Sam Collins (Part 6)

A sudden crash woke him. He opened his eyes and the memories of the previous night returned full force. Grabbing the empty bed beside him he lifted his head to scan his apartment. Where the fuck was Sam?

"Paul?", a quiet voice called out from the small bathroom. Paul immediately jumped off the bed, taking the few steps to the small door in one leap. He stopped at the closed door, listening.

"Can I come in?", he asked, listening for any signs of struggle inside.
"Uh hu", Sam sighed.
Opening the door slowly, he found the guy sitting in the shower tray, naked. He lowered himself and touched his shoulder.
"Are you okay? Have you hit your head?", he asked, rising his hands to wander over Sam's temple, feeling for dents or wounds, but not finding any.
"I.... I went to the toilet", Sam said, resting his head against the cold white shower tile. Paul looked at him, dumbfounded.
"So?"

Sam looked at him for a second before lowering his eyes and flushing slightly. "I'm bleeding..."
Paul's mouth formed a surprised "Oh", before lifting his hand to cover it. He looked around the small bath and spotted a cloth lying beside the sink.
"May I see?"

Sam lifted his head, a defeated expression on his face, his features contorted by pain. He nodded. Paul grabbed the man's bicep and lifted him to full height in the small shower stall.
The guy was still weak from the drug. What was that shit?

"Can you stand on your own? Grab my neck for support." Paul deliberately did not shrug out of his muscle shirt and tested the water, making sure that it was warm, before aiming the spray at Sam's muscled backside. Why had he turned the guy down yesterday? He could have spared him this shit. But then, Sam hadn't exactly been a gentleman in that bar and Paul had had his share of assholes in his life. Not even a pair or pretty eyes and rock hard abs would have convinced him to start playing the game once again. He knew damn well why it was better not to get intimate with anyone.

His heart reached out for Sam when he heard the guy wince in his arms and felt the grip tighten on his neck, as Paul rinsed the ass crack thoroughly, using the cloth to softly wipe it clean. The tissue came back red. Damn! He hoped it wasn't a deep fissure. Putting a suture there was something that even a seasoned army guy like him didn't want to think about. Especially by those assholes in that joke of a hospital.

Sam breathed heavily at his side, his heart beating against Paul like a jackhammer.  He switched off the water and began rubbing the guy dry with a fresh towel, making sure not to rip open the wound down there with his movements.

"I need to put a salve on there to disinfect it, okay?" Paul grabbed Sam's chin, looking into his moist eyes. He was clearly way too macho to allow himself to cry in front of another man, but Paul could tell that his pain was intense. He nodded.

Paul didn't bother to help him put on clothes and directed him toward the bed where he lowered him on his belly. He went back to the bath and found a medical salve in his mirror cabinet. The tube wasn't expired, thank God!
Returning to Sam's side, he uncapped the tube and warmed the salve between his fingers. This shit felt like lube, but this was an entirely different situation, sadly. Paul looked at the muscled guy in his bed and smiled to himself. If only...

He settled between Sam's legs and started rubbing the salve generously into his crack, working it deeper with his fingers. Sam winced when Paul crooked his fingers to feel the fissure at the rim of his entrance. It wasn't too big, so it might heal by itself. "Are you okay with me doing this?", he said.

Sam pressed his head into the mattress, a grunt showing his consent. Paul frowned. He withdrew his finger, put more salve on it and returned it, this time caressing the inner walls of Sam's channel more deeply, until both knuckles vanished inside the man. Sam sighed. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Paul felt brave enough to brush his fingertip across the sensitive bundle of nerves inside Sam and he felt the man tremble under his touch.

"Still okay?" Paul carefully withdrew his finger, only to sink it into Sam's depth once more, making sure not to put any pressure on the opening to prevent the fissure from tearing up again. But this was enough stimulation to make Sam breathe heavier. Sam grunted, fisting the bedsheet.  "Uh hu."

Paul withdrew the finger once more, clapping Sam's inner thigh playfully. "Come on, turn around."
Sam lifted his head, watching Paul warily, his glassy eyes big as saucers. "Why?"
He didn't wait for an answer, though, and rolled slowly onto his back, both legs spread to keep Paul within them.

Paul looked at the hardening cock in front of his face, framed by a neatly trimmed bush of hair, the foreskin pealing back slowly, as the cock rose to its full size. He licked his lips.

"Just wanna make you feel good. You okay with that?" He met Sam's motionless stare, waiting for him to say yes or no. When Sam stared mutely at him, Paul took that as a yes and slowly worked his finger back into the moist hole and blew softly across the glistening head, the slit already moist with pre-cum.

He found the tender spot inside Sam's body and watched Sam jerk his head back in pleasure, before he closed his mouth around his cock and swallowed him down to the root. Damn, he hadn't done porn for nothing. You either could deep throat a cock of this size or you couldn't. Paul was fortunate enough to be gifted with this talent and felt Sam wreathe underneath him.

Sam lifted his hip off the bed to reach deeper into Paul's throat. Despite Sam's bad condition and the drug still flooding his system, it only took Paul a few thrusts and wicked twists of his tongue before Sam bucked heavily against the intruding finger caressing his prostate and he sent endless spurts of cum down Paul's throat, loud moans filling the room.

When Sam was done, Paul released the cock from his throat and felt Sam's pounding heartbeat with his lips still closed around the shaft. It's been so long since he had last tasted a man. Paul swallowed gratefully and released the cock with an obscene sound, kissing Sam's abs and withdrawing his finger for good. He slid up the bed and rested next to Sam's heavily breathing body.

"Thank you", Sam said, his breath finally slowing down. Paul looked at him with a crocked smile and pulled the cover over Sam's naked body.
"Don't mention it. Go back to sleep, Sam"

Paul rested against the pillow and closed his eyes, hoping to catch a couple more hours of sleep before the sun rose. He listened to Sam's breathing evening out and felt Sam's fingers close around his hand right before he fell asleep.

Sam Collins - Chapter 5

Sam could see the light behind his closed eyes and winced when the feeling of being run over by a truck hit him.  Where the hell was he?

"This morning, the Army Intelligence base in Kentucky  reported several Plague-related incidents in Clarksville. A Special Unit has cleared the area in the meantime. However, the current line of the barrier needs to be shifted west once again, leaving only Arkansas and Missouri unaffected from the spread of  the Lyssa-V1 strain that originated in North Carolina. The western strain Lyssa-G1, the first outburst of the Plague in the US, has reached Texas in August, as previously reported. Further spreads of this strain have not yet been reported.

The police are instructing residents in Arkansas and Missouri to beware of possible refugees from Kentucky who might accidentally spread the virus further."

The radio was turned down and Sam opened his eyes, slowly adjusting them to the bright morning light. He was in a bed overlooking a big room that served as kitchen, bed and living room in one. A broad shouldered blonde guy with a short crew cut was making coffee on the counter by the window. The morning light put him in a soft haze .
Sam touched his head, groaning from the effort. The stranger turned around.

"Good morning. How do you feel?" He walked over to the bed and placed a cup of coffee on the bed side table.
Crap. Who was the guy?

"Terrible. Feel like I've drowned in booze. Is this your place?" The stranger nodded. Sam watched the worried expression on the man's face. He was handsome, reminded him of his training supervisor at the Academy. The one he had a secret crush on back then. He looked at the coffee cup next to him.

"Who are you? Have we...?" Sam was surprised when the man backed away from him.

"Hell no!" The shocked expression on his face spoke volumes.

"Gosh, was I that drunk?" He tried to laugh, wincing when his head ache made the effort impossible.

"You were drugged last night! I'm Paul, remember?"
The memories almost blinded Sam. The bar. The married bartender. That disgusting asshole who made him drink that shit that knocked him out. He tried to forget what had happened then.

"You're the the bartender. The one with the ring on his finger", he rasped.

"I guess I am", Paul said, concern written all over his face.

"Where's your partner? I didn't mean to cause you trouble." Sam tried to get up, suddenly feeling a hand on his chest pushing him back down.

"You shouldn't get up too quickly." Sam looked at the lines of worry in Paul's handsome face, brown eyes framed by thick brows as blond as his hair.
Sam rested his head back on the pillow. Paul handed him the coffee cup and strode across the room looking out of the window from behind the curtain.

"He's dead", he said.

"Huh?"

"Jason. My partner. He died two years ago." Paul turned his head to look at Sam.

"I'm... I'm sorry", he muttered, a surprised look on his face.

"Are you worried?", Paul looked out of the window again, not addressing Sam's painful expression of sympathy.

"Worried?", he asked uncertainly.

"About the Plague coming closer to Arkansas", Paul explained looking back at Sam.

Had there been one moment in the last five years when Sam had not been concerned about the spread of the virus? It had cost him his love, his career and almost his life. But did it trouble him right now? Seems like he had enough other things to worry about.

"Nothing I can do about it anymore", he replied, settling back against the cushion.  Paul frowned at this.

"You were involved? In the Army, I mean." He walked back to the bed, sitting down at the foot of it.
Sam studied his face, taking in the blonde stubble on Paul's chin, giving him a rugged look. He sighed and nodded.

"I had just finished the Academy in West Point, starting my first commission in Germany when it all began" Sam's gaze drifted off, memories flooding back as he spoke.

"The TV in the barracks was on and we were watching a football game when they suddenly interrupted the broadcast to show a newsflash. It was about an incident in Fort Bragg. Someone was found dead with terrible bite marks and blood all over his body just outside the Airbase. Apparently, the body was highly contagious with some unknown disease that spread quickly among the staff of the base. It had also reached civil residents in the area surrounding the base and anyone who tried to examine them got infected instantly." Sam paused, taking in a breath.

"It seemed like an act of terrorism or something, right here in the US. We applied for instant relocation. By the time we got back to the US, the Plague had already led to ten thousands of victims. I was selected to serve in the Army's first Special Unit."

Paul looked at him with worried eyes.

"So you killed all these people, just like the Army did in Clarksville." It wasn't a question, Sam realized.

"We got trained in bio warfare and were instructed to eliminate any infected carrier that crossed our path. I killed more than two thousand humans in the course of five years." Why was he telling him all this? Did Sam feel the need to confess, all of a sudden? Paul watched him with cold eyes.

"What about you? What's your story?", Sam asked, silently wondering, if Paul contemplated to kick him out after this revelation. Paul hesitated, clearly digesting what he had just head.

"I was in the Antilope Valley when it all first began", he said eventually.

"You're Air Force?", Sam interrupted, interest visible in his eyes. Paul did have the look of an ex-Air Force man, but he wouldn't have believed it to be true. All he lacked were aviator sunglasses.

"I was. Used to work as an instructor in the Test Pilot School we ran there. When the first wave of the Plague began, funds were relocated to Special Units and the Pilot School was among the first facilities that were shut down. We were given the choice to enter a Special Unit and start killing virus carriers - or we were asked to leave... Guess what I chose."

Sam looked down. He never felt ashamed for his choices. Looking back, though, he knew that there could have been other alternatives for him. Had he and Sean left the Army before it was too late, he might be happily settled down with him, instead of waking up in a stranger's bed after one
hell of a night.

"I went back to L.A. With the economy going to hell thanks to the Plague and no family left, I soon used up all my savings and ended on the street", Paul continued.

"And then I did what any gay man in my situation and with my background would do in Hollywood", Paul stated, his voice gone quiet.

Sam had no clue what he was referring to.

"You wrote a screen play?", he guessed. Paul almost laughed out loud.

"No, dumbass! I did porn."
Sam felt the color rise in his face. He was such a fool. Paul didn't seem to be phased, though.

"Anyway, it paid off real well. And I met a guy on one of the sets there. Jason. He was something." Paul looked out of the window again before he continued.

"When the Plague hit L.A., we packed our stuff and left before it was too late. We moved here, because Jason's family used to live here. When we arrived, the house was empty, his family gone to the East. They probably died of the Plague there, we never heard of them again."
Sam swallowed hard.

"What happened to Jason?"
Paul sighed and looked back at Sam.

"He wasn't healthy. He used to take meds in L.A. but when our income dropped, we could no longer afford them."

Sam didn't know what to say. It must have cost Paul more than courage to help him last night. And Sam had just been a bitch and wanted to leave the hospital.

"You need these meds too? Is that why you wanted me to take them?"

"You remember? Yes, I didn't want you to go through this on top of what happened." Paul's eyes
dropped to the floor.

"I will get tested. Maybe he was clean." Sam wasn't sure he could believe his own voice. "So, you're sick too?"
Paul's expression was illegible.

"I don't have any symptoms. Never got tested, though. Still, the Plague is what concerns me more, to be honest. I hope you're not thinking of shooting me already?" He winked, but now it was Sam's turn to be annoyed.

"I'm not a murderer. If we hadn't intervened, the Plague would have snowballed all over the states." At least that's what their superiors had said all those years. Looking back at how many people died from his hands, he wondered if they had been wrong all along.

"Seems like it already does, Sam."
Anger flared within Sam. He ignored Paul's sad eyes when he scrambled out of the bed and got up shakily.

"I should go." Sam felt the blood drop from his head and his knees turned to pudding.  Paul's arms were around his body before his face connected to the linoleum floor.

"You're going nowhere. Not until you feel better." He lifted Sam back onto the bed. The sickening pain in Sam's head lessened a bit and he was able to see things clearly again. Paul went to the counter and fetched a plate with a bagel on it, dropping it next to the coffee cup on Sam's bedside table.

"Help yourself when you feel hungry. I'm gonna take a nap. Just wake me if you need anything."
Paul dropped on the queen sized bed next to Sam, crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.

Sam watched his profile, studying the square jaw and blonde stubble on his cheeks. Paul must have been about ten years older than Sam. But he still had the fit body of a trained military man which was displayed nicely in the muscle shirt he was wearing. Sam closed his eyes and tried to rest, but the
memories of the previous night haunted him. Maybe it served him right, though. If the Plague was meant to erase mankind for good, all Sam had done was kill a countless number of frightened innocents. He was never haunted by their faces or their screams. He didn't even want to contemplate what that might say about him as a human being.

There was one face, however, that he could not forget. And he never would.

It was the only one he had truly loved.

   

Sam Collins - Chapter 4

The night didn't seem to end.
Paul rinsed a few glasses and threw a glance at his watch. Only 9.30. Seven hours to go.
The couple he had watched make out at the counter had left half an hour ago. At least someone was having fun tonight.
He couldn't believe Soldier Boy had followed the gross hairy guy into the darkroom. He'd have thought a guy like him had standards. Paul suddenly felt old and dated. Maybe he shouldn't feel bitter and just take the next best guy to bed and finally allow himself some fun.

Speaking of fun, Gross Hairy Guy must have had plenty, judging from the smile on his face. Paul watched the man emerge from behind the veil to the dark rooms. He grabbed a jacket from his corner seat and left without so much as glance back at Paul.
The remaining glasses on the counter were the only task that distracted him from the veil, waiting for Handsome to emerge with a similar smirk on his face.
What was taking him so long? Cleaning up? God, Paul hoped not.

Still, after five minutes and no more dirty glasses in front of him, he frowned and ignored Kyle, the 60 year old alcoholic who was around almost every weekday, silently staring at the counter and only raising a finger every now and then to order the next drink. Paul had often wondered if the man was gay at all or if it was just the cheap booze that lured him in. Anyway, what was the young guy doing in there so long?
He dropped his towel and walked over to the curtain.

"You okay in there?" He felt the urge to knock, but the cloth hanging from the ceiling didn't seem to support that idea. No response.

Damn, the last thing he wanted was to walk in on some private moment, but something felt wrong.
Paul opened the veil and stepped inside, the darkness almost swallowing him until his eyes adjusted to the soft beam from the blackened neon light in the corner. He almost stumbled over the body lying on the floor. Shit.

"Hey! Son, what's wrong?" He crouched down and grabbed the guy's wrist. His pulse was slow.
Paul grabbed his cell in the back pocket of his pants and dialed 911. The line was out of service. A common occurrence these days.
He would have to take him to the hospital himself. Paul suddenly realized that the guy's pants were down. Oh God.

"Can you hear me? Say something, man!" He grabbed the guy's arms and noticed the man's feeble attempt to free himself from Paul's grip.

"Lemme go, please, lemme go...", he whispered.
Paul yanked his pants up and lifted him off the floor. He wasn't light, but Paul managed to carry him out of the darkroom and into the main bar area, seating him on a cushioned bench in the corner.
He took the guy's chin in his hands and stared into his eyes. The pupils were dilated. Paul knew the signs of a drugged person too well, unfortunately.

"What's your name?", he said softly.
Soldier Boy sure had beautiful eyes. The bewildered expression on his face made him look so much younger than before when he had scowled at Paul.

"Sam", he whispered, his eyes jumping back and forth between Paul and the floor.

"My name is Paul. I am going to take you to a hospital. You need to help me a bit. Is that okay?"
Sam seemed to understand what he said. He nodded slightly, while Paul held his hand flat against Sam's chest to keep him from toppling over. How was he supposed to get him to his car? The drive to the hospital wouldn't be difficult at all, but reaching the car seemed impossible to accomplish.

"Man, you gotta help me a bit." Paul supported his upper body with his hands and lifted him carefully to his feet. Sam weighed heavily in his arms. His feet were unable to support his body and Paul almost tripped over a chair trying to reach the door. An additional pair of hands suddenly appeared on Sam's other side and held him up. Paul stared into the sad eyes of their unexpected ally.  

"Thanks Kyle, I owe you one."

Together they managed to carry Sam to Paul's car. He jogged back for a moment to lock up the bar and thanked Kyle once more, who was already on his way to wherever he spent the night. 

The ride to the Baptist Medical Center only took a few minutes, thanks to the reduced traffic at this time of night. The nurse at the reception was a hard-boiled elderly lady who had clearly seen worse things than a half-naked drunk guy being carried in by a bar tender - of all people. Paul was aware that he was still wearing the muscle shirt with the ManHole's embarrassingly explicit logo. He didn't even want to contemplate what the nurse might think about that.

"Write down the name and insurance details and take a seat in the waiting area, a doctor will be with you as soon as possible." She seemed to be stifling a yawn.

Paul practically threw the papers back at her, Sam still weighing heavily on his side.

"I don't know his full name. I just found him unconscious. Someone needs to help him now!"

She scowled at him, but noticed the relentless expression on his face and finally gave in. She directed them to a room with an empty bed. An old man lay coughing in the other bed by the window and gave them a quick look over before he turned his head toward the window.

"A doctor will be here soon. Please don't disturb the other patients." The lady walked away and Paul did his best to lower his companion carefully on the white sheets  of the hospital bed. Sam groaned. His fingers found Paul's hand and rested there, holding him feebly.

Paul sat down on the foot of the bed and stared at the young man. He'd seen some shit in his time, but it sure hurt to see a young guy wasting himself away with alcohol and mindless sex in seedy darkrooms. It didn't take a rape to make this life a complete misery.

Sam must have fallen asleep. His breathing was slow and his eyes were closed. Paul slowly pulled on the metal chain around his neck and revealed the dog tag that had slipped underneath the shirt.

"Sam Collins", he read out to himself. A security number was on there as well. The lady at the front desk probably loved soldiers for this. But who knew if it was still valid? Sam didn't look like an active solider. But what did he know? He had just met the guy.

"Thanks for helping me out." The quiet voice startled Paul and he dropped the tag on Sam's chest. His eyes were open again, staring at Paul's hands.

"A doctor should be here soon. Shall I get you something?" Paul tried to sound comforting, but Sam grabbed his shirt fiercely. 

"Don't leave", he whispered, blue eyes big and pleading. 

Paul put his hands on Sam's fingers and released his grip.

"Relax. I'm staying. What about your family? Shall I call anyone?"

He shook his head slightly. A pained expression darkened his features. The dark stubble on Sam's face stood out on the pale skin.

A guy in a white robe walked in on them holding hands. The doctor frowned and glanced briefly at Sam.    

"This is a hospital. not a place to sleep off your hangover", he remarked coldly.

Paul held his stare.

"Doc, he's no alcoholic!" Paul hoped it was true. He didn't know the man at all. "He was drugged and..." Sam's hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. 

"Don't. I'm fine", he said stubbornly.

"No, you're not!" Paul knelt down next to Sam, so the doctor wouldn't hear him whisper. "You could have been exposed to all kinds of STDs. You need to take the meds just to be sure." The urgency in his voice surprised Paul. What was this guy to him?

"I couldn't afford it. I'm not insured." Damn, Paul hated to be right. "Paul, I want to go home."

His lip was trembling. It was obvious Sam wasn't used to being weak and vulnerable and it scared the hell out of him. 

Paul exchanged a glance with the annoyed doctor waiting for them to make up their minds. 

"If you don't need a medical opinion, feel free to check out again." He didn't even bother to nod at them, turned around and left.

"That was extremely unwise, Sam." Paul wiped his face with the back of his hand. "Where's home?"

Sam laughed, an act that caused him visible pain. 

"It was just a saying. I haven't found it since I left ten years ago", he replied.

"You're not from Arkadelphia then?"

"I am. But things changed since I left and I can't go back now." He cleared his throat and tried to get up, legs and arms shaking from the effort.

Paul thought of Jason and how tragically his life had been turned around the last time he helped a guy he was slowly falling for. Oh well.

"You're coming with me."

Sam Collins - Chapter 3

Damn wise guy.

Sam almost stumbled over a chair when he tried to get away from the jerk behind the bar. Instead of taking him up on his offer, he had waved a wedding band at his face. A wedding band. In a fucking gay bar.

Did he think he was some green kid who didn't know how to play the game? Sam was fucking 27 years old, a Captain of the US Army for Christ's sake! Okay, make that he was a Captain. What was he now? A pathetic fool trying to get laid in some hillbilly's excuse of a gay bar in fucking Arkadelphia.

"Fancy a drink, pretty boy?" An older guy stared at him from a dark corner.  All Sam could see were sparkling eyes framed by dark hair, a dark beard and lots of dark chest hair peeking out of a white muscle shirt. If only the shirt did cover muscles. That guy sure had seen better days. Sam was down, but not desperate. Maybe he should come back another time, hoping for a more appealing crowd. He thought of his lonely apartment and felt a wave of disappointment wash over him before he addressed the stranger.

"Thanks, but no thanks." He grabbed the back of a nearby chair, missing it by an inch and almost staggered to the floor.

"Easy big guy. You sure look like you need one of those. It'll clear your head." The dark stranger slid the glass in Sam's direction.

"I said no." He turned and headed for the exit.

"Thought so. I knew you wouldn't touch it. Not man enough for something harder than a Mai Tai, huh?" Sam could hear the derision in the guy's voice.

He usually wasn't easy to provoke - that probably came with the military routine and had saved him lots of troubles in his past. But tonight he was way past any mental barriers.

"You know what?", he said and took a seat on the table facing Beard Guy. "Fuck. You." Sam took the glass and downed it in one sip, knocking the glass loudly back on the table. 

"Didn't think you had it in you", the stranger said. "Guess I was wrong." He flashed yellow teeth underneath his dark beard.

Sam stared at him with cold eyes.

"Thanks for the freebie." He lifted himself from the chair and continued to the exit. Where was his damn jacket? He hoped he hadn't left it at the counter. No way was he gonna go back to Mr Happily-Married.

He looked at his hands, strangely noticing how they didn't feel like his own hands anymore. More like someone else's hands. Now wasn't that weird?

A nagging thought in the back of his mind reminded him of his training in bio warfare back when he entered the Special Unit. What did they say about psychoactive drugs? He couldn't remember.

"Lost your way, pretty boy?" Somewhere far away, someone hooked his arm in his and directed him somewhere. Sam couldn't help but trod along, not realizing what was going on. He just saw the world getting darker. Was he falling asleep or just walking into the dark? Who was with him? Someone touched him. He felt a hard surface underneath his back.

Sam's hands tried to get a grip on whoever was manhandling him, but all he could manage was tugging slightly at the other man's clothes. What was going on?

"...so pretty. And so well hung. Guess I'm getting lucky tonight......" The faceless voice scared Sam. For a moment, he lost his usual confidence and started to cry out, but he only heard a soft groan escape his lips.

"No, please. Let me go, please, please, no, no...", he whispered, more to himself, tears running down his face.

The sudden pain almost blinded him in the darkness. As numb as his arms and legs felt, the sudden agony was more than he could bear. What kind of drug was this shit? Couldn't he at least pass out instead of lying here like a living corpse?

The rush of memories that flooded his mind was even worse now that he couldn't go anywhere to escape his emotions.

Sean. Innocent, handsome Sean. He remembered the brown eyes that used to stare at him lovingly in Sam's bed, making him open up more than any words ever could. The things they told each other in those nights. Things they could never share with anyone else. Things that shouldn't be said between soldiers. But Sean was all he had. No life to come back home to, no family happily waiting for him somewhere. All he had was a mother who still cried over her late husband, a mother who would probably never accept Sam the way he was. And a sister who didn't really know him at all, a child's face watching him accusingly the day he left for the Academy. Would she ever forgive him for leaving her behind? Would she accept him the way he was?

The pain of losing the people he had loved was overwhelming. But it was the physical pain he was feeling right now that caused Sam's world to vanish in a cloud of darkness.  

Sam Collins - Chapter 2

A drop of sweat ran down the side of Paul's face. He wiped it away with the back of his hand at stared at the two strangers in front of him, flirting away on the other side of the bar. They looked young, maybe about 25 - and were obviously undressing each other with their eyes.

Wasn't that sweet? He'd probably sigh and reminisce about his own teenage years, if it wasn't for the uncomfortably damp atmosphere of The ManHole and the pot-bellied trucker staring at him with hungry eyes from a dark corner across the room. Paul clenched his jaw muscles and looked down at the beer tap in front of him. Time to flash his commitment ring again, he thought to himself and flexed his finger, the small metal glinting dimly in the muffled light of his counter. 

The ManHole. What a dump. Should have been named 'ManHole No. 734'. Paul was sure he had come across lots of gay bars with that name during his time in Cali. Seeing one in Arkansas, deep in the Bible Belt was something else, though. He wouldn't have expected it back when he got here with Jason to escape the Plague. Damn, was that only three years ago? Seemed like a lifetime. 

Oh well, life had other ideas. And here he was, serving beer and California style cocktails to closeted middle class husbands and eager, inexperienced students, who were out, but not as proud as Paul had seem them back in L.A. Anyway, it was quite an explosive combination sometimes. More often than not he had to settle a dispute between an older guy and his young lover, just because daddy didn't want to leave his wife and elope with Boy Toy. 

He shook his head slightly and took a clean cloth to wipe the surface of the bar, removing crumbs of peanuts. Someone sat down on the stool before him. 

"Vodka, double."

Paul took a brief look at the newcomer. He was handsome for sure. Slipping out of his leather jacket, the guy revealed a bulging biceps underneath a skin-tight muscle shirt, clearly intending to find a hook-up for the night. Paul's ringed finger started to itch, as usual, reminding him that he was too old to be playing this game with the youngsters. He took a bottle and started pouring the drink.

"Vodka, it is.", he said and placed the glass on the counter. Gosh, the guy had blue eyes. Not blue, like the sky, but rather like a field of ice on a sunny winter's day. Paul would have laughed about this corny mental image, but his mind was elsewhere, staring at the man's chest.  A flash of light had caught his eye.

"Thanks." The guy took a sip, gulping down the alcohol as if it were water and caught Paul's stare, squinting his eyes angrily - probably the result of having had too much alcohol before even entering the door. 

"What are ya staring at?", he growled.  

"Why so serious, soldier? Let me guess, an Army man?" Paul winked at the silver ID tag that hung on a chain around the guy's neck.

"Is that your come on line?" Paul was glad he got a smile from that handsome face. The man's eyes lingered on his for a second too long. Who was he kidding? This was a gay bar. Of course people hit on the bartender. 

"Nah. Just me being curious." Paul flashed a friendly smile at him, but the guy's eyes dropped on the counter.

"Ain't none of your damn business. Any chance you wanna have some fun tonight? It's not exactly crowded in here."

Ouch, that hurt. Paul liked the guy, but didn't want to be a stand-in for a potentially better hook-up who just wasn't here tonight. Even though this particular guy sure had something pleasurably familiar on him, Paul lifted his hand and watched the guy's face fall, when he saw the golden ring glinting on his finger. He couldn't help but notice the smile on the two youngsters nearby watching the scene unfold before them.

"Sorry, dude, but I'm faithful to my man." Paul flashed his most charming smile. He knew people usually didn't get mad at him that way. Not so Wonderboy, though.

"Suit yourself!" He pushed the empty glass over the smooth surface of the counter and watched as Paul had to drop his hand to catch it before it fell of the edge. He left the bar and staggered across the room.

"Why don't you go home, son? Maybe another night you'll come sober and get lucky." Paul tried to speak quietly, but he was sure everyone in the room had heard him. Handsome just raised his middle finger.

"Fuck off!"

Fine. Another one biting the bullet. Just what Paul needed tonight.

Sam Collins - Chapter 1

"What do you mean, you're gay?"

Sam thought about the last time he heard this tone in his mother's voice. It was the day he had informed her that he intended to follow in his father's footsteps . Become a military man, like dad. 

"Mom, you know what that means", he said quietly.

"Are you sure? What makes you say that all of a sudden?"

Sam smiled sadly. Unfortunately, his mother could not see him at the other end of the phone line.

"I have known for a long time. I haven't told you before, because I knew you would get upset." 

This should make her think. Okay, probably not.

"Why are you telling me this on the phone? Your father would have ..."

"Keep Dad out of it",  Sam growled.

The conversation was just as uncomfortable as he had feared. Sam stared at the tempting vodka bottle on the window sill. Maybe he should just hang up.

It took a few seconds for Sam to register that his mother was silent, waiting for him to explain himself.

"I don't want to be trouble. I just wanted to tell you. Bye, Mom."

Sam threw the phone on the unmade bed in the corner of his small apartment. Since his release from military service, his life had gone downhill big time. The vodka burned in his throat and he threw the empty glass bottle with a clank into the sink. For a split second, the world swam before his eyes. Leaning on the tiny dining table, he smelled the sweat that stained his green undershirt and looked down at the rags he was wearing. Probably smelled worse than it looked, but there wasn't much hope in that.  He knew he had to leave his place at some point, if only to get groceries. But not right now. Right now, he just wanted to curl up in his bed and cry. Not that there would be tears. There never were. It was all he had left inside himself - a blank void that made him forget why he ended up here, back in Arkadelphia, where his life had begun almost three decades ago. Home Sweet Home. 

Sam straightened up. Time to get a grip on his life again. If he allowed himself to be this miserable, he might as well allow himself a little guilty pleasure. He stripped out of his dirty clothes and hit the shower. The water was freezing, big surprise. He needed to move out of this this apartment as quickly as possibly, but right now it was all he had. Unless he wanted to move in with his mother.
Yeah, right.

He briefly glanced at his soaked reflection in the mirror. His military career may have broken him, but it shaped his body for sure. The sudden rush of memories hit him like a truck. Lt. Davis. Sean. On his knees in the pouring rain. Red-rimmed eyes staring at Sam pleadingly. A shot that rang through the night. Sam shook his head to get rid of those haunting images. It was time to let go.

He flashed a smile at himself in the mirror. Big chance to get laid tonight, he thought and pulled on a skin-tight sweatshirt. Adding a Levis and leather jacket, he was good to go.