Goldilocks and His Three Bears (11 page)

“No more getting yourself beat up.”

“I didn't,” protested Scott immediately. “You should have seen the other guy.”

“I thank God I didn't,” said Jim honestly. “I don't know what I might have done to him.”

Scott blinked. One of his unbound hands moved restlessly on the bed beside him until Jim captured it in his own. “Do I need to tie you up again?”

Scott shook his head slowly. “No. Not... at least not now.”

“Good.” Jim leaned forward and kissed him. With only an inch between their lips, he whispered, “And you're not going to the Faultline anytime soon.”

Scott blinked again. “What? I'm grounded?”

“Something like that.” Jim watched him, waiting. He saw Scott absorb this. Easily, smoothly. Like earth absorbing rainwater.

“You goin’ ta stick around and make sure of that?” Scott asked softly.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.” Scott lifted his chin, jaw set.

“Okay,” said Jim.

Scott sighed. It was a light exhalation of air, but the release of it traveled all up and down the tension that had been visible in Scott's body, something heavy leaving his eyes as it did so. “Okay.”

Jim's hand caressed the golden head one more time. His thumb traced Scott's jaw. Relaxed, Scott's willful mouth looked soft and kissable. So he kissed it again. Scott gave under him, mouth opening to receive his tongue, eyes flickering closed.

His eyes were still closed when Jim pulled away, so Jim was able to get control of himself before Scott opened his eyes again.

Jim reached across to the bedside lamp and switched it off. “Now, sleep,” he said.

He helped Scott lie down and tucked him in. The other man curled on his side, relaxed and asleep in seconds. Then Jim gathered up their plates and tiptoed out of the room.

Paul was waiting in the living room when Jim came in. He seemed to be watching some program, but he hit the Mute button as soon as Jim sat down.

“Where's Brian?” asked Jim.

“He's got some new software that does accounts,” said Paul. “He's transferring all my business transactions into it.”

Jim chuckled. “He'll make a rich man of you sooner or later, I bet.”

“I'd settle for being able to stay down here full-time.” Paul frowned at the TV remote and set it carefully on the table. “I'm counting on you to be here when I go up north next year.”

Jim nodded.

“I've been thinking that maybe it's time I bought my own dealership here in LA. Maybe bring Brian in when he gets his degree.”

“Sounds like a good plan. You're thinking long-term. That's... good.”

“Have to,” said Paul. “That's how it works.”

Jim nodded, eyes hooded.

“So.” Paul looked his friend over. “I thought you might want to talk about it now.”

Jim nodded again, studying his folded hands. “Yeah, it's time to talk about it.” He frowned at his hands and nodded to himself, sadly. “His name was Robert. He was... maybe a year or two older than Brian when I met him.” Jim's brows creased in a little pain. “He was sweet. Kind. Creative. Just... a little too sensitive sometimes. And... there were the drugs.”

“Ah.”

“He was addicted. We'd been living together for a few months before I even realized that there was a problem. So many guys were snorting coke in those days, you know? It seemed recreational. I didn't see it at first, and then when I did, I went the whole route. Blaming myself, blaming his dealers. Blaming him. Threats. Everything. I did everything wrong.”

“What's the right thing in those situations?” said Paul. “Nobody ever knows.”

“I wanted to help him myself. I tried controlling him.” A bitter laugh. “When I saw that that wasn't working, I called one of those twelve-step programs.” Jim laid a big hand over his eyes. “He was so angry with me.”

“He had to know why you did it?”

Jim's head shook slowly side to side. “No. No, it wasn't about the relationship at all. I couldn't see that. I was such an ass, I thought he was still testing me. Of course it was so much more than that. So... he... he OD'd.”

“God, I'm sorry, Jim.”

“Wasn't the first time,” said Jim, talking faster, like he could get the words out and it would be over sooner, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “But it was the last. They never brought him around, I heard. I... I didn't even know. We'd fought. I'd told him the drugs or me.” He laughed. A sad, angry laugh. “Guess he picked the drugs.” Jim put his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

Paul waited silently for his friend to regain his composure.

“That was almost a decade ago. Sometimes it seems like it happened just last week. I don't know if I can feel that again. Lose someone like that again.”

“But Scott isn't him, Jim.”

“Isn't he?”

“No, Scott has a good, strong survival instinct. Look at how he made you pay attention when he needed you. And you aren't the same now, Jim.”

“Aren't I?”

“Of course not. You know more. And"— Paul grinned to himself—"if you get it wrong, Brian'll be right there to tell you so.”

Something like a smile appeared beneath Jim's beard. “He's really something.”

“Scary little shit.”

“He'll be running our lives in a few years.”

“If we're lucky.” Paul laughed, head back, big booming laugh. “Hey, Brian!” he yelled.

Brian came skidding into the living room at a run. “Yes, sir?”

Curls all around his head, down to his shoulders now. Cheeks pink and flushed. His boxers were covered with smiley faces.

“Jim and you and I and Scott need something special to celebrate. How would you like to have those cute little nipples pierced?”

Brian's hands flew to said nipples. He squeaked.

Jim's eyes went hot. “I'll tell Scott.”

“Next thing you know, he'll be tattooing his name across Brian's butt,” growled Scott, slipping a T-shirt over his head.

“If Brian wants that, I'm sure he'll let Paul know.”

Scott slid a glance sideways, watched Jim as he buttoned his shirt. “If you think I'm going to just roll over and let you do things to me... ”

Jim frowned. “Of course not.”

“I'm not your dog.”

“I never said you were.”

“Brian might need somebody bossing him around, but I sure as hell don't.”

Jim chose not to respond to this. He turned away, opening a dresser drawer. Scott narrowed his eyes at that turned back and clenched his jaw.

“Did you hear me, Jim?” he said.

Jim sighed. “Of course I heard you, Scott.”

“And you don't have to take that tone with me, either.” Scott's arms folded across his chest. “I'm not an idiot.”

Jim closed the drawer and rested his hands for a moment on the dresser. “No,” he said, after several minutes of silence. “You're not an idiot. But... you do want someone to tell you what to do.”

“Fuck that,” said Scott.

Jim turned. They eyed each other. “Scott,” said Jim, “it isn't like you to use foul language. Please stop cursing.”

“Fuck you too,” said Scott.

Jim's lips compressed, his eyes went dark. “Go back to bed, Scott.”

Scott planted his feet firmly where he stood.

“Fine,” said Jim.

A few minutes later, a bound Scott's eyeballs were rolling to the ceiling as Jim's hands and mouth worked his cock and balls. His protests and curses had rapidly turned to entreaties and moans, and now he only whimpered as his belly tensed, his balls jerked, and ropey come sprayed Jim's face.

Jim stood, went to the bathroom, and washed his face. He came out with a warm wet washcloth and cleansed Scott. He drew the coverlet up and covered his lover carefully.

“Gotta pee,” said Scott.

“You should have thought of that,” said Jim calmly. He patted Scott's leg. “I'll let you go in a few minutes, hon. I want you to think about it, okay?”

“Okay.” Scott watched Jim stand and walk toward the bedroom doorway. “Hey!” he said, as Jim was about to leave.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Jim took a breath. Exhaled and took another. Blinked his eyes fiercely. “I love you too, Scott,” he whispered.

“Studio City Tattoo.” Brian read the engraved window backward. “Hey.” He nudged Scott playfully. “Do you want one?”

Scott was peering into the case of piercing jewelry like a girl looking at solitaire diamonds. He looked up at Brian and shook his head.

“Nah. Not into pain, my little endorphin bunny.”

Jim's big hand was on Scott's shoulder. It seemed Jim was always there of late. “It really doesn't hurt that much.”

Scott didn't comment. Jim's hand slid up Scott's neck to cup the close-cropped head. Scott's head rolled a little into the caress. His eyes lifted to meet Jim's and some sort of communication seemed to be happening between them. They were mostly quiet, thought Brian, except when they fought. But they rotated around each other like two heavy planets, creating their own gravity. A little orbit of two. Neither he nor Paul had been invited in sexually since the Big Fight.

“It's part of the process,” said Paul calmly as he and Brian were dressing one morning. He sat on the bed, tying his shoes. “They need to stabilize their power exchange before they can bring other people in again.”

“We didn't have to,” said Brian. Okay, he did feel a little left out.

Paul waved him over, and Brian went, snuggled into his Daddy's embrace. “There's no one set of rules, Brian. Every relationship has a different balance.”

“Okay.”

Brian left Scott and Jim in their silent communion and went to find Paul.

Paul was at the back of the shop, deep in conversation with a man wearing the shop's logo on his T-shirt. The guy was tall, with a black handkerchief tied around his head, enormous black eyes and a diamond tooth that flashed when he smiled. He looked like a pirate. It made Brian a little nervous.

The muscles in the guy's heavily inked arms flexed as he turned and appraised Brian with those gigantic eyes. “That him?” he said to Paul.

At Paul's murmured assent, the man chuckled and stepped forward, proffering a long-fingered hand with immaculate nails.

“Roger,” he said. He looked Brian up and down. “You ever been pierced?”

The way he asked it made Brian feel like a sixteen-year-old virgin.

“No,” he said, cheeks warming. He looked to Paul, instinctively moving toward the safety there. “Roger did a lot of my work,” said Paul, holding out one thick arm and tracing a complex group of snakes winding around his bicep.

“Oh!” Brian let his fingers trace the snakes’ heads. “I love those.”

Roger grinned. “Thanks.” He gestured toward a chair that looked like something one would see in a dentist's office: sterilized metal trays and stainless steel equipment and everything.

The association immediately set up cold sweat in Brian's armpits and a steady thrum of nerves in his belly.

“Have a seat.”

Brian glanced at Paul, who nodded reassuringly. “Okay.” Brian stripped off his T-shirt and climbed into the chair.

Roger looked over Brian's chest with a hungry eye. “No ink?”

“Not yet,” said Paul calmly.

“Mmm,” said Roger, fingers traveling over Brian's pecs like a sculptor might touch a fine piece of marble. “Any ideas?”

“Something with dragons,” Brian piped up immediately. Paul's eyebrows went up, and he and Roger both regarded Brian with some surprise.

“Interesting,” said Paul.

“They get along with snakes,” said Brian.

Paul's hand was suddenly on his shoulder, mouth covering his. For a minute, Brian forgot where he was and melted into the utter possession of the kiss. Then Roger cleared his throat and Paul straightened, but he kept his grip on Brian's arm, and his eyes burned into Brian's.

“Okay.” Roger applied alcohol to both of Brian's nipples. They immediately stood straight up, the skin pebbling around them and then down his chest.

“I have to clamp them,” said Roger, about two seconds before he pinched the right one.

“Eeep!” said Brian, his breath coming faster, looking up at Paul.

The first one was a bright sting that lit a corner of his brain and left a big ache behind it. Paul's eyes, looking down into his, were hot and intense. Brian could feel himself getting hard, and his legs moved restlessly on the chair, trying to mask the bulge he figured both men could see.

Roger chuckled. “A natural,” he said.

“Yes,” said Paul, eyes never leaving Brian's. His voice was hoarse.

Brian felt the cool metal of the piercing tool on his other nipple. His whole body tensed with anticipation, flesh shivering, balls tingling.

“Back room to your left, Paul,” said Roger. “Nice and private.”

Like being bitten by a snake, thought Brian. He wrapped himself around the flash in his head and the throb of pain and then a wash of something a little sickening and a lot wonderful.

His head cleared, and Paul was helping him from the chair. “C'mon, hon.”

From behind them Roger's voice reminded, “Don't touch the piercings.”

And they were in a small room that smelled of alcohol and something head shoppy. Paul's hands stripped Brian's jeans from him. Then there was only a hard cock at his entrance, spit and whatever coated the condom, and not much else.

“Lean over.” It was a command, but Paul's desperation made it a plea, and Brian braced his hands on a counter, legs spread. He moaned as Paul breached his entrance easily.

Big hand around Brian's cock, steady firm strokes. Big cock up his ass, driving hard and slow in and out. They both moaned, the sound of their bodies loud in Brian's ears. Whatever Paul said was through clenched teeth while his fist urged Brian on.

Brian yelled when he came.

They stayed in the little room for a few minutes, Paul leaning against the counter, arms around Brian's belly, while Brian leaned back. He was floating, drifting as lazily as those dust motes. Paul's fingers traveled slowly and lightly over Brian's hip.

“Dragons?”

“Mmm.” Brian could feel the place where Paul's chest and his head connected. Every point of contact between Paul's arms and his torso. They breathed in unison, he realized. Like they were one animal.

“Maybe a two-headed dragon,” said Brian dreamily. “Like us.”

When they came back out of the room, Scott was in the chair, shirt off and one gold ring through one nipple. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing hard, gripping Jim's hand.