. There was nothing better in the world than being so wrapped up in Aiden nothing else mattered.

Thomas’s hands went for the hem of Aiden’s shirt, mourning the loss of his hands when Aiden stopped groping him long enough for him to lift his arms. Thomas tossed the shirt aside, already going for the button on Aiden’s jeans.

Thomas’s heart dropped when Aiden slapped his hands away, but then he was shoving Thomas down onto the bed, unknotting the towel before going to his knees on the floor between Thomas’s open thighs. Christ. This was so much more than last time. That was just drunken fumbling, fueled by years of longing and rage.

This…this was something else entirely. He hissed as Aiden’s mouth landed on his inner thigh, sucking a mark there before dragging his teeth over it. The pleasure pain of it felt right, felt like them. He gave the other thigh the same rough treatment before pushing his legs wider, dragging him down until his hips were off the bed and Aiden had him completely exposed.

“Aiden…”

“Shut up,” Aiden said, spreading him open and burying his face in the heart of him, his tongue spearing against his hole in a way that had Thomas’s muscles contracting and his hands grabbing for Aiden’s hair just for something to hold onto.

Fuck. Was this really happening? It felt like some kind of fever dream. But if it was, he didn’t want to wake up because Aiden’s talented tongue had him hard and leaking and he was afraid he might come just from that.

“Fuck. Aiden.”

Aiden only deepened his efforts, licking and sucking at him until Thomas couldn’t stop the moans falling from his lips. This hadn’t been his intention. Or maybe it had. Fuck. He’d always been so selfish when it came to Aiden. Never letting him go, but never letting him stay.

Thomas cried out as Aiden’s mouth closed over his cock, sucking him from root to tip. His hips rolled upward against his will, forcing himself deeper, groaning when Aiden gagged. He recovered quickly, so quickly Thomas had to fight the sudden jealousy bubbling within him. How many others had sampled Aiden’s mouth? His body?

He had no right to be jealous. To be irrationally angry. It was nobody’s fault but Thomas’s. It was always his fault. But that didn’t stop the irrational surge of possessiveness. Of ownership.

Aiden was his. He belonged to him, whether it was right or wrong. He locked his hands in his hair, holding him in place as he worked himself in and out of the wet heat and suction of Aiden’s mouth, some part of him wanting to punish him. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Aiden let him, groaning around him, his fingers dug into Thomas’s hip bones, as tears streamed down his face as he used him. God, how could he have refused him all these years? Even as the thought entered his head, he knew it wouldn’t be the last time he did.

He shook the thought away, focusing on the heat building at the base of his spine and the toe curling pleasure Aiden’s mouth was giving him. “I’m gonna come.”

He didn’t tell him so he could pull off, he just wanted him to know it was happening. He wanted to flood his mouth, wanted to watch him swallow it all, needed it really, needed it to chase away all the thoughts of other men Thomas had no right to hate but did anyway.

He shouted as his orgasm hit, body curling as Aiden kept sucking, kept swallowing around him until it felt like a punishment.

When he could think again, he released Aiden, who stood like he might be the one to run this time. Thomas grabbed him by the waistband hauling him back and yanking his pants open, pushing them and his underwear out of the way until his cock sprang free.

Thomas refused to look up. He didn’t want to know what Aiden was thinking. He just wanted to taste him. To give him some of the same pleasure he’d just received. He ran his tongue along the underside of his cock, before sucking on the head, precum sharp on his tongue. Thomas had never known anything could feel so wrong and so right at the same fucking time, but it did. This did.

“Tommy…”

If Thomas could have gotten hard again, just the way Aiden had said his name would have done it. Not a curse this time, but a fucking prayer. He closed his mouth around him, relishing the heavy weight of him on his tongue, the way his hands flexed on his shoulders, the sound of every sharp exhalation as he sucked him.

Thomas gripped his ass, taking him deeper, swallowing around him, hoping it bruised, hoping it left behind some tangible evidence that this happened, that for just a brief fucking moment Thomas had let him have something he truly wanted before everything was ripped away from him forever.

But it was over too quickly, Aiden’s blunt nails digging into his skin as he came, the bitter taste of him there and gone as he drank him down. When Aiden pulled free, Thomas wrapped his arms around his hips, resting his cheek on his hip, desperately trying to remember everything about that moment.

But all too soon, Aiden was stepping back and righting his clothes. Then he turned and walked out of the room. He didn’t look back. Just left Thomas sitting there in his bed. Just like Thomas had done that night in the library. He’d just left Aiden there. What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d wasted his whole life denying the one person who wanted him, flaws and all.

Because he didn’t deserve him. Aiden deserved better. But Thomas had never let him go and find better. He’d just trapped him there in Thomas’s misery. Because misery loved company and Aiden was just damaged enough, just needy enough to take Thomas’s scraps.

Whatever this fucking blackmailer wanted, Thomas would give it to him. Then he’d let them put him out of his misery once and for all. Maybe then Aiden could finally be free of Thomas’s narcissism, this fucked up version of love or penance or whatever it was Thomas had spent the last twenty years doing to the both of them.

Death was more grace than Thomas deserved, but it would be best for all of them. Excise the cancer he was on the family and let them all be whoever they wanted to be. Give them the choice he’d never offered.

He fell back on the bed, letting his eyes close. He just needed to sleep. It didn’t matter that it was barely noon. It didn’t matter that the son was blazing through the window or that he’d only been awake a few hours. He would sleep. And when he woke, he’d tell Aiden the next part of his story and let the chips fall where they may. There was nothing else he could do. Not anymore.