To Heaven Resembled

To Heaven Resembled Pepper Espinoza Dedication To Heaven Resembled is dedicated to Julie Carter, who graciously allowed me to use two of her beautiful poems, 'Nuclear Family' and 'The Peculiar Poetry of Tommy Lee Jones.' You can find more of her lovely work here: http://www.juliecarter.net Chapter One “Thank you.” Lance stopped short and looked over his shoulder. The words had been clear and loud, and he was pretty sure they were directed at him, though he hadn’t been doing anything except walking. There was nobody to his left, but when he swung his head to the right, he found a possible source for the words. A scruffy young man with the most stunning blue eyes Lance had ever seen leaned against the wall, one foot crossed over the other as he idly strummed a guitar. His other hand moved over the fret, like he was picking out chords, but Lance couldn’t tell what. At his feet lay an open case. Brown hair hung over his forehead, like he was a week overdue for a cut, and he had the type of body that always made Lance pay attention. After several beats, he realized he was staring, quite openly and rudely. He had been staring so long that he couldn’t just turn around and walk away like nothing happened. Even though he was pretty sure a red flush was starting to creep up his neck. He was just grateful for the shades hiding his eyes. “Excuse me?” The young man used his guitar to gesture at Lance’s chest and the Los Angeles Fire Department initials on his blue shirt. His fingers were still moving, strumming out a tune Lance could barely catch, and didn’t recognize. Lance couldn’t help but notice that his nails were neatly trimmed. “Thanks. You know, for all your hard work.” “Oh.” Lance smiled a little self-consciously. It wasn’t the first time somebody had stopped him on the street, but it always made him feel a little awkward. It wasn’t as though he became a fireman because he wanted to be a hero, but he had to admit, it was a nice perk. Especially when good-looking guitar players stopped him to express his gratitude. “Well, you’re welcome.” He might have left it at that, but the stranger’s eyes were like magnets drawing him forward. “I thought you might have been sarcastic.” He tilted his head, his fingers moving along the fret like they had wills of their own. “Why?” “Because I just kept walking and didn’t, you know…” Lance gestured at the case. Coins and bills littered the bottom, but it was by no means a great fortune. Or any fortune

at all, really. The man smiled. His smile was almost as captivating as his eyes. “No, I find that sarcasm doesn’t actually encourage people to give me their money.” Lance returned the smile. “I guess it wouldn’t.” “You been a fireman for long?” “Five years now.” “Five years? I thought you were younger than that.” Lance took a step towards him. “Nope. And I’m getting older every day. What are you playing?” “Nothing right now. I’m just making sure it’s in tune.” “You can do that while we talk?” “Sure. You can do two things at once, can’t you?” “I did try to walk and chew gum at the same time. It wasn’t pretty.” The man looked up from beneath his lashes, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You’d expect firemen to be a little bit more coordinated than that.” “No kidding. Actually, I’m not a fireman. They just let me hang around the station as a sort of mascot.” The man arched his brow. “I thought that’s what Dalmatians were for.” “I’m cuter than a Dalmatian.” “A Dalmatian?” He shook his head. “No, but maybe an English Bulldog.” “Gee, thanks.” “Were you fishing for compliments?” “No, but I wouldn’t have complained if you had given me one.” Lance touched the open guitar case with the tip of his boot. “Besides, English Bulldogs aren’t ugly.” His grin widened. “I never said they were. For all you know, I love English Bulldogs and I have one of my own.” “Do you?” “No, but I’d like one.” Lance snorted and held out his hand. “I’m Lance Stuart, by the way.” “Jakob Fox.” He stopped playing long enough to take Lance’s palm in a firm grip. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Do you play around here usually? I’m sure I’ve seen you here before.” Which was a lie, but Lance figured it was forgivable, since his intentions were good. Now that he was standing a little closer, he noticed small details. Like the fact that Jakob’s shirt was clean, and the scruffy beard wasn’t actually scruffy at all, but neatly trimmed. “Yeah, I usually play on this block. Sometimes Devin lets me play inside for tips.” Lance looked up, dragging his gaze from Jakob. They were standing outside Café Muse. Lance had never been inside. The name itself was enough to put him off. He didn’t really get the feeling it was the right place for firefighters who preferred Budweiser to lattes. “That must have been where I’ve seen you before.” Jakob inclined his head. “Must have been. Though it doesn’t really seem like your sort of place.” “It doesn’t? Why not? I like coffee.” Jakob’s smile changed slightly, and his eyes glittered with amusement. “The coffee is okay, but I meant because of the atmosphere. This place is usually full of beat poets and old hippies…and other eccentrics.”

“Oh, yeah, I know.” Lance offered an easy smiling, wondering if he should just cut the conversation short while he could still escape with his pride intact. “I like eccentric people. They keep life interesting.” “If you’re not on your way to any fires or anything, I’d love to buy you a coffee.” “I’m not even on my way to the station. Today’s my day off.” “Mascots get days off?” “Oh, there are two. We trade shifts.” “You and the Dalmatian, eh?” Jakob lifted the strap of the guitar over his head and knelt to pluck the money out of his case. “You’re sure I’m not keeping you from anything?” “Positive. I think the grocery store will wait for me.” “Do you live in the area?” “Yeah. About a mile from here.” Jakob snapped the case shut and straightened. “I’m surprised I haven’t noticed you before.” Lance followed him into the small coffee shop. It was exactly what he expected. Some sort of strange chanting played over the speakers. He wasn’t sure if he could call it music, and it was more than a little grating. Pictures he didn’t understand covered the walls. Were they supposed to be shapes or just blobs of paint and ink? There were more couches than tables, and the corner had a microphone stand with cushions surrounding it. Did people sit there? Or was it meant only for some sort of weird decoration? The girl behind the counter smiled at Jakob as though she was genuinely happy to see him. “The usual?” “Yes. And…” He looked over his shoulder to Lance. “What would you like?” “Oh. Coffee.” They both stared at him as though he said a word they couldn’t understand. “Regular,” Lance provided, hoping that would help them. They continued to stare. “Black.” “He’ll have the house blend. Tall.” “Coming right up,” she chirped, everything from her ponytail to her smile perky. Lance didn’t have anything against perky girls, but this one was starting to wear on his nerves. Possibly because of the strange, monotonous chanting. “You can go ahead and sit down,” Jakob invited. Lance nodded, though he would have preferred it if Jakob had chosen where to sit. Would a couch be too intimate? Did Jakob expect him to choose a table? He was pretty sure Jakob had been flirting with him, which made a couch an appropriate choice, but then, what if he was just trying to be friendly? In the end, Lance chose a table by the window in the front. He sat in the tiny chair— he never understood why such narrow chairs even existed—with his legs spread in front of him, his fingers hooked in his pockets. He watched Jakob chat with the girl, pay for the drinks, and carry them over to the table. He kept looking for a single flaw, but he couldn’t find one. Lance supposed it was possible he had horrible scars beneath his clothes. Or maybe he was just plain crazy. Normal people didn’t try to make their money singing on the street—for good reason. “Thanks,” Lance said as Jakob set his cup down.

“No problem.” “Do you usually invite strange men out for coffee?” Lance tore open two packets of sweetener and dumped it into his drink. “Not strange men, no.” “Strange firemen?” Lance asked. Jakob shrugged. “I guess it depends on who the fireman is, and if we’re standing outside a coffee shop at the time.” “Do you usually stop firemen on the street?” “Yes, actually.” Jakob sipped from his cup before adding, “My father was a firefighter.” Lance sat up a little. “Really? Here in LA?” “No, no. I grew up in New York.” “Does he still live there?” Jakob sat the drink down and glanced out the window over Lance’s shoulder. He caught his lip between his bottom teeth before finally saying, “No…no. He died when I was thirteen. On the job.” Lance stared. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…brought it up.” “You didn’t know.” He offered a comforting smile and shook his head. “But I understand how much you give up for the job. What you sacrifice. So I promised myself that any time I see a firefighter, I’d thank them for the job that they do.” He held up his cup. “The coffee is a bonus.” Lance took a tentative sip from the house blend coffee—whatever that meant—and blinked with surprise. It was really tasty. Much better than the coffee he had at the station. “It’s a good bonus. So…how did you make it all the way out to Los Angeles?” “The usual way. I took a bus.” “Really?” “Sure.” He reached for a pink packet of sweetener, idly running his finger over the edge. “I had some money after I graduated and I wanted to see a bit of the country, so I hopped a bus and ended up here.” “I thought maybe you came out here for your music.” Jakob shook his head. “I’m actually not a musician. Not really. I’m a poet, but I found that when you shout poetry at people from a street corner, they tend to call the cops. But the general public isn’t nearly as freaked out by a guitar, so I taught myself how to play.” Lance didn’t even know poets still existed. He wasn’t sure why, but he thoughts poets went out of fashion with cobblers and stagecoach drivers. “Oh, really? I love poetry.” “You’re full of surprises.” “I like to think I have many layers.” “Like an ogre?” Lance blinked. “What?” The smile never left Jakob’s face. “Never mind. Just a dumb joke. So what kind of poetry do you like?” Lance licked his lips. “Live?” “Friday nights are open-mic nights here. You should come on by.” “Will you be reading some of yours?”

“Yes.” Jakob abandoned the sugar packet, tossing it aside to swirl his cup. “Actually, I do my poetry almost every night.” “Here?” “No. All over the city. Do you write any?” The answer flew out of Lance’s mouth before he could stop it. “Yes. A little.” “You should consider reading it here on Friday. Everybody here is really supportive.” Nice work. Why don’t you tell him you’re a rebel billionaire while you’re at it? “Thanks, I’ll…I’ll think about it.” “So are you from Los Angeles, or are you a transplant, too?” Lance released the breath he had been holding. Finally, safe ground. “I’m a born and bred Angelino. I wouldn’t know how to live anywhere else. Though I have been to New York. It was nice.” Jakob snorted. “Nice is one word for it.” “You’re not homesick?” “Nope. I love it here. It’s warm year around, I can go to the beach any time I like, and the most beautiful people in the world live here.” His eyes glittered. “Or is that a shallow reason?” “I think it’s a perfectly cromulent reason.” Jakob laughed—a surprising and warm sound. Lance felt himself flush with delight at being the cause of his amusement. “You’re a Simpsons fan?” “Who isn’t?” “I don’t know many people who can work a reference into a sentence so easily.” “You’re hanging around the wrong sort of people.” Jakob laughed again. “I might be.” The weird chanting stopped and the room was plunged into silence. Blessed, wonderful silence. Just as Lance was beginning to enjoy the peace, a whole new CD started up. At least, Lance thought it was a new CD. It might have just been a new track of the same crap. “But about Friday night…they don’t play this sort of music then, right?” Jakob shook his head. “No, no not at all. Cyn only plays this during the day to encourage people to sit out on the patio.” “Why would she do that?” “So they’re listening to me instead.” “Oh, that’s a clever plan.” “I appreciate any help I can get around here.” Before Lance could respond, his phone erupted with fire sirens. Jakob jumped, and Lance grimaced apologetically. “I keep it loud so I won’t miss it.” “Yeah, I guess you definitely can’t miss that. Do you have to go?” Lance took the phone out of his pocket. A quick glance at the screen gave him his answer. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry I got to cut this short.” “No problem. I understand.” Lance could see he actually did understand. He touched the back of Jakob’s hand without thinking, a thrill running up his arm at the contact. “So, about Friday…what would be the best time to come by?” “Eight. That’ll give you enough time to get your drink and find a seat.”

“Friday at eight.” Lance stood and slipped the phone back into his pocket. “It’s a date.” Jakob stood as well. “Sounds good. I’ll be looking forward to it.” “Me, too,” Lance promised. A night full of poetry wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time, and he would have to wrangle with the chief to get a few hours free on Friday night, but he thought Jakob was worth the effort. **** “You’re going where to do what?” Charles asked, knotting a towel around his hips. Steam still wafted around them, though they were the last two in the locker room. Lance had lingered behind so he could talk to Charles, just because he wanted to tell somebody, and Charles seemed like the most obvious choice. “I’m going to Café Muse to listen to open-mic night,” Lance explained, for what might have been the tenth time. “Why are you doing this?” Lance abandoned the towel in favor of his boxer-briefs. “Because I met a guy.” “A guy who hangs out at Café Muse and reads poetry?” Charles shook his head. “I know you’re getting desperate, Lance, but come on. There’s got to be an easier way to get a bit of ass in this town.” “I didn’t tell you so you could give me a hard time,” Lance said, more than a little annoyed, though he had expected a response like this from Charles Hill. They had been friends for over seven years, with added benefits for the past three. Lance like Charles— and he liked fucking Charles—but neither one of them had ever been interested in anything more than that. “Then why did you tell me?” “I wanted to let you know where I was on Friday night. Unless anybody asks. And then I’m visiting my sick mother.” Charles stared at him. “You used Alma as your excuse to get out of work?” “Could you think of a better one?” “Fuck, you should have just told Chief the truth. He would have been so amused at the thought, he would have given you the time off with his blessing.” “It’s not that funny,” Lance muttered. “It is that funny. How far are you willing to take this? Are you going to read some poetry? Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ve lost my fucking mind, what about you?” Lance rolled his eyes. “Real mature. And even if I did read poetry, there’s nothing wrong with that. Lots of men write poetry.” Charles pulled his shirt over his head. “Name one. And not your new boyfriend.” Lance had the feeling he should know this one, but he drew a blank. He had slept through most of his high school English classes, and it never occurred to him to seek out poetry on his own. Other than a few magazines, Lance didn’t have a need to seek out any literature. “What about that guy who wrote Romeo and Juliet? He wrote poetry, right?” Charles snorted. “You mean Shakespeare?” “Yeah, him.” “If you really want to impress this guy, you should mention that factoid.” “Shut up.” “So…what does he do?”

“He…look, it doesn’t matter what he does. All that matters is that he’s hot, and we had a good conversation. We had fun.” “Come on, Lance.” He rolled deodorant on, his eyes shining with barely contained amusement. Like he was waiting for a good joke. “I know you’re keeping something from me.” “I’m not.” “Right. You were all eager to spill the details before, and now I want to know something about the guy, and you clam up? What is he? Homeless or something?” “I’m sure he’s not homeless,” Lance muttered. Charles stopped short, his hand half in the locker as he reached for his socks. “You’re sure he’s not homeless because you’ve seen his home? Or what?” “Don’t laugh, okay? But…he’s a street performer.” “He’s a beggar?” “He wasn’t begging.” Lance concentrated securing his belt in place, keeping his eyes averted from Charles’s face. “He was playing his guitar.” “So people would give him money?” “Yes.” “On the street.” Lance sighed. “Yes.” “That’s begging for money, man. Look, if you can’t even find somebody with a home, I’ll help you out. I know lots of guys. And every single one of them has a job.” “I told you, I don’t think he’s homeless. His clothes were clean and he didn’t look, you know, unkempt.” “So all you need in a man is clean clothes?” Charles slammed his locker shut, and settled on the bench, resting one foot over his knee. “Since when do you have such low standards?” “Look, I’m not saying that I’m going to date him or anything. I’m just going to spend a little bit of time with him on Friday and listen to his poetry.” “I hope you at least get lucky, man. I think a night of poetry is at least worth a blowjob. But don’t take him back to your place.” “Why not?” “You trust a homeless person in your house?” “Charles, seriously, for the last time. He’s not some bum I picked up off the corner. He’s a very intelligent, creative person.” Lance knew he sounded more than a little defensive about Jakob, but he didn’t like his judgment questioned. He especially didn’t like it when Charles made him question his own judgment. He felt himself wavering, but then he remembered Jakob’s vibrant smile. He had the feeling Charles would change his tune once he saw Jakob—not that he wanted Charles to meet Jakob any time soon. Who knows? Maybe Charles would never have any need to meet Jake. “Whatever you say. Hey, do you want to go get a drink? I’ll even read some poetry, if that’s what you need.” “I’m not going to go anywhere if you keep riding me about this,” Lance said. He began lacing his shoes. “Don’t sulk. I was just playing with you.” “So…you remembered Shakespeare’s name. Do you know anything about poetry?” “Are you serious?”

“I don’t want to make a fool of myself.” Charles looked up from tying his shoes. “You’re serious about this? I mean, you’re serious enough about this guy that you want to actually know about poetry?” “Like you’ve never done anything to impress a guy?” “Never.” “Oh? Really?” Lance shut his locker and pulled the comb from his pocket. He planned to go straight home, or else he would have used his gel, too. “What about the month you became soccer’s biggest fan?” “That wasn’t as crazy as learning about poetry.” He leaned forward, studying himself in the mirror as he carefully parted his damp hair. “Help me out, or I’m going to pass around that mp3 I have of you.” A beat passed, then, “What mp3?” “You know what mp3 I mean. The one with the show tunes.” “You wouldn’t.” Lance patted the back of his head, confirming all the hair was appropriately flat. “I would, though.” “I was drunk.” “Do you think anybody around here will care about that? All they’ll know is that you apparently know the whole score to My Fair Lady.” “One song,” Charles corrected. “I know one song. And it’s the one everybody knows.” “By the time the story makes it around the house, it’ll be the entire score.” Lance turned around and folded his arms. “Trust me on this one.” “You are such a bastard.” “And you’re going to tell me about poetry.” “Fine, but you have to buy all the rounds tonight.” “Okay.” “And the next two times we go out.” “Tonight and the first round next week.” “Tonight and all the rounds next week.” Lance nodded. “Fair enough. Shake on it?” Hill took his hand and shook his head. “Why do I have the feeling this is going to be one long-ass night?” “Hey. I resent that. I’m not completely stupid.” “Oh, yeah? Besides Romeo and Juliet, what did Shakespeare write?” “Poetry. We already established that.” “Give me a name.” Lance released Charles’s hand with a sigh. “Well, you know I can’t. But that’s why I need you. You’re going to change all that.” “Yeah, right. Don’t go expecting any miracles, is all I’m saying.” “Do you think getting through Friday night without making an ass out of myself is a miracle?” Charles looked him up and down. “Yeah, I’d say it is. But come on, I’ll do what I can.” Lance didn’t think that would be much, but even Charles’s meager store of knowledge was better than the absolute nothing Lance was currently working with.

Chapter Two Lance stood outside Café Muse, staring into the large windows, and wondering just what the hell he’d gotten himself into. He had dressed with care, partially because he didn’t know how he was supposed to dress at all, and partially because he wanted to impress Jakob, but a quick glance inside told him that all his care had been wasted. He had chosen black slacks, after dismissing every pair of jeans he owned, and a black dress shirt. It was dressy without being too nice, but it also wasn’t too casual. He wanted Jakob to know he was taking this seriously. Apparently, he was taking the situation a little too seriously. Granted, Lance couldn’t see every person in the building, but what he did see was enough. Jakob had mentioned beat poets and ex-hippies, but he hadn’t mentioned the standard liberal arts college crowd. They all had torn jeans, T-shirts that were two sizes too big, and strange little goatees. The girls didn’t look much better. A few of them didn’t even look like they washed their hair. Lance was just happy Charles wasn’t there to see what looked like an actual homeless shelter, instead of a relatively harmless coffee shop. He took a step toward the door, changed his mind, and kept walking. He almost made it to the end of the block before he circled back. He hadn’t seen Jakob anywhere, though that didn’t mean anything. He could already be inside, waiting, more and more convinced that Lance was going to stand him up. Would it be such a bad thing if he did stand Jakob up? They had shared a coffee and a little flirtation. This wasn’t even an official date. Lance walked to the other end of the block, hoping nobody noticed him pacing back and forth. He should just go in. What about a pretentious coffee shop and a bunch of dirty college students made him so nervous? If the building were on fire, he wouldn’t hesitate to run in and risk his life to save all the people he found so off-putting now. These were the same sorts of people he used to beat up in junior high. And now they were gathered in a pack, outnumbering him. But he wasn’t in junior high anymore, and they were all adults. So he should just walk in, buy some coffee, and maybe sit next to Jakob on the couch. The thought of finding little excuses to touch the other man perked him up. So what if he had to listen to poetry? He really did want to have the chance to be close to Jakob. Especially after all the work he and Charles had put in to his preparation. A wave of heat and the smell of coffee struck Lance as soon as he opened the door. The place was even more crowded than Lance had assumed, and the counter seemed an impossible distance from the door. Lance scanned the faces, looking for a pair of familiar blue eyes. The same blue eyes he had been thinking about every night for the previous three days. For a long, horrible moment, all he saw were strangers. Had he arrived too early? Too late? Had Jakob stood him up? “Lance?” He spun around, seeking the source of his name, and found Jakob back in the corner, sitting on a love seat by himself, with two cups on the table in front of him. Lance smiled, all of his doubts disappearing. Jakob looked even better than he remembered. The scruffy beard was neatly trimmed, and his blue eyes were magnified by wire-rim glasses. Despite

the heat, he was wearing a blue sweater that brought out the color of his eyes. He definitely didn’t look homeless. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come,” Jakob said as Lance approached. “I just got a bit hung up.” “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering your coffee.” Lance smiled. “Not at all. Though now I owe you for two cups.” “It’s part of my master plan to make sure you’ll see me again.” “Bribing me with coffee?” Lance’s smile didn’t fade. “There are other ways.” “That, and making sure you feel honor-bound to return the favor and invite me out. You look good, by the way.” “Thanks. I’m not too overdressed?” “Depends on whose standards you use, I suppose.” “What about your standards?” Jakob’s eyes danced with amusement. “Oh, by my standards we’re both overdressed.” “In that case, when I return the favor and take you out, I’ll choose a place where the clothing is more optional.” “Like the beach?” Lance smiled. “Yeah, like that. So…I wasn’t really expecting so many people here tonight. I didn’t realize poetry readings were so popular.” “This particular one attracts a lot of students in the area. Which is good and bad. Good, because I always love to see people interested in poetry.” Jakob sipped from his cup, drawing Lance’s attention to his mouth. It was a great mouth. “Bad, because I suspect they’re here as part of an assignment.” “Why is that a problem?” Jakob grimaced a little. “I’d tell you, but that would ruin the fun.” Lance leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. He wasn’t quite touching Jakob, though he could. The memory of their earlier, brief contact still lingered. “You’re not nervous about getting up in front of all these people? I mean, aren’t you afraid that you’re going to make a fool of yourself? Not that I think you’re going to sound like a fool. Quite the opposite. I think you’ll be great.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Jakob shifted, putting his leg up on the cushion and turning to face Lance more directly. “And no, I’m not nervous. If I were worried about what people thought of me, I wouldn’t busk.” “Busk? I’m not sure I know the word.” “Busking? I’m a busker?” Jakob paused, obviously waiting for recognition to dawn. It didn’t. “A busker is just a person who performs on the street for money.” “Oh, of course,” Lance muttered, taking a sip of coffee to try to hide his embarrassment. “You’ll be amazed at how many people think I’m homeless.” Lance nearly choked on the hot liquid. He set it aside before it could become a real hazard. “Yeah, I bet that’s a common misconception.” “It really is. I mean, I can see why people would assume that. But how many homeless people do you know who shows up showered and in clean clothes every day?” “That’s exactly what I said!” Lance exclaimed. “What?”

“I mean, I was agreeing with you. But some people are prejudiced. They think just because you don’t appear to have a steady job, or an obvious home, or live the life everybody else does, then there must be something wrong with you. And that’s, you know…” Lance set his coffee down, momentarily forgetting where he planned to go with his speech. “Just sad.” “Yeah, it is.” Lance didn’t want to discuss Jakob’s living situation further. He didn’t need more opportunities to embarrass himself. “So you never get nervous?” “Nope. I don’t think I’ve ever had stage fright in my life.” “That’s just amazing to me.” “Is it? Do you ever get nervous on the job?” “Oh, you know…” Lance paused, debating whether false modesty was better or worse than no modesty at all. Finally, he decided on the truth. “Not really. I’m trained to do what I do, and hell, it’s a job that has to be done.” “Most people would think you’re crazy. They’d admire the hell out of you, but they’d think you’re crazy.” “I actually get that a lot. Do you think I’m crazy?” “Oh, absolutely.” Jakob grinned at him. “But it has nothing to do with your ability to run into burning buildings.” “Then what is it? Do I just give off an air of crazy?” He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “Or are there warning signs?” Jakob mimicked him, and a part of Lance realized they were now in kissing distance. “It’s your eyes. And the fact that you were willing to meet me again even though you thought I was homeless.” “Hey, I never thought you were homeless. My friend did when I told him about you, but he didn’t actually lay out a convincing argument.” “I’m glad he didn’t. I have to admit, I spent the whole week thinking about tonight.” “You too, huh?” Lance didn’t bother sitting back again. At that distance, Jakob filled his vision. It was easy to imagine they were the only people in the room. He didn’t think it was too much physical contact. After all, Jakob had chosen the cozy little couch, and Jakob opened the door to talking about just what they had been hoping for. “I was on shift the past few days, or else I might have come by here sooner to see you.” “That reminds me, what was the emergency that called you away? Something small, I hope.” “Somebody started a grease fire while they were frying an egg. They had an apartment on the first floor of a building. Fortunately, we were able to contain it before it spread up to the second floor.” Jakob nodded. “That’s good. I was worried.” “Nope, nothing to worry about. We’ve got the finest crew in the state. Maybe even the country.” “And I’m sure you’re not exaggerating.” “Not even a little.” Lance moved closer, letting his fingers brush against Jakob’s shoulder. His sweater was soft, but Lance wished he could find a patch of bare skin to touch instead. “What do you usually do after a poetry reading? Go out and get a drink or something?” “No, but we can go out later. I have the feeling that you’re going to need a beer or

something after this.” Emboldened by the fact that Jakob wasn’t pulling away from him, Lance inhaled deeply. Jakob didn’t smell homeless, either. In fact, he smelled like oranges. What would he taste like? Would it be something tangy and sweet? “Why do you say that?” “FAGS!” Lance leapt apart from Jakob like he was made of hot metal, his heart slamming against his ribs, his body tensing into a defensive position. He looked left and right, but whoever had shouted at them was gone, or pretending they hadn’t said a word. Lance jumped to his feet, prepared to find whatever punk bitch shouted and tear him apart. “Lance?” Jakob took his hand. “Who the fuck said that?” Lance demanded, head still swinging back and forth, searching for the likely culprit. “The lady at the microphone,” Jakob said softly. “It’s part of her poem.” “It’s part of her…” “Part of her poem,” Jakob repeated, gently pulling Lance down to the couch. “Oh.” It felt like every single person in the room was staring at him. Probably because everybody was. Some were laughing. Most of them weren’t, but they still had funny looks on their faces. “Sorry…sorry. Please. Continue.” “That’s what they shouted…” The woman continued, sounding like she was never interrupted. Lance buried his face against Jakob’s shoulder, which wasn’t a bad place to be. “Oh my God.” Jakob’s shoulder shook, and Lance didn’t need to see his face to know what was happening. “Are you laughing at me?” “Only a little bit.” “I should probably leave before I do any more damage.” “No, it’s not that bad.” “It’s worse than that bad.” His skin absorbed Jakob’s warmth, which was decidedly not bad at all. “Did you see how everybody was staring at me?” “Everybody’s going to stare at you again if you don’t lower your voice,” Jakob whispered. “God. Sorry.” “It’s okay.” Jakob lifted his shoulder, nudging Lance into an upright position. “That’s Sandra. She can be a bit…intense. Especially if you’re not used to her particular style.” “Do you know everybody in here?” “Nearly everybody.” “So…” Lance covered his eyes, trying to rub the sudden ache from his temples. “I haven’t just embarrassed myself, I embarrassed you, too.” “I’ll forgive you.” “I’ll be quiet now,” Lance whispered. Jakob squeezed his hand in response, and Lance had a chance to notice the calluses on his fingers. No doubt from the guitar. He thought of rough fingers touching his chest, the side of his neck, or the sensitive spot on his inner thigh, and his cock twitched. Maybe he should suggest they go back to his place for that drink. The fact that Jakob was still holding his hand, still sitting close enough that Lance could smell the citrus, encouraged the possibility.

To force his cock to behave, he decided to concentrate on Sandra’s poetry. Which was unlike any poetry Lance was familiar with. Charles had shown him some sonnets by Shakespeare, and then they had looked up some more recent poems. Charles had assured him that Walt Whitman was very famous and popular, so Lance had read a few poems by him. A few short ones. He actually liked them a little bit. They weren’t like the sonnets. They were more free flowing, and they didn’t necessarily rhyme, but Lance understood they were actually quite nice. But Sandra didn’t sound anything like Shakespeare or Whitman. Her poetry didn’t rhyme, either, but there was a lot more shouting than Lance would have expected. “Is everybody this angry?” Lance whispered. “Not quite this angry. We can go if you want.” “No, you haven’t read yet.” “That’s okay.” Lance shook his head. “I want to hear your poem. This is just a little weird.” About six minutes later, Lance realized he spoke too soon. Sandra hadn’t been weird. Not even a little bit. The person after her was. Introduced merely as Mineral, Lance pegged the person’s age as anywhere in the twenties, or maybe the early thirties, and he could do nothing to discern said person’s sex. Hair was shoulder length, and face was too pretty for a man’s, but too thick to be a woman’s. Chest was flat, hips were wide, and Mineral muttered into the microphone, as though trying to mask his or her voice. “I thought I saw a rabbit running. Run rabbit. Run to the hills where the turtle is waiting. I heard the turtle calling. Then flying over the rabbit. Fly turtle. Fly like you were born free. We are all waiting. Waiting to be born free.” Lance blinked and leaned in close to Jakob, putting his mouth near his ear. “I don’t know what that means. How can a turtle fly?” “With wings, of course.” “Oh, of course. But where does a turtle get wings?” Jakob turned a little, and his mouth brushed against Lance’s cheek as he spoke. “He must have borrowed them from a duck.” Lance didn’t want to, but he had to turn away and bite his bottom lip until the urge to laugh passed. “Of course,” Jakob continued, once Lance had himself under control, “there’s a good chance the turtle is a metaphor.” “A metaphor?” He and Charles had researched metaphors. He ducked his head close to Jakob’s once again. “Like, saying your love is a rose?” “Yes.” “A turtle metaphor?” “I don’t know. What is a turtle-meta for?” “What?” The corner of Jakob’s mouth lifted. “I think the turtle might be a metaphor for her.” “Her? Mineral is a she?” “That’s the rumor. I have no firsthand knowledge.” “In that case, I’m going to have to say that ignorance is bliss. When are you going up?” Jakob sighed, and Lance noticed the way his cheek twitched. At that distance, he noticed just about every small detail of Jakob’s face. “Soon.”

“I’m not calling you a liar or anything…” His hand drifted back to Jakob’s shoulder. He felt like a teenager, trying to cop his first feel. But there was something intoxicating about stealing the tiny caresses. Like he was getting away with something daring. “But you sound nervous.” “I am. A little.” “I thought you said you didn’t get nervous.” “Usually, I don’t. But there’s a big difference between tonight and other nights.” “What?” Jakob turned his head, meeting Lance’s gaze head-on. “You’re here.” Lance tried to laugh that off, but the words made him feel oddly warm. “You don’t need to worry about impressing me or anything.” “I am, a little.” Lance smiled. “Let me ease your mind. Is your poem about a flying turtle?” “Maybe.” “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m willing to give it a fair shot.” The small room erupted in polite applause and Mineral took a deep bow. Jakob’s fingers disappeared from Lance’s as he stood. “That’s my cue.” “Um…break a leg.” “Thanks.” Jakob made his way through the crowded room to stand in front of the microphone. He pulled a wrinkled paper from his front pocket, glanced over it, and then tucked it away. “Some of you might remember this poem from before. It’s a work in progress. So…I hope you enjoy it.” He took a deep breath. “It’s called ‘The Peculiar Poetry of Tommy Lee Jones.’” Lance frowned. Was Tommy Lee Jones a metaphor like a turtle? Or did Jakob actually plan to read a poem about Tommy Lee Jones? Was he a fan? Lance thought he was good in The Fugitive and Men in Black. Good enough to write a poem about? Lance wasn’t sure about that. “He doesn't write it. It sits in his skull/and waits for a seizure, a stroke, a small/drug overdose and the words spill from a mouth/in ruddy wavelets and the nurses dance/to the rhythms, twist twist twist, a syringe/gripped in the left hand and the stethoscope/twined caduceus up the right and c'mon/everybody clap your hands, your hands.” Lance blinked. He didn’t understand what any of that meant. There were even a few words he didn’t get. It was a little silly for Jakob to worry about impressing him when he didn’t understand the words coming out of his mouth. Fear tightened his throat. Jakob would probably ask his opinion. He’d probably want some sort of feedback, and compliments. And, worst of all, Lance hadn’t heard a single word so far about Tommy Lee Jones. Jakob took another deep breath, and for a brief second, Lance thought he was going to sit down. Except, he didn’t sit down. He began reading again. “The god of meaty biceps, the god of firecrackers/joining hands and cakewalking the halls. But he doesn't know it's in there, doesn't know/the shim shim shimmy rolling a tertius paeon/plinking in the nighttime brain bebop/while he merengues without knowing how/And the ambulance would swerve to the beat/and scatter Volkswagens to the curb and the drivers/would climb out banging their hands on the roof/in time, in time, in time time time.”

Lance leaned forward, unable to breath during the final four lines. He still didn’t understand the language, but he understood music. He felt himself being swept away in the rhythm of the words, the gentle cadence of Jakob’s voice, each pause for breath. He didn’t know if he wanted the poem to end. A part of him never wanted Jakob to stop speaking. He sounded smooth and confident. And sexy. Lance had never considered poetry particularly sexy before, but Jakob transformed the words. And somehow, the words transformed him. Transformed them both. **** Jakob’s apartment was small. Not unlike Lance’s closet. Or his attic. Though there were a good four inches between him and the ceiling, Lance couldn’t resist the urge to duck. It was also hot. Sweltering. The one window in the room was open, but Lance didn’t see any sign of an air conditioner. Did Jakob really live like this? How did he stand it? Lance thought it would drive him crazy after a week. Jakob’s furniture consisted of a ratty looking couch, a stool, and a chair. His kitchen seemed to be nothing more than a small fridge and a hot plate. “It’s…” “You don’t have to try to find something nice to say,” Jakob interrupted. “No, it’s great. You know, cozy.” “That’s one word for it. But I really only sleep here, so it doesn’t bother me. And it’s nice and quiet here. My downstairs neighbors are all graduate students.” “I like it.” “Thanks for tonight. I had a great time.” Lance smiled. “So did I.” “Not counting the poetry?” “No, it wasn’t all bad. You were fantastic.” Jakob actually blushed a little at that. “Thanks.” “But…will you think less of me if I tell you I don’t know what it means?” “No. Not at all. A lot of it was really…personal.” “I wanted to. I still want to. Maybe someday I will.” “I have another poem that might be…easier to understand. It’s about my grandfather.” Jakob rubbed the back of his neck. “Though you don’t have to listen to it if you don’t want to. You want something to drink? I have some soda. Or some water.” Lance thought he would need some water sooner or later. Especially since sweat was already rolling down the back of his neck. “I’m fine for now.” Lance took a step closer, wondering why Jakob had put so much distance between them. “Mind if I have a seat?” “Sorry. Please, sit down. I don’t know where my manners are.” Lance perched on the edge of the couch, expecting Jakob to join him, but the other man didn’t move. “I would like to hear it.” “What.” “Your other poem. I want to hear it.” Jakob looked uncertain. “You don’t have to.” “No, I…I know I’m not the smartest guy around, but I love the way you…sound. I don’t know how else to describe it.” “If you say so.” Jakob took his small notebook out of his back pocket and flipped to the pages. “It’s called ‘Nuclear Family’.” A nervous smile Lance was beginning to

recognize played at his lips. “There aren’t many pictures. Dad was late/behind too many brothers. All the new/excitement wearing off by then, the film/just never seemed to make it to the store.” Lance smiled and relaxed. This made sense. Jakob’s voice sounded the same as before, it was the same rise and fall, carrying Lance forward. “In black-and-white photography, his hair/can't show its matchhead-shimmer red. It could/be something safe and brown. It might not glow/like a lighthouse as he leans against/the old Ford’s fender, holds it like a boulder/that wants to bound across a mountain, leave/some flattened goatherd in its wake. He smiles/no not the goatherd, I am circling back/to redhead boys in black and white who grin,/their knees knobbed out and feet bare in the dust.” Lance actually laughed a little at the joke. Jakob looked up, startled, then understanding cleared his eyes. His smile matched Lance’s as he began the final verse. “A date spiders the back, in bluish ink/July, his birthday, 1945/a month knee-deep in trinities, in crossing/father, son, and ghosts of mushroom clouds/the sand exploding outward, white and soft/as ashes, built up from a million shells/the oysters all surprised to feel the sun.” Lance felt the same stirring as before. “You do the readings every night, you said?” “Yeah. I don’t usually read poetry like ‘The Peculiar Poetry of Tommy Lee Jones.’ That one was particularly personal.” “Did you read it tonight…for me?” “It’s personal, but I think it’s my best one.” Lance nodded and patted the cushion beside him. “Why don’t you come over and sit beside me?” Jakob shuffled forward, almost as if sitting beside Lance was the last thing he wanted to do. Lance didn’t understand that. Earlier that night, Jakob had snuggled close to him, comfortably leaning against Lance’s arm for the duration of the open-mic readings. And now he looked more than a little wary. When he sat down, there were several inches between them. Several inches too many. Lance slid over. “I hope we can do it again soon,” Lance said. “I don’t know about another poetry reading, but maybe a concert? Or just going to my favorite bar?” “Your favorite bar? Is that where the rest of the firemen hang out?” “Sure, a lot of them do.” “It wouldn’t bother you to be seen with me?” “No. They’ll probably give me a bit of a hard time for it back at the station, but if anybody gets in my face, I’ll just punch him.” “I have a feeling you’re not joking.” “I’m not.” “Well, I appreciate the invitation. But…” Lance didn’t want to hear what came after the but. He didn’t want to give Jakob a chance to turn him down. He didn’t want Jakob to even able to get a protest in. He grabbed the other man by the back of his head and pressed their mouths together. Jakob didn’t respond at first, but Lance didn’t let that dissuade him. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of Jakob’s mouth, probing for entrance. Jakob moaned, but it wasn’t in protest. He opened his mouth, and Lance immediately took advantage of the invitation. Jakob’s tongue slid against his, hot and searching, and

Lance’s other arm snuck around Jakob’s back. His cock hardened, straining against his slacks, and each brush of Jakob’s tongue in his mouth sent a shiver down his spine. Jakob tasted of coffee and the sweet biscotti he had for dessert. The citrus smell only seemed stronger the longer they kissed, and his hair was soft beneath Lance’s fingers. Lance’s entire body responded to Jakob. Every sense came to life, every cell in his being cried out for more. Without thinking, he pushed Jakob back to the couch, covering the other man’s frame with his larger body. Jakob’s cock was hard, pressing into Lance’s hips, fueling Lance’s hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted another man this much. He wanted Jakob’s mouth, and he wanted Jakob’s body, and he wanted to taste Jakob’s skin. Jakob broke the kiss first, but Lance didn’t care. He just shifted his attention to Jakob’s jaw and neck, his mouth hungry, his mind racing. Was that smell cologne? Soap? Something else. “Lance…” “Hmm?” “Stop…” “Hmm?” “Stop.” “What?” Jakob pushed against Lance’s chest, hard enough to force him to straighten. Jakob’s lips were already swollen, and his hair was mussed, his glasses askew. “I don’t think we should do this.” “What?” “We shouldn’t do this. I can’t do this.” Lance blinked. “Not to sound like a broken record, but what? We were having a great time. And I know you liked it.” “I did. I liked it a lot. And I like you. But…I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry.” “Can I just ask why?” “Because I don’t…I don’t do this with people like you.” “People like me?” “Firemen.” Lance shook his head. “I don’t understand. You knew I was a fireman from the second we met. You knew when you invited me out to coffee. You knew when you invited me to the reading tonight.” “I know.” Jakob looked up with so much misery in his blue eyes that most of Lance’s ire immediately melted. “I thought I could look past it. I thought that we’d have a great time, and maybe go on a few dates and just have some fun. That’s what I wanted. But…I can’t ignore that you’re a firefighter. I can’t. You should probably just go.” “I don’t want to go.” Jakob jumped to his feet. “It’s not going to do you any good to stay here. I’ m not going to change my mind.” “Maybe I want to talk about it.” “There isn’t anything to talk about.” Lance stood, but he didn’t take a step toward the door. He feared if he actually left, he might never see Jakob again. He could respect Jakob’s desire not to have sex. He could keep his hands to himself, if he had to. He didn’t even fully understand why he

needed to stay. But he was quickly learning that when it came to Jakob, it was best to follow his instincts. And at that moment, all of his instincts told him not to leave. “I think there is. If you don’t want to talk to me, or you don’t trust me, I’ll go. But if nothing else, we can be friends, right?” Jakob regarded him for a moment before nodding. “You know, I’m not really in the habit of just spilling my guts to anybody.” “Except through your poems?” “Yeah. Sit down, I’ll go get you a drink. It’s getting warm in here.” “Thank you,” Lance said, not just referring to the drink. He settled back on the couch, resting his ankle on his knee, trying to be casual. His stomach felt like a tangle of knots, and he didn’t know what to expect. A part of him hoped the night wasn’t a complete loss. He had friends in the academy who perfected the art of thoughtful, sensitive listening, and they barely had to lift a finger to get girls in bed. Would the same thing work on another man? Would it work on another man as sensitive as Jakob? Another part of Lance didn’t care anything about that. He just wanted to get to the source of pain, and the misery, in Jakob’s eyes, and fix it.

Chapter Three “My father passed his competency exam the day before I was born. In fact, they were celebrating when my mom went into labor. They were kids. I can’t even imagine being married with a baby on the way at nineteen, but that was my dad’s life. Sometimes, I wish I could ask him, you know? If he had any regrets. If he ever wanted to do anything else with his life. He never let on. He never once gave me any reason to think he was disappointed with his family, or his job, or his home.” Jakob paused and sipped from his glass of ice water. They were both sitting on the couch, but on opposite ends. Lance wanted to pull Jakob against him again. He thought this story might be easier for both of them if they were touching. Lance mimicked him, bringing his own glass of water to his mouth, wishing it was something stronger. “After me, my parents had two more kids. Both girls.” A small smile touched Jakob’s face. “Annie and Emily. They’re still in New York, both going to school right now. I’m not going to say we had the perfect family life or that everything was some sort of fairy tale. But we were really happy.” “What was your dad like?” Lance asked softly. “He had a weird sense of humor. I mean, it was really strange. Have you ever heard the interrupting cow joke?” “No, I don’t think I have.” “Knock knock.” “What?” “Knock. Knock.” “Who’s there?” “Interrupting cow.” “Interrupting co…” “Moo.” Jakob’s face cracked with a smile. “It’s silly, right? But I swear to God, he never got tired of that joke. Fortunately for him, Annie never got tired of it, either.” Lance smiled, too. “It’s a good joke.” “It’s a silly joke. He loved Halloween. He had to work some Halloweens, but sometimes, he had it off. And he would always dress us up in these strange, elaborate costumes. And when he took us around for the trick-or-treating, he would always make us perform a trick first before we were allowed to get candy. Magic tricks, in fact.” “Magic? Like what?” Jakob leaned forward and touched Lance’s ear. Something silver glinted in the apartment’s dim light. “I found a quarter. There were card tricks, too. He was going to teach me the cup and ball trick, but…” “How did he know all those magic tricks?” Lance asked. “He would never tell us. It was part of the mystique, you know? He also loved April Fool’s Day. Most people are happy to replace the sugar with salt, or something like that. One year, he had us absolutely convinced the aliens were coming.” Lance arched his brow. “Space aliens?” “Honest-to-God space aliens. We were standing on the roof, waiting for the flying saucer, with signs. My mom just about lost it. She ultimately excused herself to the

bedroom, claiming she had a headache. Dad tried to talk her out with us, and we were frantic trying to convince her. What if the aliens took us and left her behind?” “Were you disappointed when the aliens didn’t show up?” Jakob shook his head. “No. We spent almost all night on the roof, watching the sky. Mom brought us ice cream. Dad told us stories about what the alien planets must be like. We…we all sat with him, blankets wrapped around us, and he just told us stories until we fell asleep.” “That sounds nice.” “It was…it was really nice.” “He told stories. Is he the reason you’re a writer?” “Yeah, partially. Mom probably had a hand in it, too. She always carries a notebook with her to write down ideas, and lines that come to her, and titles. But with three small kids…she never had the chance to do anything about it. But she always bought me notebooks and books, and anything else I ever needed. I remember scribbling in those things. I don’t think I was even making words, and as soon as Dad stepped through the door, no matter how tired he was after his shift, I would run and show him. And he’d read them.” Jakob paused and swallowed. His blue eyes were swimming. “Every single nonword.” “Jakob…we don’t have to keep talking about this if you don’t want to. I didn’t…this isn’t quite how I meant for this night to go.” “Do you mind if I want to keep talking about it? I’ve never…I’ve never said any of this to anybody before. And you’re a good listener.” “Oh, God, of course I don’t mind. I just don’t want to put you through…anything too heavy.” “No…talking about it isn’t any more painful than living with it.” Jakob took a deep breath. “I was eating cookies that day. I had grabbed the whole bag when I got home, and I sat down on the couch with a huge glass of milk. It’s weird what your memory holds on to, isn’t it? I can still remember eating those damned Oreos. Mom came into the room, and I was licking the cream out of one, you know, and she told me…Dad wasn’t coming home. And I needed to help her with the girls.” “I’m so sorry, Jake. I can’t imagine…I can’t even imagine what that must have felt like.” “I can’t do that again, Lance. And I know you didn’t come up here tonight because you were planning to spend the rest of your life with me, or anything. But it’s…it’s still…” “Scary. Yeah. I get that.” “And now I’ve completely bummed you out and ruined your night…” “You didn’t ruin my night. I did ask, right? But the night doesn’t have to be over. Why don’t we…watch a movie or something?” “You want to stay?” “Honestly? I don’t think I want to leave you alone right now.” “I’m not going to do anything…rash.” “I know. But it’s not very gentlemanly.” “You’re a gentleman?” “Of course I am. I’m not making any more moves on you, right?” “Not yet. What if this movie watching thing is just a ploy?”

Lance smiled. “It’s not a ploy. But if it makes you feel better, there’s an invisible wall down the center of the couch. You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.” Jakob tilted his head, considering the proposal for a moment before answering. “Okay. But I don’t have any DVDs, so we’ll just have to watch whatever’s on television.” Lance nodded. That was fine with him. He didn’t plan on watching the movie, anyway. He just wanted to keep an eye on Jakob and maybe try to sort through all the knotted feelings that made his chest ache. Jakob curled up on his end of the sofa, tucking his feet under him and leaning against the arm. Lance itched to touch him, but he distracted himself by picking at the threads that stuck up from the old material. Jakob turned on his small television and flipped through the channels, pausing for seconds on each station before moving on to the next one. “Wait, wait. What’s that?” Lance asked. “What’s what? Oh, I think this is Leonard Part 6.” “It’s just starting. We should watch it,” Lance said. “You’ve never seen it before.” “How do you know?” “Because anybody who’s seen this movie once doesn’t have any reason to watch it a second time.” “Is it really that bad?” “Think of the worst movie you’ve ever seen. It’s worse than that.” “It can’t be worse than Plan 9 From Outer Space.” “It is. At least you get the sense that Ed Wood was trying to make something original and worthwhile. He failed, but he gets points for effort. But Bill Cosby? He had no excuse.” “You do realize that you just sold me on the idea of watching it, don’t you? I love bad movies. Though most of my friends think that’s just because I have bad taste.” “Fine, but I’m warning you, if we watch it and you like it, I won’t be able to respect you anymore.” Lance grinned. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” “Fair enough.” Leonard Part 6 was worse than Lance expected. It was worse than anything Lance had ever experienced. He wanted to yank the remote from Jakob’s hand and turn the damned thing off, but he didn’t want to give Jakob any reason to kick him out. At the moment when Bill Cosby began dancing ballet in order to kill strange men dressed as birds—or maybe they were birds—Lance wanted to shout, “Are you fucking kidding me?” Soon after that, Jakob’s head began to nod forward. Moving slowly, Lance slid over on the cushion. Jakob didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. But when his body listed to the right, Lance was there to catch him. The movie ended and some Chuck Norris film began, but Lance didn’t push Jakob away, or try to turn off the television. He just sat there, listening to Jakob breathe, and wondering if his dreams were as haunted as his waking hours. ****

Jakob woke up with a kink in his neck, a knot in his back, and the taste of a kiss lingering on his lips. He immediately reached for Lance, but he was alone on the couch. The television was still on, softly playing colorful, bright, perky Saturday morning cartoons. Jakob licked his lips, but his tongue was dry, and his face felt tight and cracked. He needed a hot shower, and a cold drink, and some food wouldn’t hurt, either. A white scrap of paper on the couch caught his attention. He brought it up to his face, trying to force his blurry eyes to focus on the words scrawled across the page. Jakob, I wish I could have stayed for breakfast, but I had to get to work. I hope we can see each other again. Maybe we can get together and watch more bad movies?—Lance. Jakob couldn’t stop his smile. He had been in Los Angeles for four years, and in all that time, he had never met anybody like Lance. He knew men as attractive as Lance, but none of them made Jakob laugh. And he knew people as funny as Lance, but they never made Jakob’s heart race. He knew dozens of people who would go with him to poetry readings, and they would even participate, but none of those other men ever watched Jakob like Lance had the night before. They never looked at Jakob like they were really seeing him. Jakob shut off the television and made his way into his small bathroom. It was right below where the roof tilted, and he had to duck low to comfortably fit into the space. The reflection in the mirror was normal. Perfectly normal. His beard had a night’s growth, and his hair was mussed, but otherwise, he looked himself. He didn’t feel himself. He couldn’t forget the way Lance’s mouth felt against his, or the weight of his body, or the soft smell of his laundry detergent, still clinging to his clothes. They should have slept together. Jakob would have fucked him, if he just liked him a little less. If Lance’s smile was a little less engaging. If Jakob’s heart didn’t twist every time he looked in Lance’s brown eyes, he would have slept with him. If he thought, for one second, he could have a simple one-night stand with Lance, would have fucked him on the couch, on the floor, and against the wall. Jakob recognized a one-night stand when he saw one, and Lance wasn’t one. Lance was an addiction. And Lance seemed to really like him. As soon as they kissed, Jakob realized his mistake. Pushing Lance away was the only way to rectify his mistake. He should have kept pushing. He should have sent Lance right out the door, but he hadn’t. They didn’t have any plans to see each other again, and Jakob could find a new place to sing. There were plenty of coffee shops around Los Angeles, after all. He liked his spot outside Café Muse. Cyn always gave him free coffee, the regulars knew him and always made requests and offered tips in return, and the surrounding buildings protected him from direct sunlight for most of the day. But if he stood out there, Lance would find him again. And if he stood there, and Lance didn’t find him again, he would be disappointed instead of relieved. Jakob splashed his face with cold water, but that did nothing to distract his mind from Lance. He continued with his morning routine—brushing his teeth, checking the length of his beard, combing his hair. He searched for the perfect pair of pants, not willing to admit to himself that he was looking for clothes Lance would appreciate. Though Lance had mentioned the suspicion of being homeless in jest, it had still stung. Even though it was a natural assumption. And, to be fair, he only lived a step or two above homelessness. But he didn’t want Lance to think he was some sort of head case, or that he needed

anybody’s charity. He made enough money busking to pay what small bills he had, and he paid rent out of the savings account his father had set up for him before he was born. That money had been meant for college, but Jakob only made it one semester in school before dropping out. The counselor he saw at the time said it was anxiety. He didn’t know how to process anxiety in a healthy way, and as a result, everything overwhelmed him. Jakob was sure that was true, but he wasn’t interested in wasting more time and money in school. So he’d convinced his mother to sign the savings account over to him, and gone to find his way in California. Maybe he was thinking about Lance too much. If he saw the other man again, he would play it by ear. If Lance thought he was nothing than a waste of time, Jakob wouldn’t begrudge him that. After all, he had flirted with Lance, and bought him coffee, and basically asked him on a date, and invited him up to his apartment. He had sent so many signals, a blind man would have seen them. And then he had shut Lance down cold. Who wanted to spend time with somebody like that? Who needed that sort of hassle in his life? Probably not a man as busy as Lance. Especially since Lance had only gone to the poetry reading so he could impress Jakob. And he had stayed for the whole thing without complaint. He had clearly expected to get something out of the experience. Something besides staying up until the wee hours of the morning watching Leonard Part 6 on a lumpy couch. Jakob let himself out of the house and hesitated once he stepped on the sidewalk. After a few moments, he turned right. Toward Café Muse. And he promised himself he wouldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t see Lance.

Chapter Four Lance leaned against the wall, one foot resting behind him, his fingers hooked in his pocket, dark glasses protecting his eyes from the ruthless sun. From where he stood, he could easily see and hear Jakob, but Jakob couldn’t see him. Lance wasn’t trying to stalk or spy on the man—though he didn’t think it was possible to do either to a street performer—but he had been caught by the music he heard from at the other end of the block. Jakob had insisted he only played because he couldn’t read poetry, but his voice was amazing. It was a little bit higher than Lance would have expected, and occasionally, his words lifted into a high falsetto that shouldn’t be possible. The crowd shifted, people coming and going, but there was always a handful of people gathered around him. Every time somebody dropped money in the open guitar case, he smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, without missing a single beat. Lance wondered if he had regular listeners. Was Jakob the highlight of somebody’s day? Did they look forward to seeing him in the morning on their way to work, or pausing to listen to him at lunch? He was quickly becoming the highlight of Lance’s day. The few times he stood near Jakob to listen, he seemed to distract the man. So when he wanted to hear an entire song uninterrupted, he lingered, leaning against the wall, letting the sound wash over him. How could a person as talented as Jakob not have a record deal? Or at least a regular gig? How could Jakob be reduced to playing the sidewalk outside a coffee shop? Lance couldn’t figure it out. Once the song ended and Jakob’s small group of fans broke into a light applause, Lance straightened and sauntered down the street. He always tried to look casual, like he was just going about his business, and had no idea that he would run into Jakob. He didn’t know how well he pulled off the look, though. Especially since his entire body flared hot as soon as Jakob caught his eye and smiled in greeting. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d be late today,” Jakob said. “Am I ever late?” “No. You’re remarkably punctual, given we never actually have plans to meet.” Lance frowned. “Am I annoying you?” “No. No, I didn’t mean to sound like that. I’m actually really happy you’re so punctual. And a little surprised.” “Why surprised? A person’s got to have coffee, right? Besides, I really like their house blend.” Jakob smiled and lifted the guitar strap from his shoulder. “Oh, I see what’s happening here. You’re just using me as an excuse to get your coffee.” “Well, I can’t be seen in a place like this by myself.” “Of course not. Your reputation would never recover.” “That’s exactly what I’m thinking. But to make up for using you so ruthlessly, I’ll buy today.” “Why do you insist on buying every day? I don’t mind picking up the tab once in awhile.” “Because I’m the one imposing on you,” Lance said, holding the door open to allow

Jakob to pass. “You’re not an imposition.” Every time Jakob said something like that, hope surged in Lance’s chest. He knew Jakob was serious about being nothing more than friends. Despite the attraction simmering between them, that he knew Jakob felt, nothing more had happened. Lance had dropped several clues, and offered several openings, but Jakob ignored them all. Lance supposed he should stop torturing himself. It didn’t actually help him to sit across from Jakob and study his blue eyes and remember the way his lips had tasted. It made everything a thousand times worse, every single day, but Lance was embracing his masochistic side. “I actually have a proposition for you,” Lance said, once they were seated with their usual drinks at their usual table. He watched Jakob lift the cup to his mouth, remembering what it felt like to have the short whiskers of Jakob’s mustache brush across his own lips. “If movies have taught me anything, that’s never a good way to open a conversation.” “It’s more of an invitation.” “Does money exchange hands at any point?” “Yes.” “Then it’s probably a proposition.” “But it’s not a sexual invitation.” The corner of Jakob’s mouth lifted. “I never said it was.” “I just wanted to be clear on that.” “I understand. Actually, you’ve been great this week. No come-ons, and you’ve kept your staring to a minimum.” Lance stopped. “You notice when I’m staring at you?” “Yeah. But only when I’m staring at you.” “I never notice you staring at me.” “I try to be discreet. With all due respect, you’re not really the subtle type.” “I can work on that, if you’d like.” Jakob’s smile faded a bit. “This is why I don’t think we should keep meeting like this, Lance.” “What? We’re just two friends, having some coffee, and enjoying the day.” “I don’t think we’re just friends, Lance. Do you regularly check out your friends? And flirt with them?” Lance looked up to the ceiling, considering Jakob’s question. “Honestly? Yeah, with a few of them. Though to be fair, they’re people I’ve already slept with. Look, if I’m bothering you when I come around, I’ll stop.” “No,” Jakob said quickly. “No, I don’t want that. I’m just not sure what I do want.” “This conversation is getting a little far from where I started. Let’s back up a bit. Do you want to hear my invitation?” “I’d love to.” “Okay, my friend Charles always gets a hold of a really nice house up in the Hills and hosts a huge Fourth of July party. He invites just about every person he’s ever met, and considering his father is a pretty well-known movie producer, that’s a lot of people. He also always hires a few bands. And I convinced him he needed to hire you.” Jakob cocked his eyebrow. “Even though he’s never heard me play, and for all he

knows, I suck?” “Yes. He trusts me.” Which wasn’t quite the truth. Charles would probably milk the situation for the next decade. Lance could already hear him. Hey, remember when I let your non-boyfriend play my party? Give me a ride to the airport. He didn’t care, though. It was more than worth it. “And I think it would be good for you.” “Good for me?” “Yeah. It’s good money.” Another favor. Charles asked if he could get Jakob for free. Lance told him if he tried to fuck Jakob out of the money, there’d be hell to pay. “And there are some, you know, important people there.” “You don’t have to try to buy me.” Lance blinked. “I’m not trying to buy you. I think you’re really good, and I want other people to know how good you are.” “How do you know I’m really good? I’ve never played for you.” Lance rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve listened to you. I just make sure you can’t see me. So I don’t distract you.” “You spy on me?” “Why are you bound and determined to turn everything I say into something creepy? I’m not trying to buy you. I’m not spying on you. I just wanted to do something nice for a friend of mine. But fuck me for trying, right?” Lance stood as he spoke, but Jakob reached out and took his hand. His skin was hot from the coffee, his fingers as rough as Lance remembered. The touch sent an electric shock to his spine, and he forgot his annoyance. Especially when Jakob looked up at him with his baby blues. Lance expected Jakob to release him, but he lingered, his touch branding Lance’s skin. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. I don’t want you to go.” Ruffled feathers smoothed over, Lance returned to his seat, but he was sorry to lose the contact with Jakob. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. But I don’t spy on you. I just wait around the corner until you stop playing. I like to listen to you.” “Thank you.” “And I’d like it if you played Charles’ party.” “I will.” Lance smiled. “Really?” “Yes. It was nice of you to think of me. And hey, I like money.” “Money is always nice to have,” Lance agreed. “I can pick you up that morning, if you like. I always help Charles set things up. It might be easier than paying to take a taxi up or something.” “You think we should spend the whole day with each other?” “Sure. Unless you’re worried about something?” Jakob shook his head. “Nope, not worried. It’ll be fun.” Lance tapped his temple and pointed at Jakob. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. We’re on the same wavelength here.” “Sometimes, Lance, I think that might be the problem.” Lance nodded. He thought that might be the problem, too.

Chapter Five Independence Day dawned bright and hot, and the temperature only increased as the day wore on. Jakob was grateful he chose to wear a baggy T-shirt and loose shorts, grateful for the shade above the special stage Charles had built by the pool, and grateful for the cooler full of what seemed to be an endless supply of icy beer. Jakob decided he needed to focus on the positive aspects of the party; otherwise, he was going to be in for a very long, hot day. Jakob had never seen Lance like this. He was sweet and a little bit unsure of himself every time he stepped into Café Muse, but he was a completely different person when he felt in his element. He laughed easily with his friends, moving from group to group, his attention occasionally drifting to where Jakob sat. Alone. Jake had insisted he was fine. He needed to tune his guitar, and he told Lance he liked to sit by himself and concentrate before playing for a large group of people. Lance, eager to demonstrate that he respected Jakob’s boundaries, was happy to leave him in peace. Jakob itched to leave altogether, but since he had accepted a ride from Lance, he was stuck until the end of the night. He had no doubt Lance would drop everything and take him home—or anywhere else he wanted to go—if Jakob said the word, but he didn’t want to take Lance away from his friends. He seemed so relaxed. So happy. Everybody in the backyard seemed relaxed and happy. Children shouted and splashed in the pool, carefree with plastic floaties on their arms. Jakob could tell at a glance which of the guests were firefighters. A few helpfully wore T-shirts, like the one Lance had worn the day they met, but the rest of them just had a certain look that Jakob couldn’t put his finger on, but always recognized. He sat in his corner, strumming at his guitar absently, feeling completely out of place and wondering just what the fuck he had been thinking. He had been sorry for offending Lance, and honestly, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to spend time with the other man. Even though every time they were within touching distance, Jakob found a new temptation. It wasn’t enough to think about the shape of his mouth, or the way he tasted, or the rich color of his eyes. Jakob had to obsess over the mole on Lance’s neck, and the fact that his earlobes were attached, and the tiny strands of hair above the bridge of his nose. Lance seemed to spend most of his time with the host of the party, Charles Hill. Much to Jakob’s annoyance, Charles was a very good-looking man. He and Lance had a certain level of familiarity and comfort with each other that could only mean the two of them were more than just friends. Occasionally, it seemed like they laughed a little too much, or touched each other for a little too long, and jealousy wound through him like a long, green snake. Jakob hated himself for that. He had no right to be jealous. He wouldn’t even let Lance touch him. They were just friends. But it still felt a little like a slap in the face. Which just meant Jakob should do the smart thing and end whatever they were doing before it got out of hand. A pained scream startled Jakob from his thoughts, and he jumped to his feet, automatically searching for the source of the sound. A little girl knelt on the edge of the pool, blood running down her face from a cut above her eye. Every adult in the yard

immediately sprang to attention, but there was only one man—obviously her father—who rushed toward her. Jakob watched as he scooped her up and made the appropriate comforting sounds, magically producing a rag to hold against her head. She snuggled into his arms and the tears dried almost as quickly as they began, her face reflecting perfect confidence in her safety. As he carried her away, the din of the party returned, and Jakob settled in his chair, a guitar on his leg, a vague, worried knot in his throat. The knot didn’t fade. Not even when Charles jumped on the stage and announced Jakob to a smattering of polite applause. Most of the people had their back to the stage, and they didn’t even notice as he sat on the stool in front of the microphone. Jakob didn’t mind. He did mind the fact Lance was watching him with the sort of rapt intention that implied he never planned to look away. As soon as Jakob made eye contact with him, butterflies amassed in his stomach and fluttered up to his throat. Lance smiled—maybe in encouragement—and the butterflies only moved faster. He was so beautiful that looking at him made Jakob feel stupid. His brain just completely shut down. He considered saying a few words and introducing the song, but it would be better for his nerves to launch into the song. After all, he never took the time to introduce the songs when he was playing on some street corner. Jakob didn’t think he had any tunes appropriate for an extravagant backyard barbecue, and he’d tried to tell Charles as much, giving him one more chance to change his mind. Charles hadn’t cared about his protests. Or maybe Charles hadn’t been listening to him. The other man barely shook his hand when they met, and didn’t have more than two or three words to say to him for the whole party. Was he jealous? Or was he still convinced Jakob was some sort of bum? Jake just wasn’t sure. He couldn’t look at Lance as he sang. He concentrated on the tree tops, noting the way the leaves and limbs slashed across the clear blue sky, cutting new shapes against the perfect backdrop. Midway through the first song, the butterflies faded away, but he still didn’t look at the guests. He slid into the second song without pause, letting his fingers move like they had minds of their own. He had decided to start with some standards for events like this—some Beatles, a variety of pop classics from the sixties and seventies, and a few of his own personal favorites, though they were more obscure. He didn’t know many covers, though, so he hoped there wouldn’t be any requests. As the final notes of the second song floated around him, the entire party broke into loud applause. He blinked, finally forcing himself to focus on them once again. His gaze immediately fell on Lance, who was beaming. Jakob tentatively smiled back, unbelievably pleased by the way Lance smiled just for him. Jakob relaxed after that, feeling more at ease with every song. When he ran out of the cover songs and segued into his own compositions, nobody missed a beat or seemed put out. The sun sunk lower behind him, casting the yard in longer and longer shadows, and offering a bit of relief from the stifling heat. An occasional breeze tickled the back of his neck, cooling him further, and the bonfire Charles started on the other side of the yard popped and clicked in time with the music. The herd of children, exhausted from their afternoon of playing in the sun and soothed by Jakob’s voice, disappeared into the house or stretched out on blankets on the lawn. Jakob felt like he could play all night. Especially when Lance looked at him with some sense of pride, or awe, or just… Jakob’s mind skittered away from finishing that thought. Lance wasn’t exactly an open book. He couldn’t trust himself to read a man he barely knew—and even after

spending nearly three weeks talking to him every day over coffee, he still barely knew Lance. What he saw on Lance’s face was just a trick of the light. A trick of his own mind. But he couldn’t deny the way Lance focused on him for the entire performance, watching him raptly, smiling occasionally. Jakob had said the problem was that he and Lance was on the same wavelength. Jakob thought maybe the real problem was the way Lance made him feel like the center of his universe. Lance was waiting for him when Jakob stepped off the small stage. He slapped Jakob on the shoulder, and his hand lingered there. Anybody else would have seen nothing more than a friendly touch. “Please tell me you’re not going to spend the rest of the night hiding in the corner,” Lance said. “Not the rest of the night, no. I need a drink.” “Beer?” Jakob nodded. Lance’s hand was still on his shoulder. Firm and warm, and it felt right. Which was just another reason to step away, to break contact. “That sounds great.” “I made sure Charles saved the best steak for you, too.” “Really?” “Well, it’s a good steak.” Lance smiled. “It’s an okay steak.” “I’m so hungry right now, I think I would accept a low-grade steak.” “I’m glad to hear that. Come on.” As soon as they stepped away from the stage, people swarmed them. Lance happily made the introductions, though Jakob couldn’t remember anybody’s name. He shook their hands with pleasure, he thanked them for their compliments, he apologized that he didn’t have an album released, and he didn’t mention that Lance found him on the street outside of Café Muse. Not because he was ashamed of where Lance found him, but because he wanted to eat. “I think you’ve just made a lot of new fans,” Lance said, once they were at the buffet table. It contained more than just steak. In fact, Jakob couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a spread like that. He certainly couldn’t remember the last time there had been so much food in one place. “Including you?” “Well, I’m not a new fan at all.” They came to a stop at the end of a long picnic table, and Lance handed him a plate. “I’ve always been a fan of yours.” “And by always, do you mean the past three weeks?” “It seems like longer than that.” Jakob was sure everything on the table was delicious, but he picked at the food without really seeing it. “Could you tell I was a bit nervous on stage?” “Not on stage. But I kind of got a clue when you were hiding in the corner.” “I wasn’t hiding. I told you.” Jakob’s hand hovered over the fruit salad before bypassing it. “I was preparing.” “You looked a little like a nutcase.” Jakob grimaced. “Really?” “Don’t worry. It adds to your mystique as a moody artist.” “I’m not that moody.” “I thought you didn’t get nervous on stage?” Lance asked as Jakob spooned

macaroni salad onto his plate. “Only when you’re watching me.” Lance shook his head. “I don’t get that.” “I don’t, either.” “Come on. There’s a blanket over by the fire with our names on it.” Jakob followed him without protest, and was only a little shocked to see that the folded blanket on the ground did actually have a sign with Lance’s name on it. Jakob lowered himself to it carefully, expecting the bonfire to be far too hot in the summer night. But it actually felt pleasant, and he liked the color of Lance’s eyes in the firelight. “Hey, man, that was awesome.” Jakob didn’t have the chance to respond before Charles joined them on the blanket, throwing himself to the ground and slapping Jakob on the back. “I’m sorry I doubted you, but Lance has shit taste in music.” “Yeah, my taste’s so bad, you had to steal half of my CDs,” Lance said wryly. “You want them back? You know where to find them.” Charles picked a chip off the plate Lance made for himself, and shifted his attention back to Jakob. “Is there any way you could play an encore a little later? Maybe after all the fireworks? I’ll be happy to pay you extra.” “Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem. Does this party tend to go that long?” “Oh, yeah. We keep things rolling until dawn around here, don’t we, Lance?” “We’ve been known to serve breakfast to a few people.” Lance said it so casually that understanding struck Jakob like a bolt of lightning. This might be Charles’s party now, but in the past it had been Charles and Lance’s party. How long ago had that been? When did the party become the sole property of Charles Hill? And why was this bothering him so much? “After the fireworks, everybody with kids goes home, and the real fun can start,” Charles added. “You’re going to stick around for that?” Jakob glanced over to Lance. “Yeah. Sure. I guess I’m sticking around as long as Lance is.” “Great. I’m gonna go mingle,” he said, before pushing himself to his feet. As he walked by Lance, he casually ruffled his hair, like he regularly touched and pawed at Lance. “So…what’s the deal with the two of you?” Jakob asked, once Charles was on the other side of the yard. “We’re just friends.” “Really?” “Well, we’re just friends now. We used to be more.” “You used to sleep together?” Jakob asked. “Yes.” “Was he your boyfriend?” “I…I don’t know. I guess so.” “You still sleep together?” “I…” “It’s okay,” Jakob said quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.” “Sometimes. When we both have to blow off some steam.” “Have you had to blow off any steam lately?” “Have I needed to? Definitely. Have I done anything about it? Definitely not.” Lance

popped a pretzel in his mouth. “You jealous?” “No.” “It sounds like you’re jealous.” “I’m not jealous.” “If you say so.” Jakob set his plate down and turned to face Lance. “I’m not jealous of your friend.” “Oh?” Lance leaned closer and lowered his voice. “What if I told you I kissed him yesterday?” Jakob’s jaw dropped. “I would…Did you really?” Lance’s smile was unrepentantly amused. “No. But now I’m convinced that you’re definitely jealous. There’s no reason to be, you know.” “Why?” Jakob pushed his food around his plate, his appetite suddenly gone. “Because I’m not your boyfriend, and it’s none of my concern who you do or don’t kiss?” “No.” Lance leaned closer. “Because I haven’t even been able to look at another guy since I met you.” “Lance…” Jakob wanted to tell him to stop, but the words wouldn’t come. The din of the party faded away to nothing, and he was more than a little entranced by the reflection of warm fire in Lance’s eyes. “What?” “Don’t.” “But I want to.” He brushed Jakob’s cheek with his knuckles. “Do you have any idea how amazing you look on that stage? You come to life when you’re performing. I can’t keep my eyes off you.” “I tried to keep my eyes off you,” Jakob admitted, leaning into Lance’s touch. He couldn’t help it. It felt like he had been waiting for his entire life. “I think I stared at you the entire time I was playing.” “I noticed. I was hoping you weren’t just nervous.” “You make me nervous. My palms are sweaty now. My lips are numb.” “Why?” “Because I’m scared you’re going to do this. I’m scared I’ll want you to.” Lance tilted his head closer. “Turns out, your fears were justified. Because I’m going to do this, and I know you want me to.” “Yeah.” Jakob didn’t know if he was agreeing with Lance, or giving his permission, or simply trying to keep his mouth occupied. He parted his lips, knowing it was an invitation, but feeling powerless to do anything except wait for the familiar texture of Lance’s skin. And he wasn’t disappointed. Lance sighed, and caught his mouth in a slow, tentative kiss. The contact was so light, Jakob could break it. All he had to do was turn his head, and the kiss would be over. He could push at Lance’s shoulder, and it would all end. Lance didn’t press for more contact, either. He just teased Jakob’s lips, the tip of his tongue occasionally darting out to sample the sweat gathering on his skin. Though the caress was almost chaste, Jakob’s entire body responded. His cock swelled, the tender skin pressing against his fly. His heart lodged in his throat, throbbing there. A part of him ached. Another part of him just felt giddy, like he had never kissed Lance before. Like Lance had been so far out of his reach, even though he had been

within touching distance for the past three weeks, waiting for Jakob to reach out to him. At that moment, Jakob couldn’t remember why he hadn’t. Why he had insisted on torturing them both. “We…Lance…we should…” Stop. Or go home. Or keep going. Jakob didn’t know. “Should we not do this here?” “We’re fine.” “But everybody…” “I don’t care.” Lance kissed Jakob’s neck. And his throat. He pressed his lips to Jakob’s pulse. He nibbled gently at Jakob’s skin, pulling it between his teeth in sweet, little bites. They didn’t hurt. They were just another layer of sensation. “I really don’t care. You ever just neck like this?” “No.” “Too bad.” Each word was formed against Jakob’s skin, like Lance could never consider lifting his head. Not even to speak. “It’s a lot of fun.” “Even in public?” Lance chuckled, his breath warm, the sound seeping into Jakob’s skin. “Why are you so worried about it? Nothing’s going to happen.” “I’m worried because I don’t want…your friends…to…to…” “My friends already know I’m gay, Jakob.” Lance lifted his head, and put his hand flat against Jakob’s chest. Jake allowed himself to be pushed backwards, and the stars seemed to explode over his head. It had been so long since he’d seen stars that, at first, he didn’t know what to make of them. “Do you always worry so much?” “I…do you want the truth?” Lance stretched out beside him and dragged his fingers up and down Jakob’s chest. He propped himself up on his other arm, his mouth hovering above Jakob’s face. “Of course, I do. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.” “Yes.” Lance lowered his head, kissing along the line of Jakob’s jaw, unmindful of his beard. “Really?” Jakob tilted his head back, allowing Lance to continue. “Yeah.” “Is that why I make you nervous?” “Yes.” “And why you won’t date me?” “You know it is.” Lance pushed his hand under Jakob’s shirt, resting his palm on Jakob’s flat stomach. Jakob’s skin twitched at the touch. It had been so very long since he let anybody else touch him. “But I don’t want to talk anymore.” “Fair enough,” Lance murmured, before claiming Jakob’s mouth. Jakob heard the first distant crack of fireworks as Lance’s lips touched his, and it made him smile. He thought of asking if Lance saw fireworks, too, but Jakob didn’t want to break the contact just for a corny joke. Especially since Jakob suspected that Lance did see fireworks, too. He wrapped his arm around Lance, kept his eyes tightly closed, and let himself forget about everything besides Lance’s solid body. Lance truly was an amazing kisser. His mouth played over Jakob’s, drawing out low moans, tormenting him in all the right ways. Every time Lance’s tongue slipped into his mouth, he shivered with delight. Despite the heat of the night, the heat of the fire, and the

heat of Lance’s body, goose bumps erupted down Jakob’s spine. Everything was warm and cold, hard and soft, light and dark. The fireworks began in earnest, exploding all around them in blue and red and gold and green sparks. Occasionally, Jakob opened his eyes and watched the colors above Lance’s head. Lance shifted, rocking his hips and grinding his erection against Jakob’s thighs. It was too easy to imagine tearing Lance’s clothes off and letting him do what he wanted—what they both wanted. Would it be so bad to go home with Lance? “God, I love the way you taste.” Lance covered his face with small kisses. “And the way you smell. I want to feel you, Jake.” “Okay.” Lance lifted his head just as a magnificent firework exploded behind him, illuminating his face, and revealing his surprise. “Really?” “Yes.” “You’re sure.” “Yes, though not here.” “No, no of course not. After the fireworks…” Lance pressed a hard kiss to his lips, his tongue invading Jakob’s mouth. There was nothing slow or tentative about Lance now. His whole body seemed to vibrate with barely restrained need, and Jakob had to admit that nobody had ever wanted him as much as Lance seemed to. And it was addictive. The more Jakob sensed from Lance, the more he wanted. It was all he could do to stop himself from clawing at Lance’s clothes. He wanted to beg for more beneath the steady roar of fireworks. “Back at your place?” Jakob asked, when Lance finally gave him a chance to catch his breath. “Yes.” “You have to work tomorrow?” Lance reached between their bodies, his fingers seeking out Jakob’s erection. His cock jumped, straining for actual contact. He knew as sure as he knew his name that as soon Lance actually touched him, he would lose it. He would completely lose his mind. He was already close, just from the magic of Lance’s mouth and the satisfying sensation of Lance’s weight pinning him to the ground. “No. You going to keep me company?” “I’ll even make you dinner.” Lance smiled. “You think I’m going to let you out of bed?” “Are you going to keep me prisoner?” “I might. I can’t risk you escaping, right? Not once I’ve finally caught you.” Jakob kissed Lance’s chin, smiling at the trace hint of stubble against his lips. “So I was right. This was all an elaborate trap.” “It might have been part of an evil plan. Not that I’m the type to have evil plans.” “Oh, of course not. You’re far too innocent for that sort of thing.” “Hey, guys?” Charles’s voice drifted over them. “Lance?” “Go away. Can’t you see I’m busy?” “We just got a call from Chief.” Lance tensed and pushed himself into a kneeling position. “What is it?” “He wasn’t clear on the details, but Steve Knight was admitted to the USC University Hospital with major burns.”

That brought Lance to his feet. “Have you told anybody else yet?” “No. I thought you’d want to be the first to know.” Jakob stood as well, his legs numb, his pulse pounding. He didn’t recognize the names, but he did recognize the fear and worry on Lance’s face. And the lack of surprise. Because, of course, he had received calls like this before. Calls about friends and colleagues. Calls about people who had been rushed to the hospital, and others who had never made it as far as the emergency room. “Okay. I’m going to go right now. I don’t think it’s necessary to tell everybody else yet. Not until we have more information on their status.” Charles nodded. “I’ll stay. You call me with updates?” “Yeah.” Lance turned to Jakob. “I’m sorry. I can take you home first…” “No. I’ll stay with you.” “You don’t have to do that.” Jakob didn’t know if Charles could see the fear in Lance’s eyes, but it was all Jakob could see. And he knew he couldn’t leave Lance to wait by himself. “I know. But I want to stay with you.” Lance studied him for a moment, and Jakob didn’t look away. He wasn’t sure what Lance was looking for, but he must have found it, because he nodded. “Go get your guitar. I’ll meet you out front.” A large part of Jakob just wanted to go home. And he could admit as much to himself. But he would never tell Lance that. Not as long as Lance needed him.

Chapter Six Fireworks. Every goddamned year, some dolt blew off his fingers, or started a small fire. Or started a large fire and burned down half the block. Lance wished the governor would implement a statewide ban, though he knew that probably wouldn’t do any good. The real troublemakers would get their grubby little paws on the small explosives, regardless of the legality. But if they had been illegal, maybe they wouldn’t have been sitting in that kid’s bedroom. And they wouldn’t have been in the path of the fire. They wouldn’t have exploded in the faces of Steven Knight and Paul Martin. “Why’d Charles tell you instead of anybody else?” Jakob asked softly, his voice loud anyway in the still waiting room. “I went to high school with Steve. I’m the reason…well, I’m one of the reasons he decided to be a fireman.” Jakob took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. He didn’t try to offer any meaningless words. He didn’t say everything was going to be okay. Lance was grateful for that. He didn’t think words that neither of them believed would help him. “What’s he like?” “Steve? He’s a great guy. We met because we were both on the football team. We were both little third-string runts.” “You were a runt? I don’t believe it.” “Oh, believe it. I didn’t even want to play football. I was going to quit after the first week of practice. I puked my guts out behind the bleachers, and it just didn’t seem worth it. I mean, why should I run until I wanted to die just so I could watch the games from the team bench?” “Seems like a perfectly reasonable question to me.” “Not to Steve. When I told him I wanted to quit, he was furious. He told me if I had a really good reason, I could walk away. But if I was just being a little wussy, then I needed to drop a pair and get over it.” Jakob snorted. “He sounds like an inspirational guy.” “He is. He got my ass back out there on the field. He woke me up every morning at five and made me run three miles with him. By the end of my freshman year, I was still third string, but I had gained two inches of muscle and I could run five miles without puking.” “I don’t think I could even do a half mile without passing out.” Lance knew Jakob was trying to pull some smile out of him, but it wasn’t going to work. Everything was starting to hurt too much. “We were pretty inseparable after that. We played football, basketball, and baseball. When we graduated, I encouraged him to prepare for the competency exam. I told him I needed him to keep me focused on the prize. He agreed…grudgingly. Of course, by the time we were finished and began our probation period with the station, he loved it.” “It sounds like Steve’s a good friend.” “The best. If our positions were reversed, he would be sitting right here. All night and all of tomorrow, if he had to.” Lance looked up in time to see Jakob wince. “Sorry.” “No, it’s fine.”

“Thank you, you know, for being here.” “It’s not a problem.” Lance nodded, though he didn’t believe Jakob. Mainly because all the blood had drained from his face. He didn’t just look pale—he looked gray. And Jakob didn’t even know Steve. What would he do if he ever had to wait for Lance? Would it just be cruel to ask that of him? Would it just be cruel to make him lie awake at nights, wondering if Lance was safe? Wondering if Lance would come home, or if that would be the night that Lance didn’t come back? “I still appreciate it.” “I wish I could do more,” Jakob murmured. “I wish I could promise you everything was going to be all right. I wish I could tell you…I wish I knew.” “I know. I’m just glad I don’t have to be here alone. I don’t do great by myself.” “That’s funny. That’s when I tend to be all right.” “Really? You’d rather just always be alone?” “Sometimes I think that’d be easiest.” “Sounds depressing to me.” “Only when you know what you’re missing out on.” Lance was about to ask just what Jakob meant by that when a young woman stepped out from behind closed doors and asked for Daria Knight. Lance tensed, but Jakob stopped him from jumping to his feet and joining the family. “She’ll tell you,” Jakob assured him. “Don’t crowd her.” Lance knew he was right, but he still wanted to push Jakob away. Instead, he kept his attention glued on Daria’s face, unsure of what he was looking for—of what he was hoping for. She remained impassive, which, somehow, was worse than tears. Her parents stood on either side of her, their faces stony, their spines straight. Steve’s four-year-old son, Ben, sat on the chair beside his mother, staring up at the adults with unmistakable fear. Why wasn’t anybody holding him? Why wasn’t anybody shielding him? The doctor spoke so softly that Lance had no hope of eavesdropping from his chair. His heart was heavy in his chest. So heavy that Lance didn’t even know if it was still moving. It felt like it had stopped, lodged in place just below his throat. Nothing seemed to work. He wanted to breathe, but he couldn’t. He wanted to move, but he was paralyzed. He wanted to turn back the clock so he could warn Steve—or maybe stop Steve from ever becoming a firefighter. He could have done anything he wanted to do. Who would take care of his wife? Who would take care of his son? “Lance…” Jakob’s gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Yeah?” “Nothing. You were staring.” “At Daria?” “She might have found it unsettling.” “I’m just thinking.” Jakob didn’t push for details, and Lance was grateful for that. Jakob already looked more than a little green around the gills. Heaping his own fears on top of that didn’t seem fair. The doctor finally turned away, leaving Daria looking frozen with shock, her face taut, her eyes wide. Fresh fear clawed at Lance, but he stood and crossed the small waiting room. When she saw him, her eyes flickered, and her mouth moved soundlessly.

“What’s going on? Is Steve okay?” Lance asked. “I…” “He’s going to make it,” Daria’s father said, his arm tight around her shoulder. “He’s stabilized. He’s going to make it.” The terror dissipated immediately, but he bit back his smile, trying to gauge Daria’s reaction. “When can we see him?” “Not tonight,” Daria finally said. “Dr. Reynolds said we should go home…get some sleep. He can have a few visitors tomorrow.” “No. I want…” “Lance?” Jakob had on his elbow stopped him from completing his sentence. “She has a point. You need your sleep.” “He’ll want to see you tomorrow. I know he will,” Daria said. “I’m just…I was so scared…I’m just trying to…” Her entire body crumpled, as though what remained of her strength suddenly deserted her. Her father wrapped his arms around her, holding her tighter, and her face was wet with tears. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I don’t know…” “It’s perfectly understandable,” Jakob said, his voice surprisingly soothing. “You’re still trying to process everything. Maybe you should try to get some rest, too.” “I…” She frowned. “Who are you again?” “This is Jakob. He’s a friend of mine. And he has a point.” “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.” “Mommy?” Ben pulled at Daria’s pants, his eyes still wide with fear. “What’s happening?” She immediately bent to lift her son, and Jakob took advantage of her distraction to pull Lance away from the small group. “I’ll drive you home.” “I just feel a little…numb.” “I know.” “I was so worried…” “I know.” “Shouldn’t I just be happy now? Why don’t I feel more happy?” “Because you’re still trying to process everything, too. Give me your keys.” Lance complied, and allowed Jakob to guide him through the long hospital corridor that led to the parking garage. They didn’t speak, but Lance was still happy for Jakob’s company. They were halfway to his place when Lance realized exactly why he couldn’t make himself be happy. Steve was stabilized, and he would probably live, but what kind of life was he going to have? Fireworks had exploded in his face. Would he even be able to return to work? Would his son recognize him when the bandages were removed? “That kid is so young,” Jakob finally said, as if reading Lance’s thoughts. “Yeah, he is. But he’s strong. Like his dad. He’ll be okay.” “I hope so. Do I take a right here?” “No, the next block.” Jakob nodded. He had been to Lance’s apartment once before. Which, admittedly, had been an attempt to make Jakob forget they were just supposed to be friends. He had been consumed with that desire. And for what? Just because he wanted to get off? Jakob had tried to keep a comfortable distance from Lance’s life, and Lance had done everything except actually respect his wishes. If things had gone a little bit differently tonight, they would have been fucking right about now.

Lance studied Jakob from the corner of his eye. Just what did he want from the other man? Just what had he been looking for? A friendship? A quick fuck? Or a relationship Jakob didn’t even want to have? Maybe at first, he had just been interested in a quick fuck, but if Lance was being perfectly honest with himself, he wanted much more from Jakob. Which would include possibly putting Jakob in Daria’s shoes. “I’ll pay for your cab, if you want to go home,” Lance offered, once they reached his apartment. “Don’t worry about that right now. Come on.” Jakob kept a hold of Lance’s hand as they climbed the stairs to Lance’s second-floor apartment. He wanted to collapse on his couch as soon as he walked through the door, but Jakob pulled him toward the bedroom. “You were serious about me getting some rest?” “Yes.” “I don’t think I can sleep.” “I’m going to make sure you sleep, even if I have to knock you unconscious.” “You’re very strict.” “You have no idea,” Jakob said, gently pushing Lance toward the bed. “Fine, but I sleep naked.” “That doesn’t bother me at all. Unless you’re grotesque under those clothes.” “I’ve been told I’m not too bad.” “By who? Charles?” “There’s that jealousy I was talking about before,” Lance said, pulling his shirt over his head. The pants quickly followed. “I’m not jealous. Just get in bed.” “I like this side of you.” Jakob tilted his head. “The bossy side?” “The jealous side.” “I am not jealous.” Lance toed his shoes off and removed his watch. “Not even a little bit? Come on. Give me that much.” Jakob offered a small smile. “Didn’t we already have this conversation tonight?” “I was trying to go back to that point for the night. Did it work?” “You tell me.” Lance sighed and collapsed into bed. “No, not really.” He expected Jakob to turn off the light and disappear, but instead, he crawled into the bed, settling at Lance’s side. “What are you doing?” “I’m going to make sure you get some sleep.” Lance’s eyes widened. “Really?” “Get your mind out of the gutter. Unless you want to be alone tonight?” “No. I really don’t.” “Turn around.” Lance obeyed, letting Jakob spoon his body against Lance’s back. It was only mildly distracting. After Lance became accustomed to the heat and pressure—and Jakob’s groin pressed against his ass—he realized it was actually quite nice. Comforting, even. “Are you going to be here in the morning?” Lance murmured. “I…”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” “I don’t know, Lance. I’m…I’m a little worried.” “About what?” “I’m scared if I don’t leave, I might not ever be able to.” “I’m not going to chain you to the bed,” Lance pointed out. “I don’t actually have any evidence of that.” “Well…that’s true, I suppose.” Jakob kissed the back of his neck. “Rest now. I’ll be here as long as you need me.” Lance believed him. He closed his eyes, holding on to the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. He needed to cling to that, because he couldn’t forget the fact that somewhere across town, a woman held her young son and prayed for her husband. **** Jakob spent most of the afternoon peering up and down the block, searching for Lance’s familiar stride as he approached the café. He hadn’t seen Lance since he left him the day before, which meant he had no idea how he was holding up, or how Steve was doing at the hospital. He had considered calling the hospital to ask for an update, but since he had never even met the man, he felt like he didn’t have the right to call and demand information. He also considered packing up his guitar and heading over to the station. Lance had never invited him there, but he never told Jakob not to visit either. He was a little worried the oily smell of the trucks, the smoky smell that lingered over everything, and the aroma of cooking chili coming from the kitchen would remind him too much of his father, but that was a ghost he thought he could face. If he had to. If Lance needed him to. But Lance didn’t let him down. He was an hour later than Jakob expected, but he was there. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes pulled in a serious frown. Despite that, Jakob smiled his greeting. “Hey, I was just wondering about you.” “Don’t bother packing up your guitar.” “Why not?” “I can’t stay. I’m working double shifts for the next week.” Jakob frowned. “Is that safe?” “It’s necessary. We’re understaffed right now.” “Oh. I can bring you some food later if you like?” Lance shook his head. “No. Don’t worry about it. We’ve still got plenty of food from Charles’ party.” “How’s Steve?” Lance’s deepening frown told him everything he needed to know. “No change. We were hoping there’d be something by now. But…” “Yeah. Just…let me know what’s going on, okay?” “I’ll come by if I can. I want to. Sometimes I think…” “What?” “Nothing. Never mind. I’ll see you around.” “I’ll be here,” Jakob promised, hoping Lance would understand. Lance just nodded, though. And then he was walking away, his broad shoulders slouched, his hands buried in his pockets.

Chapter Seven Jakob slipped into the back of the church, not surprised to see the pews were packed, and the fold-out chairs in the overflow section were all claimed. There had been no question of attending the funeral to pay his respects, even though he hadn’t stepped foot inside a church since his father’s wake. Though he had never met Steve Knight, he knew the man’s widow, had seen his young son. And Lance might need him. As soon as he stepped inside, though, he realized finding Lance in the throng would be difficult, if not completely impossible. The cloying scent of flowers overwhelmed him and stuck to his skin, and his throat closed against the overwhelmingly sweet taste. The men from his firehouse all sat in the front, their heads bowed. Jakob supposed Lance was among that number, but he couldn’t pick him out of the crowd. Not from his angle. He saw a giant white wreath of carnations from the corner of his eye, and he turned away violently, startling the weeping woman beside him. He muttered an apology—or tried to—but she only glared at him and tried to move away, shrinking against the man beside her. It was stupid. If he could, he would explain to her how stupid it was to be startled by flowers. He would tell her that it seemed like he had been surrounded by white carnations, by their cloying smell, by their condolences and well wishes. He would tell her how they had haunted him, filling every too-empty room of the apartment like wilting ghosts. A constant reminder that the person he had loved more than anybody would not be coming home. Jakob took a deep breath and focused on the front of the chapel, trying to block out the abundance of flower arrangements. Jakob wasn’t sure who was speaking, but every word was laced with tears. Jakob understood that, too. Knew the days when you couldn’t even speak without a torrent of tears threatening, so it was best not to speak at all. It was an older gentleman. A fellow firefighter? Steve’s father? Maybe his coach from high school? Would Lance be speaking? Lance hadn’t contacted Jakob with the news. In fact, Jakob hadn’t seen Lance at all since the fourth. He assumed Lance had been overwhelmed with work, and then the death of his friend. Jakob didn’t know the details, but the obituary he saw indicated that Steve had succumbed to his injuries two days after the accident. When Jakob thought of Daria’s face that night at the hospital, he wanted to vomit. When he thought of all that relief and hope being so cruelly ripped away from her—and why? For what? He touched the small, leather bound book in his jacket pocket, stroking the embossed words across the front with his fingertips. A small gift for Lance. A collection of Walt Whitman. Not that he thought Lance would especially need more poetry in his life, but he had mentioned liking Whitman. And Jakob thought he needed to do something. Five minutes after arriving, Jakob wanted to flee. Nobody had seen him—except the unfortunate woman he had startled—and nobody would know if he left. But it was important to stay. The man they were honoring had the courage and dedication to run into the flames. Jakob thought he should find it within himself to stay in the church, even though his fingers were shaking and his heart hurt. It felt like he didn’t take another breath of air until after the closing prayer, and everybody stood to make their silent, grim way out to their cars for the funeral

procession. Jakob wasn’t going to participate in the graveside services. He wouldn’t accost the widow, either, since she didn’t know him. All he needed to do was wait for Lance, and then he could escape to Café Muse and his guitar and the release of his music. He kept his eyes glued on the door, hanging back to avoid standing in anybody’s way. That was why he saw Lance before Lance had the chance to see him. Lance, walking beside Charles. Walking hand-in-hand with Charles. As Jakob stared at the point where the two men touched, he understood. He understood everything. It felt like he had been granted knowledge of the entire world, of every mystery in the universe. Charles had stepped into the role Jakob wouldn’t fill himself. The role Jakob never could. Lance had turned to somebody who would be there for him. Somebody who understood his life. Somebody who wouldn’t push him away. Of course Lance would turn to him when the chips were down and his world had been turned inside out. Jakob had missed out, and judging from the new pain in his chest, this wasn’t a loss he could get over any time soon. He slunk back, losing himself in the crowd. It would be best if Lance didn’t notice him at all. **** It had seemed natural to go home with Charles after the wake. They hadn’t even discussed it. Charles just drove him to his place, and Lance was relieved he didn’t have to think, or make the decision, or do anything except stare straight ahead at the road. It didn’t matter where Charles took him. It didn’t matter what Charles said, or what they did together. Because the only thing he could think about was that the doctors had said Steve would make it. And Steve hadn’t made it. “Maybe we should have stayed and helped Daria,” Lance said. “Daria has her family. She probably wants some time to herself.” “Yeah.” Lance swallowed. “Yeah, probably. I just feel so…helpless.” “Well, you are.” “What?” Charles shrugged. “There isn’t anything you can do to make this better.” “Thanks.” “You know what I mean.” Lance didn’t know what he meant, but that hardly mattered either. He felt like something was missing in his chest, and he didn’t think it necessarily had anything to do with the funeral. He would always miss Steve, but he was mentally prepared for the loss of any of his fellow firefighters. There was something else wrong, and Lance couldn’t put his finger on what. “It was a nice service, though,” Charles said. “Yeah.” “You working tomorrow?” “Yeah. I should probably make it back to my place sometime tonight.” “I’ve still got some of your clothes at my place.” “Oh, right. I forgot.” “Does that mean you threw all my stuff out?” “What? No. It’s all in the guest room.” Stuffed in the back of the closet so Jakob wouldn’t stumble across it if he ever spent the night. Thinking of Jakob sent a fresh bolt of pain through his midsection. He had desperately wanted to call the other man. More

than once, he found himself walking to the café, only to change his mind—and direction—at the last minute. Jakob hadn’t even known Steve. Asking Jakob to deal with his death, and the funeral, would just be cruel. “Do you want to stop somewhere and get a drink?” Charles asked. “No. I have a headache.” “Yeah. Me, too. It was hot as hell at the graveyard today. Like some sort of special sneak preview. A hat would have helped.” “Right now, I think some aspirin will help.” Charles pulled up to a red light and looked over to Lance. “What’s wrong with you?” “What?” “You’re just so…I don’t know. Quiet.” “I’m sorry I’m not chatty,” Lance bit out. “But I just watched them bury one of my oldest friends.” “This isn’t the first time you’ve buried a friend,” Charles pointed out. “I’m not in the mood for this shit. Take me home if you have a problem with that.” “No, man, we’re cool. I didn’t mean anything by it.” “Good.” Lance rested his head against the warm window and idly studied the people standing on the corner. One of them had a beard and longish brown hair. He was wearing a jacket despite the heat, and his shoulders were hunched over. He looked up as the walking signal flashed, and Lance caught his breath. Seeing Jakob again was like a fist to the chest. It had been a little over a week since he fell asleep with Jakob pressed to his back, but it seemed more like an eternity since he had seen the other man. He immediately pushed the button to roll down the window, but it didn’t budge. “Is this broken?” Lance snapped. “Yeah. But I always have the air conditioner on anyway, so I haven’t bothered to fix it.” Charles stepped on the gas and they raced through the intersection. “Wait. Wait.” “What?” “I…Jakob was back there.” “So?” “So, I wanted to see him.” “He’s on the same corner every day, isn’t he? Go see him tomorrow.” “Why do you say it like that?” “Like what?” “Like you did. I thought you liked Jake.” Charles shrugged. “Yeah, sure I do. He was great at the barbecue, but you know, he does work on the street.” “So?” “So what?” “Why are you turning it into such a big deal?” “I’m not turning it into a big deal,” Charles said slowly. “You are. What’s up with that?” “Nothing. I just don’t like it when you get all…dismissive. Especially since you know how talented he is.” “Being talented doesn’t change the fact that he’s just a dude who plays his guitar on

the street. You can’t change that fact anymore than he can change who you are.” Lance’s lips thinned. “I don’t want to talk about Jakob anymore.” “Fine by me. I didn’t want to talk about him to begin with.” Lance turned to look out the rear window, hoping to catch one final glance of him, but Jakob was already long gone. **** Jakob tried to comfort himself with thoughts of playing his guitar, but when that didn’t work, his dark thoughts turned to poetry. Dead or silent. It's the same. His one safe outlet. Maybe if he just poured everything out on the page, every twisted, complicated, confusing feeling and thought, he could try to make sense of it. My ears build noises. And if he could make sense of it, he could start with the business of getting over Lance Stuart. Rustling like a nest. Because he had done a pretty shitty job of keeping his distance from the firefighter. Friends didn’t have the power to break each other’s hearts. Of seed-eyed mice and something answers in the hard squeak of my soles. And a friend had never knocked Jakob for such a painful loop. Would he even see Lance again? Or would he continue to avoid Jakob? Maybe he should finally do what he should have done a month before and simply find a new place to play. A place that wasn’t even within ten miles of Lance’s house or the fire department. He liked it best when his life wasn’t complicated, and Lance had done nothing but cause problems. When he wasn’t making Jakob laugh. Or watching stupid movies with him. Or making him so delightfully nervous he felt like a kid again. He walked the six miles home, hoping it would give him a chance to sort things out, but by the time he was within sight of his building, he just felt worse. “Hey, I know you.” Jakob didn’t break stride or look up. He barely heard the voice, and he had no reason to believe whoever was speaking was addressing him. “Hey. Four eyes. I was talking to you.” Jakob lifted his head, surprised to see that there wasn’t just one person near him. In fact, there were four guys surrounding him. None of them were familiar. They certainly weren’t the type to be in his neighborhood. For starters, their clothes were too expensive. Nobody within three blocks could spend that much on threads. If they could, they’d be living in a better area. They were so obviously out of place they sent a thrill of fear through him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” “No, no, I’m pretty sure I have. You read poetry.” Jakob kept walking, though he felt the circle tighten. “Yeah, sometimes.” One of them laughed. “How do you know that, Ricky? You like poetry?” “Nah. My girl works over at Café Muse, and she’s always talking about this guy. He’s so smart, and so clever, and so talented. You know who I’m talking about Four Eyes?” “Cyn?” Jakob blurted before thinking. “Yeah, that’s the one.” The speaker stopped in front of Jake, blocking his path and making Jake look up to study his face. He had small black eyes, a flat nose, and protruding lips. Despite that, he wasn’t quite an ugly person. Maybe it was his haircut, or his very obvious designer clothes. At that range, he could tell the younger man had been

drinking. Jakob could almost see the cloud of alcohol fumes floating above his head. The stench made his eyes water. “You know her?” “I see her around,” Jakob said, trying to sidestep Ricky, but he grabbed Jakob’s shirt in meaty fist, stopping him. “The way I see it, I shouldn’t have to listen to stories about you every time I want to get busy with my girl.” “I’m sorry,” Jakob said, starting to feel a little desperate. “I won’t go to the café, anymore, okay? I won’t ever have to see her again.” “That’s a start. I kinda wonder what she even sees in a little pussy like you.” Ricky’s group of friends laughed. Now they were almost touching him. He could feel them breathing on him. “What is this? High school? I’m not interested in Cyn, okay? Now get the fuck out of my face.” “Those are awfully big words. Do you think you can take on all five of us?” “I don’t want any trouble.” “Hey, Ricky, I don’t think he’s interested in any girls. If you catch my drift.” Ricky sneered at him. Jakob realized in a distant way that his teeth were crooked. “Is that true? You a little faggot?” “Just get out of my face,” Jakob said, moving to push past him. Ricky caught his arm again, his fingers like a vise around his biceps. Football player? Maybe. All Jakob knew was that he’d definitely have bruises from the strength of Ricky’s grip. “I asked you a question.” “Why are you bothering me? I didn’t do anything to you. I was just minding my own business.” The sneer returned. “Just your lucky day, I guess.” Jakob yanked his arm away. As soon as he was free, he ran, his sneakers pounding against the sidewalk. **** “You know the drill,” Charles said, pushing his door open. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.” Lance didn’t need a second invitation. He shrugged his jacket off and draped it over the back of the chair. His tie followed, then his shoes, and his socks. He collapsed on the couch, suddenly too tired to unbutton his own shirt. Which wasn’t a problem. He was quite sure Charles would take care of that for him. “You want a beer?” Charles asked from the kitchen. “Yeah, sure. That’d be great.” “I’ve got some Cazadores in here, if you want something stronger.” “Tequila? No, I don’t think I want any of that today.” Charles emerged from the kitchen, holding a bottle of Killian’s Red in each hand. “It’s in there if you change your mind.” “Yeah, I probably won’t.” Lance accepted the beer and took a long swallow. Tequila probably wouldn’t hurt. At least if he started drinking something stronger, it would probably put him in a better mood. Or it would make him pass out. Either way would be an improvement. “This is nice.” Charles toed off his shoes, too. “I think this is how it should be.” “Really?”

“Sure. Don’t you?” Lance sighed. “I don’t know.” “Why’d we even break up, anyway?” “We drive each other crazy.” Charles smiled. “We were young and stupid then.” “You think we know better now?” “I’ve certainly learned a few things.” Lance hadn’t made any conscious decision to fall back into his old patterns with Charles. It just seemed natural. He had been there when Lance needed somebody. And he knew Lance—probably better than anybody else. Charles was straightforward. He was uncomplicated. He didn’t make Lance jump through hoops. Didn’t make Lance feel like he was missing out on things. He didn’t make Lance question his entire life and career and every choice he had ever made. “I don’t know if I have,” Lance said, taking another deep swallow from the bottle. “It feels like I keep making the same mistakes.” “Let’s both stop making mistakes now,” Charles said, gently taking the beer from Lance’s hand. He set both bottles aside, then swung a leg over Lance’s lap. Lance didn’t push him away. “We can start by taking your mind off things.” “I definitely don’t have a problem with that,” Lance murmured, just before their mouths crashed together. Everything about kissing Charles was familiar, from the faint hint of beer on his breath, to the shape of his mouth, to the way he clutched at Lance’s arms. He had been kissing Charles for years now. Sometimes, there were months between each moment of contact, but they always managed to find each other again. Despite all the reassurances he had given Jakob. Guilt washed over him at the thought. Had he just been lying when he told Jake that he had nothing to worry about? That he had no reason to be jealous? Had he just been lying when he said he didn’t have any interest in anybody else? Had it been lip-service to get Jakob in bed? A part of him felt like the answer to those questions was yes. Yes, yes, of course he had been lying. Of course, he had had only one thing in mind. He had gone to a poetry reading for that guy, he visited him every day, he had gone out of his way to appear sensitive and thoughtful and everything he thought Jakob would want. And what had he got for his troubles? Nothing. Another part of him knew none of that was true. Maybe it had been at first. Maybe he had just wanted to get his dick inside Jake, but it hadn’t taken long for his motives to shift. Jakob made him feel like a better person. And when he saw Jakob, it was like nobody else was even in the room. Charles shifted and made a soft sound of frustration, drawing Lance’s attention back to his mouth. Charles was good at driving him crazy—in a bad way—but Charles was also good for him. With that in mind, Lance cupped the back of his head, pressing their lips together harder, pushing his tongue in Charles’s mouth. The sound he made now was one of satisfaction as he opened to Lance’s attack. “Want you to fuck me, Lance. I’ve missed it.” He rocked forward, grinding against Lance’s cock. His mouth was hot, each rushed word making Lance hard. “As long…and as hard…as you like.” “Charles…tonight?”

“Yes. Life goes on, Lance. Steve would have said so, too.” Lance nodded and closed his eyes again, letting Charles overwhelm him. Except, when he closed his eyes, he saw Jakob’s face. And he heard his own promise in each ragged breath. The promise to Jakob that he just wasn’t willing to ignore. “Stop…Charles. Stop.” **** “Stop!” Jakob shouted. Or rather, he tried to shout it. The full body tackle that drove him to the sidewalk knocked the wind right out of his body. As a result, the demand to stop came out as a weak protest. The café was only a half-block from where he landed, but there was nobody outside. Nobody to hear him shout for help. “He runs like a fag,” one of them observed. “Sure does. I bet he can’t even take a hit.” To demonstrate his point, he kicked Jakob in the ribs. Pain exploded through him, stealing more of his breath. Jakob just wanted to roll over and protect himself, curling into a tight ball. But they wouldn’t let him. Ricky bent, closed his hands around Jakob’s jacket, and lifted him off the ground. For a horrible moment, his feet dangled uselessly, and then his back crashed against a brick wall. “You fight like a fag, too, you little piece of shit.” Jakob slammed his head forward, his brow connecting with Ricky’s nose with enough force to make it crack. Blood erupted from his face, painting his mouth and flowing down to his shirt. He howled, though Jakob didn’t know if that was from pain or anger. His hands opened, dropping Jakob to the ground. His foot twisted on the impact, and he fell to his knees, vulnerable to more blows from a now enraged Ricky. “Hey! What the fuck is going on here?” Cyn shouted. “What are you doing?” “This little shit punched me in the nose,” Ricky said, grabbing Jakob by the shoulder and forcing him against the wall again. “Oh, yeah, I bet he did.” Cyn marched right up to Ricky and pushed a finger into his chest. “Get away from him.” “You going to let your woman talk to you that way? Does she keep your balls in her purse, too?” Ricky glared, his cheeks flushing a remarkable shade of crimson. “Cyn, get out of here. This is none of your concern.” “It’s my concern when you’re beating up my friend.” “I swear to God, Cyn, I’m only giving you one more warning before I slam my first through your slut face.” Jakob was hopeful they would all walk away from this in one piece, but that hope died when he saw Cyn flinch beneath the threat. “Why don’t you come in the café? We’ve got those brownies you like so much.” “You think you can distract me with brownies?” Ricky shook his head, spraying blood everywhere. Jakob closed his eyes and ducked, trying to avoid the drops. “Sam? Come and get her. Hold her, will you?” Cyn struggled against Sam’s hold, distracting Ricky enough to make him release his hold on Jakob, who didn’t miss his chance to bring his knee up, driving his leg into Ricky’s balls. ****

“Stop? What do you mean, stop?” “I mean, I want you to get off me and let me up.” Charles lifted his head, but he didn’t move. “What? You’re not making any sense, Lance.” “I’m making perfect sense. We’re not doing this.” “Is it because of the funeral?” “No.” Charles narrowed his eyes. “Is it because of Jakob?” “None of your business.” “No, it is my business. Is it because of Jakob?” “Yes. Okay? It is because of him. I don’t want to be with you. I want to be with him.” “But he doesn’t want to be with you.” “You don’t know that,” Lance shot back, pushing Charles away from him. Charles slapped Lance’s hand down and took his shoulder, holding him against the back of the couch. “Get off me.” “I do know that, Lance, because you fucking told me. Remember? No dating, no fucking, nothing, because you’re a firefighter.” “It’s not going to stay that way forever. We almost…on the fourth…” “Almost what? He almost let you in his pants?” Charles shook his head. “You’re completely fucked up. Do you know that?” Lance shook his head. “If you knew Jakob, you wouldn’t say that.” “I know enough.” “Like what?” “Like he’ll never, ever accept you for who you are. You’re a firefighter, Lance. That’s not just what you do, that’s who you are. And he can’t deal with that. Which is fine. Some people can’t. But you should save you both some heartache and let him go now.” Lance shoved Charles away, giving himself enough room to jump to his feet. “No, you’re wrong about that.” “What?” “There’s a lot more to me than just my job, Charles. It doesn’t define me. It doesn’t give my life meaning. It’s just a job.” “Not to Jakob, it’s not. If it were, you wouldn’t be in this situation.” “What situation? Putting somebody else’s needs ahead of my own? Thinking of another person for once in my life?” “Why doesn’t he think about you?” “He does.” “Then where was he today?” “I didn’t…” Lance stepped into his shoes. “I didn’t tell him about the funeral. I didn’t tell him about any of it.” Charles rolled his eyes. “That sounds like a winning relationship. You have to protect him from everything ugly in life because you don’t want to upset his delicate feelings.” “He’s been through a lot, Charles.” “We’ve all been through a lot. We’ve all lost people. That doesn’t mean the world

has to cater to us.” “He never asked anybody to cater to him!” Lance tried to shrug on his jacket, but he got tangled in the sleeves. He was glad for that. At least if his arms were caught up in the material, he couldn’t slug Charles. Even if Charles might deserve a punch in the face, he didn’t want to completely destroy their friendship. “He never once asked me for anything. He was honest with me from the beginning, and I pursued him. I tried to fit him in my life. But I wasn’t willing to make any sort of sacrifices or compromises. Well, that’s going to change.” “What are you talking about? Are you going to quit for that guy?” Lance stuffed his tie in his pocket and opened the door. “Life’s so short, Charles. Steve was younger than me. Did you know that? By two and a half months. But he was so happy with his family. He had who he wanted, and the life he wanted, and he was happy.” “That doesn’t answer my question, Lance.” “Yeah, it does.” “You don’t think you’re going to resent him for this?” “No. Not even a little bit. I’m going to go find him.” “Yeah.” Charles sighed. “I figured you probably were.” The strange ache in Lance’s chest disappeared as he shut the door behind him. They were only a few miles from Café Muse, but Lance didn’t want to take the time to walk. He called a cab as he waited for the elevator, his palms tingling with excitement. **** Ricky collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes, his eyes bugging out of his head, looking remarkably like a fish as he writhed on the ground. Jakob was only allowed a moment of satisfaction, though, before his four friends made a move to jump him. The one holding Cyn threw her to the ground like she was nothing more a bundle of rags, and Jakob didn’t have a way to escape. Cyn started screaming, shouting for anybody who would listen to call the police, to come and help. She shouted for the four guys to stop. Her shouting was an endless soundtrack, continuing unabated as eight fists pummeled him. Now he did manage to curl over himself, protecting his head and glasses, though each blow made his back and ribs ache. He wanted to fight them off, but he was scared to leave himself vulnerable. And through it all, Cyn’s piercing voice never dropped in volume. He expected one of the assholes to turn and smack her across the mouth, if only because she was annoying them, but they seemed more intent on avenging their fallen leader. “Help! Please. Help me get them off him. Oh, God, please. This is all my fault. Please, please, please.” Jakob didn’t know who she was talking to, but under the panic, she sounded relieved. Like she had finally found somebody who actually could help her. “Get the fuck off him!” For a moment, relief completely whitewashed the pain. One pair of fists disappeared, and Jakob heard the sound of flesh connecting with flesh. Suddenly, the other three seemed less interested in him. “You going to take on all three of us at once?” One of them challenged. “Are you serious?”

“Try it, you fucking fag.” Lance didn’t need a second invitation. Jakob peeked up from behind his arm to watch him lay the remaining three out flat. They joined their fallen comrades on the sidewalk while Cyn covered her mouth in horror. “Go call the cops,” he barked. She jumped, running back into the café for a phone. Jakob slowly straightened, though his back protested. It felt like his back might protest any movement at all. “My hero.” “What happened?” Lance dropped to his knees beside him and immediately ran his hands over Jakob’s body. “Anything broken? Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital? I should probably take you to the hospital.” “I’m fine, Lance.” “No, you’re not. You just got jumped and beat up by a bunch of assholes. What happened? Were they trying to mug you?” “No. They were just assholes, looking for a fight.” Jakob caught Lance’s hand. “I’m going to be fine. I promise.” “I should take you to the hospital.” “I just want to go home.” “After we speak to the police. Then I’ll take you wherever you want.” Jakob peered up at him. “Why are you here?” “I needed to talk to you.” “You do? About what?” “It can wait. Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yeah.” Jakob took Lance’s hand. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Chapter Eight “Are you sure you’re comfortable?” Lance asked, though Jakob had already assured him he was quite comfortable several times. And he looked comfortable, too, propped up on his bed with a book in his lap, his guitar nearby, and the mp3 player Lance had just bought when he ran out to buy groceries. “I’m really great. Really.” “What about your back? Are you in pain?” “No. I already told you I wasn’t. I think they were too drunk to do any real damage. But thank you. For taking care of me and rescuing me. What were you doing there, anyway?” “I told you. I needed to talk to you.” “About what?” Lance sat on the edge of the bed. Now that he was there and Jakob was looking at him so expectantly, he felt more than a little nervous. He felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t know how to say any of this, or even if Jakob would want to hear it. What if the firefighter thing had just been an excuse? What if he really just wanted Lance to be a friend? He didn’t think that was true, but he was too anxious to completely shake the thought. “Steve died…” “I know. I saw in the paper. I even went to his funeral.” Lance frowned. “You did? Where were you? I didn’t see you.” “In the back. I snuck in a little bit late.” “I…I didn’t think you’d want to go to a funeral.” “I didn’t. It wasn’t easy. I really hate white carnations. But I wanted to pay my respects to him, and I wanted to be there for you. In case you needed somebody.” Jakob sighed and pushed the book away. “I guess you didn’t.” “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Lance said, wishing he had a way to keep his hands busy. “I saw you and Charles. So, if that’s what you want to talk about…I’d rather not. Let’s just say that I understand, and you don’t really owe me an explanation.” Lance swallowed. “That’s why you didn’t seek me out at the funeral?” “I thought it would be awkward.” “Well…it might have been. But that’s not quite what I want to talk to you about. I just…I was with Charles earlier. And we were…kissing on his couch.” “Lance…I promise you, I really don’t want to hear this.” “You do,” Lance said quickly. “Just let me finish.” Jakob sighed. “Okay.” “So he kissed me, and everything was familiar and just kind of nice. But…I couldn’t focus on him. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you. I kept comparing him to you. And I remembered that I told you…that you didn’t need to be jealous of him. And I didn’t want to be there anymore, so I left, and I came to find you.” Jakob smiled and reached out to touch Lance’s arm. “That’s very sweet, but…maybe you should have stayed with him. Because I just don’t know…I just don’t know if I can

be what you need, Lance. Being at the funeral today…” “Jakob, I know. I want…” “Let me finish. Please. I went to the funeral because I wanted to be at your side. And I know you can’t protect yourself from bad things happening. I mean, I was walking down the street, minding my own business, and nearly got the shit beat out of me. But I also realized how much you mean to me, and I can’t do it, Lance. I can’t be the one sitting at the front of the church. I can’t do that again. And that’s not fair to you.” “I know. I’m not going to ask you to do that. I can’t. So, I’m going to quit.” Jakob blinked. “What?” “I’m going to quit. I’m going to be an EMT. I have all the training necessary for that, and I’ll still be able to help people. I just won’t be running into burning buildings.” “You’re…going to quit? You’re going to do that? For me?” “Yes.” “But Lance…for me?” “It’s just a job, Jakob. I don’t consider myself an all-American hero or some sort of superman. I don’t have fire in my blood or anything. And people change their jobs all the time.” “But what if you take this step and realize in a few weeks that you don’t even like me that much?” “I don’t think that’ll happen.” “How can you be sure?” Lance smiled. “Because I love you.” Jakob stared at him, and Lance couldn’t tell if he was surprised, or confused, or pleased. Or if he was going to be sick. “Me? You love me?” “Yes.” “But you can’t love me, Lance. I’m a fucking mess. Did I tell you I failed out of college because of my anxiety? I can’t even hold down a real job because every time things get stressful, I lose it.” Lance tilted his head. “Sounds like it’s something treatable to me. Have you tried?” “No.” “Would you be willing to try it?” “Yes. But that’s not the point.” “Then what is your point, Jakob? Because from where I sit, you seem like a pretty great guy. Just being with you makes me happy. I saw you standing on the corner today while we were driving home, and it was like…I don’t know. Like I saw the sun for the first time after a week of rain.” “You know, sometimes I think you might secretly be a poet.” “Did that sound poetic?” “It was a start.” “So…am I just making a fool out of myself here?” Jakob shook his head, his blue eyes solemn. He set aside his book and mp3 player, then adjusted the pillows. Lance watched, unsure, waiting for a sign. Any sign. He got it when Jakob patted the bed next to him, indicating Lance should join him. He didn’t waste any time crawling up the mattress and settling in at Jakob’s side. “You’re not making a fool out of yourself. I feel a little bit like a fool myself. Like we’ve wasted so much time.” Jakob touched Lance’s check. His fingertips were cold, but

Lance didn’t mind. They felt good against his flushed skin. “I realized today how much you mean to me. How much you’re always going to mean to me.” “And how much is that?” Jakob wrapped his arm around Lance and pulled him closer. Just being that close to Jake made him hard. “More than anything. You mean more to me than anything.” “I want to kiss you.” “I think you better.” “What about your back?” “I don’t think kissing me will hurt my back.” Lance smiled. “What if I want to do more than just kiss you?” Jakob pushed Lance back until he was playing flat, then rolled onto his chest. “Does this work for you?” “Absolutely.” “Good. Now where were we? Oh, right. You better kiss me.” Lance cupped the back of his head. “Gladly.” He held his breath as he guided Jakob’s mouth to his, a part of him a little afraid that the kiss wouldn’t be enough. That he had built it up to mean too much, and they would both be disappointed by the caress. Or maybe the stress of the day, the pain from the earlier fight, the fear of what he was giving up would all be too much and overwhelm them. But as soon as Jakob’s dry, slightly rough lips met his, all of those fears disappeared. Despite their earlier kisses, Jakob’s mouth wasn’t familiar at all. It was something novel. Something sweet to explore. Jakob moaned with satisfaction as Lance’s tongue slipped between his lips, and the kiss seemed to move deeper and deeper. Lance lost track of everything except Jakob’s mouth. The shape of it was perfect. It fit his just right. His lips were pliant against Lance’s without being too soft, and his whiskers brushed against Lance’s chin in the most tantalizing way. He loved the way it felt, even though he knew he’d be the victim of whisker-burn. That thought didn’t stop him from rubbing his chin against Jakob’s, nuzzling against the short, soft hair. Lance’s blood ran hot, burning his veins, and making his groin tight, but he wasn’t in any sort of hurry. His muscles twitched with hunger, and in the back of his mind, he had the clear image of himself on top of Jakob, drilling into his body. But even if Jakob was one hundred percent healthy, Lance would have ignored that impulse. He didn’t want to rush things. He wanted each long, searching kiss to stretch for as long as possible. Until they were both breathless and shaking. And then he wanted another, and another, and another. Jakob seemed to be interested in the same thing. He could have taken control. Lance wouldn’t have resisted him. But he didn’t do anything except follow Lance, his mouth moving slowly, his tongue almost sleepy as it glided against Lance’s. Occasionally, Jakob’s teeth caught his bottom lip, and the brief flash of pain only served to emphasize the sweet softness of Jakob’s mouth. Sometimes, Lance nipped back, catching Jakob’s bottom lip between his teeth until he whimpered. As soon as Lance released him, their mouths would crash together again. He didn’t know if Jakob always liked to spend so much time kissing, or if this was just a special occasion. The question delighted him because he knew he would have the chance to find out—a chance he planned to take every single day for the rest of his life.

How could he ever grow tired of Jakob’s warm lips or the soft sounds he made from deep in his throat? Every moan, every gasp, every sigh went directly to Lance’s cock and fanned the flames already scorching him. “It’s been…Lance…” “Hmm?” “It’s been a long time for me.” “It’s okay. Sit up for a second.” Jakob moaned, but he did as Lance instructed. With Lance’s help, he pulled his Tshirt over head, exposing the bruises on his ribs. Lance touched them gently, feeling simultaneously sad and angry. Not just angry. He wanted to march to the police station, drag each one of those assholes out of their cells, and pound them into bloody pulps. How could anybody look at Jakob and want to hurt him? “Hey.” Lance looked up to meet Jakob’s eyes. “What?” “Don’t do that.” “What?” Jakob smoothed his fingers over Lance’s brow. “You’re getting all angry. You don’t need to do that.” “How can you tell?” “Besides the glare that would stop a bull in his tracks? I don’t want you to be angry. I want you to be happy.” “I am happy.” Lance smiled to prove it. He pushed at Jakob’s sweatpants, pulling the waistband down so he could touch the smooth skin of Jakob’s shaft. Jake shuddered, placing both palms against Lance’s chest to brace himself as Lance grasped his length. “I’m very happy. You?” “Yes,” Jakob gasped. “Very. Oh…don’t stop.” “I won’t…but you know, there are other things more fun than my hand.” Jakob rocked against him, his head dropping back. “Maybe, but…oh…don’t stop.” “Come up here.” He looped his free arm around Jakob’s waist and pulled him forward. Jakob didn’t resist—Lance had the feeling that as long as he kept his hand on Jakob’s cock, Jakob wouldn’t protest anything. “A little bit closer. That’s right.” “What are you…?” Lance’s tongue darted out, the tip sliding across Jakob’s slick crown. Jakob buckled, his spine straightening, his legs clenching. The taste of his pre-come exploded in Lance’s mouth, tangy and salty, and Lance immediately wanted more. How had he managed to go so long without tasting Jakob? How had he managed to live his entire life without knowing exactly what Jakob’s arousal-coated skin tasted like? “Oh, Jesus…” Lance smiled. “You like that?” “Yeah. Yes. Definitely.” Jakob pushed his hips forward, and a string of pre-come caught Lance’s lips. He licked it away before guiding Jakob’s shaft into his mouth, sliding the length along his tongue until the head brushed the back of his throat. “Oh, Lance…” Lance closed his eyes, swirling his tongue over and under Jakob’s shaft, sampling every bit of him. He wanted to know the texture of Jakob’s skin. He wanted to feel his heat. He wanted to draw out more of his delicious pre-come. He wanted Jakob to be slick

with desire. He pulled Jakob’s length out of his mouth, then lifted his cock to close his mouth around Jakob’s sac. There the smell of Jakob’s natural musk was strongest, and the small hairs on his skin pricked at his tongue. He sucked each of the balls between his lips, hollowing his cheeks to pull hard at Jakob’s flesh. Jakob gripped the top of Lance’s hair, his fingers flexing against Lance’s scalp. The harder Jakob pressed on Lance’s head, the harder Lance sucked on his sac. He stroked Jakob as he rolled his balls around his tongue, sliding his palm up and down with rapid jerks of his wrist. He wanted to feel Jakob shoot on his face. He wanted to catch the drops with his tongue, and feel the heat on his skin, and hear Jakob’s shout of pleasure as he let go. “Lance…don’t stop…don’t stop…” He rocked forward, grinding his balls into Lance’s mouth. He squirmed and writhed above Lance, moving with harder jerks as he increased the pressure on his own sac. There was no rhyme or reason to what Jakob did. Each movement seemed totally random, dictated by nothing more than whatever he needed the most at that second. How would it feel to finally get his cock in that ass? How would it be to feel Jakob throbbing around him? And every time he jerked or writhed, it would create more friction against Lance’s cock. Hungry for the pressure of Jakob’s shaft against his tongue, Lance abandoned his balls to focus on his cock again. As before, he swallowed the entire length, letting it rest against his tongue as he swallowed around the crown, massaging it with his throat muscles. Jakob’s cock felt electric as he twitched and jerked. Lance wanted to watch Jakob’s face, but he closed his eyes with pleasure, holding Jakob’s ass to force him deeper into Lance’s throat. “You want me to fuck you?” Jakob murmured, his words thick. Lance tried to nod. He wasn’t very successful, but judging by the way Jakob moaned, he understood. He leaned forward, bracing himself against the wall above Lance’s head, and fed his cock further down Lance’s throat. Lance relaxed, accommodating Jakob as much as he could, lifting his head to try to capture just another inch. Jakob took a deep breath, and began to pump his hips, easing in and out of Lance’s mouth, letting Lance’s tongue linger on every centimeter of his shaft. Lance forced his eyes open to watch the pleasure play across Jakob’s face. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but his lips were still swollen from their hard kisses. His body flexed with each thrust, the muscles in his chest and abdomen straining against his taut skin. Lance took in every detail, feasting his eyes on Jakob’s body while Jakob took his mouth. He would never forget a single detail of Jakob’s frame in that moment. He would never forget the way the light and shadows danced over his skin. Even the bruises were fascinating to Lance, imprinted on his memory for future perusal. Lance had been with beautiful men. Charles himself had quite an amazing body. But at that moment, he had never seen anybody as perfect as Jakob. “Lance…Lance…Lance…” Each word sounded like music to him. Lance began to wonder if he would shoot before Jakob even had the chance to touch him. It wouldn’t surprise him. His groin ached, and his balls were pulled tight against his body, waiting for whatever would trigger his release. The names devolved into harsh shouts as he rocked faster and faster. Lance tensed, bracing himself just before Jakob flooded his mouth with his hot come. Lance swallowed, trying not to lose a single drop, but he felt a little run down the

sides of his mouth. Jakob shuddered, his tense body vibrating as his cock jerked again and again. Gradually, the tension drained from Jakob’s muscles, and he collapsed backwards, forcing Lance to catch him. “Sorry,” Jakob murmured. “It’s fine,” Lance assured him as he pulled Jakob down to the mattress beside him. “Did that take the edge off?” “Oh, yes. Fuck yes.” “Are you ready for more?” “Absolutely.” Lance grinned. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.” * Jakob stared at his pillow like he had never seen it before. He had fantasized about being in this position. He had dreamt about it. He had ached for it. But he never quite believed he would ever be there. He could hear Lance moving behind him, undressing, searching for the lube and condoms Jakob had, probably going through his things. His cock was already hard again, the tip dragging against the bedspread. He had come so hard he had seen stars—the last thing he expected was another erection. But Lance telling him to get on his hands and knees was enough to do the trick. “Are you gonna fuck me like this?” Jakob asked, looking over his shoulder. “No. But I am going to get you good and ready.” “What if I just want you to fuck me?” “I’d tell you to stop being so impatient. Besides, I don’t want to hurt you.” Jakob snorted. “Are you that enormous?” “Oh, I’m a monster.” “I never dated a monster before.” “Of course not. Which is why I need to take a little extra time with you.” “Can I see?” “No, look straight ahead again. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” Jakob smiled and rested his forehead on the pillow between his arms. Every second dragged by as he waited for Lance’s familiar fingers. He felt so tense that the slightest caress would probably make him scream. Given the circumstances, that probably wasn’t such a bad thing. Lance would no doubt appreciate the vocal support. “Do you have any ointment or anything for these bruises?” “Lance…” “What?” “I thought I was the one who worried too much.” “I can worry occasionally, can’t I?” “I don’t need special ointment. I just need you.” “Okay. I just…” Lance smoothed his palm down Jakob’s back with hardly any pressure. Jakob couldn’t even be sure he felt Lance’s skin at all, except for the fact that his throat tightened and the base of his spine tingled. “I just hate to see you marked like this. I can’t stand that you’re hurt.” “You should take your mind off it by making me feel good,” Jakob said. “I think I can handle that.” Jakob felt Lance gently hold his cheeks open, exposing his clenched hole. He expected the smear of cold lube, not the unmistakable heat of Lance’s tongue. He gasped

for breath, unsure if he should pull away or push for more. “Does that feel good?” Lance asked. “Yes…yes…” “Do you want more?” “Oh, yes.” Lance’s tongue flickered across the muscle, as though he was trying to lick something sweet from Jakob’s skin. It reminded Jakob of cupping a butterfly between his hands and feeling the thin wings beat against palms. It was so soft, and yet, it was almost enough to sap the strength from Jakob’s body. He fell forward, unable to support himself for another second. Lance held his ass, his fingers digging into his flesh as he pushed his tongue into Jakob’s channel. “Oh…God…Lance…oh…God…God…” He remained still at first, letting the heat wind through his body, circling his torso, surrounding his stomach. He tried to concentrate on breathing. Not too fast. Not too slow. He didn’t want to hyperventilate, but he didn’t want to forget breathing altogether. It seemed important to focus on that simple, little action. Not just important, but absolutely critical. Because each time Lance plunged his tongue into Jakob’s channel, he forgot how to do everything, including breathe. The pleasure overloaded him—the heat, the gentle scrape of Lance’s teeth against his skin, the satiny soft texture of his tongue. Jakob adjusted after a few moments, and suddenly instead of being overwhelmed, he was hungry for more. He rocked backwards, and Lance grunted in approval. They moved together, Lance fucking him with his tongue, Jakob straining for more. “Lance…please…” He wanted more, though he didn’t quite know what he needed. If he asked for Lance’s cock, he would lose his amazing mouth, including the moans vibrating in his flesh, the scrape of teeth, the hot breath coating his skin. His cock leaked pre-come, as though he hadn’t already shot in Lance’s throat. “Lance…” Lance gripped Jakob’s cock, stripping it each time he plunged his tongue into Jakob’s body. It occurred to him that Lance could make him come this way, but he didn’t want that. He wanted to come with Lance’s cock deep in his ass. “Lance…please…I need you to fuck me…fuck me…” His tongue disappeared. “I can do that. I want you on top.” That seemed like too much work. Jakob didn’t want to go through the hassle of rearranging their limbs. He just wanted Lance to thrust into him as hard as he could. “Why?” “So I don’t hurt your back. So I can see your face.” When he put it like that, Jakob knew he couldn’t protest. He pushed up to a kneeling position, watching Lance as he slipped a condom down his length. His body was truly amazing. The sort of physique only somebody like a firefighter could have. Broad shoulders, beautifully defined muscles, and a sort of quiet power that instilled complete confidence. And he was Jakob’s. The thought made him feel heady, like all his blood had rushed to his brain. Or maybe all his blood had rushed south. Either way, he felt weak. Lance laid down and Jakob didn’t need any further encouragement to swing his leg over Lance’s thighs and straddle him. He slid his ass up and down Lance shaft, spreading the lube against his skin. Lance’s eyes were half-lidded and so dark, they almost looked black. Jakob could see his reflection in Lance’s eyes, and he watched himself as he sunk

backwards, taking Lance’s crown into his passage. “That’s it, Jake…just a bit more…” But neither of them wanted just a bit more. They both wanted it all. Jakob wasn’t going to stop until he had it all, until he had taken every inch of Lance deep in his body. He sank lower and lower. Lance didn’t move. He let Jakob control the slow descent. Jakob didn’t rush it. He wasn’t in a hurry. He didn’t have any reason to be, since Lance was finally beneath him, and inside him, and holding him. “I love you,” Jakob murmured. Lance gripped the back of his neck and pulled him forward. Their mouths met in a slow kiss as Jakob moved his hips, slowly rocking so he wouldn’t lose an inch of Lance. They clung to each other, moving with measured, easy strokes. Jakob delighted in the way Lance felt beneath him. His muscles moved so fluidly, and his skin was warm and smooth and slightly damp with sweat. Everything leading up to that moment was completely absent from Jakob’s mind. He didn’t just forget the day, but the months and the years that existed before Lance. Lance bent his knees, bracing himself against the mattress, changing the angle of his thrusts. The new position sent a series of shocks up Jakob’s spine, building on each other, growing wider and wider until his entire body felt electrified. “Tell me again,” Lance said against his mouth. “Love you,” Jakob responded promptly. “Again.” “Love you.” Their words tumbled together, a sort of call and response as they moved faster and faster. The new friction ignited Jakob, and they moaned and begged for each other. Lance dragged his mouth from Jakob’s, kissing a path to his ear. His ragged breathing was interrupted by three simple words. “Love you, too.” Jakob couldn’t be quite sure, but he thought they must have exploded at the same time. He felt Lance’s cock twitch as his come erupted across Lance’s chest. Their mouths fused together once again, Lance capturing every moan and declaration. After what felt like an eternity, Jakob collapsed on Lance, and his arms closed around him in an impossibly tight embrace. “Thank you,” Jakob murmured. “I think I should be thanking you.” Jakob shook his head. “You’re the one who made this possible.” “You made me realize what I wanted.” “I’ll try to be better,” Jakob murmured. “You don’t need to be better. I already think you’re great.” Jakob smiled and burrowed closer to Lance. There was still only one thing he could think to say, and if the words mirrored the very first words he’d spoken to Lance, so much the better. “Thank you.” The End

About the Author: Pepper Espinoza has been writing since she was a child, but began her professional writing career in 2005 and now writes full time as well as attending graduate school and working toward a Masters in British and American Literature. A former resident of Los Angeles, she now lives in northern Utah with her husband.