“I remember being really scared for a while. But I must have learned quickly, because then I just wasn’t scared anymore.” Naim reached up and traced the outline of the thick, raised tissue toward the center of Deck’s chest that was starting to scar over, the mark that would never disappear, just a little bit above his heart.
“How long were you there?”
Naim thought carefully for a while. There were things he didn’t want to bring here. Into this space of theirs. “A few years,” he sighed. His memories of the camp were mostly neutral, some even good. “We were educated, and we worked.” He was still tracing the spot above Deck’s heart.
“You worked?” Deck exclaimed.
“Yes…no. Not like forced labor. No, I mean…we did our share.” Naim chuckled at Deck’s alarm. “We went to school, then in the afternoons we—the boys mostly—we would help out in the orchards. It was the Mediterranean. Lots of farmland.” He could hear Deck’s heart from the other side of his chest, powerful and steady. “The orchards subsidized the camp: limes, lemons, olives. Maybe some other things too, but I’m not sure. I remember the limes mostly. I liked to play Jungle Jim in the lime trees.”
Deck laughed and tried to press himself closer to Naim.
“You were a fucking beautiful kid. I can just see it.” Deck was smiling and in love and didn’t see Naim’s face darken and his eyes go hollow. But Naim felt it.
But for the first time, Naim refused to be overcome by those thoughts, and he replayed Deck’s words in his head, forcing himself to hear the kindness in them. “Lime trees are small, so I was able to reach.” He breathed out a laugh. “I was a fucking little kid.”
“You smell like limes. And honey. Sometimes. Not all the time. Not usually when you’re working.” Deck breathed him in again.
Naim laughed. “You like it? I’m glad. It costs a fortune.” He was still chuckling as he rubbed his face in Deck’s chest and thought that he had no idea that he smelled of something that didn’t have a name because it was just Deck, and it made Naim’s toes curl and his stomach drop and his head go light. He inhaled deeply.
Naim, however, was nothing if not focused. But fuck if someday, somehow, Deck would break that focus, and he would make Naim stop thinking and just be.
“I’m sorry, Deck. I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”
Deck kissed the top of his head and smiled. “I know you get touchy about that stuff. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Don’t do that.” Naim lifted his head and looked Deck in the eyes, reminded of the olive trees again. “Don’t be an apologist for me. I snapped at you and acted like a dick, and you have every right to, at the very least, be annoyed with me.”
Deck tried not to grin. “Okay. I’ll be annoyed with you if you want me to.”
“Deck.” Naim’s eyes were serious and warm, and he wanted Deck to hear him, but he got sucked in and dizzy too easily by those bright eyes and that enormous smile. And the giant fool called him beautiful.
“I’m sorry, love. I’m just not annoyed or angry or whatever you think I should be. I asked you a question I was pretty sure you didn’t want to answer, so I got what I asked for.”
Naim, already overwhelmed by his own thoughts and feelings, consciously chose to ignore what he’d heard. He laid his head back down and tried not to worry. But it was all too much. He’d let this go too far, and now it was too late, and here, lying with Deck, warm and safe and happy, he didn’t care. That scared him more than anything.
He finally understood how he felt about Deck, and Deck was smiling again and for now he was happy with Naim. That would be the only thing that mattered. For now. “You’re too easy on me.” He grimaced at the thought of treating Deck harshly.
“I could go a lot harder on you.” Naim could hear his grin, feel his chuckle, and see that goofy wink, even with his face pressed into Deck’s chest.
He didn’t say anything. He just threw his leg over Deck’s and jammed himself against Deck’s thigh.
Deck gasped loudly and sucked in a breath through his teeth, gripping at Naim in his arms.
Three seconds later, Peyton, Bosko and Mac came storming in, and Deck cursed multiple generations of their families, loudly and thoroughly, while Naim laughed.
Striding down the hall toward the physiotherapy room, Naim nearly twitched with anxiety. It was early afternoon, and he’d just come from assisting Dr. Glover in a lumbar spinal fusion during which she mentioned Deck was ready to be released.
“Excuse me?” Naim blinked at her.
“Your friend, the firefighter. I saw him yesterday afternoon after his MRI, and I think we’re ready.” Naim remained focused on what he was doing and tried to process this at the same time. “As long as he keeps up with his physiotherapy, there’s no reason why he can’t go home,” Glover finished.
Naim wasn’t listening. He tried to decide whether to tell Deck himself or wait for Dr. Glover to speak with him later in the day. He also tried to decide whether to pack a bag and leave town, curl up under a desk somewhere and cry, or celebrate naked. Only now was he able to appreciate how thoroughly he’d avoided thinking about when this day finally came and exactly what it would mean.
Deck was going home, and things were going to change. Significantly.
He reached the physio room, stopped, and took a few steps back.
Damn. He’d forgotten to change out of his scrubs. Perhaps he should go change now. Deck had commented more than once about how much he enjoyed Naim’s scrubs, and Naim knew he was just stalling.
He considered calling Frannie to see if she had anything free for the following morning, but… Stop it, Naim. You’re still stalling. This is a conversation to have with Deck, not Frannie.
Naim took a deep, settling breath, pushed the doors open, marched into the physiotherapy room and…
Stopped dead.
It had never occurred to him that in five weeks he’d never once seen Deck fully upright. He was always either in a bed, in a wheelchair, or moving between the two, somewhat crouched and careful. He’d been doing much better the past week, and Naim knew that he’d gotten a lot of his mobility back, but when Naim was with him, they spent that time together, not playing bedpan footie with the lads.
He knew Deck was tall and big and handsome, but the knowing was different from the seeing, and the seeing had just caused his brain to stutter, then stall.
About ten feet away, Deck stood, tall and big—in low-slung sweatpants, socks, and nothing else—tossing a small medicine ball back and forth with Kevin, working his weak arm.
He was sweating slightly through the exertion and pain, and his skin shone, pink and gold. Muscle everywhere…everywhere, moved and fluttered and flowed, and he was the most beautiful man Naim had ever seen in his life.
Hip bones that had no business doing anything ever but moving and being tasted, peeked out of the top of his sweats, framing the bottom of a stomach carved by a perverted, fetishist Renaissance sculptor. The chest that Naim was already learning by feel was somehow broader and more carefully shaped than his hands and head understood, slopes and curves, indentations that moved deep and across to his wide strong shoulders and back. A landscape of shadows and brightness and color.
Colors under and on his skin, colors that Naim had never appreciated in a body before. The light blue-green of thick veins trailing up his bicep and across the thin skin between collarbone and shoulder, and dull coral freckles traveling his arms and shoulders like a paint smattering of an ancient reef Naim had once seen off the coast of southern Italy.
The rune tattoo on his shoulder moved with him, the word that belonged so perfectly etched into Deck’s skin and came alive because he gave it life. Stark black against Deck’s fair flesh, the rough lines spelled out ver—an ancient word for we, telling so much about who Deck was.
Naim was a doctor, an experienced physician with a particular intimacy with human flesh. But here, for the first time, he saw and apprehended the true artistry of a body.
>
“Yeah, he does that.” A voice sounded in his ear, but Naim was still too spellbound to jump. “We fought with him for a few weeks, but he kept whining that his shirt bothered the wounds when he moved and got sweaty, so we just gave up.” Naim didn’t turn, didn’t look at the speaker, and didn’t care. “Really, he’s just a total exhibitionist.” Leah giggled.
She didn’t say anything for a minute but then took pity on him. She leaned over and whispered, “Your mouth is hanging open a little, Doc.” Naim closed his mouth, perfectly content to stand there for the rest of the day, as obvious and shameless a voyeur as Deck was an exhibitionist.
After another minute that allowed Naim to watch, growing more bewitched by the contradictions of simple but intricate beauty, Kevin called an end to the exercise and let Deck rest. Deck rolled his shoulder with a sour look on his face and turned. Seeing Naim, his face lit up immediately, and he bounded over to him like Clifford the Big Red Sex God.
“Naim.” Deck smiled and was really glad he’d taken his shirt off. After over a month of relative inactivity he knew he wasn’t at his best, but that was okay. The look on Naim’s face told him that everything was still where it was supposed to be. Deck knew, as a general rule, that he looked good, and he took care to, but he suddenly found that it was very important to him to look good for Naim. He wanted to see that expression on Naim’s face a lot more.
Stopping himself at a respectable distance, Deck gulped and pressed his lips together, thinking that it actually physically hurt to not be able to lean down and kiss Naim. He blinked widely and hitched his sweats up a bit. Appropriate and respectable, Deck. Appropriate and respectable.
“Hello.” Naim had doctor voice, and Deck felt a little silly for his enthusiasm. He hoped Naim wouldn’t be too annoyed. “Your physio looks to be going well. How do you feel?”
“I feel good. I feel good.” Deck nodded a little stupidly, closing his hands into fists in a supreme effort to keep them to himself.
“Good,” Naim replied. “You look—” Naim closed his mouth but his eyes grinned and cut away, and Deck laughed. It was okay. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Are you and Kevin done?” Naim asked after taking a breath and collecting himself.
“Yeah.” Deck turned, looked at Kevin, then turned back, mentally waving his physical therapist off. He so didn’t care. “Yeah,” he repeated. “Here or um…”
Naim snorted softly and shook his head. “We should—” He stopped and started again, trying not to sound regretful. “Go get your shirt.”
Deck grinned again, looked around quickly, then winked at Naim. Naim just shook his head more as Deck grabbed his shirt off a treadmill and was back at Naim’s heels within seconds, maneuvering his navy Fire Department T-shirt over his weak left side. Stepping into the corridor, Naim walked toward Deck’s room hoping this was the right choice. But Deck had been disappointed when Naim didn’t tell him about his arm coming out of traction, and if Naim were honest with himself, he’d admit that he wanted to be the one to tell Deck, to give him this.
He walked into the room, wondering if he should call Dr. Glover and double-check with her, when he was grabbed, spun, and pressed against the door, Deck’s mouth hot on his. Hands were on his shoulders, his arms, his chest, his waist…everywhere at once, and his lips swelled from nibbles and bites.
This felt different. With Deck towering over him, his hands, his body, everything felt bigger, and Naim felt small. It was a good feeling; a shift in the inequality of Deck being bedridden, and Naim liked it. Of course it helped that Deck was chewing on his chin and had stuffed his hands under Naim’s white coat, scraping hard at his back through his scrub tunic.
Deck’s head moved lower to Naim’s neck, nipping and licking his way back up toward his ear, where he’d learned that hot breath and a wet suckle would pull an airy whimper from Naim’s beautiful red mouth. Naim lifted his hands to Deck’s chest and bunched them in his T-shirt, the image of Deck’s bare flesh floating behind his eyes and melting him into jelly between Deck and the door.
Deck pulled him closer, one long, solid arm wrapping tightly and completely around Naim’s back, the other hand sliding, fingers and nails digging out of his coat and up to grip hard in his hair. Naim moaned, and Deck mewled, neither able to catch his breath.
Naim had a hazy thought about talking and slid his hands down Deck’s chest and belly to cling at the ends of his T-shirt and tremble.
Deck tried to breathe, laugh, and collect himself. It felt too good, and he didn’t want to stop, and Naim was at work, and this was going to go too wonderfully far, too easily, and this wasn’t where or how it should happen. He nuzzled Naim’s face, rubbing their cheeks together, finally stopping, and touching their foreheads.
“You’re short.” Deck laughed, breathless and happy.
“You’re a wall.” Naim smiled and lifted his hands to Deck’s shoulders.
Deck laughed again. “I am. I know.” Neither moved from the other; neither wanted to. Deck realized things were changing. Naim was coming out of himself and starting to let him in, and all he wanted to do was go home, lock them in his apartment, and spend a week drowning in the sound of Naim sobbing his name.
“I think you’re going home tomorrow.”
Deck pulled back, eyes wide, mouth open. “Wait, what?”
Naim immediately missed the feel of him, but his head was clearer for it.
“I just came from Dr. Glover. She said she sees no reason why you can’t go home tomorrow. You’re ready.”
“Oh, I’m ready. I am so ready!” Deck laughed and pressed Naim’s face into his neck. Naim inhaled deeply and dug his fingers into Deck’s shoulders.
Drawing away, Naim smiled again. “She has to see you tomorrow morning, but unless you throw yourself down a flight of stairs or out a window, I think you’ll be in your own apartment by tomorrow afternoon.” The look on Deck’s face was worth everything. Naim was glad he’d been the one to tell him.
“Fucking awesome.” Deck pulled him closer again, mindful of his shoulder and arm, and dropped his mouth to Naim’s ear. “So what are you doing tomorrow night?” he whispered and grinned, and the wispy curls above Naim’s ear tickled his lips.
“I…” Naim hesitated, the old familiar alarm crashing into him. Home. Deck was going home and things would be different and—shit. He needed to think. “Let’s get you out of here first. One step at a time, right?”
Deck could feel the change in Naim. He hated it, but it didn’t surprise him. He just wished he hadn’t pushed so hard and ruined the moment. “Right, you’re right.” Deck kissed his forehead gently and as nonthreateningly as he could, given the amount of blood not in his brain.
Naim tried to relax again and let Deck enjoy the happy news, but Deck was leaving the hospital, and now real life would take over. Things were going to change. Significantly.
His eyes went dark.
Chapter Eight
The following afternoon Liebgott and Laura picked Deck up, bringing him a duffel bag. He threw his shit in the bag, stuffed Dr. Glover’s prescription for his physiotherapy into his pocket, tossed the one for pain meds in the trash, and got the fuck out of there.
When they got to his apartment, he flopped down on his couch, cuddled the shit out of his cat, then kissed Laura thank you for taking care of the beast while he was in the hospital. Laura fussed over his wound for all of seventeen seconds before they both got bored with that, and she went to the kitchen, helping herself to a beer, ignoring the boys calling to her to bring them beer and food.
“Thanks, Lor.” Deck gave her a snot face.
“Get your own, lazy ass. You’re not broken anymore.” She smiled, dropping into the rattiest granddad chair ever seen outside of an alley.
Liebgott blew a raspberry and headed for the kitchen.
“So, where’s Naim?” she asked, putting her feet up on the coffee table. “I kind of thought he’d be around for the Great Escape?”
Deck grumbled unintelligibl
y, trying to stretch out his arm.
“What?”
“I said, shut up.”
“Whoa, are you pissing and moaning already? I figured you’d be happy for at least another four or five minutes.” Lieb wandered back in with a beer and made himself comfortable on the floor against Laura’s chair, leaning on her propped-up legs. There was nowhere else to sit in the apartment anyway; Deck wasn’t a big believer in furniture.
“You couldn’t get me one too, you selfish prick?” Deck snapped.
“Deck, shut the bitch factory down and tell us where Naim is.” Lieb looked back at Deck and his already epic sulk.
“I don’t. Know. He said he’s working, he’s got a busy day, but…” He trailed off. This was not at all how this day was supposed to go. He stood abruptly and stomped into the kitchen.
Laura and Liebgott exchanged looks and smiled. Lieb wrapped an arm around her legs and petted Sue, who’d wandered out of a closet trailing cat litter behind him.
Stomping back into the living room, Deck took a long drink from his beer, threw back a handful of gummy bears, and plopped back down on the couch. “Where’d my cat go?” he asked the ceiling.
“Right here. He’s jealous of the hissy fit you’re having.” Liebgott scratched the cat’s ears as Sue butted against his hand.
“Hey, ya know what. Fuck you.” Deck wanted to finish with something extremely witty, but he had nothing. He missed Naim already. He didn’t know why Naim wasn’t there, and he knew he was being kind of a dick. He looked up at his friends and slumped. “Sorry,” he mumbled, tossing Laura a purple gummy bear as a peace offering.
Laura giggled and looked down at Liebgott. “Told you. He’s just love struck. He misses his boo.”
“What do you mean you told me? I met Naim at the fire and called it.”
“Will you guys stop talking about me like I’m not here!”
They turned and looked at Deck, grinning, but Laura’s eyes turned softer. “Decks, you know Naim. He’s skittish.” Deck made a duh face. “This is kind of a big deal, you being free and everything.”
Smoke and Mirrors Page 13