"Sight Unseen" - Chapter One

by Shay Kincaid

The phone rang three times before Devon Forrester decided to answer it. Sighing, he reached over to the end table and retrieved the receiver without bothering to take his eyes off the television screen.

“Yeah?” he answered, annoyed that the caller was interrupting his movie.

“May I please speak to Scott?” the caller asked.

“Sorry, but there’s no one here by that name,” Devon answered before disconnecting the call and laying the handset on the couch beside him.

Jackson Prescott picked up the piece of paper lying on his desk and dialed the number again.

“What?” was the answer that greeted him this time.

“Look, I know you said that Scott’s not there, so could you please tell me when he left?” the caller asked.

“Again, there is no Scott here and has never been. Had a Steve once, but no Scott,” Devon quipped as his mind recalled the young dark-haired man he had tutored a few weeks ago, both on and off the slopes.

“You sure? He gave me this number; told me this was where he was going to be if I needed to contact him,” Jackson said as he became impatient all over again.

“I’m fairly sure I’d know if there was another person here with me,” Devon quipped.

“Look, this is an emergency. I really need to speak to him.”

Devon sighed. “And I really wish you’d believe me when I say that there’s no one here by that name. Are you sure you have the right number?” he asked.

Jackson looked at the piece of paper again. “810-555-6754,” he called off.

Devon laughed. “Then there’s your problem. Would you like to know what number you called?” he asked.

The other man’s brows furrowed. “I thought that was the number I dialed.”

“Close. You called 801 instead of 810,” he said with a smile.

“Oh shit,” Jackson mumbled, somewhat embarrassed at the mix-up. “I’m sorry.”

A light laugh teased Jackson’s senses. “No problem, but in the future you should probably let someone else do the dialing for you,” Devon suggested. “You might end up calling some place like Timbuktu and get stuck with someone who doesn’t understand a word you’re saying. God, your phone bill would be horrible.”

The other man smiled. “You’re probably right.”

Devon watched the scene on the screen unfold.  “Good luck.”

“Thanks. And again, I’m sorry for interrupting your evening,” Jackson offered.

“No problem,” he said before disconnecting the call on his end.

As soon as Jackson had a clear line, he dialed the correct number and spent the next half-hour relaying bad news to his vacationing neighbor.

 

Later that night, as Jackson sat on his back porch watching the falling snow, his thoughts drifted to the conversation with the stranger. There was something about the voice, something that had wrapped itself around him and wouldn’t let go. It was soft, almost melodic, and definitely arousing. He had traveled the world over and never before had a voice, or accent, affected him as much as this one did.

He replayed the brief conversation several times and the artist in him constructed the other man’s visage. An image of someone in their early twenties, younger than him anyway, with fair skin, light brown hair with blue eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. He was of medium height, probably five-foot six or thereabouts, with a small frame. Jackson chuckled to himself when he realized he had just constructed what he considered a perfect little twink.

And don’t forget the pouty lips that would look exquisite wrapped around your cock, his mind offered.

A small groan escaped from the man as he pictured his creation kneeling between his legs, administering what Jackson assumed would be the greatest blow job in the history of the world. It had been months since he had been with someone, and even then it was just a quick fuck, a way to release the pent-up tension that had been accumulating.

He had given up on relationships when he had come back from filming early to surprise his lover; only he was the one who had ended up being surprised. The signs had been there for months before - missed phone calls, working late, strange calls that Greg would take in another room ‘so he wouldn’t disturb Jackson’ - but he had chosen to ignore them.

So maybe it really wasn’t a surprise when Jackson walked into their bedroom to find Greg buried balls-deep in someone else’s ass. Jackson was never one to lose his temper and blow up, except on the very rare occasion, which surprisingly this was not. He had calmly told Greg that when he was finished, he could pack his things and get the hell out of his house. And with that, he turned around and left two very confused men looking after him. He had locked himself in his studio with a bottle of Jack Daniels and did not re-emerge until late the next morning, sporting blood-shot eyes and a mouth that felt as dry as a desert. Jackson snorted at the irony of that little bit since he had just come back from filming Dakota Plains.

Once he had sobered up, he donated the bed to a homeless shelter and bought a new one to replace it. Out with the old, in with the new. It had taken him time to get over the loss, but eventually he moved on. Quick and discreet liaisons were his way of taking care of things now, and that suited him, and his partners, just fine. Jackson knew that they were with him because of who he was, and what he represented, but in the harsh light of day he wondered if there was anyone out there who would accept the man he was and not his public persona.

An idea struck, and before he could change his mind, he went back into the house.

 

Devon had just stepped out of his shower when the phone rang again. Not caring that he was dripping water all over the carpet, he padded naked to his bed and picked up the extension.

“Hello?”

“I just wanted you to know that somehow I managed to dial the right number and talked to my friend,” the voice said.

Devon laughed. “Oh, it’s you,” he teased. “Are you sure you meant to call me or is this another accident?”

Jackson propped his feet up on the coffee table, the fire in the grate warming his woolen-covered toes. “No, no accident this time. I purposely dialed 801.”

“Well, good for you. Would you like a cookie for accomplishing your goal?” Devon asked as he stepped back into the bathroom and quickly dried himself off.

The other man laughed quietly. “How about your name instead?”

Not missing a beat, Devon quipped, “Well now, if I gave you my name, what would I go by?”

“Mouthy little bastard, aren’t you?” Jackson mused.

Devon rubbed the towel briskly against his curls. “You make it too easy. So did you get your friend sorted out?”

“Yeah. Crises contained,” the older man offered, surprised that he had been asked. Most people wouldn’t give a shit one way or another. Feeling more relaxed about his current undertaking, he plowed on. “So, if you won’t tell me your name, at least tell me where you are.”

“In my bathroom,” came the reply.

Jackson’s arctic blue eyes rolled toward the heavens. “And where is that?” he prodded.

Devon grinned.  This is going to be fun, he mused.

“Off my bedroom. You know, it’s a small room that contains a sink, toilet and shower? People visit them when they need to answer nature’s call, or their body odor starts to offend.”

The older man groaned into the phone. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Smacked you square in the forehead,” Devon said as he walked back into his bedroom and pulled a pair of cotton sleep pants from the drawer and slid into them.

Jackson sighed. “I’m not going to win, am I?”

“That remains to be seen,” Devon said as he stretched out on his bed.

“Okay, you won’t tell me your name or where you are, so what do you do for a living?” Jackson asked.

“Correction. I have told you where I am. Well, where I was.”

“So you’re not there now?”

“Nope.”

“Where are you now?”

“Lying on my bed,” Devon answered and Jackson nearly dropped the phone as the image he had created earlier flashed before him. The young man had been in his bathroom earlier and was now in his bedroom. Jackson could see him laid out, fresh from a shower, water droplets clinging to his skin. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, after all, he thought.

“Oh,” was the only thing Jackson could manage.

BINGO! Devon had wondered where all of this was going, and now he knew. It wasn’t that he was above a little phone sex every now and then; he just preferred the real thing.

He lowered his voice to what he would use when he wanted something, or someone. “Want to know what I’m wearing?” he asked as his fingers trailed over his chest, pausing briefly to gently tug on the sliver hoop adorning his left nipple. A shot of pleasure pooled low in his belly.

The older man took a deep breath. Fuck yes he wanted to know, but he wasn’t ready to go in that direction just yet. Eventually, sure. But not yet.

Pulling himself back together, he went on. “No, I asked what you do for a living.”

“And what if this is what I do for a living?” Devon teased. His hand skimmed his stomach and lightly stroked over his cloth-covered erection.

The tension inside of Jackson broke. “Well then, my guess is that you’re flat broke because you’re not going about it the right way.”

“And what way would that be?”

“Asking for the money up front before you get down to business,” Jackson said, completely horrified that he had just given that bit of personal information away.

Now it was Devon’s turn to say, “Oh.”

“Good try though,” Jackson offered. “So back to my question - what do you do for a living?” He heard a lengthy sigh before the answer.

“I’m a snowboarding instructor.”

Jackson laughed. “Now, was that so hard?”

No, you fucker, but I am, Devon thought, but instead answered, “Nah. Your turn.”

“Artist,” Jackson conveyed. He had already decided that was the only piece of information he would divulge about his professions.

“Oh, now that was helpful. There’s like a million things you can be under that title,” Devon snorted.

“Yep,” Jackson said with a grin.

“All right, you crazy artist, care to tell me where you call home?” he asked as he continued to tease himself. They might have moved on verbally, but his body hadn’t caught up with that fact just yet.

“Where I’m at right now,” the man said as he watched the orange flames dancing before him.

The brunette laughed. “I deserved that,” he admitted.

“Damn straight, you did.”

“Okay, let me rephrase. What state are you in? And don’t give me any shit about confusion or depression or anything like that.”

The word ‘horny’ came to mind, but the older man wasn’t about to divulge that. “Montana.”

“Lots of cowboys up that way.  Do you ride?” Devon asked huskily.

Jackson’s pulse raced at the seemingly innocent question.  Either way, the answer was yes, and he said as much.

“Mmm, that’s nice to know,” Devon said with a smile. 

Deciding that he’d better hang up before things took a turn for the worse, or better, depending on how one looked at it, Jackson offered, “Listen, I need to be going.”

“No! Wait!” Devon said as he tried to calm himself down. He thought he had scared off his caller with his comment.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. No offense taken,” Jackson replied.  “I just have to get up early in the morning.”

“Oh, well, okay then. It’s been real. Goodnight… neighbor,” he said before disconnecting, knowing that he would be hearing from his inquisitive caller again. Exactly when remained to be seen, but he would call back. Of that he was sure. He quickly slid his sleep pants off and reached into the bedside table drawer for the bottle of lubricant he kept there, intending to finish what had been started earlier.

As Jackson lowered the handset to the couch, he wondered what the young man meant by that. Neighbor. Did that mean the young man lived in Montana? Could he know where Jackson was calling from and live close by? A thrill shot through his body at that thought. And then another thought crossed his mind, but he quickly discarded it. His number was unlisted and if the other man had Caller ID, his name and number would not show up. The only way to be found was if the man hit star-six-nine, the last call return feature. But even then, his information would not show up. He would only have his number.

Jackson thought that might not be so bad.

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