They moved deeper into the garden. There were a few people about, and Richard and Weber gave them a careful look, but they appeared to be just tourists doing exactly what Richard and Weber were doing.
A large reflecting pool lay between them and the exquisite building with its six minarets and the innumerable domes climaxing in the massive dome at the back of the building. Colored lights played across the gray stone exterior, creating the illusion it was actually blue.
“Wow,” Weber said.
Richard just nodded. Abruptly, fountains in the pool shot water high into the air. Lights hit the cascading water, turning it to frothing lace, and they were viewing the mosque through a gauzy veil. Droplets of water dampened Richard’s face. It felt wonderful in the sultry heat.
“I wish I could visit this city in a time of peace,” Richard said quietly.
“Pretty romantic place, isn’t it?” Weber’s voice came from behind him, and there was an odd husky catch on the words.
Richard glanced back. “Yes. It is.” He stepped away from the edge of the pool and walked down a pathway lined with flower beds. Weber fell into step with him. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets, and he frowned down at the pathway. “What’s wrong?” Richard asked.
“I’m working up to something. Just bear with me, okay?” The tone was testy.
“Okay.”
They made their way along the side of the building and came upon an entrance leading into the courtyard. The gates were open. “It’s our only chance. Shall we risk it?” Richard asked.
“Sure, what’s the worst that can happen? We get thrown out.”
“Or arrested.”
“You’ve got a general in your pocket.”
“True.”
They hurried through the archway and found themselves in a enormous space with stone tiles underfoot and a breathtaking view of the domes and four of the minarets. In the center of the courtyard stood the hexagonal ablution fountain. The splash of falling water echoed off the walls and the colonnaded walkways, sounding almost like bells. Seagulls, crying like lost women, soared around the spires of the minarets, splashes of white against a star-studded sky.
“So strange … how much magnificent architecture, music, art has been created in celebration of something that, at its core, is a lie,” Richard said softly.
“The world would have been a poorer place if we didn’t have this,” Weber said, indicating the building. “Or Notre-Dame.”
“And Mozart oratorios and Bach cantatas. But then there’s the flip side. Wouldn’t we have been better off without the Crusades, and jihad, and the Inquisition, and al Qaeda?”
“And Pat Robertson being wrong about every prediction he ever made,” Weber added with a chuckle.
“Comic relief has its place.”
They left the courtyard, their footsteps echoing off the stone. They walked down the opposite side of the street and came across a hookah café that was still open. There was one table with bright young things of both sexes, but mostly it was men drinking and taking hits off the water pipes. The room buzzed with low-voiced conversations, and gurgles and bubbles as smoke was drawn through the water. Competing scents of flavored tobaccos intertwined with the velvet smell of Turkish coffee. It should have been horrible, but instead it was rich and exotic.
“I could use a beer,” Weber confessed. “And I still smoke. When I’m not around you.”
“Oh, what the hell. This may be my last chance to go wild.”
“Hope not,” Weber threw back over his shoulder as he led the way into the café. “If you do decide to let your hair down, I’ll have your back.”
“You always have.”
The café appeared to be populated almost entirely by locals. There was one young punk couple sporting tattoos, speaking German, and trading kisses in a corner. Both male and female eyes lingered on Richard as they were led to a corner table.
“Does it ever get to you? The way people look at you?” Weber asked.
“Yes, but in this case it’s because of my coloring.”
“And your looks. You have to know how handsome you are,” Weber said.
Richard was startled by Weber’s words. Weber had always teased him about how Richard broke hearts just by existing, but Weber had never said anything quite so overt. He was saved from answering—an answer that could only make him appear insincerely humble or a coxcomb—when a waiter brought over a hookah. The base was made of stained glass covered with flowing script and feather patterns. Weber selected an apple-flavored tobacco and ordered a beer. Richard ordered a gin and tonic.
“I’ve never seen you drink before,” Weber remarked.
“Booze gets me into trouble,” Richard answered, but didn’t elaborate. He didn’t really want to admit to Weber that when he got drunk he usually ended up in somebody’s bed, and worse.
“So why risk it?”
“Because after this fabulously crapstatic few days I could use one.”
They sat in silence while Weber drew in slow hits on the hookah and downed his beer. He ordered another. Richard sipped his drink. By the time he’d finished, Weber had downed a third beer. Richard indicated the hose. Weber handed it over, and Richard inhaled a lungful of smoke while the bubbles grumbled and mumbled. Coughing, his eyes streaming, Richard croaked out, “I thought the water would make it smoother.”
Weber pounded him on the back and chuckled.
Another sip of the g&t soothed Richard’s throat. “Okay, not trying that again.”
Weber indicated his empty glass. “Another?” he asked while he waved down the waiter and ordered a fourth beer.
“Better not. Booze and I have had a rocky relationship.”
“You said that before.” He pushed. “What does that mean?”
“That I’m likely to wake up wondering why my shorts are in the freezer—”
Weber chuckled. “That sounds kind of fun.”
“It was. Until it … wasn’t,” Richard said. He stared down at the bottom of his glass and tried not to remember a night of pain and humiliation. Richard eyed Weber’s fallen soldiers and added, “And maybe you should slow down if you’re going to watch my back.”
“I can do that and still gather a little liquid courage.”
“Okay. What does that mean?”
Richard was presented with Weber’s profile. “I ever tell you why my marriage ended?”
“No, and it wasn’t any of my business so I didn’t ask.” Richard shrugged. “I assumed the usual reasons cops’ marriages go bad—long hours, stress, bringing the job home while being unable to talk about the job once you bring it home.”
“That was part of it.” Weber paused, chewed on his lower lip, then added, “We also had a really shitty sex life. She said I was like a fucking rodeo rider. Nine seconds and off.”
“Okay,” Richard said slowly. “A little TMI. And you’re telling me this, why? Maybe I better have another drink.” He waved down the waiter.
“Carol was my second wife. I got married for the first time right after I went into the army. Partly because it’s what you do when you get out of college, right? And partly because it made it easy to avoid going off whoring when we were on leave. Came home on leave to discover she’d been screwing the lawyer preparing the divorce papers. Then I got to avoid whoring ’cause I could say I was depressed over the divorce. I did one more tour after my ROTC obligation was over, then I got out, joined APD, got married again. Life goes on. Another marriage bites the dust. Then you fucking turn up.”
“I didn’t think I was that much trouble.”
“Oh, you were, and not just because of Lumina and monsters and all the rest of the shit.” Weber sucked down another lungful of smoke and exhaled slowly, watching the streamers of smoke undulate in the air in front of his face. Finally he asked, “You want to know why I asked for that transfer to the Mesa del Sol substation after that actor came by the precinct looking for you?”
The drinks arrived before Richard could
answer. He gulped down a mouthful and said harshly, “Because you found out I’m a fag and that disgusted you.”
“No, and don’t talk like that.” Weber drained half his glass. “Because once I knew … how you were—” He broke off and looked away. Took a deep breath. “It was too much of a temptation.”
Richard couldn’t tell if his head was spinning from the gin or what he’d just heard. “Excuse me?” He shook his head, took another mouthful of gin. Swallowed. “But you never.… Are you saying…?”
Weber finally looked at him. He didn’t look happy. He looked like a man in emotional agony. “Yeah,” he said shortly.
Richard stood, tossed money on the table. “Let’s get out of here.”
They returned to the street. They walked side by side, not looking at each other.
“I have really good gaydar. How could I … did I … miss this?”
“’Cause I spent years in the army developing my gay camo.”
“Oh.” Hesitantly, Richard asked, “Did you … Have you … ever?”
Fortunately Weber understood without Richard having to elaborate. “Maybe.”
“That’s not something you’re usually unsure about.” Richard risked a quick glance at Weber’s profile. The older man’s jaw was set.
“It is if you’re blind drunk.”
“Oh. The old so-how-drunk-was-I-last-night? dodge.”
“You gotta understand. When I was in the service, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell hadn’t been repealed, and you hear the taunts. You join in for protection. Eventually it gets buried so deep that you almost convince yourself you’re not really … like that.”
They were back at the obelisk. A late moon was starting to rise. Half of Weber’s face was in high relief, the other side in shadow. Tentatively, Richard reached out and touched Weber’s jaw. His hand was grabbed, fingers crushed between Weber’s.
“I’m sorry,” he started to say, but Weber pressed his lips against Richard’s palm. “Damon, not here,” Richard said warningly.
His hand was dropped and they resumed their walk back to the hotel. “Let’s go to your room,” Richard said when they were in the lobby.
“You need to get some sleep,” Weber said, reverting to his protective role.
“No. In the midst of what have been a monumentally horrible few days … well, right now I’m happy. And I’m going to spend a few hours enjoying the feeling.” He twined his fingers through Weber’s.
“Are we…?”
“Maybe.” Richard gave him a fond smile. “Depends on how drunk you are.”
Weber glared down at him. “If you think four beers has me more than just pleasantly buzzed—”
“Brag, brag.” He couldn’t control the impulse. He lightly touched Weber’s lips with his fingertips. “Come on.”
Up the stairs and into the room. “I’ll be right back. I just need to check on Mosi.”
He tapped on Jerry’s door. The grizzled pilot came to the door dressed in boxers and already holding the monitor. “All quiet. You know everything on the TV is in Turkish?”
“Fancy that.”
Richard checked the camera. It showed the child soundly asleep in her bed.
Richard went to Weber’s room and found the door slightly ajar. Inside, he shrugged out of his jacket and shed the shoulder rig and Browning. “Now, where were we?”
“At the point where I’m scared shitless.” Weber folded his arms across his chest, the ultimate protective stance.
Richard almost said me too, but he bit back the words. Weber was scared enough without Richard laying his emotional baggage on him. Almost six years before, Richard had been raped. His injuries, coupled with his humiliation and fear it would happen again, had left him impotent. Just thinking about sex with someone of either gender left him with the shakes. Rhiana’s beauty and his fleeting arousal had opened a physical gate, and then Angela’s love had begun to ease the psychological block, but Richard had wondered if he would ever again be able to contemplate true intimacy with anyone, much less a man. Weber had aroused Richard’s interest from the moment they had met, but now they were at the moment of truth. Would his demons rise up and wreck everything?
And of course there was a ghost hovering over the moment. Angela. She had loved him, but Richard couldn’t reciprocate. Ultimately they had fought, and he had sent her away to meet her death. Richard rubbed at his jaw, remembering when Weber’s fist had crashed against it in blame and anger. Would Weber also think of Angela this night? Relationships were concentric, interlocking circles constantly jostling and affecting each other.
He studied Weber’s face even though he knew every feature by heart. Richard had imagined it would take someone calm and assertive, probably older, to calm his fears. Now he was faced with Weber, who was definitely older but also horribly nervous and unsure. The older man’s trepidation gave Richard confidence. Richard drew in a long, shuddering breath. Right now only one relationship lay before him. It deserved his total focus. No doubts, no regrets, no fears. At least not tonight.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Weber asked.
“Because up till now I’ve always had to sneak my looks, and because you’re handsome.” He laid a hand on Weber’s cheek, felt the prickle of stubble against his palm, and the acne scars.
“No, I’m not.”
Richard kicked off his shoes. Weber awkwardly pulled off his cowboy boots, then Richard took Weber’s hand and tugged him until they were sitting side by side on the bed. He gently caressed the nape of Weber’s neck.
Then Richard kissed him. There was that inevitable moment of awkwardness where noses bump, and nobody’s quite sure which direction to tilt his head. Weber clutched at Richard’s shoulders, mouth hard, lips closed. Richard lightly outlined Weber’s lips with the tip of his tongue, testing the boundaries. The man made a sound that was part moan, part sob, and part curse, and then Weber gripped Richard hard enough to crack his ribs, send pain flaring through his stitches and then his mouth softened. Their tongues met, and the back of Richard’s head exploded.
They lingered, just kissing. Weber tasted of beer and tobacco and a rich taste that was all his own. They were definitely going to have to talk about the smoking, because that was not a taste Richard loved. Weber’s hand was pressed hard against Richard’s back. Eventually the older man found the courage to slide his hand down, pull Richard’s shirttail out of his jeans, and slip his hand beneath the material. The heat off Weber’s skin was an ember against Richard’s flesh. His sigh became a moan.
He judged it was time, so Richard laid a firm hand in the middle of Weber’s chest and pushed him down on the bed. Richard slowly unbuttoned Weber’s shirt and ran his fingers through the hair on his chest. There were a few gray hairs among the brown, and it was appropriately masculine. Crisp and curly against his fingertips and not too sparse, but without enough fur to qualify as a bear. Richard was glad. He wasn’t all that fond of the new aesthetic in gay culture.
Since he was fair to the point of albinism, Richard’s chest was almost bare, and what hair he had was virtually invisible. He hoped Weber wouldn’t mind. Richard bent and slowly kissed his way from the hollow at the base of Weber’s throat, finding the musky smell and salty taste of the man’s sweat intoxicating as he moved down to the waistband of Weber’s trousers. Weber’s back arched and he gave a sharp gasp. An erection urgent and painfully hard pressed against Richard’s jeans. He also wasn’t all that well endowed, another area of insecurity, and Richard paused.
The security chief grabbed the front of Richard’s shirt and worked with clumsy, desperate fingers at the buttons, and succeeded only in tearing one off in his awkward haste. Richard’s breath caught in the back of his throat and he felt his erection softening. Richard fought down the panic. This was Weber. He was scared too. Richard’s heartbeat slowed, his breath steadied, and he caught Weber’s hands between his.
“Hey, hey,” Richard said softly. “Slow down. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
“That’s a bit of a lie, isn’t it?” Weber grunted.
“Okay, but we’ve got tonight.” He loosened Weber’s belt. “And I’m reputed to be pretty good at this. Or at least I used to be.”
“I’m told it’s sort of like riding a bicycle.”
“That’s a terrible analogy.”
“Well, I could have come up with worse, like falling off a log or … or…” Weber’s voice was jumping with tension and arousal as Richard slid the older man’s pants down over his hips.
“You’re babbling.” Richard sat back on his heels. “Yep, boxers. I had you pegged right.” Weber’s erection was powerfully evident, and Richard’s body responded.
“What’s wrong with boxers?”
“Nothing. They’re the conventional, conservative choice.”
“They’re comfortable. I like to let the boys breathe. You brief snobs.”
“And how would you know?”
“’Cause I’ve had to cut clothes off you how many times when you’ve been shot, stabbed, clawed—”
“So why are you taking so long now?”
After that they pretty much stopped talking. And Richard discovered that Weber was right—some things really did just come back to you.
* * *
Much later, Richard leaned on an elbow and watched Weber sleep. He started to slip out of bed, but the movement woke Weber. The older man scrubbed at his face. “Hey. Must have fallen asleep. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Thought I better get back to my own room.”
Weber grabbed his wrist and pulled him close. “Don’t go.”
“It’ll be dawn soon.”
“Are you ashamed?”
“Oh, hell no,” Richard said. “I just want to make sure you have time to … well, process all … this before other people … know.”
“I’ve processed it just fine.”
“And?”
“It’s nicer when you’re not so drunk that you can’t remember much.” The corners of Weber’s eyes crinkled.
Richard leaned down and kissed him gently. “I’ve always loved the way you can smile with just your eyes.”
“Before you go, I want to ask you something.”
Edge of Dawn Page 22