Drawing Closer (5 page)

Charles' mouth against his, so fucking hard and rough, God, perfect, yes, Charles' finger tracing

the scratch on his back, delicate and gentle and Gray wanted that, too, soft touches everywhere,

not just his dick and his ass, good as that felt. Wanted more from Charles. Much more.

Gray thought about Charles dragging his hands, fingertips crooked, over his skin, down his back,

and felt his cock jerk against his palm. "Oh, God--"

"Christ, Gray." The bed creaked and shifted as Carl flopped down beside him. "Strike me blind, God, please, and do it now."

"Fuck off," Gray moaned, too close to coming to stop, his hand busy. "God--" There was a welcome silence and he screwed his eyes closed, picturing Charles' face, animated and intense as

he leaned forward, talking quickly, his words clear, always, but spilling out fast because he was

so into it and --

"Did you just -- fuck, Carl, fuck you--" Gray came hard, shooting messily over his hand and

belly, Carl's hand warm against his balls, tickling him mercilessly.

He rolled over and drove his fist into whatever part of Carl was closest. "You fucking bastard!"

"Hey, it got you off, didn't it?" Carl was laughing too hard to defend himself, not that Gray was doing much damage. Carl was five inches taller and weighed thirty pounds more, none of it fat.

"Will you remember that you're straight?" Gray hissed.

Carl stopped laughing. "Maybe I'm not," he said looking solemn.

Drawing Closer - 25

"Don't do this to me--"

"Maybe I'm like you, Gray--" The grin was already tugging at Carl's mouth.

"I'm fucking warning you--"

"Gray--" Carl wriggled closer, his erection right there and doing fuck all for Gray because this was Carl and he just didn't register as an option. "Suck me off?"

"You really want my teeth near your cock? When I'm this pissed at you?"

Carl grinned at him, unrepentant and relaxed. "Get your gay ass off me, then. I want breakfast.

And you need a shower."

Drawing Closer - 26

"Charles." Drew widened his eyes as Charles led him down the street toward the open door of

the gallery. "No, really. You said we were going out to dinner. Said you'd found a place that did a marvelous sea bass en papillote... "

"I did. It's just that it's in Boston." Charles applied a gentle, insistent pressure to Drew's elbow.

"Drew, come
on
, will you?"

"No." Drew came to a dead halt, glanced around, and swept Charles over to a bench between two

planters that were overflowing with well-tended flowers in white and yellow. "What the fuck is

going on?"

"I didn't know you ever used language like that these days." Charles knew that he was stalling.

"Thought you were supposed to be setting a good example now you're a father."

Drew Taylor smiled grimly, his affectations lost, traces of an English accent surfacing when he

replied. Drew had been living in New York for over twenty years and, as far as Charles knew,

had never shown signs of missing the country he'd left at sixteen. Unless befriending Charles had

been partly to do with the fact that they'd grown up within fifty miles of each other, as they'd

discovered during the course of their first conversation. "Oh, I can do a lot worse than that,

Charlie-boy. Now tell me why I'm here."

"I want to look at the exhibition."

"You're about the only one who does," Drew observed, jerking his head at the all-but-deserted

street.

"It's been on for two hours. Anyone who's going is already in."

"Or they've guzzled as much tepid wine and stared at as much bad art as they can stomach, and

they've gone somewhere to throw up in peace." Drew glanced around the main street and

snickered. "Hopefully in front of that health food shop, if they still sell those god-awful granola bars I broke a filling on last time I was here."

"Remind me why I still have you on my Christmas card list?"

"I am?"

Drawing Closer - 27

"In a theoretical way," Charles said absently. "If I ever send any, you'll certainly get one."

"I'm touched. Now, why am I here? Starving and deceived, just in case you've forgotten that

part."

Charles hesitated before answering, choosing his words carefully. "There's this boy--"

"'Boy'?" Drew frowned. "Not like you. How old is he?"

"Twenty-three."

"Hardly a boy!" Drew protested. "God, Charles, must you always be so dramatic?"

"I beg your pardon?" Charles blinked at him. "This, from you? Pot, kettle, and you damn well know it!"

"He's a man. Young, possibly; boy, no. So. A man. And you want him?"

Charles wanted to lie, but if he didn't tell someone how he felt about Gray soon, he was starting

to think that the words would pour out of him the next time someone asked how he was, and

Drew was safe-- "Oh, Drew, you've no idea how much."

He didn't sound besotted. Just bitter.

"And he's off limits because?" Drew sighed. "Help me out here, Charles. I came to celebrate your birthday with wine, food, and civilized conversation that doesn't revolve around my daughter's

inability to potty train. You're making me wish I hadn't bothered."

"He's someone I met when I taught that evening class for Peter. He's an artist--"

"God help us," Drew groaned. "And you want to moon over his daubs?"

"I want you to tell me what you think of them," Charles corrected him.

"I'm a bookseller," Drew said, reasonably enough. "What the hell do I know about it?"

"Come off it. You'll know if he's got talent." Charles thought about that and amended it. "You'll know if he's marketable, at any rate."

"So would you," Drew said inflexibly.

"I can't -- I don't trust my judgment when it comes to him," Charles confessed.

Drawing Closer - 28

"Fuck him, and then look at them. I can guarantee you'll see them clearly then."

"It's not that simple."

"Never bloody is, with you," Drew muttered. "So he was in your class and you fancied him, but he wasn't interested? Don't you think you should take the hint?"

Charles glared at him. "
He
came on to
me
, actually.
And
turned up at my place the next day to try again."

Drew moaned. "You're not making any sense here. Did I tell you Laura's potty plays music when

she does the deed?"

"He's too young. It wouldn't be fair to him. And that's revolting."

"You're insane," Drew said with conviction. "Leaving that aside, and yes, it is, but Margaret thought it would help, and I'm not arguing with a woman who's had to have the carpets cleaned

three times in the past four months, it's still insane. So you want me to go in, take a look, report

back?"

"No, we're both going. I told you, I want to see his work--"

"That's what they call it these days, is it?"

"And if I go in there alone, he'll think -- he might assume--"

"So I'm there to hold your hand?" Drew's expression made it plain what he thought about that.

"Not literally. I don't need your support, thank you. I just want you to--"

"Yes?"

"Just make it look as if we're... together."

"Charles, leaving aside the many flaws in your plan, not least the fact that I'm married, live in

New York, and I'm leaving this benighted town tomorrow, don't you think that this is a little

juvenile?"

"Drew--"

"Not to mention tacky."

"He gave me something."

Drawing Closer - 29

"Even wacky -- what did he give you?"

"The book," Charles said. "Drew, you can cross it off my want list. He got it for me."

"The book." Drew's voice was flat. "Lover boy got you a copy--"

"Not mint." Charles did his best to placate him. "There's a small rip on the jacket and--"

"Of the book I've been hunting down for you, for the last six fucking years--"

"And I'm grateful to you. More than grateful." Charles frowned. "Aren't you glad?"

"Where did he find it?" Drew sounded savage. "Tell me where he got his grubby little hands on it."

"They're not grubby, and he, ah, well it turns out that his grandmother, charming lady, lives on

my street as chance would have it, and she, ah -- oh, fuck, Drew, she got it in a thrift store for a

dollar."

Drew made a choking sound. "I hate that," he said after a moment. "Fucking hate stories like that."

"I know," Charles said sympathetically. "They suck."

"Stop trying to sound American. I can get away with it, but it doesn't suit you. Yes, it sucks."

Drew gave him a cynical look. "And you didn't?"

"What?"

"Young Lancelot slays the dragon and brings you the treasure and you don't even give him a pity

fuck by way of thank you?"

"Oh, because that wouldn't be tacky!" Charles snarled.

"Point," Drew allowed. He nodded at the gallery. "Right. I'm curious now. Take me to him. Let me see the boy."

"I thought--"

"He beat me to a book." Drew bared his teeth in something that didn't resemble a smile at all.

"Don't expect me to like him."

***

According to Carl, Gray was a snuggler. He couldn't say it was something he wanted carved on

his gravestone, but it was true enough.

But only with a very few people, and it took one to know one; Carl and Gray couldn't be in the

same room for more than fifteen minutes without winding up close enough to touch, even if

they'd have to be
really
drunk, passing-out drunk, to cuddle. Sitting side by side, arms rubbing, sitting opposite each other on the floor, with Carl's foot digging into Gray's ribs now and then,

because Carl loved making him giggle, and with strong, damn near prehensile toes working his

skin, Gray couldn't help it.

And Charles... Gray didn't think he could get close enough to him. He wanted to strip them both

down and crawl close, nuzzle into clean skin, wrap his arms around that wide chest and hang on.

Knowing that he'd blown it, and one kiss and a few touches were all he had to look back on, was

twisting him up inside, spoiling the night.

Or maybe that could be blamed on the woman in front of him, Alise Narrington, owner of the

gallery, owner, now, of two of his paintings, and someone who was most definitely
not
on the

list when it came to touching him.

Because if there weren't any limits when it came to people like Carl getting close, he made up for

that by loathing it when his space was invaded by someone he didn't know, or didn't like. It was

taking all his willpower to stand there and smile as Alise's cool, dry fingers tapped his hand, his

arm -- fuck, even his face, although that was too much, and he stepped back quickly, using the

excuse of dealing with his empty wine glass to cover the flinch.

Her pale-blue eyes narrowed with annoyance but she didn't stop smiling. "It's going well, don't

you think?"

He nodded warily. Well enough. Red 'sold' stickers on a good third of his paintings, far more than

he'd expected given that two other, more established, artists were exhibiting as well.

"We should celebrate, Gray," she said. "What would you like to do?"

Charles walked in, his face impassive, his gaze traveling slowly around the room, and Gray gave

Alise one of his best smiles, blindingly happy suddenly.

"What? Do?" He turned his head to look at Charles again. "Three guesses..."

He heard her sigh and didn't mind that she got in one last pat on his ass before she moved away

to flirt with someone else. Not with Charles here, when he hadn't seen him for two weeks,

because he had too much pride to make it three rejections in a row and Charles knew where he

was if he wanted to find him.

And he hadn't, which should have made Gray hate him, or at least make an effort to forget him,

Drawing Closer - 31

but which just made him want him even more. If Charles had been playing some hard to get game,

which Gray didn't think he was, because he just wasn't like that, well, he'd won. Two weeks

without seeing him and Gray was ready to beg if that's what it took to get that mouth crushed

against his again.

And if he got that, he knew he'd get more.

Walking through the crowd, gaze locked on Charles, he missed seeing Carl approach until a large

hand wrapped around his arm.

"Fuck off, Carl. Not now, okay?"

"Look, you can't start something in here."

Gray blinked up at Carl. "What? Start what? I'm just going to say hi to someone."

The hand on his arm tightened. "Yeah. Saw him come in. Saw your face." Carl glanced over at

Charles and frowned. "Don't see the attraction."

Gray rolled his eyes. "You're not looking at him right."

He couldn't blame Carl though; Charles dressed to hide what he had, all loose pants, starched

shirts, tweed fucking jackets, like an alien trying to fit in by dressing to a stereotype of an English

professor. Gray would have liked to claim that it was his artist's eye that let him mentally strip

all that away to see the wide shoulders, slim hips and long, strong legs, but it was more likely just

lust. Charles was deceptive. Gray didn't mind that.

"He's okay," Carl said grudgingly, after another look. "Also with someone, or did you miss that?"

"What?" Gray dragged his attention off Charles, who was staring in quiet contemplative

amazement at a truly hideous painting of a cat that for some reason had been the first to sell --

had to be the artist's mother buying it -- and scanned the people around him. "Who?"

Carl's grip loosened. "Shit, Gray. Don't freak out on me. He walked in with him. Guy with a suit,