Broken Rules

by Michaela Grey

  “Your doorman let me up,” Sanyam said, holding out one of the cups and stepping around him into the apartment as Sterling accepted it, dumb with shock.

  Sterling closed the door and turned to face him. “Why are you here, though?”

  Sanyam was in the middle of his living room, looking around critically. The morning sun haloed his curly hair, and he smiled, white teeth flashing against the black of his beard. Sterling was suddenly acutely aware of what a wreck he himself was, and he set the coffee on the counter and crossed his arms over his bare stomach.

  “You left so quickly last night that I didn’t get a chance to warn you about the possibility of sub drops,” Sanyam was saying, unaware of Sterling’s internal dilemma. He turned to admire the view of the city and sighed appreciatively.

  “Of… what?”

  “Sub drops,” Sanyam said, turning back.

  “I don’t know what those are, but I don’t have them,” Sterling said. “Go away.”

  Sanyam arched an eyebrow. “Are you feeling irritable? Weepy? Moody?” His eyes lit with a smile. “More than usual, I mean, because I already know what a stellar personality you have.”

  “Fuck off,” Sterling snapped. “I’m fine. Now go away.” He stomped for the bedroom as Sanyam took a startled breath behind him.

  “Fox, you’re bleeding.”

  “I stepped on something; it’s not a big deal,” Sterling said over his shoulder. “The door’s over there. See yourself out.”

  Sanyam followed him into the bedroom instead as Sterling fell onto the bed again. “Let me see.” He gripped Sterling’s ankle in one big hand, stopping him easily when Sterling tried to jerk away. “Be still,” he said, and Sterling growled but stopped fighting.

  Instead he lay on his stomach and sulked as Sanyam gently wiped the skin around the cut with a tissue from the box on the nightstand.

  “Is there a first aid kit in your bathroom?” Sanyam asked.

  Sterling shrugged, face still buried in the pillow. “Might be. I don’t know.”

  “Don’t move,” Sanyam said.

  “Where would I go?” Sterling muttered, not expecting an answer.

  Sanyam’s footsteps disappeared into the bathroom, followed by rustling as he rooted through the cupboards.

  “You’re in luck,” Sanyam called. “There’s a very nice one. What happened in here, by the way?”

  “Tragic aftershave suicide,” Sterling mumbled as Sanyam came back in and knelt beside the bed again. “It couldn’t take the pressures that a heteronormative society put on it any longer.”

  Sanyam laughed, sounding startled. “I had no idea you had an actual sense of humor,” he said as he gently cleaned the cut.

  Sterling scowled into the pillow. “I don’t. Why are you still here?”

  “Because I didn’t tell you about sub drops, remember?” Sanyam taped the bandage in place and patted Sterling’s ankle before he stood. “It’s very important that you take care of yourself during one, because they can cause you to experience very strong negative emotions. And since it’s obvious you’re dropping fairly badly right now, well… that’s why I’m here.”

  “I’m not dropping, and I don’t want you,” Sterling grumbled. “Go ’way.”

  Sanyam just laughed again, and any other time, Sterling might have liked the sound. It was open, easy, and honest, just like Sanyam himself. As it was—

  He rolled onto his side, flinching as it put pressure on the bruising. “You’re just here because you don’t trust me not to touch myself.”

  Sanyam was picking up the mess he’d made, and he straightened, eyebrows going up. “Is that really what you think? That I’ll follow you around all day to make sure you don’t put your hand down your pants?”

  Sterling glowered at him and rolled back onto his stomach.

  “I will afford you some leeway because you’re dropping,” Sanyam said, “but kindly give me some credit.” His footsteps receded toward the bathroom again as Sterling lay silently and hated the world. After a minute, glass shards clinked, and Sterling realized Sanyam was cleaning up the aftershave death scene.

  Worthless, waste of space, can’t even clean up your own messes. Sterling pushed his face into his elbow and took a shaky breath.

  Sanyam came out of the bathroom and climbed onto the bed to kneel next to Sterling’s motionless form.

  “Take your pants off,” he said.

  Sterling jerked away. “What? No!”

  Sanyam rolled his eyes. “We’re not having sex—I brought some arnica cream. I want to attend to your bruises.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Sterling snarled.

  “Fine,” Sanyam said and got off the bed.

  There was silence after he left the room, and Sterling spent a minute deliberating on whether he’d chased him away for good. Probably. He wondered idly if he could lie still long enough for his skin to graft with the bedspread.

  Gross, he decided. He couldn’t hear anything from where he was, so he got up and limped out to the kitchen.

  Sanyam was turning on the oven. “You have an impressive selection of frozen casseroles here,” he said without looking. “I’m assuming you don’t do the prep for them yourself?”

  “Do I look like I cook?” Sterling sniped. He flopped on the sofa and yelped as he made contact. He’d forgotten about the bruises, and he was pretty sure his ass and upper thighs were suddenly on fire. He rolled onto his side and fumbled for the remote.

  “The arnica cream would bring down the swelling and ease the pain,” Sanyam said offhandedly. “Just an observation.”

  Sterling’s glare was halfhearted. He pillowed his cheek on his hand and tried to watch the news.

  He dozed off somewhere in the middle of a report about how awful the world was, and awoke to the smell of sausage and eggs as Sanyam pulled a tray from the oven, enticing scents wafting from it.

  Sterling lifted his head and sniffed the air.

  “Stay there; I’ll bring some to you,” Sanyam said.

  “Wasn’t planning on moving,” Sterling muttered.

  Sanyam put the food on plates and brought them to the couch. “Your best options are probably going to be eating standing up or lying on your stomach,” he said, setting Sterling’s plate on the coffee table, careful not to disturb the half-done puzzle.

  Sterling glared and grabbed the plate, very deliberately still on his side as he took a big bite of fluffy eggs and potatoes.

  Sanyam sighed and sat down on the other end of the couch. Sterling jerked his feet away, but Sanyam didn’t seem to notice, focused on his food.

  After a few minutes, Sanyam nodded at the coffee table. “You like puzzles?”

  “No, I do them because I hate them.”

  Sanyam rolled his eyes again but took the hint. They ate in silence, and when Sterling had cleared his plate, Sanyam stood up without speaking and brought him more, along with a glass of orange juice.

  Sterling propped himself on his elbow and drained the juice in thirsty gulps. He set the glass down with a satisfied sigh.

  Sanyam immediately got up and refilled it.

  Sterling applied himself to his food, watching Sanyam out of the corner of his eye as an idea occurred to him. How much can I get away with?

  He shivered, still bare from the waist up, and rubbed his arms for effect.

  Sanyam glanced around the living room and frowned. “Why isn’t there a blanket on the back of your couch?”

  “Ruins the aesthetic of the room,” Sterling said, lifting his nose in the air.

  Sanyam snorted rudely and stood. He headed for the bedroom and reappeared a minute later with one of Sterling’s sweaters.

  “I’m not cold,” Sterling said.

  Sanyam narrowed his eyes and set the sweater on the armrest without comment as Sterling took another bite, hiding his glee.

  When he’d finished his second helping, Sanyam carried the plates into the kitchen and began cleaning up. Sterling rolled onto his stomach to watch
him.

  Sanyam was well worth watching, his sleeves pushed up on his muscular forearms, white teeth set in his lower lip and a tiny furrow on his brow as he concentrated. His curly hair was perfectly in place, and Sterling had the sudden impulse to muss it all up, dishevel him, see what he looked like wrecked and exhausted. He had a feeling it would be a rewarding experience.

  A thought struck him, and he straightened. “I, uh… changed my mind.”

  Sanyam looked up. “About what?”

  “The arnica cream. You can put it on me if you want.”

  Sanyam smiled. “Let me finish this, and I’ll do that.”

  Sterling got up, wincing, and shuffled for the bedroom.

  “Where are you going?” Sanyam called.

  “Bed,” Sterling said over his shoulder. “I don’t want to get anything on the couch. It’s new.”

  In the bedroom, he crawled onto the mattress and face-planted again, sighing with relief. It wasn’t long before Sanyam joined him, and the bed dipped.

  “I’m going to pull your pants down, okay?”

  “You mean you can’t put it on while I’m wearing clothes?”

  There was an annoyed silence, and Sterling snickered into the pillow.

  Still, Sanyam’s fingers were gentle as he took hold of the waistband and tugged the pants down to Sterling’s midthighs, careful to avoid the welts.

  The cream was cold when it landed on Sterling’s skin, and he gasped.

  “Sorry.” Sanyam’s voice was amused, and Sterling rolled his head to glare at him.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not,” Sanyam agreed. He began to work the cream in, and Sterling stiffened as nerve endings awoke and fired in protest. “Easy,” Sanyam murmured. “It’ll feel better in a minute.”

  Sterling closed his eyes and pushed his face into the pillow. God, it felt good, both to be touched and to be hurt, to feel something instead of the emptiness that usually gnawed at his insides.

  Okay, he acknowledged after a moment, that was angsty even for me.

  Still. Sanyam wasn’t being rough—was, in fact, being very gentle, and Sterling wanted more. He pushed back against Sanyam’s hands, seeking contact, and Sanyam stopped abruptly.

  “What are you doing, Fox?”

  Sterling slanted a look over his shoulder that said he didn’t think much of Sanyam’s intelligence if he had to ask, and rolled his hips lazily against the bedspread, shuddering as his cock dragged along the satin.

  Sanyam slapped his ass hard, and Sterling bucked, stifling a moan.

  “I told you not to touch yourself,” Sanyam said flatly.

  “Technically, I’m not,” Sterling pointed out. “Besides, if you touch me, that’s not breaking the rules.”

  It was Sanyam’s turn for the unimpressed look. “It still counts, and I’m not here for sex. I’m here to take care of you during your sub drop because I didn’t warn you about it beforehand.”

  Sterling fought the desire to beg. He wouldn’t. No matter what Sanyam had said that first night, no matter what they ended up doing, he would never beg.

  Instead he tucked his face into his elbow and sighed. “Whatever.”

  Sanyam hesitated and finally began rubbing the cream back into the welts.

  Sterling closed his eyes and let go of the frustration and sick irritability, the miseries of the day, and drifted, lulled into security by Sanyam’s steady hands.

  When he woke up, he was alone in the apartment. He could tell by the absolute stillness of the air that surrounded him.

  Sterling propped himself on his elbows and glanced at the clock. It was close to dinnertime. He’d slept right through lunch, he realized, surprised.

  “Sanyam?”

  There was no answer. Of course there was no answer. Why on earth would Sanyam have stuck around?

  Rolling off the bed, Sterling limped to the bathroom, which was spotless. He used the toilet, washed his hands, and shuffled his halting way out to the living room just as Sanyam pushed the front door open and stepped inside.

  “Oh,” Sterling said blankly. “I—thought you’d gone.”

  Sanyam hefted the bags in his hands. “I did, briefly. I had a craving for some Thai curry. I hope you like spicy food.”

  Sterling followed him to the table, and Sanyam set the food on it before turning to inspect Sterling, who blinked and drew back a pace.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to get a gauge of your mental state,” Sanyam said. “How are you feeling?”

  Sterling twitched away from Sanyam’s probing gaze. “I didn’t jack off, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Sanyam’s eyes creased as he smiled. “I know. Sit. Let’s eat.”

  Sterling sank into a chair as Sanyam gathered silverware and plates from his cupboards.

  “How do you know?”

  “Hmm? Know what?”

  “Whether I’ve jacked off,” Sterling clarified. He shifted in his seat and winced. “You knew… at the club, that I had. And today, you knew I hadn’t. So… how?”

  Sanyam straightened with plates in his hands. “It’s in your bearing, for one thing. I can’t really put a finger on it, but it’s a combination of tension or lack thereof, as well as—” He laughed as he put the plates on the table. “You looked ridiculously guilty when you lied to me last night. You’re a terrible liar.”

  Sterling scowled. “I’m a great liar, excuse you. My parents still think I’m straight, for one thing.”

  Sanyam’s eyebrows went up as he went back to the kitchen to get Utopias from the refrigerator. “Oh dear. Are they homophobic?”

  “Dad is,” Sterling said, hunching his shoulders and twirling a fork between his fingers. “Mom… doesn’t care.”

  “About you being gay or in general?”

  “Yes,” Sterling said flatly. “What kind of curry did you get?”

  “Massaman and red,” Sanyam said. His eyes were sharp, but mercifully, he dropped the subject of Sterling’s parents. “If you can’t handle spice, stick with the massaman; I’ll take the red.”

  Sterling bridled and snatched the red curry. “I can handle spice just fine, asshole.”

  Sanyam’s lips twitched. “If I’d said I preferred the massaman, you’d have taken that instead, wouldn’t you?”

  His eyes danced with amusement, and Sterling floundered. No one had ever found his dickish behavior funny before.

  Sanyam’s smile widened. “Enjoy your spice, Fox.”

  Sterling hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  “I… actually like massaman better,” he admitted.

  Sanyam laughed out loud and handed him the container. “Good, because I prefer the red.”

  Sterling’s lips curved as he took the curry and began to ladle it over his rice.

  WHEN THEY were done, Sanyam cleared the table as Sterling watched.

  “You can leave those,” Sterling said.

  Sanyam was running water in the sink, and he glanced up. “I don’t mind. You should stay off your feet.”

  “No, I mean Astrid will do them in the morning.”

  Sanyam’s lips flattened, but he said nothing, turning his attention to the dishes as Sterling tried to figure out what he’d said wrong.

  “Look,” he tried, “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine,” Sanyam said abruptly.

  “No, I just… it’s her job, and I pay her really well, I’m not—”

  Sanyam drained the sink and dried his hands on the towel by the stove. “I know, Fox.” He came back around the counter and stepped in between Sterling’s knees as he sat in the chair looking up at him.

  Sterling swallowed hard. Sanyam was so close, and he smelled so good, like vanilla and red curry and dark beer, as he put a finger under Sterling’s chin, drawing it up and over the dimple there.

  “Have you decided whether or not I’ll see you tonight?” he said quietly.

  Sterling struggled to marshal words. “I
—”

  Sanyam smiled. “Don’t leave it too late. I tend to fill my bookings rather quickly, even on a Monday night.”

  He thumbed Sterling’s chin, and Sterling shivered. It was too close, too intimate, too much, and he opened his mouth to say something biting and sharp, something to keep Sanyam from getting any ideas, but Sanyam beat him to it.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Fox. And then I’m going to leave.”

  Sterling forgot what he was going to say as Sanyam bent, one warm hand cradling his jaw, and fitted their lips together.

  He tasted good, so good, heat and spice and that kick of want that terrified Sterling with how badly he needed more as Sanyam claimed his mouth, slow and easy and confident.

  When he drew away, Sterling swayed in his seat, dazed.

  “Goodbye, Fox,” Sanyam said. He walked away without looking back and let himself out the door silently as Sterling watched.

  Chapter Eight

  THAT EVENING, Sanyam found Kimi at a table that Delfia was bussing.

  “That asshole tried to come back,” Kimi said before Sanyam could speak. “Jackson what’s-his-name. Logan stopped him, turned him away at the door. But I figured you’d want to know.”

  “Are you all right, Delfia?” Sanyam asked as alarm spiked through him.

  Delfia set a plate in the tub and nodded, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I didn’t actually see him,” she said in her soft Cuban accent. “And I have Kimi and her baseball bat.”

  “Goddamn right you do,” Kimi said, patting Delfia’s arm.

  “That client of mine may come in,” Sanyam said. “If he does, I won’t be accepting anyone else tonight.”

  “Oh, you like him that much, do you?” Kimi tapped the side of her nose. “I got you, big man.”

  Delfia snickered, and Kimi pivoted, hair flying out around her, and marched back to the bar before Sanyam could muster a reply.

  “It’s not like that,” he protested to the room at large.

  Trinity was on the stage, warming up for her set, and she flipped a hand at him. Sanyam waved back and headed for his room.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Fox’s eyes, wide and dark and vulnerable when he’d kissed him. Sanyam scared him, that much was obvious. He also fascinated him, a moth to flame, and it was going to be up to Sanyam to make sure Fox didn’t scorch his wings off.