Sam kept his eyes on Mitch, putting an open, splayed hand on Randy’s hip, his fingers resting on Randy’s waistband, his thumb reaching all the way toward the line of Randy’s fly. Randy’s dancing stopped. His hand came down and landed on Sam’s hair, fingers curling into it as his hips began to sway again.
He moved Sam’s hand closer to the growing outline of his cock in his jeans.
The two gestures were so naturally erotic they froze Ethan in place, and he waited for the rest. But nothing else happened because the music ended, and as the song changed, Sam woke from his trance, turned to Ethan, and froze. “I’m sorry.” He hurriedly pulled his hand away from Randy.
The thoughts came at him not in a sequence but in clusters, clouds blooming in his mind, whole truths and images and choices. Whatever this was between the three of them, it was more than just friendship. It was mostly between Sam and Mitch. Randy played along because it was fun and because he loved them both, each in their own way, and loved the two of them as a couple.
The hint of pleasure Sam gave Randy was nothing compared to the show he gave his spouse, a show he had clearly given before and would be happy to—maybe even needed to give—again. Mitch really enjoyed Sam with another man. Probably some of it was that the man was Randy, but somehow Ethan was pretty sure a total stranger could fondle Sam or offer himself for fondling, and Mitch would find it just as erotic. Maybe more so.
Ethan knew Randy liked it. As Randy’s fingers kneaded Sam’s hair, Ethan understood that Randy missed it. Knowing Randy, this was another way he remained outside, with them but not of them, loving them and loved by them, but he was not of them, not completely. He was Crabtree’s joker, blending in anywhere, never belonging, always alone.
How had Ethan been blind to it? Randy wasn’t a joker. He only pretended to be one. He wasn’t happy-go-lucky. He wasn’t a court jester.
Randy was an ace. Which meant Randy, too, was alone.
Except with me.
Ethan thought about what Randy had confessed, about his wearing the ring, and then he remembered the way Randy had pushed into Sam’s hand, the way he’d looked naked and tied down over the bench. How raw and vulnerable he was when he said I love you.
Sliding forward on the seat, Ethan took Sam’s hand and placed it on Randy—right on the long, hard shape of Randy’s cock.
For a moment they stayed frozen in place. Sam tracked Ethan, wide-eyed but with banked lust, his countenance soft and sultry. Randy’s hand kneaded gently against Sam’s hair, and Ethan could suddenly see him, standing above, looking out at Las Vegas as his lover and his friend knelt beneath him. He imagined Randy’s surprise and confusion warring with desire.
Ethan released Sam’s hand and freed the button of Randy’s fly, then took Sam’s hand and used it to tug down the zipper. The dark blue of Randy’s briefs appeared, and Ethan let go of Sam again to pull the waistband of Randy’s jeans and then his briefs down. Desire pooled in Sam’s eyes as Randy’s thick cock came into view. The smell of it surrounded Ethan, sweat and sex and the lingering scent of his soap. Sam’s lips parted, wet, plump, eager, and Ethan kept his eyes on them as he closed his hand over Randy’s on Sam’s head and pushed him forward, kneeling and using his other hand to guide Randy’s penis into the young man’s open mouth.
The whimper Sam made as his lips slid down Randy’s foreskin was as erotic as the sight. It was wickedly beautiful to guide Randy’s cock into another man’s mouth, but half the turn-on was Sam. He sucked the organ with deep pleasure, face twisted into subtle expressions of pleasure, lust, and, most subtle of all, submission. He drew Randy in to the root and pressed slim hands to Randy’s hips with more joy than Ethan had ever witnessed in anything. Guiding Sam into a rhythm with one hand, Ethan curled Sam’s other hand against Randy’s balls, urging him to stroke. As Sam drew Randy down, Ethan leaned forward and opened his mouth over the bump of Randy’s pelvis, licking and sucking the point as he urged Sam’s fingers to Randy’s entrance.
There was a brief gasp, then a cry from above—Ethan pushed the tip of Sam’s finger into Randy’s sphincter and held it there, then opened his own mouth over Randy’s pelvic bone, sliding his tongue all the way down to the base of his cock, brushing briefly against Sam’s lips as he drew back.
Randy reached down with his other hand and took a great fistful of Ethan’s hair as his hips bucked three times roughly into Sam. His balls tightened in Sam’s and Ethan’s hands as he came into Sam’s mouth, and Sam’s throat worked as he sucked Randy down. Lips wet, swollen and rimmed with white, Sam smiled shyly at Ethan before he withdrew onto Mitch’s lap. Ethan caught one steamy glimpse of Mitch pulling Sam toward him for a carnal, open-mouthed kiss, and then Randy collapsed into the car and into Ethan, pushing him to the floor, falling on top of him as he took hold of Ethan by both ears and kissed him hard.
It wasn’t actually a kiss—he fucked Ethan’s mouth with his tongue, grinding his fading erection against Ethan’s rigid one. His pants were now above his knees, but he didn’t seem to care, just undulated his bare ass as he thrust his tongue over and over again into Ethan’s throat. Then he rested his forehead on Ethan’s cheek.
“Slick.” His hands tightened on Ethan’s ears. “Slick, why—? Why did you—?”
“Because I wanted to.” Ethan reached around and took firm hold of the flesh of Randy’s ass. “That okay?”
“Fuck yes.”
Randy shivered as Ethan started to massage his naked skin. “You seemed to need it. All of you.”
Randy’s hands shifted to the carpet on either side of Ethan’s head as he continued the massage. In the background, just above the music, Ethan could hear Sam’s gasps and tortured whimpers, and his cock hummed at the thought of what Mitch must be doing.
Breathing hard, Randy twitched as Ethan nudged a fingertip against his entrance. “Sam likes to be told what to do. A lot.”
“I could tell.” Ethan pushed the tip of his finger inside. Randy turned his face into Ethan’s neck. “You do too, sometimes.”
“When it’s you.” Randy hissed as Ethan pushed in deeper. But he shook his head when Ethan started to withdraw. “No. Don’t.”
“You need lube.”
“I need you, baby. Push it in me.”
Ethan held his finger in place. “You’re wearing Nick’s ring.”
Randy lifted an eyebrow. “I’m wearing your ring.”
“You’re wearing the ring Nick gave me. Why?”
“Push your finger into me, Slick.”
Aroused almost to the point of pain, Ethan fucked gently inside as Randy’s eyes closed and his face melted into a tortured ecstasy. He was tight and hot, and this had to burn, but Randy flexed his muscles and took Ethan in deeper, into the furnace of him, his mouth parting and his breath coming on a gasp as he humped Ethan lightly.
Ethan continued to gently finger him. “Why are you wearing it?”
Randy bent to rest on Ethan’s shoulders. “I don’t know. But I can make up a reason, if you want.”
Ethan didn’t care about the ring anymore. He bit back a moan at how tight and hot Randy felt. He wanted to pull down his trousers and thrust his cock inside Randy instead, to watch him take it in. He was just about ready to do it when the car stopped, and Randy groaned and sank onto Ethan’s neck. “We’re here, unfortunately.”
“Where’s here?” Ethan started to withdraw his finger, but Randy kept it trapped inside, clenching around it.
“The Mirage.” He laughed. “I thought we could do with a distraction.”
“Hmm.” Ethan pushed into Randy.
Randy hummed and rolled his hips. “You want to fuck me first, baby? I’ve got lube and condoms in my jacket pocket. You want to roll me over and fuck me on the floor, let Mitch and Sam watch you take me?”
“I’d like to fuck you while we stood in the moonroof.”
“I like your finger in my ass. Your tongue would be good too. I like the way you look when you find yourself, when you get all elegant
and strong and in control.”
Ethan nipped at him. “You want me to tell you what to do? You want me to take control?”
“You already have all the control, baby. You’ve had it all along. You just need to find your footing, and you’ll have the whole world by the balls, same as you do me.”
As Ethan lay there, he could see the truth of what Randy said, but he knew he wasn’t ready, not yet. He saw the shape of that self, but he didn’t know quite how to use it.
Randy hadn’t been lying. He did love him. In a strange, beautifully Randy way.
Ethan wished he could say he loved him back. He thought maybe he might. But the Ethan who could do that was as nebulous at this moment as the Ethan who could take control. It would take time to discover both.
Ethan let out a heavy breath. “I want to see the Mirage.”
Randy smiled a sideways grin and brushed a kiss across Ethan’s lips before pulling up his jeans.
THE MIRAGE WAS full of people as usual, but Randy didn’t care—he loved showing it off to someone for the first time, and he loved showing Slick best of all.
Ethan didn’t say anything, but Randy read his face, and he could tell Ethan was enchanted. The fountains were beautiful, the walkways romantic. Slick was even impressed by the volcano.
When Ethan readily agreed to sit down for a few hands of poker, Randy suspected he did so mostly because he enjoyed the atmosphere.
They played for an hour, because Sam and Mitch would be bored if they took much longer. Mitch only did slots and blackjack, and Sam didn’t do anything at all. He hated throwing money away and could not get the hang of poker for the life of him. So they waited at the bar while Ethan sat at a mid-level table with five hundred dollars’ worth of chips. Randy wanted to see Slick at one of the no-limit, high-end tables, because that was where the real players were. But Ethan wasn’t ready yet.
Ethan did fairly well. He still stayed in too long, and when they finally stood to leave, he was sixty dollars lighter than he’d been when he’d started, largely because of overplaying his hand.
“Half the hands I lost were to you,” he complained when they went to cash in.
“What, you want me to throw the hands for you? You’ve got to learn to bluff. You need to learn to read tells too, but at the very least you need to start putting on a better face.”
Ethan gave him a look, part frustration, part irritation. “I am bluffing.”
Randy sighed. “You sit there and you go stone-faced, sure. But that’s not bluffing. Bluffing is when you pretend you have a decent hand and you have shit. Or you pretend you have a shit hand or a medium hand when you have pocket aces. Decide what it is you want, and then act like you already have it. You play the table, Slick, or it will play you.”
“There’s so much to remember.”
“You’ll get better. You’re already ridiculously better than you should be a couple days in. Remember, poker is people with cards put in. Don’t worry. You’ll be taking over the town within a few weeks, I’m sure.” He patted Ethan’s back then let his hand slide down to his butt. “I’m just hoping you still want me on your arm once you’re a big shot.”
Ethan dislodged his arm and took hold of Randy’s own ass. “That depends, Ace, on how good you are.”
It didn’t hit him until they were almost at the bar. “Ace. Did you just give me a nickname?”
Ethan feigned indifference. “What if I did?”
“If you did, you took your damn time about it.” He gave Ethan a dubious look. “Ace, though.”
Ethan smiled, a wicked, knowing little gesture that sent a shiver down Randy’s spine. “What, you don’t want the word to get out?”
“I thought I was a joker.” Randy couldn’t maintain his usual sass.
Ethan leaned in close. “You’re an ace, pretending to be a joker in self-defense.” He brushed a kiss across Randy’s lips. He had a few chips in his hand and turned them over idly between his fingers, glancing down at them thoughtfully. “You know, these seem heavier than the ones at Herod’s.”
“That’s because Billy is cheap. He doesn’t use professional weight. Drives Crabtree crazy, and I have to say, I’m not fond of it much myself. The logo is stupid too.”
Ethan studied them. “It’s the exclamation point that puts it over the top. Herod’s would be better.”
Randy threaded their hands together over the chips. “Let’s go find Sam and Mitch.”
As soon as they got to the bar, Sam jumped them. “Oh my God, Randy—Madame Tussauds has Kylie. And Lady Gaga, but—Kylie.”
“Well, we have to go then.” Randy laughed as Sam squealed and pelted his forehead and cheeks with kisses. He glanced at Ethan. “Unless we have other plans?”
“Sounds fine to me,” Ethan said, but he watched Sam’s hands on Randy’s shoulders, and Randy suspected he was flashing back to the scene in the limo.
Randy was too.
The ride to the wax museum was G-rated, Sam effusing and shaking as if he were about to meet the real Kylie. Once at the museum, they ambled about trying to figure out where the hell she was, and then they rounded the corner and she appeared, petite and blonde and swathed in white fabric and silver glitter, her left hand reaching for the stars as her right hand drew the microphone closer to her mouth. Sam made incoherent sounds for several minutes, and then Mitch nudged him up beside the statue to take pictures of Sam hugging and kissing Ms. Minogue. The same treatment was given to Lady Gaga and Madonna, and then they simply wandered around, taking it all in.
Ethan surprised Randy by having Sam take a photo of himself next to Lady Diana and Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow.
Randy raised an eyebrow. “You have a thing for princesses and pirates?”
Ethan put his arm around Sam. “I’m developing a taste for them, yes.”
Mitch fell in beside Randy as they walked to the car and admired the fine set of backsides ahead of them. “Where to now?”
Randy beamed. “Stratosphere?”
“No.” Sam looked over Ethan’s shoulder to give Randy a glare.
Randy sighed. “Sam, you don’t have to go out in the open-air observation. You can stay in the interior room.”
Sam set his jaw. “No. It shakes. I don’t want to ever go up there again.”
Randy shrugged. “Krave? Or we could shoot pool or scare up trouble at the Watering Hole.”
“We’re going to Herod’s.” Ethan slid his hand down Sam’s back before letting it rest on his hip.
Randy raised his eyebrows but said nothing, just glanced at Mitch, who showed no real reaction outside of enjoying the way Ethan’s thumb kept sneaking beneath the waistband of Sam’s jeans.
When Randy asked Ethan what this was about as they climbed into the limo, Ethan refused to answer. “Have a drink. I’d hate for you to sober up.”
Randy reached for the whiskey. “You seem to have made all your layovers to sober-land.”
Ethan touched his temple. “I have a bit of a headache, so I think so.”
Randy handed him another bottle of water which Ethan sipped as they rode to Herod’s. Ethan led them through the front doors, nodding at the floor manager who smiled at him warmly. He nodded again at the attendant who came over with, of all things, a massive tray of chips. And wasn’t it slick how Slick pulled out a hundred-dollar toke and passed it to the attendant?
“Come on.” Ethan motioned them toward the table games. “I want to play.”
“Poker?” Randy asked, totally on board with this.
“Craps.”
Randy made a face. “You can’t be serious.”
But Ethan was serious, and he couldn’t be dissuaded, either. He handed chips to everyone, tucking Randy’s into his pocket when he wouldn’t take them.
Sam accepted his share, but he didn’t seem happy about it. “I don’t like gambling. It makes me feel bad when I lose.”
“The chips were free.” Ethan passed a toke to the dealer before he placed fifty dollars on the
Pass Line and twenty-five on the Field. “Think of it as a big board game.”
Randy glared at Ethan. “What the hell is this? The roulette wheel speech applies to craps, you know. Exchange the wheel for dice, and it’s the same damn thing.”
“Better odds in craps.” Ethan cheered as the roller reared back to throw.
“Still a house advantage.”
Randy scowled when the roller hit a nine and everyone cheered again, especially those who had played the Field.
Ethan collected his winnings and placed another bet.
Sam and Mitch, the traitors, played too, and soon everyone but Randy was having a great time. He was merciless when, five rolls later, the roller sevened-out.
Ethan waved him away. “We’re up fifty overall.”
“You know this damn table here, Billy’s table, used to be a beautiful fountain? Had a statue of a horned demon in it, made of marble. Or something. The water came out of his nostrils.” Randy crossed his arms over his chest. “They tore it down so they could get more goddamned slots and craps tables in.”
Ethan looked intrigued, not chastised. “Do they still have the fountain?”
“Just the demon statue, I think, and maybe not even that. The demon wasn’t wearing pants, so you know. They gave him a fig leaf, but if you stood to the side, you got quite a view. From behind, you got a fine full monty. And it’s gone, all for craps.”
“Excellent. I’ll get Billy to put it back.”
Randy snorted. “You won’t get Billy to put it back.”
Ethan’s smile turned wicked. “You want to make a bet, Ace?”
Okay, the nickname still caught him unawares and undid him more than he’d like. He shifted uneasily. “You’re getting pretty cocky here, Slick.”
Ethan’s eyes danced. “You have objections to my cockiness?”
“Oh, I love every cocky bit of you,” Randy replied, but it was more of an endearment than a rejoinder. Ethan took his hand, knowing he had won. Goddamn it.
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