by E M Lindsey
Fitz tightened his grip. “And what do you have parked at home?”
“What the hell does that even matter?” Antoine’s jaw tensed and he reached for Fitz’s wrists, his hands still holding Antoine by the ribs—a ginger touch because he knew they were broken. Instead of ripping them away, Antoine’s nails dug into Fitz’s skin. “You really think I’m that terrible? You think just because I live in San Francisco and drive a nice car that I’d do that to someone?”
“I don’t,” Fitz said, and he blew out a hot puff of air, watching as Antoine’s lashes fluttered. He was gorgeous—beyond gorgeous. He was a smarmy dick and Fitz still couldn’t stand him, but he also wanted to shove his tongue down his throat, and that was a problem. “I don’t know you.”
“You could have asked,” Antoine growled. He dug his nails in harder, making Fitz hiss in discomfort. “You could have asked anyone if I seemed like the kind of guy who would try and destroy someone’s pet just because my pride was bruised. And maybe you could have told me the truth instead of making me question my own sanity!”
There was something about Antoine’s words that spoke of realness and fear. Fitz had thought it was a harmless joke, but maybe it wasn’t, and guilt gnawed at him. Just say sorry, he told himself. Just fucking apologize. “It’s not my fault you don’t trust yourself. That sounds like a personal problem.”
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Antoine’s eyes went wide, a little pained. “You are such an asshole. You are such a fucking…”
This time it was Antoine who was cut off, but not by Fitz’s voice. His brain and his body were not in sync. Not in the least. He should have apologized, let the man go, and walked away. Instead, he shoved one leg between Antoine’s thighs, lowered his mouth, and kissed him.
There was a moment, frozen in time, where neither of them moved. Antoine was pressed to the brick, his cock hard and heavy in his jeans as it throbbed against the top of Fitz’s thigh. His hands were curled against Fitz’s wrists still, nails digging in even harder now. There was probably blood.
Their lips were parted, slotted together like two pieces of a puzzle. Fitz could taste him—just barely. He could taste something faintly sweet and a little sour. He panted through his nose, his breath hot, fanning against Fitz’s cheeks.
What are you doing, what are you doing, you dumb fuck, what are you…
His brain was screaming, but it stuttered to absolute silence when Antoine let out a small, desperate whimper, then pressed in harder. Fitz’s brain detached from his body again, and instinct drove him. He shoved his thigh higher, letting Antoine grind down on it, held him tighter by the hips, kissed him deeper. He plunged his tongue into Antoine’s mouth, fucking inside with a rhythm he wished he was using with his cock in Antoine’s ass. Or hell, the other way around. He didn’t much care about anything except getting off with this frustrating, annoying, horrible, beautiful man.
Eventually, though, reality caught up with them both. Antoine stiffened, then he let go. Fitz felt his brain crash down into his body, and he released Antoine whose knees buckled slightly, and he took a few steps back. They stared at each other, the inches between them like a canyon. Antoine was breathing heavy, his cheeks pink, hands moving to press against his ribs.
“Did I,” Fitz started, then stopped. “I’m sorry.”
Antoine swallowed thickly, then shook his head. “No, I…it was…”
Neither of them could speak properly. This was so wrong—so fucking wrong. It was so wrong that he wanted to do it again, and harder, and more. He wanted to rip Antoine’s clothes off and shove the side of his fist between Antoine’s teeth so he’d shut the fuck up and just enjoy what Fitz could give him.
And god, that came out of nowhere, but it was powerful enough to keep him still hard even though he was standing in the alley, mortified by his lack of control.
“I should go,” Antoine said after an agony of endless silence. “I should…” He paused, like maybe he was waiting for Fitz to stop him, or to say anything, but he didn’t. He just watched confusion and anger bloom over Antoine’s features. He watched him straighten his back no matter how much that had to hurt right then. After a beat, Antoine turned on his heel, and marched away.
When Fitz was finally alone, he sagged down to the ground, scooting against the wall, and he laid his head back against the cool bricks. He was an idiot. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, or why. He couldn’t figure out why a man like that had him so twisted up. He didn’t want to know.
All he really wanted was to go home, sleep off the beer, and hopefully never, ever see Antoine Tremblay ever again.
Chapter Ten
Antoine was shaking with nerves so badly, it was a miracle he made it to the Lodge parking lot without crashing. His adrenaline was through the roof, and he said a small prayer that he could make it to his room without running into any of the owners. He had his key clutched so hard in his hand, the metal was biting into his skin, but he managed a steady grip as he pushed it into the lock and then slammed the door shut behind him.
He stood there, in the middle of the room, eyes wide in the dark. The environment wasn’t unfamiliar to him. When he was a kid—when he and Marcel had been at home—they never turned lights on. Antoine had learned to navigate without using his sight right alongside his twin, and now, when he felt alone, the darkness comforted him.
He breathed out, the sound sharp and too loud in his ears, and his knees threatened to give out. He could still feel the press of Fitz’s massive hands on his hips, he could feel the way his skin sank under the sharp grip of Antoine’s nails, could feel Fitz’s thigh as it rubbed against his hard cock. He could feel Fitz’s breath, and the taste of him as Antoine opened himself and let Fitz inside still lingered.
What had he been thinking? God, how had he let himself go like that? It had been days since his last hook-up, and he was acting desperate. Dragging both hands hard down his face, he threw the key on the table, then marched into his room and gingerly stripped out of his clothes and stepped past the sliding glass door. The walls of the terrace were tall—a person would have to stand on a ladder to see inside, so he flipped the lid of the hot tub open and slipped both feet in.
He hissed at the sudden heat, but as he slid into the water, it felt good against his aching ribs. His phone was at his right hand, and he hesitated, but if he didn’t talk to someone, he was going to choke to death on his own despair. He didn’t even look as he scrolled, as he hit the number and waited as it rang.
“Is this an emergency?”
The sound of his brother’s voice echoed in his ear, and he felt something unknot deep inside of him. “Depends on your definition of emergency.”
“Is someone dying?” Marcel snapped.
Antoine let out a shaking breath. “No. But…I just…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I know you’re busy.”
The line was quiet, and for a terrible second, he thought his brother had ended the call. Then he heard noise. It was the sound of chatter, and it was loud, then it faded into nothing. “Antoine,” his brother said quietly—a plea.
Antoine swallowed thickly, and he knew all of his pain, his emotion, would show in every word he spoke. But he was tired of being the man his brother hated, tired of the monster he’d become. He missed his brother—it was as simple as that. “I made a mistake tonight.”
“Are you safe?” Marcel asked.
Antoine couldn’t help his laugh. “Yes?”
“Is that a question? Antoine, are you hurt?” Marcel pressed.
Antoine passed a hand over his ribs and felt the sharp sting. He needed pain meds, but he’d never bothered with the pharmacy which he knew now was a mistake. “I got into a car accident on my way into Cherry Creek.”
He heard something crash, like Marcel had dropped whatever he was holding. “Oh my god. Are you at the hospital?”
“It wasn’t serious,” he said in a rush. “There was a fucking goat in the road, and I swerve
d. My car went over the embankment and hit a tree. I wasn’t hurt, but I got…” He stopped, and a laugh bubbled up, hysterical and painful. “Fuck.”
“Are you…is this real?” Marcel asked, now sounding angry.
“Unfortunately, it’s too fucking real.” The laugh turned into a faint sob, and Antoine pressed fingers into his eyes. “I slept it off. I had a little bit of whiplash. But this afternoon I was texting my client, and I slipped off the curb as this kid was coming around the corner too fucking fast. I fell on my knees and his car clipped my shoulder and sent me flying into the pavement. Cracked a couple of ribs.”
“Jesus,” Marcel breathed. “Jesus. Did you see a doctor?”
“Yeah, yes,” Antoine breathed out. “I went to the clinic here and got checked out. I’m at the Lodge now, in the hot tub trying to relax.” He swallowed back some of his emotion, and he told himself the wetness on his cheeks was from the steam, not from anything else.
“Colton and I went there after you sent us that brochure,” Marcel told him after a beat of silence. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah.” Antoine opened his eyes and stared at the dark wall in front of him. He could turn on the lights in the tub, but what was the point? “I feel like everything I’ve done—every goddamn decision since I let mom and dad talk me into that fucking apartment and this job—has been a mistake. I became this asshole, and now you hate me…”
“I don’t,” Marcel said tiredly. “God, I don’t hate you.”
“Well, you should,” Antoine argued. “I was a terrible brother when you left, and it took me this long to defend you against mom and dad’s bullshit. I’m sorry.”
“You already said that, and I already forgave you,” Marcel told him. “And I know you better than this. You’re deflecting. What’s really going on with you?”
Antoine squeezed his eyes shut and let himself feel it, his frustration, and his self-loathing because Fitz’s hands on him, his mouth on him, they were so good. He wanted more, he would have given more—gladly, willingly. And he hated himself for that weakness.
“There’s this guy,” he said. “He’s been an absolute dick to me since I got here, and I don’t know why.”
“I could probably think of a few reasons,” Marcel pointed out.
Antoine winced. Normally he was prepared for Marcel’s brand of sharp tongue, but he was raw. “Right. I get it. I mean, I guess I was kind of asking for it.”
“Shit,” Marcel swore under his breath. “Wait, did he do something to you?”
“He kissed me,” Antoine said. “I didn’t initiate it, but I wanted it. In spite of how awful he’s been, I still want it, and I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I was hired to come here, fix this town, and go home.”
“He didn’t hurt you?” Marcel asked, sounding on the edge of relieved.
“No.” Antoine dragged a hand down his face. “I’m just freaking out because I think I’m falling for this guy that I have no business falling for.”
At that, Marcel laughed. “Well, if anyone knows what that’s like…”
He stayed quiet, but Marcel didn’t go on. “You fought Colton. When you first met, you didn’t think it was a good idea.”
“No,” Marcel said from behind a sigh, “I knew it was a terrible idea, but I wanted him anyway.”
“I know it’s not the same, but how did you…how did you know it wasn’t some giant mistake?”
At that, Marcel chuckled, and Antoine could picture him then, with his eyes squinted and nose wrinkled, his head shaking. “Sometimes I still don’t know if it was the right choice. He and I are so different. He’s…he’s a wild spark and I’m not. But I love him, and I don’t regret taking that leap. At all.”
Antoine leaned further back until he was submerged to the neck, and the weightlessness of the water took the pressure off his ribs. “I don’t want to want him.”
“Sounds like you’re well and truly fucked,” his brother offered.
Antoine laughed, then winced because it hurt. “I guess so. I should go, but thanks for humoring my breakdown.”
Marcel was quiet a moment. “I want to see you before you go. When’s your return flight?”
Antoine felt his heart speed up with longing. He was afraid to say the wrong thing, afraid Marcel would reject him again. “I don’t have one yet. This job is supposed to take a couple months, but I have a few days for a grace period in case I need longer to get everything set up with their website.”
“Let me talk to Colton and see when he can get time off. Maybe we can drive up.”
It was a peace offering. It wasn’t inviting Antoine into his life, or into his home, but it was something. “Yeah. Yes. I’d love that.”
“Take care,” Marcel told him, and there was a smile in his voice. “It’s going to be fine.”
Antoine didn’t believe him—couldn’t believe him. Marcel had breezed into a small town and stumbled into Colton’s path, a boy younger than him with a darker past full of suffering and pain. Marcel had turned him away, not because they hated each other, and not because they were wrong for each other, but because Marcel wasn’t sure he was good enough. But he was, and he deserved this happiness.
Antoine wasn’t half the person his brother was, and there was no love at first sight with Fitz. Fitz couldn’t stand him, and Antoine was happy to return those feelings. But…Fitz also wanted him, and Antoine couldn’t deny that the rough, unkind way Fitz treated him turned him on.
He was horrified to feel his dick harden again, and he set his phone off to the side before curling his fingers around the base and squeezing. Pleasure shot up his spine, and he breathed, trying to think of anyone—anything—that wasn’t the Fire Chief. But it wasn’t working. He could taste Fitz on his tongue, feel the ghost of his touch across his body, on his lips, even in his hair when he’d brushed fingers through, checking for a concussion earlier that day.
Fitz was wrapped around him, consuming him, burrowed so far under his skin, Antoine wasn’t sure he’d ever be rid of him. Years down the road, would he still think of that moment in the alley? Would he still be able to remember the way Fitz’s tongue felt as it slid into his mouth and devoured him?
He gave his dick a single stroke, then brought his other hand to his mouth and bit down as he began a fast, furious rhythm. Hate you, hate you, want you, fuck you, hate you. The mantra cascaded through his thoughts as the color of Fitz’s eyes burned behind his own closed eyelids.
And then he was coming. He was coming hard, gasping against his hand, teeth digging into his knuckles as his entire body went taut. His ribs burned like he was being set on fire from the inside, but the pleasure eclipsed the pain, and he let go. His moan turned into a sob when his body settled back down, and he swiped at his face, then clambered out of the hot tub and hurried inside.
His feet slid on the bathroom tiles, and he just barely managed not to brain himself on the counter. The last fucking thing he needed was another ambulance and another injury. God, he was a mess. He was upside down and inside out and he felt like there was no hope.
Antione forced himself to focus as he rinsed off in the shower, then found a couple of ibuprofen to swallow back before crawling into bed. There was no comfortable position to lie in, but it didn’t matter. Every inch of him was exhausted. He just wished it wasn’t Fitz he saw the moment he closed his eyes and sleep took him.
Maybe the universe was being kind to him after his injury, because Antoine managed to get through the next few days without killing himself, without needing an ambulance, or seeing Fitz at all. It gave him the space he needed to breathe, and more importantly, to work. He had a ton of notes to look through, and he had plans to make.
The night of the kiss, the night he’d spent with Gwen at the Farmer’s Market, had given him most of the information he needed about the town. More than a small percentage of residents had a booth, and those that didn’t showed up to shop. Antoine didn’t buy anything, but he took his time examining all the wares—
even Fitz’s booth from a far, though he didn’t bother to walk up.
“He knits,” Gwen told him when she caught him looking. “None of it’s very good, but anything he makes over cost of materials he donates to charity.”
Antoine didn’t want to think of Fitz as a good guy, even though it was obvious the Fire Chief was. “Doesn’t seem like a common hobby.”
Gwen laughed. “I mean, I try not to judge—but he got into it after the fire. Most of the occupational therapy focused on being able to move his arm and shoulder again, but the doctors sort of wrote off his hand and fingers since the nerves were destroyed. He can’t feel anything there, but he had this one therapist who suggested knitting or cross-stitch to get some of his dexterity back.”
Antoine’s stomach did something funny, and he turned away to examine the blacksmith booth instead. He was able to meet Birdie, the Fire Captain who had intricate and interesting jewelry in small glass cases. All of the pieces were individual and carefully constructed, and he had a sign-up form for anyone who wanted something custom done.
The man himself reflected his work, in a way. He wore a tight black t-shirt and jeans, his arms covered from elbows to fingers in tattoos varying in color and style. He was a well put together mess with eyes that were dark and heavy-lidded. It was obvious from the hunch in his shoulders and the way he watched people with a vigilance that most didn’t, he had a past. But he was sweet, and he took his time talking to Antoine about his blacksmith process, and seemed more than thrilled to make an appointment to go over his presence in Cherry Creek.
“Rene would probably kill me if I fucked off on this project,” he said as Antoine took Birdie’s business card.
Antoine smiled at him. “I doubt that.” When Birdie raised his brows, Antoine smiled. “He really seems to care about this town, and so much more than trying to make himself look good. It’s important to him, and from what I’ve been able to see here, you’re all worth it. Helping Cherry Creek has not been a hardship for me.”