The Art of

  Displacing Nero

  Layla Dorine

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Cover designer: Rue Volley

  Edited by Rebecca Weeks

  Published by Encompass Ink

  Layla Dorine © 2017

  All rights reserved

  2017

  Steam billowed out of the bathroom, engulfing Vance in a heavy, humid cloud. Coughing, he batted at the vapor, too distracted to notice his roommate until Nero slammed into him. He felt the air whoosh from his lungs as his back hit the wall, a warm, slightly damp body pressed to his front and long hair obscuring his vision.

  “Damn, sorry Vance.”

  Nero’s voice was a low rumble, and, as he pulled away, Vance felt a pang of remorse. Bending, Nero picked up the towel he’d dropped during the collision and rubbed at the still dripping strands of his amber hair. Long and curling at the ends, Nero’s hair clung to his shoulders and was plastered almost to the middle of his back.

  “Early Night?” Vance asked, trying to keep his gaze on Nero’s chartreuse eyes rather than the drops of water sliding down his chest, disappearing into the treasure trail half hidden by a second towel. One would think that after two years of watching Nero wander around the apartment half-naked he’d finally be unaffected by the sight, but so far, nothing regarding Nero had gone according to plan.

  “Yeah, I switched shifts with Tucker, he needed to stay late at school for an exam, so…yeah. I don’t envy the guy. I wouldn’t want to spend three hours answering essay questions on Willa Cather and her works, then have to go strip for a room full of horny drunks who think the essays in the nudy magazines are literature.”

  Snickering, Vance covered his mouth, willing himself not to laugh, it sounded like a donkey braying, and he hated it, especially when it happened in front of Nero.

  “I’d much rather a beer and a hottie stripping for me, at least then the night would be worth something,” Nero remarked.

  “I’m sure the value is in the grade, provided he gets a good one.”

  “He’s wicked smart, I’m sure he did fine,” Nero said. “He was all hyped on Monday when he came in ‘cause his professor had given him an ‘A’ on the essay he’d written about the influence of Dionysianism on modern music culture.”

  “Yeah, you lost me at Dionysianism,” Vance muttered.

  Snickering, Nero burst into a riot of musical laughter, clasping Vance on the shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I told him the same thing. Should have kept my mouth shut, he spent the next ten minutes explaining Dionysis to me and drunken, celebratory orgies.”

  Instead of removing his hand, he let it linger, gently massaging the muscle until Vance let out a shaky groan.

  “Someone’s tense,” Nero commented pressing his fingers a little deeper into Vance’s flesh.

  Damn, that felt good.

  “More like someone spent most of their shift chopping veggies and stirring pots.”

  “Thought you got promoted to sous chef? Don’t you have someone who’s supposed to do the prepping for you?”

  “Danial called out sick, pretty convenient considering Black Label Society is playing at The Garden tonight and he’s a huge fan. I swear if I find out he cut work to go see them he’ll spend the next three shifts doing all the prep work for the Coq au Vins and Paellas.”

  “Yeah, um, remember what you said about Dionysianism?”

  Vance snorted. “Coq au Vin is…”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Nero interrupted. “When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?”

  Vance opened his mouth to fire off a retort, but Nero effectively silenced him with a raised finger.

  “Forget I ever said that, I’m gonna find some pants, and I’ll meet you at the table. Are we ordering in tonight or did Chef send us something?”

  “Thanks to the newest waiter, we have crab stuffed mushrooms, shrimp in garlic cream sauce, lobster thermidor, oysters rockefeller, and seafood fettuccini with scallops and crab.”

  “Dayum, please tell me that wasn’t all one order?”

  “Nope, one table though, his last table as it turns out. He got fired.”

  “I guess so, that’s a pretty expensive order to screw up.”

  “It wasn’t the order he made a mess of, from the sound of it, he left his interpersonal communication skills at home. According to the head server, there were two couples at the table, an older one and a younger one, they also had an infant in a carrier. Somewhere between the order getting put in and the kitchen completing it, the baby started screaming, and the waiter wasn’t too polite about telling them that the crying was disturbing the other patrons in his section and that he didn’t think it was fair that he’d get crappy tips all because of their screaming kid. Guess he asked them why they’d bring a baby to a fancy restaurant and made some kind of comment about them being able to afford a babysitter if they could afford to eat there, and well, I’m sure you can guess the rest.”

  Nero’s mouth dropped open. “Wow. That takes some serious balls.”

  “Yeah, no shit. Needless to say, they complained to the manager, who fired Tony before the end of his shift. Kind of sucked, though, since that meant the wait staff got backed up, which backed up the kitchen and already being a man down, that truly made for a crappy night.”

  “Guess I’ll take the first shot then,” Nero chuckled. “And drink to all the veggies you had to chop.”

  “You can take the first two shots, I got stuck doing the Baked Alaska’s too.”

  “Ouch,” Nero groaned, ducking into his room and rummaging around. Vance could hear the sound of drawers opening and closing before Nero let out a triumphant ‘yes’ and emerged in a pair of black and gray drawstring sleep pants.

  “I take it someone hasn’t had time to do laundry lately?”

  “No, what’s up with that? When are you planning on getting the laundry done? Come on Vance, I’m down to my last pair of blue jeans, three t-shirts and that ratty gray Henley you’ve been bugging me to throw away. It’s a good thing I don’t wear underwear, or I’d really be in trouble.”

  A bark of laughter escaped Vance lips, followed by a gasping, half-choked bray. He clasped both hands over his mouth to hold it in, his sides starting to hurt he was wheezing so hard.

  “As if I’d ever want to do your sweaty laundry,” Vance managed, once he could do more than chuckle and gasp. “Between the parkour workouts and the fact that you almost never shower at work, your clothes are gross. I’m surprised they don’t drag themselves to the laundromat and wash themselves.”

  “Hey. In all fairness, I’d shower at work every night if the hot water heater wasn’t constantly on the fritz. I swear, it seems like it works for about a week and then bam, it’s broken again. There’s no way I wanna try washing off eyeliner, sweat, glitter, and body paint when the waters piss warm at best.”

  “I see your point, thanks for making mine.”

  “Yeah, okay, my clothes stink, and I need to wash them. Good thing for me I don’t have to go in tomorrow, I can get a workout in on the way to the laundromat and a second one on the way home.”

  “And thus start another pile of filthy t-shirts and sweat pants that need to have biohazard symbols sewn on them.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Nero grabbed plates, forks and a couple beers, setting them on the table while Vance unpacked the food.

  “How about after we eat, I give you a shoulder rub and tell you all about my shift, not that anything shot worthy happened tonight,” Nero offered.

  “Damn, I was looking forward to at least one.”

  “Nope, all you get is beer, well, unless you wanna drink to the guy who spent the whole night eyeing me up while I danced without even bothering to slip me a dead president. He did offer to buy me a beer though, not like I wanted him to. Soon as you let them buy you anything they think they’re owed something I’m not willing to give.”

  “Come on, not all of them are like that.”

  The look Nero shot him was so venomous that Vance busied himself dividing up their food in an effort to diffuse the tension.

  “Soon as a guy realizes you’re a stripper they start trying to figure out how fast they can get you outta your clothes. Any guy who hangs around a place like ‘Obsession’ already knows who does what and how they move. Do you honestly think a proper date and a bunch of small talk is what they’re after?”

  “Well when you put it that way,” Vance conceded. “So was he hot at least?”

  Nero cocked a brow and snorted.

  “He wasn’t bad for an older guy, and those silver streaks in his hair were kinda sexy. I don’t mind the distinguished look on guys who can pull it off. This one looked like he was in decent shape, not all soft and wrinkly and sagging. Not my type, though.”

  Vance slid Nero’s plate over and dropped into the chair across from him. “Do you even have a type?”

  “Yeah. Who do esn’t?”

  Vance just shrugged and popped the cap off his beer. “So this guy from the club, what did he say to you? Did he throw out some sleazy pickup line?”

  Nero passed him a napkin and set one down by his own plate, turned the CD player on low and let the smoky, rich voice of John Moreland fill the room as he settled into his chair.

  “No, thank God, nothing so cheesy. I was heading to the bar to talk to Harry when he stopped me, grabbed my hand actually, which was kinda odd. Usually, they just try and manhandle me, grab me by the arm and squeeze or get in my way and body block me. He just held on loosely, so I could have pulled free if I’d wanted to.”

  “Let me guess, you did.”

  “Hell yeah, who the hell asked him to put his hands on me in the first place. Anyway, he asked if I wanted to sit at the bar and talk, have a beer and some wings or something. You know I rarely drink at work, and Harry’s wings are crap, he always under spices, so I told him to kick rocks, and I hurried dawn to the subway to catch the train.”

  Leaning over the plate, Nero took a deep whiff and let his eyes drift shut, moaning appreciatively. “Holy shit that smells good.”

  “Thanks, wish I could say I had more of a hand in it, but Chef did most of the cooking tonight.”

  Vance smiled as Nero took his first bite and chewed slowly, savoring it. The little sounds he made, low in the back of his throat made Vance squirm in his seat and focus his attention on his own plate lest he end up sporting wood at the table. The look on Nero’s face, the way his eye went half-lidded and the tip of his tongue darted out to lick a drop of sauce from his lips, had Vance wishing he dared lean across the table to kiss him. His own fork hovered halfway between his plate and his mouth, his attention so focused on Nero that he hadn’t even bothered to start eating yet.

  “Man, when you go in tomorrow, tell him he’s awesome.”

  He drawled out his words, breathy, with that soft southern accent of his coming through in spades and Vance surreptitiously adjusted himself then, ‘cause damn, just damn, Nero had a way of making conversations about dinner sound the way Vance imagined Nero sounded during sex. Half blissed out and a little bit needy. It had been that way since the second night they’d lived together, when Vance had brought home dinner from the restaurant, and Nero had sat eyeing it across the wobbly wooden table they’d hauled in from the curb.

  Nero’s own meal had consisted of diced bits of mushrooms, green onions and chicken tossed in with a packet of Raman noodles cooked over the stove.

  “Dayum,” Nero muttered, flicking his tongue out and licking his upper lip, then blushing when he caught Vance watching him. “Sorry…just…man that looks good. Did you make it?”

  “Mostly I just prepped the components,” Vance admitted, “but someday, I hope I can earn the chance to do more. Would you like to try some?”

  “Hell yeah,” Nero exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. “You can try some of mine too if you want.”

  It was one of the least appetizing things Vance had ever seen, but he’d accepted the offer and from it had grown a unique and at times fascinating friendship in which they shared their evening meals and did shots to honor the low points of each other’s day.

  “Oh hey, did I tell you what dipshit idea Harry came up with tonight?”

  Jerking his head up, Vance blinked at his roommate as he tried to clear thoughts of that first meal from his head. “Huh?”

  “Wow, you must be pretty tired, you’re kinda staring at your food instead of eating it. That offer of a backrub still stands, if you want it.”

  Hell yeah, he wanted it, but there was no way he’d be able to get up off the couch when Nero was done, unless he spent the entire massage laying crotch first on an icepack.

  “I think I’ll just take a long, hot bath, crawl into bed and hope tomorrows better.”

  “Well if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  “Thanks,” Vance replied, knowing full well he’d never take him up on it. The one and only time he’d gone in to wake Nero he’d discovered his roommate didn’t bother with clothes when he slept. Go figure. Vance had found himself struggling with where to look and where not to while Nero had sat there sleepy eyed, hair tousled and completely unflustered by the fact that they were having a conversation about a strange sound in the kitchen while he was completely naked.

  In the end, the noise had turned out to be a mouse, though the solution had been a bit difficult. Vance had been in favor of a cat, but cited their busy work schedules as a serious drawback to getting a pet. Nero, on the other hand, had advocated for luring it into a mousetrap with cheese, and had gone out the next morning and purchased some. When he’d come back with those metal and wooden traps, Vance had been appalled and quickly launched into a lecture on animal cruelty that Nero had ignored in favor of scoping out the best places to set the traps. Fortunately for the mouse and Vance’s nerves, Nero had quickly abandoned his plan after the third or fourth time he’d accidently caught his fingers in the traps while trying to set them.

  “Fine, you win,” Nero had declared as he’d stalked into the living room, sucking on his fingers in a rather obscene way. He’d dumped the wooden traps on the couch beside Vance and gone to the freezer for ice, complaining about the bruises he was gonna have and how he’d discovered that the mouse had nibbled holes in the corner of the bread crumb box and he’d had to throw them away.

  “How about glue traps,” Vance had offered, turning his computer screen around so Nero could see what he was talking about. “Looks like they’d be safer for you and the mouse.”

  “Safer for you and the mouse you mean,” Nero informed him as he flopped in the beanbag chair on the floor and stuck his long legs out, icepack resting on his fingers as he got comfortable. “I give up. You wanna try glue traps, then have at it, but when you end up sticking yourself to them, don’t come crying to me to get them off.”

  Vance had chuckled at the petulant way Nero had stuck out his tongue at him, eyes narrowed and face all scrunched up like an angry child.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Dude, it was totally funny, sorry, I mean, it’s not funny about your fingers, but the way you were cursing that mouse was funny as hell. I’m pretty sure you’d have offended his whole family if they’d understood half of what you were saying. What the hell is a twatwaffle anyway?”

  Nero’s eyes had narrowed, but he hadn’t been able to stop the grin that stretched his lips out over white, even teeth, or the laughter that bubbled up from deep in his chest. Eventually, it had spilled over until he was shaking and clutching his sides, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

  “Fucked if I know,” Nero had gasped, still twitching with laughter. “Just heard Harry call Bruce that at work a couple times and it slipped out.”

  Vance had chuckled then and shaken his head, packed away his laptop and headed to the store, returning with a supply of glue traps that would last for months. That was the last time he was startled from sleep by the scratching of a furry intruder, but it was also the last time he’d had an occasion to wander into Nero’s room while he was sleep.

  “Wow, you must be tired.”

  Vance jumped, knees hitting the bottom of the table, his bottle rattling in protest, wobbling and spilling several amber droplets of beer. The whole thing would likely have toppled over if not for Nero’s fingers wrapping around it to hold it steady.

  “That was almost alcohol abuse.”

  That rumbling voice was right beside his ear, when the hell had Nero moved? Vance tilted his head back, caught sight of Nero looking down at him, a mixture of bewilderment and concern on his lightly freckled face.

  “Sorry, I guess I’m more tired than I thought,” Vance rambled, as Nero lifted his bottle and drank the last of Vance’s beer down. Vance starred at his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the liquid, wishing he could run his tongue along Nero’s throat, nip the area where Nero’s neck met his shoulders and burrow against the warmth and softness of the other man.

  “You must be, you’ve hardly touched your food. You just keep staring down at it like the answers to all of lifes mysteries are written on the plate.”

  “They are,” Vance remarked, popping a scallop in his mouth. “The answer to all of lifes mysteries is seafood.”

 

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