Sonata

Prelude

Thirty-six shouldn’t feel old, Ian told himself, watching the dancers dance and the lights blink on and off. Amber liquid shone within his simple rock glass; the napkin underneath blue then pink, green, then yellow. The bartender leaned over the bar at the far end of the unit, propping himself majestically, doing his best to highlight musculature and form for the two young twins in front of him. Less than eight feet away, a young body swayed for the one against it in an alluring tease that made Ian’s skin prick with sweat. Only Ian seemed to mind the heat.

The three scotches meandering through his bloodstream should have been easing the tension in his shoulders, not increasing it. Yet even with his jacket off Ian could somehow still feel the constriction of the fabric, as if it were the very thing binding him into his middle-aged hole of an existence.

With a snarl and a frown, Ian reached up to tug his tie down. He should have changed, tried harder to blend in. His clothes screamed out the warning of too-old-to-be-cool and yet still too young to be the daddy replacement the rest were looking for. “Twenty-five or fifty-five, anything in between is simply viral,” Ian’s flamboyant ex used to always tell him. And while Ian would casually roll eyes at the comment and tell Madison he only thought that way because he was an attention w***e, Ian couldn’t help but feel that there was more truth to it then Ian wanted to believe. After all, it’s not like the young men were scoping him out. And God knew, the men his own age all wanted babies.

Ian swallowed back a sigh and topped it with the remaining scotch. It was time to go; the bar was only making him feel worse. He waved off the bartender’s attempt at feigning interest in his empty glass and grabbed his jacket off the bar. He tapped his pockets to confirm keys and wallet, pulled the fives out of the pile of change that had been so graciously provided instead of the twenty, (because, hey, just because I’m chatting up two gorgeous young dudes instead of paying the slightest attention to your needs doesn’t mean I still don’t want a tip) and just left the singles.

The washroom was packed with people, none of who seemed to have any interest in the urinals at the far wall. In a club like this, washrooms were made for snorting and f*****g. Why owners of said establishments didn’t just say, “f**k it” and put in private rooms was beyond him. Regardless of commotion, privacy, or filth, the minions were following the citation to the letter. And while it shouldn’t have—he was well past the age when bathroom s*x sounded enticing—the process made Ian’s chest tighten up on him. It was an ache that reminded him that no matter what the excuses were that he was telling himself, the truth of the matter was that he was too much of a chicken-s**t to shove a straw up his nose, and too damn boring to be summoned into one of the stalls.

He stood up to the urinal, flipped his jacket over his arm, and caught his own dark brown gaze in the mirror to the left of him. Maybe if he did something about the strands of white creeping into his otherwise dark hair. Maybe if he traded the semi-casual business wear for something more daring. Maybe if he got his eyes touched up and traded in the ever deepening lines for Botox-infused expression-free clarity. Maybe then.

It wasn’t until he was gritting his jaw at his own pity-party and turning his head away in disgust that he caught a similar set of brown that were (Were they?) staring at him (No, flicking past…no…definitely staring.) Recalled fiction pinged the term “root beer eyes” and in that instant Ian finally understood what the author had meant: gold yet brown, highlights and lowlights, warm and beautiful.

From there things just got sweeter: pale skin, shock-blond hair shaved short on both sides with the middle left longer and swept back, his eyebrows and the barest brush of facial hair disproving the blond as brown. A sexy smirk played over the young man’s lips—glossed with a sheer pink, Ian was sure of it—and the only flaw on his skin, a mark Ian wasn’t even convinced he’d call a flaw if asked, was a tiny mole high on the kid’s right cheek.

“Don’t hold eye contact,” internal reasoning seemed to hiss in his ear and Ian instantly lowered his eyes. Yet he found he was fighting himself not to pull them back up again, to check, to see. It was a foolish notion that a pretty kid would be trying to catch his attention and he silently called himself every name in the book for considering it, but he failed in his attempt not to look.

Not that Ian needed to see how close the other man was. He felt it; nudging against his shoulder, leaning into his ear. “How bad do you need that piss?”

Ian opened his mouth to reply and snapped it shut just as quickly. Anything he said would sound either lame or stupid. His breath caught when the young man brushed fingertips down his spine. More so when a finger caught his back belt loop and tugged him closer.

“Do I know you?” was all that Ian was able to come up with.

“Nope,” the man said, smirking at Ian’s reflection. “Perfect, right?”

“I—” and Ian had to stop. Right there. Mid-speech. Because the young man was pushing his hips into Ian’s upper thigh like they were old friends. With benefits.

“Interested?”

“I—” Ian repeated, swallowing on a suddenly dry throat. “Yes?”

Yes, as in, how much do you charge by the hour. Yes, as in, is this some kind of joke?

“In here,” the man said, pulling Ian towards one of the few empty stalls.

Ian felt like a colt just learning his legs as he stumble-trailed the blond towards the open door.

Impossible. He’s going to steal your wallet. This can’t happen.

Not to you.

Yet there he stood, in dumfounded awe, already breathing like he’d run five miles through the rain, as the door was shut and locked behind them.

The young man didn’t wait for an invitation. He pressed Ian into the metal sidewall and reached for Ian’s belt buckle.

“I…I’m Ian,” Ian said and felt a hot rush of embarrassment color his cheeks at the look he was tossed.

“I don’t care,” he was told, fingertips making easy work of the fastenings that held Ian’s body behind cloth.

“What’s your name?” Ian asked, surprising himself with the question, knowing damn well it was neither the time nor the place to be asking something so obviously redundant.

“Nobody,” the man said, pressing down Ian’s pants and underwear in one push. Ian stifled a breath of shock, want—uncertainty even—as the young man began to kneel.

“Shut up! Shut up and just go with this,” his c**k told him, rising slowly despite the incessant poking of Ian’s conscience insisting he was too old for nameless games, too far into life to need the touch of a stranger. Too lonely for something like this to be enough.

Sensation bested common sense. And how could it not, Ian decided, as the young man began to drag his tongue over the head of Ian’s d**k, as gold-flecked brown eyes were draped by eyelashes so long they looked like feathers against cheeks. It was beautiful. It was mesmerizing. It had been far too long since Ian had looked down and watched someone blow him.

When tasting became the hot, wet drag of swallow Ian was sure he was going to melt into the wall. “This is insane,” he whispered, bucking his hips into the vibration when the young man chuckled over his c**k. Fingertips dug into Ian’s hips, motion intensified, and the slide of another zipper signified the man’s give in to his own pressures. It was a sound that couldn’t go ignored. Ian forced himself to lean to the right, to sidestep slightly, and caught the frown that lit on the other man’s forehead.

“I want to see you,” Ian said, almost choking on the words.

An odd expression flicked over the young man’s face and he released Ian’s body with a wet smack. He stood and Ian’s mind screeched at the obviously mistimed request, but the man wasn’t leaving. On the contrary, he stepped back, leaned against the opposing wall of the stall, wrestled his pants down further, and began to stroke his own c**k, posing for Ian’s visual pleasure. He didn’t even flinch when Ian reached for the hem of his shirt and lifted it.

Ian used his wrists to push the t-shirt so he could drag his fingers and palms over torso; the kind of torso Ian knew without doubt that only a young man could have without hours in the gym. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, doing everything possible to commit the body to memory: the sight, the feel, the smell.

He lowered his hand, hovered it at hip level, “Can I…”

“Touch?” the other man prompted when Ian’s tongue refused to continue. He grinned when Ian nodded. “How about you touch while you f**k me?”

A rush of desire powerful enough to make fluid leak and c**k dance had Ian questioning his ability to hold everything back long enough to get any further. “You want me to f**k you?”

“Hell, yes,” the kid said without missing a beat.

Ian closed his eyes and took a breath. “You are old enough to be in the club, right?”

“Twenty-two.”

Ian’s eyes dropped to the apex of the young man’s body, at a strain no less than his own, and cautiously wrapped both hands around the man’s hips. Perfect. He fit perfectly in Ian’s palms, felt perfect in Ian’s palms. Ian used his thumbs to trace the curve of bone. And couldn’t stop himself from asking again. “What’s your name?”

His request was ignored, his shoulders secured. “Do you have a condom?” the man asked. “If not, I have some in my jeans.”

“In my jacket,” Ian said, and then before the man could reach for the necessary clothing, Ian lifted both hands and cupped his face. “Tell me your name.”

Another emotion flickered through the man’s eyes and even while Ian’s internal berating told him he was being ridiculous, that the young man would just give him a fake name or worse, up and leave, Ian couldn’t stop his need to know. To make it at least that personal, if nothing more.

Ian’s heart tripped far more than it should have when the man looked up, held his gaze, and whispered, “Jordan.”

Ian smiled. “Hi, Jordan.”

“Hi, Ian,” Jordan mumbled back, a nervous frown darkening the gold out of his brown eyes. “Are we done bonding now?”

He didn’t wait for Ian’s reply. He reached for the jacket, dragged it off the hook, and handed it to Ian. “Let’s fuck.”

* * * *

Ian’s hands were shaking as he fumbled the key into his ignition. “Can I buy you a drink?” he’d asked, still panting from release, still trying to convince his legs that he could, in fact, remain standing.

“Nope,” Jordan had said, tucking away body parts and straightening his clothes. “Now you can piss off.”

It had caught Ian off guard. It shouldn’t have; Jordan had made it more than clear what the game was. But his tongue hadn’t stopped even though his brain had begged it to. “Maybe your number? I could call you sometime?”

Jordan had just shook his head, clicked his belt closed and unlocked the door. “Nope.”

Ian had stood alone for a long minute, willing breath and heartbeat back to normal as his c**k softened and his confidence died just a little more.

He’d tried to stop at the bar for a drink. To kill the trembling. To quiet the nervous hitch in his guts. The shot just made it worse.

So when he finally laid his head back against the seat of his car and stared into the rear-view mirror, his mind’s eye replaced his own brown pair with the blue eyes of his ex and he sighed. “Madison, I’ll never figure you out.”

Because how could a person want this? What was the point to a random encounter? Where was the attachment, the meaning?

Or was he the crazy one? The only person on the face of the earth that actually felt worse after blowing a load into a willing stranger? Maybe he was the anomaly.

“f**k,” Ian hissed, shaking his head at his reflection. With gritted teeth and a headache starting in his temples, Ian slammed the car into reverse, revved the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot.

* * * *

“At least the weekend wasn’t a complete wash,” Aubrey huffed and pushed her plate of fries away. “Here. Eat these.”

Ian smirked at her over the plate. “Does it make you feel better to make me eat them? You could just not order them, you know?”

Aubrey lifted a perfectly manicured nail and pointed it like a dagger. “Never mind turning the conversation from your weekend to my eating habits. Besides, if you eat them I get to steal a couple and not consider it part of my actual dietary consumption for the day.”

He frowned at her and she cut him off with a wave. “Don’t try to understand, Ian. Just eat the damn fries.”

“Anyways,” she tilted her head and softened her face back into a brilliant smile. “You were telling me about how you got laid by a stranger I believe…”

“No,” Ian corrected. “I was telling you that I laid a stranger. But semantics aside, yes, I had s*x and no, the whole weekend was, in fact, a complete wash.”

“But you had s*x,” Aubrey deadpanned.

“And?”

Aubrey shrugged. “I dunno. Doesn’t that like—” she twirled her hand in the air. “Relieve pressure in you guys or something?”

Ian dropped the fry he’d been gnawing on with a look of disgust. “All it did was piss me off, to be honest.”

“Piss you…off…” Aubrey rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be the weirdest man I’ve ever known, you know that?”

Ian rolled his own right back. “Gee, thank you.”

“No, seriously. What? Why? Tell me. Fill me in. Explain to me this crazy world inside the head of Ian.”

“If I wanted a f**k, I’d go buy one,” Ian growled. “I finally get some cute guy to look my way and he flat out tells me to go f**k myself when we’re done. What the hell, Aub? Am I that much of a loser that—”

“Quit it,” she snapped. “You’re not five. No pouting.”

“I’m just sick of being alone,” Ian said, trying not to whine, failing epically.

Aubrey reached across the table and patted the back of his hand. “At least you’re getting out and not sitting around waiting for Maddie to show back up. I can thank Christ for that much at least. Besides, don’t give up on anything yet, luv. There’s nobody and nothing saying you’ll never get to see this guy again, right?”

Ian dropped his shoulders and glared at her. “How?”

Aubrey groaned. “Stop being an obsessive-compulsive boor. The universe doesn’t owe you anything, Ian. So when it hands you a favor, just say thank you. Don’t sit there and whine that it wasn’t enough.”

“This from the woman who says her ex-husband’s biggest downfall was the size of his paycheck,” Ian pouted.

“Not biggest,” Aubrey smirked. “Just one of. And that was my husband. Not a pretty stranger offered up as distraction.”

“I’m not looking for a distraction,” Ian sighed. “I’m looking for a relationship.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Then stay out of the bars.”

“Bah,” Ian pushed the plate from in front of him and turned his attention to his glass of wine. “Being single sucks.”

“Apparently.” Aubrey smirked. “It also f***s in random encounters.”

“Ba-ha-ha!” Ian burst out way too loud, obnoxiously toned and completely mocking. He ignored the head swivels from the tables around them and frowned at Aubrey. “I’m serious. I’m not good at this…” He waved his hand in the air trying to find the right words.

“Meeting of people?”

He pointed at Aubrey triumphantly. “Yes! That!”

She smiled and made a pen motion in the air towards the waitress, summoning their bill. “On the contrary, Ian. You met someone just fine. He even let you f**k him for the effort. You just couldn’t hold his attention. Maybe your issue is more in the keeping-of-people department as opposed to the meeting-of-them.”

“Ouch.”

Aubrey tsked and reached for Ian’s hand. “Oh, come on. I was teasing.”

“No, no,” Ian pulled away. “I’m sure Maddie would agree with you in a heartbeat.”

“Madison was an asshole. And a whore.” Aubrey handed her credit card to the waitress without even bothering to check the interior of the proffered billfold. “That you managed to keep him as long as you did is medallion worthy. Monuments should be built to your patience and forgiving nature.” She gestured wildly, “f*****g sonnets should be written. Musical scores—”

“I get it,” Ian waved her off. “Not only am I am obsessive-compulsive boor who can’t hold anyone’s attention, I’m also an idiot.”

“Your words, not mine,” she grinned.

“I loved him.”

“I know, hon.” Her voice softened. “Life’s a bitch.”

Ian huffed a half-chuckle. “Just like Maddie.”

“Zing!” Aubrey trailed her finger through the air with a laugh. “That’s much better! Now, let’s make our mood swing official and go get shoes or something.”

Ian lifted his glass of wine, drained it, and stood with a flourish. “After you, m’lady.”

She followed suit, flicking her hair back dramatically and clinging to his arm. “Why thank you, sir.”

They ignored the other patrons as they sashayed to the exit.

* * * *

The mall was busy. Saturday always brought a mind-blowing mishmash of characters: the quiet and the studious, the loud and obnoxious, the mothers with the strollers, the fathers escaping weekend chores, the seniors, and the teenagers. Ian was one of the few who didn’t mind the chaos in the least. He spent far too much time holed up in his office with no one to keep him company but for the occasional intrusion of the IT guy. And that was only for as long as it took to get whatever might be that day’s rant off said specialist’s chest before he’d fling himself back into the hall and get on with his day. Ian, on the other hand, wasn’t a wanderer. He did what he did far too easily in life—he hid. Which meant he got a lot accomplished, and that he was the guy that was always there when someone important came looking; both things that boded very well for his career. But it was a lonely way to spend one’s days when one came home to nothing as well. At least when Maddie had still been around, Ian had someone to talk to. He’d been someone to cling to on those days when there was no choice but to succumb to the urge to bury against someone. For too many months, life had been damn quiet.

So he relished the noise, the shoves, the “excuse mes” and the wailing. He was smiling while he sidestepped wheels and heels and the skateboarder that shot him the finger. He didn’t even mind playing mule to Aubrey’s seventeen billion satchels and bags. Because he was out! With people! He’d managed to slip through work-managed and self-imposed security and though he most likely looked like a captured stowaway, blinking in newfound sunlight and smiling nervously, he was free for the moment.

They stopped to grab a coffee while the crowd made its slow personnel changes from day staff to evening, as the families began to trail away and get replaced by a younger, louder crew, and watched an overly-chlorinated fountain trickle listlessly while they chatted about next to nothing.

It was the shriek that caught Ian’s attention. There was an animalistic quality to it that made him, and most of the food court, turn their heads and shocked glances to see what was killing what. Surprisingly, no dragons cast looming shadows over prey; no reptilian beasts bared fangs or claws. Rather, a simple child, young, tiny, tow-headed, and straight-faced, stood beside the glass elevator doors and verbally expressed the emotion that didn’t make it to his face. Rage, apparently. At the same time, a taller version of the boy stood above, trying to soothe and quiet. Ian’s eyebrows rose in time to the widening of his eyes.

“Holy. Shit.”

“No, I know, right?” Aubrey’s lip curled in distaste. “Children. How awful.”

Ian shook his head. “No, I mean, holy s**t it’s him.”

“Him, who?”

“Him, the kid from the bar. Jordan.” Even Ian heard the reverence in his voice as he spoke the name. Yet as embarrassed as he was by it, the tone had come without intention.

“Please tell me you don’t mean the child screaming,” Aubrey teased. “‘Because that would just be all kinds of icky.”

Ian sighed and shot her a look of disgust. “The other one, of course. His…I don’t know? Brother?”

“Father?” Aubrey suggested.

“Resemblance…” Ian tilted his head.

“Agreed.”

Another shriek echoed through the food court and Ian watched Jordan cringe and drop closer to the child.

“You should go say hello,” Aubrey said, gathering handles into her fist, but Ian was already lifting himself from the chair. “Okies,” she called after him. “I’ll just be here. Getting all this stuff. Don’t worry about me or anything.”

Ian had already stopped listening. His brain was too busy trying to detail the differences between coincidence and fate while rushing to assure Ian that deities had not, in fact, suddenly opened portals in blue skies that promised to lead him towards destiny.

He couldn’t hear the words being mumbled to the child, but he could tell they were being pleaded desperately. They seemed to fall on completely deaf ears, the child staring straight up at the windowed ceiling, expressionless, either mystified or stupefied.

Ian cleared his throat. “Hi, there?”

The reply came so swiftly and matter-of-factly that Ian flinched. “We’re fine, thank you.”

“No…right…I mean…” Ian swallowed hard and tried again. “I mean, hello. Hi. Again.”

Jordan tossed a look his way and turned back to the boy without a single flicker of recognition. “Thank you, we’re…” Jordan paused, tilted his head and slowly turned back to Ian. Frustration was replaced by a sputter of surprise that was quickly shut down. “We’re fine.”

At a loss for anything else to do, Ian extended his hand. “Ian. From the bar?”

Jordan stood, his jaw tightening. “I know.”

Aubrey’s voice broke the all-but-nonexistent conversation. “Yeah, so I got everything.” She smiled up at Jordan with her most fetching grin. “Oh, hiya. I’m Aubrey.”

A smirk twisted the side of Jordan’s mouth. He lifted an eyebrow at Ian. “Your wife?”

“My—” Ian shut down his reply, turned to Aubrey, and gave her a puzzled look until she shrugged back at him. He turned in confusion back to Jordan. “I’m gay. I mean, you know that.”

Another unreadable expression, similar to the one Ian had seen in the bathroom, crept over Jordan’s face and for just a moment Ian wondered if Jordan had mental issues. He looked down at the child staring blankly—were those kinds of things hereditary?

“Thank f**k,” Jordan hissed suddenly and Ian whipped his attentions back. Had that been for him?

“I’ve been watching for like, half an hour,” Jordan grumbled, brushing past Ian like he was a ghost.

A tired, bored young woman met Jordan’s advance. She swung a dirty toddler from one hip to the next. “Hey, Jordan. Hey, Cole. Sorry. I tried to get here quicker but the bus schedule was all f****d up. I wouldn’t even be here if you got yourself a damn phone.”

“What do you me—”

“I can’t watch him, Jordan,” the girl said. “I got called in to work tonight. My mom’s coming over to watch Emma but she said she’s not looking after Cole. He’s too much for her.”

Jordan lifted both arms in a gesture of astonishment. “Chrissy, I’m expected at work in half an hour!”

Chrissy shrugged and shifted the baby again. “Sorry. Nothing I can do. You’ll have to deal.” She let a small smile light her face and nodded at both Ian and Aubrey before her expression fell flat again. “And get yourself a goddamn phone. I can’t keep running across town just because I need to tell you something.”

“You could have told me before I left the apartment, for f**k’s sake. We live two doors down from each other, Chrissy!” The same desperate tone Ian had heard as Jordan spoke to Cole was back in Jordan’s voice. But to infinite degrees. “You said you were going to be here! You said to meet you here! So I dragged Cole all over the f*****g place and now you’re not even going to watch him?”

“I didn’t know then or I would have,” Chrissy snarled.

“I never do this to you!” Jordan’s voice cracked. “Damn it, Chrissy, I have to work.”

Chrissy snorted. “And now you have to deal. I’m not gonna turn down a shift any more than you would. Figure it out.”

As she walked away, her small frame swinging under the weight of the child, Jordan’s hands were shaking.

“I’ll take him.”

Ian regretted the words the moment he spoke them. Aubrey stared at him like he’d sprouted a second head and Jordan glared at him like he’d just been notified that Ian was the devil incarnate. Only Cole remained impassive.

Jordan grunted. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Why? What’s wrong with me?” Ian asked, wounded by both intonation and expression.

“I don’t even know you, moron.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you at the bar,” Aubrey said in sing-song and Ian glowered.

“I’ll have you know,” Ian said, smug doing its best to mask insulted. “I’m a damn nice guy.”

“Sure,” Jordan nodded. “Like all serial killers and pedophiles say just before they snatch their victims.”

“Wait…what? Why would you even say that?”

“Well you did have s*x with him in the bathroom of a bar,” Aubrey murmured behind him. “And he is half your age.”

“Just one minute there, missy,” Ian hissed, only half-joking with his tone. “He hit on me. And I made sure he was legal first.”

“Ah,” she folded her hands in front of her and nodded at Jordan. “Proper gentleman then.”

“I’m not…I’m just saying…” Ian shook his head. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yes,” Jordan agreed. “Yes, it is. Dude, I don’t care if you’re the second coming. I’m not going to let you walk away with my kid. Even I, as simple as I am, know that’s a big no-no.”

“I’m with a woman!” Ian insisted.

“So was Bernardo.”

Ian opened his mouth to argue but forced himself to snap it shut. He folded his arms over his chest and stared at Jordan. “True enough. Well said.”

“Thank you,” Jordan frowned. “I think.” He flicked an anxious glance at Cole who stood, unmoving, still staring. “Anyway, we’ll be fine. You two have a nice day.”

“Wait,” Ian said quickly, his voice far louder and much higher than he’d intended it to be. He winced when the little guy flinched noticeably. “What about after? When you get done? We could go grab something to eat or…”

Jordan was already shaking his head as Ian’s words trailed off. “Thanks but no thanks.”

“Another night then?”

“Nope.” Jordan reached for the little boy’s hand and spoke sharply. “Cole, eyes on me. Give me your sleeve, please.”

“A movie then?”

Jordan didn’t bother to say no again. “Cole, now please.”

Cole’s eyes never left the ceiling as he inched closer and lifted his arm towards Jordan. In a move that made Ian frown with confusion, Jordan secured the cuff of Cole’s sleeve and held Cole by hooking his pointer finger underneath the fabric.

“The park?” Ian tried. “The three of us? It’s supposed to be a beautiful weekend…”

They didn’t even wait for Ian to finish speaking. Jordan’s steps were clipped and determined. Cole toddled beside, paying no attention whatsoever to direction or footfall.

“Dee-nied,” Aubrey chuckled. “Should we stop and get some ointment for that burn, or what?”

“And you’re what? Fourteen now?” Ian snapped. Just as quickly he sighed, lifted his hand to stop her retort, and hung his head. “No, I already know. That was uncalled for. And I’m sorry.”

Aubrey sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Oh my, baby. You’ll never learn will you? Always letting yourself fall too hard and too fast.” She kissed his cheek. “Let’s get out of here. I have wine back at the house?”

He flicked a glance down the corridor. “Wine is good. A sledgehammer to beat my brains out might be better.”