Hanging the Stars

by Rhys Ford

  “That I can do.” West folded his arms around Angel’s shaking body, rocking him gently as a bank of clouds folded over the cliff, stealing away their stars. He kissed Angel’s temple, reveling in the essence of the man he held close. Then as the growing storm broke, shattering the sky in flashes of light and booming thunder, West whispered, “I love you, Angel. I always have. And I always will.”

  Seventeen

  THE STORM was hot and fluid, pouring through the sky in a rush of wind and pounding water. Its furious torrents coursed down the sides of the house, slender rivulets slicking the windows, and the thick glass held back all but a hush of its raging screams. Clouds poured over the beaten sky, their milky plumes quickened with kisses of lightning while the sea convulsed below. Beyond the glass, cradled in a dusky gold glow, the storm could only whisper to the lovers it couldn’t reach, its rippling murmurs too low for them to hear above their sighs.

  As Nature threw her squalling tantrum against the cliffs, West heard nothing except Angel’s sighs after being kissed, and he saw no storm but the deepening silken smoke in his lover’s hooded gray eyes. He was bruised, deeply so, uneven purple and black mottles darkening his gleaming golden skin, and traces of the day’s—hell, the month’s—traumas lingered in Angel’s gaze.

  “I want to kiss you until you’re happy.” West rose up from the bed and sat on his haunches. “Or at least content.”

  He’d kissed nearly every inch of Angel’s length, the fragrance of his lover’s skin resonating in West’s senses. There was a desire for more percolating in him. His cock was heavy, growing taut in response to Angel’s naked body, laid out before him. The pain in Angel’s eyes held West back. As did the strain lining his handsome face.

  “You have no idea how happy I am right now,” Angel rasped. Ghosting his fingers over West’s nipples, he played with the nubs when they tightened at his touch. “Especially seeing you like this. And with me.”

  Naked, there was nothing for Angel to grab on to, but he tugged lightly on West’s dick, making him gasp at the shocking threads titillating his arousal. A pillow to Angel’s stomach was enough to get West loose, but the sensation of Angel’s fingers stroking his length remained.

  Angel stole his thoughts, a thief whose touch rendered West poor of words and his lungs empty of air. Staring down Angel’s body, he consumed every inch of skin and rippling muscle, burning the memory of the night deep into his mind. His dreams would whisper of dark red sheets, a sculpted lean form, and a mink-dark tangle of silken strands tumbling around Angel’s strong face.

  There were imperfections, to be sure. A life lived as hard and on the edge as Angel lived was going to take its pound of flesh. Tiny healed-over burns marked Angel’s sinewy forearms, seared kisses from Angel’s love-hate relationship with his ovens. A few nicks on his calf were from one of the carnival games he’d manned, gouges the heavy pull triggers needed to reset the rows of marching ducks almost leechlike in its thirst for blood. There were the blemishes West accidentally put there and a divot in the crease of his hip muscle, a reminder to anyone who knew the story not to taunt a donkey when wearing nothing but a pair of Speedos and a rainbow-spangled squid hat.

  The promise of Angel’s allure, hinted at during that long-ago season, had emerged, and West’s heart twisted in his chest, dumbstruck by the man who oddly wanted him back. There was no accounting for taste. West grinned suddenly, and if he took into account Angel’s eclectic palate, maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised.

  “Turn over, to your side,” West slid his hand under Angel’s hip, pushing him slightly. “Please.”

  Angel shifted, lifting himself up to give West room. Sliding in behind his lover, West guided Angel back, snuggling up against Angel’s ass and shoulders. His cock hurt, aching for Angel’s skin or touch. Flexing, Angel inched back, nesting West’s shaft in his cleft.

  Groaning, West rested his forehead against the back of Angel’s skull. “You’re killing me, love.”

  “You’re not the only one. We need… lube.”

  Angel hissed, twisting around to lie on his back again. West mourned the catch of his cock against Angel’s ass, but Angel’s mouth on his was worth it. They lingered over the kiss, taking small sips of air to prolong it, but eventually Angel broke it off, whispered into West’s mouth, “I want you. So fucking much it hurts sometimes, but you’re worth the pain, West. Just like you’re worth the pleasure.”

  They lost the tube of lubricant when it rolled off the nightstand, only to find it again under the bed after a few laughter-infused seconds. West’s tongue dried in his mouth when Angel slid a condom down the length of his cock. He whimpered when Angel enveloped the tip of his shaft in his mouth, Angel’s full lips a profane pout around West’s glistening head. The lube proved difficult to handle, and West grumbled under his breath about Justin and his choice of sex aids.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers, Harris,” Angel reminded him after he pulled his mouth off of West’s cock. “Now fuck me so we can get some sleep.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t have a cracked skull,” West grumbled. “We’re crazy for doing this. Your doctor’s going to kill me if you end up back in the hospital.”

  “Hard head. I’m a Daniels. It’s merely a flesh wound.” Angel laughed, and West frowned at him. “Yeah, my head hurts, and I got the wind knocked out of my sails, but right now I need to have you inside of me, West. It’s stupid, but… I just want to be with you. I want you to make me feel.”

  They moved tenderly, their desire at odds with their battered, healing bodies. There was something affirming in the slide of bruised skin against skin. The aches in West’s limbs were a low throb, wicking away under Angel’s touch, his desire for the man next to him engulfing his every thought. When Angel dipped his fingers into the lube in West’s palm, West chuckled.

  When his lover dipped his fingers down between his cleft and slid them around his own rim, West lost all reason and pinned Angel to the bed, kissing him furiously while sliding his own hand down to help Angel slicken his hole.

  West had never loved the scents and sounds of sex. It’d been messy and dirty, something to be done to make himself and his fuck-at-the-time feel good. He’d gone out of his way to stay detached, getting involved only with men who’d thought of him as disposable as he viewed them.

  Angel—fucking Angel Daniels—made West want to immerse himself in everything, to wallow in the sticky slurp of their bodies joined together. He loved the musk of Angel’s cum when it welled out of his cock’s slit and its tart, salty taste on West’s tongue after he smeared a drop on his thumb, then sucked it off.

  “Get on your side,” West urged. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Trust me, you won’t,” Angel murmured as he rolled over. “I know you, West. You won’t.”

  They lay back to chest, a more intimate press of the countless times they’d leaned against each other before. Angel felt good on him, his shoulders tensing, then relaxing when West eased his cock up to push on Angel’s hole. His own ass twitched, remembering the hot, hard length of his lover holding him open, plunging deep into his core, and West kissed Angel’s shoulder, a whisper of lips on sun-gilded skin.

  Angel’s entrance resisted him, and then his rim flared, suckling at West’s tip. Urging West in, Angel bent his head forward and pushed his hips back, sliding most of West’s cock head into his tight heat. His breaths went shallow, and his molten sweet murmurs encouraged West to enter him.

  “God,” West groaned, gently pushing past Angel’s tightness. His head broke through, Angel’s ass suddenly wrapped around him, and West nearly came from the overwhelming rush of emotions flooding through him. “Shit, you’re tight.”

  “Fuck, come on,” Angel urged. “Waiting a long time for this, West. Please.”

  He moved in slowly, seating himself inch by inch until his balls nested up into Angel’s asscheeks. His hips twitched, and Angel gripped him tighter, his muscles undulating slowly, drawing West de
eper into him. It was a strain to hold himself back, but from the quiver along Angel’s back and thighs, West knew it was worth it. The glide in was a maddening exercise in patience, and he stopped every time he felt Angel take a sharp, quick breath.

  Pulling out was even sweeter, especially since West knew he’d be able to go right back in, drawing another quaking response from the lover he held in his arms.

  Their lovemaking was as soft as the storm was hard, a gentle rocking of hips and long strokes of West’s hand over Angel’s flank and belly. Their joining was a delicious waltz, the tension building up slowly, and West ached inside when his body, frustrated at the pace, started to demand more. His hips rocked into Angel’s ass, a little harder than he’d done before, and Angel’s fingers dug into his thigh. Startled, West nearly pulled free, scared he’d hurt Angel, but his lover shook his head.

  “Fuck me, West,” Angel whispered, impaling himself fully on West’s cock with a shift of his limbs. “Just us. Make me feel just us.”

  Cupping Angel’s balls, West fondled the sac, then stroked his fingers up Angel’s hard shaft. “Hold on, then, love.”

  His cock trembled in Angel’s body. Tucked between them, his dick was hidden by Angel’s cheeks, but West didn’t need to see what his lover was doing to him. He burned each time he pulled back, sliding his cock through Angel’s grasp. Through each delicious drag, West’s nerves sparked, setting his skin on fire. The tingle started small, a teasing lick of sensation through his body. Then it built up slowly, until West was caught in the tempest he’d brought to life inside of him.

  He caught his tongue between his teeth at the first hard slap of their bodies, his balls bouncing up into Angel’s curve. Another slap, deadened slightly by the lush sheets bunching up between them, and Angel groaned, his cock twitching in West’s hand. His balls brushed the edge of West’s palm, rolling up and down, building up Angel’s release.

  Another stroke and West knew it would soon be over. He couldn’t stop plunging up into Angel’s body, and his pace broke, their rhythm shattered into a frenzied slam of flesh and bone. His dick begged for release, diving back into Angel’s ass in short, hard jabs. His belly clenched, sending a bright, hard tightness punching through his balls, and West gasped as Angel’s hand found his. They clenched their fingers over Angel’s cock, pulling at his shaft in an odd disjointed fumble.

  “Let me,” West begged, his voice hoarse and odd in his ears.

  The rush of blood in his head made it hard to think, much less speak, but he wanted to feel Angel’s climax on his skin, needing to know he’d brought the man to his peak. Angel’s hand fell away, landing on the bed. Shoving deeper into Angel’s ass, West leaned them forward, driving them both to the edge. Angel’s fingers clenched at the sheets, and he gasped, his face hidden by a curtain of burnished umber silk. Using the leverage of their new position, West plunged in harder, tugging at Angel’s cock until he felt it throb in his hand.

  Angel came first, a gush of fragrant masculinity, hot from his excited body. The scent of his release mingled with the aroma of their sweat and the sweetness of the rain. Unable to stop, West let go, falling into the blanket of sublime, erotic sensation rising up to catch him.

  He felt nothing but Angel, knew only the press of Angel around him as his cock emptied into the friction-stoked sear they’d made. His climax was too much to bear, stroking at his face and down his limbs in a numbing wave. Shaking, West convulsed, rocking instinctively into Angel’s shuddering body until they both couldn’t take any more.

  They slowed, a whispering torpor stealing through them, and West found himself sucking in mouthfuls of air, trying to slow the thundering beat of his heart and the slam of blood coursing through his veins. Unable to move, he remained clenched tightly in Angel’s grip, his lover panting in his arms.

  Dragging his fingers through Angel’s sticky release, West murmured, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” Angel whispered back in his sweet burned-sugar voice. “More than okay. And just so you know, I love you too, Harris. God help me, I love you too.”

  ANGEL HURT.

  He was tired of the constant pain. The past few weeks had been hell on his body and a roller coaster for his heart, but thinking back on how he got the smarting bite on his shoulder and the crick in his neck, he’d do it all over again.

  Except for the throbbing in his big toe. That he could have done without. Much like the tub of banana-chocolate-chip bread Rome dropped on his foot half an hour ago, but all things considered, the pangs and prickles were worth it. Especially since his younger brother was doing his damned best to pitch in after a hellish few days.

  “Hey, that’s cool!” Marveling, Roman reached for one of the peels lying on the bakery’s prep table. “It really looks like snake skin.”

  Angel moved the knife around the piece of sweet salak in his hands and threw his brother a quick, sharp glance. “Aren’t you supposed to be peeling tamarind?”

  “It’s boring.” Roman kicked at the table’s leg, rocking it under Angel’s elbows. “And I mostly finished.”

  “Dude,” he warned. “Holding a knife here. What’s the rules?”

  “No kicking, and if I’m going to be at the prep table, I’ve got to have my ass on a stool and my legs tucked under.” The stool legs screeched across the floor as Rome dragged it closer to Angel’s side of the table. Climbing up, he muttered contritely, “Sorry. Forgot.”

  “Not many rules back here, kid,” Angel scolded softly. “And they’re there so no one gets hurt.”

  “Dude, you’ve got so many rules—” Rome cut himself off at Angel’s filthy look. “Never mind. Okay. I know. Sorry.”

  “Here, you keep the peels.” After shoving the rinds toward his brother, Angel picked up another one of the small blobby fruits Rome’d begged him to buy from Magnus. “Build yourself a dragon.”

  The sweet snake fruit had been tucked into the box of produce dropped off at the bakery that morning. Nearly a week after the attempt on Rome, Angel’d been glad to see Rome get excited over seeing Magnus, then promising the tall blond a visit to the market the next time Angel planned on going. A brief visit from Montague the day after the attack hadn’t been as satisfying. The cops still had nothing about the kidnapper or Derry’s murderer. Beyond speculating they were one and the same person, the detective reluctantly admitted they had little to go on.

  “It’s like this guy disappears into thin air,” Montague grumbled in a rare, honest admission. “He clamps his hand over Rome’s mouth tight enough to muffle your brother’s screams and carries him up to the building without anyone seeing him? It’s like he’s a ghost or… people don’t notice him. He knew his angles. The tent hid him from most of the crowd. He’s good at this, very aware of what’s going on around him. I’m chasing some leads up in SF, so maybe we’ll come up with something. Until then, keep Rome close.”

  Roman hadn’t spent a single moment alone since Montague walked out the bakery door, and Angel wondered if it wouldn’t have just been easier to ship his brother off to Upper Siberia. Especially after Rome began to chafe at the constant shadowing.

  They’d had a fight about his meds that morning, a full-temper blowout that left Angel shaking when it was all over. He’d been about to give in, too tired to argue any longer, but Rome’s pushing back was desperate, nearly frantic. A step away from the tussle and Angel came back at his brother, reminding him the pill, like many things in life, was nonnegotiable during the school week.

  “I’m sick of being broken.” Rome’s soft complaint tore Angel apart, but the boy took the pill from Angel’s hand and gulped it down with a mouthful of water. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Rome sighed, then said, “I just want to be normal, Ange. Like you.”

  If his heart hadn’t already been shattered by his brother’s tears, it would have crumbled under the weight of Rome’s wishful longing.

  “How much tamarind did you get done?” The fruit’s flesh dripped down Angel’s wrist, and a
s tempted as he was to lick it off, he wiped his arm on a damp towel. “At least two pounds?”

  “Yeah,” Rome grunted, then cocked his head, biting his lower lip. “I got almost four bags done. Then my hands got too sticky.”

  “You’re supposed to wear gloves, kid,” Angel reminded him. “So you don’t get sticky.”

  “They squeak when I use them.” His brother wrinkled his nose. “Justin doesn’t wear gloves. He just said my hands had to be really clean. I washed them like five times before.”

  “So long as your hands were clean, we’re good.” Angel pared a bit of the salak off onto his knife and offered it to Rome. “Here. Peel off the membrane. What do you taste?”

  It was a game of sorts for them, a question Angel’d asked a thousand times before, but this was the first time Rome was tasting something he hadn’t tried first. His brother took the spongy slice, then stripped away the thin skin clinging to the flesh. After popping the fruit into his mouth, he chewed carefully.

  “Like… pineapple.” Roman made a face. “And lemon, but it’s kind of sweet. It’s weird.”

  “Yeah, I’m going to make a spread out of it.” Angel laughed when Rome stole a whole peeled fruit from the bowl. “Don’t eat too much. I don’t know if it’ll do anything to your guts.”

  “Kind of looks like garlic, yeah?” He took a bite, then pulled a membrane off his tongue. “It’s good, though.”

  “Yeah, it is. I owe you some cotton candy. Next time we go,” Angel promised. “Maybe we can stop by this Saturday and tell Magnus they rocked.”

  “Cool.” Rome sucked on a piece of salak. He leaned over the table, rocking on the stool for a second, then promptly sat it back down before Angel could say anything. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Angel nodded to the damp towel. “Wipe your face and hands when you’re done. And not on your clothes.”