Wesley (13 page)

So he’d spent an hour last night with Remus, eating and not talking, and, strangely enough, when Armando had gone back to his place, he’d felt calmer. Almost happy, even. After his shower, he’d gone to bed and slowly masturbated, enjoying the sensations then like he hadn’t been able to in the restroom at work.

He’d thought of Wes every second he’d stroked himself too and had come so much he’d had to change the sheets and shower all over again, without his special soap. Somehow, Remus had either made the stuff disappear or he’d sneaked in and taken it. Or maybe he’d done some shamanistic chant and it’d melted. Whatever, it was gone, and the bottle of spray was empty, too. Armando had been skeeved out, amused, and awed all at once.

Today he would have to go to work without his armour. Without some of it, at least. He was still wearing his baggy clothes—his baggiest, grungiest ones. If he couldn’t talk himself out of going in, he could at least look his worst, and while he didn’t have his neutralisers, he did have a bottle of cologne he could douse himself with.

There was no point in doing so, though. It’d be an embarrassingly obvious ploy. The loose clothing wouldn’t be, because he often dressed that way. Armando stood in front of the mirror on the armoire door. He looked himself over critically. He had some cushioning, that was for sure. There were no six-pack abs anywhere near him, but he wasn’t so bad. And his ass was nice, rounded and full, not flat or muscular. Not that there was anything wrong with either of those. In fact, he’d preferred getting his hands on a taut, well-defined ass back in the day.

Armando knew why he’d let himself gain weight. He didn’t want to attract any man, and definitely not the big, muscular kinds who used to be drawn to his former twink bod. He’d been slender, hung, handsome, and he’d almost died at the hands of an evil man. Now he had let himself go soft, eating instead of starving himself, and he liked food. A lot. There’d be no more skipping meals to keep himself skinny.

He ran a hand down the slight swell of his belly. He still didn’t have any chest hair, or hardly even a treasure trail. Armando had given up on ever being a bear. It was too bad, because he liked lots of body hair. Although maybe he wouldn’t like it on himself.

Shrugging and giving up on his self-perusal, Armando walked to the treadmill. He put in an hour every other day because, while he didn’t want to be thin, he didn’t want to be out of shape, either. Hiking took stamina, as did volleyball and basketball, which he played all of the time with the kids at the shelter. Huffing and puffing, being out of breath, was unthinkable.

While he warmed up on the treadmill, Armando’s thoughts went right back to Wes. He wondered if Wes had talked to Sully. If not, he would. Armando didn’t deceive himself into thinking that he’d never have to talk to Sully—or Bobby—again. Bobby would soon be taking over the pack, after all. Armando would have to decide before then whether he could tolerate living on the pack lands when that happened. Bobby and Sully would move there. It was fucked up,
he
was fucked up, hating those two for really no reason.

It wasn’t good for him, and yeah, probably not for Sully and Bobby. They were decent people, and Armando’s continued anger towards them had probably bothered them at times. Not that he believed they stayed up fretting over it at night. Carrying around such unjustified feelings were hurting him and interfering with him progressing past the events that had screwed him up. Armando could see that clearly now.

Because he wanted Wes, and, even though it terrified him, he wanted Wes to fuck him, too. Someday. Not any time soon. Not the slow, easy kind of fucking, either. Armando clenched his butt as he picked up speed on the treadmill. He felt warm and tingly around his hole as he flexed his cheeks. He hadn’t even touched himself back there since the rape, and didn’t know if he could, so he should probably check that out before he let Wes anywhere near him again.

And he needed to talk to Wes, he guessed—
and
his therapist. Really talk to her. Armando knew it was time to concentrate on healing. Baby steps, he reassured himself. He was still going to wear his baggies. For one thing, he didn’t have any other kind of clothes to wear.

“So I’m really going to do this,” he huffed as he ran faster on the treadmill. Armando’s feet hurt from pounding on the exercise equipment. He slowed down and jogged for a few minutes before walking then finally stopping. Sweat slicked his skin, and he had a semi, brought on by the endorphins and images of Wes.

A cool shower did little to ease his burgeoning erection, but Armando decided to ignore it. He was going to get dressed—albeit in his tightest underwear with the hopes that it’d hold his dick down—and he was going to the shelter. He had a job to do and people depending on him. All of his life, he’d let what other people did to him shape him and his decisions. He’d been doing it even more the past two years. It was time for that shit to stop.

What all that entailed, Armando wasn’t sure. He towelled off then brushed his teeth. His hair had got longer than he’d realised. Sometimes it’d be weeks that would pass before Armando really looked at himself in the mirror. This morning was the first time in a good while. When he shaved the few hairs from his face, Armando only focused on them. He’d truly become out of synch with his body.

Armando examined his face after he’d brushed his teeth. His skin was clear, no scars or blemishes, and it was a nice light brown, not too dark and definitely not pale. His eyebrows could use some work. Armando leaned closer until his nose almost touched the mirror. Those eyebrows were edging on becoming
that eyebrow
instead.

Armando shuddered. How was it he had practically no body hair, but his eyebrows could be shaved and used to knit a sweater or two? “Gross.”

Uni-brows were icky. They reminded him of his father, and his uncles and just about every other man in his family. Former family, he corrected himself. All of them had disowned him long ago. He didn’t have a family now.

Remus’ wrinkled face floated through his mind and Armando felt shame trickle down his spine. He did have family, if he wanted one. Remus and his sons had been good to Armando even though he’d kept them at a distance. It was a wonder they put up with him.

There were many things going on in his head. Armando snorted and plucked at one of the hairs between his eyebrows. He had a lot to think about, decisions to make, responsibilities to bear, perhaps for the first time in his life. He’d told himself he had been healing these past two years, but he hadn’t. Armando knew now he’d been hiding.

But no more. He wasn’t ready to run out and tackle the world, but he was ready to start living again—or, perhaps more truthfully, for the first time.

* * * *

When Armando walked into the youth shelter, he knew immediately that something was wrong. Alisa was trying to calm down several upset teens. Upset was an understatement—crying, sobbing, exceedingly distressed, that was more accurate.

Armando rushed over to the open doorway of the conference/counselling room. Alisa wasn’t the only one trying to calm the kids down. Dr Young, the psychologist who volunteered three mornings a week, and Wes were there. Armando’s heart skipped a beat even though Wes didn’t look up from the two young ladies he was talking so earnestly to.

Alisa glanced up and he saw from the shine in her eyes that she, too, was close to tears. She gestured him over then shook her head before flicking a finger in the direction of his office. Armando frowned but left, following her unspoken command. He wanted to know what was going on, but he understood telling him all over again in front of the kids would not help them.

He heard wailing, and thought he recognised it as coming from Sue. It sent a chill over him. Sue could be a tad melodramatic, but most of the time she had a good head on her shoulders. If she was that upset—

Armando stopped in the hallway. He could only think of one thing that would upset Sue like that, and it would be the death of someone she cared about. As far as Armando knew, the only person she was close enough to for that to happen was her girlfriend Dyan.

“Just keep walking.”

Armando spun around, one hand going to his throat as he swallowed back a squeak. It wasn’t Alisa who had followed him. He gawped at Wes for a second then snapped his mouth shut and gave a clipped nod. Wes looked a decade older, the bad news he was bearing aging him with its weight.

Even so, Wes still was a handsome man, and Armando had to tear his gaze away. He forced himself to turn around and take the steps necessary to reach his office. The door was unlocked and the light on, so Alisa had probably already been in there.

“Come in,” he muttered, remembering why they were in the office. Armando watched Wes enter, then he shut the door. “Have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand.” Wes’ voice rumbled over him, setting off sensations he didn’t want to deal with right now.

Armando grunted and walked to his desk, where he leaned a hip against it and crossed his arms over his chest. Then he uncrossed them as Wes came over to stand right at the edge of what Armando would deem his personal space.

“You smell like you today,” Wes said quietly. “I like it.”

Armando wanted to look away but didn’t. He wasn’t a kid or a shy, blushing virgin, and he wasn’t going to act like he was. “Remus took away the odour-neutralising soap he’d given me.” He didn’t see any reason to mention the spray. Chances were that Wes knew about it anyway. “What happened?”

Wes gnawed on his bottom lip, just as he’d done yesterday, and Armando’s traitorous dick took note. Two years of not having to worry about his scents being detected had left him wide open to Wes scenting his arousal, and Wes did, eyes going wide as his nostrils flared.

“Ignore it,” Armando snapped, angrier at his body than at anything else. “You already know I’m very attracted to you. What. Happened.”

Wes looked like he’d been kicked by a mule, so stunned was his expression, but he quickly recovered and growled, “Later, we’re going to talk about that, later.”

Armando didn’t agree, not out loud, but inside that little voice sang with glee.

“Dyan’s parents found her and took her back.” Wes scrubbed his hands through his hair and sighed. “Or, more correctly, they sent some borderline thugs to nab her. Sue tried to fight them and they obviously had no qualms about hitting a female. She has a black eye and her lip could use some stitches. Alisa and Dr Young are going to take her to the physician the shelter uses for the kids.”

Armando frowned. “Okay, I thought someone had died. I thought Dyan had died, so I apologise for seeming relieved that she was only taken. Granted, not all parents should have their kids, but from what I remember Dyan telling me, her parents weren’t physically abusive—”

“No, just extremely religious and determined to send their lesbian daughter off to a boot camp that’s supposed to cure her and make her a perfect, straight, religious zealot.” Wes growled and fisted one hand, which he promptly slammed into his palm. “God damn it, and there’s nothing we can do.”

“God damn it,” Armando muttered, slouching and rubbing at his eyes. “There isn’t, not legally. Dyan’s a minor, she hasn’t been emancipated from her parents, and even though they did throw her out, Dyan refused to take any action against them for it. She said her sisters were well taken care of and loved, that it was just her once her parents caught her making out with their pastor’s daughter.”

“Sue,” Wes said.

Armando grunted and gave up on standing, hitching himself up enough to sit on the desk. “Yeah, Sue. They both were tossed out, and Sue had heard of this place when her dad was preaching hell and brimstone against homosexuals and those sheltering them. Guess it’s no surprise Dyan’s parents looked for her here.” He glanced at Wes through a chunk of hair dangling over his eyes. “Is she worried her parents will come for her, too?”

“Not at all.” Wes exhaled as if an elephant sat on his chest, then he dropped into a chair. “Dyan’s abductors grabbed her a couple of hours ago, when Sue and Dyan were on their way back from McDonald’s. They’d stayed up all night studying, and gone for a very early breakfast. There’s no telling how long Dyan has been watched.” He used his long fingers to rub at his forehead. “As for Sue and her parents, no, she said she’s dead to her parents. Sue’s terrified for Dyan, though, and vowing to get her out of the boot camp come hell or high water. I think she means it, too.”

She almost certainly did. Armando pushed at the hair, which promptly flopped back in his eyes. “I agree, even if I haven’t talked to her. Sue and Dyan might be young, but they are one of those couples that, though human, remind me of the mated pairs.” It was his first hint that he knew about shifters, about Wes. “I don’t believe Sue will ever give up Dyan, and vice versa. Do you know what camp she was being taken to?”

Wes stared at him for so long that Armando started to sweat, which he hated. He hated any sign of his own weakness, and nervousness was just that to him. And Wes was making him nervous with that steady look. Armando almost jumped off the desk when Wes finally spoke.