Wheels and Heels

by Jaime Samms

  “And some food, Mel,” Jed told her.

  She made an exasperated sound, but nodded.

  “What would you like?” Jed took the seat next to Ira.

  “Is there soup, or—”

  “Beef stew.” Jed smiled. “Good, I’ll—”

  “Vegetarian,” Ira whispered, making Jed cock his head. He leaned closer to Jed, feeling the tickle of his beard, and repeated himself.

  “Of course.” Jed turned to Mel. “A beef stew and a—” He glanced at Ira. “I don’t know if we have vegetarian.”

  “Fish is okay,” Ira told him. “Cheese and eggs and milk too.”

  “Okay. Chowder?”

  Ira nodded. “Thanks.” He stared at his own lap, smoothing his palms over the thighs of his jeans. A tag itched at his side, and he dug an elbow against it, which only made it scratch worse. He’d never understand why women’s clothes had a tag right in that spot that set off his gooseflesh response. His nerves jangled, and he looked up to find he was getting curious stares from both patrons and other bar staff alike.

  “I guess a lot of people here know you?” he asked.

  Jed grinned. “I’d introduce you, but then they’d never leave us alone.” But he did point to the far end of the bar. “That’s Johnny over there. He’s here a few nights a week. One-beer limit, and is only here when he doesn’t have to mind his little sister. Over in the corner, with the curly blond hair, is Rex, and his two—well. I suppose officially, they’re bodyguards, Stewart and Carver, but I think there’s more there than meets the eye.” He winked. “By the fire, that’s Perry. He’s usually here with his husband, though some nights, he comes in and drinks bourbon and does the crossword by himself.”

  Ira followed Jed’s narrative, taking in the men he pointed out. They all looked so at home, like they were sitting in their own living room. The murmur of voices and occasional roll of laughter only enhanced that feeling. He tucked his hands between his knees and let out a sigh. Tension melted out of him. He’d never been in a bar where he felt more at ease.

  Mel set his water down with a soft thunk, drawing his attention back. “A beef stew and a clam chowder. That it?” She gave Jed a baleful look, but he only grinned at her.

  “Yup. Thanks, Mel.”

  “So you know, I am not dealing with Herschel when he finds out he’s still cooking at this hour.”

  Jed waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I can handle Herschel.”

  “I don’t want to cause trouble,” Ira said.

  Jed slipped an arm around his waist, making Ira grateful that the barstools weren’t fixed to the floor. It was nice sitting so close to him. “No trouble, darlin’. No trouble at all.”

  For a few minutes, Ira snuggled at Jed’s side, the trouble with his dance audience, his grumbling stomach, and irritating clothing forgotten. Jed made it easy to relax, and that was rare enough to be noteworthy.

  The bike ride from the bar to their building was much less eventful, though Ira’s grip around his middle was no less intense. So was it his hatred of bikes, or the excuse to get close that had his hands twisted tight in Jed’s clothing and his chest plastered to Jed’s back? Or both? Jed hoped the chance to cling at least made it onto Ira’s radar. It for sure made the irritation of losing another battle with the mysterious garden invader less intense.

  Instead of cursing the person who kept taking down his little fence, he simply stuck it back into the soil and smiled slightly when Ira came behind him and straightened it.

  Once inside, Ira made no objection to Jed walking him to his door, or entering his space. The place was as tidy as Jed remembered, kitchen spotless, though now he knew this was because Ira rarely used it. The sitting area, neat as a pin, still managed to look inviting, and the worktable was well organized. A pile of small boxes sat on the floor next to it, and the wall above was once again papered in sketches.

  While Ira exchanged a few brief texts with someone, Jed studied the wall of nude drawings.

  “That was my friend,” Ira said, holding up his phone. “She likes me to text when I get home, so she knows I’m good.”

  Jed nodded. “That’s good.” He turned back to the drawings, fascinated.

  Ira set their boots on a shelf by the door and hung their coats on hooks. It was interesting to Jed, seeing Ira’s delicately heeled half boots and perfectly tailored tan leather jacket next to his own heavy bike gear. If he didn’t know Ira was a guy, it could be easy to draw false assumptions from his living space. Even his working sketches were taped up in an orderly fashion, no paint showing in gaps between the pages, despite the varying sizes of the sheets.

  Jed could identify which of the finished sculptures on the shelf above the worktable were based on which sketches. He could also see that some of the pencil art had not yet been rendered in coloured clay. He wondered why that was. Were they too risqué? Most of them were depictions of fey creatures with fanciful features and elaborate body art posed in all-too-human displays hinting slyly at kink and bondage. He didn’t remember seeing most of those more explicit scenes the last time he’d been in the apartment when the pictures had been on display.

  Ira watched Jed in silence.

  “They’re good,” Jed said at last. It was a vast understatement, but he was at a loss how to express his admiration without sounding pervy.

  “Thank you.” Ira’s voice was low, a little husky, and his gaze downcast.

  “Ira?”

  Ira gazed at Jed through lowered lashes.

  “Come here.”

  Ira did, though he stopped when he was barely within arm’s reach.

  “Are you okay?”

  Ira nodded.

  “Should I go?”

  Still silent, Ira hugged himself, fingers scratching at his ribs, but he shook his head.

  “Okay.” Slowly, Jed took a few steps closer to him. “What’s going on?”

  “Why are you hanging on?” Ira asked.

  “Sorry?”

  “You saw me dance.”

  “I did.” A shiver travelled down Jed’s spine. He couldn’t get the image of Ira in his skirt and filmy top out of his head, in fact. “And?”

  “I saw your face. You weren’t expecting to see me up there. It shocked you. I saw it. I saw the anger . . . and . . . I don’t know what.”

  Jed gulped back denial. Of course he’d been shocked. He’d pegged Ira as a timid, introverted creature. The Ira on stage, the man who had confronted Bernie afterwards, had been neither. “It was unexpected,” he admitted.

  “Unexpected.”

  Was he disappointed? Did he want some other reaction from Jed? Once more, he scratched at his side, a nervous tic, maybe, and Jed reached over to take his hand away before he ruined the delicate blouse. It was too pretty, and complemented the stormy blue of his eyes. Jed gave himself a small shake—more like a shudder—and focused back on the conversation. “Yes. Unexpected. I was shocked to see you up there.”

  Ira’s frown sketched lines between his sculpted brows. Very carefully, he eased his hand free.

  “What do you want me to say?” Jed asked.

  “The truth.”

  Yes, but which part? “The truth.” He pulled in a deep breath, let it out, and examined his truth from a few different angles. Which side did he present to Ira? “The truth is I don’t make a habit of frequenting strip clubs. Landon wanted to go to that particular bar. I wasn’t expecting strippers—”

  “I wasn’t stripping,” Ira protested.

  “Well.” Strictly speaking, no one had taken off more than their shirts. But they weren’t dancing ballet up there, either. “What should we call it, then?”

  Ira’s jaw set and he crossed his arms. “I don’t take my clothes off in public.” He scowled, and his eyes flashed, but he didn’t shy away from meeting Jed’s gaze. “Anymore.”

  Jed nodded, grappling with unreasonable anger and unexpected pride that at some point in his past, Ira once had revealed himself to strangers for money, but had deci
ded, for whatever reason, not to anymore. He watched Ira through the heated slice of double-edged emotion.

  Obviously, he was going to have to get used to feeling a lot of different and conflicting ways around this man. “Fair enough,” he allowed. “In any case, I wasn’t there for the acts, I was there for Landon. I was surprised he’d go on a night they had strippers—dancers,” he corrected himself. “It isn’t usually his bag. And yes, seeing you up there was a shock.” He watched Ira, hating the inward curl of his shoulders, the repeated, unconscious picking at his shirt, but this was a conversation they had to have. “I hated it and I wanted to throw a blanket over you and get you out of there.” He held up a hand when Ira opened his mouth. “Let me finish.”

  Ira nodded.

  “I also think you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And I had a few to choose from tonight. None of them rivaled you up there. But I live in this city, just like you. This neighbourhood. Hell. This building. I know what it costs.” He waved a hand at Ira’s worktable. “Your art is exquisite. But I’m not under any illusions about how many bills it pays.”

  Ira’s jaw tightened.

  “The truth is maybe a little like you and my bike.”

  Ira’s brows went up, and he met Jed’s eyes. “Your bike?”

  “You say you hate it.” Jed took a step closer to him. “But you were awfully close to me on the ride home. Something about it all turned you on too.”

  Ira’s flush couldn’t quite be called sweet. Not with the way his eyes glimmered and his breathing hitched and came a little faster.

  Jed touched the side of his face, wanting to get closer, but not sure if they were there yet. “So can’t I hate it and love it too?”

  “Most guys wouldn’t want to be with me unless I stopped.”

  “Not my decision to make, and hellishly unfair of me to give that kind of ultimatum.”

  This time, Ira was the one who moved closer. “You’ll resent me for it eventually.”

  “Now you can predict the future?”

  Ira’s eyes were big, fixed on Jed. “People do.”

  Jed cupped Ira’s face. “Maybe guys have. I’m not them, so how about this: I let you do you, and you let me do me, and we see how that works out.”

  “Together?”

  Jed answered with a kiss. Not the same as the gentle, nearly chaste kisses they had shared before, but one he hoped communicated what he really wanted. It didn’t have to be now, or tonight, or even soon. But Ira ought to know. That seemed only fair.

  A soft groan met Jed’s kiss, as Ira opened to him, pressed against him, and dug his fingers into Jed’s biceps. The grip was hard, revealing strength, at least in Ira’s fingers, and the idea made Jed’s blood rush. Ira looked frail, seemed timid at times, but the fact neither might be true excited Jed.

  It was easy to gain trust if a guy was looking for someone to take control. Jed wanted more than that. He wanted submission of strength and purpose. If it was on offer. He wrapped an arm around Ira’s waist and pulled him in.

  There was no mistaking Ira’s interest in the proceedings. His breath came fast. He ran his hands over Jed’s shoulders and back, exploring, like Jed might be the three-dimensional study for his next sculpture. Plus, Ira was hard. His cock, trapped against Jed’s own erection, offered pleasurable friction, and evidence that this was definitely a two-way street they were on.

  Jed rocked his hips, holding Ira still so he could get the full pressure of cock against cock, just the way he wanted. He knew Ira was on his tiptoes so their cocks lined up. So maybe this wasn’t good for Ira. Maybe he needed a different angle or better leverage. Maybe he wanted something else entirely.

  Spreading his fingers wide over Ira’s back, Jed braced his weight and strength against Ira’s body, the better to grind against him. He wouldn’t hurt Ira. But it was only fair to make it clear from the start who was on top. Who would always be on top. If that was going to be an issue, he needed to know now, before he was in any deeper.

  Ira didn’t push him away or struggle for more freedom. His kisses intensified, though his hands stilled, one on Jed’s biceps, one at his hip. He didn’t try to escape, like he had in the past, and when Jed moved his mouth from Ira’s to explore, he allowed it, moaning softly as Jed searched out his most sensitive spots. Moving where Jed nudged him, Ira’s pliability wasn’t soft or simple. He was malleable, but as slender as Ira was, the surrender was layered over steel will and hard muscle. That made it so much more than letting Jed do what he wanted.

  Every move was deliberate and powerful, even if it was a move deeper into Jed’s control. It was permission to take more, and Jed’s heart pounded harder every time Ira gave another inch, exposed another nerve, sighed over one more tender spot Jed found with his lips.

  Jed appreciated the groin-to-groin friction of course. It was just the right parts pain and pleasure to get him close to the edge. Better than the physical sensations were the soft noises Ira made, the way he clung. The way he wanted. But most of all, the way he gave, allowing Jed to hold him still, grind against him, take the pleasure that was swiftly getting him off.

  Jed’s breath came in heavy pants. His heart crashed so hard against his ribs, surely Ira could feel it.

  “Jed.” Ira’s breathy voice tipped the scales, and Jed humped more frantically. He gripped a handful of Ira’s backside and yanked him close, knowing it might be too tight, too much.

  Ira wrapped a leg around Jed’s and dug his teeth into Jed’s shoulder with a heavy groan. Muffled swearing accompanied the sharp grit of pain, and Jed’s cock jumped. His balls squeezed tight, and there was no warning Ira, no stopping his orgasm.

  “Oh fu-uck.” His words warbled. His throat closed and his spine curled. He clung now because he had to. Because if he loosened his grip and Ira slipped away, he’d collapse. He needed the stability of this unexpected strength wrapped in such a lithe, tight frame.

  For what seemed an eternity, Jed shuddered through an endless release. Ira’s arms were around him, now, strong and reassuring, until Jed finally dragged in a rasping breath.

  “Oh baby, I think you need to sit down.”

  Jed grunted, but let Ira lead him to the sofa where he flopped like a rag doll.

  “Are you okay?” Ira smoothed a hand over Jed’s beard, petting the tips of his fingers through the wiry hairs in slow, smooth motions.

  “That wasn’t . . . I hadn’t planned on that.”

  Ira grinned. “Hadn’t planned on coming in your jeans like a fifteen-year-old?”

  Jed grunted again, leaned his head on the back of the couch, and closed his eyes. For now, the rhythmic caress on the side of his face was more than enough grounding in this unexpected moment. He wasn’t sure what to say.

  Silence weighted down the space between them.

  “You know.” Ira tilted his head, watching Jed through lowered lashes. “Lots of guys see me dance, and they think it means I’ll—”

  “Shit.” Jed wanted to squeeze his eyes closed tighter, but he forced them open. “I didn’t come up here—”

  Ira placed a finger over Jed’s lips. His mouth flirted with a sly smile. His pretty grey eyes glittered with blue and with humor, and Jed got distracted by the shimmer of pale shadow and smoky liner accentuating what was already naturally noteworthy. “I know that, Jed. I didn’t mean—”

  “That I expected sex because you dance to turn men on?” The thought that people would assume such a thing boiled Jed’s blood. The idea Ira thought he might be one of those people did something else, something less pleasant to his insides. He didn’t want to be hurt, but the thought had a knife edge to it, poisoned by shame as the spunk cooled in his underwear.

  “No, I—”

  “Or because you display nude sketches on your walls?”

  “Those are studies for—”

  “Ira. I know what they are. I know what the dancing is.” Jed sat up straight, crossed his arms over his chest because it felt like maybe he could ward off some o
f the hurt. “I know you aren’t a slut or a prostitute. I’m not an idiot.”

  Ira’s face blanched and he shrank back. “I didn’t think you were,” he whispered. “I just . . . People . . . I’ve had people think things about me.”

  “Like the guy on stage,” Jed guessed, forcing himself to relax some. “And in the car.”

  Ira nodded. “He thinks— I mean, people like him.” He blinked and shook his head, a little frown carving that line between his brows. “Them, I mean. Them. They think I owe them something because of the dancing.”

  “I’m not like those guys,” Jed said, doing his best to moderate the hurt feelings out of his voice. It still came out harsh, and he dropped his arms, determined not to let his own emotions override the conversation, because really. What had he just done if not taken what he wanted before asking if it was even on offer?

  “I’m sorry,” Ira whispered again. He dropped his arms too, and fingered a fold at the seam of Jed’s jeans. “I never get this part right.”

  “What part?”

  Ira finally lifted his chin. “The part where I want you to kiss me. But I don’t know if you want me, or just need to get off after—” he waved a hand in the air “—and I went ahead and let you because I wanted it, and that was easier than having this conversation.” His gaze, filtered through his lashes again, teetered on a breaking edge.

  Jed cupped his face. “Maybe we’re over thinking this.”

  Ira’s lips twitched, but the sad curve remained.

  Unable to let that stand, Jed leaned in to kiss it away. “I won’t pretend I don’t get a major rush from your dancing, or from the way you gave me exactly what I wanted tonight. Yeah. It’s a turn on. You’re a turn on for me. Does the dancing help? Sure. I’d have to be dead not to appreciate how you look up there. Does it make me crazy that it probably does the same thing for hundreds of other guys? Hell, yes. But who am I to wrap you up in a sac and keep all that for myself?”

  “Some would.”

  “And are you with those guys now?”

  Again Ira’s lips twitched, thankfully in a slight, uncertain grin this time. “Guess not.”