Chapter 8: The Uninvited Guest
The knock was a gunshot in the quiet room.
Nathan and Michael locked eyes, a current of pure terror passing between them. The sanctuary of seconds before evaporated. Nathan held up a hand, a silent command for Michael to stay put. He grabbed a hotel robe, shrugged it on, and tied it tight. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. He counted his steps to the door. Seven. He pressed his eye to the peephole.
The distorted fisheye lens showed a woman, her back to him, arms crossed, tapping a stiletto heel on the ornate hallway carpet. Dark hair in a severe cut. A tailored pantsuit. He knew the set of those shoulders.
Janet.
A sickening mix of relief and new dread washed over him. He unlocked the door and opened it a crack.
Her head whipped around. Her eyes, usually warm with a hidden smile, were flat and hard as chips of obsidian. She didn’t wait for an invitation. She shoved the door open with the palm of her hand, forcing him back, and swept into the suite like a storm front.
“Where is he?” she demanded, her voice low and razor-sharp.
“Janet—”
“Don’t ‘Janet’ me, Nathan. Where the hell is my brother?”
From the bedroom doorway, Michael emerged, having pulled on a pair of soft grey sweatpants and nothing else. His hair was mussed, his lips slightly swollen. “I’m here.”
Janet’s gaze raked over him, taking in the unmistakable evidence of intimacy, of sleep, of private peace. Her jaw tightened. She turned back to Nathan, stepping into his space until he could smell her perfume—something expensive and cold.
“What in God’s name were you thinking?” Her whisper was more violent than a shout. “You brought him here? To LA? To a hotel? Are you actively trying to destroy him? Or is this just spectacularly stupid?”
Nathan’s own fear curdled into defensiveness. “He insisted.”
“He insists on a lot of things! He insisted on having a fucking chimpanzee as a roommate! That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea!” She spun toward Michael. “And you. What is this? A death wish? You think the paps aren’t perched in the trees outside your own gates twenty-four seven? You think they wouldn’t sell their firstborn for a shot of Michael Jackson sneaking into a downtown hotel with Nathan Feuerstein?”
“We were careful,” Michael said, but his voice was thin, childish.
“Careful?” Janet let out a short, bitter laugh. “There is no ‘careful’ for him. There’s only ‘locked down’ and ‘catastrophe.’ You two holed up in your mountain cabin is one thing. This?” She flung an arm toward the wall of windows, the glittering, predatory city beyond. “This is throwing meat into a pen of starving dogs.”
“I needed to be with him,” Michael said, and the raw plea in it made Nathan flinch.
“You needed? Since when do your needs ever matter, Michael? You know the rules. You live by them or you get chewed up and spat out. We have a system. Discreet cars. Secure houses. Layers. This…” She gestured at the generic luxury of the room. “This is amateur hour. And you,” she said, turning her ferocity back on Nathan. “You’re supposed to be the grounded one. The sane one. You were supposed to be good for him. Not lead him into a fucking fire.”
Nathan’s control snapped. “You think I wanted this? You think I don’t lie awake every night seeing every horrible headline? He was coming apart at the cabin, Janet. He couldn’t breathe. He followed me here because the thought of being alone was worse than the risk. So what was my move? Tie him to a chair? You tell me!”
The room throbbed with silence. Janet stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looked at Michael, who was standing with his arms wrapped around himself, shrinking into the doorway. The anger seemed to drain from her posture, replaced by a profound, weary sadness. She saw it, too—the desperate fragility her brother usually hid beneath choreography and charm.
“Jesus,” she muttered, running a hand over her face. She walked to the minibar, pulled out a tiny bottle of vodka, and twisted it open, drinking it neat. She grimaced. “Alright. Okay. The damage, for now, is contained. My guy at the front desk flagged the alias. That’s how I knew. If he saw it, it stays with him. I’ll make sure of that.”
Michael took a tentative step forward. “Janet…”
“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re here. It’s done. Now we contain it.” She fixed Nathan with a look that was no longer furious, but deadly serious. “He does not leave this room. Not for air, not for a fucking mint. You have your meeting tomorrow. You go, you come straight back. The day after, we move him. One of my people will bring a car to the service entrance. We’ll take him to a safe house in the hills. You can follow when you’re done.”
Nathan nodded, the relief making him lightheaded. “Okay.”
“It’s not ‘okay,’” she said. “It’s a mess. But it’s the mess we have.” She turned to her brother, her expression finally softening into something resembling pity. “You got your fix? You needed to be near him? This is what it looks like. This panic. This planning. This prison of a nice room. Is it worth it?”
Michael looked past her, to Nathan. His eyes were clear. “Yes.”
Janet sighed, a long, exhausted sound. She tossed the empty mini bottle into the trash. “Then I’ll be the warden. No more surprises, Michael. For either of you. Promise me.”
“I promise,” Michael whispered.
“Nathan?”
“You have my word.”
She gave a curt nod, collected her purse, and walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the knob, not looking back. “The room is paid for under a shell corporation. Order food. Don’t answer the door for anyone but room service. And for God’s sake, pull the blackout curtains.”
The door clicked shut behind her. The silence she left in her wake was heavier than before, loaded with the truth she had laid bare.
Nathan stood frozen, the adrenaline leaching from his muscles, leaving them weak and trembling. He heard Michael’s bare feet on the marble floor. Then Michael’s arms were around his waist, his face pressed between Nathan’s shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry,” Michael murmured into the robe.
Nathan turned, enveloping him, holding him so tight he feared he might break him. “Don’t be. She’s right. But don’t be sorry.”
They stumbled toward the bed, a tangle of limbs and lingering shock. Nathan pushed the robe off his shoulders. He worked at the waistband of Michael’s sweats, pushing them down over his hips, his movements deliberate, slow. He needed to erase the fear, the harsh words, the vision of cages Janet had painted. He needed to feel real.
He laid Michael back on the cool duvet and kissed him. Not with the frantic anger of the cabin kitchen, nor the mournful tenderness of last night. This was something else—a deep, searching reclamation. He mapped Michael’s mouth with his own, then trailed his lips down the vulnerable line of his throat, over the frantic flutter of his pulse. He took a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently until Michael gasped, his back arching.
“Need you,” Michael breathed, his fingers scrabbling at Nathan’s back. “Please. Need to feel you.”
Nathan moved lower, his hands spreading Michael’s thighs. He bent, taking the length of him into his mouth in one slow, wet glide. Michael cried out, his hips jerking off the bed. Nathan worked him with his tongue, using the flat of it against the sensitive underside, sucking hard, reveling in the taste of him, the weight on his tongue, the broken sounds falling from Michael’s lips. This was a truth no headline could touch.
“Nathan… I’m close… stop…”
Nathan released him with a soft pop. He grabbed the hotel lotion from the nightstand, slicking his fingers. He pushed one inside Michael, who was already open, still loose from their earlier coupling. He added a second, stretching him carefully, watching Michael’s face contort in pleasure.
“Turn over,” Nathan said, his voice thick.
Michael obeyed, rolling onto his stomach, presenting himself. Nathan knelt between his legs, his own cock heavy and urgent. He poured more lotion into his palm, stroking himself, coating his length. He positioned the head at Michael’s entrance and pushed forward.
He sank in with a relentless, gradual pressure, burying himself to the hilt. They both groaned, a synchronized release of breath. Nathan stilled, letting them both adjust, feeling the incredible, hot tightness sheathing him. He bent over Michael’s back, blanketing him, his mouth next to his ear.
“This is worth it,” he gritted out, and began to move.
He set a deep, grinding rhythm, each withdrawal slow, each thrust forward a deliberate, soul-deep possession. The slap of skin was muted, rhythmic. Michael pushed back against him, meeting every drive, his face turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut.
“Fuck… yes… just like that…” Michael chanted, his voice slurred with pleasure.
Nathan’s pace increased, the need coiling tighter. He reached beneath Michael, finding his cock again, hard and leaking. He fisted him, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts. The room filled with the sounds of them: ragged breaths, slick friction, the soft cry Michael let out with each inward plunge.
“Gonna come,” Nathan warned, the tension snapping taut in his balls.
“Inside me,” Michael begged, his body clamping down. “Fill me up. Do it.”
That was all it took. Nathan’s orgasm ripped through him, blinding and violent. He slammed home and held there, pumping his release deep into Michael’s body with a guttural shout. The convulsions of his own climax triggered Michael’s. He felt Michael’s cock pulse in his hand, spilling hot stripes over his fingers and the duvet beneath.
He collapsed, careful not to crush him, still buried inside as they both shuddered through the aftershocks. He nuzzled the sweat-damp hair at Michael’s nape.
Long minutes passed. The city’ light bled around the edges of the un-pulled curtains, painting stripes across their spent bodies. Nathan finally softened and slipped out. He fetched a warm cloth from the bathroom, cleaning them both with a tenderness that felt like an apology. He pulled the blackout curtains shut, plunging the room into absolute darkness.
In the void, they found each other again, limbs intertwining under the sheets. Michael’s breath evened out into sleep first. Nathan lay awake, listening to the muted traffic thirty stories below. He counted the seconds between Michael’s inhalations. One. Two. Three.
The panic was still there, a low hum in his blood. But beneath it, a stubborn certainty had taken root. It was worth it. This man, this desperate, forbidden love in the dark, was the only real thing in a world of glittering lies. He held on tighter, and finally, sleep took him.