Fall Apart Page 10

  Leo let that sink in before he finally nodded like he knew it all along. “Don’t worry about your mom,” he said, his voice deep and reassuring. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  Todd’s car pulled up in front of the house and Damon thanked his dad before meeting his friend halfway up the walk. Davey was manfully resetting his tee again and ignoring them as revenge for getting in trouble. Todd tried to get his attention with a wave and an offer of a high five, but Davey glared and turned his back.

  “What’s up with the kid?” Todd grumbled. “Did he learn that from his mom?”

  “He didn’t learn it from me,” Damon agreed without saying the words.

  A quick wave and greeting were exchanged with Leo before Todd shifted around to lay one hell of an appraising stare on Damon. His eyes flicked over him twice, up and down, and he crossed his arms like a vexed genie. Even wearing sweats and looking like he’d rolled off the couch to drive over, he could still manage an effective forbidding stare.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you until next weekend, and then your summons arrived.” The question was hidden in there, between the words. “You look freaked out.”

  “So I’m told.”

  Todd was acting like he had no problem waiting out the story, so Damon pushed aside the pride and let his weirdness flow.

  “Alarik came down to the store. He’s staying in Santa Barbara for a week, or something like that, and he drove down to ask me out.” Shifting back and forth from foot to foot, and looking warily over his shoulder, Damon knew he looked like an idiot.

  Todd’s eyes narrowed meaningfully and the nervous shifting naturally increased. “Mr. Bond made a move, huh?”

  “Do you think it was too big of a move?” Damon rushed the question and then had to clamp his lips shut to silence himself.

  His friend was trying hard to hide how tedious he thought their conversation was going to be. Todd wasn’t patient with other’s insecurities. Nor was he patient with his own. Damon knew it, he appreciated it, and he asked again anyway.

  “Day, how do you think this is supposed to work…? Dating, I mean. Somebody’s got to make a move one way or another for a relationship to begin. If it didn’t happen that way, the whole world would be full of people too amped up to do anything with their time besides masturbate. Why question this? It’s a move. He made a move.”

  Damon shrugged guiltily and Todd groaned, sending an imploring look to the skies.

  “I’ll cut you some slack here because your dating life is limited to Taint #1 and Taint #2. That first guy wrecked you like Ella did to me, and you came out the other side of it only to land in Andrew’s lap. I don’t think your British boy crept out of an alley to tear you apart and leave the pieces.”

  “But, he’s… I dunno, relentless—”

  “Yeah, it must suck to be wanted by a guy who seems nice and mentally stable for once.”

  Davey was slowly approaching on Todd’s six, displeased with the way his tactics were being overlooked. He was apparently changing the plan to a more direct assault. Damon hoped his nephew hamstringed his buddy with a bat to the back of the legs.

  “We don’t technically know that Alarik is mentally stable,” he pointed out coolly.

  Todd grunted. “If this is going to turn into a conversation about how you don’t feel worthy of being pursued by a non-asshole, then you can rescind my invitation and I’ll float outta here backward, man.”

  “Cute.”

  “I think so,” Todd winked, then suddenly spun around and snatched Davey off the ground, roaring. Davey’s shrieks and giggles probably had cats descending on the house from all directions, but Todd didn’t let it distract him from his purpose. “Day, you’re the bees knees, brother. You take care of your family; you take care of your friends. You’re fit. You even like walking on beaches, I bet. I swear to God, I’ve wished more than once that I were gay because we could get hitched and never have to worry about anything again. Shit,” he breathed, “give me a couple more months with drama like the last weekend and I might downshift into boy love.”

  Valerie was taking a toll, Damon supposed, but until Todd wanted to discuss it, there weren’t going to be many more details offered on the subject. If he tried for more info, Todd would clam up.

  “Take those great big balls of yours and have some fun for once,” Todd added, spinning Davey again, and then setting him on his feet.

  Davey squealed and asked, “Uncle Day has great big balls?”

  “You bet he does, kid. He’s just not using them right now.”

  Damon cursed under his breath, walking away. “Thanks for that, man. Telling him that kind of stuff is part of why Jess hates your guts.”

  “Do I get to provide my list of reasons why I hate hers?”

  Molly stepped out onto the porch just then and Todd transformed in an instant. He flirted and chatted, and even went so far as to nod Jess’s direction when she eventually made an appearance, thought it pained him to do so. Her eyes were puffy like she’d spent the day crying, which she probably had, and she didn’t engage with them, walking away instead to play with her son.

  His sister was halfway down the porch steps when Davey called out loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “Uncle Todd says Uncle Day has great big balls!”

  Jessica shot back around with the fiery glare of Satan and Todd shrugged. It was a bold move on his part.

  “Lord have mercy,” Leo moaned. “I’m gonna need a new heart a lot sooner if she keeps this up…”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Hey, babe, you awake over there?”

  Mark gave a start of surprise as Zane’s voice filtered in over the lulling drone of the TV. He had to push the pile of blankets out of the way in order to get the other man in his line of sight. “Hmm?” he said sleepily. He hadn’t been lights out, but he’d been close to it.

  “Do you mind looking this over?”

  “A script?” A yawn hit him that was so wide his jaw popped.

  Zane didn’t answer, simply handing him a stapled stack of paper. His mouth was tight, like whatever was about to happen was pivotal. Mark dragged himself back up into a sitting position and rubbed a hand over his face to wake himself. His eyes were bleary and he knew that the time of reading glasses was upon him.

  “Nowhere, Idaho…” He flipped it open. “INT. CHEAP HOTEL ROOM – NIGHT,” he read aloud. About fifteen minutes later he stopped reading mid-sentence and let the script fall to his lap. “You gotta do this.”

  “Yeah? Really?” Zane was nervous. “Tell me what you think so far.”

  “It’s gripping; my heart’s fucking hammering over here. You’ll be terrifying—shaved head, fake tattoos…” Mark shivered.

  The script was based on the true story of an undercover agent in a sting operation against a white supremacist gang. The agent was in very deep, having attained a quasi-leadership position, and suspicion against him was mounting. Zane would have to shave his head and get Fight Club lean for the role, but he could do it. So far, just the small amount that Mark had read was so visceral that he knew seeing it acted out in front of him would be cringe-worthy in that edge-of-your-seat sort of way.

  “This would be big, Zane.”

  “I agree.”

  “Is this just a script that they wanted to put out feelers about, or is this thing in actual pre-production, like casting and stuff?”

  “Casting,” Zane answered, his eyes unfocused as he considered his options. “It’s a legitimate proposal. They’ve asked me to read the script. Jenny told me that the writer and director have had me in mind from the start.”

  “Who’s directing?” Since Mark had been with his Hollywood Heartthrob, he’d received a crash course in the good, the bad, and the ugly in L.A. and elsewhere. He asked the question with his fingers crossed.

  “Max Hayama.”

  Hallelujah! Yes!

  Mark gathered up the script, rolled it and smacked Zane on the leg so hard he yelped. “Get him on the phone! What are
you doing sitting around? Max Hayama...” he mimicked Zane, his cold-hampered throat rasping as he spoke. “Like it’s no big deal…”

  A glimmer of a smile began on Zane’s lips and he yanked the script out of Mark’s hand. “You probably left a welt on my leg just now,” he dodged, pretending that he wasn’t out of his mind excited.

  “With Max directing, why didn’t you just say yes right away?”

  Zane shrugged guiltily. “Jenny was throwing out names of people and plot descriptions all over the place. I forgot which was which until I was halfway through this one. For a second I thought he was directing the Unit, Corp, God, Country project and wondered if he’d fallen on hard times.”

  Mark pushed from beneath the covers with his feet against Zane’s hip, nudging him closer and closer to the edge of the couch. “Go. Call. Talk to whoever you gotta talk to.”

  Zane resisted, but Mark could see how eager he was and it was a relief. He’d been so restless lately.

  “You don’t mind me doing a little business today?”

  “Zane! Get up off your ass and call Max. Don’t come back in this room until you have the job, or so help me..!”

  Zane hightailed it out of the den as Mark lobbed a throw pillow at his retreating back. An hour later, after Mark had chewed off his fingernails, his husband reappeared at the top of the steps leading into the room, leaning casually against the doorjamb. He was dressed in lazy day clothes, but it was the energy sizzling beneath his skin that knocked Mark back on his figurative ass. There were still so many times he found himself thinking how unreal his life was. How blessed he was to call this man his own.

  “Did you get it?” he asked roughly, his emotions getting the better of him.

  Zane gave a single nod. “It’s mine.”

  “Good.” Mark picked up the remote, turned off the TV and pushed the blankets to the floor, revealing his naked body and a throbbing hard-on. “I’m yours, too. So come and fucking get it.”

  ***

  The sheets were crisp and cool against Alarik’s skin, but he kicked them away from his body and pushed the pillows off the bed. He wanted to focus on sensation and lock his mind into the dream of Damon. With excruciatingly slow strokes, he ran his hand from the base of his cock to the tip, sucking in a breath each time.

  He was on his knees, his legs wide apart and his back arched like a bow. Alarik fought the urge to speed up by forcing himself to move even slower. In this secret, sinful solitude, he was without guilt, without scruple. He was the sovereign and composer of fantasy, and here, he brought Damon to his knees.

  His thoughts jumped like a film on fast-forward and each still shot was more erotic than the next.

  Alarik pictured the frosting on Damon’s lip at the wedding reception and transformed the image in his mind. Now Damon was straddled beneath him and that trace of sugar became something else entirely. His mind leapt again and Damon was writhing in pleasure as Alarik forced his mouth open and thrust his tongue in.

  Alarik’s quads flexed, lifting him to fight against the intoxicating desire to come. Running his free hand up over his stomach, he felt his undershirt and in one violent movement, yanked it back over his head until it was wound over his shoulders. He looked down over his chest and stomach, watched as his hand stroked up and down. So slow.

  As his eyes squeezed shut, he saw Damon’s hand instead. Saw the way it squeezed at the base, burrowed in Alarik’s blond hair, and then slid all the way up the shaft until a pearl of pre-cum dappled the tip.

  A low grunt escaped and his upper body fell forward until all his weight rested on one hand and his knees. He didn’t stop stroking, but it was impossible to keep the same languorous pace. The erotic scenes flashed forward again: Damon’s mouth on his cock.

  Forward: Damon beneath him, sweat on his back as Alarik drove deep. Forward: Damon roaring as his orgasm shot from his body, hitting the sheets like abstract art.

  “Fuck!” Alarik gasped. “Jesus…”

  His toes dug into the mattress and as his muscles charged with power, Alarik roughly stroked himself. Once. Twice more.

  With another gasp, as though the air was escaping never to return, he came, catching it in his hand as his body went rigid. The orgasm pulsated and his arm gave out. He pressed his cheek against the mattresses, utterly wrung out and his heart galloping. Ladies and Gentlemen, that is how you bloody do it.

  “You’re a right filthy bastard, you are,” he whispered breathlessly, then moaned as he flopped over onto his side, still holding his hand close so he didn’t leave a mess.

  As the halo of sexual fantasy faded, Alarik sank back into his skin with gentle ease. The chill in the room found every drop of sweat on his body and quickly leeched away his warmth, but he didn’t want to move.

  Eventually, he pushed off the bed and because no one was there to see his graceless state, he stumbled to the shower like a drunken student at university. Under the stream of water he began to chuckle. The chuckle became a laugh and soon he had both weakened arms planted against the tiled walls, as hilarity took over.

  “Mr. Wright,” he murmured as he laughed. “We’ll do those things and more…”

  ***

  A scalding morning tea soothed the last bit of nerves that the exertions of the night before hadn’t taken care of, and Alarik, reluctantly clad in trainers and running gear, was ten minutes from Wright Sports. He feared that the mandate of “comfortable shoes” also meant “suitable for dipping in mud or being urinated on by wildlife,” but he’d braced himself for the worst.

  He was concerned that in his current outfit, and from particular angles, he looked rather more like he was built for chain smoking than for athletic exertion. Alarik didn’t appreciate how insistent his knees were on being knobby. At least, he felt like they were knobby. Taking his eyes from the road for a moment, he glanced down and sighed.

  “Never fear, Damon. Knobby knees are a sign of virility,” he mumbled aloud.

  Alarik was wiry, good for long runs on even greens and the occasional sparring match, but not as well equipped to say, hang from a cliff’s edge by his fingertips or do pull-ups with tires hanging from his neck. There was an ever-increasing worry that Damon might be expecting something like that.

  When he pulled into the strip mall parking lot, Damon was waiting, leaning against the side of his truck and typing on his phone. Alarik parked a few spaces away from him and Damon glanced up distractedly. The smile he gave made up for the shoes Alarik was being forced to wear, and several images from the night before flashed through his mind. If Damon only knew what he’d been up to last night in Alarik’s fantasy.

  Damon slipped his phone into the pocket of his hoodie and Alarik tried not to wonder who he’d been texting. He was already growing so attached; how very silly of him. He should at least wait until their third date for that.

  “You’re right on time,” Damon greeted him, crossing his arms over his chest and keeping his distance. Alarik matched him by standing beside the opened door of his car and playing it nonchalant.

  “Did you have a nice evening? All’s well on the home front?”

  “Sure,” Damon nodded. “All drama, all the time. Todd came by and got my mom drunk, and Jess accidentally called him a cocksucker in front of my nephew. So, you know, it was probably just like a Sunday night at your aunt and uncle’s place in London.”

  “Absolutely. Aunt Shannon uses the word ‘fuck’ better than anyone I know. Especially on Sundays. My uncle curses in Finnish as well. We’re all about diversity.”

  Damon cracked a smile, still content to stay where he was, which was too far away.

  “Andrew called me about midnight. Left a message.”

  That little bitch, Andrew thought, keeping his expression clear. “Saint Andrew? Was he looking for me? Did you send him my love?”

  “He asked if you’re my boyfriend.” The amusement faded on Damon’s face and Alarik didn’t like the pensive turn he saw coming on.

  “Let me guess ho
w he said it,” Alarik answered, pretending thoughtfulness. Switching to an over-the-top American accent, he cocked his hip the same way Andrew had at the bar. “Jeepers, Damon. Who was that guy anyway? Don’t sleep with him, he only wants a green card.”

  “Word for word,” Damon gasped in mock surprise. “I didn’t think you’d get the ‘jeepers’ bit, but you did.”

  “Andrew and I are actually quite close. He’d give me his balls if they still existed.”

  The odd moment of tension passed and Alarik felt like he’d dodged a bullet. This courtship was so fragile; he didn’t want to inadvertently screw himself by leading Damon into territory he wasn’t ready to visit. Since the wedding, he’d been in an arm-swinging, body-twitching state, simply trying to keep his balance.

  It was nice to be so scared for once. It was nice to really want more than a hot body. It was nice to want anything at all.

  Damon was watching him and Alarik suddenly realized that the other man was wearing the same type of frayed cargo shorts they’d chatted about at lunch yesterday. His calf muscles were like rocks.

  Outside magazine, he thought. Too right.

  Reaching back into the car, he grabbed his camera and lifted it to his eye. Damon smirked but didn’t try to stop him.

  “Yes, Mr. Wright,” he directed. “That’s it. Work that sneer.”

  Damon pushed off of the truck and ambled forward, holding out his hand expectantly. Alarik hesitated. This camera was like his very own little baby with ten fingers and ten toes and talent the likes of which the world had never seen. It was also worth thousands of dollars. He was careful with it the same way a violinist treated a Stradivarius and he never let others go bumbling about with it and deleting his pictures.

  Damon waggled his fingers impatiently. “I’ll be gentle,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety. “I promise.”

  Alarik handed it over much too quickly at the sound of that voice, like the words were magic. Damon looked the camera over from all angles and finally brought it up to his eye.