19. Noah

I witness the very moment it crawls into his mind. His eyes shutter with fear, and his spine stiffens as if there were someone in the room with us, telling him he"s wrong. Like his grandfather"s ghost is whispering in his ear.

This might be wrong. But it"s happening. He"s mine, not his, and I"m going to prove it.

"Get on your knees," I say through my teeth as I grip his hair tighter, pushing him down.

He resists, but not enough to convince me he really wants to get away. Lane is bigger and stronger than me. He knows what words to say. Yet he only looks up at me with his soft stony eyes as he allows me to force him to his knees.

My cock is throbbing.

"I didn"t say stop."

Lane returns his hand to my cock, jerking me at a new angle. I moan, not hiding the effect he's having on me. When I"m vocal, he gets more confident, strokes me harder. The roughness of his palms is unlike anything I"ve ever experienced, and I can feel myself edging towards a powerful release. I"ve been hard for days, waiting, hoping he'd come around.

"Harder," I tell him, and he obliges, looking up at me with astonishment. There"s still fear behind his eyes, but it works for me. It makes my balls tighten.

I"d like to shove my cock down his throat and have him suck me like I did him. I wonder if he"d like it as much as I did. His cock is huge. Way longer than mine for sure, and I had trouble taking it at first, but I was getting the hang of it. I liked the way he tasted. I liked the sounds he made when he hit the back of my throat and made me gag. I wanted to savor it. To explore the shape of him and play.

It was over too quickly.

Replacing his hand with mine, I hold his head back and look down at him while jerking myself roughly.

"Close your eyes," I warn him before shooting my load all over his face and neck. Renewed pleasure shoots through my balls when he gasps, his lips opening and catching some cum that splashes over his face. "Oh, fuck," I breathe out as I move in closer, pumping out the last of my release across his chiseled jaw, watching it drip down his neck.

"You"re mine now," I whisper. "Not his. Mine."

I"m not sure if I"m talking about his grandfather and the past that haunts him, or Danny, or anyone else. All of the above. For however long it takes to get this out of my system, he is only mine. And by the end of this, we"ll both be better able to figure out our shit.

Maybe I'm delirious, but it feels like a perfect plan.

I release my tight hold on his hair and jaw, and swipe my fingers through the mess, pushing it away from his eyes. When he blinks his eyes back open, he looks shell-shocked. Then they move back and forth, rapidly processing everything that just happened.

"Don"t," I tell him, running my fingers through his hair and down his neck and over his cheeks, purposefully smearing my cum, rubbing it into his skin without him realizing. I don"t know what I"m doing. It feels like I should be touching him, reassuring him, and I also want my cum embedded in his pores. Marking him as mine. "Don"t let him take this from you."

Who the fuck am I even talking about? A ghost? God?

It doesn"t matter.

Lane"s lips part, and I think he"s going to speak, but he seems like he thinks better of it. I want him to talk to me, but I"m mesmerized by his lips. Why do I want to kiss him? Is it because he doesn"t want me to?

Finally, he speaks, and I try not to hear the pain in his voice.

"I"m going to go take a shower," he says, gently removing my hands from his face.

My lips twist. "You don"t want to be covered in my cum all day?"

The way he blinks, and the way the crotch of his pants moves says he likes that idea very much. But he"s not ready to submit to that part of himself yet. This was probably a lot. I should give him space to breathe, but I don't want to lose the connection, either.

Lane doesn"t say anything else. He gets up and walks to the bathroom. Thankfully, he doesn"t look back to see me still frozen on the ground, having a mini internal crisis. I wish I could make all of his reservations go away. Maybe it's the post-orgasm high I'm experiencing, but I think we could be on to something great. I feel fucking fantastic, except I wish he could enjoy it, too.

My phone rings, and Dad's number flashes on the screen. A tiny spark of dread parks itself in the back of my head before I answer. My dad doesn"t call often, usually sticking to text or the odd email if he needs to send me something.

"Dad? Is everything okay?"

"Hey, bud. Yeah, everything"s fine. I was actually checking in on you two."

"We"re good. The storm isn"t too bad, but classes are canceled because some roads were blocked, I guess."

"Oh, yeah, okay." His tone is weird and it sets me on edge.

"You weren"t calling about the storm?"

"Not really," he says, sounding hesitant. "Where is Lane?"

"He"s in the shower."

"Hannah has been trying to call him for almost an hour, she"s kind of freaked out about it. Hold on."

I hear him mutter something to Hannah, then I hear her in the background. "Thank God. Does he know?"

"Does he know what?" I ask, letting him know I overheard.

Dad doesn"t answer me right away, but continues to talk to Hannah. There"s silence for a moment, then a door shutting. A lawnmower runs in the background. He must have gone outside.

"Dad, what"s going on?"

He sighs heavily. "I can"t tell you everything, because I don"t really know it all myself, and it"s not my place. But Lane might need some extra support, so I"m going to give you a Cliff"s Notes version. Please keep this information to yourself unless Lane confides in you. Please, Noah?"

"Yeah, Dad. Okay. Just tell me what"s going on."

The shower is still running, but I close my door just in case.

"They found some pretty scary stuff during the raid," he starts. "Things were much worse there than we thought. We don"t know which parts Lane was involved in. Hannah is hoping Lane will talk to her about it, but you know how he is. She"s worried he"ll bottle it up and?—"

"Explode under pressure?" I finish for him. That's exactly what he"ll do. Or what he"d normally do. I won"t let that happen.

"I told you that a detective was trying to get Hannah and Lane to testify?"

"Yeah, I remember. They declined, right?"

"They did. But after everything they found, and the charges being brought against the leaders, there's a good chance they could be subpoenaed. Hannah has gotten in touch with a lawyer, but Lane will need to meet with them."

"They can do that?" I huff. "Is there any chance they won"t?"

"I don"t know. A lot of the charges are pretty terrible. And the guy that was in charge after Pastor Warren died…" He pauses, and in the silence I can imagine him rubbing the bridge of his nose the way he does when he"s stressed or upset. "He"s Lane"s biological father."

"What!?" I can"t help but raise my voice, but I quickly lower it after sneaking a peek out the door to make sure Lane isn"t listening. "I thought he didn"t have a father. I mean, obviously he had one, but I thought Hannah didn"t know who he was or something?"

"It"s complicated," he sighs. "But it"s not my story to tell. I probably shouldn"t be telling you any of this in the first place. I just wanted to give you a heads up. Hannah is trying to keep the detective from showing up to talk to Lane, but she needs to talk to him. Tell him to call her back. It can't wait until this weekend. And, uh—be there for him, okay?"

"It"d be easier to be there for him if I knew any of what was going on."

"It"s not my place, son. Enough of their business is being slung all over the media. They"re making a goddamned documentary about it for fuck"s sake. The least we can do is try to give them space to grieve in peace."

"How bad was it?" I saw clips of the raid; it's been all over social media. Could any of those conspiracy theories be true?

"Pretty bad, son. I can"t imagine what that kind of childhood would do to a kid."

I blow out a breath. "I"ve got him, Dad. We"re all good here," I assure him, although I don't know how I"m going to live up to that promise. If it means giving my stepbrother a million blowjobs just to keep his mind off things so he doesn"t implode, I"ll do it. Happily. But I doubt it could be that easy.

"I think Hannah"s telling me she"s got Lane on the phone. I"m going to go be with her, just in case. And don"t forget we"ll see you Saturday for the match. I was hoping we could all go to dinner afterwards."

"Okay, yeah, that sounds good."

"And Noah?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Thanks for being you."

I don"t know what to say to that, so I just tell him I love him and that I"ll see him this weekend. When I hang up, I sneak across the hallway to press my ear against his door. I hear his voice, low and steady, presumably talking to Hannah. I can"t hear what"s being said, but he doesn"t sound too upset. Then again, if I know Lane at all, he"ll keep it together when he"s around everyone else. He"ll tell his mom he"s fine, he"ll tell my dad the same. He"ll tell me to my face that nothing"s going on, and then I"ll hear him exercising in his room until he passes out. Sometimes he has nightmares and talks in his sleep, but I can"t hear what he"s saying.

It"s still a reasonable hour for a late breakfast, so I pull out a few things and make pancakes. Lane takes a long time on the phone. I keep sneaking back to press my ear to his door to check if he"s still talking. Eventually he comes out, and he has this almost robotic manner about him. He"s pleasant enough, but his mask is feeble at best. I can"t tell if he"s not trying as hard because we"ve made some kind of breakthrough, or if he"s just numb.

I supposed I"d rather feel nothing if it were me. And he deserves a damn break. So if he wants to zone out for a while, I can help him with that. We should probably talk about what happened in the hallway and how that"s going to work, but we don"t have to do that now. We can talk about it once I suck him off again, so he"s nice and relaxed.

"Want to watch a movie today?" I ask. "We can"t really go anywhere, so I was thinking you"d like one of the Monty Python movies. But we can watch anything you want," I say, moving around the kitchen, trying to act casual.

"I"m actually going to go meet up with Danny for a bit, do some lifting."

Act casual. Act casual. Act fucking casual.

"Oh." That"s all I"ve got. If I say anything else, it will not be casual.

"It"s not like that, Noah."

"Not like what?" I ask, pinning him with my eyes. Daring him to say it. To acknowledge it.

He huffs out a tired breath, and my hackles drop a little. My jealousy isn"t going to help him. They're going to the gym, not his bedroom. There are going to be tons of people down there on a day like today.

I push a plate of pancakes in front of him, and the jar of peanut butter because he eats pancakes like a fucking weirdo. "You should eat something first."

He seems a little taken aback that I don't say anything else. And I"m totally planning to casually walk away, like the cool, indifferent guy I am.

But I can"t fucking help myself. Before I go inside my room, I turn around and lean against the door frame. I very casually stretch out my abdominal muscles, pretending like I don"t know he"s looking, then winking when I catch him. It is our little game we've always played, after all. Only now there are stakes.

"For the record, since we haven"t ironed out the details of our new arrangement?—"

"What arrangement?"

"The one where I get to deep throat your cock whenever I want. Pay attention."

He looks sufficiently taken aback, so I smile smugly and continue. "Like I was saying, we haven"t ironed out all the details, but you need to know that I don"t share my toys."

"I"m not your toy, Noah," he snaps.

Mmmm. Yes, please get fired up.Then we can get angry and jerk each other off instead of him going anywhere near Danny fucking Hastings.

"I"m sorry, did you prefer to be called my dirty little cum slut? Because I can bathe you in my jizz again before you leave, if you need a reminder of who you belong to."

Because I"m an asshole, I lift my phone and take a picture of his face right now. It"s just too good. Caught between sheer disbelief, rage, and turned the fuck on. When he opens his mouth to tell me off, I point at his dick.

"You might want to do something about that before you go downstairs," I tell him. "I"ll be in my room if you need help with it."

I manage to turn and walk away, muttering to myself. "If he finds out what you"re packing, I"ll never get him off you."

After a few minutes, the door slams shut and I stick out my bottom lip, having a little one-person pity party for myself. That"s okay, I"ll get him later.

It"s been hours since Lane went downstairs to meet up with Danny, and I"m driving myself crazy. I"ve considered going down there a few times. I like to work out, too. But it would be too obvious.

What are they talking about? Are they talking about the church raid? Is he confiding in Danny because he thinks he"d understand better since he"s a Jesus freak, too?

Fucking nice-guy-asshole.

I"m only driving myself crazy. Nothing is grabbing my attention to distract me from my unhinged jealousy over my stepbrother having a friend.

They"re just friends. Friends with a lot in common. Like being super fit and good looking. And having similar religious backgrounds so they can commiserate with each other about how Jesus doesn"t like it when you take it up the ass.

Is Danny a top or a bottom? Hell, is Lane a top or bottom? I feel like he gives off bottom energy, for me at least. Because despite being so large and in charge everywhere he goes, when he"s with me, he"s putty. He does whatever I say, even if it humiliates him. Maybe because it humiliates him. He"d probably have to look it up, but I think he might have a degradation kink.

Inspired by his incessant need to research everything, and trying to get my mind off the idea of Lane taking anything—me—in his ass, I open my laptop and turn the screen so it won"t be obvious what I"m looking at in the event Lane comes home and sneaks up on me. He'll just think I"m looking at porn.

I type Deliverance Summit Church in the search bar and start with the mainstream news articles instead of social media and gossip sites. There's one network that has been following the story since the coverage of the raid. The newer reports show the mugshots for some of the people arrested, and I immediately recognize one man. It"s uncanny. I"m looking at an older, creepier version of Lane. The only differences I can see, other than age, are that Lane"s lips are fuller and his eyes are lighter. Lane"s hair has grown out, although he still wears it close cropped, but he keeps it longer on top. Long enough to grip onto. No, Noah. Focus. He used to have the same buzzed haircut as this creeper, though. And haircuts aside, the resemblance is astounding. There's no mistaking it, this guy is Lane's father.

The charges listed under his name, Gideon Larsen, make my stomach churn. Sexual assault, specifically of underaged girls. Trafficking. Child labor violations. Abuse. Neglect. Fraud and licensing violations.

Holy shit.

I think about what my dad said, about it not being complicated, but not his story to tell. This guy is clearly Lane"s father, and lived in this compound with Lane, but never claimed him? And got away with it despite there being no way they aren"t related. It seems really fishy to me. Then I think about how old Hannah must have been when she had Lane—seventeen, maybe? This guy looks to be in his sixties or older. Which means he would have been in his late thirties or early forties at best. And his charges...

My stomach rolls thinking about all the pieces to a puzzle that I hope I"m wrong about. Losing her son was bad enough, but if she was forced—I want to kill him.

I feel nauseous, but I keep scrolling.

There are three other people with similar charges, and a so-called doctor that was practicing without a license. He"s got two manslaughter charges under his mugshot in addition to a long list of others.

Jesus.

I find an article that mentions what was found on the fifty-acre compound, and pictures that look like they were taken in another era. Over one hundred people lived in what looks like their own little village. There"s a schoolhouse, a doctor"s office, a barber for men, and a general store. Every family had a little house with a garden. There was livestock and a greenhouse. The article says it was almost completely self-sufficient aside from the electricity.

It looks like an innocent little town from the past. Except that around the compound are fences, high ones with barbed wire around them. I knew they were closed off from the outside world. Hannah and Dad had mentioned it to explain some of Lane"s odd behavior, but hearing that and seeing this is a different level of understanding. This wasn't just a church community. It was a prison.

I want to look away from the dozens of articles, some of them clearly sensationalized, but I can"t. It"s like craning your neck to see a car accident when you pass by, except this crash involves people you know and care about. It feels wrong to look away because I"m uncomfortable. Thinking about what I'm pretty sure happened to Hannah makes me sick, and angry so angry—but she"s the one that lived it. Survived it. The least I can push myself to do is read a little about how they lived so I can understand them better. So I can be there for them. So I can understand what the fuck is going on in that giant stoic man"s head when he shuts down on me.

But then I find some information I almost wish I hadn"t. Information about the upcoming documentary about Deliverance Summit Church. The promise of leaked photographs and footage, and live interviews of survivors, so the public can watch and gawk at the pain of real people. Live broadcast! Next Sunday at eight P.M. Eastern!

Then there's the entire reason the compound was raided in the first place, after years of investigation. A youth summer camp created ten years ago that offered reparative therapy for ‘wayward boys experiencing identity confusion and unnatural predilections.'

Oh, Lane.

No wonder he"s so repressed and afraid of who he is. I wonder how much of that he saw. He must have seen and heard terrible things. I knew his grandfather was a pastor, and was very Old Testament scary, as my dad put it. But how unhinged does someone have to be to actually run a conversion therapy camp?

My stomach rolls again, and I"m regretting eating at all today, although it"s been hours. It"s almost dinnertime, and Lane still isn"t back. Is he still with Danny? Is he talking to him about all of this right now?

I can"t decide if I"m jealous, or if I just feel bad that I don"t know what to do with this information.

Afraid I might wear a path in the floor from my pacing, I decide to move to the sitting room to do our yoga routine and try some new, difficult poses. The exercise helps clear my mind.

When I get out of the shower, Lane's shoes are on the shelf and his door is closed. When I press my ear against it, I hear soft music playing. He doesn't come out for the rest of the night, and I go to bed early so I'm not too tempted to bother him.

A low, mournful moan pulls me from the most bizarre dream.

It's just past two in the morning when I lift my head to check my alarm clock. I was too restless earlier to fall asleep easily. I don"t think I finally dozed off until around midnight.

There's another sound, like someone being punched in the stomach, and that gets me out of my bed. I run to Lane's room, pressing my ear to his door again. I"ve heard him talk in his sleep, and even cry, although I"d never tell him I witnessed it. But this time, it sounds like he's struggling, like someone could be in there with him.

I try the door, and the knob thankfully turns. The light from the kitchen casts a soft glow into the room as the door opens.

Lane is thrashing around in his bed, blankets thrown off, sheets tangled around his big body.

"No, no, no! Please!"

Most of his words are unintelligible. But I hear something that sounds like an apology. He calls out for his grandfather, and it's followed by more thrashing and pleading.

I should do something. Anything. I call out his name, but then wonder if I should wake him. Is this a nightmare? You're not supposed to wake someone in the middle of a nightmare, right?

Fear clutches my chest, but I move to his side, unable to bear to watch him struggle like this. My hand trembles when I reach out, gently shaking his leg. He kicks out, screaming, "No!", and scrambles back into the pillows.

"Lane, it"s me. It"s Noah," I say, as calmly as possible, but he"s shaking his head back and forth, and using his hands to pull something invisible off his face and arms.

He's scratching himself, so I try grabbing his hands, but he swings. I back away, watching helplessly, until he seems to calm down a little. He's muttering to himself, and looking around the room, but not really seeing. His arms wrap around his body and he lurches forward, moaning a painful, guttural, "Nooo!" that I feel in my chest. He"s pulling at his shirt, and I'm worried he'll start scratching himself again.

Darting forward, I slide behind him, wrapping my arms around his and holding him tight. He fights me for a few moments, and I struggle to hold on.

"Shhh. It's me, Lane. It's Noah!" I yell.

"Noah?" His voice is shaky and low, barely above a whisper. He seems confused, but when he registers my name, he calms, and sinks into my embrace.

I lay frozen, arms wrapped around his wide chest, while he drifts off. I stay until I can't feel his heartbeat thudding violently through his back, and his breaths are even. When I finally pull away, I do so slowly, and I sit on his desk chair for a while and watch him sleep.

"What did they do to you?"