THIS WORK IS FULLY PROTECTED BY U.S. COPYRIGHT LAWS. NO PORTION OF THIS WORK MAY BE COPIED OR REDISTRIBUTED BY ANY MEANS WITHOUT THE EXPRESS CONSENT OF ITS AUTHOR.
THIS WORK DEALS WITH A FICTIONAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN TWO MEN. IF READING ABOUT HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS OR SEXUAL CONTACT BETWEEN TWO MEN IS EITHER ILLEGAL IN YOUR AREA OR OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READY ANY FURTHER.
ANY SIMILARITIES TO ANY PERSON LIVING OR DEAD ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL. THIS WORK IS ENTIRELY FICTIONAL.
DYLAN'S HOPE
Michael A. Raburn
Chapter 6
I woke up groggy, unsure of where I was and my throat felt like I had swallowed a pillow. I tried to focus on one thing at a time as I shook my head to get the cobwebs loose. Looking around the plain, white room I realized I must be in a hospital. Oh yeah, the axe. Where's Dylan? Okay, he's here, asleep in a chair. His was slumped down looking uncomfortable with his neck twisted on a folded arm.
"Baby." I tried to whisper but had to clear my throat. My cough roused him.
"Jon, you're awake."
"Yeah, I need some water." I croaked at him.
He rose and stumbled over to my bedside and reached for the pitcher. I looked up and smiled at him as he handed me the glass. Tears were slowly sliding down his cheeks.
"Baby, what's the matter?" I reached up to wipe his face. He pressed his cheek into my caressing hand.
"Honey, I thought I was gonna lose you." He sniffled.
"Dylan, don't cry. I'm still here, baby. Stupid trick to get a little attention, huh?"
"I'm so sorry." He wailed.
"For what?"
"For startling you like that."
"Oh, baby. It was my fault, not yours. If I'd been paying attention... Come here." I reached for him, pulling him onto my chest, cuddling his head into my neck while he sobbed. "What time is it?"
"A little after four, I think."
I scooted over in the bed, making room for him beside me. "Come up here, we need some more sleep. Is my leg okay?"
"Yeah, it'll be sore for a few days. The doctors admitted you because you lost so much blood."
He sat on the side of the bed, still in my arms.
"How did I get here? Did you call an ambulance?"
"He's quite the hero, Mr. Reynolds." The nurse peered around the curtain. "He got you here himself. If he'd waited much longer..." she trailed off.
"So, I'm going to be okay?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. The doctor repaired the artery in your leg and we're giving you plenty of fluids so you can replenish your blood supply. You'll be good as new in a couple of weeks." She explained.
"When can I get out of here?"
"Probably tomorrow, I would think. The doctor will be here in the morning to do rounds then. Let me check your vitals and I'll leave you alone for a couple more hours. Can I get you anything?"
"No, we just need some sleep." I yawned.
"Dylan, you want me to get a rolling bed or something?"
"Nah, he's fine here with me. Kick off your shoes, buddy." I pulled the covers up so he could lie down with me.
"Okay, guys. I'll leave you alone now. And, I'll keep everybody else out. Be back in a few hours to wake you up."
I smiled and nodded at her as she turned towards the door. Dylan snuggled closer to me, laying his head on my shoulder. We fumbled a few minutes to get him covered, having to work around the IV tubes that connected my arm to the bags hanging above me.
"I love you, baby. Thank you."
"Hmm, you too, Daddy." He mumbled into my chest as his exhaustion took him into sleep, safe in my arms. I kissed his forehead, then his lips before I slowly drifted towards sleep.
"Mr. Reynolds, it's time to get up." She whispered.
I opened my eyes to see the smiling face of the nurse.
"Let me get your vitals real quick and then you can wake him up. They'll be making rounds in a little while. I didn't want them barging in on you two. Some of those people might say something and I'd hate to hurt them."
"Why would you do that?"
"Mr. Reynolds, I figured out last night that Dylan wasn't your son. So that left only one other option. See, my brother's gay too so I know the signs to look for." She motioned to Dylan. "He's a cute one, isn't he?" she asked as she noted the readings on my monitors.
"Don't know what I'd do without him." I whispered back.
"He knew all the right things to do. He was so strong until he knew you were being taken care of, then he just collapsed in my arms. I could tell how important you were to him."
Dylan's hand moved slowly down my chest, caressing me. He was sleeping on his side facing me, his right leg over my right one. I looked down to see his sleeping face, a small smile forming on his lips. He pressed his groin into my hip, grinding his hard cock against my warmth. His hand slid lower.
I looked back at the nurse to see the sly smile forming on her face.
"I'm all done here. Remember, they'll be in to see you soon." She smirked.
"We'll be ready." I laughed as she walked back to the door.
"Dylan..." I started. "Oh..." I moaned as his fingers wrapped around my enlarging penis. "Dylan, baby. Don't start something we don't have time to finish." I laughed.
"I can finish it." He stated plainly, opening his eyes to look at me.
"The doctor will be here in a few minutes."
"Won't take long." He sat up, turned and ducked under the sheet.
He pulled the hospital gown that was already bunched up around my legs up a little higher and plunged his mouth down over my cock. I frantically clutched at his head, both afraid that we'd be discovered and incredibly turned on. Guiding his head with my hands, I hunched up into his mouth only a few times before I started shooting my load into his throat.
"Best breakfast in the world." He said as he pulled the gown back over my groin. Licking his lips he leaned in for a kiss. He slipped from my arms and stood by the bed. He was adjusting the covers when the door opened. He quickly sat in the chair and crossed his legs so no one would see his substantial erection.
"How are we feeling this morning, Mr. Reynolds?" the doctor asked.
"I don't know about you, but I'm feeling fine."
"Baby, thanks, that was great."
I wiped my mouth and handed the plate up to Dylan. I was situated on the sofa, propped up on pillows from the bedroom. We had gotten home from the hospital after they finally decided I was well enough to go home. The doctor was concerned about my blood pressure but when he checked back at the end of rounds it had returned to normal enough for him to release me. Dylan and I snickered after he left. We also had to deal with something for me to wear home. Luckily our nurse found some scrubs for me to wear since I could not get my bloody jeans back over my bandage.
After I had hobbled into the house, leaning on my lover's shoulders, Dylan got me some shorts and a tee shirt to put on before he wrapped me in a blanket. He explained that he didn't take the time to put out the fire or the grill before he made the mad dash to the hospital so we were both glad to see the house still standing when we got back to the cabin. Dylan relit the fireplace then made me some lunch. He poked his head back in the back door while I was eating to show me the charcoal he had cooked on the grill. Oh, well, we could buy more steaks.
"Are you hurting?" He asked, taking the plate towards the kitchen.
"Yeah, a little bit." I answered.
"Okay, here, take one of these." He handed me the bottle and reached for my glass from the coffee table. "Want to watch a movie or something?"
"Nah, I'm still kind of groggy. It must be these things." I said, rattling the bottle.
"Let me tuck you in for a nap." He smiled at me.
"What are you going to do? This time is for us. I feel selfish."
"I've got a couple more things to do and I need to start a dinner that I don't burn up, this time."
"Come here." I pulled him to me and kissed him passionately. "Wake me in a couple of hours if I sleep that long."
"Will do, honey. Have a good nap." He pulled the blanket up and helped me slide down on the sofa.
I woke a little while later to delicious smells coming from the kitchen. I tried to figure out where Dylan was but couldn't hear him in the house. I heard water running somewhere but it didn't seem to be in the house. Using the arm of the sofa and the coffee table, I managed to stand on my good leg and get up. I hobbled to the bathroom to relieve myself. Coming out a few minutes later I got a glimpse through one of the windows of him moving around outside. I hopped to the back door to get a better look.
He had the water hose stretched from the faucet outside the house over to the concrete pad where the woodpile was. He sprayed the area with water then grabbed a broom and started to scrub. It took me a few minutes to figure out what he was doing. Taking care of things, as usual.
Mother was trying to get my attention as my father ranted on. I glanced sideways to see her shake her head tersely, warning me not to listen to him. His heart had finally rebelled at his years of heavy drinking and smoking and the tons of cholesterol he ate as a regular part of his diet. Mom called me after she called the ambulance to take him to the hospital. I remember my only thought was how had he escaped all these years. This heart attack should have happened when he was forty or fifty.
"I'm not leaving you anything in the will. It's all going to your sister. I won't give you any of my hard earned money, you faggot." He was ranting.
It was an old tirade; I heard something similar to this every time we were together. Unfortunately, Andrea was present at many of his one-sided shouting matches. Why he insisted on arguing about it was beyond me. After that discussion with Granddad I'd stopped fighting with my father and tried to limit the amount of time we spent in the same room. Unfortunately I felt I had to be at the hospital, if for nothing else to support my mother and my daughter.
"Dad, I don't want your money. You know as well as I do that I've never asked you for a penny since college. You can give it all to anybody you want to, it's yours."
"Damned right, it's mine. I'd rather burn it than you get it." He fumed.
"Dad, calm down. Andrea will be here in a minute. She and Dylan were coming over from school. Can we change the subject?"
"I'll talk about what ever I want to. I'm the one dying here, you filthy cocksucker."
"What if she comes in here and hears you saying that. Is that really how you want your granddaughter to remember you?"
Oops, wrong question. He started screaming and yelling so much that the nurse came running into the room to see what was wrong. She tried to get my father to calm himself before he had another heart attack. She was only mildly successful at stemming his diatribe; he was still muttering and swearing under his breath. She finally shook her head and walked towards the door. I saw my daughter step into the room as the nurse left. Dylan waved from the doorway indicating he would stay outside.
"Hell, she's probably a lesbian, the way you raised her!" he sneered.
The look on Andrea's face made my heart break for her. She was hurt and angry. Later I realized that it wasn't what he said that upset her, it was his treatment of me. Either way, she had finally had enough of him. She ripped the curtain back from where she was standing. She was red faced, angrier than I had ever seen. Through clenched teeth she spat:
"I love you grandfather and eventually I will forgive you for everything you've ever done to hurt us. But I will never forget. You are a foul-mouthed vicious man and quite frankly I'm relieved that my children will never know you. The next time I see you, you will be dead and lying in a casket. I hope that you can live with that." She turned and stomped to the door. Looking after her I saw her run to Dylan's arms, crying.
"Andrea..." he called.
"Dad, you've done enough damage." I nodded to mother and left the room to find Andrea. She raised her head from Dylan's chest and turned to me.
"Daddy..."
"Shh, darling." I pulled her into my arms as she cried. Dylan moved around beside us to rub both our backs. Blinking back the tears, I glanced up to see him mouth the words:
"I love you."
Dad lived for another two years before a final heart attack killed him in the middle of the night. Mother woke the next morning, his cold body beside her. She had tried to find a way for us to reconcile but he wouldn't give an inch, adamant that only he was right. My daughter, true to her word, kept the promise to her grandfather.
"Jon, you shouldn't be up. Do you need something?" Dylan asked when he noticed me watching him.
"Only you." I answered, smiling.
TO BE CONTINUED