Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,27

his eyes.

Saturday, August 20th

Wrenching his eyes open with a choked cry, Crane instantly regretted waking up—it felt like there was a baseball lodged inside his skull, right above his nose, crushing his brain into jelly. He coughed and swallowed. It tasted like someone had taken a shit in his mouth. Nauseous and in agony, he slowly lifted his head off the pillow. From his vantage point, he could see Max’s dark curls above the back of the couch and heard the quiet clicking of keystrokes. Though the blinds were drawn in the corner that served as the bedroom, it wasn’t very dark. The rest of the condo was bright with sunshine.

As if sensing Crane’s gaze on him, Max turned his head, eyebrows high. “Did I wake you, Doc? I was trying to be quiet.” Max’s face was full of concern, and when he gave Crane a smile, it was sympathetic. “You must be suffering a little.”

Crane grunted and winced as he lay back down on the pillow, pinching the bridge of his nose. He heard the fridge door open a moment later and cracked his eyelids when the footfalls stopped next to the bed. Without a word, he accepted the glass of liquid, expecting water, but after he’d managed to sit up and lift it to his lips with a shaky hand, he tasted coconut… and something alcoholic.

“Ugh,” he rasped, trying to push the glass back into Max’s hand. “You trying to kill me?”

“Drink it,” ordered Max with a laugh. “Coconut water for hydration and loads of potassium, vodka for hair of the dog.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “C’mon. Drink up.”

Too tender to argue further, Crane grimaced and drank down a few gulps, paused to see whether his body would accept it, and then took another mouthful. At least it cleared away the foul taste in his mouth.

Max reached out to brush Crane’s hair from his forehead, and Crane shoved his hand away. “Don’t do that,” he whispered, uncomfortable with how close Max was sitting. It had been a mistake to come over. Had they slept in the same bed? What had Max been up to while Crane was unconscious. Wincing, he shifted farther away from Max and realized he was completely naked under the soft white sheet. Naked and sore in places he shouldn’t have been sore. “What happened?”

“You got utterly wasted, sweetie,” purred Max, his lips quirked in a small indulgent smile. “Completely blotto.”

Crane remembered drinking whisky but could only summon up snippets of the evening. “How much—” Crane began coughing, gagging with the effort. Max thumped him on the back, the same doting expression on his face. “How much did I drink?”

“Mmm… Enough that I’d be embarrassed to put all the bottles into recycling this week,” replied Max with a laugh. “If I was you, anyway.”

Crane heard his own voice rise up from the living room and turned, confused. It was from the recording Max had made of him saying… horrible things. “What the fuck?” he rasped, trying to push himself up higher to see where it was coming from.

“Oh… just a little project I’m working on. Wanna see?” Max rose up and flipped a wall switch before walking away to the couch.

A projector that Crane hadn’t noticed, whirred and clicked to life on the ceiling. Crane’s tinny little voice got closer as Max approached with his laptop: …tear your ass on my fist… He couldn’t breathe.

Max frowned and hit a few keys, then looked over at the blank white wall.

A video began playing, the sounds emerging from speakers mounted around the room. The 3D figures were crude, it was obvious Max hadn’t finished working on them, and they moved jerkily, but before him was a scene that made Crane press the back of his hand to his lips. It was similar to what had really happened at the clinic, but with some marked differences: the figure of the young man kneeling between the naked thighs of the older was crying and choking and begging the man to stop forcing him to suck his shockingly large cock. All the while, the seated man spoke with Crane’s voice, listing the rapacious filth he wanted to inflict on his victim.

“Shut it off,” Crane choked. “Shut it off now.”

The scene stopped moving but stayed up on the wall. The man looked enough like Dr. Crane that anyone looking for it would notice.

“What is this?” he whispered. He turned to Max, his pulse sloshing in his ears.

“Someone