by K-lee Klein
“Most of the furniture came with the place, at least out here,” Devon said before encouraging Scott through sparkling floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors. Was it weird to be glad that someone else had to clean all that glass?
Scott wasn't ashamed to say he was gobsmacked by the time he was inside, but he tried hard to keep his jaw hinged. The walls were mostly glass, excluding a couple hung with tasteful art. He'd watched enough home renovation shows to know the place was an open plan—an aesthetically pleasing, gorgeous open plan with richly colored rugs and black marble floors. Scott thought he should take his shoes off except Devon moved further into the house before he got a chance.
“Um…shoes?” he asked, wondering if he was overstepping some weird shoes in the house boundary.
Devon winced. “Oh yeah, sorry. My mom would definitely like you,” Devon said with a wink. He stopped and backtracked to unbuckle and slip out of his well-loved boots. Scott slid his loafers off and positioned them along the wall. Devon snorted but followed suit as Scott folded his arms over his chest, pleased. “You're way too much of a good influence.”
“I'm happy to have a purpose,” Scott replied, mostly joking but with a hint of self-deprecation. Devon looked like he was going to object but Scott beat him to the punch. “I only meant, someone has to make sure you don't turn into your other persona. I can't imagine Mr. Caine is the tidiest of gentlemen.”
Devon guffawed out loud, flattening a hand over his belly. “You're hilarious. You should really take your show on the road.”
Scott pretended to consider it. “Play your cards right and I’ll give you my email address so you can apply to be my opening act,” Scott said. Devon reached around to slap him on the butt. Scott squeaked. “Well that's not very gentlemanly.”
“I guess there's more Devastation in me than you thought,” Devon told him with a casual shrug. “And he's definitely been in you too.” He jumped away before Scott, faced flushed, eyes wide and mouth gaping, could smack him. The man was a bad joke just waiting to happen.
The room adjacent to the terraces was a high-ceilinged dining room with glass and bronze accents. They passed through it with Devon only making a remark about it being used for more band meetings than eating. Scott thought it was a waste of a gorgeous tobacco brown dining table. It was farm-style, long and solid, almost chunky, and one of Scott's favorite designs in tables. He’d always said when he had the money and space, he’d get one for himself. He supposed he could make do with admiring Devon’s instead.
The style seemed out of place and Devon commented, “The guys and I found that at an estate sale. Beth restored it. She was really good at that stuff.” He said it with a smile then turned away, but not before Scott saw grief cloud his eyes. He stepped behind Devon and gave him a very short, hard hug. Devon distractedly patted his arm before they moved to the next room.
It was a room Scott was automatically comfortable in; cozy with a big brick fireplace, a deep loveseat and matching sofa. The furniture and decor were a mix of elegance and pure Devon DuCaine—regal navy blues and deep burgundies with a touch of motorcycle and music paraphernalia scattered around with no rhyme or reason.
Scott hadn't noticed Devon slip away until he spoke behind him. “This is my mom, Rosabella.”
The professionally framed photo was in black and white and showcased a handsome woman with grey-streaked black hair and sparkling dark eyes. She appeared to be laughing, her cupid-bow mouth partially open in a mischievous grin. “She's beautiful, Devon.” She really was, and Scott could see so much of Devon in her face.
“Yeah,” Devon agreed, distractedly stroking a fingertip over the glass. “Inside and out.”
That was easy to believe if she had even a smidge of the charm of her son. “And you're named after her?”
“Well just her maiden name—three-tiered name, remember? Devon Luciano Rosalo DuCaine. When she was pissed at me, she'd use the whole damn thing. She did it to Shadow too and we knew were in deep shit when she did.” His gaze was far-off and watery. “Your parents do that?”
“I was lucky if my mom called me by any name other than disappointing child,” Scott replied, meaning to sound light but coming off bitter and rude. Devon looked affronted, so Scott back-pedaled. “I’m sorry. It’s a sensitive subject, I guess. It wasn't as bad as I make it sound,” he lied through clenched teeth.
Devon studied him for mere moments before he seemed to resign himself to continuing. “She was never pissed for long. We'd call her Mama Bella and she'd be too amused to be mad anymore.”
She sounded perfect, and going by the way Devon talked about her, he expected nothing less. “She had her hands full with two would-be rockstars, didn’t she?”
“I'll have you know that Shaun—Shadow and I were the perfect children and teenagers. Yep.” He curled his lip, popping the P in perfectly then twined his fingers together over his head in the shape of a halo.
“Your halo looks permanently crooked to me,” Scott teased with a roll of his eyes. “But, I'm sure you were truly angelic. An American and a Sicilian? How'd that happen?”
Devon perched on the arm of the couch. “He was stationed in Italy when they met. She was there on holiday with her cousin. They met, and she always says…said, it was love at first sight. Crazy, right?” He eyed Scott with soft, heart eyes. “She was already pregnant with me when they married and moved back here.” Devon motioned Scott to sit down and he complied.
“Was that considered a scandal back then?”
Devon chuckled. He stroked a finger across the glass then set the photo on the coffee table. “To hear my mom tell it, there was crying and praying and drama for days. Sicilians are very passionate people.”
“I hadn't noticed.”
“You haven't seen nothing yet, sweetheart.” Devon tapped Scott's ankle with his socked toe. “In the end they all supported her. Especially after my father died. Um…I'm gonna grab a beer. You want one?”
The abrupt change in conversation startled Scott but he nodded as Devon quickly disappeared around a corner. Had he pried a little too much? Heaven knew he hated talking about his family, but Devon seemed to light up when he reminisced about his mom. But his dad? Of course. How could Scott have been so insensitive? He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, his brain churning to find the right thing to say for when Devon appeared again.
He needn't have worried since Devon came sweeping back into the room a moment later, two icy bottles and a ginormous bag of potato chips in hand. He tossed the snacks on the table, handed a beer to Scott then plopped heavily down beside him.
“Cheers,” he said, clinking the bottles together. “To funny fish and the best Valentines' date a guy could ask for.”
“Agreed,” Scott said, before taking a long pull on his beer. He could count the number of times he'd drank anything from a bottle—let alone beer—on the fingers of one and a half hands; at least until Devon came into his life. As it was, he only choked once when he swallowed too quickly.
Devon looked concerned as he patted Scott on the back like some teenager taking his first drink. “You okay?” Scott waved his worry away with a nod and flip of his hand. Devon cleared his throat. “I guess my dad's still a sore subject sometimes but there's always what ifs, you know? What if he'd gone to a doctor after he got out of the service? What if he'd been treated for PTSD instead of dealing with it himself?”
Scott let Devon sit in the quiet for a few minutes. He fingered his bottle, turning it in his hands as he studied Devon's long eyelashes fluttering against his olive skin. “Seems like your mom did a good job despite the dysfunction in her life,” Scott said, believing every word. When he realized what he’d said, his eyes bugged. “Not that I think you're dysfunctional—”
“It's appropriate,” Devon assured him, putting a hand out to hush Scott then grabbing a handful of potato chips. He stuffed the whole works into his mouth, managing to grin stupidly at the same time. Scott was unaffected by his manners. It was odd that had i
t been anyone else, he would've been put-off by their eating habits. But it was Devon…enough said. “Also, you might be a little biased,” Devon added with a wink, chip crumbs sticking to his scruff. Scott reached to brush them away. “Mom struggled but you know how gay guys say their moms are their best friends? She really was mine and I tried to support her as much as I could.”
“Seems you succeeded. She sounds like she was as amazing as her son.” Scott snatched a chip from Devon's hand, blushing to the tips of his ears from his own ridiculous sappiness. Devon's feels must have been catching. He unquestionably brought out emotions in Scott that he wasn't familiar with, and was usually afraid to acknowledge, let alone share.
There hadn't been much that Scott had wished for as a child. But the way Devon talked about his mom was something Scott had only dreamed of. Caring for someone that much was a foreign concept to him, but that didn't mean the little boy inside hadn't always wanted to feel loved. Still did. And unfortunately, Devon couldn't fill that particular void, no matter how much Scott loved him.
It had taken a lot of therapy for him to accept that he'd had been a victim of circumstances and in no way had he been at fault when it came to his upbringing. It had happened so long ago but that didn’t mean it didn’t still fester inside him at odd times. With reluctance he'd had to radically accept his feelings. Radical acceptance was one of the most important skills Scott had learned during therapy, even if it was too late in his life to soothe the ache of childhood. It wasn't an easy mindset to master and he still practiced daily. Eventually, it had helped him come to terms with not only his parents' attitudes and annoyances, but also his anxiety and introverted shortcomings. He still found life to be a struggle sometimes, yet he had that safe place within himself that kept him clunking along in his day-to-day life. Sometimes he even found something to like about himself.
Of course, accepting the dysfunction in his familial relationships wasn't a one-shot deal but as long as he wasn't asked to expound on said relationship he managed quite fine.
“I've heard you mention your parents,” Devon said quietly, calmly, bringing Scott's attention back to his living room. He turned to face Scott, cradling his beer against his chest as he caressed Scott's hand. His expression was kind, tender, like he was treading carefully. “I take it that's not a great subject?”
Scott appreciated Devon's intuition and candor, and since he'd revealed so much of himself, Scott felt a wave of courage flex inside him. “My mom isn't like yours. Not even a little bit. She was more like a prison warden when I was growing up, and dad…well, he's been married twice since their divorce.”
Devon looked pained. “I'm sorry, Scott. You deserved better.”
He shrugged like he didn't have a care in the world, like it wasn’t still an open wound inside his chest. “I don’t know about that. It is what it is, you know?” Another patented Scott Weston shrug before he laid it all out on the line. “I've survived more than thirty years without their support.”
“But you shouldn't have to,” Devon said, caressing Scott's palm. “Are you close to any other family? I'm assuming you have friends to help you out?”
Looking around the comfy room filled with happy photos: a smirking Devon and his mom, a wild-looking Devon with a gang of bikers, even a younger Devon with a fluffy grey cat, made Scott curious. Their conversation flew out the window like a freed bird. “Wait. You actually named your band after a cat?” he asked, his voice muffled by an impending knot of laughter stuck in his throat.
“Hey!” Devon growled affectionately. “Have some respect. Smokey-Grey-Grey was not just a cat. He was my best friend.” The look on his face said exactly that.
Scott offered an amused arch of his brow then returned to taking in the room. A smaller photo in a metallic red frame caught his eye. “Is that…? Oh my god! That's a picture of me in…in bed. Why...am I sleeping? You took a picture of me asleep?” Scott trailed off because it was definitely him, in the most literal sense. Scott in a photo, framed, on Devon's mantle. He didn't know whether to be freaked out or flattered like he'd never been in his life. Anxiety rose fast and furious and Scott kept rambling. Why couldn't he stop rambling? “When did you…why did you…I don't know what to…Devon…”
He calmed when Devon stroked his head, fingers coming to rest on the back of Scott's neck. He rubbed and applied gentle pressure, the way Scott liked it.
“Hey,” Devon spoke carefully, close to Scott's ear. He was trying for serious, but Scott could detect a hint of amusement. “You okay? Didn't mean to freak you out.”
“I'm not,” Scott said, unconsciously leaning into the touch. “Well, maybe a little.” He relaxed more when Devon kissed the side of his head. “But I'm also a little disappointed in myself.”
Devon eyed him over his beer bottle. His eyebrows were drawn down in a confused V. “That doesn't even make sense, sweetheart.”
The sparks under Scott's skin slowed to a dull fizzle and he was suddenly comfortable again—cheeky even. “I thought I was the only sleep-stalker in this relationship.” He hadn't meant to use the word relationship. Yet even though it felt strange, it also felt good. He was tempted to apologize but snapped his jaw closed before he could.
“Is that a real thing?” Devon snickered. “Does that mean I'm a stalker too? We’re just a pair of stalkers.”
“Sleep-stalker. There's a difference. And yes, it appears we're both guilty of that charge.”
Scott barely finished his admission before he had a lapful of Devon and his lips were joyously occupied. He saw stars before Devon pulled away and peered longingly into Scott's eyes. It was a silent plea for permission that Scott happily agreed to with a kiss of his own. Half-drunk beer in one hand, Scott wound the other behind Devon's head. He tugged him closer, sweeping his tongue around Devon's mouth while strong thighs straddled his lap.
Devon pressed him into the soft cushions before dragging his fingers through Scott's short hair. He tugged a little and Scott's desire drastically amped up. Devon's mouth slid over Scott's jaw, behind his ear and down his throat.
“I watch you sleep all the time. I love how you purse your lips and make those cute little squeaky sounds.”
Scott stifled a groan then pushed Devon away. “I do no such thing,” he insisted, pinching Devon's cheek. “At least I don't drool all night long.” He gasped. “Oh my god. I don't, do l?” The thought made him cringe despite knowing his boyfriend was a big-time drooler.
“Told you, it's cute,” Devon said. He cupped Scott's chin. “It's a sweet pic but if you really think it's creepy I can put it away.”
“Such a gentleman,” Scott teased. “I don't mind, except I wish I'd thought of it.”
Devon chortled and slipped his hand under Scott's shirt. “Wanna get more comfortable?”
“That sounds—”
“Inadvisable,” another voice joined the conversation. Devon startled, scrambled to sit up but ending up in a heap on the floor. Scott's response was a mixture of gasp and chuckle, his mind swinging from surprise to amusement as he watched Devon scramble to his feet.
“Maureen!” Devon called out, his expression almost comical. “Shit…I mean, I didn't know you were home.”
“Obviously.” The new arrival was in her sixties and seemed to be enjoying Devon's discomfort. Scott appreciated her immediately. “Where are your manners, Devon?” She held a well-manicured hand out to Scott and he took it without hesitation. “He’s such a clod, isn’t he? You must be Scott. I'm Maureen. I'm very happy to finally meet you.”
“Scott Weston. Just in case you, you know, didn’t…” Scott trailed off, mostly amazed at how calm he sounded, considering he was sitting on a strange couch, talking to a stranger with a half-hard dick and—not the least bit calm. Shut up Scott. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Devon stepped around the coffee table to hug Maureen. “Hi dear,” he said, kissing her cheek. He gritted his teeth in a face grimace. “Thanks for outing me.”
“I can't imagine
there's any closet you haven't already busted out of,” she answered, smugly. “Or do you mean with your young man?”
“You know I do. Sneaky. Sneaky. Scott this is my…I guess she’s kind of like my guardian.”
Maureen tapped Devon's shoulder affectionately. “Oh, my darling. You’re far too old to have a guardian, but I think you can use all the angels you can get.” She kissed his cheek. “It's nice to finally meet your young man since you've barely talked about anything else in the past few months.”
“Ah, Maureen,” Devon whined. It was adorable.
Scott chuckled behind his hand. “I like her, Devon.” He lifted off the couch, sliding alongside Devon, their shoulders touching.
“Of course, you do. Troublemakers. Both of you,” Devon scoffed, amused.
Maureen handed Devon her coat. “I was just leaving.” He helped her into it, brushing off the shoulders like some high-end concierge. “I didn't expect you home either. Want me to come back later and cook you dinner?”
Devon shook his head as they all walked to the front door. “We can figure something out. Valentine's pizza sounds good.”
“Devon Luciano Rosalo DuCaine!” Maureen scolded, peering up at Devon. She was adorably petite but obviously huge in personality. “That's not how your mother raised you. You treat this adorable man right, you hear me?”
“Yes ma' am. Do you need me to call a car?”
“I can drive myself just fine. Happy Valentine's Day, boys.”
She sent up a wave behind her back as she trotted out the door, head held high and lips curved smugly.
“She's so cute,” Scott said once they shut the door. Devon glared adoringly at him, but they held hands as they headed back into the living room. “Seems to keep you in line too.”
Devon snatched up his beer and drained the rest of the bottle. “Maureen is…was my mom's cousin,” he said, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “They lived together, supported each other, and there’s so much room in this house I moved her in too. She doesn’t seem to want to leave me and I like having her here.”