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The boy twitches, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion until his eyes finally find Travis. He lights up at the sight of him, body rocking forward for just a second before settling back. “Sir,” he whispers, nothing but despair in his voice.
“Yeah, that’s it, pet. Good boy.” Travis pushes his hand through the boy’s hair again, then brings it down to settle on the side of his neck. He squeezes gently. “Sir is right here. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”
“Sir,” he says again. Then a third time, most desperate of all. “Sir.”
“Shh. Sir’s got you. Can you stand?” The boy just blinks, looking helpless and afraid. Travis nods to himself as he remembers questions aren’t going to work right now. Carter needs orders. Certainty. “Come on. Up, up. Take sir’s hands.”
Travis offers his hands with the palms up. Carter takes them without hesitation, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. The man that Travis sort of forgot all about steps forward and offers Carter’s clothes. Travis would laugh at the reversal - him dressing Carter after months of Carter dressing him - if he wasn’t busy freaking out about the situation as a whole.
“I wouldn’t have played with him if I knew he had a dom,” the man says just as Travis has managed to get Carter’s shirt on. “He made it sound like he was new.”
“He is. It’s… complicated. He's - well, he's not-” Travis shakes his head, unable to say not mine. But he has to say something. This man won't let them leave without some sort of explanation. He's clearly too good of a dominant. “He’s been through a lot. This - us - well, we were-”
The front door slams open, two men barreling in with guns raised. Travis winces. He forgot all about the 10 minute deadline.
“What the fuck?” the guy asks, his voice taking on a bit of panic. He puts his hands up in the air like Maison and Jake are the police. Travis supposes that’s what they’re coming off as. “I didn’t fucking do anything! Did you call the cops on me?”
“No, I - for fuck’s sake, guys, stand down.” Maison and Jake exchange a single look before both lowering their weapons. Travis turns to the poor guy who has had one hell of a night since meeting Carter Beckett. “Like I said - complicated.”
“That’s one word for it.” The guy backs away, shaking his head. “Just get out of my fucking apartment.”
Travis can’t argue with that. He wraps an arm around Carter, about to help him walk, when Carter wraps his arms around his neck and whispers, “Carry?”
It’s such a broken, sad little request. Travis can’t do anything but scoop the boy right up and hold him close to his chest.
He’s stopped just as he reaches the door when the man calls out, “Wait!”
Travis turns halfway, Carter’s body already lax in his arms.
The man steps forward and offers Travis a slip of paper. When he realizes Travis can’t exactly take it at the moment, he turns to offer it to Maison or Jake. “I’d like someone to contact me tomorrow. Preferably Carter. I’d like to know he’s alright. Please.”
Travis tilts his head, surprised. Also impressed. And incredibly threatened and jealous.
“I’ll make sure he has the number,” Travis promises. “I’ll leave it to him if he’d like to call.”
The man nods, putting his hands in his pockets and stepping back. “Fair enough.”
When they get to the vehicle, Travis slides into the backseat with Carter, trying very hard not to think of the night they met, spent just like this. Maybe they haven’t come as far as he’d like to believe.
Jake slips into the driver’s seat while Maison takes the passenger. He immediately turns to look back at Travis and Carter, concern etched into every inch of his expression as he takes in his brother curled up in Travis’s lap. “Is he okay?”
“He will be,” Travis says as confidently as he can. If he’s confident enough, it’ll be true, right?
“Carter has done this before,” Jake adds. “And Trav always pulls him out. He’ll be okay. Travis can handle this.”
Maison eyes Jake before looking back at Travis. He doesn’t seem as convinced. “What even happened?”
“I happened.” Unable to look at his friend any longer, Travis turns his gaze down to the boy in his arms. Carter is just staring blankly at a spot on the door. His heart breaks all over again. “I did this to him.”
Chapter Eight
A familiar score of music is playing in the distance. Classical, maybe? Instrumental, for sure. Something that makes Carter happy and sad at the same time.
As it starts to fade, a voice speaks. The words are muffled. Quiet. A young man. He sounds upset.
Carter's upset too, though he can't quite remember why. Maybe because his whole body is sore for some reason? And he's hungry and thirsty? And his eyes have that rubbed-raw feeling that always happens when he's cried a lot?
Carter shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position, but freezes when he realizes he’s not alone.
