The bar was usually pretty quiet after nine, until the younger crowd rolled in around eleven, but it felt nice to be working again, even if tips were light and the barback was giving him hell for calling out so much. Chris was halfway through shaking a round of hipster martinis when he saw the familiar flutter of Thomas's black trench coat passing through the front door. "You realize it's May, right?" He quirked an eyebrow, trying like hell to pretend he wasn't judging his friend's choice of post-goth wear and thick black eyeliner in the middle of the mostly broke 'drinking to forget' crowd.

  "If I'm going out, I'm going out in style," Thomas quipped. "We can't all make 'I don't give a fuck and literally rolled out of bed to come here' t-shirt and jeans chic work for us." He smiled, clearly eyeing Chris over when he stopped what he was doing to pour out a cheap scotch. "Why are the pretty ones always bartenders?" He muttered under his breath, deflecting with a change of topic: "And who the hell orders martinis in Westlake?"

  Chris raised his chin toward a group of white twenty-something types with fedoras and beards. "They had a problem with our lack of PBR."

  Thomas snorted and shook his head, letting Chris escape to their table when the section's waitress gave him a dirty look for suggesting she should take the tray.

  "You know, when I started working here, they told me it'd be just like Cocktail. They fucking lied."

  "No, those are the bars I usually go to." Thomas winked subtly, sipping at his tumbler. "I could probably get you in at the Eagle if you don't mind working shirtless and not waxing your chest."

  Chris blushed and tried to pretend he wasn't in a painfully straight bar talking about a bear bar he wasn't completely comfortable with admitting he'd spent a decent amount of time in back in the day. "Nah. Don't like the commute."

  "And, you know, scary gayness."

  "I'm not a homophobe!" Chris muttered under his breath and glared at him, though he was still smiling. "I am at least a good fifty percent on your team."

  "I know, darling." Thomas chuckled, leaning heavily on the bar as he tried to adjust his position on the bar stool. "Busting your balls."

  A group of Latino men in cheap suits approached the bar and Thomas nodded slowly, letting him get back to work. He hadn't been in the hole in the wall bar more than a handful of times in the years Chris had worked there, and Chris couldn't help but admire how blasé Thomas always was about the fact that he stuck out like a sore thumb every time.

  "Who's the aging goth?" Mellisade, the current bane of his working existence asked as she slipped behind the bar to fetch a fresh round of longnecks for a table of construction workers.

  A small smile curved the corners of Chris's mouth and he looked back to see Thomas idly scrolling something on his phone. "He's my best friend. Love that guy."

  "Ah..." she answered, giving him a somewhat dubious look. "He knows it's not that kind of bar, right?"

  "What, you're implying that this is the kind of place where a guy can't just have a drink?" Chris's voice crept upward. "Because if he's not welcome here, I'm not welcome here."

  Mellisade's eyes opened a little wider, confusion crossing her face. "Never took you as a goth." She chuckled dryly, and then slid behind him to head for her table. "Guess you actor types are full of surprises."

  *~*~*

  "That's so cute!" Thomas laughed, covering the side of his throat with his hand as a flush colored his face. "I can't believe you thought she was gay bashing me and you had to defend my honor."

  "It wasn't cute!" Chris protested, his own laugh not quite so loud. "And I wasn't defending your honor—you don't have any. It was a bitchy thing to say."

  Thomas's smile stretched until the corners of his eyes creased fully and his cheeks tinged red. "I... I believe you, Chris. You did good. Thank you."

  It wasn't really much of a relief. He'd been more embarrassed than anything. Still, it felt good to stick up for his best friend—and really, for himself. He shook his head and looked up to the rainbow flag flying haphazardly over the table, just a little amused in light of their conversation that Thomas had dragged him to the only queer cafe open at two in the morning, even close to his apartment. When he looked back to him, Thomas was openly watching a waiter across the small dining room, and he couldn't help but say, "He's cute. You should ask him out."

  Thomas's face flushed and he looked down at his mostly untouched waffles, shaking his head. "Oh, no... no. Just looking." He chuckled awkwardly, a smile curving his lips.

  "Come on, man. You don't know if you never try, right?" Chris's smile stretched slightly and he nudged Thomas's leg with his shoe. "I'll be your wingman."

  Thomas shook his head. "You're a terrible wingman."

  "I'm your best friend, and I swear to God, if you don't go tell him you like looking at him I will."

  "Don't!" Thomas answered, letting out a chuckle. "Even if I was his type—which I'm not—he's off the market."

  "Oh." Chris's head dropped slightly and he offered a half-hearted shrug. A casual silence passed between them before he added: "You should, though. Maybe not him, but it's not like you've really gotten out there much..."

  "I get out there." Thomas sighed audibly. "I went on a date a few months ago."

  "A few months ago. And how did that go?"

  "We had burgers and he was suitably impressed when I told him what I did for a living." Thomas shrugged, tucking a bite into his mouth.

  Chris rolled his eyes. "And there was no second date?"

  "He gave me crabs."

  The silence grew a little more awkward, and Chris shifted against his seat, avoiding Thomas's attentive gaze. "Still. You never know what'll happen if you just put yourself out there. We should go out tomorrow, see if we can't at least get you laid."

  "I'm fine. I'm not exactly looking right now, Chris. Promise, you'll be the first to know when I get lonely enough to bother with the bar scene."

  "You could always try—"

  Thomas cut him off. "If you say online dating, I swear to god I'll gut you."

  "What? It's not a bad idea. I mean, at least the odds of getting an STD are slightly lower." He really did understand Thomas's worries, but still, a guy that was actually genuinely nice and funny and sweet didn't deserve to be single. "You never know, man."

  Thomas shook his head a little harder, brow creasing. "No. Just. No. Everything about that sentence is just plain wrong. I mean, for one, this isn't 1995. Dating apps are literaly the norm, not the basement dwelling virgin registry that they never were. Second, I'm pretty sure I fail the 'no fats, no femmes, under thirty-five' test of the average Grindr user."

  "Come on..." Chris teased just a little more, finishing off his coffee. "You could try. Get yourself out there a little."

  "I've got my eyes on," he paused a moment and let out a dry chuckle, "well, let's just say there's some prospects."

  "Prospects are good. I like prospects." Chris's smile spread just a little and he tucked it behind a napkin. "Only the best, I hope?"

  "Something like that." Thomas reached across the table, picking up the bill that had been deposited between them. His hand lingered a long moment, but he didn't elaborate. "You want to stay at my place tonight? I think Lemmy misses your belly rubs."

  "Probably misses eating my toes when you make me laugh." He shrugged and took out his wallet, offering a twenty to Thomas who only pushed it away with an annoyed grumble. "Yeah, yeah. Alright. I do kind of miss the idiots." Part of him wanted to admit that wasn't all he missed, or even really what he missed most, but the moment passed and instead he watched Thomas awkwardly flirt at the waiter as he settled up the bill. "A prospect?" He asked when the man had left with a hefty tip.

  "Hmm?" Thomas raised a tired eyebrow. "What?"

  Chris chuckled and shook his head, then reached across the table to run his thumb along the corner of Thomas's eye where the kohl had begun to run. "Come on, let's get you home, drunkie."

  SILVERLAKE, 10AM SATURDAY

  They made it through two novellas and were four chapters deep into an erotic bondage thriller by the time Saturday morning rolled around. It felt good to be working again, really working and letting himself get lost in complex characters who didn't dwell on their problems nearly as much as achieving their goals. Granted, more often than not their goals were lots of really good sex and finding true love—but they were good goals.

  Thomas was leaned back in his leather chair with his phone in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, making love to the microphone. "His body throbbed with ecstasy as Monroe's tongue caressed his thighs, teasing him, drawing him up achingly hard. 'Christ, Monroe...' he whimpered, hands firmly planted in Monroe's long white hair as he contentedly licked and kissed his heavy balls. 'Please... please God.'

  Chris watched him read, allowing himself to get swept up in the heat of the tale as Thomas's delicious baritone narration mingled with the soft, whimpering moan of his character's voice. Thomas was blushing, his bathrobe hanging open at the chest and at his hips—both legs propped up between Chris's thighs, crossed at the ankles. They'd gotten used to missed cues and obvious arousal given the subject matter, and yet he couldn't help but feel embarrassed when Thomas caught his eyes lingering on the obvious shift in his boxers.

  "Sorry," Chris muttered, looking down at his copy and dropping back into the moment. "Monroe loved the sound of his pleas, the way Jason begged for more. 'Ask nicely,' he said, 'and maybe I'll use your tight little ass.'" He tapped the button just in time to not catch his own awkward laughter. "Oh boy..." Chris chuckled, covering his eyes, knowing full well he was blushing from the roots of his hair down.

  "Do you need a break?" Thomas asked, the look on his face would have seemed innocent if not for the motion of setting down his phone and chipped mug to rub over the prominent bulge pushing open the slit in his shorts. "I could use a few minutes to relieve tension."

  "I think it'd be the first time I've ever broken character to jerk off." Chris muttered, unable to look Thomas in the eyes.

  "You're welcome to stay in character, but that might make things a little awkward."

  Chris giggled. "Fuck, Thomas. Damn it..." He shook his head, forcing back the awkward laughter to lean back in his chair and thumb open the button of his jeans. His fingers lingered on the zipper for a long moment, considering just what he was doing. He couldn't even blame it on the liquor since Thomas had cut him off days ago. "I am going to blame your stupid sexy voice entirely for this."

  Thomas watched with a look of uninhibited lust as Chris lowered his fly, still idly stroking his cock through the worn cotton shorts. "I'm entirely okay with that," he breathed, watching Chris's hand draw down his briefs and tuck them gingerly under his sac. "Christ you're lovely..."

  Chris's fingers shook as he grasped the shaft of his exposed member, giving a tentative stroke to feel it thicken in his palm. He was already second guessing his decision, his motives. Did he have an ulterior motive? Did Thomas? Chris looked up from Thomas's arousal and the slow caress of his hand, his breath catching in his throat when he caught those same tender blue eyes still watching him, waiting to see what was really happening.

  "I can go," Thomas said softly, biting into his lower lip as though holding back further words.

  For a long moment, Chris closed his eyes and then drew in a deep breath. It felt good, comfortable. He didn't want to break the moment. "Don't," he said. "I want you here."

  "Oh God." Thomas exhaled sharply, nodding when Chris opened his eyes once more. "I mean, right. Yes."

  "Yes." Chris echoed, letting his gaze drop back down to Thomas's lap. Experimentally, he squeezed tight around his shaft, allowing small strokes that drew a moan from Thomas's lips. "It's good."

  "Uh-huh." Thomas managed, sliding back the cotton to draw his cock through the open slit—following Chris's motions with his own. Wetness gathered around the tip of his cock and was wiped away with a simple swipe of his thumb when Chris's breath caught audibly.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Chris thought that maybe things were moving too fast in a direction he wasn't sure he should be going. Part of him thought that maybe they shouldn't be doing what they were doing, but the intruding thoughts were squashed when Thomas moaned low and loud—the sound crisp and clear in the tight space. Chris closed his eyes again and let himself drink in the sound of skin on skin, Thomas's breathing growing as erratic and ragged as his own. He could feel it, could feel those familiar thick hands on him like they had been a lifetime ago. A dirty back room, pressed up against the wall with his cock in Thomas's mouth. His throat closed and Chris let out a gasp and then a desperate moan. Thomas's bare foot stroked against the taut denim over his thigh, urging him on.

  "Fuck..." Chris panted, lifting his hips barely off the chair to push harder into his palm as his strokes paced faster and harder.

  "Beautiful..." Thomas groaned. His foot drew away. Chris heard the shift of terrycloth on leather, Thomas's weight shifting out of his chair. He knew what was coming, what he had maybe suspected would happen since he made the jump to taking care of their mutual tension. When Thomas asked, "May I?" he didn't have to think about it.

  Chris's hand slowly let up on his cock, feeling it throb in protest as he traced both hands over the sides of Thomas's head and through his thin sandy blond hair, not just allowing him closer but needing it. "Please," he whispered, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

  Thomas's warm, eager mouth enveloped him completely, his tongue tracing the thick veins upward before lapping over the tip. It was actually better than he remembered, hot and eager. Familiar, strong hands stroked at his waist, waiting for Chris to lift his hips and push deeper before shucking his jeans and briefs down to grasp at warm skin.

  Thomas moaned in the back of his throat, the sensation rattling through to Chris's core as he swallowed hard. "Oh fuck..." Chris panted, fingers flexing in the short hair underneath them and holding Thomas in place as though he might try to back out. "Yeah... yes... fuck..."

  It was embarrassing how quickly that tongue could have him undone. Shaking already, trying to hold himself back from both the urge to thrust back against Thomas's throat and the inevitable need to come, Chris's words gave way to low feral grunts mingled with a thready whine. He forced his eyes open again when one hand left his thigh, looking down to see Thomas's elbow moving in quick jerks as he swallowed again and then again. It was enough, more than enough really, Thomas's heat drawing him in and nursing his cock with every throb of his body shifting to a hard, wet stroke of strong fingers tugging him over the edge. "So—" he groaned, following it with a deep breath, "—good."

  Thomas took his time then, stroking himself as he offered tender licks and kisses on Chris's heated skin until Chris pulled him up by his arms. The old wooden chair squealed under their combined weight but didn't give as Chris kissed him deep and hard, tongue sweeping over Thomas's with another heady moan.

  "Fuck..." Thomas sighed against Chris's mouth, shifting onto his heels to haul Chris somewhat reluctantly out of the chair. "You..." Chris turned, stumbling on the jeans bunched around his ankles to lean against a tight packed wall of coats and sweaters.

  "Don't stop," Chris said firmly, reaching back for Thomas—grabbing at Thomas's open robe as his solid chest and thick hips pressed into Chris's back. "Need you." He didn't know what he was asking for any more, only that he didn't want the moment to end just because he'd blown his load. Thomas's mouth found his throat and kissed him tenderly, moaning into his skin as the thickness of his cock pressed between Chris's thighs.

  "Won't." He grunted, drawing hard breaths. His hips bucked, smacking against Chris's ass and forcing his cock between muscular thighs. A wet, sticky streak pushed up against Chris's balls as Thomas began to arch into him, slow at first and then steady and fast. "So. Fucking—"

  Chris shuddered at the strange sensation, burying his face in a red woolen sweater that smelled just the same as Thomas. He'd been fucked before. Sure, it had been a while, but it was nothing like the hard rutting of Thomas's cock against his flesh. Chris's thighs clenched tighter, drawing at him and prolonging the sensation as he realized it wasn't going to go further than that. Strong arms wrapped around him and held him close, and then Thomas's mouth shifted as he screamed against Chris's back.

  Thomas's hips jerked harder as he came, slamming the head of his cock against the firm skin behind Chris's balls and then drawing back to streak his seed along the crack of his ass before thrusting again. Then he stopped, tightening his arms around Chris's waist to hold himself upright.

  "I'm sorry..." Thomas panted, kissing his throat again. "I'm so fucking sorry."

  Hearing the low sadness in Thomas's voice, confused about just what he might possibly be sorry about outside of needing more than a quick dab of a tissue to clean up, Chris answered, "Don't be. This is good... We're good."

  "It's not," Thomas whispered, leaning into him and sandwiching Chris against the fabric. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

  Chris waited for more, trying to wrap his drifting mind around what he meant. No more clarity came. Thomas kissed his shoulder through his t-shirt, and then pulled away and left the booth entirely.

  *~*~*

  Once he had regained his composure and let himself out of the booth, Chris heard Thomas's car heading down the driveway and out to fuck-knows-where. He was alone in the house, and nothing made any sense. He sat down on Thomas's bed, waking Lemmy, who only gave him a look of derision as if to say 'humans are crazy' before tucking his head back under the sheets.

  "Look, okay... I don't know why you're pissed off or whatever, but we can talk about this." He sighed at Thomas's voicemail after two rings. Frustrated, he threw his phone across the room and watched it bounce into the hamper before stretching out in the increasingly familiar bed to wait.

  One by one, Thomas's housemates came home and Chris offered them an innocent shrug from his spot in the pool of purple sheets. By the time four unanswered phone calls had passed and eight o'clock rolled around, Chris was seriously considering going back to his shitty empty apartment as he stroked the pair of cats that had congregated in his lap.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7