by Kim Fielding
Wes didn’t quite understand the non sequitur but decided to go with it. “No.”
“Do you need to head back tonight? Or could it wait until tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s fine.” Wes’s heart beat a little faster as he tried to imagine why Parker was asking.
“Good. Then I have a plan.”
PARKER REFUSED to divulge the evening’s agenda. He simply grinned and took them back downtown, where he parked Morrison in front of a high-rise hotel. “My mom stayed here a couple times. It’s pretty nice.”
“The plan is to sleep here?” Wes hardly ever stayed in hotels. On those rare occasions when he remained in Portland overnight, maybe after a few drinks at a bar, he parked Morrison somewhere quiet and slept in the back. The night in Fort Bragg was the first time in ages he’d opted to check in somewhere.
“Yep. Part of the plan, anyway.”
Bemused but intrigued, Wes got a few supplies from the back. Those few changes of clothing and basic toiletries—stored as if he might take off on a spur-of-the-moment adventure, which he never did—had come in handy the previous night at Rhoda’s. And now here he was in Seattle with Parker. Who had a mystery plan. Wes felt a small flutter in his gut and tentatively identified it as a sense of adventure.
Parker handed the keys to the valet and led the way inside. He made all of the arrangements at the reception desk while Wes frowned at the mass-produced furniture in the lobby and drank a paper cup of lemon-infused water. Wes tried to pay, but Parker waved him away impatiently. “My plan, my dime. Don’t worry. I have enough in my account to cover.”
As Wes backed off, a small jab of envy struck him. Parker’s only current employment was his mother’s coffeehouse, and his only home was a bedroom in his mother’s house, but still he felt comfortable throwing away a couple hundred bucks on a hotel room. And that was because he lived with the rock-solid knowledge that whenever he fell, he had somebody to catch him. Wes didn’t begrudge that—in fact, because he cared about Parker, he was glad he had such security. But Wes couldn’t help but wonder wistfully what it would feel like to know that if you failed, someone would help you back onto your feet.
They went up to their room on the eighth floor, and Wes checked out the view—an alley far below with an old brick building on the other side. They stayed long enough to use the bathroom and drop off Wes’s things. He cast a look at the king bed and wondered whether Parker had requested that instead of two beds and, if so, whether that was part of the plan. Then they descended to the lobby, where Parker tapped at his phone to request a Lyft.
“We could take Morrison,” Wes pointed out.
“We’d have the hassle of parking. This is easier.”
As it turned out, they probably could have walked; the destination was only about a mile away. “There’s a hill,” Parker explained. “And rain.” Neither of which would have killed them. But Parker seemed intent on being lavish tonight, so Wes didn’t grumble.
To his surprise, the end of their journey turned out to be a mall, where Parker led him confidently to the fourth floor. On the other side of a big window, men dressed in white were making vast amounts of noodles and dumplings. The restaurant looked crowded, but apparently Parker had made a surreptitious reservation. It had been so many years since Wes had reserved a table at a restaurant that he had no idea how it was done nowadays. Via an app, he presumed. Jesus, he was like a crusty old time-traveler. Or a hermit.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Parker announced when they were seated. “The key to this place is ordering lots of little plates to share. Everything’s great.”
“You come here often?” Wes smiled to show he knew how hokey that sounded.
“When I can. They’re not open late, which is too bad, but sometimes a group of us would eat here before hitting the clubs. Or we’d come here before seeing a movie—there’s a theater in the building. Last year ten or twelve of us pigged out here and then saw the opening day of Thor: Ragnarok, which was cool. I’m not a huge, huge Marvel fan, but there are way worse ways to spend two hours than staring at Chris Hemsworth.”
Another bittersweet twinge as Wes imagined Parker carefree and happy with a gang of friends—and how he’d never experienced that himself.
Parker was obviously as hungry as Wes, so they ordered a lot. Dumplings, fried green beans with garlic, noodles, steamed buns, rice cakes. It was far too much and, as Parker pointed out, a carb overload, but everything tasted delicious. The company was even better. Wes found himself falling into easy banter about their respective chopstick skills, and then they shared stories about meal-related disasters they’d caused or experienced. Wes had a lot of fun, and if Parker wished he were sitting there with a gaggle of friends instead of just Wes, he never showed it.
Parker paid, of course. Then they waddled out of the mall, both of them rubbing their bellies and moaning about how full they were. “How about if we walk instead of riding?” Parker asked. “The rain’s mostly stopped, and we can work off some of that dinner.”
Wes didn’t bother to ask about their next destination since he knew Parker wouldn’t tell him.
He’d worn his raincoat, which was warm enough to ward off the night’s chill, but he thought Parker looked cold in his hoodie. It was nice to be walking around a new city at night with him. He kept up a running commentary on everything they passed. They strolled down the hill all the way to the bay, and after they’d walked only a short distance along the waterfront, Wes marched into a souvenir shop. He bypassed the snow globes, shot glasses, and tote bags.
“Why are we here?” asked Parker, hard at his heels.
But it was Wes’s turn to be mysterious. “It’s a surprise. Go wait outside.”
For a moment Parker looked as if he might object. But then he grinned and threaded his way to the door. When Wes was sure he was gone, he quickly perused the racks of clothing, finally settling on a navy jacket with a fleece lining. Perfect. Grinning to himself, he paid for the item and told the bored clerk he didn’t need a bag.
Parker waited impatiently just outside the door. “What did—”
“Here.” Wes thrust the jacket at him. “Put it on.”
Parker took the jacket and turned it around. His eyebrows lifted when he saw the image on the back: a drawing of Bigfoot hanging—King Kong-like—atop the Space Needle. “This is the most touristy thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I could go back inside and get you a Seahawks hat. Now put it on. I’m tired of watching you shiver.” To emphasize his command, Wes reached over and tore off the hang tag, which he stuffed into his pocket.
With an odd expression that Wes couldn’t read, Parker obeyed.
Their destination wasn’t much farther, as it turned out: the ferry terminal. Wes smiled as Parker bought tickets. “Bainbridge Island?” Wes asked when Parker rejoined him.
“Yep. It’s not exactly a tropical cruise, but it’s fun.”
“And I get to ride a boat.”
“Indeed you do.”
The ferry arrived a few minutes later, and Wes found its size surprising. For some reason he’d expected something smaller, more like a tugboat, maybe. Which was dumb considering how many people commuted daily on this boat—many of them with their cars, which took up the bottom level. Parker and Wes boarded, and although they could have sat inside, Parker took them to the deck at the ship’s bow. Wes was especially glad he’d bought Parker the jacket.
“We won’t have a great view since it’s cloudy,” Parker said, leaning forward against the rail. “And sometimes there are orcas, but it’s too dark to see them now.”
“This is nice.”
Parker made a happy noise and stood closer.
And it was nice. The ferry chugged across the placid surface, water lapping the sides and distant lights sparkling like fairies. The gentle rocking of the boat felt a bit disconcerting, but it helped to have Parker’s arm around him. Parker made a few obligatory Titanic jokes, but mostly they stood there side by side, listening to
the muffled chug of the engines. They had the deck entirely to themselves, and it was easy to imagine they were alone on a private vessel, leaving together on some great adventure. Maybe the best journey he’d ever have, no matter how long it lasted.
They disembarked on the island, and a few minutes’ walk brought them to a small downtown with brick and wooden buildings. The shops had closed already, and Wes and Parker certainly didn’t need any more food, so it was pleasant to simply stroll. The air smelled of saltwater, wet pavement, and green growing things, and Wes felt very far from home—in a good way.
“I used to watch Gilligan’s Island when I was little,” Parker said. “My dad had the whole series on DVD. Mom hated it—she wouldn’t even stay in the same room—but Dad and I would get pizza and watch a bunch of episodes in a row. I used to make lists of what I’d take with me if I went on a boat trip, just in case a three-hour tour turned into a shipwreck on a deserted isle.”
“All you brought today was the jacket I got you.”
“And you. I brought you.” Parker caught Wes’s hand and brought it to his lips, giving the knuckles a kiss before letting go. “If I’m gonna be stranded, I want it to be with you.”
It must have been a night for mixed emotions, because Wes’s chest felt tight with sorrow yet light with… something else. Affection? Gratitude? Happiness? Could a person be happy and sad at the same time?
They returned to the ferry dock and waited for the boat to arrive. “We should stay longer,” Parker said, sounding a little dreamy. “Three or four days. Then I could really show you Seattle.”
“I think your mom probably wants you back before then.”
Parker gave a single humorless laugh. “No. She probably—”
“It’s Thanksgiving in two days.”
That was clearly news to Parker, who blinked at him. “It is?” He took out his phone and checked the date. “Shit, it is. I guess I have to get back to Portland, then. Mom always does an event.”
“She’d want you there.”
Parker grabbed both of Wes’s hands. “You’re coming too.”
“I can’t—”
“No, you have to. It’s a thing. The house always fills up with people, there’s tons of food, we play dumb party games.”
A tightness tugged at the corners of Wes’s eyes. “Thanksgiving is for family, Parker.”
“Rhoda defines family very broadly. Look, when I was growing up, it was just the three of us. And after Dad died, I thought she was gonna give it up altogether. Maybe we’d go out or something. Instead she invited people over. Jeremy came, and a bunch of other people Mom collected at P-Town. It was so fun that we almost forgot to be sad that Dad wasn’t there. So it became a tradition.” Parker momentarily scrunched up his mouth. “A few years ago we had a little glitch because Jeremy was hospitalized after getting himself kidnapped and tortured. But even then Mom delivered food to Qay while he was waiting in the hospital.”
“I’m glad Jeremy recovered okay.”
“Me too. But Jeremy’s Big Adventure isn’t the point of my tale. You joining us on Thursday is. You have to come, Wes.”
Wes didn’t bother with an excuse about having other plans, because Parker would know better. And he didn’t try to describe the anxiety he’d feel among all those strangers—people who, knowing Rhoda, led fascinating lives—because Parker wouldn’t understand. Wes didn’t even explain that he hadn’t had Thanksgiving with anyone since his grandfather died. And even when his grandfather was alive, it was usually just the two of them—and a couple of steaks, because a whole turkey seemed excessive.
“We’ll see,” he said.
Parker narrowed his eyes as if seeing right through him, but he didn’t say anything. Nor did he let go of his hands.
The trip back to Seattle was magical, with the city lights appearing through the low-lying clouds, as if in a fairy tale. Seattle liked to call itself the Emerald City, most likely due to all the trees, but from the ferry deck, it could almost be the fabled capital of Oz. Ah, but much of Oz’s magic turned out to be a sham, didn’t it? The Wizard was just a con man from Omaha. And tomorrow Wes would drop off Parker in Portland and then return to his bus and his wood scraps and his ducks.
But just for tonight, couldn’t he pretend to believe in magic? It wasn’t so hard right now, with Parker leaning against him, blue hair ruffling in the wind, soft palm warm in Wes’s callused one. For tonight Wes would allow himself the luxury of wanting. Wanting the company of a friend, wanting a handsome, bright lover in a big hotel bed. He already knew what Parker’s lips tasted like; now Wes wanted to taste the rest of him. Wanted to know whether Parker was quiet or noisy while making love, what kinds of touch drove him wild. God, wanted to know what it would feel like to give himself up and over to Parker for just a few hours.
The lights of the Emerald City drew closer, and Wes didn’t let go of Parker’s hand.
THEY WALKED the few blocks from the ferry terminal to their hotel. Parker pointed to a building as they walked past Pioneer Square. “Do you know about the underground tours?”
“No.”
“Touristy but fun. The city used to be lower, but they raised the street level ’cause of floods and backed-up toilets. Now you can walk around what used to be the first floor.”
“Interesting.” But Wes’s mind wasn’t on Seattle’s architectural history. He was thinking about what might happen when they reached their room and how, if Parker kissed him this time, Wes wouldn’t push him away. And if Parker didn’t initiate things, should Wes? He had been the one to start the most recent kiss, the one in the parking garage, and Parker had enthusiastically participated.
Maybe he should stop overthinking things and just let them happen.
When they were a block from the hotel, Parker grabbed Wes’s hand and tugged him along. “Keep up, old man,” he said with a laugh.
“Old man?”
Wes pulled his hand free and took off at a sprint. Parker was younger and taller, but Wes was in decent shape, and his old sneakers worked better for running than the combat boots Parker wore. Wes beat him to the front door by a yard or so, and they were both laughing so hard that it was hard to walk. They half stumbled through the lobby to the elevators, then jostled each other playfully for access to the buttons. Wes won that little contest too, but when they reached their floor and raced down the hallway, Parker reached their room first and unlocked the door. They wrestled each other through the opening, and as soon as they were inside, Wes closed the door with a thud that probably annoyed their neighbors. He threw himself at Parker, driving him up against the wall.
He didn’t exactly mean to do it; he’d intended to let Parker lead the way. But he didn’t regret it either, not when he had Parker in his arms and Parker grabbed Wes’s head, mashing their lips together in a sloppy kiss. Salty lips, slippery tongues, heat and moisture and want. They’d kissed before, of course, and those were wonderful experiences. This was too. But Wes wanted more, and judging by the needy moans Parker was making, so did he.
Clothes got in the way. Parker’s dumb new jacket and hoodie, Wes’s trusty old raincoat and favorite henley. Not willing to break contact, they kept their mouths together while scrabbling ineffectively at each other’s zippers and buttons. Wes managed to shed his jacket and both of his shoes, but Parker remained entirely clothed, his hoodie and T-shirt rucked up to his neck and his unfastened jeans hanging on his hips.
“Wait!” Parker gasped.
Wes backed off at once, silently cursing himself for presuming. He shouldn’t have thrown himself at Parker. He shouldn’t have—
“Better,” Parker said as he shrugged out of his coat and then pulled his hoodie and shirt over his head. He threw them aside, hitting a lamp and nearly knocking it over. “I’ve been waiting for this. Let’s take our time and not end up in the emergency room, okay?”
Wes’s lust hadn’t diminished, and now relief made his ardor burn brighter. He tried to undress himself slowly, helped by the f
act that his hands were trembling. He kept his gaze averted from Parker in an attempt to remain relatively calm, but he could still hear him—the rustle of cotton and creak of leather, the heavy rasps of his breaths. And he could still feel Parker, even though they stood a couple of feet apart. It was as if Parker had an aura that reached out to Wes, enveloping him, bathing him in warmth.
Wes was naked first, mostly because he didn’t have bootlaces to undo, but Parker took only a little longer. They stood, simply staring.
They’d caught sight of each other naked before; it was inevitable in the close confines of Wes’s bus and with his outdoor open shower. And Wes was honest with himself—he appreciated the glimpses he’d seen. But now they could gaze openly, and that was a major improvement.
Parker was beautiful. His pale skin contrasted with the dark patch of hair at his groin and the tousled cobalt falling over his forehead. Wes suspected his hairless chest and belly were due to waxing or some other form of manscaping. Parker was lean and sharp-hipped, with his abs clearly but not starkly defined, and his half-hard cock perked up a bit more as Wes watched.
“Nice,” Parker said, leering broadly. “God, really, really nice.”
Wes glanced down at himself. His forearms and lower legs still bore a bit of a tan; southern Oregon got more sun than Portland or Seattle, and he liked to work in a T-shirt and shorts when he could. He had never manscaped in his life, but he’d never been especially furry, and in any case, the dusting of dark blond hair on his torso wasn’t too visible. He used to work out, back when he was a kid and then again when he was in the bureau, but for the past several years his exercise regime had consisted mostly of walking a lot and lifting heavy pieces of furniture. Because he was naturally somewhat burly, that was enough to keep him looking solid. And his cock was as eager as Parker’s.
He was, Wes realized with surprise, proud of his body and pleased to offer it to Parker. I’ve put that spark in his eyes. It was a heady feeling.