by BA Tortuga
His feet slowed, but he kept going, not willing to make the fellow nervous by pretending he wasn’t following. Connor lowered his own eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to….”
“It’s cool. You want a beer? You look… new.” He got another smile, the lack of threat here unnerving as anything.
“A beer.” Well, that would be something in his belly. He had money. Maybe he could get this man to show him how to get food. “Yes, I would.”
Connor tilted his head, breathing in the man’s scent. “What’s your name?”
“Adrian D’Angelo.” A hand was held out to him, lean and delicate and fine. “Nice to meet you.”
“Connor.” He thought about what his last name ought to be. He’d never be calling himself by his old master’s name again. “Connor Derry. Pleased to meet you.”
“Hey.” The smile widened, Adrian’s head cocking to one side. “What’s your position on pizza with your beer? I’ve been in rehearsals for hours and I’m starving. Papa Gino’s rocks.”
“Pizza.” He felt like a dolt, repeating the man’s words. “Is there meat on that?”
“Can be. Doesn’t have to be. I’m not a vegetarian, though, so I hope there is. Sausage. Beef. Pepperoni. Ham. I’m easy.”
“Ham. I like ham.” He never got beef, even though he’d won every one of his fights. He’d had sausage more than once…. “Then I would be glad to go with you.”
His stomach rumbled loudly, embarrassing him.
“Cool. Me too. So, where are you from? You have a great voice—like music.” They started moving again, toward the lights and the crowds, Adrian fearless. “I’m from California, originally, then Oklahoma, then Boston. Now here.”
“Like music? Really? I’m from Ireland. I… I just arrived.” He stayed close to Adrian’s back, just like he was on a leash.
“Oh wow. Ireland? Really? Did you like it there? All the pictures I’ve ever seen were so green, so pretty.” Adrian held back, pointing to a glass door. “There it is. Papa Gino’s. Let’s go sit.”
“It’s very green. And wet. Is it wet here?” Maybe he could live aboveground here. Not down in the cavern-like cages. Connor blinked, smiled. He could do whatever he wanted, couldn’t he, then?
The restaurant smelled like spicy meat and like something… red. Red and good. It made his mouth water.
“Sometimes, but not all the time. It’s a nice place. I like it. God, that smells good. Do you like fried cheese sticks? My treat. I’m starved.” They sat together at a little table, the scents hitting him from every angle.
It was all he could do not to get up from the rickety little chair that almost refused to hold him, and sniff all over. That might make him stand out, though. A bit. “I’m very hungry” was all he said, smiling tentatively.
“Yeah? Well, then. We’ll get a large pie and cheese sticks.” Adrian slipped off the long coat, giving him a scent of male, pure need.
His senses snapped to attention, his cock rising in his trousers. Oh God. Connor plopped a napkin there, hiding under the tiny table as best he could. “That sounds good.”
Though he wasn’t sure what pie had to do with this pizza thing.
“Excellent.” Adrian waved someone over—someone who smelled much less sexual, more like food and red and spice—and started talking, hands waving, eyes just sparkling. So alive, so hungry and happy.
Connor was absolutely fascinated. So much, in fact, that he missed what Adrian had just asked him. “Hmm?”
“Is Miller Lite okay? Or do you want a Guinness?” Adrian blushed, cheeks bright pink. “I don’t know what kind of beer you like in Ireland.”
“Oh, I….” He knew Guinness, but he had also heard from the sailors that it was expensive here. “I…. The Miller is fine.” Gracious. He was acting an idiot.
“Yeah? Okay. Two Millers and two orders of cheese sticks. We’re hungry.” Adrian didn’t seem in the least bothered by him, the quick smile landing on him again. “Did you come in on a boat? A ship? Whichever. I mean, is there a difference?”
“There is.” That he knew too. Somehow Connor thought it impossible to grow up on an island and not know. He could remember, once, way back when he was a growing lad, his father or grandfather or… someone, had been a fisherman. “A ship, I came on. A vast one.”
“Wow. It always sounds so romantic, working on a ship. I know it can’t be, but it’s nice to think of it that way—fun and free and windy and wavy.”
“It’s hard work.” But good work. Decent work. The beer set in front of him looked pale, but it smelled like beer, and tasted like the same with a good deal of water mixed in. “I liked it.”
“Yeah? Cool. I’m a musician, so I probably don’t work hard, but it feels like it after eight hours.”
Oh. Oh, the man made music. Connor almost bounced, but he feared for the chair. “There’s nothing in Ireland we admire more.”
That just made that smile wider, brighter. “Oh, cool. I love it, you know? Playing. It’s fabulous.”
Two paper bowls were put in front of them, steaming. “Careful, they’re hot-hot.”
They smelled like grease and like soft cheese and that red smell. Connor watched Adrian, wondering what he was supposed to do. “What do you play?”
Adrian picked one up, dipped it in a cup of… red, then bit carefully. “Violin. I’ve been playing since I was four years old.”
“I like the fiddle.”
He knew that wasn’t necessarily the same, but it was close. Connor dipped one stick thing in the red sauce and bit into it, his eyes going wide. Oh. The red was sweet and spicy and a little thick and oh. Good.
Adrian nodded over, seemed to understand. “They’ve got the best marinara sauce, huh?”
A little crunchy, a little soft, and very, very tasty. “Yes. They do. Thank you.”
Adrian nodded, eating with gusto and giving him leave to do the same. Hot. Rich. Good.
Then the pizza came.
Adrian groaned. “Oh, that looks fabulous.”
He washed down the last of the “marinara” with his beer, looking mournfully at the little cup. Then he sniffed. There was more. On the pizza. And meat. Three different kinds of meat. Connor nearly tore into it with his teeth like the wild animal he was, but at the last minute, he remembered where he was.
He watched Adrian take a slice, fold it in half, and start eating, the marinara bubbling out the top onto the long fingers.
Connor moaned a little, reaching for a piece and doing the same, the flavor of it exploding in his mouth. Dribbling down his chin as well. “’S good.”
“Uh-huh.” They managed two pieces each before Adrian waved for two more beers and more napkins. “Almost as good as cheesecake. Maybe as good.”
“Cheesecake?” Oh, he had been deprived if there was something else as good as this. “I had cream tarts once. They were almost as good as this.”
“Cream tarts? Like cream cheese or whipped cream?” Adrian leaned close, grinned. “There’s a place a few blocks down? Caramel cheesecake. Oh. My. God.”
His eyes went wide again. Adrian smelled better than marinara. That was saying quite a lot. “I…. We… I would like to try it.”
“We should. After we finish our pizza.” Adrian nodded, stretched, knee bumping against his. “Where are you staying? Do you have family here?”
“No. No family.” When had he last had family? He couldn’t remember. “I said I’d just arrived, yeah? I’m not sure where I’ll stay.”
“That would really wig me out, not knowing where I was going to sleep. I have a little apartment—nothing fancy, just a place.”
“I’m sure it’s a good place.” Connor smiled. He would bet this man’s place was full of little fluttery things, colorful and floaty. They would tempt him to play. “I will find somewhere.”
“Yeah. I…. Yeah.” Adrian pinked, nodded. “But not right this second, huh? We have pizza to finish and dessert to hunt.”
Hunting. He was good at that. “Yes.
Cheese cake.” Though he imagined a Christmas cake with a clock of cheese on top.
“Yeah. Caramel cheesecake.” Adrian lifted his beer, saluting him. “I’m glad I almost ran into you, Connor. I’d have missed a great supper, otherwise.”
“I am glad I met you as well.” He would have gone hungry for certain. The ordering food and beer seemed so complicated. “Thank you.”
Adrian’s laugh was soft, warm, not in the least cruel. “I’ll try to run into you again.”
His cheeks heated, but he could not help but laugh in return, the sound rusty as an old gate. “I will look forward to it, Adrian. I truly will.”
GOD, HE was losing his mind. Really. Truly. Losing it.
Laughing over cheesecake and coffee and flirting like mad with a guy who looked like he’d been in a war. Oh man. Ireland. Uh…. They had bombs and shit there. Didn’t they? At least they used to. Adrian sort of remembered that whole Catholic/Protestant exploding thing.
That would probably suck, getting blown up, and if that wasn’t a good excuse to be nice to a perfect stranger, Adrian didn’t know what was.
He held out a bite of turtle cheesecake. “Here, try this too. It’s almost as good as yours.”
Sharp-looking white teeth grabbed the nip of sweet right off his fork, tongue catching the little bits of crust that tried to crumble away. Connor blinked. “Oh. Good.”
“Mm-hmm. It is.” He liked Connor’s face. It was stupid, he knew it, and he also knew it was partly Connor’s voice because it was like music, but there was something that just….
His cock jerked a little, made him shift. Yeah. That.
Really, the man’s face looked like he’d been a brawler back home. Scars, faint enough that they must have been inflicted years ago, wandered across cheeks and nose in random, fascinating patterns. His nose sat off center, his lips were not too full or too narrow, and Connor had the truest, oddest gray eyes Adrian had ever seen.
And of course, the man was huge and wide, roped with muscle.
Just odd and interesting and yummy.
He leaned back, trying not to admire too hard, because Connor could snap him like a twig, and he had to play Marriage of Figaro on Friday.
Those thirty-second notes would be a bitch to play if he was dead.
The last bite of Connor’s cheesecake disappeared, the man sitting back to sip his hot tea. Such an odd thing, to see those big hands going through the motions of the tea bag and the little pot that came with boiling water.
“So why did you decide to come to Baltimore? New York too busy? Boston too cold?” He grinned, pouring cream in his coffee. “And if it’s none of my business, just say so. I’m just curious as a cat. Everybody says so.”
“A cat, hmm?” That seemed to amuse Connor to no end, a huge, true smile spreading across his face. “Figures. It seemed a good place. Boston’s cold, yeah? New York is enormous.”
“Bitter cold, yeah.” He grinned back. “Yeah, the competition in New York is insane. You can just play here. Live. Enjoy yourself.”
“That’s what I thought too.” Grinning, Connor stretched, sending muscles sliding under the ratty fisherman’s sweater. “Well, I thank you for this. The cheese cake was lovely.”
Connor said it as two distinct words, like it was a special thing.
“Anytime. I enjoyed it. A lot.” Connor wasn’t terribly chatty, but everything the man said sounded so exotic. “Do you have a girlfriend back home? Waiting for you, I mean?”
Not smooth, but not completely dorky. Go him.
“A girl… no. No, I don’t. I’ve no one.” Connor looked almost baffled by that.
“No? That’s cool. I mean, you’re in a new place now, and you are available….” Okay, sliding toward complete derp. Stop. “How’s the tea?”
“It’s weak.” He got a wry little grin. “One thing I always got even when times were bad was good strong tea.”
“Strong tea? Do they make strong tea?” He teased, foot just barely rubbing Connor’s toe.
Connor jumped a little, eyes wide, a ring of much darker gray appearing in those pretty eyes. He felt Connor press right back. “They do. Enough to etch steel. But then, we put milk in.”
“So you’re really drinking coffee in tea bags?” Oh. Oh, cool. Flirting. He could do flirting.
“Oh no. Coffee has a whole different flavor.” Those hands turned the teacup round and round, the backs of Connor’s fingers just as scarred as his face, only deeper, more harsh.
“You sure? Maybe you should try a sip of my coffee, just to make sure.”
“I’m sure.” Their ankles clunked as Connor’s foot slipped a little too close. A blush stained those pale cheeks, Connor looking determinedly at the tabletop.
Adrian took his fate in his heads, purposely brushed their ankles together again before offering the last bite of his cheesecake.
Connor took it and chewed slowly, foot rubbing against his over and over. “Have you a girlfriend? Someone special?”
“No. I’m not the girlfriend type.” He lifted his chin, the silver chain with the rainbow of little rings visible. “And my last boyfriend left me for a trucker heading west.”
Connor titled his head, staring at the necklace for long moments. Then his words seemed to register. “A trucker… well. That. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, how cool could he have been if he left me for a growly old dude with no teeth?”
That surprised a laugh out of Connor, and it made Adrian sad that it sounded so disused. Then Connor sobered, the foot flirting slowing. “My last… friend. He died.”
“Oh….” He reached out, stroked Connor’s wrist. That just bit the big one. “I’m so sorry. That sucks so hard.”
The pulse under his thumb began to race. “I… It was not unusual, where I’m from. Young men die.”
“Yeah? You must come from a rough place. I mean, there are gangbangers here and shit, but it’s not common.”
“I left for a reason.” Connor scratched one long scar on his cheek with his free hand, the other staying captive under his. “Are you… am I keeping you? Not that I want you to go. I just….”
“No. No, I was just going home to watch some TV. Relax. Would…. Are you? I mean, I have tea bags at my apartment….”
Connor’s mouth opened, tongue pink and wet where it touched his lips. “I…. That would…. Yes?”
“Excellent!” He nodded, grinned. “Cool. That way we can hang out and you can teach me what real tea tastes like.”
“I could, yes. If you have milk?” Connor dug in his pocket and came out with a handful of bills. “Can I pay for this?”
“I do and you can, but be careful, huh?” He reached out, pulled a twenty. Man, right. Different money. Uh. Shillings and shit? “I’ll give you a quick US currency lesson at my house.”
“Okay.” Nodding and smiling, Connor stuffed more than Adrian’s monthly wages back into his front pocket, bouncing up like a happy puppy.
He grabbed his case with one hand, Connor’s arm with the other. “Come on. I have a little loft—nothing fancy, but solid and pretty.”
Connor followed, hesitating a tiny bit when they hit the street again, looking almost panicked. “So much noise,” Connor murmured.
“It is loud, isn’t it?” He nodded, squeezing Connor’s arm. “That’s one great thing about my place. I put acoustic tiles up everywhere. It’s so quiet.”
“Oh….” Sounding almost reverent, Connor started them moving again. “That sounds wonderful. Not that it’s quiet where I’m from, but this traffic and people and all. It’s very different.”
“I’d love to hear about it. Do you like music? Like singing? With your voice I bet you’re great.” They wove down the street, in and out of the crowds.
“I’ve never really tried, I suppose.” Staying close, Connor sort of… loomed over him. It was kind of cool.
“You should. You’d be excellent.” He dared to lean a little closer, touch.
“It would sound like t
he howling of a wolf, I imagine.” One big hand ghosted over the small of his back, brushing lightly.
“No. And that’s sort of a music, huh? Kind of?” He shivered, stepping closer, drawn.
“Oh, I like traditional music. I’m just not sure I could carry a tune without sounding like a beast.” Warm. Connor felt huge and warm and hard-muscled.
“We’ll just have to try it.” He whistled a jig, one that he’d learned back in grade school, just enjoying the heat, the closeness, the strength of the man beside him.
A warm chuckle floated to him on the night, Connor humming right along. Oh. That was a sweet voice. It really was.
They made their way up to his building, then up the three flights of stairs, Connor close, almost helping him up the narrow stairways.
He’d bet the man could carry him with no more problem than he would carry a fly. It was kinda weird. But good. They got inside, and Connor looked around, nose twitching.
It was kind of wild—the ceiling was draped with feathers and ribbons and little lights, the walls were covered in scores. He had a few big pieces of furniture, but mostly he had beanbags and pillows and shit. Casual stuff. Light stuff. Easy to move stuff.
Connor grinned at him, wide and white, pulling the watch cap off his head, finally, showing close-cropped black hair. “I like it.”
“Thanks. I do too. I’ll put your coat in the closet, if you want?” He shrugged his own coat off, put the violin away, then pottered over to turn on the stereo. No messages on the machine.
“Oh. Thank you.” The peacoat smelled of man and something like charcoal, and like the sea. Deep and salty and musky. It was a good smell. “Where should I sit?”
“Down.” He grinned at the confused look on Connor’s face. “I’m not formal. Just find a comfy spot and snuggle in.”
“Oh. Fair enough.”
Connor wandered, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking at everything, laughing at this and that.
Adrian plopped down on a soft corduroy beanbag, cuddling in with a grin. “Man, I’m full. That was a good pizza.”
“It was.” Connor sorta bounded over and plopped down beside him on a big plaid floor pillow, hand right next to his hip. “I like marinara. A lot.”