He is Mine

by Mel Gough

  “On the contrary,” he murmurs and steps a little closer. Their bodies aren’t quite touching, but Brad can smell the other man’s aftershave, and his erection stiffens another notch.

  He’s never been one for public displays of affection. It’s a habit borne of growing up in a house where everyone struggled to come to terms with his orientation, and working in a profession where, while overt discrimination is dealt with harshly these days, the atmosphere is still rife with crude jokes and innuendo.

  When the train comes it’s almost empty; they’re in the lull between the early shift and the midnight crowd, who won’t even leave the house for another couple of hours. They sit next to each other on the bench opposite some giggling young women. David presses his leg against Brad’s but makes no other move. “What do you do, Brad?”

  “NYPD,” Brad says. “Homicide.”

  David gives a quiet whistle. “I better behave myself, then.”

  “Were you planning on murdering someone tonight?” It’s such a tired old joke, but there’s a chance David hasn’t heard it yet. He’s so young.

  David chuckles, proving Brad’s hunch right. “Maybe I’m a serial killer,” he ventures.

  “You’re not.” Brad’s gaze meets David’s, and he puts a hand on the younger man’s leg. “I’d know.”

  “Would you now?” David glides down until he’s half slumped on the hard, plastic seat. Brad’s hand slides up until it lies on the other man’s crotch. Which, Brad notices as he lets his eyes glide down from the smiling, freckled face, bulges under his fingers. David’s voice is breathless as he continues, “I’ve never been with a cop.”

  Brad raises an eyebrow. “Don’t be so sure. Undercover detectives are pretty good at their jobs.” He’s a little surprised how easy the banter comes. Idle words are not his style. But the young man is like a cool rain after a drought. And suddenly, a little PDA doesn’t seem such a terrible idea either. By the time the now deserted subway car judders to a halt at their stop, David’s hand is down the back of Brad’s pants, and they’re kissing.

  They struggle to contain themselves on the short walk to the brownstone. Brad has only ever had sex with one person in this house, he realizes with a jolt. That will change tonight. With some difficulty, he lets them in the door.

  “You want a drink?” he mumbles past David’s eager mouth that hasn’t left him alone long enough yet to turn on the downstairs lights. Groping on the wall behind him, Brad finally finds the switch, and they’re bathed in the glow from the soft dimmer lamps that Brad uses again now that he got rid of Aiden’s garish garage sale finds.

  David breaks away to have the breath to answer. “Just some ice water, thanks. Wow…,” he adds as he follows Brad through the open-plan living space. He walks over to the restored, modernized fireplace and studies the pictures on the mantel. Brad has removed any that showed Aiden, and even though he still knows where the gaps are, David notices nothing.

  Brad brings over two tumblers of water with plenty of ice and lemon. David accepts one and takes a long drink. “The bedroom as nice as this?”

  Brad grins. “Come upstairs and find out,” he says in a low voice and hooks a finger into the front of David’s denims. He pulls him into a long kiss, savoring the coolness of the other’s lips from the ice water. Then he turns and leads the way up the staircase made of reclaimed teak. He enjoys the effect his house has on visitors, even when they’re just staying the night. Between the interior designer and Maria’s style, he knows his decision to redo Auntie Hedda’s old and tired home got him a real gem. It’d been either gut the place or sell it. Thankfully, Maria had convinced him that a redesigned brownstone would beat a new and swanky apartment in Manhattan any day. Brad has no artistic talent; that was Aiden’s special skill. But he appreciates beauty, and when they get upstairs he realizes just how well his handsome houseguest looks in the huge, minimalistic bedroom.

  “Wow,” David says again, but his eyes only skim the bedroom. Then, in one fluid move, he strips off his sleeveless shirt and advances on Brad. “What happened to the walls?” he asks as he reaches for Brad’s face and pulls him into a long, languid kiss. When Brad comes up for air, not much blood is left in his brain, and it takes him a moment to make sense of the question.

  “Had them knocked out,” he says, and begins to tug David toward the bed that sits against the load-bearing wall adjacent to the staircase. “Don’t care for walls much.”

  “Or for furniture.” David is now busy with Brad’s shirt buttons and has them all open before he looks up again.

  “Yeah,” Brad murmurs as he sinks onto the king-size bed, which is one of the few pieces of visible furniture. The closet is hidden in the all-mirror wall next to the short corridor that leads to a small home office and the bathroom. The design is unconventional to say the least.

  “Did you have the basement renovated too?” David asks, clearly still fascinated with the house, even as he’s in the process of stripping off his pants and boxer briefs.

  “Yeah,” Brad says as he wriggles out of his own pants and underwear on the bed. “I’ve got a weights room there, though I prefer the gym. And...” Aiden’s studio, he almost adds. But that room hasn’t been Aiden’s studio in a long time. In his last year here, Aiden started not a single new artwork and had given away everything he’d ever made. All that’s down in the dark, locked room are a few old canvases and dried-out paints.

  Brad doesn’t want to think about that now. He beckons to David. “You done talking architecture? I got needs, y’know.”

  To drive home the point, he takes his own erection in a firm grip. David, the grin on his face now devilish, joins him on the bed.

  But he’s not quite done yet with his house commentary. “I didn’t know NYPD pay this well. Clearly I decided on the wrong career.”

  As David props himself onto one arm and begins kissing his neck and chest, Brad says, “We keep that on the down low, or else we’d drown in applications.” David’s breath, when he laughs against Brad’s belly, is ticklish. He glances up from under pale lashes.

  “Let me guess: Inheritance? Rich old uncle?”

  “Aunt,” Brad says, and exhales with a huff as David’s hand grips his dick. “Can…can we change the subject? Not the best mental image to go with…this.”

  He’d much rather not talk at all, and just enjoy David’s deft and skilled strokes on his shaft. At least David now changes the subject, to something more relevant, and enjoyable. The fingers that aren’t on Brad’s dick slide up and down his side, grazing his abs. “You stay clear of the donuts at work, huh?”

  “Mostly, yeah.” Brad is pleased to see the effect his toned body has on the younger man. David’s face shows his appreciation, and so does his erection, lying full and hard against his belly.

  “You a top?” David asks, his breath now coming fast.

  Brad shrugs. “If you want.” He enjoys both fucking and being fucked, but he can do without another long conversation. And bottom or top, David is the one dominating their encounter in any case.

  David nods, eyes alight. Brad pushes himself up and the other man rolls onto his back. “All right,” he growls. “I’ll fuck you, but only if you shut up.”

  “Deal,” David agrees and arranges himself, tilting his pelvis. Brad reaches across him and into the nightstand for rubbers and slick. David watches him prep, and just when Brad is about to position himself between the young man’s legs David reaches out and pulls Brad down for a long and passionate kiss. When he lets go they’re both panting.

  “Fuck me, officer,” he growls, and Brad smiles. He’s heard this one before, of course, but from this beautiful boy it ratchets up his arousal, if that’s anatomically possible. As he slides between David’s legs he’s very glad he let himself be talked into going out tonight.

  The sex holds what the foreplay promised. David is a noisy, active lover, moving with Brad, showing him with hip thrusts and gestures what he likes. But he stays true to his word and does
n’t talk. Brad’s eyes and hands study the body beneath him, relishing the closeness and the touch. David’s torso is as milk pale and freckled as his face, and the ginger hair on his chest and belly is beautifully soft. Brad thinks that he could probably come just by watching this much physical beauty.

  As they climb the peak, David places a hand on Brad’s upper arm. “Wait.” He smiles, white teeth shimmering, his chest covered in sweat. He moves so fast that Brad doesn’t know what’s happening. Before he can say anything, David has flipped onto his side and guided Brad back inside, rocking and humming, until he’s comfortable. “Perfect,” he whispers over his shoulder. “Get this one home, old man.”

  Brad does as he’s told. For him, the change in position means a new angle from which to admire the beautiful body beneath him, but it seems to double David’s pleasure. It’s barely a minute before Brad senses the younger man tighten around him. And he’s ready, so he gives in and gives up his last bit of inhibition. Pressing his face against David’s bare shoulder, panting like he’s just run a race, he comes, just when David cries out on his own finish line.

  With a grunt Brad pulls out and drops onto his back behind David. The other man turns over and scoots close, resting his head on Brad’s chest. They both lie still for a few minutes, waiting for their breathing to return to normal, savoring the endorphins. Brad cards his fingers through David’s copper curls, feeling very content.

  He’s just about to suggest that they could order Chinese and maybe watch a Netflix movie before they have another go when David rolls over and sits up on the side of the bed.

  “Can I grab a shower?” he asks.

  “Sure,” Brad says, taken aback. “Towels are in the tall cupboard behind the door.”

  “Thanks.” David is already halfway across the room.

  Brad watches the perfect, taut body disappear down the hall, then stares at the ceiling. Maybe David just wants to be clean for their other activities. Somehow, though, he doubts that.

  He probes his emotions for a moment. Yeah, he’s disappointed. But why? They both got their rocks off, and exceptionally nicely, too. Is he—the thought makes his heart beat a bit faster again—catching feelings for this stranger already? Sure, David’s gorgeous. But so what?

  He makes no move to clean up, just pulls the sheet up to his waist over his now deflated, messy dick, then lies motionless, listening to the shower. He doesn’t say anything as David reemerges and collects his clothes from the floor, pulling on one item after the other. Brad follows the young man’s unhurried progress across the room. When he makes to sit up at last, David shakes his head. He comes over to the bed and crouches down. He regards Brad for a moment from now opaque blue eyes, then leans over and kisses him long and hard.

  “Don’t get up,” he says as he sits back on his haunches. “I can see myself out.” His smile is genuine but no longer full of fire. “Thanks for this. Great night.”

  He stands up and, without another word, strides from the room.

  Brad listens to the footsteps on the stairs, then the front door opening and closing. Only after that does he push himself to sitting.

  As he gets up off the bed and heads for the shower himself, he chuckles and shakes his head.

  “Dude,” he says to the empty room. “If you’re after anything other than a fuck, don’t go looking for it at a gay bar in Manhattan.”

  7

  There are no words to describe how gross Viv feels, and no expletives strong enough to give a fair account of her mood. Not that she’d use them in front of the crew and Victor. But when she gets to her trailer for a long overdue break she shakes with rage. They’ve only been in the desert for five days, and Viv knows the next six weeks will be the worst of her life.

  Flopping into the nearest armchair she groans. “Get me an iced soda water,” she snaps at Stef, who’s been inside the trailer all morning, looking fresh as a daisy. Victor doesn’t like having nonessential crew hang around when the cameras roll, so Stef gets to spend her days inside the city of tents and trailers they’ve erected on the rocky desert ground next to the set.

  A display for a thermometer mounted on the outside of the trailer is affixed to the wall by the door. It reads one-hundred-and-three. Viv likes to think of herself as European, and she tries to remember what that is in Celsius. Forty degrees. Christ!

  “D’you…d’you want your lunch now, too?” Stef asks as she hands Viv the soda with trembling fingers, glass dewy with condensation. “It’s just that the kitchen said we have to let them know. They can’t take the salmon out until just before steaming it, or it’ll spoil…”

  Viv sighs. Why does she have to tell everyone how to do their job all the time? “Yes, you silly goose. It’s lunchtime,” she says slowly so the girl can keep up. “Victor will be here any minute now.”

  Stef scurries for the exit. “Oh,” Viv calls, “Get them to put the champagne on ice, too. And bring me back some of that frozen watermelon.” That’s what she’s subsisting on out here, frozen fruit and Veuve Clicquot.

  As the trailer door closes behind Stef, Viv sinks deeper into the armchair. It’s so nice and cool inside the trailer. She’s still in one of Empress Cassilda’s robes, but the one she wears today is made of loose, see-through silks which feel like a caress against her heated skin. Before she left set the costume team took off the Empress’s elaborate crown, and Viv leans her head back and closes her eyes with a sigh.

  “Vivienne!”

  Victor’s angry shout startles her, and Viv jerks upright, staring at her husband in the doorway. Did she fall asleep? Why’s he yelling at her?

  He strides across the carpeted floor, making the trailer shake. Viv yawns. “What’s wrong?” She tries not to let it show that he gave her a fright. Maybe he’s cross because she looked to be asleep when she should be waiting for him to come in for lunch.

  “How dare you just walk away?” Voice still much too loud, he stops right before her chair, glowering.

  “What? We were done….” Viv is more than a little bemused by this outburst. “The crew already moved stuff around for the afternoon scene.”

  “Christ, Viv,” he bellows and starts to pace. “This is work, you know? You get paid to do as I say. You’re not actually the Empress, in case that wasn’t clear.”

  That stings. “Yes, Victor,” she says through clenched teeth. “I’ve worked on movies before, remember? I know the drill.”

  He huffs and stops pacing. “Do you now?” His voice is low and mean. “Doesn’t seem like it, most of the time.”

  Tears of anger prickle in the corners of Viv’s eyes. “Why’re you yelling at me? What’s wrong, Victor?” It can’t just be her leaving his sight without permission; he’s not that petty.

  “Everything!” he shouts, making Viv jump again. He runs his hands through his thinning hair and lets out a long puff of air. “Those fuckers at the Valley of Fire park office say our paperwork’s not valid,” he continues in a calmer voice, sounding more upset now than angry.

  “What?” Viv sits up straight. “But that was all done weeks ago, and we’ve shot for four days already!”

  “They sent some asshole park ranger to deliver the message. He arrived when the cameras were still rolling. Didn’t you notice me talking to the guy?” His eyes are hard like flint, but then he sighs, shaking his head. “I made him give us a couple days to sort it out.” He rubs his face, looking very tired. “I’ll have to go back to LA, meet with Harlan, and kick someone’s ass at the studio.”

  Viv is aghast. “Why do you have to go yourself, though? Can’t Harlan sort it out, send the papers on?” They can’t shoot without Victor, he doesn’t let anyone else be in charge.

  Victor throws her a dismissive look, like she’s slow and stupid. “It’s my fucking gig, Viv.” He turns to face the window at the back of the trailer. At least he’s no longer yelling. “I can speed things up if I go myself. Kiss the right backsides, you know the kind of thing. We’ll have to resubmit the entire applica
tion.”

  Viv wipes tears from the corners of her eyes, angry with herself for becoming emotional. This is just what Victor is like. He didn’t mean to shout at her. Sometimes his temper bubbles over. It’s best to ignore it. “When are you leaving?”

  “Right now.” Victor gives a deep sigh. “I have to go to the State Parks office first. Tracey got me on a flight at eight tonight, I hope I’ll make that. At least that ranger office is en route.” It’s an hour and twenty minutes’ drive into Las Vegas.

  “Are we just gonna hang around and wait for you to come back?” Viv asks. If that’s the case maybe she can go with Victor. Then she could sleep in her own bed tonight.

  Victor shakes his head. “Bob will carry on while I’m away. We can’t afford to waste the time. The next couple days are all mapped out. It’s pretty easy stuff. The only real issue is that it’s Damien’s first day tomorrow.” He sounds upset about that. “I’ll call him; we can talk through any questions he might have.” He shakes his head and rubs his face again. “Shit.”

  Viv is no longer angry, and feels a little sorry for her husband. She makes to get up and go to him, but before she can get to her feet his cell buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances at the screen. “My car’s ready.” He turns toward the door, then glances back at Viv. “I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow. Don’t be a diva, okay?”

  With that, he’s gone from the trailer. Viv sinks back in her armchair, tears stinging her eyes again. “I’m not a diva,” she shouts, just when Stef hurries back through the door, carrying a bucket with the champagne and a plate of frozen fruit.

  “What?” the girl asks, confused.

  “Nothing,” Viv says, wiping her eyes. She motions at a small table by her side. “Put that here and bring me a glass. Then go and tell the chef we don’t need any lunch.”

  Stef stares at her but doesn’t ask any questions. Viv takes a piece of frozen melon and nibbles it without enthusiasm. Her appetite is gone.