by A. R. Barley
Smooth.
Really smooth.
They passed swinging doors that opened to a cramped office with a wooden desk, a tower computer, and the textbooks from every criminology course Dante had taken in college.
Next was a bathroom with tiny white tile that might have been a retro twist on modern design but was probably original to the building. Luke wouldn’t mind giving the claw-foot tub a test-drive. If Dante wanted to join him that would be good too. He gave himself a mental head smack. He was there to investigate crime—find the damn mugger who’d stolen his wallet and taken his ability to sleep through the night—not flirt with a man who didn’t even like him.
The last door was a bedroom. Dante’s bedroom with its oversized white metal bed and flowery curlicues. The crisp cotton comforter was a muted gray sprinkled with white flowers. Luke looked around long enough to memorize the room for any late-night fantasies and promptly retreated back to the living room.
“This is a nice place,” Luke said. It was a real apartment with art on the walls and a homey feeling that made him want to stay. How long had Dante lived there? Only a train ride away from the firehouse. And he hadn’t even said hello.
Asshole. Dickhead. Luke called him a dozen different names in his head, but it didn’t make him feel any better. What kind of an idiot did he have to be to be crushing on a man who so obviously didn’t want anything to do with him? He held on to the anger, wrapping it around himself like a suit of armor against any heart-rending smiles Dante might send his way.
“I told you.” Dante led the way back into the living room. He motioned Luke onto the couch, then disappeared into the kitchen. A minute later he was back with a full plate of Indian food in each hand. “I’ve got a buddy who’s going through a divorce. They bought this place when things were all sunshine and daisies, now they’ve both moved on to other people. The rent’s cheap until they get the money together to sell. Even threw in some of the furniture.”
“This friend of yours, is she just a friend or a friend with benefits?”
“I’m not sleeping with her or her wife.”
“Good.” Not that it was any of his business. Luke took a huge bite to keep from sticking his foot any further into his mouth. The rice was properly aromatic and the korma tasted like yogurt-based, spiced heaven. He took a large bite. “Oh, damn. I needed this.”
“Long day at work?”
“Not long. Just hard. We had a couple of call-outs. Some guy fell asleep smoking. Nothing out of the ordinary.” He took another bite. “We got called to an apartment building in the middle of the shift. The heat broke six days ago and the landlord hasn’t done jack to fix it. This woman was boiling water on the stove to keep the temperature up. She goes to put her kid down for a nap and the pot goes dry.”
“Damn.” Dante swore around a mouthful of curry. “That kind of thing happen often?”
“More than you might think. The city gives the landlord a fine, but he’s got buildings all over the place. He sees it as the cost of doing business. I can’t wait for summer.” Of course that would bring a whole other set of problems, like improperly installed air conditioners and low water pressure when people cracked open hydrants to keep cool.
Dante might not have wanted Luke in his apartment, but the food helped him relax. They were on their second helpings before the conversation started back up again, stumbling through a variety of topics like sci-fi novels—“There’s nothing wrong with admitting you like romance,” Dante said—and superhero movies—“How many versions of Spider-Man are they planning to make?”—before finally arriving at something serious.
“You cannot get Hamilton tickets,” Dante said. “It’s not possible.”
Luke grinned. “I’m surprised you even know what Hamilton is.”
“Because I’m so uncultured?”
“Exactly, like milk.”
“Guess that makes you the cheese.”
“I might be able to get Hamilton tickets. Maybe. I know a guy who knows a guy. If you ever want to check it out, I’ll see if they can come through.”
“And if they can’t?”
“We’ll see Annie instead.”
Dante’s jaw dropped open. His mismatched eyes opened wide. For a moment he held perfectly still. Then he laughed. Not the quiet croak Luke was used to but a big full-belly laugh that had his entire body shaking. “Because I’m a redheaded orphan?”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way.” Luke grinned. “If you want something else, we can go see Oliver Twist.”
Dante thrust a middle finger in his direction, but he didn’t stop laughing. It was so completely out of character and yet comfortable. Familiar.
Luke closed his eyes to enjoy the music and the lightness it brought to the room. It had been so long since he’d spent any real time with Dante, he’d almost forgotten about the small moments between the scowls and the gruffness when Dante let his mask slip away to reveal the man underneath.
Even if long experience had taught him that the moment would be fleeting. In another couple of minutes the walls would snap back into place and it’d be a miracle if he got another smile all night long.
Sure enough, once the dishes were put in the sink everything was back to business. Dante started a pot of coffee brewing then retrieved a laptop bag from his office. A scuffed laptop came out of the main compartment followed by a thick stack of files.
“These are all the muggings from the last month in Manhattan,” Dante explained, all business. “Finn’s emailing me the rest as they come in, but it’s going to be slow.”
“You supposed to be showing these to me?”
Dante didn’t seem too bothered by the suggestion that he was breaking protocol. “You’re the one who thinks there’s someone out there targeting gay men. Let’s see if we can find some real evidence to support your theory.”
“It’s not just a theory,” Luke lied. It definitely wasn’t a theory or a random coincidence. Not when he could see bloodred tennis shoes with sky-blue laces every time he closed his eyes. He grabbed the paper files and tugged them onto the couch while Dante made himself comfortable on the floor.
The first pass through the files was easy. The guy was targeting gay men, so Luke filtered out any women by themselves or men walking with their wives.
The second pass was harder as he read the files, looking for similarities between what was stolen, where the mugging happened, and the level of violence.
When Luke finally stopped sorting based on the cover sheet and started reading the reports from front to back he had a pile of folders twenty high. Eight of those were thrown out because the items had been retrieved or the mugger had been identified.
That left twelve folders that felt so similar they had him shaking.
It would be so much easier if he could tell Dante about his own experience, but that wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t admit to being that weak, not if he wanted Dante to respect him.
Hell, these days he could barely respect himself.
“I’ve got something,” he finally said. “Maybe.”
“Me too.” Dante finished what he was reading and closed the laptop. Half-drunk cups of coffee littered the table between them. The clock on the wall said it was well past midnight. “Maybe.”
“You want to go first or should I?”
“You’re the one who wants to be an investigator.”
“An arson investigator.” Blood rushed to Luke’s cheeks, making them hot. “Like I said before, it’s mostly math. Smoke patterns and velocity. This is different. It’s real people.”
“Tell me what you’ve got.”
“Twelve cases. All of them in isolated locations. All of them were reported by two men walking together. A couple of them mention the nightclubs they were coming from. I recognize the names. Popular spots.”
“Two men walking togethe
r,” Dante said. “Couples?”
“Most of them, and the ones that weren’t were probably lying or the reporting officer didn’t think the information was important. They all had their wallets and cell phones taken, but they’re also missing rings, bracelets, and watches.”
“Personal artifacts. Like Ryan’s ring.” Dante grinned. “You always were good at piecing together puzzles. You should have been a cop.”
“That’s what Dad says.”
“Why didn’t you?” There was a slight pause. “It’s the family business. Charlie was a cop. Your grandfather, his father, I’m pretty sure Charlie said his great-great-grandfather was a cop over in Ireland too.”
“Parsons are from Scotland. You’re the ginger with the Italian name.”
“Plenty of redheads in Sicily, but it doesn’t matter where you’re from. Cut you open, and you’re going to bleed blue. Being a policeman is in your blood.”
Blood. Dante’s face was serious. He was waiting for an answer. “Blood doesn’t make a family,” Luke said. “It definitely doesn’t make a cop. It’s hard living up to all those expectations. After you joined the force, my dad already had his policeman son. Thank God. I always wanted to do something different.”
“New York’s Bravest.”
“I’m not that brave.” Not when it really counted. He kicked off his shoes, twisting in his seat to stretch his legs out on the couch.
“You are.”
“I’m really not.” It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to be brave when there was an entire engine company around him and the captain barking orders in his ear. “I thought about it, you know? I took a couple of criminology classes in college, and I always knew how to shoot, but when push came to shove I pushed back.”
“Charlie wasn’t disappointed?”
“Sure he was, but I think he was also kind of happy. Being a cop’s dangerous work. I mean, a firefighter’s life isn’t exactly sunshine and roses but no one ever shoots at us.”
Luke was warm and full of Indian food. If he got any more comfortable he’d be catatonic. “The year after you graduated from the academy, I don’t think he slept through the night once. The first time you went undercover was even worse. Every knock on the door. Every time the phone rang.” His voice cracked with the emotion he couldn’t quite hide. “He was sure it was going to be your captain with bad news.”
“He cared that much?”
“Don’t be an asshole. Of course we cared.”
“You should have called me. Told me you were worried. Maybe I could have done something to help.”
“You wouldn’t have picked up. You were too busy treating me like I’ve got bits falling off.”
“You’re not a fucking leper.”
“How the hell would you know? We’re supposed to be brothers, but the way you treat me I might as well be invisible—”
“I see you,” Dante said. “I always see you.”
It should have been too little, too late, but there was no mistaking the vehemence in Dante’s voice. A chink appeared in Luke’s armor. For the first time all night, he didn’t feel angry. He just felt sad over all the years they’d missed. Years that they could have spent talking about movies and books, laughing at common jokes, and sharing secret stories. They should have been a family, and now...
Sleep tugged at Luke’s eyes. His bones felt heavy. He really should get up and head to the subway. It was forty minutes to the Port Authority on the express train and then a fifteen-minute walk to Grand Central so he could catch the light rail out to Long Island. Just thinking about it was exhausting.
The cushions were so damn comfortable. He snuggled further down into the big couch. After that everything got really quiet. Clothing rustled as Dante stood up and began moving around the apartment, returning the laptop and files to his office before taking the coffee mugs to the kitchen. The sound of water running in the sink and dishes clanking was as good as any white noise machine, and the last thing he felt before he fell asleep was the weight of a warm blanket being tucked over his body and a flutter against his cheek.
A pat on the head?
Or a kiss?
Either way he wanted more. More touching. More kissing. More quiet talking late into the night, but Dante was already walking away. A moment later the lights flickered off and he was alone. Sweet oblivion overtook him. He fell asleep.
Luke’s dreams were full of men in black hoodies and red tennis shoes, violence and anger, and the hollow feeling inside when the hottie he’d thought he was going home with crumpled to the ground in a dark alley.
Fear gripped him, making his heart beat faster and his lungs seize.
He couldn’t think.
He couldn’t breathe.
Then there was a snarling voice: “Be glad your wallet’s all I want, boy.” There was a meaningful pause. “On second thought, I’ll take that purty necklace you’ve got around your neck.”
Then there was the sound of heavy boots pounding against asphalt and the flickering lights of New York turned into the bright freckles on Dante’s face. “Stop.” In his dream Dante’s voice boomed out, saving him in a way that hadn’t happened in real life, “Police. Drop your weapon, now.”
In his dream Luke wasn’t afraid to show his appreciation, wrapping his arms around Dante’s shoulders. What started as the kind of hug his foster brother would never accept in real life turned into something more as Dante’s fingers curled into Luke’s T-shirt, tugging him in closer. Music sounded in the background as they came together. Violin strings and organs and freaking fireworks sounded, but Luke couldn’t care less.
Not when he was finally tasting Dante’s lips, sticky with coffee and hot with need.
Damn. Every emotion he’d bottled down over the years slammed into him, tossing him back and forth like a rubber duck in a tidal wave before leaving him broken on the shore. All the walls and defenses he’d built up over the years were gone, and he was left gasping desperately for air as Dante’s powerful hands found their way under his clothes.
“Please,” he begged quietly.
Please don’t pull away.
Please don’t stop.
But, most of all, please keep touching.
Please more.
For once Dante didn’t pull away. Not even when Luke’s erection ground desperately against his hip. Dante’s fingers dug deep into his skin. Their mouths never separated as he shoved Luke up against the alley’s hard wall.
Luke’s T-shirt was stripped off over his head. Fumbling hands shoved his pants toward the ground and then Dante was naked too. The angle was all wrong to see the tattoo that coated his back, but Luke still looked his fill, drinking in acres of muscle and skin.
Luke wasn’t the only one with the erection. They’d shared a bathroom for years, but Dante never wore less than a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. It was impossible to tell what treasures were hidden underneath his clothing.
In Luke’s dream, the cock pressed against his side was big.
Hell, it was a fantasy and he’d never pretended to be anything other than a size queen.
It was massive.
Precome beaded against his belly. Dante’s hand pushed its way between them to wrap around their erections. He was smiling—really smiling—and it didn’t stop when the music ended and the only sound in the alley came from the air passing through their lips. His touch was rough at first. Desperate and unskilled.
Dante raised his free arm to brace against the rough brick wall and his grip shifted positions until it was sliding just a little easier. Heat and friction built up between them until Luke lost all sense of self and grasp on sanity.
It was everything he’d ever wanted and nothing he could ever have, but—fuck—in that moment it was absolute perfection.
Luke never wanted to wake up.
Chapter Six
Working an off-the-books case was never the best idea. It took too much time, too many resources, and way too much damn energy. Dante needed to organize what they’d found and present it to the captain, so they could be officially assigned to the investigation. Then they’d find the mugger and get back to their regularly scheduled lives. Luke could go back to spending his nights at Smoke & Bullets, and Dante could go back to avoiding Luke. He left his apartment early, picked up an extra-large coffee, and was already at his desk working hard when Finn walked through the doors.
His partner frowned and eyed the pile of folders in front of him: “Is that something I’m supposed to care about?”
“The mugging case,” Dante said.
“You got through all of those case files last night?”
“Luke helped.”
Finn dropped his bag at his desk and rustled through his papers, going through his own early morning get-ready ritual. “So, what’s the deal with you and Luke? You can tell the truth. He’s not really your arch nemesis, is he?”
“Not my arch nemesis. He’s my—” Dante’s brain stalled as he tried to sum up their relationship. Brother was on the tip of his tongue, but what he was feeling at the moment wasn’t particularly brotherly.
When he’d left the apartment, Luke had still been snuggled up on the couch and it had taken every ounce of self-control Dante had not to crawl under the comforter with him. Kissing him had been a bad idea, even if it had only been a peck on the cheek. He’d tossed and turned in bed all night, thinking about all that soft skin under his lips.
Damn. He was going to hell.
Finn was still waiting for an answer. Friend. Dante and Luke were definitely friends—he couldn’t imagine spending a lazy night sharing Indian food with anyone else—but that didn’t seem right either. “He’s Luke,” he finally said.
Finn picked at a piece of lint on his rumpled blue button-down. His lips were pursed and his gaze was sharp. His expression made it clear that whatever Dante was selling he wasn’t buying.
“Whatever he is, he likes you.”