Devil's Food at Dusk

by Anna Martin

  “I know,” Remy said, apparently not caring about it in the slightest.

  He needed to stop back at the house, which was empty, to drop off the treats and leave a note for his girls. Joe followed, comfortable in the family home—at least until all hell broke loose when they found out what he’d done. There was something about the place that invited him, made him feel calm, and he was confident enough to wander through the rooms, looking at the artwork Estelle had chosen for the walls.

  “Am I staying at your place tonight?” Remy called from the kitchen. Joe smiled to himself.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “Cool.” Remy stuck his head around the door. “I’ll go grab a few things. I’d say make yourself at home… but you already are.”

  He thundered off up the stairs, and Joe felt a rush affection for him. He was looking at a wide painting in the hallway, most likely a local artist’s painting of one of the local neighborhoods. It was a strangely hazy piece, none of the figures really identifiable. The scene was unquestionably the French Quarter, though, and definitely beautiful.

  “I like that one too,” a soft voice said from behind him.

  Joe almost jumped out of his skin. “Estelle,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I’m quiet, I know. Forgive me. I have a habit of creeping, so Grace tells me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Joe said with a smile. “I like it too. Who’s the artist?”

  Estelle tilted her head to one side, amusement clear on her face. “Me.”

  “Oh, then I like it even more.”

  “You’re very charming, Mr. Fitzgerald,” she said. Joe thought it was probably a compliment.

  They both turned at the sound of Remy running back down the stairs. He pulled up comically when he saw Estelle talking to Joe, then quickly recovered and moved to kiss her cheek.

  “Hey, Grams. We were just leaving, actually. I bought you a cake.”

  “I saw. Thank you. You spoil us.”

  “Joe said the same thing. I’ll stay out tonight—see you tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Good-bye, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  She knows, Joe thought. She knows about the deal. Tom told her. “Good-bye,” he said, realizing that if everything moved as quickly as he was expecting, he might never see her again.

  * * *

  They ordered takeout for dinner. Remy said he could make something, but Joe wanted sushi. Remy could totally make sushi—he’d gone all the way to New York to do a three-week course with a Japanese master chef—but it took forever, and he didn’t have the right tools, and as soon as Joe suggested it, he wanted sushi too.

  So they ordered takeout.

  And ate it on the floor, since they had room to spread it out over the low coffee table, and drank green tea because Joe insisted it was good. Remy was unconvinced.

  “Can I eat this?” Remy asked, spearing the last piece of sushi on the end of his chopstick and giving Joe a hopeful look.

  “Go for it. I’m stuffed.”

  Remy popped the last piece into his mouth and leaned back against the couch, rubbing his stomach. “Do you order from there often? You should. If I lived here they’d be getting a lot of money out of me.”

  “I don’t order from anywhere,” Remy reminded him with a laugh, poking him in the ribs. “I own a restaurant.”

  “I know.”

  For the next couple of hours they moved as far as onto the couch, rather than leaning against it, and lounged on top of each other to watch comic book movies and discuss whether Captain America or Thor would get it first.

  Remy wasn’t sure who made the first move, or if there were really moves to be made. All he knew was, before the movie was even over he was lying on his back kissing Joe slow and steady. They shifted until Joe’s hips were settled neatly between Remy’s thighs, their chests pressed together.

  “You’re hard,” Remy said, playfully nipping at Joe’s ear with his teeth. “I can feel it.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. I don’t mind.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.” He kissed Remy hard. Remy reached down, took a firm handful of Joe’s ass, and squeezed.

  “Do you wanna fuck me?” Joe asked, his voice whisper-soft.

  Remy didn’t need to think about that one. “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Do you mind just locking up?” He rolled off Remy and gave him a sheepish look.

  “No, that’s fine.”

  “I’ll just be a minute.”

  Remy grinned as Joe ducked into the bathroom. He was so uptight it was a small miracle he’d let go enough to get fucked in the first place.

  Remy moved around the apartment, quickly clearing away their mess, turning off the lights, and locking the front door securely. He checked his phone, then turned it to silent. In the bedroom, Remy stripped down to his boxers and sprawled languidly on Joe’s very nice, very soft sheets.

  A moment later he heard the bathroom door open, and Joe walked naked into the bedroom.

  “Squeaky clean?” Remy teased.

  “Oh, shut up,” Joe said as he crawled up Remy’s body. “There’s nothing wrong with good personal hygiene.”

  Remy caught his mouth in a hot kiss before he could say anything else.

  For some reason Joe seemed hesitant, nervous even, and Remy tried to reassure him with kisses. It wasn’t as though this was brand-new territory to them, but Joe seemed like a virgin on prom night.

  Remy leaned over and turned off the lamp on the nightstand, leaving the room in shadowy darkness. The streetlights from below and the three-quarter moon gave them enough light to see by.

  He skimmed his fingertips over Joe’s flat chest, finding his stubby nipples and playing with them until Joe was arching into his touch. Their kisses grew slower, easier as they explored each other’s bodies, still making out as they had on the couch, but different. It was finally going somewhere.

  “You sure about this?” Remy asked as his fingers explored the hot, silky skin of Joe’s cock, stroking it gently.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay.”

  They’d had sex in Joe’s bed enough for Remy to know where to go for condoms and lube. He nudged Joe onto his back and reached for the drawer.

  “Here,” he said. “Spread your legs a bit.”

  Joe complied and threw one arm over his head, the other across his eyes. Remy kissed his belly, his hipbone, then sucked the inside of one thigh hard enough to threaten a bruise. He carefully coated his fingers with lube and worked one finger, then two, inside Joe’s body. From the first moment he watched Joe’s face for any signs of discomfort, then caught the head of Joe’s cock between his lips and flicked his tongue over it.

  “Fuck,” Joe groaned, arching his back off the bed. “Remy, please.”

  Remy was having way too much fun to immediately comply. His fingers curled, searching for Joe’s sweet spot and caressing it softly. Joe’s cock gave a little twitch in his mouth, and the salty taste of him burst over Remy’s tongue.

  “Okay, okay,” Remy said, more to himself than anything else. He grabbed one of the condoms and rolled it over his cock with unsure fingers. Joe was still hiding behind his forearm, and Remy pushed it away playfully. “I want to watch you,” he said, his own voice sounding low and unfamiliar.

  Joe’s eyes were glassy, his pupils blown wide with lust. He grabbed his own cock and stroked it hard.

  There was something incredibly tense between them now, as though all the strings in this relationship were drawn up tight. Remy couldn’t explain it, the sudden tension, but this wasn’t the time to go questioning it. He moved back between Joe’s legs and hooked one ankle around his own waist.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nuh-uh. Not until you’re looking at me.”

  Joe huffed a laugh and pushed his hair back from his face. “Now?”

  Remy leaned in for a kiss. “Now is good.”

&
nbsp; He eased his cock inside Joe’s body with intense concentration, making sure each moment, each gentle thrust of his hips meant something, was purposeful, wasn’t hurting. They had time to do it right, there was no need to rush, and Joe’s fingers were gripping his arms so hard it almost hurt.

  No rush, Remy reminded himself as Joe bucked up into his thrusts. His breath was coming in hard little gasps, and Remy sank his tongue into Joe’s mouth for a sloppy kiss. He needed that connection, mouths as well as bodies, because Joe was crying out, and it was too much, almost too much.

  “Is this okay?” Remy asked. He rose up onto his arms, and Joe wrapped his other leg around Remy’s waist.

  “I’ve got hell of a view right now,” Joe said, his voice rough.

  Remy kissed him hard. “Like this?”

  “Oh, fuck yeah. There… just… there.”

  Just there. Remy could do that.

  For what felt like hours, they moved together. Joe needed to shift positions from time to time, when his legs started to cramp and his cock deflated. Remy was okay with that. They spooned for a little while, giving Remy the chance to play with Joe’s nipples and cock from behind. Then Joe moved onto all fours, burying his face in a pillow as Remy gave him something hard and fast from behind.

  “Here,” Remy said, grabbing Joe around the ribs and hauling him back and up. Like this, he could wrap his arm around Remy’s neck, holding them together, and share more messy kisses.

  “I think I’m close,” Joe gasped.

  “Yeah?”

  Remy brushed his fingertips over the sensitive, sticky head of Joe’s cock and was rewarded with an almost pained moan.

  “Please, Remy. Please.”

  It was short, sharp thrusts from then on out, angling his dick up to hit Joe’s prostate, and both their hands wrapped around Joe’s cock.

  He came first—his head dropped back onto Remy’s shoulder, crying out loud enough to wake the neighbors. The clenching of his muscles as Joe rode out his orgasm was enough to tip Remy over the edge too, and he buried his face in Joe’s neck and groaned. Remy felt manly and powerful and good. Really good.

  For a moment they held themselves together, then separated with moans and little grunts of discomfort. Remy thought he had a cramp starting in his left calf muscle and flexed his foot experimentally as he got rid of the condom and flopped onto his back.

  “Mmm.” He hummed in pleasure as his body sang, feeling as though everything was just right with the world. Then he felt Joe tremble next to him.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Come here.”

  Remy held on to Joe carefully but closely, giving him space to fall apart and support to hold him together, all at the same time. Because even if the person you’d just had sex with was someone with whom your relationship status was “it’s complicated” at best, they still deserved that comfort.

  He brushed his lips over Joe’s hair and brought Joe’s head to his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his hair. He didn’t need to ask Joe you don’t do that often, do you? Joe seemed to prefer topping, and Remy was absolutely okay with that.

  In the past his first reaction after sex was to either roll over and go to sleep or get dressed and split. In fact, most of the times he’d had sex on a casual basis had ended in one of those scenarios. He’d never been one to stay awake and snuggle. That meant, by the logical order of things, that Joe wasn’t a hookup any more, or a casual encounter.

  Hell, Joe had met most of Remy’s extended family, knew Grace, Magnolia, and Stella and his grandmother and mother, all of the important girls in his life.

  “When are you leaving?” Remy asked. Joe couldn’t just stay forever. Not at the standstill he seemed to be at. Remy didn’t know if he wanted the answer, though, even if he’d asked the question.

  Joe tensed up. “I don’t know. A few days. There are things that need to be done in LA. I’ve been letting that work pile up.”

  He hadn’t even been sure Joe was still awake. Remy brushed his hand through Joe’s hair again to show he wasn’t upset.

  “I’ll miss you, you know.”

  “Remy—”

  “It’s okay.” Remy paused. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Joe stayed where he was, his head pillowed on Remy’s chest, and grabbed Remy’s hand so he could brush a kiss over the knuckles.

  When he rolled away, onto his side, Remy went with him and neatly spooned their bodies together. Joe laced their fingers over his stomach and sighed softly.

  “I’ll miss you too,” he murmured.

  Why, Remy wondered, did that sound like good-bye?

  Chapter Eleven

  Remy rolled over and stretched. He was sore in every right place, scratched to hell from the night before, and happy. Not content with his life and proud of his accomplishments with Lumiere, but actually, really, scarily happy. The kind of happy that took his breath away and made his chest tingle a little bit. Remy didn’t know if he’d ever felt it before, maybe in the first few heady months of one of his college romances. But it wasn’t like that—not underneath the sugary coating. It was deeper. Rich. It felt like it wrapped all around him even when he and Joe weren’t together. And it took him by surprise as nothing ever had before.

  Joe was sprawled out on his stomach, still asleep with a bright splash of sun across his back. He’d finally gotten used to what he called “the steam room” of New Orleans and looked comfortable in his skin, even with the air conditioner off. Remy couldn’t help but touch him. He’d woken up with his leg halfway under Joe’s and their fingers twined together on the pillow, even if that wasn’t how they’d fallen asleep. It felt odd to lose contact after hours of touch. He ran his fingertip down Joe’s spine, barely skimming the skin. Joe shivered in his sleep a little and turned onto his side. Then his breathing changed, and he cracked his eye open suspiciously.

  “Why the hell are you awake?” he grumbled. “I could feel you looking at me. Creeper.”

  “It’s six,” Remy said. “I’m always up this early.” He smirked. “I’m not a creeper, by the way.”

  “It’s Sunday, and Andre’s running brunch. You don’t have to be awake until you want to be. And yes you are.” He lifted his arm. “Come back to sleep. I promise I’ll buy you croissants and strawberry whipped cream if you sleep for two more hours.”

  Remy thought he could probably handle that deal. He wriggled back under Joe’s arms and sighed his way into the embrace. “This is nice,” he said quietly.

  “It is,” Joe agreed. “Now, no more talking. Be quiet and sleep.” His voice didn’t match his grumpy words, though. It was soft and a little indulgent. He kissed the back of Remy’s neck, where tiny hairs escaped from the high folded ponytail he’d slung in before he went to bed, just as he’d been doing lately—a little proprietary, a little sweet. Remy liked it.

  “Tickles,” he said. But he was already getting more lethargic. Joe’s hug, his scent, and the early morning sun were luring him back to sleep. Remy closed his eyes.

  * * *

  It had to be at least two hours later when he woke for the second time. His head felt thick, as it always did when he woke up and then went back to sleep, Joe’s apartment was stuffy, and Joe was obviously in the shower if the sound of running water was anything to go by. Remy stood and ambled off to the bathroom to join him. Might as well take advantage of his day off. Who knew how many of them he had left with Joe in town before he found a deal and had to move to his next location. Remy didn’t want to think about that part of the future, as soon as it might be coming. He slipped into the bathroom.

  Joe was behind the shower curtain humming quietly to himself.

  “Hey,” Remy said quietly. “It’s slick in there. I don’t want to scare you. But I’m here.”

  Joe poked a wet, soapy head out from behind the curtain. “Come in with me. I’ll scrub your back.”

  Remy didn’t need any more invitation; it was one of his favorite thi
ngs in the world. He slid his sleep pants off his hips and pulled back the curtain. He stepped into the tub and curled his body around Joe’s warm, wet one. “Morning,” he said.

  “Yes. Much better than the first time you woke me up,” he teased, leaning his head back onto Remy’s shoulder.

  “It would take weeks to reset my internal clock. If it’s even possible at this point,” Remy said. “Least you won’t have to deal with it when….” he trailed off. Remy didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to think it, and he definitely didn’t want it to happen. But every day that moment came closer. Joe had said a few days. And Remy doubted he’d be coming back. Better not to think of it, really. Definitely better.

  “Hey,” Joe said. “What’s that all about?” He turned and cupped Remy’s face in his hands. He reached up and pulled the hair tie out of Remy’s hair, let it fall in a thick, heavy curtain down over his shoulders. Joe leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

  “I don’t know. I’m just—I’m being a moron, is what. We’ve been having a great time, and things are getting, like, really real lately. And I know soon you’re going to have to take off. You said a couple days, right? I’ve just been thinking about that.”

  A shadow crossed Joe’s face. “You know I’m not just a sailor in a port here, right?”

  “What?” He got the gist of what he thought Joe was trying to tell him, but he wanted to be sure.

  “I know my job is a lot of traveling, but I have a home base. I’ve been thinking that I might want to move it. I don’t need to be near the offices, really. Not if I set it up the right way. Most of my work is done on my computer anyway.”

  Remy’s breath caught in his throat. “Wait, are you telling me you’d consider moving here?”

  Joe nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m telling you I’d do a hell of a lot more than consider it.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you know?” Joe asked. “I mean, I guess I’m not very obvious. Not good at showing what I feel.”