Thorns

by Feliz Faber

  Francis emerged from under the terrycloth and dragged his gaze up and down Will’s half-clad person. A smile spread across his face. “There you are, William. Admiring the view?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Will said, giving Francis a blatant once-over in turn and biting his lips when he saw the other man’s cock harden under his gaze.

  Francis closed the space between them with two long strides, threw his towel around Will’s neck, and used it to pull him in for a kiss.

  A long while later, Francis broke the kiss and pushed away, groaning. “Damn, I can’t be late.”

  Will gave a protesting sound but let him go. It couldn’t be helped, after all. Still, he couldn’t resist reaching out and placing his hand on Francis’s chest.

  Francis grabbed Will’s wrist to hold his hand in place. Their gazes locked on to each other for a long moment before Francis let go and stepped back.

  Will felt as if he’d just narrowly escaped drowning in the bottomless depths of some deceptively still pond, and he was actually glad for the break. He shook his head to clear it. “Can’t find my shirt. Have you seen it?”

  He’d have loved to persuade himself there was some of the same near-miss feeling in the bewildered glance Francis shot him, but that was likely wishful thinking. “Huh?” Francis said, then waved him off. “Eh, don’t worry. Housekeeping is going to turn it up sooner or later, and then I’ll have it returned to you. I’ll lend you one of mine.” He turned and walked back into the bedroom, gesturing at Will to follow. “I’m sorry, William, but I’ll need to head out soon. Take a shower, if you want. I’ll make coffee.”

  Trudging after him, Will tried to quell his disappointment as well as his rebellious libido. Not an easy feat while staring at Francis’s naked ass, still dotted with droplets of water from his shower. Sighing, Will tore his gaze away. That was it, then. Weeknight entertainments weren’t meant to last in the face of daily routine. Nothing much he could do about it.

  Still, it had been worth it.

  STANDING in Francis’s spotless kitchen, they drank their coffees in companionable silence, smiling at each other whenever their eyes happened to meet over the rims of their mugs.

  In front of the closed apartment door, with one hand on the doorknob, Francis turned to Will again.

  “Last night was lovely,” he said. “Thank you for it.”

  “Thank you for having me,” Will answered. “I enjoyed myself too.” They shared a smile that kept turning broader until they were grinning like idiots. Will broke first.

  “Look at us, making polite chitchat at the door like… like, I don’t know, two southern belles after afternoon tea? ‘Oh, it was so nice talking to you, thank you so much for the invitation, maybe you’ll allow me to return your kindness one day?’” he mocked, pitching his voice high. A moment later he realized what he’d just said. The smile froze on his face as his breath caught in his throat.

  Francis laughed. “Nice, huh?” The warm glow in his eyes made Will’s heart beat faster. “Are you saying you liked being with me and wouldn’t mind doing it again?”

  “I, ah—” Will felt his ears heat up. Annoyed with himself, he straightened his spine and cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said firmly. “Though I could live with skipping the business crap.”

  He all but sagged with relief when Francis laughed again.

  “I hear you. Do I ever.” He bent down and pressed a soft kiss to Will’s lips. “A proper date it is, then. Could you also live with it if I now said I’ll call you? I really want to see you again, and soon, but I’m a busy man.”

  “So am I,” Will retorted, slightly miffed. Francis cocked an eyebrow at him, and Will gave an embarrassed snort. “I get it, I get it. How about we strike a compromise? We phone each other, and we’ll both promise not to go off in a huff if one of us can’t make it?”

  Francis smiled wide. “You’re a tough negotiating partner, William. How could I refuse to accept such a sweet deal? I rest my case.”

  “You better,” Will retorted, fully aware that he was grinning like a loon and not giving a damn about it.

  “WELL look, you’re doing it again,” Gary teased.

  Thus ungently brought back to earth, Will scowled at him. “Doing what?”

  “Drifting away on cloud nine. Funny, when I’m as well fucked as you, I used to have problems sitting down….” he cocked his head. “My, my, ice princess, are you a top after all? Be still, my beating heart!” Dramatically, Gary clutched his pearls.

  Will had to laugh despite himself. “Lay off, will you? Not telling.”

  He should’ve known better. Telling Gary to lay off was the surest way to get him going.

  “Oh, come on, I want details. Who did who? How’d you meet him? And who the fuck….” his eyes went big and round. “Ooooooooooooh, I get it…. It was him, wasn’t it? That black god who… oh, dear, oh dear.” He leaned back in his chair, fanning himself with both hands. “Am I running a fever? It’s so hot in here all of a sudden…. Really, Will, you and he? Wow, just thinking about it….” He spread his legs and cupped himself with a put-upon, pitiful whine. “I’m dying here, man. Mercy? Just a teeny tiny bit?”

  In exasperated surrender, Will buried his face in his hands. “Jesus, Gary. Quit with the horndog routine already.”

  Gary pouted. “Some friend you are. Who’s going to fix your computer next time, huh?”

  Will blew him a raspberry. “Shut up, jackass.”

  “A-ha. Very mature, buttercup.”

  “Says the bitch.”

  “Oh, now you’re begging for it, Yeats.”

  “In your dreams.” Luckily, Trevor called him then, providing Will with a graceful exit.

  As for grilling skills, Gary was actually the lesser of two evils, but at least Trevor was only grilling him about the business end of things. Will’s highly rinsed version of the previous evening’s proceedings had Trevor in hand-rubbing glee.

  “This gets better and better. They invited you, he said? They’ll spill their beans, just like that? People don’t just do a one-eighty like this for no reason. My rhinestones to your leather chaps there’s more to that than meets the eye.”

  “I told you LeBon made provisos. And I don’t own any leather chaps,” Will said, somewhat baffled.

  Trevor shot him an impatient look. “Figure of speech, cupcake. Provisos are hunky-dory. Far be it from me to violate someone’s precious privacy. No, no, I’m thinking more along the lines of dirty secrets, drama, sex—if something smells this fishy, there’s bound to be a dead whale somewhere, take it from me.”

  “Uh,” Will said, watching in bewilderment as Trevor paced, uttering something under his breath that could’ve been “smokescreen, my ass” or not. He’d thought along the same lines last night, Will recalled. That Trevor so obviously agreed with him only heightened his curiosity.

  “So you’re going to let me go to France?” he asked, trying to get Trevor back on track. This earned him another impatient look.

  “What am I talking about all the time? Of course you’ll go. I’ll even spring for your plane ticket. This is going really nicely.” He stroked his chin; as long as Will knew him, Trevor hadn’t worn a beard, but he still kept making the gesture. “Actually, those show jumper guys could make a good handle, don’t you think?”

  “Only one of them is a show jumper,” Will corrected. “The other rides dressage.” With Trevor, it was sometimes best to just go with the flow, even if you didn’t know where.

  Trevor waved him off. “Whatever. Seeing as the April issue will be themed to AIDS-related topics, you’re going to do a piece on them. Write about that charity thing they run, see you get a statement from them about being gay in equestrian sports on the fly. Nothing too big, a phone interview will do. Then, in May, we’ll do your portrait of a gay jockey as a feature story, in honor of the Kentucky Derby. You go to France and tickle all the filthy details out of those guys. Keep your ears open, your yap shut, and ask the right questions. Bring back a tasty mo
rsel with lots of juice, hear me?”

  By now, Will was completely lost. But before he got to ask Trevor for a little more clarification, Gary came sauntering in.

  “Ever heard of knocking, Wheeler?” Trevor greeted him.

  Eyes wide open in mock astonishment, Gary gave a flourish with a big UPS envelope he held in his hand. “Am I intruding? I didn’t think so, given that this”—he waved the envelope again—“just arrived by messenger for Yeats. From his—” He paused for the dramatic effect. “—boyfriend.”

  “What the fuck?” Trevor said at the same time Will jumped at Gary and said, “Give.”

  Gary held the parcel out of Will’s reach. “Then again, I thought it could concern you as well, Trev. The lawyer who was here yesterday, LeBon? It’s from his office.”

  No point in wondering how Gary had learned Francis’s name. The nickname Gossip Gary was well earned. Ears burning with embarrassment, Will shriveled back into his chair as Gary handed Trevor the envelope. If looks could kill, Gary would’ve dropped dead on the spot, though.

  Unfazed, Gary met Will’s glare with a mischievous wink. “Payback,” he mouthed before he slipped out again. Bitch.

  “It’s addressed to you personally,” Trevor said. He passed Will the envelope and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Care to enlighten me, Yeats? What’s going on here?”

  “Well… about that…,” Will stammered, turning the damn thing over and over in his hands. From the heat in his cheeks, he was sure his head looked like a ripe strawberry now. Trevor waited. “LeBon and I, we, ah, after the business meeting last night, things got…. Ah, damn it all to hell, Trev, that’s private, okay? I was off the clock.”

  To Will’s surprise—and immense relief—Trevor started smiling. The smile turned into a leer, then a dirty cackle.

  “You hooked up with him? Boy, that’s rich! What I would give to be a fly on the wall when you two got it on.”

  Will slapped the cardboard envelope to his thighs in outrage. “What’s the big deal, anyway? That’s nobody’s business!”

  Trevor stopped laughing and shot Will a narrowed glance. “Of course it is, Will, and even though you certainly don’t need it, you’ve got my blessing. If anything, this might prove beneficial for you with these Frenchmen, if you play it right. Just do me a favor, okay? Don’t….” He cleared his throat. “Ah, shit. Mixing business with pleasure is fine in my book, okay? Just don’t overstep the mark.”

  Who died and made me your charge, now? Will thought, but he didn’t say it. The Flag was big on flat hierarchies and familiarity, but Trevor was still his boss. And wherever he was going with such uncharacteristic delicacy, it was too far.

  “Duly noted, sir,” Will said calmly.

  Trevor threw his hands up in exasperation. “Jesus, Yeats, don’t you sir me now! Haul ass, sweet cheeks, you’ve got all manner of things to do yet before you can push off to France. Provided that beefcake of yours coughs up a nice deal for us, that is. No, don’t give me that look, I’m sure he will. Off with you. Oh, and Will—if there’s anything business related in that parcel, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

  WILL resisted opening the envelope until his lunch break despite Gary’s constant needling. Once he had escaped to the safety of a nearby McDonalds—safe from Gary, that is, as Gary would never set foot into a place that profane—he ripped off the opening strip with only slightly unsteady hands.

  The cardboard package contained a brand new silk shirt still in its plastic wrapper printed with the brand’s name—CODE, in proud, fat, gold letters—and trademark twin gold hoofprints. Same cut and color as the one Will had worn yesterday. And a handwritten note.

  William,

  Even if I liked to see you wearing my clothes, I liked you in your own, too. So I took the liberty to replace your loss. I hope you don’t mind.

  Come to think of it, I quite liked you out of your shirt, too.

  I’m really looking forward to see you again, shirt or no.

  F.

  Will immediately pulled out his cell phone and dialed Francis’s number. Not even the mailbox picking up could wipe the goofy grin off his face.

  Francis called back only half an hour later, when Will had just swallowed his last salty french fry.

  “Hey, Francis. Are you ready for me to take you up on your word?”

  “Depends. Are you going to make me an offer I can’t refuse?” Francis shot back in a husky tone that sent a shiver down Will’s spine. He swallowed, finding his own voice turning breathless.

  “Let’s see. What are you doing come Thursday night?”

  Four

  ON THE second Thursday of every month, the area around the art galleries on Spring and Main Streets turned into a big fairground with the Downtown Art Walk. For all that he’d been living in Los Angeles for more than a decade now, Francis had never been to one. Neither had Will, though he’d wanted to go ever since Gary first told him about it. So it was the first Art Walk for both of them, but they immediately agreed it wasn’t going to be their last.

  They only arrived after 8:00 p.m., and the streets were already crammed full with people. They couldn’t even get into the Art Walk Lounge for the press of bodies, but they just laughed it off and left again and drifted with the flow. After a while, they got hungry and stopped at a street vendor’s stall for beef tamales.

  Thirsty from the hot, spicy food, they bought drinks from another vendor, something green and fluorescent with lots of crushed ice in it that tasted of minty lemon and went straight to Will’s head like nitrous oxide. He wouldn’t have needed the booze, though, high on the night as he was already. The lights; the music; the cheerful people of all races, ages, and genders around him; and the spirit and novelty of it had him floating on a wave of childlike happiness that didn’t need any chemical enhancement. And there was Francis, most of all Francis, who seemed to have left the lofty lawyer behind with his suit and tie.

  They turned heads as they sauntered down the street and pointed out the sights to each other, tall and dark next to lithe and bright, both in ass-hugging jeans and casual jackets. Francis seemed oblivious to the glances they drew, if he even cared, never taking his arm from around Will’s waist, never pulling away from the hand Will had in his back pocket.

  They stopped again to listen to a lone clarinet player outside Miguel Osuna’s. The guy was black as the night and big as an ox; his coal-scoop hands dwarfed his instrument, but the tones he produced were sweet, clear, and pure like glass beads, haunting and cutting like the wind on the plains. The not-quite-a-melody created a little bubble of solitude at the edge of the crowd. Will found himself caught in it, all alone but for the feeling of Francis’s hand against his hip.

  A tug, and Will was moving again. Francis dragged him into a convenient shadowy alley and backed him into a wall. Rough bricks scraped his back. He sucked Francis’s greedy tongue into his equally greedy mouth. Hands pulled at the shirt Francis had given him, and he broke the kiss with a gasp—“You’re cold!”—as they touched the warm flesh underneath.

  “Come, I’ll warm you.” Francis chuckled, drawing him closer, and he was right, the cold no longer mattered. Their restless hands were all over each other now. It was Francis who pulled back this time, breathlessly and with obvious reluctance. “My place?” he asked.

  “Mine’s closer.” Will pulled him along.

  They’d found parking spots near each other in a public parking lot, but Will hesitated as he considered Francis’s late-model metallic silver Benz. “We better leave yours here and take my car. My neighborhood isn’t the best.”

  “Where do you live?” Francis asked. After Will told him, Francis just nodded, fished his keys out of his pocket, and beeped the Benz awake. “I know the area. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine there,” he said, reaching for the door handle. He pressed a kiss to Will’s raised eyebrow and got into the car. “See you there in ten. Don’t make me wait, will you?”

  “He that will not hear will feel,
” Will quoted gravely, and Francis grinned up at him through the half-open driver’s door.

  “You will, sweetheart, don’t you doubt it.”

  Of course it took Will longer than the ten minutes it should have to get home, the slow-moving traffic giving him ample time to beat himself up over his foolishness to invite Francis into the ratty hovel he called his place. He’d seen the man’s apartment, hadn’t he? Francis would already be aware that he and Will didn’t even remotely move in the same social circles. No need to shove it into his face like this.

  By the time Will pulled onto his street, he’d almost resigned himself to Francis deciding to duck out. But the Benz was there, proudly on display in front of the flickering neon sign of Brown’s Bakery that used to drive Will nuts at night until he repaired the blinds in his bedroom window. And the car was empty, Francis nowhere in sight. As Will got out of his truck and looked around himself, two dark figures peeled away from the shadows of yet another alley. One was Francis, no doubt about it, and the other one a huge black bruiser Will had often seen swagger around the neighborhood with his rabble of friends like they owned the place, fat gold necklaces, busty arm candy, and all. He was about to reach for his cell phone when Francis and Tough Guy exchanged a back-patting hug. They bumped fists, and Tough Guy stalked off. Francis came over to Will, white teeth gleaming in the neon flicker, all arrogant predator once again.

  “How’d you know that guy?” Will hissed as soon as Francis was within earshot—and Tough Guy well out of it.

  Grinning even more broadly, Francis nudged him with his shoulder. “I’ve got friends everywhere. Even in low places.”

  “Oh thank you,” Will snapped, turning away. Fuck, he really should’ve known better than bringing Francis here.

  A moment later he felt a hand on his shoulder. He attempted to shrug it off, but the hand held firm, turning him. “I’m not placing myself above you. You should know that, William,” Francis said, his voice soft despite his words. Scrutinizing the toes of his boots, Will shrugged again. Two fingers slid under his chin, gently lifting his face.