Refraction

by BA Tortuga

  “I don’t see anyone to worry about. That couple over there is totally into that set. That woman in the blue dress? She was biting her fingernails when I walked in, and now she is blushing. And that guy in the gray sweater thinks you’re hot.”

  “Marge insists the stubble makes the look, even if I’m in jeans.” Hot, huh? The idea made him grin.

  “The stubble is everything, cowboy.” Calvin’s voice was smooth and dark.

  Oh, he remembered the way Calvin moaned for him when he dragged his chin over that sweet cock. He leaned in, his blood beginning to pound some. “Oh, honey. You’re gonna make me ache. Be careful now.”

  Calvin looked at him, a sly smile on his face. “Now you know how everyone in this room feels looking at your work. Slightly horrified, totally turned on, and hoping no one notices.”

  “Butthead.” Still, he grinned like a damn monkey, didn’t he? “You want to see them all? The paintings, I mean.”

  “I do. The paintings, I mean.” Calvin sipped his wine and took Tucker’s arm again. “And everything.”

  “Anything you want to see.” Like there was anything Calvin hadn’t seen. They started with The Corruption of Angels, the series beginning with the image of a lovely, lithe man having wings inked on his back by a demon, the huge curved horns tipped with silver.

  “Beautiful. Maybe… a little sad? And beautiful.”

  “It’s the beginning of his fall.” The loss of innocence was necessary, but yeah, a little sad.

  Calvin nodded. “Essential. Painful. Enlightening.”

  “And it leaves marks.”

  “Are you the artist?” Someone touched his arm, and he tensed, fighting the urge to snarl. The guy who stood there was his admirer in the gray sweater.

  “I am.”

  “I was wondering if you could tell me your inspiration for the piece that’s over here? The painting titled Odlid?”

  “It’s dildo spelled backward, honey. It’s not rocket science.”

  The guy blinked and raised an eyebrow, giving Tucker an up-and-down look. “Neither is being friendly.” He took two steps backward. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath as he turned away.

  Tucker’s cheeks started to burn, and he could feel Marge’s eyes on him. Lord knew, he was better than that. “Sorry, man. It’s weird, talking about your own work. I’d rather talk about damn near anything else.”

  Lord have mercy, his granny would hand him his own ass.

  He felt Calvin’s fingers slide over his shoulder blade and rest there, comforting. The guy turned back to him and after a brief pause, offered his hand. “It’s cool. It’s pretty emotional stuff.”

  “Thank you.” He shook the dude’s hand. “I hope you enjoy and all.”

  See him. See him not be a fucker. Go team him. Christ, he had a headache.

  “Definitely. You’re a real talent. Sorry to interrupt.” He nodded and went right back over to Odlid.

  Calvin’s arm slipped around his waist. “Breathe, tiger. Show me something else.”

  “Okay. Come see this one. It’s my favorite of this show.” The canvas was tiny, only two inches square, and it was mostly stormy gray except for in the upper right corner, where there was a red slash, a hint of light peeking from behind one edge.

  “Hope,” Calvin said, reading the title of the piece from the plaque beside it, looking at it for a long while, nodding and saying nothing. When he finally looked over, Calvin was biting a pink lower lip and frowning slightly.

  What was he supposed to say? He didn’t expect anyone to understand. It was special. He didn’t know why. It just was.

  “Some small hope.” Calvin shrugged. “Thank goodness for that, huh?”

  “It’s a silly little thing. I just… wanted it here. Come on. I’ll show you the red series.”

  “Sure. Okay.”

  He offered his arm, and Calvin took it, but Tucker didn’t miss the way Calvin glanced back at the tiny painting as they walked away.

  It wasn’t for sale. That one wasn’t for sale. It was his affectation, he guessed. His little bullshit fuck-you to everyone.

  Time began to move again, and he nodded and smiled and tried not to think.

  Chapter Six

  IT WAS a really nice party. The bartender was in a sharp suit, the servers with their little trays of bite-size yummies were wearing black vests and black bow ties. His wine was in a delicate and graceful wineglass. The gallery was gorgeous and as professional as anything Calvin had ever been to.

  He felt validated by his wardrobe choices. Tucker liked them, and he was getting some attention, which was never a bad thing. But also, he felt like he belonged with all the paintings on the walls. Like he fit in.

  But Tucker did not fit in. It was his own show, and he wasn’t even trying to enjoy it—he was just miserable. He hated every little bit of this. He was defensive. He moved through the space like it was out to get him.

  Calvin couldn’t help but wonder why Tucker did it. Couldn’t he just be one of those aloof, invisible artists that no one ever saw? Maybe that didn’t sell paintings. Maybe. Calvin was going to ask—later.

  He was going to ask why that little gray painting was Tucker’s favorite too. Calvin found it disturbing; it had taken everything he had not to let the tears out.

  “Tell me about that one?”

  “I dreamed about him for a month.” Tucker didn’t flinch away from the image, the slavering demon hovering over the shoulder of a beautiful African man who was bound in twisted wire, cock painfully hard.

  It was possible that Tucker meant he’d been dreaming about the demon, but Calvin’s eyes were on that smooth dark skin, bound by pain, and the look on the man’s face.

  “Mmm. He’s so euphoric. So free.” He laughed a little nervously, because he hadn’t really meant to say what he was thinking out loud, and he didn’t want Tucker to think he was some kind of perv.

  “Exactly. The demon can’t have him. He’s beyond that.” Tucker nodded like Calvin had answered a question or something. Like they heard each other.

  Calvin smiled and sipped his wine. Was it possible to know nothing and everything about someone at the same time?

  “I did about a hundred of these. He stole a ton of my life.”

  He looked over the series, some larger than others, some lighter or darker. It was clear from the random numbering that Tucker had chosen which ones to show carefully. “Is that what it’s like? Your work robs you of your life? Or do you just mean it’s compelling?”

  “It depends. Sometimes it’s just an urge, and you paint it, and it’s satisfied. Sometimes when you bring it to life, it gets worse.” Tucker stopped, blinked, then turned rosy red. “Christ, listen to me. I sound like a dipshit.”

  He reached up and tried to soothe away some of that pink with his thumb. “No, tiger, you don’t. You’re just telling me the truth, and I want to hear more. I want to know you. Not here, I get that, but soon.”

  He might need more wine, but he wanted to know.

  “Soon. I’m fixin’ to call it finished here. No one wants me to haunt the pictures for much longer.” Tucker watched him, the look almost hungry but tinged with something… sweeter?

  “How are you enjoying Tucker’s work?”

  Calvin looked over at the woman who’d just stepped up next to Tucker. Silver hair, kind eyes, city-hippie look? It had to be the agent.

  “He’s brilliant, but I knew that practically the moment I met him. You’ve got to be Marge. I’m Calvin.” They shook hands.

  “I am. Tell me you’re taking Tuck somewhere to relax for the rest of the evening. He hates this.”

  “Be nice, honey,” Tucker muttered, and she laughed, a raucous, wild sound that made people look over, stare.

  Staring was good. He took Tucker’s arm again and leaned in, making a little show for everyone. Flirting. “Oh, don’t be like that; it’s not like you make it a secret.” He smiled at Marge. “Actually he’s taking me somewhere. Dancing, I think.”
<
br />   Tucker smiled, the expression real and blindingly honest, and just like it had yesterday, suddenly years fell off, exposing a young man. “Dancing. I love to dance.”

  Marge beamed right along with him. “Good choice. Bring this one to dinner tomorrow, kiddo.” She put a hand on Tucker’s shoulder and went up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Go. I’ve got this. Make an exit.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Give this to the bartender for me?” Tucker handed her a folded bill.

  “Of course.”

  “I love you, lady.” The words came easy to Tucker, like he meant them and used them often.

  “I love you too, kiddo. Thank you for doing this.” She looked at Calvin. “Get him out of here, hon.”

  “On it.” Calvin handed her his wineglass and Tucker’s beer. Make an exit he could do. He grinned and winked at Tucker. “Ready?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He laughed at nothing, loud enough even the waitstaff looked over, and then kissed Tucker hard enough to swallow his tonsils.

  Tucker was stiff, but only for a moment, and then he melted against Calvin, the need immediate and gratifying.

  Mmm. Yeah. He could get into this. He loved how Tucker just gave over. But dancing! They needed to get out of there.

  He ended the kiss and glanced around, smiling shyly and letting himself blush even though he didn’t mean it. “Come on, cowboy.” He looped an arm through Tucker’s and let Tucker lead them out, the crowd parting for them as they headed for the elevators.

  No one would forget them, he’d bet, at least not for a while. Until the next fascinating sight. And with any luck, they’d be back for Tucker’s next New York show. Whenever he came back. He’d better come back.

  No. Calvin was so not going there right now.

  “You okay? What kind of dancing? If you want Western, you’re going to have to teach me because I have no clue, but I’d love to learn. Otherwise we could do a bar with live music or a big, loud nightclub….” He made himself stop talking. God. This babbling, flustered thing was the worst reaction to anxiety ever. So embarrassing.

  “Take me where you like best. Show me something that you love.” Tucker shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over Calvin’s shoulders. “You’ve got to be damn near froze.”

  “You’re so sweet. Thank you.” That was maybe the kindest gesture ever, and it was hard not to want to climb back into Tucker’s tonsils again. The last time someone offered him a cover, he was on a shoot and it was for modesty. This was so gentlemanly, and seemed as natural as anything on Tucker.

  He loved the jacket too. The fabric and the contrasting dark shoulders were so neat. He’d only ever seen Western jackets in the movies. Between it and the black hat, Tucker was handsome as could be.

  “You sure know how to make a guy feel like a lady.” He winked. “My coat is downstairs in the coat check.” Though he’d love to wear Tucker’s jacket all night. It was so warm, and it smelled like… well, like cowboy, he guessed. Like Tucker.

  “I like how mine looks on you.” Every step they took away from the gallery, the more relaxed Tucker seemed.

  This time his blush was real. “Me too.”

  His coat didn’t really make the outfit. He ought to have been wearing his leather jacket—it was a little badass, with studs and rings on the shoulders and cuffs—but it was stolen on a shoot a couple weeks ago. He missed that jacket.

  “What I love is a nightclub. We can take the train, unless you have cash for a cab.”

  He should have known that was a stupid question. Of course Tucker could shell out for a cab. He was getting the feeling that Tucker didn’t worry too much about money.

  “I’m glad you got to enjoy some of the snow while it was still pretty,” he said, once they were in the cab. Between the city air, the filthy streets, and the piles of garbage bags on the corners, it was dirty and black and more of a nuisance now than anything like a winter wonderland.

  “I’m glad I got to see it with you.”

  Jesus, Tucker was like a dream, a hero with his Stetson and his fancy boots and creased jeans.

  He gave the driver directions to an address in Hell’s Kitchen and snuggled in, under Tucker’s arm.

  “It was a pretty amazing day all around.” He wanted to ask if Tucker had made any plans to stay and rent that studio space, but it might have been just a passing thought, just an artist musing. And even if Tucker did plan to stay, he’d be working. And Calvin had to work too. And….

  Jesus Christ, brain. Shut the fuck up already.

  “It’s been something else—good and bad.” Tucker’s hand rested on his waist, solid and hot, fingers just barely petting him.

  “Well, let’s focus on the good, because I am having the time of my life. I haven’t felt like this in so long.” He hadn’t felt like this ever. Relaxed, turned on, a little tipsy, sure. Happy? He’d had his moments. But not like this.

  “I’m all in, honey, balls to bones.” Tucker leaned close, inhaled deep. “You smell like heaven.”

  Calvin laughed. “It’s probably all the styling crap I—” He stopped himself and shook his head. Timmy was so right about him; he couldn’t take a compliment for shit. “Thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” The kiss to his jaw was featherlight, the stubble barely dragging.

  “Mmm. That’s nice.” He’d ask for more of that scratch later.

  The cab let them out on a street corner in front of a building that looked more like your average corner business than a nightclub. “Welcome to Goliath.” He pulled Tucker inside.

  The main level was busy and looked like a neighborhood bar with booths and a few tables at the back, but Calvin felt the club music under his feet and flashed Tucker a wicked grin. He loved this place. Dance, drink, cruise downstairs, and then they could come up here and sit for a bit when they’d had enough.

  He let his coat slide off his shoulders and stopped by a little window to hand it off in exchange for a ticket, which he slipped into his pocket.

  “You want to leave your coat? You can leave your hat too, if you don’t want to dance with it.” Calvin did like that hat.

  “I’m not leaving my hat with a stranger.” Tucker handed over his coat, though, with a distrusting look. “You sure this is okay, honey?”

  Protective of his hat. That was adorable, even if it was probably stupid expensive. Calvin shrugged. “Haven’t lost a coat here yet.” He took the little ticket for Tucker’s jacket from the bored-looking kid in the window and put it in his pocket along with his own. “Stop worrying and come on.”

  He pulled Tucker around a corner and into a stairwell awash in colored lighting, where the music got louder with every step they took farther underground.

  Tucker followed him down the stairs, close enough that he could feel Tucker’s shirt through the mesh of his own. Calvin reached back and tangled their fingers together.

  He liked it underground. He liked the dark, windowless, could-be-anywhere feel of the place and all the crazy lighting and loud music. After the subway thing, he knew it wouldn’t be Tucker’s first choice, but he intended to get the cowboy far out of that… cage of a mind. Far enough it wouldn’t matter where they were.

  And Calvin planned to keep him there as long as possible.

  No sooner had their feet hit the floor than someone was offering them shot glasses full of something green and slightly glowing. Calvin waved him away. Hell to the no.

  Tucker’s hat brim bobbed, and he was tucked into the curve of Tucker’s body, the act protective, dear. When he searched Tucker’s eyes, the man was looking at everything.

  No. No, he wanted that attention for himself.

  “Hey! Cowboy!” He shouted over the music. When that didn’t quite get the response he was after, he covered Tucker’s fly with his hand, his thumb pressing into the denim and the flesh behind the zipper.

  Come on, tiger, eyes right here.

  Bright blue. Even in these lights, Tucker’s eyes were so bright blue. “Ca
lvin. Honey.”

  Oh, there he was.

  Calvin stepped backward, making people let them through simply by not looking where he was going. He wasn’t looking anywhere but those blue eyes now that he had them. He put Tucker’s hand in the center of his chest, right over his pounding heart, wanting Tucker to know what those eyes did to him.

  Tucker’s lips parted, and Calvin believed the moan even if he couldn’t hear it.

  They ended in the throng of people, and Tucker never once looked away, never broke their gaze. Fuck, a rush of power flooded Calvin, leaving him breathless.

  Mine.

  Tucker knew it too. It was plain in those insanely blue eyes.

  He felt it like goose bumps, all down the length of his arms and right through his fingertips. It made him shiver, made him grin, made him want to move. His body picked up the beat of the music, and he pulled Tucker closer.

  It took Tucker a few beats to figure out what to do, how to move, and a few more for the motions to become something not stiff and self-conscious. Calvin swore he could see it, the second Tucker chose to trust him, to take this experience and run with it.

  He loved this, just moving without having to speak. Feeling the thump of the music in his chest and all the colors and shadows. He usually came alone, or with a group that quickly separated, but he especially loved having someone there for him to share it with.

  He danced close, gave Tucker a quick kiss and a smile as a thank-you, because words were practically useless down here without shouting in someone’s ear. If he’d had any inclination to drink, it was gone. Who needed alcohol with this man in front of him? He was dizzy enough without it.

  Chapter Seven

  TUCKER SAW demons.

  He saw them on the street; he saw them in his dreams. He lived with them—toothy and clawed, dripping with sex and promise and hunger. He didn’t worry about them—they were his obsession, his work, his life. They teased him, appearing where he least expected them, shocking him in tea rooms and libraries, in the empty barn and the parking lot lights in the Walmart.