by Kaje Harper
Ryan murmured something against his chest.
“Hm?” John hadn’t quite made out the words.
“I said, you’re awfully good at that. For a novice.”
“Native talent.” And research. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
“It’s not that different from doing oral on a woman. More fun though, and a lot more to play with.”
“Cynthia didn’t really like me doing that. I’ll take your word for it.”
“What about your other girlfriends?” Ryan asked, his voice clearer.
“Are you being nosy?”
“Maybe.”
John laughed contentedly. “Doesn’t matter. There were no others.”
Ryan rolled up on one elbow. “None? Ever?”
“In high school, I was obsessed with Cynthia for years before she consented to go out with me. And after the divorce… I don’t know. I dated some but… it just never went that far.” He just hadn’t wanted a new relationship enough to be worth the effort. The last years of his marriage, there hadn’t been much sex. He’d gotten used to going without. Or he thought he had. Current evidence might contradict that. He slid his hip against Ryan, lightly, nudging him with a growing erection.
“Again?” Ryan laughed softly. “What? Are you taking Viagra?”
“With you around? Who needs it?” John rolled on his side, pulling Ryan close on top of him, already rocking, thrusting.
“Oh God.” Ryan’s mouth came down on his again, and they were lost in the heat of friction, and the press of body on body.
****
John woke to the sun shining in his eyes. He squinted. There was a gap in the curtains that he had never noticed. Probably because he had never slept in until…holy crap, eleven thirty! Against his side, Ryan still lay like a dead man.
John nudged him. “Wake up.”
“Huh?” Ryan burrowed his head into the pillow.
“Wake up. We’ve already wasted half the day.”
Ryan opened one eye and gave him a wicked grin. “Wasn’t wasted.”
John laughed. They’d slept in snatches, waking to turn to each other, thinking it would be for a kiss, a touch. And then the flaring heat had taken over, again. Shit, he was actually sore from too much friction. Happy, but sore.
He shoved Ryan harder. “Get up. Eat breakfast. Or maybe lunch. Buy groceries.”
“But then we’d have to get out of bed.”
“Ry, I’ve done all the bed my elderly body can handle. I need a shower and some food.”
“Share the shower?”
“God.” The image of Ryan in the shower, his skin wet, made John’s cock twitch, even after last night. But only twitch. “It would be wasted on me this morning. But hold that thought.”
He slid out of bed and stretched, raising his arms toward the ceiling and twisting.
“Now that’s a nice view,” Ryan murmured, curled on his side in the bed. “Nothing elderly about it. At all.”
“Up.” John reached down and ruthlessly pulled off the covers. “I’ll let you have the first shower.”
“You’d better. There’d be no hot water if you go first.” Ryan rolled out of the bed and stood, one hand on the mattress for balance. He glanced at John cryptically, and then bent to pick up his clothes. His back was to John. The bright light of morning played across those scars clearly. John figured that might be the point.
He took his shirt and snapped Ryan’s butt with the soft side of the hem. “Leave the dirty clothes. I’ll throw them in the laundry. Get your sexy ass under the water. I want my turn.”
Ryan was smiling as he turned. “Ten minutes.”
“I’ll start the coffee.”
It was nice, but a little strange, sitting at the table with Ryan, having brunch, like it was still last month and they were barely roommates.
“What?” Ryan said, his mouth full of bagel. “You’re looking at me weird.”
“Sorry.” John drank a slug of black gold. “I guess I don’t know what comes next.”
“Next comes dishes. And then we do need to buy groceries.”
“So, do we, what, go grocery shopping together? I’ve never lived with anyone but Cynthia. I’m not sure I know how to do this.”
“Puts you one up on me,” Ryan said. “I’ve never lived with anyone.” He shrugged. “I don’t see why we have to change things too fast. We never shopped together before. Put up a list and one of us can make the run. We don’t have to do all the couple-type things.”
“What if I want to?”
Ryan stared at him.
“Ry, this isn’t just about sex. Not for me. Yes, I like the sex. Okay, I’m crazy about the sex. But because it’s you I’m having it with. I’m not simply horny. I don’t think I’m even all that gay. I’m just crazy about you.”
“I…” Ryan swallowed and tried again. “Yeah, me too. I mean, I’m not checking out other guys on the street. But with you, God, that was so hot.”
John was caught by a wash of disappointment. Fool. Why would you be disappointed that Ryan finds you hot? But somehow he wished Ryan had phrased it differently. “We’ll go slow,” he offered.
“Last night was slow?” Ryan wiggled his eyebrows.
“We can do the sex as fast as you like. We’ll do the rest, the becoming-a-couple thing slow. If you actually want to.”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought beyond getting you into bed.”
I got as far as planning the next twenty years. John bit his tongue. He knew he was out ahead of Ryan on this whole thing. He needed patience. He didn’t think Ryan would’ve been in any man’s bed if it was just about sex. But he knew his hopes would take time. If they could even get there at all.
Chapter Ten
A week later, Ryan still didn’t quite have the rhythm of their new relationship. On the outside, things hadn’t changed much. They shared a ride to school each morning, went their separate ways, usually met over the dinner table. Evenings were for work and study, or occasionally an hour of TV. But then at the end of the day, they went to bed together.
That they were getting good at. Ryan found he loved the taste of John, the feel of hard flesh in his mouth. He was even learning to swallow without gagging. Ryan loved watching John come undone under his hands, under the press of his body and his mouth. And at night, Ryan slept better than he had in over a year, with John’s warm body next to his own.
But their days felt unfinished. As if there were steps they were still waiting to take. Which of course there were, in bed and out of it. Ryan just wasn’t sure when he’d be ready for anything more. If he’d ever be ready for anything more. He wished school would hold off, and give him time to figure out his life. But the new semester had opened with a load of new coursework and new classes. Ryan had to dig in, work like a maniac, and find his bearings again.
He looked up from his books, scattered across the dining room table, when the doorbell rang that evening. From the workshop, John called, “Hey, Ry. Could you get that?”
“You expecting someone?” he called back as he hauled himself up and hobbled to the front door. He’d been sitting wrong and his leg had stiffened up. Or maybe he’d pulled a muscle chasing John around the bed last night. They’d found they enjoyed a little roughhousing in with the foreplay sometimes, and John was hard to pin down.
“Not me,” John called. “Maybe it’s that Gay Kama Sutra book you ordered.”
“In your dreams. I don’t need no stinking textbook.”
He reached the door and pulled it open. A tall woman in a blue parka stood on the porch. “Can I help you?”
“Does John Barrett live here?”
“Yes,” Ryan said cautiously. “Can I tell him who you are?”
She pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. “Detective Carstairs. York PD.”
Ryan blinked. “Sure. Come on in.” He led the way toward the kitchen. “Hey, John,” he called toward the workshop. “It’s the police.”
“Who?” John appeared in
the doorway. “Oh, Detective Carstairs. Hello.”
“Mr. Barrett. Could we have a talk?”
“Sure, have a seat.”
Ryan cleared his books over into a pile, to make space at the table. John sat down, seemingly at ease. But Ryan could see the tension in his body despite the leg-sprawled pose. Carstairs leaned against the counter.
“There’s coffee left in the thermos,” Ryan offered them both. “Best in town.”
The detective glanced at him. “That would be good. Thank you. Would you tell me your name?”
Ryan gimped to the counter, and poured coffee into a mug. “Ryan Ward. Do you take cream or sugar?”
“Just black, thanks.” She took the mug, cupping it between her palms as if her hands were chilled. “You’re Ward? I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“What’s this about?” John asked.
The detective turned to look at him. “That body you found. We finally identified her from her dentistry. Her name was Kristin Saunders. Ring any bells?”
John frowned. “I don’t think so. Ry?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not in my class anyway.”
Carstairs set her mug on the counter. “She was Alice Tormel’s roommate.”
“Alice?” Ryan said. “Like, fell out of a tree, Alice?”
“Yes.” She eyed them, her expression giving nothing away. “You both knew Alice. But you never met Kristin?”
“Neither of us knew Alice,” John said firmly. “I saw her home one night when she was high. Ryan tried to save her when she climbed the tree, also high. That’s all the contact we had with her. If this Kristin was the girl who took her up to her room that first night, or one of the ones trying to talk her out of the tree, we didn’t know it at the time. Did she have dyed red hair?”
“Blonde,” Carstairs said. She pulled out a photo and passed it to John. He studied it, and then handed it to Ryan. “Either of you recognize her?”
Ryan shook his head. He wasn’t surprised when John said, “I’ve seen her around campus. More last year. She used to rollerblade sometimes. I don’t think I ever heard her name.”
“Any idea who she hung around with, who her friends were?”
John shook his head. “When she skated, it was by herself. I’m sorry.”
“And it’s just coincidence that you were there when Alice fell, and you were the one to find her roommate’s body?”
“Yes,” John said firmly. “It was just coincidence.”
“Were there drugs in Kristin when she died?” Ryan asked.
“Funny you should mention that. Not only did we not find any drugs in Kristin’s body, we didn’t find any in Alice’s.”
“Then you didn’t look for the right thing,” Ryan told her. “That girl was definitely on something. Unless she was mentally ill, to the point of hallucinations, but it sure sounded like a drug high.”
“According to the two of you.”
“Talk to the two girls who were there.” Ryan didn’t like that skeptical tone. “They’ll tell you the same thing. She was trying to be a squirrel-bird and fly when she jumped out of the tree.”
“We’ll be talking to them again,” Carstairs agreed evenly. “We can’t test for every possible intoxicant, so we might have missed something. But it was none of the common ones.” She picked up her mug, took another sip. “So, how do you two know each other?”
“We’re roommates,” Ryan said quickly. Anything else was none of her business. “I rent a room. John owns the house.”
“I see.”
“When did Kristin die?” John asked. “I’d think I would’ve heard if a student had suddenly gone missing from campus.”
“Her stuff was gone too. So everyone thought she couldn’t handle what happened to Alice, and went home. She’s been gone since a week after Alice died.”
“Shit.” Ryan frowned. Three months in the earth. No wonder John had been so freaked when he found her. He’d never said much, but Ryan could tell it had been bad.
Carstairs told John, “I’ll need a list of everyone who’s been working on your grounds crews since September.”
“Why my crews?”
“Access to tools, a good excuse for wandering around campus with a shovel? People who might be familiar with the remoter parts of the campus.”
“The college personnel office would have the list,” John said. “I have names, but not contact details. They do the hiring, I just tell the men where to go and what to do.”
“Have you sent anyone out to work in that area in the last year?”
“No. I was checking it out for the first time myself, thinking about a hiking trail.”
“Do you remember any instance when tools were stolen, or used and left dirty?”
John laughed humorlessly. “They’re gardening tools, shovels. They’re often left dirty.”
“Help me out here,” Carstairs said. “Is there anything you remember that would be worth my time to pursue?”
“No,” John said firmly. “Nothing.”
“I think you should be looking for the drugs,” Ryan repeated. “Because Alice was flying. Figuratively before the literally part.”
“Mr. Barrett, are you aware of drugs on campus?”
“Sure,” John said. “Lots of pot, probably plenty of other stuff too. It’s a college. I don’t worry about the pot. If I knew who was selling the hard stuff I would tell you immediately. I don’t.”
Carstairs looked around. “This is a nice house. Must have cost quite a bit.”
“I used to work for a big firm.” Ryan admired John’s calm tone. “I had some savings.”
“There’s money to be made selling drugs on campus.”
“I’m sure there is. But not for me.”
Carstairs drained the mug and set it in the sink. “If I find out either of you knew something that could have helped us, and didn’t pass it along,” she said, “I’ll be back, and it won’t be a social call.”
“You’re welcome back any time,” John said.
Carstairs gave him a smile that didn’t change the cool look in her eyes. “Your roommate is right by the way. Great coffee.”
Ryan stepped away from the counter. “I’ll let you out.”
When he came back to the kitchen, John was still sitting at the table peering into his empty mug.
“How come you didn’t get mad when she practically accused you of dealing drugs?” Ryan asked.
John shrugged. “She’s fishing. I imagine they don’t have many leads. Can’t blame them for chasing anything they do have.”
“So she can just come here and accuse you?”
“She was looking for a reaction.” John looked up at him. “Why’d you tell her you were my roommate?”
“Because I am,” Ryan said, ignoring a twinge of discomfort. “Anything else is none of her business.”
“Yeah, except she said roommate like she didn’t buy it. And now she’ll wonder what else I’m hiding.”
“What did you want me to tell her?”
John said steadily, “I think of you as my boyfriend.”
Ryan winced. “I hate that word. It’s so… high school.”
“If you were dating a woman, you’d call her your girlfriend.”
“Maybe. But it’s not the same thing.”
“What do you think we are, then? Lovers, partners, fuck buddies, friends with benefits, what?”
“I don’t,” Ryan said desperately. “I don’t put a name on it. Christ, John, it’s only been a week. I’m still trying to accept the fact that my biggest fantasy these days involves getting another man naked in bed. You’re my best friend and we have sex and I don’t put a label on it.”
“Do you want to hide it?”
“Not hide it.” Ryan was aware that John’s gaze looked wary, waiting. “I just don’t see where it’s anyone else’s business. We can live our life without… advertising.”
“So if I see you on campus I’m allowed to… what? Shake your hand? Is a
hug okay, if there’s some manly backslapping included?”
“Don’t. Don’t push me. Not yet.”
John nodded. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m greedy. I want it all. I want to have your picture on my phone, and call you for no reason, and kiss you when I see you.”
Ryan couldn’t imagine it, didn’t want to. He had to head this off. He walked over to where John sat, and fisted a hand in his shirt. “You could kiss me now.”
John’s eyes warmed. “I don’t know if I want to do that,” he drawled.
“You do.” Ryan hauled him upward. John stood slowly, and then bent his head. It took nothing, just the barest touch of their lips, for the heat to ignite. John kissed him like he wanted to eat him alive. He shoved Ryan back against the table, demanding his mouth. Ryan heard a book go flying.
He pulled free to say, “My histology text.”
“To hell with histology.” John’s hands were hard, rough, over Ryan’s back and down inside the waistband of his jeans. He bit at Ryan’s neck, sucked hard. Ryan leaned in tighter, needing more.
“The bed is upstairs.”
“To hell with the bed.” John dropped to his knees in front of Ryan, hands fumbling with fastenings. And then Ryan’s fingers tangled in that auburn hair, and John’s mouth was too full for talking.
****
John juggled the grocery bags as he opened the front door. There was an unfamiliar car in the drive. He wondered if the cops were back again. If they were, he hoped Ryan was keeping his temper. Carstairs had been around campus all week, and she’d made it a point to seek John out more than once.
Ryan was ticked off, but John could sympathize with the detective’s frustration. He was the closest thing they had to an angle on the case, because as far as he could tell, they had no leads. Both the college and the community urgently wanted the murder solved, before sensationalist publicity made too many parents decide to send their little darlings elsewhere to school. Carstairs was no doubt getting a lot of pressure to do something, fast.