Free Games Boys Play by Zoe X. Rider Page B

Dylan.
    He threw himself against the tape.
    A hot wave of pleasure rolled inside him.
    Oh no . He froze. No . No.
    Think of the Joy Division discography. The EP An Ideal for Living was released June 1978. Tracks: “Warsaw,” “No Love Lost,” “Leaders of Men,” “Failures.” He could not come while he was sitting here in this chair, because Dylan would come back, and he’d hunker down next to Brian’s crotch to pull the tape off his ankles, and maybe the load wouldn’t bleed through denim, but Dylan would smell it with his face down there. He’d smell it, and he’d know.
    Unknown Pleasures, released on the Factory label in June 1979, number one on the UK indie chart…
    He hung his head.
    The single, “Transmission,” was released in October 1979, backed with “Novelty.”
    He clenched and unclenched his hands.
    Dylan would show up anytime.
    Any fucking time.
    He couldn’t breathe.
    This was what you wanted anyway, wasn’t it?
    An ache in the middle of his chest—was he having a heart attack?
    Slow. Fucking. Breaths.
    He struggled against the tape, whispering, “Fuck.” He was stuck. Really stuck.
    He panted shallowly.
    The door did not open.
    Right. Right, okay.
    I just have to get one hand free. That’s all. Just a hand.
    Systematically he began twisting and tugging the wrist with the most play.

Chapter Twelve
    A knock came at the door.
    Dylan. Thank God . He opened his mouth and nearly called out, but a thought stilled his voice in his throat: what if it wasn’t Dylan? Or what if it was Dylan but in character as the intruder? What if he called out, and Dylan-the-intruder came in and made good on the pissy-sock threat?
    Shit.
    He didn’t think that, in reality, Dylan would actually go that far, but he could see how it could lead to the start of a whole new round, and right now, right this second, he did not want a whole new round.
    He wanted his full range of motion back. He wanted to stand up and stretch. Walk. Wipe the sweat off his brow and hold a glass of water in his hand.
    The knock came again.
    If it was Dylan, he knew Brian was in here, and at some point he’d let himself in, probably sooner than later. If it (truly and genuinely) wasn’t Dylan, he’d be in a tough spot trying to explain this anyway. And Dylan would be along eventually. It was fucking Dylan , after all.
    Name one time Dylan let you down. One time.
    “Bri?” Dylan called from outside the door.
    “Dyl?”
    “Yeah. You going to open the door?”
    He let a beat go by. “Uh, just let yourself in.” He twisted his wrists against the tape again. His skin was starting to get sore from pulling. He was sure he was going to find a bruise or three on his elbows come morning too.
    The knob turned; the door opened. Dylan walked in—leather jacket, dark blue button-down shirt, unruly hair. He was closing the door, not looking in Brian’s direction, saying, “So what’s got you so tied up you can’t come to—” His eyes lit on Brian. “What the fuck?” He was across the dining area in two strides. “Are you okay? What happened? Shit. Seriously, are you all right?”
    “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Little help?” Brian leaned forward.
    “What happened?” Dylan felt along the tape wrapped around Brian’s chest, looking for a place to start unpeeling it.
    “I don’t know. I just… I opened the door, and someone with a gun…”
    Dylan gaped at him. “A gun?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What’d he want?”
    Dylan was staring at him, waiting for an answer. He racked his brain, but the truth was the truth: “I don’t know. He just…pushed his way inside, shoved me against a wall…” Brian trailed off, his mouth open, looking at the wall where it had started, the memory of a gloved hand crushing his face against it making him want to go all the way back to the beginning and do it all over again. He shook his head. “I didn’t even see what he looked like.”
    Dylan was still watching him, and Brian noticed that although