by R. Cayden
“Thanks,” Jameson said. “Should we get a drink?”
Inside, the strip club was pretty much how Gray had expected. All his familiar instincts kicked into gear as he eyed the place, making note of the small groups of men scattered around, the placement of the exits, and any other detail he might be able to use. It was dark inside, except for the well-lit stage, but as his vision adjusted, the gleaming silver poles and cushy red booths came into focus.
“You’ll be good?” he said to Jameson, dropping his voice under his breath. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”
Jameson winked to Gray over his shoulder. “We’ll see who gets good information first. Don’t underestimate a guy with pretty eyes.”
He took off to the bar, and Gray smiled to himself, not only because of the way Jameson had started to sway his hips when he walked. That alone would have kept Gray grinning the rest of the day.
Since they’d gotten to the hotel, Gray wasn’t sure whether he was the one dragging Jameson on an adventure, or whether it was the other way around. It was like there was an imp, hidden deep inside Jameson, and now that he was woken up, Gray realized it was impossible to tell the guy no.
He just looked so damn happy.
Gray crossed over to the other end of the bar, down from Jameson, and got himself a beer. With a generous tip to the bartender, he wandered across the floor, then found a seat at a small table, comfortably positioned between a few different groups of men. The dancers were on break so the stage was empty, and some generic pop song was playing over the speakers.
Leaning back in his chair, Gray sipped his beer, careful to look casual. He’d usually pull his phone out and pretend to be engrossed in his screen, but of course, he and Jameson had pulled that plug. Instead, he did his best just to listen while the men around him complained about the stock market and argued sports.
It wasn’t until the first dancer came out, swaying to an old R&B song, that Gray’s mind started to wander, and he felt a little nervous. Sipping his beer, he thought about where he and Jameson were going. He thought about it literally because he still had no idea where they would sleep that evening, but he also started to worry about the bigger picture.
If it was this damn hard to get away for a single night, how did he expect them to keep going for longer? Which was, Gray realized, exactly what he wanted. For them to go on much, much longer. He wanted it so fucking much, in fact, that he started to freak out a little. It made him push his better judgment aside and do something boneheaded like drag a superstar to the strip club.
He gripped his glass. What if he kept dragging Jameson along, pulling him into these schemes? Gray might be able to pull off a quick scam on a drunk man in a crappy dive bar, but eventually, sooner or later, he knew his luck would run out.
Gray swallowed some more beer. The men on one side were still talking about sports, and on the other, they had started complaining about the weather. He cursed under his breath. He’d expected better fishing at a place so near the business district. But then he glanced at the bar again and caught Jameson, trying to subtly grab his attention.
Gray threw back the rest of his beer, then sauntered over to the bar. He wanted to order himself a few shots, but he knew he’d have to drive in a bit. Instead, he took a stool, two down from Jameson, and ordered a soda water.
“The redhead in the suit,” Jameson said quietly. “By the stage.”
Gray stole a glance up front. “I see him.”
“He runs one of those gay conversion camps.” Jameson was whispering through his scarf, and out of the corner of his eye, Gray noticed that he had worked out a situation with a straw and a cocktail. “The places where they try to force teenagers to be straight. Apparently it’s still legal across the border in Pennsylvania.”
“Fuck.” Gray spat out the word. He hated that people were cruel enough to do that. “How do you know?”
“The bartender was telling one of the dancers. I guess the guy never tips, either. Does that help?”
Gray tapped his knuckles against the bar. “Aces. Keep it up, Jameson.”
Jameson sipped his drink through the straw. “Over and out,” he whispered, then giggled.
Gray made his way back across the bar. They had definitely found the right mark, but the next part was always tricky. He grabbed a chair at the table across from the guy and greeted him with a nod. “You having a good afternoon?”
The man was wearing a cheap tan suit, and his hair was parted awkwardly to the side. Gray didn’t know the first thing about fashion, not like Jameson did, but he knew that the man looked like trash.
“I’m fine,” he said evenly, his eyes still on the dancer as she spun slowly around the pole. “Yourself?”
And that was all the in that Gray needed. He hated having to make nice with guys like Mr. Gay Hate there in the cheap suit. It made his stomach churn. But he couldn’t do his job unless he got him talking first, and he had to put in a solid twenty minutes of laughing at offensive jokes before he found the opening he needed and got the guy talking about his business, unloading all kinds of useful dirt.
The mark veered off topic and into another rant about women, and Gray glanced back up to the bar. A couple of the dancers, draped in robes, had gathered around Jameson. For a second, his heart lurched, and he feared that Jameson had been discovered. But then he saw them all laugh casually together, and noticed the way Jameson swirled his straw in his drink, and realized it was fine.
More than fine, in fact. Beneath that scarf, Gray was sure that Jameson was grinning ear to ear.
“And that’s why women shouldn’t direct movies in the first place,” the mark concluded. He leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face, then threw back the rest of his drink.
Gray gritted his teeth and returned to the task at hand. “So, let me ask you this,” he said, leaning across the table. “You like cars?”
“Sure,” the man said. “Who doesn’t like a fucking car?”
“Right, right,” Gray laughed. “What kind of car do you drive?”
“I’m not flashy,” he answered, but the gloating in his eyes made it clear he was proud of his answer. “Just a Camry.”
Gray let out a whistle. “A Camry. What a great choice,” he said. “Tell you what. I’ve got to take a leak. Why don’t I get us another round on the way back. I got a good car story that I think a Camry man will appreciate.”
The mark turned back to the stage. “I won’t mind waiting,” he said with a leer to the dancer.
Gray cursed under his breath as he headed toward the bathrooms in the back. When he turned to catch Jameson’s eye and try to communicate some psychic messages, he was surprised to catch him getting up from the bar. With the two dancers, Jameson made his way toward the back. By the time Gray reached the bathrooms, he had slipped off into some private room.
“Well goddamn,” Gray laughed. Even he couldn’t sweet talk his way into the dressing room at a strip club.
Instead of turning into the bathroom, Gray rounded another corner and found an exit to the parking lot. After propping the door open with some cardboard, he hurried into the parking lot and found the only Camry there.
“Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” he muttered, reading the bumper sticker to himself. “Get some new material, dude.”
Gray peered into the car, scouting what he could. He’d never boosted a Camry, but from what he could tell, there wouldn’t be any surprises, just some standard security measures he’d be able to work his way around.
Dropping down to a squat, Gray pushed his hands through his hair, then let out a slow breath. This was the kind of thing he’d done enough times, and he knew the whole routine. He knew how to switch out the license plate, how to cruise the backroads without a map. Almost without a doubt, he could hotwire that vehicle and drive around with Jameson for weeks and not get caught.
But that was the thing: almost without a doubt. It was like he was always telling Raiden—just because he could do something d
idn’t mean he should do it. And when he actually thought about speeding through the hills in a stolen car with Jameson, he just felt nauseous that something, anything would go wrong, and Jameson’s life would be ruined.
Gray stood back up. He punched the air, and then again, letting out some of the aggression that had built up in his muscles when he was talking to the asshole inside.
Of all the things that were suddenly upsetting Gray, nothing was worse than the fact that he was going to have to tell Jameson the fun was over. The risks were too high, and he wasn’t going to be able to deliver what he had promised.
He wasn’t going to give Jameson the moon after all.
“Hey there, handsome.”
Gray spun on his heel. Standing in front of him, Jameson had one hand on his hip, and the other dangled a key. What really caught Gray’s attention, though, was that he had ditched the bulky blue jacket and the casual jeans. Instead, Jameson had on a sleek pair of black leggings and a fuzzy, baby blue sweater that hung low on him, almost like it was a short dress.
“What the hell?” Gray laughed.
“I got us a car,” Jameson said. “It’s a blue Subaru, 2003.” He pointed behind Gray, to the back of the lot. “I think that one?”
Gray rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead. “Did you steal the keys to that car?”
Jameson laughed. “Hell no. I traded the motorcycle for it.” He looked down at himself. “Well, I traded it for the Subaru and some new clothes. I warned Balenciaga that the motorcycle was stolen, but she said she got the Subaru from her ex-boyfriend in a breakup, and she was tired of thinking about him every time she drove to the grocery store.” He tilted his head to the side, thinking. “Oh! And also the left speaker doesn’t work, and the trunk is jammed.”
Gray looked down at the Camry, then back to Jameson. “Amazing. Great fucking job, Jameson.”
Jameson bowed slightly, extending his hands with a flourish. “Thank you. Did you get anywhere with the ex-gay guy?”
Gray shook his head quickly. “Looks like we don’t need him now. Anyway, I memorized his name and his license plate number. I’ll have Raiden send him fake parking tickets with the address of the strip club for a while, to his home and to his business, just so he doesn’t get off totally free.”
Jameson laughed, then gestured to the Subaru. “You ready?”
“No sense in waiting. Want me to drive?”
Jameson tossed him the keys. “After going to a strip club? I’ll be happy to freak out in the passenger seat for a while, thanks.”
Jameson
It only took them three tries to find a motel that would accept cash, and by dark, Jameson and Gray were comfortably set up in a room with HBO. Gray took off to get some supplies for them both, and Jameson immediately peeled off his clothes and ran a hot shower. He scrubbed his skin with the tiny bar of soap and let the water beat down on his face as he tried to process his day.
The one thing he regretted, Jameson realized, was that he couldn’t text Dee. She was usually the only person he talked honestly with, but since he said goodbye to his phone, he’d been cut off from her. It made things with Gray feel even more untethered from his normal reality, like he truly had just sped off in a getaway car.
Or a getaway pink motorcycle, followed by a getaway Subaru, as the case was.
Jameson hopped out of the shower, then dried himself with one of the big white towels. He wandered into the main room and flipped on the television, then started scrolling through the stations without really thinking about it. All of his thoughts were centered on Gray, and the person Jameson was becoming when they were together.
He pushed a few strands of hair back. With the towel tied at his waist, he sat down on the couch and started to reapply some makeup. Even if they didn’t go out again that night, he fully intended to see his new favorite look in Gray’s eye, the one where it seemed like he was going to eat Jameson up.
The talk show he’d landed on switched segments, and Jameson’s stomach dropped when a picture of the media mob outside his mansion came into view. “We’re not liking the stories we’re hearing from Justin Sweet!” the chatty host said, scrunching her face. “There are more and more violent rumors coming from his mansion, and no sight of the superstar or his publicist for days!” The small picture above the host zoomed in to his driveway, to a video of Pickles barking at the gate while lying on her back and kicking her paws in the air. “All I have to say to those reporters is beware the dog!”
“Pickles,” Jameson said with a soft gasp.
He shook his head, then fumbled for the remote as the host started rehashing some of the old Justin Sweet gossip stories. There was no need for him to listen to that crap, but at least in the video Pickles looked pretty happy.
There must have been a squirrel nearby, Jameson figured.
The door rattled, and Gray pushed it open. He came inside with a few plastic bags under his arms and kicked the door shut behind him. “You okay?” he asked immediately, furrowing his brow.
“I’m fine,” Jameson said, and when he caught Gray’s eye, his smile came naturally back. “I made the mistake of looking at the TV. I guess I’m still breaking news.”
Gray frowned. “Sorry, Jameson.” He sat down on the bed, then placed his hands on Jameson’s shoulders. As he started rubbing, the strength of his grip sent a tremble of pleasure down Jameson’s back.
“Oh god,” Jameson breathed. “I don’t care about the gossip anymore. Just keep doing that.”
Gray laughed and swung his legs onto the bed to take up a better position. “Like this?” he asked, pressing his thumb beneath Jameson’s shoulder.
A purr started behind Jameson’s ribs, then rolled out, slipping through his lips. Gray pressed a little harder, and they settled into the massage.
“Did you get everything?” Jameson asked.
“Toiletries and snacks. But I still don’t know how we’ll last more than a few days.”
Jameson made a shushing noise. “Let’s not talk about all that now. Not during massage time.” The deeper Gray’s hands worked into his back, the more his body melted, and he draped his legs over Gray’s as they wiggled together.
“Deal,” Gray said, whispering the word in Jameson’s ear.
Jameson rubbed his hands up Gray’s legs, groping his thighs. He let his eyes drift shut and focused only on the way it felt to be touched by Gray, held by Gray, to have Gray exploring him so slowly and deeply.
Jameson gasped. He felt Gray’s cock, hard against his ass, just like Jameson was stiff underneath the towel. Reaching back, he drew his hand up Gray’s length and palmed his bulge.
“You want that?” Gray asked.
Jameson bit down on his lip and nodded. “Yeah, I do.” He arched his back, riding Gray’s cock. “I really, really do.”
Gray pulled his sweater off, then tossed it aside. His hands landed back on Jameson’s shoulders with a full, deep squeeze, and Jameson’s gasp turned into a moan. “Good. Because we’ve got this motel all night, and I really want to take my time with you.”
With another moan, Jameson placed his hands on Gray’s thighs and turned himself around. He threw his legs around Gray’s waist, then started hungrily kissing at his neck while he undid his pants.
“Fuck” Gray groaned. He grabbed Jameson’s sides, steadying them both while they kissed. “You were incredible today, you know that? You didn’t blink at all. You just got it done, and you got it done smart, too.”
Jameson tangled his hand in Gray’s hair. He played with what it felt like to tug lightly as he kissed at Gray’s neck, and when Gray tightened his grip on Jameson’s hips with a groan, he decided he liked it.
“You think so?” he asked. “As soon as the dancers came over, I knew for sure they weren’t going to recognize me. It was all easy after that.”
Gray bucked his hips and then pushed his pants and boxers down. His cock was fat, and the head was purple, and Jameson immediately took hold of it, rigid in his
hands. “A natural,” Gray growled. “In more ways than one.”
Jameson stroked his hand up Gray’s shaft slowly, then dropped it back down. The way Gray’s body shuddered in reaction made him feel powerful, more powerful than he ever felt fighting robots and jumping rooftops in the movies. “How many more ways than one?” he teased, fluttering his eyelashes.
Gray’s eyes rolled backward. “As many as you want, beautiful,” he managed.
Jameson stroked his hand up again, then down slowly. “You said you would teach me new things.” He pouted, a face he had made in the mirror a million times to apply lipstick, and bounced his hand again. “Promise you’ll teach me?”
Gray groaned, his face pained as he grabbed the blanket in a fist. “All night, babe.”
Jameson connected with a new part of himself, a way of being flirty, of teasing, that he’d never known before. He had needed another person, someone to play with, in order to understand how fun it was to whisper filthy things and watch a man squirm.
To lick a string of saliva from his lip to his tongue and see Gray’s world turn upside down.
Luckily for Jameson, Gray wasn’t lying when he promised the whole night. They rubbed each other and licked each other, and Jameson tasted every inch of Gray’s body. The hours passed, and Jameson learned how to take Gray deeper and deeper into his throat. He learned to relax, his legs in the air while Gray rimmed him, and rimmed him some more, and some more. Gray shot sticky jets of cum on Jameson’s chest, and when Jameson licked it off his fingers, he recognized the flavor from the night before.
Jameson found his instincts, and he learned new ways to touch himself, and when Gray growled, he knew that he had earned it. The night passed around them, like a blur of orgasms and sweat and hot, aching skin, and the next day went just the same way. They ordered pizza, and fooled around in the shower, and curled up naked under the covers for long, deep naps. They tried just about everything Jameson could think of, except that he never took more than Gray’s tongue inside of him, his body always tensing up when he got close to something more.