Pick Up the Pieces

by Tinnean

  “He made us take the stairs!” Spike complained. “And they were making out down there!”

  Wills had buttoned his jacket wrong, though, actually fastening a couple of the buttons to his overcoat. Vincent would know what we had been doing down on the hospital’s first floor. Well, he’d kind of known what I had planned all along. Hadn’t he told me to bring Wills back in one piece?

  “I only dented his suit a little, Vince.” I unbuttoned Wills’s jacket, smoothed it down, then buttoned it correctly, stealing little touches no one else could see because my body was blocking the view.

  Wills sucked in a breath, and the brown of his eyes grew warm. He was still interested.

  “Oh, my God, there’s more of them!”

  “Huh?” Where had that…? I realized there was a patient in the bed by the door.

  “Nurse! Nurse! Mama!”

  A nurse wheeled in a wheelchair. “Let’s go for a ride, Mr. Barnes.” She helped him into the chair. “Sorry,” she whispered, and she turned and got him out of there.

  “I won’t stay in that room!” the patient was howling. What had gone on in this room before Wills and Spike and I had arrived? “Do you have any idea who I am? My senator will hear about this! I won’t be….” His voice trailed off, and I turned to Vince.

  “What was that about?”

  He shook his head, but whether in amusement or exasperation, I couldn’t tell. “Your not so friendly, local homophobe.”

  “Dammit, Vince, that’s the last thing Pretty Boy needs!”

  His brows met above the bridge of his nose. “Think I don’t know that? It’s being taken care of. Okay, pay attention. I’ve got to go; tomorrow is a work day. Pretty Boy just had some choice drugs, and he’s about out of it.”

  Yeah, it seemed so, if he’d slept through that ruckus.

  “Do you two need a lift?”

  One of the boys had wanted a car. He’d bought a battered old heap for chicken feed, worked on it in his spare time, and got it running like a charm. When he’d moved on to every rent boy’s dream—being kept by a rich man—he’d left the car behind, and it was stored in the garage at the rear of the property. We rarely used it. For the most part it was just easier for us to get around DC using mass transit.

  However, it had been a hellacious long day, and I wasn’t in the mood to wait for a bus.

  I glanced at Wills. He was looking at me. I was good at reading people’s expressions—it helped in my line of work—and I grinned. Yep, definitely still interested. I turned to Vincent. “We’re good.”

  “Don’t keep him up too late.” Did Vincent have any idea what I wanted to do to William Matheson if he gave me the opportunity? I almost missed what Vince said next. “Matheson, I won’t be in until after the autopsy….”

  Autopsy?

  The man beside me was suddenly all business. “Excuse me, sir. May I join you?”

  Vince studied him, then nodded as if satisfied with what he saw. “All right, but if you throw up, I’m docking you.” He was about to leave.

  “Vince.” I grabbed him before he could go and hugged him. I knew he didn’t care much for physical contact, but he’d made a phone call. To a senator. And now Paul had a bed. “Thank you! For being here for Pretty Boy.” For not hating me for being such an asshole and thinking he’d do something as shitty as set Paul up. “For all you’ve done.” I let him go.

  “Yeah, whatever. Matheson.”

  “Mr. Vincent?”

  “You didn’t see that.”

  “See what, sir? I’m sorry, I was just reading this patient bill of rights on the hospital wall.”

  I stared at Matheson. He had a sense of humor!

  Vince snorted and walked out.

  “Are you ready to leave yet?” Matheson asked.

  “We’ll just say good night to Pretty Boy.”

  “Okay. I’m gonna….” He cleared his throat and went into the bathroom.

  “Sleep well, Paul,” I murmured, brushing back the hair that hadn’t been shaved away. “Vince is gonna get that son of a bitch.”

  Spike leaned forward to kiss him.

  “Fuck. Aw, fuck.” The bathroom door swung open. “Look at me!” Matheson stalked out. “Look at me!” His gesture encompassed his swollen mouth, the love bite I hadn’t realized I’d left just above his collar, his disheveled hair, and his suit jacket that, although the buttons were in the right holes, was wrinkled beyond belief. “You could have told me.”

  “Why, Wills? You look kind of cute all mussed like that.”

  “Oh, sure, real professional.” He blew out an irritated breath and fiddled with the buttons on his suit jacket. “I’ll bet Mr. Vincent thought so too. Do you know what I look like?”

  “You look like you just got out of bed.” At his expression, I started to laugh. “Sorry, didn’t realize that was rhetorical.”

  “Well, it was. Maybe Mr. Vincent didn’t notice it?” he muttered to himself, stroking his fingers over the mark on his throat. “Sure, and maybe I’ll be elected the next pope.” He smoothed down his hair, and my fingers twitched to muss it again. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Sure.” This was going to be so much fun.

  WHEN WE got home, I made no effort to get out of the car. I had my left hand on the seat between us, so if Wills felt like covering it with his own hand, well, it was right there.

  Spike tapped my shoulder. “I’m going to bed. You two can do what you want,” he grumbled and went up to the apartment.

  Although it was the middle of March and the temperature was in the low forties, it was warm in the car. Wills hadn’t turned off the engine, so the heater was still going. He hadn’t touched my hand, either, dammit.

  “Do you want to come up?” I asked at last. In spite of our standing directive of not entertaining johns at home, I wanted him in my own bed.

  If he said no…. Well, I had no intention of taking no for an answer.

  “I’ll make you a cup of coffee,” I wheedled. “As a way to say thank you for driving us home.”

  “No thanks are necessary.”

  “I baked yesterday. Baklava.” I turned and faced him and walked my fingertips up his sleeve. “Please?”

  “Well, just one cup. I… I really can’t stay long.”

  “Okay.” If I got him up for coffee, it shouldn’t be too hard for me to keep him there for sex.

  I got out of the car, almost dancing as he followed me up the stairs. I could feel his eyes on my ass the whole way up.

  I opened the door to the apartment and gestured for him to enter.

  “Nice place.”

  “Thanks. We like it.” I removed my jacket and hung it in the closet, extended my hand, and took his overcoat. I hung it beside mine.

  He looked around the foyer. “Who… uh… who did the decorating?”

  “I did. Let me put the coffee on, and I’ll give you the grand tour.” I caught his hand and tugged him along after me as I went into the kitchen. I blushed as I saw the condition I’d left it in. “Sorry,” I mumbled as I took one of the pots off the stove and put it on the island so I’d have a free burner. “Spike was supposed to clean up after lunch.”

  “That’s all right.” He gazed at the pots on the stove. “You should have a pot rack.”

  I should have had a lot of things for this apartment, but at the time, cost had restricted what we could do, and now it just wasn’t a priority. I didn’t say anything about it, though.

  I ground fresh beans, filled the reservoir with filtered water, and turned it on. “Okay, while it’s brewing, why don’t I show you the place?”

  “Okay.”

  “This, as you can see, is the kitchen.”

  That made him grin, and he seemed more relaxed. I looped my arm through his and urged him out into the hallway.

  “Here’s the dining room.”

  “I like the period detail.”

  “Huh?” Oh, he meant the crown molding, wainscoting, and the plaster medallion on the ceiling. �
�Yeah, it’s cool, isn’t it?” Something else I wasn’t going to reveal the cost of. “Through here is the living room.”

  “Nice-size TV.”

  “It works for us.” We were getting closer to my bedroom. “We’ve got a couple of spare bedrooms.” I opened the doors and let him check them out. “I converted one to an office.” It had the usual office furniture—desk, file cabinet, bookshelves, computer, and convertible sofa for unexpected visitors. “No one uses the other one, but I try to keep it tidy.” The bed was made, the curtains were drawn, and there was a box of tissues and a copy of the latest best seller on the night table.

  “Nice. I… um… those are interesting pictures on the wall.”

  “The woman who lived in the attic was an artist. She gave them to us.” I didn’t want to say it was in lieu of rent. Paul was a softy, and he’d accepted them. I thought they were horrendous—those paintings of dogs playing poker were head and shoulders above this dreck. We went back into the hall, and I pointed to the closed door, lowering my voice. “This room is Pretty Boy’s and Spike’s. And….” One more room to go. I reached around and pressed the light switch. “This one is mine.”

  He took a couple of steps forward, and behind his back I did a fist pump. I’d gotten him into my room.

  “It’s a comfortable-looking room.”

  “I like it.” Not that there was a super enormous amount of furniture in here, just the bed, night tables, and dresser. And in a corner was a suit valet I used for my tux. Right now nothing was on it. Paul had taken all our tuxes to the dry cleaners on Monday, while I recovered from my hangover.

  “I like the paintings you have on the wall much better.”

  They were sunrises and sunsets: at the beach, on a mountaintop, the DC skyline. “Thanks. Wills.” I slid an arm around his waist. “Stay with me the night?”

  “I can’t.” He sounded regretful. “I have that autopsy in the morning.”

  I pushed. “I can set the alarm.” He looked everywhere but at me, and I turned his face so his gaze had to meet mine. “I’ll even make you breakfast.”

  Finally he licked his lips and gave a jerky nod.

  “You won’t be sorry.” I left him to turn on the lamps by my bed, used the remote to kill the overhead light, and went back to him. I eased his suit jacket over his shoulders and draped it on my suit valet.

  “The… the coffee?”

  “It’s okay. It will turn off automatically after a couple of hours.”

  His tie was tan, his suit was brown, his shirt was white cotton. I ran my palms over the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms. They were firm and sleek, framed by the harness of his shoulder holster. I had no idea why he needed to pack heat, but I wasn’t going to ask him about it. Rent boys never asked about their clients’ private lives.

  I eased the harness off his shoulders, folded it around the gun, and placed it on the valet.

  Finally, I stepped back and reached for the hem of my shirt.

  His lips parted slightly as I began a slow strip, and his gaze never left me. He trembled and fumbled with his tie and then the buttons of his own shirt.

  “You’re… you’re wearing shorts.” He sounded disappointed.

  “Yeah.” But not for long. I caught the waistband with my thumbs, turned so he could see my ass, and eased the elastic over my hips.

  “Your jeans were so tight… I wondered.” He swallowed.

  “I don’t usually go commando unless I’m working.” Naked, I turned to face him once more.

  He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off my cock. “You… uh… you’re not circumcised.”

  “Most Greek boys aren’t.”

  “You’re Greek? I didn’t know there were red-headed Greeks.”

  “Well, Cleopatra was a blonde, so why not a redhead?”

  “Wait, she was blonde? She was Egyptian.”

  I might not know geography, but I did know my Greek heritage. “Nah. She was a Greek Ptolemy.”

  “Okay. So does that make you a natural redhead?” He flushed to the roots of his hair. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

  I couldn’t help being amused. Of all the questions I’d had johns ask me, never once had there been any about my natural hair color. “Does it bother you?”

  “I like it. I’ve….” He peeked at me through his lashes. “I’ve always had a weakness for red hair.”

  “Do you really want to talk about hair color?”

  “N-no.”

  I brushed his hands out of the way and set about getting him naked, then backed a step to examine him. He made a move as if to cover himself, and I caught his wrists. “Don’t,” I breathed. “Nice.”

  He was cut, and his cock was hard, the head flushed with arousal. A drop of precome beaded at the tip. The muscles of his abdomen, a sculpted six-pack, rippled with each breath he took. The hair on his chest seemed to feather over his pectoral muscles, almost as if cupping them. I ran my fingertips over it to the trail that led down the center of his body past his navel. The hair that dusted his groin was almost black.

  “Very nice.” I reached for his cock, but he stopped me, and I frowned. “Problem, tough guy?”

  “If you… if you touch me, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold on.”

  I couldn’t help grinning. “No?”

  He shook his head and licked his lips.

  “All right. We can go exploring later.” I reached for a condom. “Hold still, and I’ll just roll this on you.”

  He stopped me again. “Will you….” Hot color ran up his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “Will you fuck me?”

  “You don’t want to fuck me?”

  “Well, yes, I’d like to try that too. But right now, I want this.”

  Tim had told me that was the way it was with bisexual men sometimes. They got so tired of being in control when they were with women that when they had the chance to be with men they couldn’t wait to give up that control and bend over.

  “You trust me not to hurt you?”

  The corner of his mouth tilted up, and he looked about eighteen. “Of the two of us, I think you’re the one who knows the most about the mechanics of this thing.”

  “I know the most…?” Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “Fucking hell, you’re a virgin?”

  His face got that flat expression. “I didn’t say that. I’ve had any number of girls in my bed.”

  “Have you ever been fucked up the ass?”

  For a second I thought he was going to turn away, but instead, his gaze on mine although I could tell he wanted to avert it, he shook his head.

  “Then you’re a virgin, Wills.” I could come just from knowing I was going to be the first to fuck that hot, tight ass. Because, oh, yeah, there was no way I was turning down an opportunity like this!

  “Look, if this is a problem… if you’d rather not….” His mouth tightened, and this time he did turn away. “Shit, this was not a good idea. Where’re my clothes?”

  I went cold. He had a wicked-looking scar on his back, and not in the amazing way. It was raised and glassy, and I almost lost my erection from seeing it. There was a scar on his ass as well that looked like he’d been shot. What had happened to him?

  Fortunately, I hadn’t been quiet for so long that he realized I’d been horrified by the sight of his scars. If he’d forgotten about them, I wasn’t going to remind him.

  “Oh, no, tough guy.” I caught his arm and pulled him back. “I’ve been fantasizing about having sex with you since you walked into the emergency department behind Vince, and you in my ass is only slightly better than me in your ass. Get on the bed, baby. We’re gonna rock and roll.”

  His eyes brightened, and his erection, which had started to deflate, swelled to full, glorious tumescence. He pulled the spread and sheets back with an economy of motion and climbed on my bed, positioning himself on his hands and knees.

  “Is this okay?”

  It took a second for me to catch my breath. His asscheeks, pale and
almost hairless, were so taut I was tempted to sink my teeth into them. His balls hung high and tight between his thighs.

  “Theo?” He glanced over his shoulder at me, the sweep of his tongue over his lips the only indication of his nervousness. He seemed to do that a lot. Was he generally nervous, or was it just me who made him that way? And was that a good nervous or a bad nervous?

  “I’m here, baby.” The hell with that. “For your first time, it will be fine.” I squeezed some lube onto my fingers and let it warm, then placed a hand on his hip so as not to startle him and stroked my fingertips over his hole. He jerked anyway. “You okay?”

  His breathing was deep, slow, and even, and he didn’t say anything, but he nodded.

  I intended to take my time getting him ready, although my hands were shaking. I didn’t know how a virgin could be so relaxed, but he was, and he let me do my job. I squirted more lube onto my fingers and slid a finger into him. His sphincter clenched, I assumed involuntarily, because his head drooped.

  “Easy, baby.”

  “Sorry.”

  “My fault.” I was careful taking my finger out of him.

  “Theo, no!”

  “Shhh. I want you to lie on your left side. Can you do that for me?” I petted his hip.

  “S-sure.”

  “Good boy.” I braced my palm against his right leg and pushed it aside, exposing his hole. “Hold on a second.” I squeezed more lube onto a finger.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. We’ve got plenty of time.” I slid my finger into him again, and I could feel him consciously relaxing. I wasn’t going to rush this. I ran my lips from his shoulder to the side of his neck, where I nipped and sucked, distracting him. After a few seconds, I pushed my finger forward, searching for his prostate.

  His breath hitched and he jerked back when I found it, his head almost smashing my nose, not that I’d tell him something as inconsequential as that. “What…?”

  “That’s your hot spot.” I rubbed my finger over it again and again. The sounds he made were indescribable, and he was making those sounds because of me. “Like that, tough guy?”