“Sure, you are. And I like the attention from you. More than I can admit, but it’s true. We have to keep clear heads to get through this alive and in one piece.”
Ian liked his admission. At times he thought Pat was teasing him, without anything behind it but the humor. “After, though…I can’t promise anything.”
Again, Pat leaned in so that no one would hear except Ian and in that gravely, sexually suggestive voice, he vowed, “I can promise a lot, and you may hate and love them all at the same time.”
Again, the fork fell to the plate and the waitress chose that moment to refill their coffee cups. Ian knew he was red in the face, breathing like he’d run a marathon, but she, to her credit, didn’t comment on it as she filled his cup. “How’s everything?”
Snapping out of his haze of dirty thoughts, he quickly beat Pat to saying, “It’s all delicious. Thank you.”
She smiled at him warmly, and though she was probably younger than her looks let on, and tired beyond what he’d ever experienced in his life, her smile lit her up, making her quite beautiful. “No problem.”
Pat grinned at him, and there was a little pride there. “What?”
“Nothing. Eat. We have a lot of work to do.”
After finishing the food, getting lunch ordered and packed into a tall paper bag, and leaving a large tip, they went back to the motel room. Right off, they started giving one another tidbits of information about each other, so they could pass a cursory relationship test, if needed.
Pat started them out on smaller things like favorite foods and songs, but when the more intimate questions came, Ian became uncomfortable. His tension made his neck ache, like it always had. He’s always carried his tension in his neck.
“Ian, I know this is delving deeper than you might like, but I’m not asking the size of your dick, okay?”
“You’re asking what my preferences are in bed, Pat, it’s worse. And you know them, at least some! The worst ones.”
Pat moved from his beds to Ian’s, made him turn to the side and started working the muscles of his shoulders. Pat’s big, very strong thumbs dug deep into the hard muscles there, painfully so. “That’s too hard!”
“It’s deep tissue, and you need it. You feel like you have rocks under your skin.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” He tried to laugh, but he was too busy whimpering and wincing.
“Funny. And listen, just because you like BDSM and leather, doesn’t mean you’re perverted or wrong. It’s a preference, and it’s a lot more common than you could guess. I’ve loved it since I was first in college. I loved that feeling of control over another man sexually. There’s nothing wrong with it unless the individual makes it wrong. Do you?”
“No! I mean, I don’t think so. I follow the rules, use my safeword if needed and all that. But…you know what I mean anyway. What are you talking about in bed?”
He stopped the torturous massage and turned him around again, moving a piece of hair from Ian’s face. “I mean, besides the kinks, what side of bed do you like? Do you like to sleep close, or do you need your space?”
Ian did laugh then. “Are you asking if I’m a cuddler?”
“Yeah.”
Pat was searching his face and the questions were leading them down a dangerous path. Ian felt his body heat, his closeness, the personal questions, everything was melting his better senses. “Y-yeah, I guess I am. I…I never had a lot of opportunity.”
“Good to know.”
They were as close as two people could be without being in one another’s arms, and Pat’s eyes stared into his, telling him things that his voice wouldn’t. Ian ventured, “You?”
With his voice only a whisper, like he was telling a story instead of coordinating answers, Pat’s words sunk into him and stayed there, warming him. “Yeah. I like the left side of the bed, and once I am done making love to you, I roll to that side, and grab you with my dominant arm, my right, and pull you to me so I can feel your head lying on my shoulder. I’ll hold you close until we’re both asleep, and if we don’t wake up like that, then that’s okay, because I’ll pull you back over in the morning to start my day staring at my beautiful partner.”
It was like he was reciting Ian’s deepest dreams of a relationship. “I’d, uh, love that, so yeah. That is our sleeping. Me…on the right side of the bed. Cuddling is a go.”
“Yeah,” Pat said gruffly, turning his head as the last of the word trailed off.
“Is this too much?”
It took a moment of hesitation before he answered, “No, it’s good. We need to be prepared for anything.”
“Okay. Then…what about breakfast?”
Pat turned back to him, grinning again. “Breakfast?”
“Yeah, who cooks?”
Pat’s hearty laughter broke some of the tension and he moved back to the other bed, lying on it, turning to his side. “I guess I do. I’d hate to see what you’d come up with.”
“Yeah, good call. Bathroom? Do we…shower together?”
Pat grinned wider. “Yeah, sometimes, but not always.”
Ian had a question, he thought for sure he knew the answer to, but as Pat said, prepared. “Top? Bottom?”
The grin disappeared and his brow rose in answer.
“Yeah, got it, you’re strictly a Top.”
“No, not strictly. I prefer it, but I like bottoming once in a great while, with the right person.”
“So, being that we’d be in a relationship, I guess I’d be the right person?”
He watched Pat’s eyes moving from his face, down over his chest and stomach and stopping at his crotch. “Yeah. Definitely.”
“Stop that!”
Pat let out a loud guffaw and rolled onto his back. “Uh, we may need to table this talk until later.”
Relieved, Ian agreed. “Ya think?”
“What are you doing to me? I never flirt with people I’m protecting.”
He didn’t sound happy about it, but he also didn’t act like it was bothering him all that much. Ian couldn’t read people, sure, but Pat was harder than most. Ian had a creeping fear that Pat was flirting to make Ian better pretend to be in a relationship.
He moved over to Pat’s bed, staring down at him. His eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners with his smile, and they never faltered when they met Ian’s, it made him think it was all sincere. “I promise, I’ve never flirted with anyone protecting me before, but then again, they never looked like you.”
“Good. I’d hate to be part of a trend.”
“Oh, you’re original. No doubt about that.”
Pat reached over and took Ian’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “Ian, I know that you’re still scared and everything that’s crowding on you right now. I admire how strong you’re being.”
Ian climbed on Pat’s bed, surprising him, straddling his hips quickly, before he could possibly react to force him to stop. He leaned in and touched his lips to Pat’s, setting one hand on his hard chest to balance and not distract him from deepening the kiss, making Pat open his lips and accept his tongue.
It was heaven, the best part of anything he’d felt in so long, if ever, that perfect, sweet but passionate kiss. It was slow, deliberate, luscious. When he pulled away, he saw how it had hit Pat. His eyes were still closed as Ian climbed off the bed.
“What was that for?”
Ian sat back on his bed and saw Pat finally looking at him. “In case they ask how you kiss.”
“Oh. Good thinking.”
Pat got off the bed and faced him, serious for the first time in a while. “Ian…dammit, this is about the worst way to begin a relationship. I know. In the middle of a traumatic situation, where tensions and emotions are so high, it makes the men involved wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
“If it’s the other man or the situation that has them stirred. So much of the time it’s the situation. I don’t want to ever wonder that with you.”
Hurt, he asked, “
You think you might want me because of the situation?”
Again, Pat let out a roaring laugh, and when that died off, he chided Ian. “No. I’m worried that would be the reason you’d want me.”
“You think that’s the only reason I would be attracted to you? Have you seen yourself? I could understand if you had three big toes on each foot and hairy ears or something, but you? And you care about me, you see me. Pat, I know we shouldn’t start something in the middle of this. I’m not stupid, but fuck, I am attracted to you. I want to see if, after this is over, if we could maybe have something more. But don’t ever think it’s the emotions or the exhilaration of the situation. Don’t insult me.”
Pat grabbed both of his hands and whispered, “I’m sorry if I insulted you. It’s…it’s happened to me before, and I guess I’m gun shy over it.”
“Who…who wouldn’t want you? Were they insane?”
“As a matter of fact, he was nuts, but that’s beside the point,” Pat chuckled, squeezing his hands. “Let’s get back to coaching. Something other than the relationship stuff.”
“Deal.”
For three days, it went that way. Pat introducing him to foods he’d never tried, coaching him on what to say, how to act, and what not to do to give away that he was lying.
The one thing he’d be able to say with confidence was how he felt about Pat. It wasn’t as if he’d walk into his father’s study and confess love, but he wouldn’t flinch if asked if he had true feelings for the man.
It was so easy to be around him, despite the incredible tension between them at all moments of the day and night. They laughed, a lot, and Pat’s laugh was worth all the money sitting in his bank account. It was natural. For years he’d longed for that, hearing laughter that wasn’t mocking or contrived. At his parents’ parties, those were the worst. Fake smile showing unnaturally white, perfect teeth while diamond laden fingers delicately held champagne flutes.
Pat’s, it boomed, it rang out, vibrating through Ian. Like most everything he did.
There were a couple more kisses. They tried to hold back, but there were times that the sexual anxiety that was alive with them overcame their better sense. It was all they could do to not tear the clothes from one another and rut like animals on the faded bedspread.
When they returned to Denver, and got to the apartment, nothing had changed. The place was clean, of course. The maid was set for three times a week. Nothing was missing, not even Denny.
“Hey. How are you two?”
“I thought you were going to take off for a while?”
Denny smirked, but it wasn’t in humor. He was angry and proud at once. “Cara wouldn’t go. She is tough, that one. She said to bring ‘em on, let them try to mess with any of us.”
Ian hugged his friend and that was when he truly felt at home. “I missed you, man. Glad you didn’t go.”
“Well, we have finals, which is what Cara reminded me of, and graduation soon. After that, she’s agreed to take off.”
“Good.”
“Anything I should know?”
Pat had warned him that the place could be bugged, so he hugged him again and whispered, “We’ll talk later, somewhere else.”
“Gotcha.”
Finals. He was trying to forget them. Pat brought them up when they got into Ian’s bedroom once Denny went to bed. “I know you don’t think you’ll ever get to use your degrees, Ian, but I think you will. You need to do well, or you’ll regret it.”
Regrets. He had a lot of those. As he sat on his own, comfortable bed, he sighed, laying back on it. “Can’t I just lay here for a week or two?”
Pat grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back to sitting. “Ian…”
“Mmm, I love when you get all growly. You know, when…I mean if we ever get to that place, where…you know, our roles will be better defined, I’m afraid I’ll be a very naughty boy a lot of the time just so I can hear that growly voice.”
Pat leaned down, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling his head back, moving in close that that his lips brushed Ian’s as he purred, “I don’t reward bad behavior, brat. Act like a naughty boy, and you won’t get any treats at all.”
He couldn’t form words, and his eyes watered from the delicious pain of having his hair yanked. He made a strange gurgling noise and Pat laughed, letting him loose. “Fucking Brat.”
“Yeah, so you’ve said.”
Getting serious, Pat spun Ian’s desk chair around to sit on it. “Ian, you have a big day tomorrow. I want you there as early as possible, get this over with. Then you can concentrate on your studies and get your Masters. I fully plan on buying an old home and hiring you to bring it back to its former glory.”
Pat didn’t seem a bit like he was teasing. Ian didn’t doubt he’d do exactly that. “I would do a very good job for you, Pat. I’d make you so happy in your home.”
“Ian,” Pat whispered, looking away. “Dammit.”
“I know. Keep it professional. I’m trying. Give me credit.”
“I do. It’s not you I’m worried about.”
Warmth spread through him, and it was as unfamiliar as it was wonderful. Well, unfamiliar from before he’d met Pat, but that feeling with him was becoming a common occurrence.
He knew what it was, and it scared him that Pat could be right. That it wasn’t Pat, and it was the emotions, the stress and the comfort of having him near. Then, he’d look into his eyes, hear him booming laughter or his low, reverberating voice and he knew it was real. He was falling for the man, and it was the worst time in his life for that to happen.
Pat slept on the couch, despite Ian telling him to stay in the bedroom. Pat said he needed real sleep and being so close to him made that impossible. Confessions like that made Ian inwardly dance, knowing he wasn’t the only one of the two of them that had those feelings.
Dressing the next morning, after a long shower where he shook so much he’d dropped his shampoo bottle twice, he watched himself in the mirror.
The Jon Green bespoke suit he wore was to impress his father. He hadn’t asked for it, or any of the others, but his father had insisted on them. Only the best suits. Nothing ever off the rack, only custom-made suits for the Andrews clan.
Pat noticed as he came into the room, whistling. “Jesus, that’s beautiful.”
“Bespoke,” he said, not meaning to brag, but it’s what they did. If anyone asked, that was the first thing said, so the admirer could guess at exactly how much it cost, which was five figures.
“Oh, la di da.”
Deflating, he moaned, “I sound like an ass when I do that, I know.”
“You’re supposed to. Remember? Besides, if I had a suit like that, that fit me like that, I’d be screaming it from the fucking rooftops.”
Back at running a hand over the charcoal silk, he argued, “No, you wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know me.” Pat came to him and touched the suit, pulling his hand away like he’d spoil it with his touch alone. “Jesus, that is a thing of beauty, though. Good choice for today.”
“Is it? Isn’t it maybe too much? Like I’m trying too hard?”
“No,” Pat chided, taking his hand. “Be you, Ian. I know, you think that’s a bad thing, but there is no reason to wear rags and act like you came from the gutter. You are a pretty damn wonderful fucking person, and you came from immense wealth and had everything you could ever want. There’s nothing wrong with that. What is wrong is what some do to get there. What some do to stay there.”
He knew he looked good in the suit. He admired the lines of it, and how perfectly it fit. “You know, I thought of what a pain in the ass it was, when I was being fitted for this suit. My father sent me to New York just to have three suits made. He said…he said my body had matured finally, and when a man’s body matures to what it would be during his young adulthood, he should buy the clothing to enhance that.
“I had to stay in New York two months that summer. I went back seven times for fittings, and
I complained through the whole thing. I never even asked about the price. When I put it on, the finished product, I felt different. I felt, I don’t know, grown up? It was the first, and maybe only time, that I gave my father credit for being right.”
“I may not be a fan of your father, but in his strange way, that was a benchmark for him. He was acknowledging you’d become a man, with a man’s body. Like a ritual or a rite of passage. Wear this suit and the others proudly. And remember that, what he did. If nothing else, Ian, he did that for you.”
Ian turned into Pat’s arms and Pat held him. He was scared to death, but in Pat’s arms, he felt he could face anything. “I wish you could be there.”
“I’m going to be there, Ian, just not in the study. I’ll be outside, waiting for you. I know you can do this. I know how strong you are even if you don’t.”
Ian moved away, avoiding Pat’s eyes, so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in his own. “I know I’ll do it. I just hope I do it right. My father’s no fool, Pat. He’s never been.”
Chapter Ten
His hair was perfect, suit flawless, platinum watch on, diamond cufflinks and matching tie clip set in place. His shoes were shining, and the clothing gave him some of the confidence he’d lacked as he strode into the house, gleaming marble shining in his eyes.
Maria, one of the maids, an Italian bombshell that made all his father’s friends drool when they came to the house, greeted him as she passed him on his way to the study.
“Is my father in there?”
“Yes, sir,” she said in her thick accent. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Thank you.”
At the thanks, her brows rose, unused to the gratitude. Ian’s mother had never once thanked any of the staff, and his father barely gave them a glance. He didn’t knock, using his bare confidence to make himself look tougher than he truly felt.
“Ian,” his father remarked without looking up from the papers on his desk.
“Father.”
Again, without taking his eyes from his work, he asked, “Did your FBI agent find you?”
Ian’s father said nothing off-hand. Everything that came from him was deliberate. His saying “your” told Ian that he suspected the relationship already, making it easier for him to broach that particular subject.
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