by Rhys Ford
“Duck wonton noodle soup for you, black bean crab for me, and an order of spicy salt shrimp for us to share.” Rey threw him a quick look. “Unless you don’t eat duck or seafood anymore.”
“Asshole. Could have asked me what I wanted.” He wanted to be grumpy, but his growling stomach put a quick end to any lie he might have told about not loving the place’s food. “Maybe I’d want the pork chops.”
“The only thing that wins out over duck for you is pork belly, and they were out. You also never eat pork chops there.” Rey pulled out into Stockton’s stream of traffic. “I promised I’d feed you. Here you go. Some of your favorites. It’s not like I don’t have options. I’ve got options!”
“I’m the best you’ve ever had. Probably the best you’re ever going to get.” It was good to remind Rey of that, especially when the smirk on his face seemed permanently engraved on his expression. The smile faltered enough to dim it down from smug to pleasant, and Gus reached between their seats to tuck the food behind Rey. “Where are we eating this? Your place?”
“I was planning on the park.” Rey’s attention drifted off of the road to land on Gus for a split second. “I was serious about not pushing at you. Shit’s been crazy for you. I don’t want to add to that—”
“Look, Mace is at work, I’m dead on my feet, you’ve just come off a shift, and your apartment’s a couple of blocks away.” He was tired but not to the point of weary. “I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep on the couch after getting some food in me, but the most romantic thing you can do for me right now is lend me a T-shirt and a pair of sweats so I can take a shower. Better than a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates.”
“But not as good as duck wonton noodle soup, right? Because you don’t want to admit it, but I did good there.” Rey appeared to contemplate the suggestion, his expression softening. Then he said with a wicked grin, “If you’re good, I might even share the fried wonton.”
“They don’t fry their wonton.” The thought was scandalous, especially after years of fishing the delicate pockets out of steaming broth and burning his mouth on their molten pork innards. “It’s an urban legend assholes like you spread to make themselves look cool.”
“They do for me. Check the bag if you don’t believe me.” Rey’s grin drifted back to a smirk, and Gus growled. “Especially after a couple of two-in-the-morning grease fires.”
“Fucker.” Gus laughed before he caught himself. Nodding, he leaned against the cold window, then muttered, “Yeah, you did good, but I still want a damned shower. And if there are fried wonton in there, you bet your ass you’re sharing.”
ON SECOND and third thoughts, Rey’s place probably hadn’t been the best of Gus’s ideas.
Mostly because as soon as he’d seen Rey pad out in a pair of low-slung cotton pants and an old 415 Ink T-shirt molded to his sculpted torso and arms, he’d wanted to drag him down to the floor and screw the man’s brains out.
The movie was something memorable, a sweeping tale of a girl, her kidnapped brother, and a rock star in tight riding pants masquerading as a Goblin King, but Gus couldn’t keep track of what was going on, despite having seen the film a million and a half times. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, Rey’d mock-grudgingly shared the crunchy pockets of meaty goodness he’d only heard whispers of existing for people the restaurant owners liked. Small kisses followed each bite, Rey-flavored dumplings spiced with chili oil and jalapeno shoyu. They’d eaten slowly, watching some old cartoons, then sat back for the movie, cradled in a couch Gus used to fall asleep on when it’d been in their family room. The shower he’d taken was hasty, a quick scrub-down in his brother’s bathroom followed by a surreptitious rifling through Mace’s things for lube and condoms.
He’d come up empty-handed and more than a little disappointed in Mace.
“Jesus, and here I thought Luke was the saint of the bunch.” He’d stared into a nightstand holding lotion, Kleenex, and an old erotica novel Gus was too squicked out to pick up and examine. Closing the drawer, he’d shaken his head and muttered, “I’m going to start calling you Monk from now on.”
The lack of condoms and lube worried him, but not as much as what he’d do if Rey decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. Sneaking a peek over to the other side of the couch, he wasn’t surprised to find Rey staring at him.
“Your heart’s beating a mile a minute. Swear to God, I can feel it through your arm.” Rey’s voice broke through Gus’s dark thoughts. “Whatcha thinking about? Me?”
“Now I know you’ve been living with Mace too long. You’ve got a huge ego growing there. Like a wart on your brain.” Shifting, Gus pulled his legs up and crossed them. Reaching over Rey’s lap, he shut the television off, measuring out what he wanted to say. “We’re not really watching this.”
“Not really,” he conceded. “Seriously, what’s going on in that brain of yours? I feel like smoke should be coming out of your ears. Talk to me, Goose. We agreed we were going to do that.”
“I dunno. There’s a lot of crap floating around in my head, and I’m not sure if any of it is real.”
“Why don’t you just start with something—anything—and we’ll go from there.” He turned, tucking one leg under him and letting the other dangle over the couch seat. “Not talking’s what got us into trouble the first time. All cards on the table this time.”
It was strange looking at Rey’s face. His strong features were familiar, so very familiar, and oddly enough, Gus clearly remembered the scrawnier version of a teenaged Rey staring up at him in the watered-down darkness of a fiery night. He’d grown into his nose, but his eyes were still doe-soft and almost feminine. His lips had hardened a bit, time stealing away the youthful plump of a boy and replacing it with the firm strength of a masculine mouth. He’d filled out along his jaw, and the slightly stocky heft of his youthful shoulders and chest were now broad, firm with hard muscles gained from years of hard work.
The hands Gus held a few times at the pier were rougher, callused, and his nails were cut short, his index finger sporting a dark mark where something struck it. Rey was a handsome boy- next-door-attractive, sexy and real, the kind of man who’d wake up early on Sundays to mow the lawn, then pull out the grill in the early afternoon to almost burn whatever meat he’d thawed out in the morning. His nose was a bit wonky from a hit, and there was some sadness around his eyes at one time, shadows wiped away by the man his mother’d married, and then another rinse of happiness brightened them when his little sister came along.
Rey was a life Gus never expected to encounter, much less have. Rey’s mother thought the world of him, a far cry from what Gus knew. He’d come from a woman who’d thrown away all opportunities given to her and then tried to destroy everything she’d created. He didn’t deserve Rey. Not by a long shot. Still, he ached for the slightly scruffy, rough-around-the-edges but hard-nosed man who’d emerged from the teenaged boy he’d once known, and staring down Bulcher, tearing away the monster costume he’d made for the man, changed something in him. Something dark inside cracked, and suddenly a life with Rey didn’t seem so far out of his reach.
“Hey.” Rey brushed his thumb over Gus’s mouth. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just… all cards on the table?”
Rey nodded slowly, his expression going wary. “Yeah. Shoot.”
“No one’s going to pull my head out of my ass but me. That’s the truth. If I want something to happen, I’m going to have to do it. That said, I want to fuck you—or you me since that’s pretty much how you and I work. Hard, against the wall, your balls up against my ass fucking, but that’s not going to happen if I don’t do something, say something. Straight out. No pun intended.” Gus held his hands up to stop Rey from chortling, but a snicker escaped his lips anyway. He waited for the gleam in Rey’s eyes to fade, then continued. “I know I’ve wanted some time and space because of all the crap I’ve been carrying around. But you drive me nuts, and as much as you’ve pissed me the fuck off, you still get me as hor
ny as hell. I’ve wanted to have sex with you since the first time I saw you. Day one, you’ve done it for me, and I hated that you weren’t my first. Stupid as that sounds, as dumb as it is, I hated you weren’t the first guy I had sex with.”
“Okay, that’s a lot to start with.” The couch creaked a bit when Rey shifted to face him. Someone—probably Mace—had replaced the legs of the old sofa, but Gus wasn’t sure the frame was sturdy enough to do much more than sitting on. “Now I’m kind of pissed off I wasn’t that guy either. Who was the first guy you slept with?”
“You remember Jean-Michel?” It’d been a torrid seduction, a flash of fire and heat Gus knew wasn’t going to last much longer than the two days the Montreal tattoo artist had planned on being at the shop.
“The French guy?” Disgust curled Rey’s upper lip.
“Canadian,” he corrected.
“He sounded like Pepé Le Pew! All, hello bebe, how are you doing today?”
“And he didn’t sound…. Jesus, Rey, you weren’t interested.”
“Oh, I was interested. In keeping my face someplace where God put it. Have you seen Mace’s hands? You forget I’ve been in fights with him. I liked not having to drink my meals,” he snorted. “You were seventeen? How old was Skunky? Thirty? Was he even any good?”
“Twenty-five, and I was eighteen. Plenty old enough.” Gus sneered mockingly back at Rey. “And… it was okay. He was shitty, not bad just not… it felt like I was chewing ice instead of eating dinner. The sex was… he just wasn’t… you, like my body knew it could be better if it were you. And when you… when you finally crossed that damned line, it blew my mind. I think I kept running away because you scared the fuck out of me, I wanted you so damned much, maybe too much. Now here I am, on the couch with you like we’re teenagers and Daddy’s out for the night, but my fucking brother doesn’t have any condoms or lube.”
“I haven’t been with anyone without protection since you. But then again, I haven’t been with anyone in a long while. It’s been all work, especially since I got transferred to Number Two,” Rey said quietly. “You?”
“Um, Jules? I’ve got a kid with her, remember? I got drunk and did a stupid, not that I’m not grateful he’s here, but I fucked up when I should have wrapped my dick up.” He pushed at Rey’s shoulder when he laughed. “I don’t ink someone without wearing gloves. You can’t trust that I don’t have something, Rey.”
“I don’t. I mean… hell.” A sheepish look crept over Rey’s face. “I’ve got condoms and lube. In my room.”
“Really? You were that sure? Or leftover from when I was around?” He wrinkled his nose. “Shit, that would mean you’d moved with them. You guys weren’t living together when we’d hooked up.”
“Not me. Mace.” Rey pulled Gus’s hands into his lap, playing with his fingers. “He tossed me a bag of them after I’d come by with the cupcakes when you guys were building out the back patio. Said he knew we’d end up fucking even if he thought it was a bad idea so I might as well be prepared. I told him he was full of shit, but you know Mace.”
“Jerk’s always right.” His gut hurt a bit, hearing how Mace felt. “God, he’s such an asshole. Nothing I do is good enough for him—”
“No, you’ve got it wrong. I don’t think he feels I’m good enough for you.” Rey reached over to brush the hair out of Gus’s eyes. “Can we talk less about your brother and more about how we’re going to work us out?”
“Actually, you know, I’m sick of talking.” He unfolded his legs and pushed Rey back. The couch creaked again, shuddering under them, and Gus froze, waiting for it to give way beneath them. A thrill ran through him, an odd dangerous glee fueled by the heat flaring in Rey’s smoky brown eyes and the very real possibility they’d end up on the floor. Bending his head down, Gus captured Rey’s mouth, drinking from his parted lips long enough to leave him gasping. Grinning, he rasped, his voice as thick with need as Rey’s cock lengthening against his thigh, “Noticed you’ve got a couple of walls in your room. How about if we just go test them out?”
Seventeen
SKIN WAS his favorite medium. Gus liked the feel of it under his fingers, its heat and the way it gave beneath the push of vibrating metal.
And Rey Montenegro knew exactly what to do to make Gus’s skin sing.
The light on the ceiling was wild, angled and illuminating most of one corner, the off-kilter beam shooting straight up from the lamp one of them knocked off the nightstand. Rey’s unmade bed took up most of the outer wall, a high foam-topped monstrosity with a Mission-style headboard. Its sheets were dark, a blue found in the fold of twilight and shadows. There was a mound of pillows with none of their cases matching the bed linens and a thin quilt half draped over the far corner of the mattress, a patchwork of sprigged and solid muslin squares.
While the bed was their destination, they hadn’t quite made it before Rey moved in and Gus found himself half-naked, breathless, and shoved up against the wall.
The stucco surface was rough on Gus’s back, its texture snagging on his skin. Cold air laved at his belly and sides, waves of goose bumps chased by the fire of Rey’s roaming mouth. He groaned, arching his back, but Rey held him firm, hooking his hands under Gus’s elbows and shoving him lightly against the wall. His arms were trapped in front of him, tangled in the T-shirt he’d taken from Mace’s dresser, and Rey’s weight pressed into him, anchoring him in place.
Hunger drove their sins, careening their lust and desire back and forth across familiar rolling fields. Gus couldn’t get enough of Rey in his mouth, on his skin. Even his long, hard body clenched between the V of Gus’s legs didn’t seem to scratch the raging itch for the man who held him up against the wall. His insides ached, desperate for Rey’s hands on his thighs or ass—really, anywhere he hadn’t been in the last few seconds. Flames licked at his nerves, tightening his muscles, and Gus worked to get his arms free while Rey chuckled, his tongue laving Gus’s nipple into a hard peak.
A seam ripped or a thread popped, and the cotton twisted around his forearms and wrists gave a little bit.
Rey, however, did not.
His mouth seemed to be everywhere. His hands were everywhere. Gus’s skin was too hot, roughened with need until he felt like he’d split apart. Rey tore into him, reaching past the years they’d bricked up between them and picking at every thread of arousal he could find. Fingers clenched around Gus’s upper arms, Rey’s bare shoulders bulged with corded muscle, even though Gus wasn’t putting up a fight. Rey’s teeth worried at a spot beneath Gus’s collarbone, traveling up to his throat where he claimed the spot Gus’s blood pulsed the strongest. The pull of his flesh into Rey’s mouth nearly brought Gus to his knees, and his legs buckled but Rey was there to catch him.
“Help get this damned thing off,” Gus growled, trying to shake his arm loose from the shirt. Stepping away from the wall, his shoulder hit a picture frame, canting it, but he didn’t stop to right it. “Then your pants are next.”
“You’ve gotten a hell of a lot bossier.” Rey tossed the shirt aside once he got Gus’s arms free. Rey’s hands were rough, hardened by work and crisis, but they felt like Heaven on Gus’s bared torso. “And my pants come off right after yours do. Actually, I’ve got a better idea. How about if you just get on the bed and let me do what I’ve been wanting to do to you ever since I heard you’d come home.”
Carpet burned when someone had their feet knocked out from under them, or at least Gus’s did when Rey gently shoved him onto the bed. He landed awkwardly, but at this point Gus didn’t think grace really mattered. Scooting up wasn’t an option, not when Rey’s fingers tugged at his ankle, a firm order for him to stay stretched sideways over the king-sized bed. The bed creaked, springs bowing to Rey’s weight as he climbed onto the mattress. Rey’s knees dimpled the sheets; then Rey’s hands were on his waistband, loosening the drawstrings of his borrowed sweats, then yanking them down to Gus’s hip bones.
Then Rey sat back on his haunches and stared.
Gus knew what Rey saw. The ink on his body told his stories as much as the scars hidden beneath them. It was something they shared, laying their strengths out under their skin to hide the damage done by someone they’d once loved. Bare-chested, Rey was powerful in repose, sculpted with muscle over his broad frame, a sparse scruff of hair around his belly button, then feathering down below to disappear beneath his waistband. There were peeks of scars along his hips and ribs, mottled landscapes and ridges scored into Rey’s skin from that horrific-wonderful night when they’d all first met.
A pouf of a tiger’s tail poked up above his hip bone, a hint of orange, brown, and black fur coyly flirting with Gus’s eye when Rey shifted, and on the other side, the ridges of a dragon’s tail were stark ebony lines on Rey’s golden skin, Ivo’s distinct hand clearly identifiable even with a sliver of a glimpse. There were other tattoos on his lover’s body, from Ichiro’s fiery cherry blossoms and beta fish swimming across Rey’s lower back and up toward his ribs to the painstakingly accurate rendition of his sister’s kindergarten artwork she’d drawn of her big brother in his fireman’s gear rescuing a cat from a tree, a vivid chaotic scribble on his side near his heart.
He’d tasted every inch of Rey’s body, knew its textures and how it gave and plumped when bitten, scratched, or kneaded, but he’d never inked it.
“I need to tattoo you,” Gus finally murmured, tracing Rey’s cock through his pants. “You don’t have any of my art on you. Every-fucking-body else, but not me. I think that pisses me off.”
“My back’s all yours. I’ve seen that stonework stuff you do, the black and gray—those marble statues you’ve done—I really like those. I need a Saint Florian, but I want something different, like a carving.” Rey lowered himself down carefully, resting his weight on his hands and knees. He stole the light from around Gus’s face, throwing them both into shadows. Teasing a kiss from Gus’s mouth, he groaned when Gus slid a hand up along Rey’s thigh, toying with the rigid shaft straining against the cotton fabric. “Jesus, do you want to make me come in my pants? Stop that.”