Double Blind

by Heidi Cullinan

  Mitch finished, Randy panting and pliant. He went where Mitch aimed him, which was, weirdly enough, into Sam’s arms. Mitch and Ethan worked together, pressing Sam and Randy into one another. Kneeling, their aching cocks sliding together, Randy’s long and thick and uncut, a big boorish thing, and Sam’s slim and sleek and naked. Ethan behind Sam, Mitch behind Randy, and that was how Randy ended up with his hands on Ethan’s shoulders and Sam’s on his husband’s. But it was Mitch’s dick nudging between Randy’s cheeks, not entering him, just poking him, and he assumed Ethan played the mirror of this behind Sam. Sam undulated, and so did Randy, their mouths at each other’s ears, and they stayed that way until they began to gasp almost in concert, matching their rhythms, rubbing their faces against one another, caressing each other.

  Mitch’s hands came down, one on Randy’s head, one on Sam’s, and turned their faces together. Randy stared at Sam and Sam stared back, sloe-eyed and heavy lidded, his gaze on Randy’s mouth. Randy took in Sam’s fat, parted lips, and he felt a deep, thick pang of desire. He tried to turn away.

  Ethan pushed him forward, trapping him between his and Mitch’s hands.

  Mitch bent to Randy’s ear. “Kiss him, Skeet.”

  Randy and Sam went still, eyes wide.

  Mitch squeezed his shoulder. “I know how you feel about Sam, and I don’t care. I know how you love him, know why, what it means to you, and it makes me feel good. Makes me feel I can leave him with you, like he won’t be so lonely.” Mitch nudged Sam’s cheek. “Show him, Skeet. Show Sam. He’s the only one who doesn’t know. Show him. Please.”

  For about five seconds, Randy couldn’t do it. This is the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever heard. But then Ethan stroked his other cheek, and Sam looked up at him. Randy saw the fear in Sam. As much as Sam hated being told this, he was still too young to really know how to handle everything. Hell, maybe Randy wasn’t ready either. But he juggled it better than Sam, and so, in a move that Randy chalked up to never fucking thought I would see the fucking day, fucking ever, Randy let himself slide even further under, not just under Ethan and Mitch, but under Sam too.

  Bending forward, he pressed his lips to Sam’s, to the mouth of the beautiful young man who had turned his life upside down two years ago, the man he loved in a way not about marriage or partnership, but instead was about sex and play, and above all, about protection. Under the watchful eye of Mitch and Ethan, Randy told it all to Sam. He told him with his mouth, with his hands, with a tenderness he wasn’t sure he could give to anyone else, not even to Slick. Randy gave it to Sam, gave him the little boy that Sam drew out in him, the boy nobody had seen since the day Uncle Gary had gone into the ground. Randy brought him out for Sam. For Mitch and Ethan.

  For himself.

  Sam returned the kiss, understanding the message—I love you—and sending it right back.

  Sam and Randy embraced, kissing like lovers, like children. They were youth inside still, boys who needed love too. This moment, this kiss, was not about sex. This moment wasn’t about anything but comfort, and it wasn’t about anybody but Sam and Randy and the lovers who knew how to give it to them.

  Their partners switched, and the tone switched again. When Ethan nudged himself inside of Randy and Mitch inside of Sam, it was making love. They thrust, they touched, they kissed. Four bodies, eight hands, four mouths, four erections all blurring into one body, for this one time. They didn’t all come at once, but Randy would be damned if he knew who started and who finished. They all found release. There was one more confused, indistinguishable round of kisses, and then it was over, everyone going to their respective bedrooms.

  Randy and Ethan, flanked by a cat and a kitten, lay twined together and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Wow,” Randy said at last.

  Ethan stroked Randy’s head, and Randy could almost feel his smile. “So I did okay?”

  Randy kissed him. “Thank you.”

  Ethan touched his nose. He was softer now, all his command sliding away. Ace moving high to low. “I’ve never done anything like that. Ever.”

  “I’ve always said you were a quick study.”

  Ethan went softer, then softer yet, then closed his eyes. When he opened them, he could lift his gaze no higher than Randy’s chin. His fingers rested hesitantly on Randy’s cheeks. “I love you too, Randy.”

  Joy rose up from deep inside him—a sunrise, a balloon, a bright white light. He kissed Ethan’s forehead.

  Ethan nuzzled him back, a little shaky. “What do we do?”

  “It’s Vegas. We could run off and get married.” When Ethan went white, he laughed and kissed him. “I’m teasing you, Slick.”

  “It’s when everything slows down I lose it. I can do anything when I’m moving. It’s when I stop and think and feel, and realize how fucking out of my element I am, that I fall over. You, that out there, the casino, Crabtree, Billy, Vegas—it’s all easy, until I stop. And then I have no idea how a guy like me got here.” He sighed and stroked Randy’s cheek. “Sorry. I’m not being very dominant, am I?”

  “I told you. I’m a switch. That means…” he nuzzled Randy’s nose, then stole a slow, bone-melting kiss, “…I like to switch.”

  Ethan shivered. “Me too.”

  Randy watched him go under, sliding before Randy even had the space ready for him. Opening his arms, he took Ethan in. His body was spent, but his heart, still hungry, led his spirit on, and they lay there in the dark, flanked by Salomé and Daisy, two members of an orgy of four now content to do nothing more exotic than kiss.

  Of course, as Mitch had always warned him, kissing was the most intimate act of all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ETHAN WAS SURPRISED how much Mitch and Sam’s parting affected him. He’d yearned for similar goodbyes with Nick, ones he’d never received. This, compounded by the connection they shared because of the night before, meant Ethan knew a pang of loss when Mitch caught him in a bear hug, gruffly holding back tears. It was hard to watch Mitch climb into his bright blue cab and drive away. Ethan didn’t even want to think of what Sam must be feeling.

  To Ethan’s surprise, Sam managed himself pretty well. He was quiet, and he leaned on Randy as he drove them through town, but he didn’t melt down.

  Randy sighed. “What shall we do with our day? Still want to go to Zion, Sam?”

  Sam shook his head.

  Ethan’s gaze fell to the phone in Sam’s hand. “I still need to go shopping.”

  Randy seized on the idea. “Yes. Shopping. I forgot. Okay. So. Where are we going? Forum Shops? Miracle Mile again?”

  Another shake of Sam’s head. “I don’t want to go to the Forum Shops.”

  “Sure. No problem. We can go anywhere. What about Fashion Show?”

  Sam considered this. “The Apple Store is there, right?”

  From the look on Randy’s face, Ethan suspected if there wasn’t, he’d try to get one built while Sam used the restroom.

  Sam did a search. “Yes, it is. That okay, Ethan? Fashion Show?”

  “Sure.” He nodded at Sam’s iPhone. “May I see that? Because a phone is one of the first things I need to get.”

  “Sure.” Sam passed it over. “I love it. Mitch has one too.”

  Ethan turned the device over a few times in his hand. “I had a BlackBerry before, but maybe it’s time for something flashier.”

  “The games are great. Here. You need Sheep Launcher.”

  “Sheep Launcher?”

  “Yeah. It’s a free app, though I splurged and spent the money to get the full version. See this sheep?” He pointed to an animated fluffy white beast in an aviator cap sitting at the bottom of a carnival game, the type where a mallet slams something toward a bell. “Hit the button, and he’ll fly up. Keep tapping on him so he doesn’t fall, and he’ll just keep going and going and going.”

  Ethan seriously doubted the utility of this action, but he decided he would play along for Sam’s sake. So he hit the sheep, watched him fly then failed
to tap him before the screen announced his game was over.

  “Try again,” Sam urged.

  Ethan did. And then tried again, and then again, and then his sheep was seriously airborne. Eventually it went into outer space. When the truck stopped, Randy’s call of “All right” distracted him, otherwise he would have made it all the way to the moon, he was sure of it. Ethan looked up at Sam, a little surprised to find he was not animated and bouncing on a white pillow.

  “I’m getting an iPhone,” he said, and Sam beamed at him.

  Fashion Show was a mall, a high-end one. It was as Vegas as everything else, full of lights and displays and a show on every corner, though Ethan noticed the thing it was not full of was people. They practically had the place to themselves.

  “This is bad.” Randy grimaced as he scanned the empty concourse. “Of course, as usual, this city is a metaphor for the country. We didn’t just bring everybody in to gamble—we brought them in to eat in fancy restaurants and shop in fancy malls and go to expensive shows. Now we’re the playground of kings and queens in a country full of overnight paupers and those who are afraid—and probably rightly so—that they’re next.”

  I’m going to resurrect a casino in the middle of this. “Thanks for the pep talk, Ace.”

  “Anytime, Slick. You want your iPhone first, or are we hungry? Because I haven’t had sushi in a while, and RA is just around the corner.”

  “Apple Store.” Sam pointed down the concourse. “This way.”

  Ethan ended up getting himself a laptop as well as an iPhone, and since he was already spending so much money, he tossed on a set of casino and card games as well. They hung out in the store, Sam gushing over everything Mac. He also sent several texts to Mitch, and at Randy’s urging, they sent him video of them stuffing sushi into one another’s faces. Then they trolled for some more clothes for Ethan, some casual, some extraordinarily fancy, but at Ethan’s insistence, they were all highly conservative.

  “When I’m at work, I like to be inconspicuous,” he said when Randy tried to push him toward wilder shirts and ties.

  “But you want to stand out a little too.” Randy handed Ethan a traditionally structured shirt tinted lavender, and up close the pattern hinted slightly at subtle stripes. “You aren’t an investment broker anymore. You’re a mob man. Dress the part.”

  “I thought you said the best mobsters were invisible.”

  “I said they were anonymous. I didn’t say their fashion sense put nuns to sleep. Here.” He handed him a stack of shirts. “Go put these on under your suit and tell me I’m not right.”

  Ethan arched his eyebrow as he took the clothes from him. “What, you aren’t going to come ogle me while I change?”

  That made Sam smile, and Randy held up his hands in mock surrender. “Well, if you’re going to insist, I suppose I must.”

  Randy was right. The suits were good, but carefully selected shirts and ties made them somehow even better. It wasn’t about being flashy. It was about…something. When he voiced the thought out loud, Randy immediately had the answer.

  “It’s a bluff. You go in wearing a smart suit, and people assume your hand. Fact of life.” Ethan cast a critical eye over Randy’s threadbare T-shirt and ratty jeans, and Randy grinned. “Bluffs go both ways, baby.”

  They went to a discount store where Ethan picked up things he’d borrowed for days now—shaving cream, shampoo, conditioner, hair product, and razor blades. He also picked up a pillow that, unlike Randy’s, couldn’t double as a piece of notebook paper. He bought his favorite snacks, a few CDs he was already starting to miss, and pretty much everything catching his attention as he passed through the aisles.

  Randy shook his head as it went by on the conveyor belt. “You’re kind of high-maintenance.”

  Ethan thought about pointing out that the night they’d met everything he’d owned had fit in his pockets, but this would upset Randy, so he said nothing.

  Sam picked up a CD from the pile of stuff. Then he grinned. “Olivia Newton-John. My mom loved her.”

  “Mine too. And look, this one’s for you—a song with your name in it.” Ethan turned the album over and pointed to track number seven. “See? ‘Sam’.”

  Sam’s expression became nostalgic. “Yeah. Mom liked to sing that to me. She stopped when I was in junior high because it drove me nuts.” He bit his lip.

  Ethan put it back on the belt. “We’ll play it in the truck.”

  At the house, Randy pulled Ethan aside when Sam went to the bathroom.

  “I have to work prop tonight. Late. Would you—?” He jerked his head toward the bathroom.

  “Absolutely.” Ethan scooped Salomé into his arms and stroked her absently.

  Randy aimed a warning finger at him. “Just don’t teach him to drive the motorcycles or anything.”

  Ethan gave him a wry smile. “I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle.”

  “Oh? We’ll take care of that later, then.” Randy leaned in and brushed a kiss against his mouth. “Thanks, Slick.”

  “Anytime, Ace.”

  Ethan and Sam did okay for the first few hours, which were composed mostly of Sam enthusiastically helping Ethan navigate his new iPhone and computer. Then his own phone rang, a breathless female vocal Ethan suspected to be Sam’s beloved Kylie declaring all she saw was you, and from the look on Sam’s face, Ethan knew this had to be Mitch.

  Sam drifted to his bedroom as he spoke to his husband, and he stayed there for a long, long time. Ethan played poker with the casino games program until he thought it might be wise to check on his friend. When he went to find Sam, he heard no one talking, quiet music from a small radio in the corner of the room. Sam lay on the bed, stroking Daisy and Salomé.

  Sam smiled weakly. “I’m fine. You don’t have to check up on me, even if Randy told you to.”

  Ethan leaned on the doorframe. “How’s Mitch doing?”

  Sam shrugged. “He’s trying to get as far across California as he can before he pulls in for the night. He’ll text me before bed, so I’ll know he’s okay.” But it was clear, too, these hours were going to be long and hard for Sam.

  Ethan realized he had the perfect solution for them both. “Actually, I was wondering if you could help me. Though I’ll have to do some explaining first.”

  Sam sat up, curious. “What is it?”

  Ethan glanced at the other side of the bed. “Mind if I sit?”

  Sam nodded, and Ethan did, telling him about the casino, about the money, about Sarah Reynolds, and even about the mob. He explained his research and his burning need to know who Crabtree really was, even though Randy had warned him not to try and find out.

  When he finished, Sam stared at him for a minute, then said simply, “Wow.”

  Ethan let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes.”

  “So what are you going to do? How are you going to bring it back?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s going to take more than Billy’s ridiculous Gay Nite.”

  Sam looked at him oddly, so Ethan explained that too. Sam laughed.

  “Actually, it’s not an awful idea. I mean, it’d be nice to be able to hang all over Mitch without having to deliberately ignore someone giving me a dirty look. The thing is, you have to be careful not to ghettoize us, either. You could get around it by not making it gay exclusive—hire drag queens, drag kings, showgirls—everyone. Make it a bonanza. Give it a racy name so you get everyone’s attention, but make it about inclusion. Or better yet, make it a theme. Costume party. Let people dress up. That always goes over well.”

  “Okay, but what theme?”

  “Something good. Something LGBT people will know is code for acceptance, but doesn’t scare everybody off. Something showy. Something Vegas.” He stared up at the ceiling, fingers tapping in time to the music still playing, something with a techno beat—Kylie again, crooning, singing love gave her everything, gave her wings. Sam turned to Ethan, grinning in triumph. “Butterfly.”

  Ethan arched an eye
brow. “Butterfly what?”

  “That’s your theme. ‘Butterfly’. Don’t call it gay night. Call it ‘Butterfly’. Or ‘Butterfly Night’. Get dancers. Get gay dancers, and lesbian dancers, and straight dancers. Get glitz and glamour. Theme the place. Have some sort of contest or award or something, and have a big, big show.”

  “A tournament.” Ethan was getting into this now. “A poker tournament. And a slot tournament.”

  “Big winnings, everywhere. And great food.”

  “Cheap food. In price but not quality. Glitz and glamour and everything Vegas is, but have it be cheap. They pay to dress up, and they come to gamble, but they pay hardly anything. Just like the old days.” He frowned. “But how do we get them in here? And how do we get them to return, so it’s sustained?”

  “Spread it out. Have it take place over several days, ending in a big event. Lots of shows. Lots of tournaments. You need a headliner too.” He sighed. “I wish you could get Kylie.”

  “We could try. Can’t hurt to try.”

  “I’d probably pass out and die.” Sam stilled a moment, caught up in the fantasy. “But—oh, hey, that could be it. Impersonators and regular acts. Get everything in here. And—okay, I don’t know how good of an idea this is, but what if you said some of the events are for charity? I know that doesn’t bring in money, but if it’s about how the place looks—”

  “Yes. If it seems like we can give money away, we must not need it. Billy gave me enough money to make the place appear completely solvent—yes.” He laughed, then grabbed Sam by the shoulders and kissed him hard on the mouth.

  Then he stopped, realizing how that seemed after the night before.

  Sam blushed. “I should—I should probably tell you. I don’t… I only do that when Mitch is with me. He says he doesn’t care, but—well, I do.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Then he blushed too. “I haven’t done anything like that before, last night—if it helps. I wasn’t exactly sure I could face you all at the breakfast table.”