by Alex Kidwell
Hesitant, shuffling footsteps coming from behind him signaled Redford’s appearance. “Why are you sitting like that? Are you okay?”
“Because some irritating bastard kneed me in the junk,” Jed muttered absently, holding his sketch out and squinting at it, muttering under his breath as he added some more lines.
Redford crept closer. “Are you okay? I can smell, um—you have blood. More of it.”
“I got blood pumpin’ everywhere,” he agreed, twisting the paper sideways and adding some more shading. “Any in particular got you all hot and bothered?”
He wasn’t going to look at Redford. If he just didn’t look at him, see, then it’d all be fine. Because whatever was going on between them, it couldn’t. Jed was a wreck that made the Titanic look like a cruise. Redford deserved someone who could be there past day six, which was a point Jed himself had never quite reached. So, not looking. They would do this, he would save the day, and Red could go live a perfectly normal life. Just like he should. And Jed would go back to only getting turned on by big, burly, married men who could pin him down like a junior league wrestler.
There was a faint sigh at his answer, and soft noises that indicated Redford was going away again. Then, more noises that sounded suspiciously like a cleaning brush going over porcelain. Was Redford cleaning his bathroom?
“You know,” he hollered, craning his neck back—not looking at him, thank you very much, just a general glance in his direction—”I’m trying to raise my own breed of mold in there. I’ve got my application in at the National Science Foundation for funding. I’m going to name it the Jedlet.” A pause and he huffed out an irritated breath at himself, cursing his own stupidity before he clambered off the couch and wandered over to the bathroom, sketch pad under his arm. “Please tell me you’re not cleaning my toilet,” he murmured, head down, eyes locked on the floor. “Because I gotta say, I didn’t even realize you could do that.”
Redford was not, thankfully, cleaning the toilet. He was on his knees next to the bathtub, craned over the side in a frankly awkward and uncomfortable looking position, attacking the bottom of his bath with a scrub brush that Jed hadn’t even known he’d had. At his approach, Redford looked at him once, expression inscrutable, before going right back to cleaning.
“You saved my life, and you’re protecting me,” he said quietly. “I have to do something to pay you back.”
Aw, Jesus. Closing his eyes briefly, Jed rubbed the bridge of his nose. That ache in his throat that seemed a chronic condition when Red was around was back in full force, making it hard to see for the prickling at the backs of his eyes. There was just something about this guy. Something he’d never experienced before. It didn’t even make sense that he’d want so badly to protect him, and at the same time he’d want to just bury himself in Redford’s arms and see if, for once, he could feel safe himself.
“Red,” he whispered, crouching down next to him, reaching out to wrap his fingers around his wrist, stilling him. “You don’t owe me a damn thing. This isn’t… I don’t expect anything from you. Okay? And please, stop killing the Jedlets.” He tried for a faint smile then, swallowing hard and resisting the urge to touch him further. If they just pretended what had happened hadn’t, then maybe Jed could get through this without hurting him.
“Hey,” Jed cleared his throat, changing the subject. “Uh, could you look at this for me? Tell me if this guy looks at all familiar.” He turned the sketchpad around, showing the picture of Handlebar he’d been working on. “Anything?”
Redford turned his head slightly toward the picture, giving it a good, long look before he shook his head silently, an apology in his eyes, before he turned back to the bathtub. Gently, he pulled his wrist out of Jed’s hold and resumed cleaning, clearly determined. “Sorry, I don’t recognize him,” he said hopelessly. Then, “I have to do something for you, and cleaning is the only thing I’m good at.”
Oh, that most definitely wasn’t true, and Jed had the unsatisfied sour deflation of blue balls to attest to it. But he wasn’t going to turn this into a porn movie. As much as he hated the thought of Redford on his knees outside of his own wet dreams, he’d let the guy clean. Maybe it’d make them both feel less awkward. Or infinitely more so, but whatever. “It’s okay,” Jed sighed. “I didn’t figure you would. Worth a shot, though.” Standing, he glanced in the mirror, wincing as he lightly pressed his fingers to his brand new road rash above his left eyebrow. Outstanding. “I’m going to call one of my contacts. He might be able to help us identify this guy.”
Wandering back out to the living room, Jed flipped through his phone until he found the number he was looking for. David. Just David, kind of like Cher or Viagra. Guy could take three hours and track down your grandmother’s bra size, if you paid him enough. Right then, he was the best chance they had at finding out what kind of muscle Fil was hiring. If you could trace the money, you could almost always figure out where to aim the bullets.
“David,” he greeted with a smooth grin, working his best charm and coercion persona. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart. We never talk anymore.”
Redford had come out, holding a damp washcloth and pressing it lightly to Jed’s temple. For a moment they were close, breaths mingling, eyes dilating, the whole nine yards. He was like a drug, Redford, and Jed was leaning forward before he even realized what was happening. Thank God David started talking.
“I should rip your spleen out through your eyeballs, you worthless cocksucker.” David’s tone was conversational, almost pleasant, which was how you knew he was pissed.
Jed just laughed though, grinning. “But you like how I suck cock. And you like even more that I pay you—”
“You sometimes pay me, which is the reason I’m not thrilled to talk to you right now. What about Nigeria, huh? I got you what you asked for, and you stiffed me.”
“Nigeria was a very different situation,” Jed pointed out. “Besides, I didn’t stiff you. The client decided to go a different direction.”
“Sometimes I wonder why I don’t just tear your head off.”
“Because I bring you business. Besides, I’m cute.” Leaning against the wall, Jed stared up at the ceiling. “I’m faxing you over a sketch, David. I need everything you can find out. Oh, and I’m overnighting you a scope from his gun; that might help. I think it’s custom.”
“Gee, a doodle and a scope. You really like making it easy, don’t you?” David replied dryly, but he didn’t say no. Which was all Jed could hope for. “Give me two days.”
“You’ve got one. I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
Hanging up, Jed slumped down into the chair, tipping it back on two legs. “I need a beer.”
Redford had stopped cleaning the dried blood off during the conversation, but he resumed his ministrations, tentatively dabbing above Jed’s eyebrow. “Who was that?”
That was something other than drawing Redford into his lap, but apparently it didn’t stop Jed from doing so. Nudging his nose against Redford’s shoulder, Jed sighed. “Someone who can get me information. Soon as I know where to shoot, sugarlips, I’m going to get this guy. I swear to God.”
Though he was clearly startled at his new sitting position, Redford settled in fairly quickly, the smile coming back into his eyes. “I heard weird noises on the other end of the call.”
“Well,” Jed drawled, closing his eyes and letting Redford continue cleaning out the scrapes. “I apparently don’t have your hearing, but it wouldn’t be the first time I caught David in the middle of fucking the hell out of his nerd boyfriend. He has a slight exhibitionist thing.” A slight smile touched the corners of his lips. “Were they those kind of noises?”
“Oh.” Redford looked startled, then a little uncomfortable, but soon settled into a fairly amused expression. “I just wondered. He was oddly coherent, considering. So you think he can help?”
“He gets a lot of practice,” he murmured, tilting his face toward the cool touch of Redford’s fingers. He liked s
eeing Red look like that. Not afraid, not worried, not unsure—like he’d finally gotten the joke. Like he was joining in. And there was nothing wrong with what they were doing right then. He could keep his boundaries just fine. Just because Redford was warm and heavy in his lap that didn’t mean he was making a move. This was… friendly. Innocent.
And he was Mother fucking Theresa.
“Uh, yeah.” Slouching back in the chair, Jed shrugged. “He’s good, and he knows I’ll pay him. Well. I’ll probably pay him.” He flashed a quick, mischievous grin. “I think he’ll get what I need.”
“Okay.” Obviously taking Jed’s word for truth, Redford continued gently dabbing the blood away. Finally, he drew back the cloth, bundled in his hands, looking like he knew he should get up and walk away but really didn’t want to.
Jed didn’t want him to, either. He also didn’t want to stop believing in Santa Claus, but those were the breaks. Gently wrapping his hands around Redford’s hips, he eased him up, standing as well and giving him a faint, apologetic smile. Maybe he should explain. Maybe it’d be better for both of them if he just came out and said, Fido, I’m fucking crazy about you, but I’m also just plain fucking crazy, and as such I think you should run like hell.
Yeah, fuck that.
“I’ve got work to do,” he explained quietly, studying Red’s face, tamping down the ache of want that was threatening to take over his breathing. “Why don’t you get some sleep? There are maps and such, and it’s all very boring, I promise. I’ll go over whatever plan I’ve put together with you later tonight. Just nap, relax, all that. Okay?”
Redford looked like he was about to protest when a yawn cut off any words, followed by a slightly embarrassed smile. He didn’t agree verbally, instead choosing to reach out and curl his fingers around Jed’s bicep, squeezing briefly, clearly growing more confident, before retreating to the bed. He’d obviously gotten changed into new, dry clothes when he’d gotten home, and after stripping off his shirt Redford curled up on top of the covers, closing his eyes wearily, exhausted by the recent events.
Watching him silently for a moment, Jed’s expression was almost soft. Longing like a desperate need pulled at the corners of his mouth, but he wiped it away with a hand across his face, turning back to his work. To his guns and his maps and his shady connections, because that’s what he knew. It was what he was good at, and he was going to use every ounce of that to make sure Redford got to walk away from this unscathed.
Chapter Seven
Redford
REDFORD dreamed again.
He dreamed he was back in his not-room, the room that was his but wasn’t, and Jed was leading him out of it again.
The bell jingled. “Keep it on. I don’t want to lose you,” Jed said.
The dream world shifted, spun, tilted on its axis and reformed. They were in his basement. He wasn’t on two legs anymore, but four paws, the moon high and pale in the sky. Jed was backing away from him, fear in his eyes. The wolf growled. It wasn’t happy with this intruder.
“Red?”
The wolf leaped, powerful jaws clamping around Jed’s neck, shaking him like a rag doll. A sickening crack.
“Hey, Fido. Wake up.”
Blood, rushing and warm, pooled on the floor—
“Redford!”
Redford’s eyes flew open. Jed was leaning close, one hand on his shoulder. Still half in the clutches of the dream, Redford could only dazedly note that Jed’s eyes were very green, clear, and bright.
“What were you dreaming about?” Jed’s voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the usual confidence. “Chasing rabbits?” He gave a little smirk, though there was an unsure tinge lingering around the corners of it, as if Jed wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
Redford blinked heavily, slowly becoming aware that he’d tangled the sheets around himself, clutching a pillow to his chest like it was an anchor. He must have been moving in his sleep. “No, I was….” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
The screen had been pulled aside, so when Redford looked around, he could see what Jed had been in the middle of doing. There were maps everywhere, the smell of cigarette smoke heavy in the air, guns taken apart and weighing a table down with the sheer number of them. Jed was obviously in the middle of cleaning them, but there was something almost reverent about the way he’d laid them out, displaying them like they were his favorite and most treasured possessions.
There was a touch to his cheek, and Redford turned his gaze back to Jed. The man was shirtless—for a reason that Redford couldn’t quite discern right then—and was stroking his thumb over Redford’s jaw, concern barely concealed in his eyes. “Nothing to disturb, I was just going over my maps.” Jed smiled at him, and the weight of the nightmare seemed to ease itself off of Redford’s shoulders. “You wanna go back to sleep? You still look tired.”
Redford shook his head, sitting up. “No, I’m awake now.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake up properly.
As he climbed out of bed, Jed went back to his maps, settling himself in the chair at the table. Redford rubbed his eyes again, shuffling over to him to look at the chaos strewn about the room. He hadn’t realized there were yet more maps underneath the guns, and they seemed to be the ones that Jed was paying attention to. There were pen marks on them, circles surrounding street names that were vaguely familiar.
“I’m trying to figure out where Fil might be,” Jed explained, a pen clamped between his teeth. “David ID’d the guy I sketched. Name’s Edward Grasio. He’s good, if his reputation is anything to go by. Ain’t a rocket scientist, but he knows his ass from a grenade. High-end thug for hire.”
Redford looked closer at the maps, beginning to see a pattern. Jed had started where they were attacked and had outlined a radius around it, highlighting various buildings. “You’re trying to figure out where he lives?”
“Lives, works, shits, whatever.” Jed shrugged. “Anywhere he might be camping.” He picked a cigarette out of a pack laid out on top of some of the crumpled maps and seemed to be briefly torn about which he wanted between his lips—that or the pen. The pen lost, clattering to the table while Jed fished out a tarnished old silver lighter. Redford wrinkled his nose at the smell as Jed lit up the cigarette. The battered packet on the table said Marlboro Reds, not that Redford had any insight into particular brands. “Might help me figure out where our buddy Fil is.”
Redford wanted to ask what Jed would do if he did find Fil, but he realized that he didn’t really need to ask. The guns on the table were the only answer he needed. As hesitant as he was about murder, well, the man had tried to kill them. Redford didn’t know if that made it okay—his grandma had always said “two wrongs don’t make a right”—but he was angry at the attempt on their lives.
“Shouldn’t we just be calling the cops?” Redford looked at Jed again, absently following the blue curl of smoke wafting from the end of his cigarette.
His question was apparently odd, one that Jed had clearly not thought of. He looked startled, a slow smile easing across his lips. “They’d never find him, sweetheart. People like Fil, like Grasio, they don’t get found by the authorities if they don’t want to.”
That wasn’t very reassuring, but Redford nodded anyway. “But you don’t need to worry yourself over that.” Jed waved a hand, motioning toward the kitchen. “Got some food if you’re hungry.” At Redford’s distressed expression, Jed just laughed, bending over his maps again. “The cheese is gone, Fido. I meant new food, got some while you were napping. Paid the kid down the hall fifty bucks to bring me whatever it is people have in their cupboards. Knock yourself out.”
Breathing a silent sigh of relief—he really hadn’t wanted to encounter the cheese that was scarily green and fuzzy again—Redford made his way into the kitchen, looking through the pantry and fridge. True to his word, Jed really had refilled with the basics. It was for his benefit, Redford assumed
. Considering what he’d found in the kitchen when he’d first gotten here, Jed really did not cook. At all.
Luckily for both of them, Redford could.
Bustling around the kitchen, gathering ingredients, Redford tried to recall the specifics of a chicken-and-bacon casserole, debating with himself about the exact amount of stock used in the recipe. His grandmother might have been of the school of thought that children were better neither seen nor heard, but she had taught him to cook. Opining that if he was going to take care of himself some day, he’d need to have at least one useful skill, every night she’d taken him into the kitchen, making sure he used exactly two tablespoons of olive oil or only one clove of garlic.
She hadn’t done it because she’d wanted him to be a good husband to someone some day. She’d done it because she knew he wouldn’t. He’d listened well when she’d explained that, as a werewolf, he’d be alone for the rest of his life. Needless to say, his grandmother hadn’t been a big fan of his kind.
Casting those thoughts aside, Redford tried to focus on the cooking instead. The simple motions of chopping vegetables and meat were soothing, directing his mind to contemplating the odd ease with which he’d settled into Jed’s place. It should have been strange, hiding to stay alive, going to live with someone he’d barely known at the start. Redford still wasn’t entirely sure that he really knew Jed. But it wasn’t strange. He felt more at home here than he ever had back at his actual house.
The realization startled Redford, and he winced when he narrowly avoided accidentally slicing off the tip of a finger in his distraction. Unsurprisingly, Jed kept his knives razor sharp, and while that was something that Redford appreciated while cutting vegetables, it was a bit hazardous to handle them while not fully attentive.