From Morocco to Paris

by Lydia Nyx

  “I’ll see you all tomorrow,” Zane said as soon as the doors opened on his floor.

  Without looking back, he stumbled toward his room. He had to try several times to swipe the keycard properly. Once inside, he didn’t turn on a light. He paced back and forth beside the bed, running his hands through his hair. He fought the urge to release his anger for several long, buzzing moments made sharper by his drunkenness, and then he started kicking, throwing, and trashing everything around him.

  His clothes and suitcase hit the floor, as did everything on the vanity and the bedside stand. Finally, he collapsed on the bed crossways, trembling and trying to block out images of Davey and Ian tangled up on Davey’s bed — Davey’s bed, where Zane had spent yesterday morning.

  He’s not your boyfriend, his mind slurred at him. It’s fucking stupid to even be bothered by this. Don’t begrudge your brother a good time just because you suddenly have an inferiority complex.

  He prayed to just pass out, and maybe tomorrow when he woke up the whole thing would be a whiskey-induced dream. He teetered on the edge of fuzzy sleep when a knock at the door pulled him back. He thought he was dreaming, but when the sound came again he lifted his head.

  “Just a minnit,” he mumbled.

  He got up, stumbled to the door, and struggled with the knob, all the while his mind screaming Davey! Damn it, why did he have to fuck up the room? Davey would surely get a laugh out of the mess, never mind ever letting him live it down.

  Davey wasn’t outside the door though. Instead, Cristiano stood there.

  “Shh.” Cristiano pressed a finger to his own lips, a keycard in his other hand. He whispered, “Can I come in?”

  Zane stared at him a moment and then stepped aside to let him in. Somewhere in the back of his foggy mind, he realized this could only lead to bad things.

  “Whoa!” Cristiano giggled, stumbling in the dark. “What happened in here?”

  “Shitty maid service.” Zane tried to balance him, but the drunk propping up the drunk proved less than helpful. “Where’s Elliot?”

  “Sleeping.” Cristiano slipped his arms around Zane’s neck. “He fell asleep.” His breath gusted across Zane’s face, barely perceptible in his numbness.

  “If he wakes up, he’s going to wonder where you are.”

  “It’s all right. I’ll go back soon.”

  Cristiano lurched forward and their lips met in a sloppy kiss.

  “Oh fuck,” Zane mumbled against his mouth. “Cristiano, what about Elliot?”

  “Told you, he’s sleeping.”

  Zane was referring to more than Elliot’s current location, but Cristiano didn’t seem to care.

  “Mmm, you wanted to kiss me earlier,” Cristiano said. “Now you can.”

  “I wasn’t thinking right then. I’m not now either, but — “

  “Come on Zane, don’t you feel good? I feel good, all over.”

  Zane found himself unable to resist or to even really want to as Cristiano pushed him toward the bed. He hurt, Cristiano understood, and his whiskey-saturated brain cared about little else.

  They fell on the bed together, Cristiano underneath him. Zane wished he could feel more, because Cristiano’s lips were probably very nice, not to mention his hands, and his legs wrapped around his waist.

  “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first day I met you,” Cristiano whispered as he tried to clumsily remove Zane’s shirt. “I like Elliot, I do. But I’ve wanted you for so long.”

  Zane kissed his neck, his mouth, his face. He wasn’t entirely sure he could get hard in his state.

  “You’re going to regret this in the morning,” Zane warned. I’m going to regret this, for lots of reasons.

  “I know. Give me something to regret.”

  They kissed again, and then Cristiano whispered in his ear, something incredibly scintillating in Italian. He undid Zane’s pants.

  Zane thought he heard a sound but couldn’t connect it to a source. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Both of Cristiano’s hands were in Zane’s underwear, fondling his semi-hard cock. In a delayed reaction, Zane looked up and yelped in surprise. The silhouette against the light from the window could only be Davey.

  “How did you get in here!” Zane demanded.

  “You drunk bastards left the door open!” Davey sounded venomous. “Cristiano, get up and go back to your room, before Elliot finds you here!”

  Cristiano lay still a moment, apparently as unable to react as Zane.

  “Now!” Davey said.

  Cristiano got up. He found his shirt and keycard and stumbled to the door.

  “Bye, Zane,” he said softly, before slipping into the hallway.

  “Bye,” Zane called after him.

  Davey closed the door. He then switched on the bedside lamp. Zane winced, shielding his eyes with his hand

  “My brother must have finished quick,” Zane said.

  Off guard and half blind, Zane wasn’t ready for the volley of punches that swiftly rained down on his head and chest. He defended himself with his arms, trying to get away.

  “Hey!” Zane yelled.

  “You fucker!” Davey snarled. “I didn’t sleep with your brother!”

  The punches stopped, and Zane ventured an uneasy glance upward. Davey seethed, teeth clenched, eyes blazing.

  “You didn’t sleep with him?” Zane asked. “Then what the fuck was all that at the bar! In the car!”

  “I was trying to be polite, since you couldn’t see fit to call him the fuck off!”

  “It’s not my job to tell him no!” Zane lowered his arms. “You’ve got a fucking mouth, use it!”

  “He’s your brother, Zane! I was in a hell of a spot! Especially after that fucking speech at dinner, about how he was your precious brother, and you wouldn’t put anyone else above him!”

  “I am not your fucking knight in shining armor!” Zane struggled off the bed, head still spinning. “If you think I’m going to come running to your rescue like some lovesick fool, you’d better reconsider things! Because that’s not me and that’s not us!”

  Zane wondered where his cigarettes were. Nicotine might help clear his head.

  “Oh, so what’s this?” Davey motioned around at the mess, his voice choked. “And what’s with Cristiano? Trying to spite me?”

  “He came to me! He came to my fucking door!”

  “You sure didn’t turn him away!”

  “Now who’s the jealous asshole? We’re not married,’” Zane mocked. “Your words.”

  “We may not be married, but at least I have some fucking tact!”

  “Oh yes! Fucking tact. That’s why you didn’t tell my brother to fuck off when he had his hands all over you in the car!”

  Davey turned sharply and walked to the door.

  “Do you think he’s me with all the attributes you long for?” Zane yelled after him.

  Davey stopped and looked back at him.

  “Do you think he’ll be your boyfriend,” Zane asked, “and hold your hand, and show you off in public, like you want me to? Is that what you think? You’re gonna be surprised, because he might be my brother, but he’s not me.”

  Davey glared. Even with the haze over his vision, Zane could see the brightness in his eyes, threatening to overflow.

  “I know he’s not you,” Davey said lowly. He opened the door. “That’s why I didn’t sleep with him.”

  Davey slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Zane alone in the ringing silence, surrounded by the mess he’d made — in his room, and in his life.

  Chapter 14

  “God, you look like hell, Zane.”

  Zane sat down across from Ian, the smell and sight of the food on his brother’s plate making his stomach churn. He ached for a nice black coffee, but his stomach said no to solid food.

  “I should know by now how to avoid that, shouldn’t I?” Zane asked. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and then pushed his fingers back through his hair, which he hadn’t bothered to br
ush yet.

  “I’m surprised you’re up this early.” Ian had a newspaper open on the table in front of him and was sipping from a coffee cup. He hardly ever got hangovers. “You were wasted last night,” Ian said.

  “An understatement.” Zane looked up when the waiter came over. “Coffee, please. Black.” He looked back at Ian. “Always seems to happen when I go out with you.”

  “Just like old times.”

  “Yeah, well the old times are getting old.”

  Zane patted himself down for his cigarettes, then realized they were somewhere in the wreckage of his room.

  “You’re only as old as you feel,” Ian quipped.

  “I think I’ve aged twenty years overnight, then.”

  Ian took a sip from his cup and sat it down with a sigh. “Guess what? I’m buying dinner tonight.”

  Zane slumped in his chair and looked at the table. He ran a finger along the spoon lying at his right hand. “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Ian sounded glum, but resigned. “He said we just met, he doesn’t know me well enough to sleep with me. I like that, actually.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.” Ian picked up the paper. “It means he’s not a whore. He has some morals.”

  “Jesus, what does that say about you then?”

  Ian chuckled, leaning back and turning a page. “I don’t deny what I am. Remember who taught you everything you know?” He winked over the paper.

  Zane was too raw and too hung over to be having such a conversation. He liked hearing Davey’s side of things verified, but he didn’t like the ambition still gleaming in his brother’s eyes.

  “I think,” Ian said, “me with the men and you with the women, given enough time, we could fuck the entire human race.”

  Zane chuckled humorlessly and sat up. The waiter brought his coffee and put the cup down in front of him. The steam curling around his face and the smell provoked his nausea and made him draw back.

  “Thanks,” Zane mumbled.

  “Davey’s worth waiting for,” Ian said after the waiter walked away.

  Zane slipped his hands around the cup and absorbed the warmth. He wanted to say a lot of things, but his mouth was dry and his stomach hurt too much.

  “What, are you going to propose?” he managed to joke. The joke wasn’t funny, though.

  Ian scoffed. “Hardly.”

  “What was all that shit in the car yesterday then? About ‘settling down material?’”

  “Talking out my ass. I was trying to get laid. After having a night to think about it though — a night alone — I think he’s worth waiting for. Not too long of course, I’m only going to be here until the end of the week…”

  “God.” Zane rubbed his face. His hands were warm from the cup. “You’re in Cairo two days and you’re already in love.”

  “It’s not love, it’s…involved lust.”

  “That’s creative.”

  Ian sat forward, grinning. Zane couldn’t blame his brother and he couldn’t hate him. Ian acted like Ian, and Zane had always acted like Ian as well, emulating him in more ways than he cared to admit. Also, Ian still knew absolutely nothing about him and Davey.

  “I haven’t been turned down in a long time,” Ian said and his grin turned salacious. “Kinda exciting.”

  “’Hard to get’ can be a fun game,” Zane said. He leaned over and blew across the surface of his coffee. He added softly, “Unless someone gets hurt.”

  “He’s got a conscience, that’s sexy. I hardly ever meet guys with those.”

  “Maybe he’s just involved with someone.”

  As soon as Zane said the words, he wished he hadn’t. Not just for his own sake, but because of the look on Ian’s face.

  “He isn’t, is he? You wouldn’t let me make an idiot out of myself, would you?”

  Zane looked down at his coffee cup. “No. I don’t know. I don’t know much about his personal life.”

  Zane wondered how many lies he could tell before noon. He also wondered why he couldn’t just pick a spot and tell Ian the truth. Ian wouldn’t judge him — he would probably throw him a party, in fact. Still, the thought of confessing filled Zane with such nerve-jangling terror he thought he might actually vomit. He kept telling himself Ian was not their father.

  “He would’ve told me if he was,” Ian said.

  Zane took a tiny, experimental sip of coffee. Despite caution, the liquid burnt his tongue. He winced.

  “I don’t think he is,” Zane said.

  “I’ll ask him. Next time I see him.”

  Zane sat his cup down. He wondered what Davey would say — probably nothing, which only made Zane feel guiltier.

  They sat for a while, Zane drinking his coffee and Ian finishing his breakfast. Zane finally ordered some food too. He felt better with something in his stomach, enough he could take some aspirin. They helped further.

  As they were getting up to leave, Zane saw Cristiano and Elliot come through the door of the restaurant. Zane froze.

  Cristiano looked how Zane felt. Dark circles under his eyes, face haggard, and for the first time since Zane met him, he looked unkempt. Apparently, Elliot had not woken up before Cristiano’s return the night before, because he looked quite complacent, not at all like he wanted to kill Zane. Or fire him. Or fire him and then kill him. Still, Zane approached cautiously, his gaze flicking from one to the other.

  “Hey, guys,” Ian said as they met up. “How you feeling today?”

  “I’m fine.” Elliot smirked. “He’s pretty bad off, though. Gonna get him some coffee.”

  Cristiano met Zane’s gaze for a brief moment. He looked tense, his face uncharacteristically stony, and incredibly pale.

  “Yeah, coffee. That’ll help,” Ian said and patted Cristiano’s shoulder. “Should have given you some warning before you went out drinking with the Reed brothers!”

  Elliot shot Ian a look, and he and Cristiano walked off into the restaurant. Zane started out the doors to the lobby, letting out a breath he’d been holding.

  “I’ll meet up with you after a bit,” Ian said. “I think I’m gonna see if I can find a little gift for Davey. You know, to apologize for my behavior last night.” He smiled. “And maybe sweeten things up a bit. I’ll see you later.”

  Zane watched him go, Ian walking across the lobby with a spring in his step.

  “I hear he likes pottery,” Zane said regretfully, to himself.

  He slumped against the elevator wall on the way back up to his room, still too messed up to sort things out. He’d been awake most of the night, until the alcohol wore off and left him heavy and sick and wanting nothing but sleep. Mostly he’d lain on his bed, torn with indecision, alternately wanting to go find Davey and entertaining the notion of crawling into some dark corner and never coming out. He wasn’t accustomed to misery — he had spent his entire adult life fucking anyone willing and then moving on. Emotions made things too complicated.

  When he stepped out of the elevator, he saw Davey coming out of his room down the hallway. A duffel bag hung from his shoulder and he had a suitcase in each hand. He sat them down and turned to close the door.

  “Davey?”

  Zane walked cautiously toward him and Davey glanced up. He looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept much either. Zane stopped in front of him.

  “You going somewhere?” Zane asked. He looked at the suitcases as Davey picked them up again.

  “I’m going to Giza,” Davey said.

  “Saul said it’ll be another two or three days. Why are you going now?”

  “Never hurts to get a head start. I’m going to finish setting up wardrobe for Cristiano.”

  “Maybe I should go with you.”

  Davey looked at him and Zane saw his eyes were rimmed with red. They were steely too, unbearably cold, like the rest of his expression.

  “No, I don’t think you should,” Davey said. “Let’s not be coy about it. I need to get away from you.”

  “Davey, maybe — “
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  “Save it. I’m not going to put up with your shit anymore. And I’m not sticking around until you figure out who the hell you are. I think the price might be more than I’m willing to pay.”

  “How are we going to work together like this!” Zane scrabbled desperately for something, anything to make him listen, because he finally wanted to talk.

  “You can stay the hell out of my way when I’m dressing Elliot.”

  Davey sat one of the suitcases down, adjusted the bag on his shoulder, and pushed a hand into his jeans pocket. He pulled something out and shoved it into Zane’s hand — the picture of them from Zane’s binder, a sparkly pink heart sticker still on one corner. They’d stuck the picture on the mirror in Davey’s room.

  “You left that,” Davey said. He then picked up his suitcase and started down the hallway.

  “What am I supposed to do with it!” Zane followed him.

  “Burn it. Along with everything else you’ve charred in your wake.”

  Davey stopped at the elevator. He started to put his suitcase down, but Zane blocked his way so he couldn’t hit the button. Davey put both suitcases down and shoved Zane to the side, then smacked the button.

  “You only care about me when you’re losing me!” Davey said.

  “I care about you.” Zane held his hands out, still clutching the picture. “I care about you,” he said desperately.

  The elevator must have been on the floor directly above or below, because the doors opened quickly. Davey grabbed up his suitcases and stepped on. Zane didn’t follow him, because he didn’t want to push him so hard he actually did leave. If he got in the elevator they would fight all the way to the lobby and Davey would walk out.

  “Davey! Will you listen to me, for just one minute? Please?”

  Davey just looked at him in disgust. He turned his face away as the doors slid shut.

  Zane stood outside the elevator for several moments, trembling, fighting to find an answer in his screaming head. He looked down at the picture in his hand and hit the button.

  He caught up to Davey in the lobby, but only because of fate — Ian had come back. He and Davey were standing near the doors talking and Zane stopped, then slipped behind a magazine rack to listen.