Bleu Balls

by Tara Lain

  Micah walked them back to his car, his arm tightly around Bobby. A couple of people looked surprised, but mostly they smiled. Even if a majority of the gay population had moved out to the desert, this was still gay-friendly Laguna.

  Micah drove him home, parked, got out, and walked around the car to open the door.

  Bobby extended his hand, and Micah helped him out. “Thank you.”

  At the door to the apartment, Bobby said, “Would you like to come in?”

  “Sure. I’d love to see it.”

  Inside he flipped on the lights, and Micah looked around, surprised. “Isn’t Robin here?”

  “No, poor baby. He’s over at the building finishing the mural so we can complete our contract.”

  “Oh, the building Paolo designed.”

  “Yes. Want a drink?”

  “No. I’ve had plenty.” He walked around the room looking at the view—which wasn’t much at night—and mostly staring at the paintings. “Man, I need to save up to buy an original McMillan and McMillan.”

  “I’ll happily give you one.”

  “No way. That’s your living.”

  “Then I’ll paint you one.”

  He turned from where he stood by the wall and gazed at Bobby. “Nothing would thrill me more.” He made a snuffling sound. “Well, that’s one of the things about you that would thrill me.”

  Bobby perched on the couch. Having Micah there sure constituted severe temptation.

  Micah kept walking and looking. “So what happened with you and Paolo?”

  “Oh dear.”

  Micah turned and frowned. “What? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, kind of. You see, we did a pretty bad thing. When we got the contract for the mural, Paolo acted like a bastard and insisted that I do most of the painting. That’s stupid, since Robin’s the better painter.”

  “Arguable.”

  “You’re biased.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Anyway, that’s why we changed our hair. So Paolo couldn’t tell who was who at the top of the scaffold.”

  “Oh, you naughty boys.” He sat on the couch next to Bobby.

  “It would have been harmless enough, except Paolo started climbing up to talk to Robin—of course, thinking it was me. He ended up asking him out, which means he was asking me out.”

  “I’m getting dizzy.”

  “Right. He thought he was asking me, and that’s why I ended up dating him. But of course, the person he liked was—well, not exactly Robin, since he was pretending to be me. Probably some amalgam of the two of us. Anyway, Paolo’s and my date wasn’t the stuff of dreams, but then Paolo found out he’d been duped. He was royally pissed, and it all came down on Robin’s head. Now Robin’s trying to get the mural done without running into Paolo again. But it should all be over tonight.”

  “How did Paolo find out?”

  Bobby shrugged. “Robin never gave me all the details, but I guess there was shouting involved.”

  “That’s quite a story. I know Paolo’s famous for his bad temper. I can see where they might clash.”

  “Yes. I wish I could have finished the mural, but it’s really Robin’s baby. I’ve added some touches, but I can’t complete it.”

  Micah leaned over and captured Bobby’s lips again. The kiss this time reached new temperature heights. With a shake of his head, Micah stood. “Whew. Paolo’s obviously nuts, but his loss is definitely my gain. And unless we decide to succumb, I better leave before the temptation gets too great.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Bobby grinned.

  “Saturday, however, do I get you for—a long time?”

  “I have to be at the festival at 10:00 a.m. Sunday.”

  Micah chuckled softly and walked to the entry. “That might be just about enough time—if we don’t plan to sleep.” Laughing, he walked out the door and closed it behind him.

  Bobby watched the door close but couldn’t drag his eyes away. Did that really happen? Did Micah Brown really come to the Rose and tell me he wanted to be my boyfriend?

  Could he really trust that kind of gift from the gods?

  Chapter Twenty

  ROBIN PLUNGED a splash of yellow into the depth of blue. His hand trailed across the mural—his line in the sand of eternity. Slowly he released his breath and stepped back. Done. Done. He plopped on his butt and let his head fall into his hands.

  He could sleep for a week—or maybe sit there and cry for a week. Weird, he never cried. Ever. And now he should get over himself and go home, but Bobby waited at home—well, he was probably fucking Micah or home asleep, but he’d be waiting in the morning—and Bobby wanted Robin to go out with Howard What’s-his-name. All the guys wanted him to go. They felt sorry for him, being left alone now that Bobby had finally fallen in love. Shit. Among all the feelings in the world, he hated pity most, especially directed at him.

  He snuffled his nose on his paint-dabbed T-shirt. I’m really happy for Bobby. Micah’s great, and I knew when I went out with him that he should be with Bobby. Two of a kind. Unicorns and rainbows, baby. What the fuck do I have to be unhappy about? I never had Micah. God knows, I never had Paolo. I knew I’d lose Bobby to another guy someday, so how can I feel bad about it? It’s what he wants more than anything.

  I don’t feel bad! He raised his head, and a waft of coolness swept over his face. What? He touched his cheek and found it wet. No, I don’t feel bad. I feel… lonely.

  Yes, he’d known Bobby would finally make good on his promise of settling down one day. He was too dear and sweet a person not to fall into the grip of romance sometime. But Robin had put it off in his mind. Pretended they’d be an independent unit forever. Paying-the-piper day had arrived.

  Get over it.

  He flipped off the lights he’d been using on the scaffold since he’d been painting exclusively at night. Only the soft glow of the security lights washed over the huge lobby and cast shadows on the mural.

  After grabbing a large canvas bag, he shoved supplies into it and dragged it over to where he kept a pulley to raise and lower larger items, then went back for his most precious supplies—his brushes.

  The sound of the front doors buzzing open made him jump—then freeze. Not sure why, but he stepped out of the line of sight from the floor and peeked around the edge of the scaffold.

  “Sorry to bother you. I’ll only be a short while,” Paolo called to the security guard.

  Paolo walked toward the elevator, glanced over his shoulder toward the scaffold for a second, and then pushed the Up button a couple of times. The doors must have opened immediately, because he gave one last look toward the scaffold and stepped into the car.

  Heart thumping, Robin stared after him. I need to gather my crap and get out of here.

  He hooked his big bag onto the pulley and looped the smaller bags over his neck. First he lowered the equipment, then started down the ladder, taking one final look at his aerie of the last month—and at the softly glowing mural. Not fucking bad, if I do say so myself.

  At the bottom, he left two small bags there and grabbed the big one, hauling it toward the entrance. “Hey, Enrico.” He waved at the guard. “I’m taking this out, but I need to come back in, okay?”

  “Sure, Robin, but can you hang on a second? I gotta go pee.”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” Enrico walked down the hall, and Robin walked back to the scaffold for another bag. He glanced toward the elevator where Paolo had disappeared. What’s he doing here at this hour? Robin took a couple of steps forward and, without even planning it, started to run toward the elevator. He hit the button and a door whooshed open. Just that fast, he hopped on and the door closed. What am I doing? His face heated with anger—almost as hot as his throbbing cock. Whatever this was, he now had a problem. He’d never been to Paolo’s office, and it was too late to check the directory in the lobby. Okay, Paolo designed the building, and Hyer Anson’s office wasn’t on the top floor, so maybe Lind’s was. Robin hit ei
ghteen, leaned against the wall, and palmed his dick through his jeans. Do not think.

  The elevator stopped, and Robin held his breath as the doors opened. He might come face-to-face with Paolo—or be on an entirely wrong floor.

  Neither. The sign on the back wall across from the elevator said Paolo Lind Architecture, but nobody was in sight. Still, some soft music came from somewhere in the office.

  Robin crept out and walked through the arch from the elevator lobby into the office proper. There was a desk ahead, large and well organized, like maybe for an office manager or something. Most of the big space was divided into cubicles by a modern office system, and the large windows on every wall but one would probably shine brilliant light into the whole space during the day. Toward the back there seemed to be a few actual offices with doors. One of those was ajar and had light shining from it.

  Target.

  He walked softly toward the lights, fists clenched and goal unclear.

  As he got close, he saw the top of Paolo’s dark head bent over his desk. Though it was only 10:00 p.m., it was still late to be working. Or early.

  Robin stopped and stared. From where he hid, he could see Paolo but unlikely Paolo could see him. Indulge. Robin let his gaze drift over the exotic perfection of that face. Since he stared at his computer, Paolo looked slightly down, and his thick lashes made dark fans on his impossibly high cheekbones. How could anyone so beautiful be so fucking mean?

  Or so fucking sexy?

  A muscle jumped in Robin’s jaw, and he stalked forward another step. What do you have in mind?

  Fuck!

  He walked the ten steps required to enter Paolo’s fishbowl of an office and struck a pose in the doorway, arm up on the jamb, other hand on hip.

  It still took a second for Paolo to notice him. Whoa! His eyes bugged, a hand slapped his chest, and he rolled backward in his chair until it smashed the wall. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Robin stepped into the space. “I came to say goodbye.”

  “What?”

  “The mural is done.”

  Weirdly, he looked at his watch, like maybe the project had been measured in hours. “So you’ve been working at night. That’s why I haven’t seen you on the scaffold.”

  “You made it pretty clear you didn’t want to see me ever again. I just complied.”

  Paolo frowned but didn’t reply.

  “But before I go, I still have a question that hasn’t been cleared up for me.”

  Paolo crossed his arms over his chest. “You think it’s my job to explain things to you?”

  Robin took another couple of steps toward Paolo, and a little more of the whites of his eyes showed. Of course, Robin’s heart beat so hard he could barely hear. “In this case only you can answer.” Propping a hand on one hip, he sauntered forward until he stood only a couple feet in front of Paolo. “Since you knew that I wasn’t Bobby on the scaffold the other morning, why did you let me suck your cock?”

  The crease popped between his brows. “I wasn’t sure.”

  “Oh really? You didn’t go ‘Aha, gotcha’ when I agreed about what was being sent?” He took another step closer and now could reach out and touch Paolo’s knees if he leaned forward. Paolo looked—uneasy, yes, but maybe also—what? Challenged? Titillated? Robin added the other hand to his hip and stood with his legs planted apart in their tight, paint-spattered jeans. “Or is there a chance, Mr. Holier Than Anybody On Earth, that you wanted your cock sucked and you wanted it sucked by me, Robin McMillan? Why? Because you knew that I’ve got what you want.” He slid a finger into his mouth and slipped it in and out. Paolo’s eyes shone and never left Robin’s mouth. Slowly, Robin dropped to his knees in front of Paolo.

  Paolo licked his lips.

  Oh yeah. “You may not like me, but you crave somebody who doesn’t buy your bullshit and might suck you into oblivion or just as easily bite off your dick and spit it to the alligators. Am I right?”

  Robin grabbed the two arms of the rolling chair and dragged it forward, throwing Paolo off-balance. With one hand he grabbed Paolo’s too-long silken hair and yanked his head down, smothered his incipient complaints with his mouth, and plunged his tongue into Paolo’s hot recesses. He insinuated his other hand between their bodies, slid down the zipper on Paolo’s jeans, and found a more-than-willing participant inside.

  With a twist of the wrist, Robin extracted Paolo’s dick, pumped it a couple of times, getting a mmmmft from Paolo’s throat, and then tore his lips from Paolo’s and swallowed the cock.

  “Holy shit!” Paolo half rose from the chair but only succeeded in shoving his hard-as-a-diamond rod deeper into Robin’s throat. Then he didn’t even pretend to resist. His hips bobbed and thrust, and after a second, he buried his hands in Robin’s hair and clutched as he guided his mouth deeper and deeper into the process. “Oh God, yes. Don’t stop. Shit, Robin, shit!”

  Robin sucked, licked, plunged the tip of his tongue into Paolo’s slit, then sucked some more. Nothing and no one had ever filled his mouth so—perfectly.

  The pleading and chanting got louder and more frantic. I love cheerleading.

  Robin wrapped both hands around Paolo’s slippery cock, pumped like he was on firefighting duty, and sucked to prime the pump.

  “Shiiit!” Spunk hit the back of Robin’s mouth so hard he almost choked—which would have been wildly bad for his self-esteem. He pulled his mouth away and hand-jobbed the rest of the orgasm. He didn’t swallow for just anyone.

  As soon as Paolo’s shudders started to die down, Robin pushed back from the chair and stood.

  Paolo’s brilliant eyes flashed open in time to see Robin pull a paint rag from his back pocket and wipe his dripping hand. “I hope you enjoy your mural.”

  He stepped back, gaze locked with Paolo’s.

  “Paolo? Are you here?” The voice came from somewhere in the office.

  Robin’s whole spine froze.

  Paolo flashed a frown, grabbed his limp cock, and shoved it in his pants. A second after he zipped, the dude who’d been at the festival with Paolo appeared in the door to his office.

  It took every ounce of energy and guts Robin possessed to summon a sardonic sneer. He walked out of Paolo’s office with his shoulders back, laughing as loud as his trembling belly could manage.

  Talk about your perfect exit.

  When the elevator doors closed, he finally let the tears drip down his cheeks.

  “COME ON, dear. Let me jooj your tie. Hold still.” Bobby fluttered around Robin like a mother hummingbird.

  Despite being fully dressed in formalwear, Robin sank farther into the couch cushions. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t feel like it, and who the fuck knows who I’ll see.” How can your stomach drop and heart jump at the same time?

  Bobby planted hands on hips on top of his perfectly tailored tux pants. “Robin McMillan, all you’ve done since you finished that damned mural is mope around and paint things that are too dark and angst-ridden to sell to anyone shy of Dracula. Your date will be here in in a matter of minutes, so finish primping and let’s go make the rest of the world, gay and straight, sorry that they don’t have a McMillan twin on their arm.”

  “Fuck.” He stood. “Okay.” He sighed loudly but walked to his dressing mirror, admired his newly black hair, though still short in back and floppy on top, and the reintroduction of his eyeliner and skull earring. “At last I look more like me.”

  Bobby flashed his rings on every finger. “And I can say the same.”

  Their bell rang, and Bobby clapped his hands. “Maybe it’s Micah.” He literally ran toward the door.

  Robin had to smile. A smitten Bobby was even cuter than the usual one, and he had to admit, Bobby was about as cute as a guy could get. He’d added some pink streaks into the rosy beige hair they’d both affected for a while, and it suited him—as always.

  Robin walked to the door of his bedroom as he heard Bobby say, “Oh, hi, Howard. You’re very punctual, my dear.”<
br />
  Howard laughed. “I think I’m anxious.”

  Hey, nice to have someone anxious to see me. Robin plastered on a smile and walked into the living room.

  Bobby said, “Here’s your date. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

  Howard gazed at Robin. “Wow. I mean, how do you two do it? You’re absolutely beautiful, and I’m so grateful that you’d do this for me.”

  Robin gave him a small shrug. “You look pretty damned gorgeous yourself.” It was the truth. Howard was tall, gray at the temples, and handsome. Robin wouldn’t mind being seen on his arm at all.

  That won a big smile from Howard. He clapped his hands together. “So am I escorting you too, Bobby?”

  “No. My date should be here soon.”

  That statement triggered the universe, and a knock on the door got a bright-eyed smile from Bobby. As he hurried over, Howard said quietly, “This is the new boyfriend?”

  Robin nodded.

  Like a basket of warm hugs, Micah came in and swept Bobby up in his arms for a twirl. “You look better than ice cream.”

  Bobby squealed, and if Robin didn’t love him more than he loved himself, he’d have gagged. As it was, he smiled—a little tightly.

  Micah set Bobby down and looked up. He cocked his head. “Howard?”

  Howard extended his hand and walked toward Micah. “Micah! What a surprise. I can’t blame you for falling for one of these two.”

  As he shook hands, Micah glanced at Robin. “An affection for architects?” He grinned.

  Don’t show how that hurts. He slid an arm through Howard’s. “Who could resist Howard Roark?”

  Micah didn’t even hesitate. He laughed, which clearly made him an even cooler guy. “I shared that childhood crush.”

  Howard said, “Are we all going to the same place?”

  “Yes.” Bobby sparkled. “We’re all being serviceful tonight.”

  Howard asked, “Shall we all go together?”

  Bobby batted his lashes up at Micah. “No. We’re not coming back to the same place.”