Sam LaRose, Author

Chapter One

            Dylan Montgomery savored the feeling of the music thrumming through his feet, up his calves, and settling in his chest, over his ears. Through his drunken and drugged up haze, he felt the blissful disconnect that he’d come to associate with good things happening. Therefore, it was a rewarding experience. The club air was thick with sweat and heat. He barely felt it, more concerned with the two bodies he was pressed between. He wasn’t entirely sure who was behind him. Possibly one of his regular dance partners? In front of him was a hazily familiar face. Ian something or other? He’d met him before. At an art show, maybe? He was cute, and that was the fore-front thought in his mind.

            “You want to go somewhere?” Ian had to yell over the music. Even then, Dylan just barely made him out. He relied more on the miasma clearing momentarily, forcing focus to read lips.

            He smiled and gave a slight nod before finally turning to see who was hanging out behind him. His grin broadened. The boy was cute, but a stranger. He didn’t think twice about taking a fistful of white t-shirt and pulling him down to press their mouths together. The stranger looked momentarily stunned, which just made his heart flutter a little more. Shy boys were so cute. He reached into his back pocket for one of his cards and shoved it into the boy’s front pocket. He mouthed a sly, “Call me”, and then gave him a not-at-all inhibited pat on the crotch.

            He turned back to Ian, who had held out a hand to him. He took it, feeling the smoothness of his new friend’s skin against his. He shivered slightly. Even in the heavy air of the club, Ian was cool to the touch. Always the risk-taker, he followed him out of the club and into the ally way.

            “So, where do you want to go?” Ian asked, squeezing his hand.

            “I thought you had a plan.” Dylan felt that his voice was louder than it needed to be. He cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to clear out his ears. “Sorry, it was extremely loud in there.”

            Ian grinned, “You hungry?”

            “Not for food,” Dylan cocked an eyebrow.

            Ian smirked, “My partner is home, so my place is out of the question.”

            Ooh, taken. Dylan frowned slightly. He wasn’t a home-wrecker.

            “We’re in an open relationship,” Ian explained before Dylan could decline. “We only bring boys home if we plan on sharing. I don’t think I want to share you.”

            Maybe it was the E, but Dylan grinned to show off a set of pearly whites, “How about my place?”

            “The Senator’s Mansion?”

            “Why not? My parents are busy with one of their big Gala events,” Dylan rolled his eyes, feeling a little light of breath all of a sudden. “If we sneak in one of the side entrances, they’ll never even know we’re there.”

            “Dylan,” Ian caught him by the shoulders, suddenly looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah,” Dylan nodded. “I’m perfect.”

            “How much did you have to night?”

            “How much what?” Dylan blinked.

            “Booze. Drugs. Anything you took tonight.”

            Dylan’s face softened, “I don’t know… A couple Long Islands and some shots, and a tab of E.”

            “You need some water,” Ian linked their arms together. “There’s a convenience store up the block. We’ll get you set up and take a cab to your place, okay?”

            “Aw, you’re so sweet,” Dylan reached up, stroking his cheek. “Where did you say I met you before?”

            “At the Marco Kennedy art exhibit, last month,” Ian reminded him. “I’m an intern at the Journal in Arts and Entertainment.”

            “Right,” Dylan nodded. “Sorry.”

            “It’s all right,” Ian reached over to tilt up his face. He pressed a light kiss to his lips. “You’re too cute, you know that?”

            “I get that a lot,” Dylan assured him.

            “C’mon,” Ian tugged him down the sidewalk. “You needed that water five minutes ago.”

            Dylan trudged along behind him, perfectly willing to follow. At the store, he waited outside, letting the cold air try and clear his head a little more while Ian bought him an over-priced bottle of water. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until the cold, condensation covered bottle was pressed into his hand. He cracked the top and drank nearly the entire twenty ounces in three huge gulps before he broke for a breath.

            “I got you two. I figured you’d be thirsty,” Ian waited for him to finish the bottle before pressing the second one into his hand. He took the empty and tossed it into the recycle bin next to the store front.

            “Have I told you you’re sweet?” Dylan asked.

            “Yeah, you did,” Ian assured him with a grin. “You ready?”

            Dylan nodded, “Let’s go.”

            Ian took him gently by the elbow and steered him to the side of the street where he hailed a cab. He ushered him inside of the car and got Dylan to focus long enough to give the address for the Montgomery Mansion, on the other side of the city. About as far away from the seedy clubs as you could get to build an estate.

            “Is he okay?” The cabbie raised an eyebrow.

            “Yeah,” Ian nodded. “Just had a little too much to drink is all.”

            “You know,” he steered back into traffic. “That’s the senator’s kid.”

            “I know,” Ian nodded.

            “You know he’s sixteen, right?” he gave him another disapproving look in the rearview mirror.

            “I’m just taking him home,” Ian’s stomach gave a small twist. “Wouldn’t you, if you found the kid drunk in a club getting grinded by guys twice his age?”

            The cabbie hummed, but didn’t say anything else. Dylan appeared to not have been listening at all. His hand slid up the inside of Ian’s thigh, and he pressed closer to him.

            “You smell good,” Dylan took in a deep breath, his face pushed into Ian’s neck. The hair on Ian’s arms prickled as he felt Dylan’s tongue against his earlobe.

            “Thanks,” Ian put his hand on top of Dylan’s and squeezed lightly.

            “Does that feel good?” Dylan prompted, biting softly.

            Ian hummed in approval, keeping one eye on the cabbie who seemed to be keeping his disapproval to himself. Dylan didn’t seem at all bothered by the audience however, sliding his hand to the front of Ian’s jeans, and stroking the zipper.

            “Whoa–uh, hold on,” Ian grabbed at his hand as he found the pull and began to unzip. “Why don’t we just wait until we get where we’re going?”

            Dylan frowned, “Why? You worried about what he’s gonna say?” He cocked his head toward the driver. “He’s seen worse, I’m sure.”

            “Because you should learn a little patience,” Ian reached up and ran his fingers through Dylan’s hair.

            Dylan groaned, “But cooperation is so much easier.” He ran his tongue up Ian’s neck again.

            Ian held back a laugh, edging away slightly, “Okay, okay.”

            He felt Dylan grin and his hand reached for the zipper again. Ian squeezed his eyes closed as the younger man’s fingers V’d over his half-mast through the front of his trunks. The cabbie made a muffled disgusted noise, but didn’t make any move to pull over and kick them out. If anything, the cab sped up towards its destination.

            By the time they arrived at the Montgomery Mansion, Ian had managed to keep Dylan’s hands over his clothes, but he hadn’t been able to cool the flame; instead letting himself be sucked into the make-out with reckless abandon.

            Dylan jerked away slightly as the cab stopped, “Oh. We’re here.” He reached into a pocket for his wallet and peeled off a fifty. “Thanks so much. That was fast.” He handed the crisp bill over and then pulled Ian from the cab.

            “You want me to wait?” The cabbie asked Ian with a raised eyebrow.

            “Ah, no, I don’t think so, but thanks,” Ian gave him a nod.

            The cabbie hmphed again and pulled away from the curb without another word. Dylan linked fingers with Ian, pulling him over to the gate where he punched in his access code.

            “Welcome home, Mr. Montgomery,” crackled a disembodied voice. “Your parent’s gala is still underway, if you’d care to join them in the ball room.”

            “Hardly,” Dylan scoffed. “Just open the gate, David.”

            “As you wish, sir. Who is that with you? For the log.”

            “None of your fucking business, that’s who,” Dylan snapped.

            There was a moment of silence, and Ian could just picture the poor guy in some security office somewhere on the grounds, rubbing the bridge of his nose in annoyance and exasperation. “Sir, your parents insist on knowing, especially, your guests for our log.”

            “I’m Ian Walters; I’m an intern at the Journal. I’m just bringing Dylan home from the club. He had a little too much to drink.” Ian replied, hoping to make the guy’s job a little easier.

            “Very good, sir,” the voice sounded a bit relieved. “Enjoy our visit.” There was a loud click, and the gate began to swing open slowly. Dylan pulled him through as it was just wide enough to slip through, and they began the trek up the long path towards the looming mansion.

            “Holy shit, this place is huge,” Ian’s mouth dropped open.

            Dylan focused long enough to look up at the house as it came into view. “Oh yeah, I guess.”

            “This is a mansion?”

            “It’s called a castle, technically. It was built in the early 1900s by some guy who made his money in the railroad and oil. It shuffled hands a bit during World War II before being abandoned. My parents bought it relatively cheap after they got married and spent the next five years restoring it.”

            “So, you’ve lived here your entire life?”

            “Yep,” Dylan nodded.

            “Jesus. How do you not get lost in this place?”

            “We use about a fourth of the house; the rest we occasionally rent for weddings, movies, TV shows, historians, and so,” Dylan shrugged. “I’m sure there are rooms here I’ve never even been in.”

            “Wow,” Ian breathed again. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never had a guy take me home to his castle before.”

            Dylan laughed, “Yeah, I’m a regular Prince Charming.”

            “Fuck yeah,” Ian squeezed his fingers, pulling him up close. “Kiss me.”

            “Castles turn you on, huh? And here I was beginning to think you were serious about just taking me home.”

            “That was before I saw the castle,” Ian leaned down, capturing his lips. Dylan groaned, leaning into him. His fingers ran up the front of Ian’s t-shirt, the heat radiating from his chest. He felt the drum of the intern’s heart under his palm. He shifted closer as Ian’s hands wrapped around his waist.

            “Hmm. Let’s get inside. Maybe I’ll show you the Rockefeller Suite.”

            “Is that the nicest room in the place?”

            Dylan grinned, “That’s what all the brochures say.”

            “I don’t think it’s close enough,” Ian shook his head.

            “Oh,” Dylan sighed. “I suppose we could do it on a table in the Carnegie Ballroom.”

            “How many ballrooms does this place have?”

            “Just the two,” he shrugged. “My parents are in the Parson’s Room. It’s quite a bit larger for their events.”

            “It’ll have to do,” Ian chided.

            “C’mon,” Dylan linked fingers with him again, and broke into a jog towards the house. At the side entrance, he punched in another security code. The doors clicked again, and they pushed inside the historic castle. The younger man slid through the house, tip-toeing quietly through the hallways until they approached a large ornate door.

            “This is the Carnegie room?” Ian asked as Dylan touched the door handle.

            “Uh huh. Unless you think you can make it upstairs?”

            “Nope. No way in hell.”

            Dylan laughed, turning towards him as he turned the door handle. Ian leaned in to kiss him as they tumbled back into the room. It wasn’t until they were already inside that the quiet din reached their ears, and they both looked up find a few hundred eyes all staring at them.

            “Oh, look at all the people,” Dylan mused.

            “Umm…” Ian righted himself and smoothed his clothes back into place.

            “Dylan,” a blondish woman with a glass of wine in her perfectly manicured hand stepped forward. “Hallway. Now.”

            “Oh, Mother,” he sighed.

            “Now.”

            He sucked in a breath and pushed Ian out of the door with him before turning around on his mother.

            “What are you thinking?” Her voice was steely cold and Ian found himself shirking behind the younger man who didn’t seem at all bothered by her chill.

            “We needed to go somewhere,” Dylan shrugged. “I thought your party was in the Parson.”

            “There’s a problem with the chandelier in the Parson.”

            “Oh, heaven forbid,” he rolled his eyes.

            “Dylan, you can’t keep acting this way,” she ran her fingers over her hair, careful not to move any of it out of its lacquered position.

            “What way?” He rolled his eyes.

            “You stumble home after midnight, reeking of booze, and I’m sure you’re high off your ass,” she bit. “You know exactly what I am talking about, Young Man.”

            “You never seemed to care before.”

            It was her turn to suck in an exasperated breath, which she slowly released before taking another sip of her wine.

            “Go to your room,” she shook her head. “No side trips. The Paramount people are in the East Wing for their movie.”

            “C’mon,” Dylan started to link an arm with Ian.

            “Alone,” she put a hand on his shoulder.

            “Excuse me?” Dylan turned on her and Ian shrank back once more.

            “I said you’re going upstairs alone,” she turned to Ian, her voice suddenly much less scary. “My apologies, sir.” She gave him a somewhat quizzical look. “Ian Walters, isn’t it? You’re an intern at the Journal?”

            “Yes ma’am,” he nodded, surprised she remembered him. “We met at a gallery a few weeks ago.”

            “Yes,” she nodded. “Marco’s show. You said he was talented but suffered from an inflated ego, probably to match his inadequacies in his pants.”

            He pursed his lips and nodded, “And then you explained you’d just bought the piece I offended.”

            She smiled, “Well, I’m sure there were worse men for my son to end up with this evening. However, I’m sure you understand; he’s sixteen and not exactly known for his excellent decision making.”

            “Yes, very sorry Mrs. Montgomery. I, really, just wanted to make sure he got home safely.”

            “I’m sure you did,” she nodded. “Thank you. I can arrange for David to drive you home if you wait down in the foyer.”

            “Thank you, ma’am.”

            Dylan opened his mouth to protest, before shutting it again and shaking his head, “Fine. Fucking fine.” His large black boots clomped against the carpet, making dull thuds as he moved away. He turned out of sight and they heard the boots reverberating off the stairs.

Like what you read? Remember to go and pre-order Real Talk right now from your favorite vendor including Barnes & Noble, 24Symbols, and more. Print Edition coming soon!