by A J Lange
He realized he had gotten really good at reading Gray, when it was entirely too easy to interpret the flicker of hurt in his eyes when Zane finally declined his invitation. And it burned. Some part of him knew he was being unfair, the anger misplaced, but his temper had always flared the hottest when it was paired with guilt, and Zane was carrying a lot of guilt mixed in with his feelings for Gray. Guilt that there was a piece of him that still wanted to hide this from the world, but the part he couldn’t put into words was that it had nothing to do with shame, God no. He thought Gray was so fucking amazing, he often caught himself losing time in the middle of the day, replaying something Gray did or said, or remembering the smooth golden skin of his torso when he would sneak the sheets away in the early morning light.
Zane was thankfully past the tongue-tied stage of awe he had suffered when he first realized his feelings for Gray were reciprocated, but that didn’t mean he was not still rendered speechless by the way Gray looked at him sometimes. He didn't want anyone or anything to spoil that for him, for them; to take what he had found with Gray and insinuate it was wrong or less or that Zane had been mistaken and these were not the most perfect moments of his life. Sure, he could defend them, defend his feelings, but he didn't want to, didn't want to have to. He didn't want a stranger’s prejudice or intolerance to pierce the veil of happiness that blanketed them from the rest of the world. Not yet.
Basically Zane was a coward, but his motivations were pure; he only lacked the words to adequately explain them. Which also pissed him off, so he took it out on Gray.
“It’s complicated. I would have to figure something out for the bar.” This was only half true; Zane was comfortable handing the reins over to Tanner and Lily when necessary, and he had other help as well. The occasional night off wasn’t going to tilt his bottom line one way or the other. It was an evasion, pure and simple.
Gray raised one eyebrow, which also riled Zane, because he knew it meant he was transparently obvious.
“What,” he bit out, tossing the unread magazine to the coffee table.
“Nothing.” Gray’s face was grim, the previous flicker of hurt in his eyes flashing dark now with anger. Zane was a little fascinated by the change, and cursed his dick which apparently had no qualms whatsoever about angry sex. In fact, it was extremely interested in angry sex judging from the way it perked up when Gray abruptly stood and stalked past him to the kitchen, all straight, strong back and tense jaw.
When he came back, two beers in hand, (because he was nothing if not disgustingly considerate, even when he was angry) something childish and too closely resembling fear made Zane stick out a foot, tripping him. Gray tumbled across the couch, into Zane’s lap, one of the beers falling to the floor and spilling.
“God, Zane, you’re such a dick sometimes.” Gray righted the beer, but Zane held his hips across his legs, more worried than he cared to admit at Gray’s angry tone.
“Yeah, well, so are you,” but he soothed the harsh words with a hand on his rigid spine. He rubbed the tenseness there and felt the moment Gray acquiesced, relaxing into his touch. He straddled Zane’s lap and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. Yeah, Zane thought, he’s still pissed. And Zane’s dick still thought a pissed off Gray was the hottest fucking thing it had ever seen. His hips canted up, seeking friction, and he held him close.
“I don’t know what you’re worried about,” Gray murmured, resting his forehead on Zane’s. “It’s not like it will be a family crisis when I show up with a man. They expect it. They already know I’m gay.”
“I’m not gay!” Zane could have, should have, bitten his tongue.
“Oh good, glad you cleared that up. I’ll make sure they add a qualifier below your name on the place setting,” Gray shot back, and he was off of Zane’s lap before Zane could react, could retract his own stupidity.
“Gray,” he scrambled from the couch and grabbed his wrist to stop him. “Wait.”
“I think it’s best if I went home tonight. I’m not feeling like I would be good company.” Gray’s face was angry, but there was hurt there too, and Zane lashed out because fuck, did he have to fuck everything up?
“Fine,” he bit out, dropping Gray’s arm, wishing he had grabbed his hand instead. The grounding force of their entwined fingers had a way of soothing his soul, and Zane wondered miserably if it might have been enough to ward off this moment. “In fact, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all night.” He didn’t mean it of course, and his chest squeezed in panic as he thought of the emptiness of the bed down the hall, the way the sheets still smelled of Gray, the way he would wake up in the morning and know without a doubt that Zane Nolan was an asshole who couldn’t have nice things.
“I’ll speak with you tomorrow.” In full professor mode now, Gray wrapped a scarf around his neck against the burgeoning October chill and was gone before Zane could stop him, before he could apologize, because he knew he was being an ass and a coward, when all he really wanted was for Gray to guide him, to soothe away his worries and promise not to leave him at the mercy of the most terrible fears he could conjure. Instead, Zane was left alone in the foyer, staring at a closed door, his final glimpse of Gray the liquid blue of his eyes as they turned away from Zane and left him.
◆◆◆
He slept on the couch. And when he went to his bedroom to dress the next morning, he pointedly ignored the still unmade bed from two nights past.
He went to the pub hours before necessary, placing his weekly liquor order, reorganizing the walk-in cooler, arranging band appearances and live music for the remainder of the fall season. Joe’s was a member of the local bar association, and the biannual “Pub Crawl” was coming up in December. There were numerous decisions to be made regarding that; how much ad space did he want to buy, did Joe’s logo need to be overhauled, what specials did he want to advertise during the weekend to entice new patrons. It was monotonous, soothing routine.
Zane stayed busy, but it was never quite busy enough to forget the reason he needed to stay busy in the first place.
Gray didn’t call.
The afternoon dragged and Zane was loathe to go home, so he didn’t. It was a relief when the first customers arrived and he finally had something else to occupy his mind and hands. He broke his own rule about checking cell phones while tending bar, but he needn’t have bothered; the call log remained oppressively empty. Zane started a text message a dozen times, but each time he didn’t know how to finish it, which words were the right ones. So he continued mixing drinks and pouring beer and ignoring the tight ache growing in the center of his chest.
At two, he shooed the wait staff out the door, relieved to have the bar to himself again, to have the work of closing up to occupy his mind and hands for the next hour or two. He pondered the couch in the office; it had been a long time since he had spent the night on it, but he figured the blankets and pillow were still stashed in the closet where he last left them, probably stale, but then Zane didn’t expect to get much sleep anyway.
He was wiping down the bar when the front door opened; he had forgotten to lock it. “We’re closed,” he called, sighing to himself. The Allman Brothers’ Stormy Monday played low on the jukebox in the corner. It had been an indulgence, refurbishing it. It was original to Joe’s, had been here as long as Zane could remember, and while most of the time Joe’s music was piped through a fancy sound system with more buttons and wires than Zane could ever hope to comprehend, there was something about the quiet simplicity of queuing up a song on that old jukebox that spoke to his soul.
He squatted down, arranging the bottles of liquor under the bar into neat rows.
“I’d like to place an order.”
Zane’s eyes flew to the face leaning over the bar. There was only one person in the world who could belong to that smoke-filled voice. He stood slowly, using a well-worn rag to nervously rub circles on the bar top, heart hammering a hole between his ribs. “What can I get you?” he asked. He wondered fleetingly if th
e tremor in his voice was noticeable.
“I’ve heard about a Joe’s specialty,” Gray paused, eyes falling to Zane’s mouth. “The Nolan Special?”
Zane flushed, warmth flooding his senses as those hot eyes chafed his skin. “I think I can help you with that,” he said, husky. He set aside the hand towel and slowly, deliberately, peeled his t-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.
Gray licked his bottom lip and as Zane’s eyes tracked the movement, he felt his groin tighten in response. A chorus began to reverberate through his skull, the words echoing, making his hands shake, a litany of he’s here thankyouJesus, and baby, if you only knew how much I want you, and please God don’t let me fuck this up, and all of it, every booming phrase, was swathed in a single word, a word Zane had never used to embody anyone outside of Tanner and his parents.
He grabbed the nearest bottle of Cuervo from below the bar before he lost his nerve, and unscrewed the cap. His held Gray’s gaze as he hopped onto the shining surface, crowding him, jean-clad leg brushing an arm, inviting touch when he stretched full out on the narrow surface. He pillowed his head with a forearm, feigning cool composure, while inside he quaked in the basest of fears. The bar was cold against his bare back and his skin tightened in nervous anticipation. He held up the bottle in invitation.
Gray’s eyes were wide, pupils dilating with desire and something else, something fiercely possessive. Zane’s breathing was so shallow he actually felt lightheaded, time slowing to meet the languid tick of the neon clock on the wall. He sucked in a lungful of air when the cold splash of tequila hit his belly button, exhaling on a groan when Gray’s heated mouth sucked it up, biting the toned skin there, tongue continuing in a long, wet stripe up his chest.
Then those blistering lips were on his, tongue pushing into his mouth, flooding him with the taste of tequila and Gray, overloading his senses. His head banged against the bar when he used both hands to hold Gray in place, letting his lips say what he could never hope to find words for.
Gray dug his fingers into the skin of his shoulders, dragging him up, mouth stubbornly clinging to Zane’s, even when separating would have been more comfortable, easier, and Zane thought helplessly that he hadn’t been the only one chasing fear today. Gray slotted himself between his knees, running his hands hungrily across the expanse of bare skin, nails scraping against the ridge of spine, and Zane shuddered.
He wrenched his mouth away, gasping, lungs burning for air, but he held Gray tight, fingers enmeshed in that thick, unruly hair, unwilling to allow too much free space between them, unsure which of them needed convincing the most. He dropped his forehead to Gray’s, rubbing his open mouth across his lips, craving contact. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice husky. Maybe the words were simple after all.
Gray kissed him, searching, searing Zane with his gentleness. He buried his face in Zane’s neck and breathed deeply. “Fuck, I missed you.”
Zane’s arms tightened around him.
Gray's hands fell to Zane’s hips and he pressed a kiss into the column of his throat before leaning back, a rueful smile on his lips. “I’m sorry I said you were a dick.”
Zane quirked an eyebrow, brushing back a lock of hair when it fell over Gray’s forehead. “Even if it was true?”
Gray chuckled, a quiet sound that kicked up the heat in Zane’s blood. “You had good reason.”
Zane cupped his face and kissed him softly. “Not good enough.” He nuzzled the stubbled cheek, breathing the familiar scent, letting it settle his nerves. “I want to go with you, to meet your family.”
Gray opened his mouth to protest, but Zane stopped him, shaking his head in warning.
“No, I do. I did,” he said. “Even last night. I just,” he paused, searching for the right words, hoping Gray could read the sincerity behind them, willing him to understand. “I really don’t know what the hell I’m doing here and I might need you to, you know…”
“Hold your hand?” Gray teased, and Zane would swear, Gray’s smile like that, soft and quiet and hitting him right in the solar plexus with its unbridled affection; that smile was the one that could fix all the world’s problems. Or at least all of Zane’s.
“Yeah,” Zane chuckled. “Yeah, I might need you to hold my hand.”
Gray tugged him down from the bar, and the tight band around Zane’s chest loosened its grip. His sense of relief was euphoric, if hesitant. This had not been a small or insignificant blunder. This had been Gray needing something from Zane, and Zane finding himself unwilling to give it. It had been about testing limits and how far Zane could bend before he broke. He understood on an intellectual level that they were not infallible, that they could be wounded, perhaps fatally, but the space around his heart was buoyed by reclaimed joy, and for now, that was enough.
Gray snorted, shaking his head in refusal when Zane leeringly suggested reciprocal body shots, but he kicked the discarded t-shirt out of reach, eyes mischievous, when Zane tried to retrieve it. Zane decided he could totally get into being objectified by Gray.
Stormy Monday faded away and Into the Mystic began to play, and they finished closing the bar together, stacking chairs and wiping surfaces to Zane’s favorite Van Morrison song. Gray caught him when they passed between the narrow space between tables, pressing flush against him, swaying under dim lights as he sang the lyrics low in Zane’s ear. ‘I don't have to fear it, I want to rock your gypsy soul…’
Then Zane drove them back to his house, where, as far as first makeup sex goes, it was without a doubt the best of Zane’s life.
Chapter 10
“So, Elise." In hindsight, Zane’s choice of conversation opener was probably in poor taste considering he was stuck in a car with his whatever (he was still undecided about Gray’s exact descriptor), on the way to meet the family for the first time. The really horrifying part, though, was that he didn't actually want concrete, factual knowledge about Elise (or Gray’s relationship with her). It would only give him nightmares and tickle an itch that persisted despite all of Zane’s recent experience to the contrary. Zane was his own worst enemy in matters of love. He worried the most when things were going well, he ignored things he could and should fix, and he used physical pleasure to abate and distract whenever necessary to avoid uncomfortable things.
If it was anyone else, he would have accepted (if forced) the barest details Gray might offer regarding past sexual and romantic history, and consider it water under a distant bridge. Hey, Zane had plenty of water of his own, Mississippi rivers of it, and he wasn’t keen on rehashing his own past exploits either (although for kinky breakups, Gray might be the clear-cut winner. And Zane had once broken up with a girl while naked on the back of a camel, so that was saying something).
Gray looked evenly at him, serene, and said with an aplomb Zane hoped to hell he could one day master: “Change the topic, Zane. ”
Zane half-heartedly wished he could dredge up even an ounce of anger at the calm dismissal, but instead he welcomed the liquid rush of relief, glad Gray knew him well enough to sense he didn’t really want to know anyway. He just felt it prudent to have all the facts before he arrived at this family shindig and ran into the ex face to face. Which, obviously, would never be as in flagrante delicto, perhaps, as Gray’s last whatever, but pointing that out would also be in poor taste, and Zane still had moderate to high hopes he was going to score athletic sorry I made you have dinner with my homophobic parents sex at the end of the night.
Basically, he was nervous as hell and was attempting to fill in more of the blank spaces in his own personal Book of Gray. Sometimes it felt like there were entire, empty chapters he didn’t know about Gray’s life outside of and before Zane, and it made him twitchy. There was no sense going into this gunfight without both barrels loaded and Zane was nothing if not prepared.
Which is why he squirmed on the seat and tried again. “I’m not going to have to, you know, meet her?”
Gray snorted. “I sincerely doubt she’ll be there.
Why are you worried about this?” His brow furrowed, curiosity evident on his handsome face. He took one hand from the wheel and laid it on Zane’s knee, squeezing gently. “You really have nothing to worry about. It’s just a dinner party. I’m more concerned that you’ll be so bored I’ll never convince you to go to the wedding with me in June.”
“Ugh,” Zane groaned. “I hate weddings.” But the words lacked venom. The fact that Gray straightforwardly included him in his life several months into the future warmed him from the inside out. As far as his acceptance of the invitation went, a summer society wedding (where chances were extremely favorable that Gray would be dressed in formalwear), paired with candlelight and a free wet bar, and an overnight in some fancy-pants hotel (because, hell yeah, Zane was absolutely holding out for the Four Seasons if he had to wear a tux), well... he could work with that. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t let Gray expend a little effort to try and convince him. Gray was a masterfully creative negotiator in ways that made Zane’s toes curl.
He covered the hand on his knee with his own, casually lacing their fingers, startling another curious smile from Gray. Zane was blatantly sexual, this was true; and he was affectionate, but it was on the order of sweet mother Mary and all that’s holy I can’t keep my hands off of you, not coiling an arm around a waist in the kitchen, or kissing for the simple pleasure of exploring the shape of a well-loved mouth. Or holding hands. It hadn’t gone unnoticed how much these small gestures appealed to Gray, however, and Zane had been quietly assessing which touches evoked the most emotional response. Somewhere in the middle, he had inadvertently learned exactly what he liked too. It seemed that when it came to Gray, his tolerance level for anything involving skin to skin contact, of any kind, went way, way up.