Past, Present

by A J Lange

  “I should…” Gray started, but stopped when Zane raised a hand.

  “You’re staying.” Zane’s gruff tone broached no argument, and after a moment, Gray nodded.

  They eyed one another warily. Gray’s lips were reddened, color high in his cheeks, the saturated blue of his eyes almost painfully beautiful when he nodded once more, exhaling a long breath.

  Zane silenced the television with the remote, and used a blanket from the back of the couch to cover Tanner’s slumbering form. He motioned for Gray to follow him down the hall. He knew the smart, sensible thing would be to open the guest bedroom door when they passed it, the way he normally did when Gray stayed too late to drive home. He didn’t.

  Gray paused in the doorway of Zane’s darkened bedroom. “Zane,” he said again, much calmer than Zane felt.

  It pissed Zane off a little. His blood was still thrumming with want and then there was Gray, as solemn and controlled as if he were about to deliver a boring lecture to his undergrads. Zane ignored him and stripped off his t-shirt, dropping his jeans and kicking them forcefully into a corner, hoping Gray enjoyed the show as he climbed onto bed. He swallowed down the butterflies trying to beat a hole through his chest while he waited four unbearably long seconds for Gray to decide what happened next.

  Gray stepped across the threshold and Zane felt the band of anxiety around his midsection begin to ease.

  Gray fumbled with the fastening on his jeans before freeing the top button from its anchor. They fell to the floor in a quiet rustle and he peeled his shirt over his head, a great deal slower than necessary. Fucker, Zane thought. As paybacks go, this was one Zane was willing to gladly bear. His brain stuttered, jaw slack, at the portrait Gray’s body made when he stepped into the moonlight. He blushed hard at the darkly sexy smirk Gray gave him when he leaned over the head of the bed. Zane smoothed a palm down his side, then tugged him onto the sheets.

  “Just sleep, Zane,” Gray warned, but he pressed a kiss to Zane’s lips, softening the admonition.

  “Yeah, yeah, buzz kill.” Zane grumbled, heat flaring between them at the briefest of touches.

  “You’ll thank me, tomorrow, when you’re sober,” Gray breathed against his temple.

  Zane doubted that.

  They negotiated the area on the mattress, with entirely too much empty bed between them, as far as Zane was concerned. He turned on his side so he could see him. “Tomorrow, you tell me about Elise," he said gruffly, alcohol and adrenaline taking its toll as his eyelids fluttered closed. He felt lips brush his forehead, his cheeks, and he smiled.

  “Okay,” Gray said, his breath ghosting across Zane’s mouth. “There are things I haven’t told you, Zane, things you probably won’t like very much.”

  Zane blinked sleepily to find those striking eyes watching him, troubled. “Not possible,” he said, voice husky.

  Gray laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes.

  “Good night, Zane. ”

  “Night, Gray.”

  Chapter 6

  The smell of bacon was the first thing Zane noticed when he woke the next morning. The next was the very Gray-shaped octopus wrapped around him in a bevy of arms and legs and crazy bed hair that tickled at his nose.

  Zane didn’t mind these things. In fact, he might have reveled in one or two of them. A bit.

  Next was dry, foul, post-drunk mouth, and an ice pick lodged in his right eye, and Zane considered, fleetingly, that he might possibly be on the verge of actual death. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the light streaming through the blinds.

  OctoGray burrowed closer, face buried in Zane’s neck “Shbbth.”

  Which Zane interpreted as good morning. Or possibly shut up. Or even I have an ice pick in my eye too, please stop moving. Still, he counted his blessings that he finally had Gray exactly where he wanted him, and Professor Don’t Touch Me or My Virtue on Our First Drunk was wrapped around him like a two-dollar whore. Gray smelled like stale Jack Daniels and, weirdly, cinnamon, a combination that was frankly making Zane’s mouth water.

  Or possibly that was the bacon.

  Tentatively, he rolled to his side, keeping his head as motionless as possible. Goddamn he hated being hungover. Dislodged from his neck, Gray plastered his face into Zane’s chest, head below the sheet so that only mussed tufts of hair were visible. He muttered something against Zane’s skin, probably shushing him again, but the effect was counterproductive; Zane’s senses were barreling full speed ahead in the absence of the alcoholic fuzz and the miles of warm skin within easy reach.

  He wedged one knee neatly between Gray’s legs and was rewarded when Gray parted his thighs to allow him to scoot in closer. Zane slid his hands beneath the sheet and ran them down Gray’s back, squeezing a hipbone, nudging against him gently. Wakey, wakey, he thought, grinning.

  “Zane,” Gray said, muffled under the covers, before biting him right on the pectoral.

  “Ow,” Zane hissed, digging fingers into Gray’s butt and rocking his knee a little higher in retaliation.

  Gray startled him by clawing the sheet from his head and scowling. “What are you doing.”

  Zane had to bite his lip to hold back a grin. Miffed, sleepy Gray was more than a little adorable. He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m not drunk anymore.”

  Gray’s mouth twitched. “You’re a slut, Zane Nolan.” He flopped to his back then, dislodging both the knee and the hands, much to Zane’s disappointment.

  “I hope you have ibuprofen,” Gray said, swinging out of bed. “And coffee.” He threw his arms high over his head and arched into a stretch that had Zane swallowing thickly.

  Goddamn perfect man with his perfect goddamn back, Zane thought.

  Gray stood. And hips.

  Gray bent over to retrieve his jeans and shirt from the floor.

  And ass.

  Zane dragged the pillow over his face and groaned.

  ◆◆◆

  Zane found Gray a spare toothbrush (ignoring the pointed look when he ruffled through a drawer of packaged toothbrushes and condoms). They negotiated room over the sink while they brushed their teeth, eyes meeting in the mirror, elbows grazing against warm sides and stomachs. Mouths rinsed, faces splashed, towel shared. Then Gray shoved him against the tile wall and kissed him soundly, leaving Zane panting and hard, chin tingling from the day-old stubble on Gray’s jaw.

  They followed the smell of breakfast to find Tanner at the stove, humming an off-key rendition of Stand by Your Man. He smiled broadly when the two appeared in the kitchen. “Good morning, sunshines.”

  Gray scowled at Tanner’s perfect posture, clear eyes, and sunny disposition. “What fuckery is this?”

  Zane snorted and clapped Gray on the shoulder. “Tanner doesn’t get hungover.” He pulled two mugs from a cabinet and filled both with coffee, then reached into the fridge for French vanilla creamer, adding a healthy dollop to one. Tanner quirked an eyebrow when he added several spoonfuls of sugar too, but Zane ignored him and pushed the milky sweet drink toward Gray.

  "It's probably some bullshit about healthy living or chi crap he read in Men’s Health,” Zane smirked at Tanner, who neatly flipped a fried egg over with one hand and still managed to flip Zane off with the other. “I personally think he’s just inhumanly tall. The liquor runs down into his feet or something and his heart doesn’t have the energy to pump it all the way back to his brain.”

  “Ha ha,” Tanner said dryly. “The clean living is the only part you got right.” He winked at Gray. “Not that Zane would recognize clean living if it hit him between the eyes.”

  “Hey,” Zane protested, but moved to sit at the table when Tanner gestured with the overflowing skillet. Zane made it a point never to refuse instructions initiated with eggs and bacon. He smirked again when he realized Tanner had set the table. He totally intended to make fun of him for that later.

  Tanner bent in front of him at an odd angle, peering at Zane’s neck.

  “What,” Zane grumbled, rubbi
ng his neck, feeling for a stray fleck of toothpaste or something.

  Tanner’s responding grin made him instantly suspicious and he glanced over at Gray, who was studying his plate with far too much intensity. Something about the way Gray’s mouth lifted in the barest hint of a smile sparked a memory; lips hot and wet, on his throat, sucking a trail to his collarbone. He grabbed a spoon and used it for a mirror, pulling the neckline of his t-shirt aside. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he might be sporting a hickey low on his neck, near the juncture of his shoulder.

  “Thought you weren’t gay.” Tanner spooned two fried eggs onto Zane’s plate, and scrambled onto Gray’s.

  “Fuck my life,” Zane groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands.

  “You’re a little bit gay,” Gray said calmly, spreading butter on a triangle of toast.

  Zane groaned again, but was drowned out by Tanner’s bark of laughter and the clank of utensils as his brother and Gray began to eat. Zane shoved thoughts of hickeys aside and picked up his fork. He would die before admitting it, but he was secretly pleased that Gray had essentially left his mark. It made him feel wanted and more than a little possessive, and oh God, he was totally turning into a girl. But he held this spark of whatever it was he had fallen into so easily with Gray, held it tight inside, mind boggling that someone like Gray wanted someone like him.

  Chapter 7

  “Tanner, do you want me to drop you off on my way?” Gray ignored Zane’s grumbled 'sure, leave me on clean up duty'. Gray had a lecture on Monday’s at ten, so Zane knew he shouldn’t complain. Instead, he made a point to corner him in the bedroom after breakfast, crowding him into the alcove behind the door and kissing him, open-mouthed and dirty, hip against hip in a slow roll until Gray was flushed and pliant.

  Elbow-deep in suds, Zane smiled, remembering the breathy way Gray had whined his name when he had left him there against the wall. Zane shifted, his pants suddenly a little tighter.

  “Sure,” Tanner said before grabbing Zane in a bearhug over the sink full of dishes. “Thanks, Zane. ” He gave him a sloppy kiss on the temple.

  “Yeah, yeah. Go home and suck up to your wife. She’s your best quality.”

  “Zane,” Gray said from the doorway, and Zane turned, wondering if the way his heart skipped when Gray said his name was evident on his face. “Thank you for breakfast.”

  “Hey,” Tanner sputtered.

  Zane smiled and ducked his head, cursing the telltale blush he could feel blooming in his cheeks, knowing Gray wasn’t talking about the food. He cleared his throat. “Don’t mention it.”

  After they were gone, Zane puttered around the quiet house. He picked up the empties from the living room. He vacuumed. He started a load of laundry.

  He watched an episode of the X-Files.

  “Fuck it,” he muttered to the empty room. Technically he figured it was close enough to lunchtime that he could drive out to the dig site and coerce Gray to make out with him in the big tent. Or grab a burger. Or both.

  But probably just the burger.

  He slid into the Jeep, breathing deep, relishing the scent of old leather and the polish he used to keep the dashboard shining and conditioned. When he turned the key, the engine rolled over in a throaty purr and he smiled in contentment. He pushed a faded casette tape into the deck (screw Tanner and his constant nagging about upgrades) and turned up the volume. Then he pulled onto the highway and drove.

  He took back roads out to the dig, relishing the freedom of the flat, open two-lanes. He used to wonder if he had been a gypsy in a former life, or at least the far removed descendent of one. The road beckoned him, an endless ribbon of asphalt that called, a siren’s song, luring him with the promise of new places, new experiences, different. And he had indulged; Zane had spent the majority of his twenties spirited away time and again by the whim of some inner desire to rove.

  And now, well now sometimes he felt like he might be suffocating, stagnating in this small town, where everyone knew him, had known his parents before him. Where he was expected to embody a persona, to live up to a preconceived idea of Zane Nolan, that everyone in this town had conjured long before Zane himself had known who or what he truly was.

  Hell, sometimes he still didn’t know who or what he truly was. With one maddeningly easy exception.

  Gray.

  He recognized he had no reservations about Gray, that he was hopelessly, selfishly greedy to have as much of him, as often as possible. It was brand new, this heady, constant flutter of his heart when Gray entered a room. His pulse had developed the habit of stuttering erratically when the corner of Gray’s mouth lifted in amusement, so Zane had increased his teasing incrementally, hungry for the full smiles and belly laughs that were such a rarity, although not so rare as before. He was worming his way beneath Gray’s defenses, getting under his skin, the same way Gray had gotten under his, and he was glad of it.

  He laughed into the empty car, wind whistling across the leather seats, vintage Bon Jovi blaring from the speakers. It had only been three hours and here he was, driving across the bright Kansas countryside on his day off, because he missed Gray. He realized, somewhat belatedly seeing as he was mere minutes from the site, that it was entirely possible Gray didn’t feel the same disquiet when they were apart, as if he were on pause, impatient until Gray appeared and his heart beat sure, its purpose plain again.

  After last night, though, Zane was willing to take a chance.

  But where did they go from here, he wondered. Should they casually appear together in public? Did they go on dates? Does Zane mention to the guys he meets for pickup basketball twice a month over at the Y that ‘oh, by the way, I like dick’? He wasn’t at all sure how this was supposed to work, dating another man. Was it just like dating a woman? Would people stare? Would they make snide comments, under their breath but where Zane could hear and be forced to swallow his temper?

  Would it affect business at the bar? Or Tanner and Lily?

  Zane succeeded, in the last five miles, in knotting his stomach up with a mountain of anxiety and insecurity. His desire to see Gray spiked, needing the warm spark that flowed between them whenever they occupied the same space, a thread of common yearning and affection. He needed Gray to read his bullshit worries, written as they were all over his face, and to tell him it would be okay, that he was overreacting, because he was. Zane knew that he was. But he could taste the fear in his throat, and the fact that he was afraid let him know that this, this thing, it was big, important. That Gray was important.

  Possibly the last important thing Zane will ever choose for himself.

  ◆◆◆

  Gray was not among the workers crouched in the dirt or lying stretched out in the shade, drinking from water bottles and eating foil wrapped sandwiches. They waved at Zane as he passed, friendly and accustomed to his frequent appearances. He was greeted warmly, called to by name, like he belonged here, and it was nice; it went a long way toward settling his nerves.

  A blonde on her belly in the grass looked up, shielding her eyes from the bright sun when he paused beside her, eyes scanning the landscape for a familiar figure.

  “He’s over the hill,” she waved a gloved hand, small spade pointing east. “We found a small burial mound.”

  Zane could hear the excitement in her tone, but he was already moving away, toward the hill, and he could feel him, which was weird, but true. The minute he started moving in the right direction, his internal compass spun into position and Zane’s whole body pulsed with each step. Gray. Gray. Gray.

  Gray hadn’t been expecting him, happy surprise evident on his handsome face. Zane walked right into his personal bubble, ignoring for the moment that a grad student sat at their feet, scraping patiently at the sod.

  “You should be sleeping,” Gray murmured, tipping his head close to Zane’s.

  Zane shrugged. “Nah, I got bored.” He knew he wore a stupid, sappy grin, but found he couldn’t care. He took a moment to appreciate the cleanly shav
en jaw, and the pale, starched collar contrasting nicely against smooth, tanned skin. “Want to grab some lunch?”

  Gray looked conflicted and bit his lip. “I just got here, I should really check on everyone’s progress.”

  Zane swallowed down the twinge of disappointment. It was novel, wanting someone this much. The closest he could remember ever coming to this was a girl in high school. He had been sixteen and her name was Meghan. She had dumped Zane for a football player after two measly weeks, but it had been as blissful a two weeks as a pair of inexperienced sixteen year olds could manage.

  Zane’s need for Gray was comparable, but exponentially hotter; explosive and consuming and erratic. For example, at present he was fast becoming addicted to the way the sun threw Gray’s lashes into little shadows across his cheekbones. He released a long breath, glad Gray wasn’t touching him, couldn’t feel his pulse skipping from his proximity.

  “I can dig in the dirt a while.”

  Gray snorted. “I’m sure Susan would appreciate the help,” for the first time indicating the student seated at their feet.

  Susan grinned up at them. “Sure thing, Dr. Sloan. Zane, grab a trowel, buddy.”

  And so Zane found a comfortable position in the neatly troweled square of bare earth, and he absolutely did not watch Gray walk over the hill to the main site, or appreciate the fit of his trousers, or smile at the quiet kindness and authority in Gray’s voice as he spoke with the students under his charge. No, he didn’t notice any of those things. Which is why Susan had to wave her hand a multitude of times, calling his name, before Zane blinked, perplexed, then realized he had unearthed something in the dirt.

  He would have missed it without her keen eye, potentially ruining the delicate piece of pottery as he blithely chipped away, confusing it with hardened dirt. To his untrained eye, it looked like no more than a rock at first, brown and hard, but Susan’s enthusiasm caught hold and he took the brush she handed him and began to gently whisk the soil particles away, following her instructions. He tried once to pass her the brush, not wanting to inadvertently damage it, but she laughed, refusing. She seemed to want Zane to do this, to take part in this archaeological foray into the distant past of a people long forgotten. She was, Zane realized, as he unearthed a small, intact vessel, offering him a piece of Gray.