by Feliz Faber
“You think I always was where I am now, helping big-ass companies wriggle out of compensation claims?” Will almost squirmed under his serious gaze. Almost.
“Well, no, but—” he started, but Francis cut him off, his hand cupping Will’s cheek now.
“I actually started out claiming damages for people. This guy”—he jerked his chin after Tough Guy’s retreating back—“Darryll, his mother fell victim to malpractice years ago. I helped him sue the hospital. He’d never do anything to harm me or mine. Just so you know, you’re now under his protection, too.”
Will blinked, processing this. “But how…. Francis, this guy….”
“Darryll,” Francis cut in, and Will sniffed.
“Fine, Darryll, he screams gangster. How can you? I don’t want any part in it.”
“You think I do? Or want you to?” Francis’s hand fell off Will’s face. “But Darryll knows me, he knows what I can and will do if he goes back on me. Why not make use of it? Yes, I know”—he held up his hands in defense when Will took a breath to sputter—“you only mind your own business and you’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself, but then, you’re a single white face in a mainly black neighborhood. One where I used to live for a spell, I might add, though it’s been a while. As much as I hate to admit it, skin color matters occasionally. Believe me, I know.”
Will looked at him, past the attitude, the self-confidence, the arrogance, and for the first time he really took note of the color of Francis’s skin. With the life Will had led, with the number of places he’d lived and the variety of people he’d shared them with, it never occurred to him to pay much attention to race. Hell, he’d been with white, Hispanic, and black guys before—skin color didn’t figure much into what drew him to another man. However, being impartial was probably easy if you hadn’t been subjected to prejudices yourself all too often.
“I didn’t mean to judge, Francis. I’m sorry,” he murmured, averting his gaze. Once again, Francis’s hand briefly touched his chin, nudged it up.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” A wicked gleam shone from those deep dark eyes. “I just like to know that my pretty things are safe.”
It was such an outrageously silly statement, delivered in such a deadpan manner that Will had to laugh, even as he jerked free of Francis’s grip, pointing his chin into the vague direction of the Benz. “The things you say! I’ll have you know I’m not one of your trinkets, though.” Only after he’d uttered the words, he realized his defiance had only been partly put-on, and he wondered where the strange tightness in his chest came from all of a sudden.
Francis didn’t give him time to puzzle much longer. Up went that infamous eyebrow once again. “Oh? And here I was hoping you’d make an exception tonight, as I’d really love to own you again.” Grimacing, he hunched his shoulders and clawed at air in front of Will’s face. “Mine. My own. My preciousssss.”
“Gollum, gollum,” Will supplied, grabbing Francis by the ears and hauling his head down for a kiss. His misgivings dissolved into laughter only a moment later, in heat and greed once again as Francis made it clear with mouth and hands how very much he meant what he’d said earlier.
AN INSISTENT beep woke Will the next morning. With a groan, he groped about blindly until he found his bedside clock and hit it on the top. The beeping continued regardless.
Someone chuckled next to Will’s ear. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Soft lips touched the spot beneath his jaw. The noise stopped, and when Will rolled to his back and blinked his gritty eyes open, Francis stood next to the bed, cell phone in hand and fully dressed. He looked disgustingly alert and relaxed.
“Timezit?” Will grunted.
“Five. Go back to sleep.” Francis leaned in for another kiss, to the lips this time. Will tasted mint and hummed dreamily, cupping one hand around the back of Francis’s neck and with the other grabbing whatever part of clothing was in reach. He pulled until a laughing weight toppled onto him.
Framing Will’s head with his forearms, Francis smiled down at him once Will let him up a little. “As much as I’d love to continue this, I’ve got to go now. Some things at work need urgent taking care of. Nights off come at a price for me.”
“Bah,” Will huffed, letting go of his hold. “It better have been worth it, then.” He was almost fully awake now, and regretting it, since his dick was, too, and quite disappointed when Francis lifted off him and sat on the edge of the bed.
He grinned down at Will and tousled his hair. “You bet it was.” One large, dark hand slid down, groped him through the comforter and squeezed good and hard as Francis sucked the surprised gasp from Will’s lips. “Hold that thought. I’ll see you when I see you.” Off he went, leaving Will with a rather confused hard-on and a jumbled mind to match.
THE next few weeks kept Will’s nose to the grindstone with preparations for his trip and with work. As for the business side of things, the very efficient Ms. Wilks—who looked every bit like Will had pictured her, except for the fact that she was a brunette, not a blonde—took care of that. The signing of the agreement, when it finally happened after the Flag’s lawyers had their say in it, was over in less than an hour. It was the last time Will met Francis officially on a matter of business. But otherwise, they continued seeing each other, even though Francis hadn’t exaggerated when he called himself a busy man. Which Will realized one time when Francis’s cell phone went off at the single most inconvenient moment and the fucker actually reached for it.
“Don’t you dare,” Will gasped, tugging at what there was of Francis’s hair to steer him back to the matter at hand—or mouth, as it was.
Francis grinned up from between Will’s thighs after glancing at the cell phone screen. “I guess this can wait for a bit,” he said, pushing a button on the device.
“Well, this here can’t,” Will huffed with an insistent push to make his meaning clear, and Francis grinned again and went back to work with unbroken enthusiasm.
Afterward, though, Francis jumped up and into his clothes before Will had time to finish savoring the afterglow. Will sputtered his indignation, watching Francis struggle to put away what Will had hoped to enjoy not much later that night. “What about you? Come on, what can be this important?”
Francis smiled sweetly, the expression turning into a grimace as he zipped up. “I’m afraid this is, William,” he said, waving his phone. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll have to owe you one, no?”
“Or I, you, as it is,” Will said grumpily as he swung his legs off the mattress and shoved them into a pair of sweatpants. At the very least, they were in Will’s apartment, so he didn’t have to make a dash for it, which would’ve frustrated him even more. “And don’t you forget it.”
“No way, sweetheart.” Francis winked. “See you soon.” And he was gone, blowing a kiss back over his shoulder.
Fortunately, their dates didn’t always go like this. They went to clubs or to dinner, mostly—the Pinot a few times, or more exotic locations like night markets and street fairs that Will made a point of digging up since they never failed to bring out the lighthearted, silly side in Francis, which was otherwise so firmly kept under lock and key. Will loved best the sex they had after such outings, when Francis was full of mischief and willing to play. Other times, Francis would take him with almost angry force, the darkness of it adding an edge that cut Will to the core.
The whole of it was unlike anything Will had known so far, a fact that was a source of constant amazement to him. It almost felt like they were… yes what, exactly? Boyfriends? Lovers? When it came to sex, certainly, but Will didn’t feel as if they shared the kind of intimacy either of these words implied. Fuck-buddies? No, it was more than that, he was almost sure, and besides, that would imply they were equals, wouldn’t it, which they most certainly were not.
However, he’d learned long ago that enjoying things while they lasted and not reading too much into them—particularly relationships of any kind—was the way to go for
him. Better for his peace of mind, at least.
As for Will’s work, Trevor seemed to have set his mind to squeezing every last drop of juice out of Will’s working power until the last minute. Will’s departure was scheduled for an early Sunday morning, and he only managed to get the edited draft of his last assigned piece into Trevor’s inbox on the Friday afternoon before.
Afterward, he dropped into his chair with an exhausted sigh, rubbing his face with both hands. When he looked up again, he met Gary’s gleeful grin.
“What?” Will asked. “Four pieces, man! Has the Flag suddenly become a weekly or what?”
“Well, Trevor’s providing against all eventualities, I guess,” Gary answered. “What if your plane crashes or you get stuck over there or something? Without your precious outpourings, we’ll be left with egg on our faces, looks like. Doesn’t it feel nice to be so in demand?”
Will made a face at him. “Shut up, Wheeler! The way you all talk, you’d think I’m making a polar expedition. It’s a one-week trip to Europe, for God’s sake!”
“Yes, and we’re sure as hell all green with envy.”
Will blew him a raspberry. “That’s rich, coming from you. Who went on that gay cruise last fall?”
“Strictly business, baby.” Gary stood and rounded his desk to place his skinny ass on the tabletop in front of Will. “Speaking of which… what say we go dancing tonight as a sendoff for you?” He straightened and called out to the few other Friday afternoon stragglers in the office. “What do you think, boys and girls, shall we give Junior Robert Scott here a proper farewell?”
He was met with various reactions from eye rolls and dismissive waves to unreserved approval. Josh, a young brunet who’d been making eyes at Gary for weeks now—unrequitedly, as far as Will could tell—clapped his hands with an excited giggle. “It’s Dirty Pop Night at Micky’s!”
“There,” Gary said, turning back to Will, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “So?”
With another sigh, Will pushed his chair farther back. “I don’t know, Gary. I’ve yet to get my packing done, and I don’t know if Francis—”
“Bring him, then, if you must. Come on, don’t be a spoilsport.” Gary glanced at Josh, who was openly watching them with a wistful expression. Not entirely unrequited, then, Will thought.
“Why don’t you and Josh go ahead and I’ll join you later? I’d rather wait for Francis to call me back first.” Francis hadn’t been able to tell if or when he’d be free tonight or on Saturday when Will called him earlier, and Will really didn’t want to depart without seeing him again.
“Ah, you’re no fun lately, Yeats.” Gary pouted. “It’s always Francis this, Francis that with you, as if you were at his beck and call. What did he do to you, cock-whip you into submission? Can’t have a little fun without him?”
Gary’s words cut like a knife, right into a Pandora’s box of doubts and resentments Will had thought safely locked with the key thrown away.
“You want to shut up now, Wheeler,” he said, carefully keeping his voice as cold as glacial drift, but Gary apparently caught on immediately. His face fell and he hopped down from the desk to crouch in front of Will, hands on his thighs.
“I apologize,” he said in a low, serious voice. “If I’d known how far…. God, Will. Really? Listen, I don’t want to meddle—”
“Then don’t. I don’t want to talk about it, Gary. Least of all here.”
As if startled awake, Gary looked around himself. “Oh, okay.” He got up, wincing as one of his knees gave an audible crack. “Again, I’m sorry. It’s just, you know, I’ve seen it happen a few times too often. I don’t like to watch people having their hearts broken.”
He was almost back to his usual volatile tone, but Will could see the concern in the eyes that looked down on him. It reminded him that Gary, for all the bickering they usually did, had proven a friend more than once.
“Don’t worry. It’s not like that between us,” he said, knowing perfectly well that the smile he attempted came across a bit crooked. Gary raised his eyebrows at him.
“So, how is it, pray tell?”
“Two consenting adults, having a bit of fun together, that’s what it is,” Will said firmly. Gary’s eyebrows did another upward flip. Apparently, Will had done as poor a job at convincing him as he had himself.
“Prove it, then.” Smiling mischievously, Gary held out a hand. “Come dancing with me and sweetcheeks over there, what do you say?”
Will looked between Gary’s face and hand, feeling as if his cell phone were burning a hole in his pocket. Then again, what harm could it do? He could leave another message, and whether Francis decided to show up or not, there wasn’t a thing Will could do about it anyway. He took Gary’s hand, let himself be pulled to his feet.
“Okay. Micky’s at eight?”
Gary grinned and patted his cheek. “Good boy.”
THE thrumming bass vibrated through Will’s hips and legs, moving them almost without his own doing. Or it might have been the impetus he got from the hands that held his hips from behind. The blond guy to whom the hands belonged and his dark-haired, olive-skinned companion had taken Will between them; they were close enough to move in sync, but not close enough to grind. A friendly touch, more fun than dancing alone, but nothing else. Will threw his head back and raised his arms above the press of sweaty bodies. It felt good, losing himself in the rhythm of his dance partners and the beat of the music.
An elbow nudged his ribs, making Will turn. Gary danced next to him wrapped up in an already shirtless Josh. As Will looked, Gary was sneaking three fingers down his dance partner’s back and into the gap of his jeans, which had Josh looking as if he were to take off for cloud nine any minute now. Someone’s got their dream come true, Will thought, smiling fondly. They’re a perfect match. I wonder why Gary refused to see that for so long. Going from Gary’s expression, he had come to the same conclusion. Good for them.
Unfortunately, the thought sobered Will on the spot, as it reminded him of his own match that still hadn’t shown up. Less than perfect or opposites attract? If he only knew. Still, thinking of Francis completely put Will off some stranger’s touch, however casual, and he tried to slide free of the fingers curled through the belt loops of his jeans.
The fingers tightened, and from Will’s front side, Dark moved closer. From behind, Blond rasped into Will’s ear, “I don’t think so, cocktease.” His speech was slurred, and his breath smelled of alcohol. Will, who hadn’t touched a drop all evening, wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Mm, I like me a piece of twinky-ass now.” Dark leaned in and favored Will with another load of booze breath right into the face.
Oh no, not with me, you don’t.
If he had a penny for every time some horny, drunken idiot had thought a lithe guy like him fair game…. Will turned his face away at the last possible moment so Dark’s lips glanced off his cheek. He stiffened his hand and with the speed and ease of one seriously pissed-off, shoved it down the front of Dark’s jeans, grabbed his balls, and squeezed. Hard.
Dark yowled and tried pushing away, but the crowd and Will’s hand held him in place. Will bared his teeth. “Back off, or say goodbye to them.” He squeezed again for good measure and then let go and gave Dark a shove.
“What the fuck…,” sounded from behind as the crowd swallowed Dark, and Will lifted one booted heel and stomped on Blond’s instep. Promptly, he was freed and whirled around as Blond swayed on his good foot with his mouth hanging open. With a push to the chest, Will knocked him on his ass and then hovered over him.
“Next time, you ask. Saves you trouble if the answer’s no.” Blond cowered, and Will turned away with a sneer.
And ran into a solid wall of muscled chest, his still-raised fists caught in an iron grip. Snarling in frustration, he pulled his leg back to knee the next idiot’s nuts when a familiar voice said, close to his ear, “You’d hurt yourself more than me with that, I suppose.”
“Francis!” Wil
l half laughed, still shaking with adrenaline from his fight, and Francis hauled him close for a hot, messy kiss, right there on the dance floor.
Whistles and catcalls brought them apart eventually. Will’s ears felt as if they were on fire. Turning, he said, “Come, I need to wash up. I touched filth.”
The men’s room was blissfully empty except for one stall with two pairs of feet visible under the door. Not paying any attention to the noises that came from there, Will headed straight for one of the sinks and started pouring soap into the hand he’d had at Dark’s balls. Francis leaned against the wall next to the sink and watched, arms folded over his chest.
“How long have you been here?” Will asked as he turned on the faucet.
“A while,” Francis answered. “Took me some time to find you, and then I watched you dance.”
Puzzled, Will looked up. “Why didn’t you join me?”
Francis winced. “You looked quite happy with your… current company. I didn’t want to impose.”
“You… what? What are you talking about?”
Another wince flashed across Francis’s face before it settled into the calm, pleasant mask that always rendered him totally unreadable for Will. “Well, I didn’t call you back to tell you I’d come here, after all, and I can hardly assume you’d wait around for me all night.”
Will stared at him in disbelief. “Are you saying you expected me to hook up with some random guy ’cause you flaked out on me?”
“I can’t say I expected you to, but I couldn’t have held it against you.” Francis shrugged, still with this infuriatingly noncommittal expression on his face. “It isn’t as if we were exclusive, is it?”
It was Will’s turn to wince, although he immediately turned his gaze back to his hands to hide how much Francis’s statement and all that it implied hurt him. Then again, a man like Francis, in a city like LA, what were the odds? Will would be a fool to deceive himself.