"Your dad brought a bag by last night but there are new razors in the drawer." Mike wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped from the shower. Johnny retrieved the new razor and shaving cream and Mike watched as he tried to balance on the walker in front of the sink to shave. "You sure you should be doing that?" Mike met Johnny's eyes in the mirror.
"The stubble is driving me crazy, bro." Johnny scratched his jaw for emphasis. "Plus, it's a safety razor. Not like it will slit my throat."
"No, just make your face look like it went through a meat grinder." Mike grinned at his brother. "Sit down," he indicated the toilet and Johnny raised a blond brow. "I'll be right back."
Mike ducked out of the bathroom and threw on his briefs and jeans. When he returned, Johnny was still standing in front of the sink and had applied the shaving cream to his face.
"Damn it Johnny, I told you to sit down," Mike growled at his best friend. "Before you fall on your ass."
"Fuck, Mikey, I'm not an invalid," Johnny growled right back and glared at him through the mirror.
"Fine," Mike replied and leaned on his bathroom wall behind Johnny with his arms folded across his chest. He knew this was an intimidating posture, used it all the time with suspects, but doubted it would have any effect on Johnny. He continued to stare at Johnny through the mirror but his brother no longer stared back. Shaving was a two-handed process and Mike knew it was only a matter of time before his stubborn best friend would let him help.
Johnny turned his head to the side and drug the razor down his face. The first nick happened midway through the stroke but Mike didn't say a word. Johnny shot him another glare in the mirror but Mike didn't meet his stare. His eyes were focused on the small bead of blood that had formed and was now running down Johnny's cheek, to make a smudge in the white shaving cream.
Johnny raised his hand and drug the razor down his face next to the smooth spot he had already shaved. When a second nick appeared, Johnny cursed and glared at Mike again through the mirror.
"Minced meat," Mike said flatly.
"God, I hate it when you're right," Johnny mumbled and held out the razor.
Mike pushed himself off the wall and took it gracefully. Johnny maneuvered his walker into position to sit on the toilet and grimaced in pain as he lowered himself down.
Mike didn't say anything and just waited for Johnny to slide the walker away. He grabbed Johnny's chin and tilted his head but before he could lift the razor to his best friend's face, Johnny grabbed his wrist to stop him. Mike was looking into Johnny sky-blue eyes that looked back at him through blonde lashes.
"You do know what you're doing, right?" Johnny asked and sounded nervous.
"No," Mike replied seriously and gave Johnny a crooked grin. "I only do this on my own face everyday. What kind of question is that?"
Mike didn't give him time to answer as he brought the razor up. He had a firm grip on Johnny's chin and couldn't help but think of how intimate shaving his best friend was. Johnny's lips were slightly parted and for a moment the urge to close the distance between them and taste his brother was strong. Mike pushed his desire aside and concentrated on not nicking Johnny. But thoughts of how erotic this was kept entering his mind, especially when Mike bared Johnny's throat.
After each pass of the razor, Mike ran his thumb over the area to ensure it was smooth. He knew he would not likely get another chance to touch his best friend's face and neck like he was doing now. Unless it was to shave him again and there was no guarantee of that happening once Johnny started rehab.
If Johnny noticed his lingering touches, he didn't say anything and it wasn't until Mike was turning his head from side to side to inspect his work, that Johnny opened his eyes. The sky-blue eyes froze Mike to the spot and made his gut cinch. He thought for sure that his best friend knew what he was thinking and was going to call him out on it. The tense moment between them seemed to go on forever but then Johnny grinned.
"Done?"
Mike's throat was dry and he fought the urge to clear it when he swallowed. Instead of offering his brother a reply he grabbed a towel that Johnny had left on the sink and handed it to him. Mike couldn't meet Johnny's gaze when he left the bathroom.
"Gonna make some grub." Mike called from his bedroom as he threw on a T-shirt. "You need help getting downstairs?" Mike turned and focused on Johnny's walker as his brother made his way across the room.
"I should be good with the crutches if you take this monstrosity." Johnny rattled the walker as he grabbed the crutches.
Mike waited until Johnny was settled with the crutches before he folded up the walker and headed for the stairs. Johnny was right behind him and moved better on the crutches then the walker. But the crutches defeated the purpose of making him actually use his new hip. Mike took his time ascending the stairs, staying only a few steps ahead of Johnny. He figured that if his best friend wiped out, then at least he would cushion his fall... Again and probably break his own damn hip in the process. Once downstairs, Mike unfolded the walker and looked at Johnny.
"At least let me get to the couch, bro," Johnny said giving the walker an evil glare.
"Cough over the crutches or no grub for you," Mike threatened.
"Holding food hostage? That's just not right!" Johnny said before reluctantly moving into position within the walker and letting Mike take the crutches.
"Good boy," Mike grinned and headed toward the kitchen.
"I ain't your fucking dog, bro." Mike heard Johnny yell after him before the sound of the TV filled the other room.
Chapter 7
They sat on the couch finishing their omelets and talked about the PT that Johnny was starting tomorrow. Mike had already decided he would return back to work after Johnny fell into his PT schedule. There was no sense being at the house by himself while Johnny would be gone for five or six hours each day. He could use the time to work on the house but that would require tapping into what small savings he had. No, it was better to stick to his plan and budget where his home was concerned.
Once he finished the second bedroom and bath, he could rent out the room to speed up the rest of the renovations. There was always some rookie cop or someone getting divorced on the force that would need a place to stay. Renting the room to another cop or even someone in EMS was the plan. At least they would understand the stress of the job and give him his space when he needed it.
A silence had settled between them as ESPN rattled on the TV over the coffee table in front of them. Mike had just set his coffee mug down when Johnny started in on him.
"So," Johnny began and would've sounded casual to anyone else but Mike knew what was coming would be anything but casual.
He should have never shaved him. It was too intimate for his best friend not to have noticed or maybe this was the 'care to explain that erection that was stabbing me in the shower' conversation. Mike forced his body to relax even though his gut was in knots and his mind was scrambling for excuses.
"When are you gonna tell me what the hell was wrong with you before I got shot?" Mike could feel Johnny's eyes boring into him as he steadfastly stared at the TV.
Relief that his brother wasn't calling him out on the scene in the shower, or the shaving, flooded through him until he realized he still had no answer for Johnny.
I think I am gay and want you. Yeah, so not going there.
It took everything Mike had to turn and meet his best friend's gaze. Johnny wasn't grinning but instead looked deadly serious with an intensity in his eyes that Mike had only seen directed at suspects.
"What are you talking about?" Mike gave his brother a grin but didn't think for a moment that he was buying whatever Mike was selling. What was he selling? Oh yeah, that nothing had changed between them.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Johnny's gaze grew more intense, if that were even possible, and Mike couldn't maintain eye contact.
Classic guilty body language there Mike. Way to go.
"I just had some shit to so
rt through," Mike said lamely but didn't turn back around.
"Shit to sort through?" Johnny huffed. "Shit that had to do with me?" Mike involuntarily tensed but before he could contradict, no, outright lie, Johnny continued. "What did I do, Mikey?"
Made me want you for more than a friend and a brother. How fucked up is that?
"Tell me what I did that pissed you off enough to shut me out?" Johnnie's voice was getting louder.
"Nothing. You didn't do anything." Mike replied and thought, it's not you, it's me. Now he knew the truth of that line.
"Dammit Mike," Johnny continued and Mike almost flinched. His best friend never used his proper name but instead always called him 'Mikey' or 'M&M.' "Since when do we start keeping secrets from one another?" The anger and hurt in his brother's voice was almost a tangible thing hanging in the air between them.
Since I get hard thinking about you. Since you're the only person I think about when I jerk off anymore.
"We don't," Mike lied and tried to be angry at his best friend for forcing the issue.
"Could've fooled the shit out of me," Johnny said harshly. "If it isn't me then what? Whatever it is we can figure it out together." Johnny reigned in his temper and placed a hand on Mike's back. Every muscle in Mike's body tensed at that touch and he hated that he had no control over how his body now reacted to his best friend. "Talk to me, bro," Johnny practically pleaded.
Talk about how I want you naked in my bed? How I want to run my mouth all over you? I don't think so!
"I don't want to talk about it." Mike shrugged off Johnny's hand and stood. He gathered their breakfast plates without looking at his brother. "I'm fine. We're fine."
Mike stormed from the room and Johnny's voice followed him. "I'm calling bullshit. I've known you too long Mike and I know you're not fine."
Mike never dealt well with being cornered in his anger finally ignited as he started rinsing the dishes. He could hear the click clack of the walker as Johnny followed him into the kitchen.
"Fucking talk to me, bro," Johnny practically yelled at him.
"God dammit, John, There. Is. Nothing. To. Talk. About." Mike retorted and only paused long enough to see his best friends eyes grow wide. It dawned on Mike that this was the first time he had ever called his brother by his actual name. Somehow over the last seventeen years that they have known one another neither of them actually called the other by their given name. Fuck!
"I need to do some shopping," Mike said. I need to get away from you. "I'll be back later." Mike didn't wait for a reply as he bee lined for the door and if his best friend gave him one, he didn't hear it.
***
Mike drove, and drove, and drove. He had no destination in mind. How could he tell Johnny that he thought he was gay? His brother would think it was a joke at best. At the worst, he would lose his best friend and then what would he do? He knew Johnny wouldn't believe him even if he told him the truth. Johnny would point out all the women Mike had taken the bed, hell, even the women they had shared, just to prove his point. That thought gave Mike pause. In his head he could hear Johnny arguing the point.
"No gay guy would have fucked as many chicks as you have, bro."
Mike knew there was logic in that argument but it didn't change how hard he got just thinking about his best friend. If he wasn't gay, then what? He just had a hard on, literally, for his brother?
Dammit! If Johnny hadn't been staying at his place then maybe he could find the answer online. Mike laughed. Yeah, he would just look up areyougay.com or maybe he could look up gay porn. Fuck, I need a drink.
Mike looked at his watch and realized he had been driving around randomly for the last two hours. He gave thought to where to go for happy hour when an idea struck him. If he couldn't get online to see if he was really gay then maybe he could check out a gay bar. It was just after two in the afternoon but he was sure there had to be one open somewhere in the city.
Mike pulled out his phone and did a search. Holy Shit! The city had fifty-three gay bars. Who knew? Certainly not him. Mike scanned the list of the bars and discarded several based on their name alone. He also didn't want to go to a bar in the precinct that he usually worked. Wouldn't that just be great to get a call to a gay bar were someone might remember him or even worse, be in the bar if his coworkers were called there.
Finally, he settled for a bar about twenty minutes away from him. When Mike pulled into the lot, he was slightly surprised at the number of cars that were there for it being so early in the day. As he parked he had a moment of trepidation about going inside. He was a cop for Christ's sake and faced situations a lot more dangerous than entering a gay bar. So why did he feel like butterflies were trying to escape his stomach?
Fuck it. Mike slammed his truck door harder than he had intended and headed for the door with all the concentration of the SWAT team on a raid.
The inside of the bar was dark and Jimmy Buffett greeted him from the jukebox as he waited for his eyes to adjust. When they did, Mike looked around as he made his way to the bar. His police training took in everything in one glance. Men between the ages of twenty-five and sixty sat around the bar, alone or in small groups. They don't all look gay was the first thought he had and then was ashamed he was stereotyping the group.
"I'm Rob," the bartender introduced himself. "Welcome to the Jungle. What can I get you?" The guy looked young, barely twenty-one, but Mike had a feeling he was likely older even if he didn't look it.
"Bud Light," Mike replied and tried not to look around the bar again.
"Bottle or draft? Bottles are two-for-one and the drafts are a buck," Rob the bartender told him.
"Bottle will work," Mike pulled a ten from his pocket and put it on the bar in front of him before he sat down.
He watched the bartender retrieve his beer and couldn't help the stereotypical thought that filtered across his mind. He looks like any other bartender. Rob wore jeans that weren't super tight, but did hang down low on his hips, and a muscle shirt with the bar logo on it. He wasn't very feminine nor very masculine and Mike had to admit that if he had met the guy outside the bar, he would have no idea he was gay.
"Here you go," Rob said as he set the bottle in front of him along with the poker chip. Mike slid at ten across the bar and picked up the chip to examine it. One side said the Jungle while the other said one bottled beer.
"New in town?" Rob asked when he returned with the change.
Mike wasn't sure if the question was innocent or a come on. How do guys pick each other up?
Mike studied the patrons as he sipped his beer. Aside from the lack of women, this could be any other bar in the city. These were just regular guys enjoying happy hour. What did you expect? A gay fuck fest?
Mike was suddenly disgusted with himself for his assumptions. Since everything he had assumed about gay guys seemed to be shattered, he tried to analyze how he felt about the men in the bar. Some were attractive, he was comfortable enough with his masculinity to admit, but none excited him the way Johnny did. Even the guy on the corner of the bar, who was a blonde like his best friend, did nothing for him. Not even a cock twitch. So maybe he really wasn't gay?
Mike felt more confused now than he had before he entered the bar. He was taking the last swallow of his beer and about to use the chip for another when his phone buzzed.
"Holding hostages is a crime... Even if it is food." The text read and Mike noted the time on his phone. He had been gone for almost four hours and he was sure this was Johnny's way of checking up on him
Mike thought about a reply as he left a tip and picked up his bills and the chip. He absently stuck everything in his pocket as he left the bar and replied to the text.
"Don't waste the negotiator's time. You won't starve. C U soon."
Mike drove home hoping that Johnny wouldn't resume pecking at him like a wife after a night out with the boys. Not like Mike would know anything about that except from what Johnny had shared about Susan's nagging.
He wa
lked into the house and found the living room empty, again. Only he didn't panic this time nor call out. Mike heard noise from the kitchen and found Johnny standing in front of the stove, using his crutches instead of his walker. A pot of water was steaming on the stove and a jar of sauce was on the counter next to a box of pasta. Mike move toward the fridge with the intention of grabbing a beer, when he stopped short. On the far side Johnny an open Bud light sat on the counter.
"If you were drinking that while on your pain meds I'm going to kick your ass... hip replacement or not," Mike growled and frowned at his best friend.
"There's the Mikey I know and love," Johnny grinned at him and gave him a wink which made Mike's gut clenched again. When Mike continued to frown, Johnny plowed on, "It's for you, asshole. I figured you might want it." Johnny handed over the beer and poured the pasta into the water.
"Thanks," Mike took a long swig and continued to frown at his best friend.
"Damn bro, lighten up." Johnny acted as if the argument between them had never happened and for that, Mike was grateful. "I gave you a beer and I'm cooking you dinner. Sheeze."
"You're on the crutches again." Mike pointed out. "Don't make me hide them from you. Now go sit your invalid ass down before you fall down." And just like that they were back to normal, except for Mike still not knowing if he was gay or just infatuated with his best friend.
***
Three weeks passed and they fell into a routine. Mike switched from mid shifts to mornings and Johnny went to his physical therapy. Things were bizarrely domestic between them. Johnny was there when Mike left for work and he was home again when Mike finished his shift. The only thing that would have made them more domestic would've been if they were sharing the same bed. That wasn't about to happen and Mike's back was paying the price from sleeping on his sectional. If a sore back was the price to pay to keep his friendship, to keep his brother, then he counted himself lucky.
They had not showered again nor had Mike given Johnny another shave. Even though Mike was thankful that he wouldn't be caught with his guard down in those types of situations, he worried that his brother knew something was not right when they happened that first time.
Brothers by Bond Page 6