by Jaime Samms
“Guess not.” Jed kissed him again, thinking to keep it chaste until Ira parted his lips and sucked in a soft gasp at the touch of Jed’s tongue to his lips. Without thinking, he delved into Ira’s mouth, tasted him, explored, demanded and ultimately accepted that Ira was once more offering exactly what Jed wanted.
Ira was breathing hard when Jed moved back to look into his face. “I know you dance because you need the money. What if I have an idea for an alternative?”
“I don’t need you to save me.” Ira pulled back, this motion as hard and strong as every act of submission had been.
“Not save you. Just offer a suggestion. I’m not saying you have to take it.”
“What is it?” Ira’s brows pulled down into a sharp V over his eyes, making him look remarkably similar to some of the images of the fierce, fey creatures on his walls.
“The bar. Hen and Hog is always looking for good waitstaff.”
“I suck at that.”
Jed shrugged. “Try it.”
“I have.” Ira shuddered delicately. “People don’t know how to take me. It makes them uncomfortable.” He plucked at the diaphanous fabric of his shirt with two fingers, giving a resigned curl of one shoulder as he did. “They assume things. Then they just have to say something about it. Do something about it, even though it has nothing to do with them.” His cheeks pinked.
“No one in the Hen and Hog is going to do anything to you that you don’t want. It isn’t that kind of place.”
“Customers don’t always follow the rules.”
“Then they get kicked out.”
Ira studied him. “That hasn’t always been my experience.”
“Again. That was them. Can you take a chance that I’ve got your back here?”
Ira nodded thoughtfully. “I guess I can . . . apply. Interview, maybe. But if I don’t like the manager, or owner, or whoever—”
“You met Mel already. She’s the day manager. She’s only on at night lately because, like I said, we’re short-staffed. And Kearn—the owner—he’s a great guy. You’ll like him.”
“Yeah?”
Jed grinned. “Everyone likes Kearn.”
“Then I’ll give it a try.” Finally, Ira’s mouth curved into a smile. “Because you asked.”
That turned Jed’s insides tragically gooey, and he grinned like a loon. “Thank you.” He pulled in a long, deep breath, suddenly aware his chest had been tight, his lungs miserly with clean air.
“You okay?” Ira asked.
“Yeah.” He’d been worried, he realized. Worried Ira would say no, or turn him out for taking liberties.
Ira’s eyes narrowed at him.
“I was . . . scared,” he confessed, gasping at his openness.
“Maybe take a chance I’ve got your back too,” Ira suggested, once more stroking fingers over the beard on his cheek. “Maybe I look like a hummingbird. But hummingbirds are pretty damn tough.”
Jed nodded.
“You probably want to clean up,” Ira said.
And that brought home the selfishness of what he’d done. Jed flushed hot, which seemed to amuse Ira.
“Oh, don’t fret, baby. I want to clean up too.” He kissed Jed’s lips, light and hummingbird quick just before he rose. “And I’m tired. Don’t be mad, okay?” He walked to the windows that opened onto the fire escape. “I’m not at sleepovers, yet.”
That was fair. Jed hurriedly got to his feet and went to the window as Ira unlatched the lock. He stopped long enough for another deep, maybe-more-than-a-little-possessive kiss, and let Ira encourage him out the window.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Ira asked.
“Definitely.” It was a promise Jed looked forward to keeping. “Lock up after me.”
Ira cocked his head and crossed his arms.
“I know. I’m being all protective.” He pecked Ira’s cheek. “Sue me.” Then he turned and hurried up a few steps before it got too hard to leave. He waited for the click of the window shutting, though, and smiled at the sound of the lock sliding into place.
He worried. So sue him. It was what he did.
It wasn’t until Ira had changed out of his soiled clothes, cut the damn annoying tag out of the shirt, then showered and wrapped himself up in warm fleece that he noticed Jed had left both bike helmets on Ira’s kitchen table. They sat side by side, Jed’s huge, face-hiding black one, and the smaller, silvery-grey guest helmet. They echoed the boot shelf, the coat hooks, the very essence of Jed’s behemoth, in-your-face masculinity next to Ira’s tough, filigree delicacy. Bemused, he pulled out a sketchbook and pencils and began to draw.
He certainly hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch. A chill dug into his bones and he shifted. The snap of a pencil made him start, and then a light tap-tap brought him all the way awake. Sunlight drifted in a lazy river across the tile by the fire escape window, spilling over the area rugs layered across the empty space in the centre of the apartment, flooding over the arm of the couch into his lap and across the sketchbook still sitting there.
Ira yawned and rubbed at his cheek. He had pillow wrinkles from the lacy throw cushion he’d been sleeping on. His bare toes ached a bit with the fall chill that seeped in those windows under the sunlight.
Tap-tap-tap.
His sleep-slow brain registered the sound without bothering to identify it.
With another yawn, he set the sketchbook aside and dug the broken pencil out from under his thigh. He frowned at it. He liked that pencil. The lead was the perfect hardness for light shading. “Damn it.”
Gently, he laid it on the coffee table. It was new too. Maybe he could tape it back together. Better than fiddling with the short little bits of it. But then, he had a fistful of cash. Sure, most of it had to go towards October’s rent. He couldn’t risk not having enough to top off Landry’s bank account. If someone came looking for Landry over unpaid rent they’d figure out he didn’t live here anymore and hadn’t told anyone he’d let a squatter take over his place. Then he and Landry would both be in trouble. He couldn’t let that happen, but he decided he could spare a couple of twenties for the art store. Curry’s was a nice walk.
Tap-tap-tap-tap. A muffled sound that might have been his name.
Scratching fingers through his hair, Ira glanced around the room. Dust floated in golden drifts through the sunbeam, then disappeared as a shadow fell into the bright light and slid across the floor.
Ira actually yelped and snatched his feet off the floor, scrunched against the end of the couch as the shadow crossed over the cushions. Like it could harm him if it touched him.
He glanced to the window, and there was Jed, wearing loose sleep pants, his ugly Birks over a pair of woolly socks, and a holey T-shirt that was so thin Ira could see the darker patches of his nipples through the fabric. A threadbare robe hung from his shoulders, the tie dangling to drag along the metal grate of the fire escape on one side. He held two steaming cups and a wide, amused grin.
Jed. Ira’s heart skipped. At my window. How long . . .
“Can I come in?” Ira saw the words on Jed’s lips more than he heard them, and he scrambled up to unlock the window. A blast of chill air swept through the room ahead of Jed when Ira opened up for him, and Jed hurried inside with a little shudder. “Chillier than I thought,” he gasped as he pushed one of the mugs into Ira’s hands, then wrapped both of his around the other. “You drink coffee?”
“Yeah. Good guess.”
Jed shrugged. “Saw the tin in the cupboard. The paint’s worn where it’s been dragged on and off the shelf a lot. Your coffee maker lives on the counter, and there’s cream in your fridge.” He grinned. “Next to the pickles.”
“You some sort of detective?”
“Just observant.”
Ira blew over the top of his coffee, then braved a sip. It was warm and creamy and sweet. Perfect. “How did you know?”
Jed pointed to the sugar container next to the coffee maker. “Guessed. But didn’t put sugar in mine, just in case.”
Jed huffed. “God yes. Thanks.” He hurried to the counter and dumped two heaping spoonsful into his mug. More even than what Ira liked.
“You know, I can make more coffee to go with that sugar if you want.”
Jed sighed as he took a long sip. “Nah. ’M good. Thanks.” He wandered the short walk from the kitchen to the couch and sat down. “What’s this?” He picked up the sketchbook where it was open to Ira’s sketch of their coats hanging on the hooks.
“Oh. I—” Ira reached for the book, but then stopped himself. Why not? Just a silly sketch.
Jed tilted his head as he gazed at the image. It wasn’t just their coats, of course. It was a fanciful depiction of something more. Jed’s heavy leather biker jacket was hung on the branch of a sturdy pine tree in the picture, while Ira’s coat was wrapped all around with the vines of a morning glory plant, snugged in next to Jed’s like it was seeking comfort. A brightly coloured butterfly lit on the buckle at the shoulder of Jed’s coat, the only bit of vibrancy in the otherwise black-and-white sketch.
“I like it,” Jed declared.
“I was tired,” Ira said, voice faint. The picture told too much.
“I can see that.” Jed set the book down and picked up the broken pencil, glancing at Ira with a clear question in his expression.
“Fell asleep on the couch,” Ira confessed, and rubbed self-consciously at his cheek again. “Rolled on it, I guess.” He sat next to Jed, his thigh not quite touching Jed’s, but he could feel a fuzzy cushion of warmth emanating from him.
“You’ll need a new one.”
“I was thinking of walking down to Curry’s later. If it’s warm.”
“Curry’s?”
“It’s an art supply store. They have a good selection. Not as nice as Above Ground, but that’s farther.”
“Want a lift?”
Ira glanced nervously at the bike helmets. “I like walking.” He sipped at his coffee and watched for Jed’s disappointed reaction.
“Are you refusing the ride?” he asked. “Or the company?”
Ira couldn’t help it. A smile crept over his face. “Just the bike.” Practically a whisper of sound, because he didn’t like to admit he was so afraid, but Jed didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care enough to mention it.
Instead, he rubbed Ira’s cheek, where the lines from the cushion were probably still faintly visible. “Then we’ll walk.”
“Yeah.” Ira settled a little closer to Jed. “Okay.”
“There’s probably a breakfast place on the way.”
Ira shrugged. “Probably.” Mentally, he sheered a twenty off his art supply budget to pay for a breakfast out. Maybe something showed on his face, because Jed kissed his cheek, lingering for a moment to breathe in a breath of . . . something. Ira wasn’t sure what.
“Or,” Jed said, leaning back into his own space, “you can get dressed and meet me upstairs in fifteen for some eggs, bacon—no that’s right. I forgot. Eggs and tomatoes and toast.”
“You can have bacon.”
“It won’t kill me not to eat bacon for one morning.”
Ira felt a sort of queasy horror. “You eat bacon every morning?”
Jed laughed. “I can see how that horrifies you.”
“Your arteries!”
Jed thumped his chest. “Are just fine. But I’m perfectly happy with eggs and a tomato sandwich.” He leaned over again but, this time, captured Ira’s lips for a kiss.
He tasted sweet and warm. Like morning sunshine and coffee. Like golden dust floating in the air and the twining security of flowering vines, rough friction of tree bark, and under it the thrilling rumble of the bike that terrified and excited Ira.
When Jed’s arm slipped around his waist, Ira almost fumbled his coffee fighting the desire to climb into Jed’s lap. Only the loud grumble of his empty tummy kept that from happening, because Jed heard it and pulled away.
“Right.” He stroked Ira’s cheekbone, his clavicle, watched Ira’s Adam’s apple bob when Ira swallowed hard, and followed the bump of it with the pad of his thumb. “Let’s get you fed.”
“I still have to shop,” Ira thought out loud.
“We’ll get to that too. I have the day off. We can do whatever you want.”
“All day? Just what I want?”
Jed’s gaze got hot as it drifted slowly back up the landscape of Ira’s face to meet his eyes. “How about we go upstairs to eat, go shop, find some lunch, and when we get back, maybe do what I want.”
“That sounds promising,” Ira whispered. It sounded scary too, but in the same way the bike scared him. Being in Jed’s hands brought the kind of thrill that could turn dangerous, except Ira didn’t think it would with him.
“It is a promise,” Jed assured him, and kissed him again, deep and satisfying, and leaving him slightly limp and more than willing to follow Jed up to his apartment. It didn’t escape his notice that Jed led him down the long walk through the building, either, without questioning his fear of heights or even suggesting the fire escape.
Ira sipped his coffee as they walked, and marvelled at how huge Jed’s hand was around his. It felt good. Right. Safe.
Jed felt like he’d entered a different city. The streets here were lined with every style of building. Traditional century-old brick houses with tiny, elaborate front gardens gave way to two- and three-storey block buildings with shops at street level and deep, dark doorways to narrow stairwells that led up to apartments on the upper floors. Those in turn petered out in favour of more modern, but uglier strip malls and glass-and-steel-fronted shops until eventually, they were greeted with the juxtaposition of a single three-storey brick house painted in a rainbow of colour sitting next to the OCAD U building. That modern miracle of architecture looked like an enormous white box balanced precariously on the tips of a few giant coloured pencils. It was impressive. But weird. And yet, as Jed watched, Ira came alive, glowing from the inside as he pointed out murals on the brick walls of the buildings and various shops he liked.
Jed could see how easy it would be to lose a whole day in the area following his energetic hummingbird as Ira flitted from shop to shop. Seeing the change in his spirit did things to Jed he thought best not to explore too deeply. Not yet. Not until Ira was ready to settle in one spot for more than a heartbeat or two.
Jed had just met him after all. Ira was new to the building, and Jed realized he didn’t even know which university or college Ira had moved to the city to attend. He could be a transient, here for a semester, a year, maybe a few at most. Jed knew so little other than that he fit quite nicely in the crook of his arm whenever he came tripping back to hurry Jed along. Or under his chin when they stood huddled in the cool shadow of that silly giant box to wait for the light to change. It was far too soon for Jed to be falling for him.
Wasn’t it?
He’d been contemplating that thought, letting it nibble at the edges of his resistance, when Ira grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the ridiculously painted house with a ramp, the side of which had been painted with sea monsters and little yellow Tweety Birds in berets.
“This is it!” Ira voice squeaked slightly, and he giggled. He giggled as he hauled Jed up the steps next to the ramp. No shame in the warbling of his voice now, when the reason was this heightened vibrancy of joy.
“This?” Jed glanced at the sign as it whizzed past. Then they were through the painted blue doors, and it was, indeed, an art supply store. Jed had never seen anything like it. It was a warren of narrow aisles and shelves reaching the high ceilings. Every room was crammed with piles of canvases, peg boards holding buckets of brushes, display after display of paint in every colour and variety. He didn’t know what to look at first.
Luckily, Ira had no such problem, and he flitted down an aisle filled with tiny blocks of clay spanning the rainbow. Ira slowed at last, and as Jed trailed him, he poked and pondered, examined, contemplated, and eventually, picked out five
of the plastic-wrapped bundles. Carefully, he replaced another dozen in their neat rows, trailing fingers regretfully over those he left behind. Jed was about to ask why he’d chosen the oddly dull and unexciting colours he had, but Ira was already headed down another aisle, and Jed had to follow or risk getting left behind in the bowels of the vast place.
While he didn’t have a lot of interest in art supply stores or know much about what made one pencil different from another, he found the joy on Ira’s face fascinating as he walked aisles and poked through the discount bins. Out from under the shadow of the OCAD University next door, he fairly glowed. Jed couldn’t help but be enthralled watching him pet the bazillion pads of paper, remarking about tooth and weight in a secret language Jed wasn’t privy to.
He lingered for a long time over what looked like a plain sketch pad, no different from the others except for the sleek black cover, but in the end, moved on to peruse what seemed to be an entire isle of pencils, from graphite to coloured to watercolour. It was baffling to Jed there could be so much space devoted to a simple writing instrument, but it all made Ira vibrate, easily distracted, and incredibly adorable.
When Ira got sidetracked into a conversation with another artist about the merits of one brand of pencils over another, Jed wandered back to the paper aisle. He retrieved the coveted pad, decided it was viable to get two of them, and quickly made the purchase while Ira was still distracted.
“Whew!” Ira grinned at him as they eventually exited the store. “It’s always so hard not to blow my entire wad in there.”
Jed laughed. “I saw that.”
Ira blushed. “I meant money.”
He couldn’t help it. Jed scooped him close with an arm around his waist and smacked a kiss on the side of his face. “I didn’t.”
Ira squirmed but didn’t seem overly anxious to get away. “That’s terrible.”
Jed laid a gentler kiss on him, then let him go, making sure he had his balance before releasing his grip. “Is it really?”
Ira ducked his head, a sweet-not-sweet pink flush rushing up his face. “Maybe not really.”