by Mel Gough
But when she’s calmed down a little, she tells herself she’s not that far gone. She can’t leave such a mess for the housekeeper to deal with.
So she retrieves a small broom and a dustpan from the hall closet and goes back into the kitchen. The heavy smell of red wine settles in the back of her throat. Shuddering, she scoops the shards into the dustpan, and then mops the wine off the floor. Her knees and back ache with the effort. When she’s done, the only evidence of what happened here is a cracked tile on the wall and the smell of red wine, which will linger for days.
As she brushes the last shards into the trashcan, a small piece nicks her index finger. Viv stares as a tiny blood bubble begins to form, and for the first time since she came to New York she seriously contemplates returning to LA.
Viv shakes herself out of that stupor, pours a glass of champagne, which is medicinal now, and sits on the sofa for a good, long pep talk to herself. The vision of Mother comes floating from her unconsciousness unbidden, but this time, Viv doesn’t chase it away. It’s from Annushka she learned all the things she tells herself now.
Aubert women don’t quit. They decide on a goal, and then sees things through to the end, whatever happens. If something is worth wanting, Mother always says, it’s worth fighting for. And Vivienne Aubert always gets what she wants. She has done so ever since she could stand on her own two feet. And she deserves this; she has waited for it long enough. No detective will get between her and Damien, the father of her future children.
As long as she stands on her own two feet, she’ll fight. There’s no other option.
She wanted to get to the penthouse early. If the detective is staying there again, he’ll leave early for work. But it doesn’t matter; Viv is determined not to dither any longer. Whether or not Damien has company, she’ll talk to him today. But when she wakes up it’s already eleven a.m. Groaning, Viv clambers out of bed. She has to stop with the booze; it’s so bad for the baby.
“As soon as we’re together properly, I will,” she says to the showerhead as she holds her face to the spray, letting the water wash away the stink of alcohol and the memory of yesterday’s tears.
Bolstered by the pep talk she gave herself the night before, Viv tells the cab driver to let her out right outside Damien’s door. She makes straight for the bell and rings it before she can change her mind.
The speaker next to the little panel with the buzzers crackles, and a moment later Damien’s surprised voice says, “Vivienne?”
“Hey,” she replies, smiling into the camera and trying to sound casual and cheerful. “Can I come in?”
There’s no response, but a moment later the door starts to hum. Viv pulls it open and steps into the entrance hall.
Damien is waiting in the open door of the penthouse, leaning on the doorframe with his left shoulder, holding the doorknob with his right. His face isn’t welcoming, and Viv’s steps falter as she approaches.
“Why’re you here?” he asks, his voice flat.
“Can I at least come in?” she snaps before she can stop herself. She takes a deep breath and tries again. “I’ve come to apologize. Can we talk? Please?” She tries a tremulous smile.
His gray eyes grow a little softer, and he nods. Stepping aside, he waves her inside. As he closes the door and turns around, Viv takes her chance. She steps up close and puts a hand on his arm. “I’m really sorry, Damien,” she says, giving him a coy look from under her lashes. “Can’t we start again?”
His expression is troubled, and he takes a step back. Viv frowns. Why’s he being like this? Before she can think of an explanation he says, “Start what, Viv? I’m sorry if we got our lines crossed, but—”
“Damien, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” Viv interrupts him, but just then the doorbell rings.
With a pained look on his face, Damien turns toward the panel by the door. His shoulder hides the little video screen that shows the entrance, but he gives a sigh and buzzes in whoever is downstairs. Without turning around, he says, “Leave, Vivienne. Please.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Viv hisses, not caring anymore to hide her anger. “That cop. This is all his fault. We were”
“We were what?” Damien interrupts. His voice rises in anger, and he turns to face her. “I made a mistake, and I said I’m sorry. Brad has nothing to do with it.”
She can’t listen to this. He doesn’t deserve her, or the baby. She’ll not tell him, not now. With an angry glare she pulls open the door. “Fine! I’m going! But don’t think this is over, Damien. Not by a long shot!”
38
Because he skipped the graveyard, Brad arrives back from New Jersey much earlier than expected. He’s a little suspicious when he finds a parking spot after circling Damien’s block only twice. He gets out and checks that he hasn’t parked in some kind of exclusion zone. Even Manhattan seems a little less busy during the unseasonably wet weather they’ve been enduring.
He’s glad to get back to Damien. Brad left him with everything he could need, but it’ll still be good to be together right now. Damien still needs to rest, and Brad needs to not be alone.
The door buzzes open right away; with no comment from Damien via the intercom, and the front door to the penthouse opens before Brad can knock. It’s not Damien who appears, however. It’s Vivienne. At first, Brad can’t see her face. She talks over her shoulder in a voice so shrill and fast, Brad only catches the last few, shouted words.
“…by a long shot!”
She wheels around and catches sight of Brad. Her face contorts in a snarl. “You,” she hisses and steps forward. Her handbag, which she holds in the same hand as the doorknob, catches on the frame as the door starts swinging shut behind her. Vivienne loses her grip on the bag, and it falls to the floor, flipping over in the process. The zipper is open, and the bag’s contents are strewn all over the marble floor tiles.
Viv crouches down with a curse and starts gathering her belongings. Even though their encounter didn’t start on a friendly note, Brad bends down to help without a second thought. He picks up a small, spiral notebook, which has flipped open in the fall. As he holds it out to her he can see that the lined pages are covered in tiny, cramped writing. Numbers and letters fill the entire two pages he can see. Before he can take a closer look or hazard a guess as to what he’s looking at, Viv snatches the notebook from him and crams it into her bag. Without a word of thanks, she straightens up. She throws Damien one last, disgusted look, then glares at Brad again. Squaring her shoulders, she throws her head back and stalks toward the elevators without another word.
As Brad turns back toward the door, Damien appears. Brad raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”
“I’m not sure,” Damien says, frowning. He looks worried as he stands aside to let him in. “I didn’t ask…she wasn’t here…we didn’t…you know,” he finishes with an uneasy shrug.
“I didn’t think you did anything,” Brad says. “Why would you?” He closes the door then takes Damien by the arm and studies his face. “You okay? You look shaken.”
Damien nods, then gives a small laugh. “I was asleep on the sofa when she showed up. Seems to happen a lot.” He rubs his face. “I wasn’t mentally prepared for a fight.” Brad can believe that. Damien is very pale, and he looks almost scared. It’s time they get to the bottom of the Vivienne business.
“What did she want?”
Damien rubs his face again. “It seems she thinks something more…serious is going to happen between us. I tried to tell her there was no chance of it, but I don’t think I got through. I apologized for…well, the misunderstanding. Then you arrived.” He regards Brad with a grateful smile. “I’m glad you did.”
Brad appraises him. “She’s an odd one, all right,” he says, watching Damien for his reaction. He doesn’t want to come out and voice just how odd he thinks Vivienne is unless Damien has already seen it himself.
Damien nods, then shrugs. “She didn’t seem that way when I met her. She was very quiet
on set and good in her role. She’s a good actress, despite all this. She was a bit self-absorbed,” he says, rubbing his neck. “That comes with the job. But today, she was really angry, and I don’t understand why.” He leans against Brad with a shudder and closes his eyes.
“Go back to your nap,” Brad says, worried that Damien looks still so pale. He rubs his neck, then turns him into the direction of the bedroom. “I’ll see if I can rustle us something up for lunch.”
Damien nods. He angles his head, gives Brad a quick peck on the side of the mouth, then trundles off toward the bedroom. Brad watches him go, frowning. He’d hoped the worst of the migraine was over and prays that this latest Vivienne encounter won’t cause a relapse. Whatever the root cause for the horrible headaches, Brad suspects that Damien suffers from them especially when something upsets his emotional balance. They should talk about that at some point, too.
With a sigh, Brad climbs the staircase to the living area, praying there’s something edible in the fridge.
Things start to look up after Damien wakes from his nap. He revives over lunch—pasta with mushroom sauce since that’s all Brad found; he makes a mental note that he needs to check with Damien how he gets his groceries. After the first couple of forkfuls, Damien looks up. “Oh man, I’m sorry!” he exclaims. “I never asked how the funeral went.”
“It’s okay,” Brad replies. “You’re not exactly on top of it right now.” He chews another bite of pasta before responding to Damien’s quizzical gaze. “It was hard,” he says finally. “I… I couldn’t face going to the gravesite.”
Damien reaches out and clasps Brad’s fingers in his. “We’ll go together,” he says. “Once the dust has settled some.”
Brad nods his thanks. He doesn’t feel like he can speak again without bursting into tears. They finish lunch in silence.
The afternoon starts just like so many, curled into each other on the sofa watching TV. But after a while Damien twists in Brad’s arms. When they’re face-to-face, he studies Brad for a long time. “I missed you,” he murmurs and leans in for a kiss.
For a second, Brad holds himself back. This doesn’t seem like the right time. But the warm body pressed against his makes his desire for Damien soar. He rolls on top of him, his mouth exploring, his tongue probing. It feels like they haven’t kissed in forever, and that’s almost true. Between Damien’s illness and Aiden’s death, their barely woken passion has given way to care and gentleness. But now, the hunger for each other is back. Brad breathes deeply, Damien’s scent—musky, a little sweaty from his daytime nap—going straight to his groin. He presses into Damien’s thigh with a groan.
“Fuck me,” he whispers close to Damien’s ear.
Damien pulls back until he can see Brad’s face. His head at an angle, the raven curls spread over the sofa cushions, he looks like a painting. Brad is surprised by his own words and emotions. But Damien speaks before Brad can decide what that fluttery, unsettling feeling in his gut means. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah,” Brad says, and again, “Yeah. Fuck me, please.”
“If that’s what you want.” Damien gray eyes are like velvet. “Of course I will.”
If he had to use a label, Brad would consider himself a top. That’s who he’s in all other aspects of his life. He’s a leader; he doesn’t like to be led. But in every relationship he’s been in, there came a time when he felt like this—like he was falling, like something he couldn’t control was about to take all choice away from him. Maybe it’s just external circumstances, maybe it’s something inside him that he’s never fully explored.
The first time Brad asked Aiden to top had been the night after the first and only time Brad has seen an officer killed on duty. It was Chloe, the colleague who had taken him to the art show where he’d met Aiden. She had walked in on a drug transaction unrelated to what Brad and she were investigating. When Brad came running around the corner of the alley where the shots had been fired, Chloe was on the ground and the perps were gone. He’d held her as they waited for the ambulance. She never made it to the hospital, and they never identified her killers.
He’d been more than shaken that day, and Aiden didn’t want to have sex at all, let alone do something they’d never done before. They’d been together for just over a year. But he’d given in at last. “I need to feel something different, after this,” Brad pleaded. After that night, something changed between them, but it had been one of the few good shifts of their relationship.
Now, Damien wriggles under him. “Not here,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “If I’m doing this, I’m doing it the right way.”
Brad lets him get up and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Damien leads him down the stairs and into the bedroom. The sheets are still crumpled from Damien’s nap. With slow, deliberate care Damien undresses them both. He’s taken charge, without Brad even having to ask for it. Brad lets it happen. It’s nice to be the passive center of attention for once.
Damien’s fingers on his skin as his shirt falls open send goosebumps up and down Brad’s spine. Damien’s warm, sure hand on the front of his pants, and then inside it, makes Brad gasp. His hands hang by his side, and Damien takes his right and places it on the bulge at the front of his own jeans. He leans close and breathes into Brad’s ear, “You want this?”
Brad’s fingers tighten on Damien’s erection, and Damien moans. The heat radiates from him, and Brad can feel a bead of sweat prickle at the nape of his neck. His breathing picks up, and he nods.
Out of their clothes at last, Damien lowers Brad with great care onto the mattress. His face is serious with concentration as he retrieves condoms and slick from the bedside cabinet, and then positions himself between Brad’s legs. Brad spreads them farther, places his feet on the bed, and tilts his pelvis. A moment later Damien hovers over him, his face level with Brad’s. They lock eyes, and Damien’s hand glides down Brad’s thigh. Then Brad can feel a finger probe against his opening. His instinct is to hold his breath and pull away. But he knows not to fight the sensation.
“It’s all right,” Damien whispers, sensing Brad’s tension. “I’ll go real slow.”
Brad nods, and Damien is true to his word. He pushes in with great care, paying attention to each minute reaction from Brad. Little by little, the unease drains away, replaced by arousal. Damien takes his sweet time, his fingers teasing, exploring, then arousing him with so much patience Brad can’t believe how safe he feels.
“Pick…pick it up a bit,” Brad pants. “Or I’m gonna come before you even start.”
Damien smirks, pleased with the effect he has. He straightens up again and gets himself ready. While he rolls down the condom over his erection and applies a generous amount of lube, Brad studies him, the best way to stay aroused. Damien’s wide torso and shoulders are muscular and smooth. His skin is pale for someone with hair as dark as his. Brad lets his eyes travel down, smiling with fondness as they rest on Damien’s tummy and his treasure trail. Damien uses the gym only to make his upper body look buff in the sleeveless vests and armor he wears for Gaukur. And it’s been a while since he’s done even that much. His belly is a little poochy, and as Brad now reaches out he can just about let his fingers trail over the tiny bump, and the soft, dark hair there.
Damien glances up. “Too much good food lately,” he says.
“Never change that,” Brad replies.
“All right,” Damien says promises with a smile.
They have a tense moment when Damien first enters him. Brad exhales, trying to relax and not to show his discomfort. He knows that any moment now, he’ll love it. But at first, the pressure, being stretched and someone moving inside him makes him almost want to abandon the whole thing. Then Damien’s hand is against his face. “Look at me,” he whispers, stroking Brad’s cheek. And Brad looks, and everything is okay.
Soon they move in rhythm, Damien’s eyes never leaving his. The panic of feeling like he might split in two is replaced by a wonderful sense of fullnes
s that is unlike anything else Brad knows. And he’s so close. He reaches for his dick with one hand, and stretches until he can place the other one on Damien’s ass, giving it a squeeze with every thrust.
Damien breathes hard now, his eyes alight, the fire burning through him. Brad tightens his hand on himself, and on Damien, and Damien gives a low growl. He slams home once more before stopping dead, panting. That last thrust, the position of his dick pressing into Brad’s prostate tips Brad over the edge as well, and they share the bliss, hot cum coating Brad’s fingers.
Damien lowers himself until his forehead comes to rest on Brad’s shoulder. Brad’s hand and dick are trapped between their bodies, but he doesn’t try to get Damien to move. The warm, heavy body on top of him is the perfect antidote to the sensation of floating away that has been terrifying Brad all day.
“Thank you,” he whispers, wrapping his arm around Damien, who sighs and nestles close. “Thank you so much for this.”
“You want this?” Brad asks some time later. “I’m not just taking advantage of your kindness?”
They share one pillow, facing each other. Their breath mingles between them, one crumpled sheet tangled around their bare bodies.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Damien says. He glides his hand over Brad’s hip under the sheet, puts it in the small of Brad’s back and pulls him closer. Brad hums and puts his head on Damien’s chest.
Are they gravitating toward each other because they can’t deal with their own shit? Maybe they’re each hoping the other will help with their issues?
“Would it bother you?” Brad asks, trepidation bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “If our motives weren’t entirely…?”