True Colors

by Clare London

  What the hell’s going on with me? One small corner of his mind was trying desperately to retain some sanity. Why am I giving the guy such a hard time? He didn’t have an answer.

  “Why are you like this, Zeke?” Miles’ cold voice seemed to come from far away, echoing Zeke’s own thoughts as it often had before. “Full of self-pity. Picking a fight with me. What’s happened? Have I upset you somehow?”

  “Christ, Miles, you are so—”

  “So?” Miles scowled at him.

  “So….” Zeke floundered. His throat was too tight to speak properly. Look at the guy there. Even when he was angry, he looked so cool; so in control. So self-confident, so together. So gorgeous.

  So right.

  Miles stared at Zeke’s furious face for a second or two more, his whole body tensed up. Then he buttoned up his suit jacket and tugged absentmindedly at a wrinkled cuff. “I don’t have to stay and put up with this, and you know it. If you think I’ve got something to answer, okay, we can talk about it. But you don’t appear to be in that kind of mood, so I’ll go.” He turned on his heel to stride back to the door. “You appear to hate me too much to want to listen.”

  “I don’t hate you,” said Zeke, loudly, abruptly.

  Miles paused, his back still to Zeke.

  “I missed you like shit,” said Zeke. He didn’t know what else to say, and his words sounded bleak and pathetic in the deserted room. But, fuck, it was true.

  “I was only away for a couple of days,” said Miles, quietly.

  “I can fucking count,” said Zeke, sharply.

  And then Miles started laughing. He turned back… and seconds later, they were in each other’s arms. Kissing. Grabbing and grasping and reaching for each other like parched men would snatch water from its source.

  Zeke didn’t want to let go—was afraid to—but the pain in his chest meant he needed to breathe. He broke his mouth away from Miles’, gulping a deep and desperate breath. They’d both backed up to lean against the door up to the apartment, and were still standing, still wrapped around each other as if they were one person. The only light was from upstairs and from the shine in Miles’ eyes. Zeke’s heart hammered fiercely and he gripped tightly to the sides of Miles’ shirt. Miles had dropped his jacket on the floor, his shoes were kicked off and rolled to the side of the room, and he’d wrenched off his tie. Zeke liked that single-mindedness. A lot. As Miles tried to draw an equally desperate breath, Zeke dipped his head and began kissing him again.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Miles laughed and moaned at the same time. “Let me breathe.”

  “Maybe,” gasped Zeke. “Maybe not.” He laughed, but his heart twisted in a strange mixture of pleasure and angst. Miles was such a sweet taste. Sweet and soft and fierce and unforgettable. Zeke hadn’t forgotten it, not even in his sleeping hours. The taste that he couldn’t imagine surviving without. That was true too.

  “Did I scare you?” Miles sighed, still smiling. “Did you really think I was running out on you?”

  “Like you’d dare,” Zeke protested. He hoped Miles didn’t notice his shudder. “And I suppose you’re not scared of anything, are you, Miles Winter?”

  Miles gripped Zeke’s waist more tightly. There was a slight hitch to his voice. “I never used to be.”

  “Of course, you might be scared of something,” Zeke murmured playfully, running his teeth along the lobe of Miles’ ear. “Scared that in a couple of days I’ve forgotten all about you. That you won’t get another taste of my sweet ass this side o’ Christmas.”

  “Like you’ve kept me at arm’s length tonight?” Something was wrong. Miles was joking along with him, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  Zeke felt a strange, cold wash of fear swamp him. He hid his face against Miles’ neck, whispering into Miles’ hair. “So be angry with me for giving you grief, Miles. I deserve it.”

  Miles tensed. Zeke could feel his heart’s rhythm beating against his chest. “No. That’s crap.”

  “It all is.” Zeke ground out the words. It was like a confession. “All of it. And I just keep flinging it at you.”

  “No.”

  Zeke sighed. It was just so perfect to have Miles back under him, squirming and gasping and willing. He really had missed him. He’d fought the alien feeling, and he’d despised himself for the strange weakness, and he’d tried to immerse himself in the preparations for the show… but he’d still missed Miles.

  Damned man was addictive.

  It had been a strange feeling, after he’d lived alone for so long. But he’d found himself listening every time a car drew up outside the gallery; turning around every time he thought he heard a knock at his apartment door; keeping his cell always in sight, fully charged. Lying in bed at night, stroking himself, his mind always on the same face, the same lips…. Zeke didn’t allow into his memory the thread of fear, the nighttime horror of waking and imagining that Miles wasn’t coming back at all. At the very least, not to him.

  The nightmares had nothing to do with that, did they?

  “Is this arm’s length, then?” He tightened his arms around Miles, aggressively. He saw a slight bubble of salty saliva at the edge of Miles’ mouth, and licked it quickly away. Miles grinned in reply and growled his pleasure. Zeke felt the increased heat between his legs, the pressure of Miles’ swelling erection against the front of his thighs. They were a damned good fit together. There was a coil of mischief and lust stirring deep inside his groin, and he slipped a hand down and palmed the straining arousal through Miles’ pants.

  Miles’ breath hitched again. “Dammit. Zeke.”

  “Yeah, I know. Want you too.” The ache of anticipation in his chest was almost unbearable. “Now.”

  “You mean…?” Miles sounded shocked, but when Zeke glanced up at his face, his eyes were wide with excitement. “Don’t you want to go upstairs?”

  “What I want, Miles Winter, is to strip that tired old business suit off your luscious limbs, suck the outline of my name all over your belly, and then spread myself for you to fuck. And yeah. Right here.”

  “Here?” echoed Miles. His voice sounded weak with lust at the mere thought.

  “Uh-huh.” Zeke grinned. “Right at the scene of the crime, eh? Where tomorrow’s show will find me, Zeke Roswell, either victor or victim. But tonight… we have no idea which one it’ll be. That’s our setting.” He started to peel open the buttons of Miles’ shirt, sliding his fingers in between each one.

  Miles shuddered; Zeke hoped it was from desire. “I don’t….”

  “You do,” Zeke muttered. “Whatever excuses you have, whatever inhibitions you’ve re-learned up north… they’re not going to resist me.”

  His lips slid hungrily along Miles’ chin, licking at the slight evening stubble he found there. He started to lap at Miles’ neck, sorely tempted to suck a mark there, but just restraining himself at the last minute. Wasn’t sure how his lover would take it, facing the press and clients tomorrow with hickeys all over. But Zeke had a terrible longing to devour Miles, to possess him, to absorb him into his very being. Miles’ skin was hot and wet under him, and the dark-haired man arched himself back, gasping. His neck was bared to Zeke, as if he begged for more attention. Zeke pushed him along, gently but firmly, up against the nearby wall.

  “You’re mad, Zeke Roswell.”

  “Uh-huh,” Zeke agreed, but he couldn’t have told Miles exactly what he was admitting to.

  Madness….

  Was that what he felt for Miles? Was that what kept him awake, what made him ache, what gave him ridiculously hopeful dreams and debilitating nightmares? He was helpless, whatever it was. He didn’t know what to do, how to express it, even whether he wanted to….

  Or what would happen if he never did.

  Miles took a step away from the wall, trying to regain the advantage, stumbling in the semi-darkness over a pile of stacked palettes and a couple of packing cases. He swore, reaching down to rub at his shin. “Christ, this is awkward, Zeke.”
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br />   Zeke grinned. He was panting loudly and his cock was aching inside his shorts. Awkward, yeah. With one hand he grasped at Miles’ neck, drawing him back in for another bruising kiss. He slid the other hand down the front of his own shorts, rubbing some relief to his arousal.

  Miles’s hand came down on top of his. “I want to do that.”

  Zeke shivered with delight. “Be my guest,” he murmured. He sucked in his breath as he felt Miles’ cool, slender hand sliding in under the thin fabric, and wriggling around his pubic curls. He took hold of Zeke’s cock, firmly but carefully. And squeezed.

  Zeke groaned and leaned back against the wall beside Miles. Now it was his turn to arch his neck and rub up against the firm caress. He kicked away a roll of wiring at his feet, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miles push back a cart that had somehow come rolling up to greet them. Miles’ body pressed tightly up to him, the two of them flattened against the cool plaster.

  “We can be seen from the street,” Miles gasped.

  “Like, if they get down on their knees and peer under the blinds and have a relative with bat-sight.” Zeke moaned as Miles slid his fist up to the top of his swollen cock. “I’ve got no problem with that.”

  Miles started to pump him. Lazily; carefully; deliciously. “Fantastic. I don’t believe I ever got this up north.”

  “Should fucking well hope not,” Zeke growled. He’d peeled Miles’ shirt open, and pushed it back off his shoulders, wanting to feel more naked skin against his own. The cloth fell to the floor with a crumpled whisper. The door to the apartment upstairs was still slightly ajar. It shifted gently from a distant breeze, and the cooler air swept across their bared chests. Zeke’s nipples sprang erect in sudden response.

  “God….” He groaned. “I want to be naked, Miles. Touch me… hold me. Fuck me.”

  “No sucking?” murmured Miles, his arm around Zeke’s bare shoulders and his eyes fixed on the protesting tent in his lover’s shorts.

  Zeke grabbed Miles’ other hand, pulling it up to his face and drawing the fingers between his plump lips. He sucked them, licking into the dips between them, wetting the flesh as swiftly as he could. “Can’t wait that long. Only these,” he growled. “Put them in me.”

  “Looks like you’ve been missing this down south, as well,” said Miles, throatily. He swallowed heavily, just the once. His gaze followed the movement of his fingers, thrusting in and out of Zeke’s mouth.

  Zeke moved his legs farther apart, his hips straining against Miles’ groin, feeling for the response he needed. “You want me to get on the floor?”

  “No,” snapped Miles, startling him. “You’re the one who said we’d do it right here. So turn around.”

  Fuck.

  Zeke let Miles’ fingers slip noisily out of his mouth, and he slowly turned on his bare feet, facing the wall. Putting his hands out a little tentatively, he braced himself against it. His whole body felt unusually tense.

  Miles stepped up close behind him, the naked muscles of his chest covering Zeke’s bare back. Zeke felt his loose curls moved gently to one side, and Miles’ fingers running down the raised surface of his spine. He arched up against them, wondering if he really was purring like a cat, or whether it was just his desire humming inside him. Miles’ hair brushed gently against his neck, and then there were teeth and soft lips against his skin, making the shape of bites all across his shoulders and down to his shoulder blades. He was a mess of sensation: his arms threatened to shake and lose their hold; his skin leapt with goose bumps.

  Miles tugged gently at the waist of his shorts. Not gently. Zeke groaned to himself. How the hell was he supposed to cope with this if Miles touched him gently? The flimsy fabric started to slip down his thighs. He felt the inexpressible joy of his cock springing free, and the fresh air stroking against the weeping tip. The material pooled around his ankles and he stepped quickly out of it, kicking it to the side. He was naked, and it was fabulous. He felt every breath of air in the room, every whisper of movement from the soft, rustling tissue around the patiently waiting pictures. Miles’ fingers traced softly against his hip and Zeke knew he was following the pattern of his tattoo. Miles often liked to touch it and kiss it. Tonight, he stroked it, his fingers meandering their way down Zeke’s hips toward his groin.

  Zeke arched his spine again and stretched his head back toward Miles’. By shifting his hands further down the wall, he could push his ass out against Miles’ hips. The rock-hard shaft between Miles’ legs was forcing itself impatiently against the fabric of his pants, rubbing against the cleft of Zeke’s buttocks, as if it were looking for its home away from home.

  Zeke groaned, aloud this time. “Now, Miles. God. Get on with it.”

  Miles’ hand pressed firmly down on the small of his back, making him lean even farther forward. Both arms were braced against the wall now, his back straightening out, and he let his head drop down between his shoulders. A hot, clothed thigh thrust itself between his own, kicking his legs farther apart. He was panting even more heavily now and it was both astonishing and amazing to feel Miles’ fingers at his entrance. His lover gripped his buttocks, and pried them wider open. The fingers were still damp with his saliva, with Zeke’s sucking. Miles sucked in a deep breath, and then one of his fingers slid possessively into Zeke’s ass.

  “Fuck.” Zeke moaned and wriggled up against it, trying to draw it into him even more deeply. More, more. There was a soft laugh of pleasure from Miles, and another finger joined it. This time, it was hooked; this time it probed inside Zeke, looking for a place to bring him even more delight, even more agony.

  “There,” whispered Miles.

  Zeke yelped as Miles pressed against his prostate, his body already sensitive with anticipation. His legs started to shake.

  “Tell me, Zeke,” whispered Miles’ voice at his ear. He was panting too. “Tell me what you want.”

  Zeke didn’t have the time or the energy to examine this reversal of roles; the loss of his usual verbosity. He just ached for Miles. His mouth felt full of unspoken pleas, his chest strangled by his neglected needs. The rasping sound of Miles’ zipper sliding open was music to his ears. The muscles of his hole flexed and his ass throbbed with the anticipation. He could feel the hot, damp flesh of Miles’ bare groin at the back of his thighs.

  “Lick me first, Miles,” he whispered hoarsely. “I… please.”

  Miles hesitated for a second behind him, and then knelt down on the floor. His hands still rested on Zeke’s ass, but now the invasive fingers slid out, and Zeke felt his muscles tighten back up without them. Miles’ lips touched at his thighs, licking at the clenched muscle of his buttocks. The fingers returned to their work, pinching the flesh, opening up the crevice between his cheeks. Zeke felt hot breath between them, and then there was something hard, slick, and demanding up against his entrance again. Zeke was almost speechless. His throat was gripped with excitement.

  The tip of Miles’ tongue pressed its way inside his ass.

  Zeke shuddered with something deeper and more shocking than he’d ever felt before. His response was animalistic. His body surrendered every ounce of sexual control it had ever had. He couldn’t understand how he could still be standing, when every nerve felt reduced to hot liquid, leaking its sensual way all through his body. When Miles started to withdraw, and then plunged his tongue back into him, he began to wail.

  “Hush,” came the warning; he could feel the shape of Miles’ smile against his skin. “You want someone out there to hear you and call the police?”

  Zeke thought they could sell fucking tickets and he wouldn’t care. Slowly, tortuously, Miles fucked him with his tongue, gripping hard at Zeke’s legs to hold himself in place, and burying his face into the damp flesh of Zeke’s ass. Zeke wailed some more, careless of any shocked passersby. He cursed aloud, begging for more. At least, that’s what he thought he cried for. Not one of the sounds coming out of his mouth was actually under his control. He yelled when Miles slid a finger in be
side his tongue, and started to probe for his prostate again. Miles sucked, and licked, and thrust, and Zeke was a blubbering wreck.

  “And now?” came the muffled words. “What do you want now, Zeke?” His lover’s voice was a damp, musky breath against his buttocks.

  “I want you,” he gasped. Why did the words feel different in his mouth tonight? Why did it seem more than just the usual banter, the usual begging for physical satisfaction? He felt disorientated; it wasn’t just his physical nakedness making him feel exposed. “Miles… please. Fuck me now.”

  When he heard the slight rustle of a plastic package being opened behind him, he realized he’d not yet asked Miles to use protection. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. Desperate times. He was so impossibly fraught; he’d have taken Miles’ cock as it was, in all its uncovered glory. In fact, the vision of that sent shivers of delight down his already shaking body. He usually provided everything they needed, when Miles came around to the gallery. Miles had never carried anything for himself before now. Zeke wondered when and where Miles bought his own supply. Perhaps it was one of the quaint customs he’d brought back from the alien north….

  Or perhaps Miles was as much involved in this relationship as he was himself. Zeke wondered—yet again—why tonight felt so strange; so different. Then the physical excitement swamped him, the crown of Miles’ cock pressing insistently into him. It was damned hard, but the touch was soft too. He bit his lip as he tried to stretch his legs farther apart. Miles’ body bent slightly to get a better angle.

  This is where we meet. Zeke’s thoughts were wild. Miles was forcing himself in deeper, and he could hear his gasps of concentrated breath. Looking down under his braced arm, he could see the shapes of the gallery behind them. The place that he knew so well. The preparation for the show that was so much more his than Miles’. Where things were familiar, where he could continue to hide for as long as he was allowed. This is where we fit together. Miles’ hands were tight on his hips now, pulling him back and forth onto his shaft.