by A J Lange
And there was the rub; Zane couldn't explain it. He had no backstory for anyone who might have a hard time believing he was falling for a man, because he barely believed it himself. Gray was just…Gray. He was smart and intense and funny, and so blindingly hot that Zane’s tongue was tied in knots the second he turned that heated blue gaze on him.
Truthfully, Zane wasn't sure why half the population of Lawrence wasn't in love with Gray, regardless of their sexual preference.
Of course, he also had not one fucking clue if Gray felt the same way. But he was willing to linger, dancing around the professor’s periphery, until he could puzzle it all out.
Gray stayed and ate a burger and fries, fresh from the kitchen, after they finished with inventory. Then he stayed to tend bar, surprisingly awesome at it, having served a few drinks while working his way through college. He and Zane found an easy symmetry as they worked, attuned to the other's movements and personal space.
Tanner ribbed too loud that Zane’s new boyfriend most definitely had the chops, at which point Zane felt obliged to trip him. Gray, having overheard the exchange, carefully stepped over a tray of newly inventoried (and now shattered) glassware, and proceeded to ignore the both of them for a solid thirty minutes. He relented only after Zane promised to let him make a new spreadsheet.
At one a.m. a group of bridesmaids approached the bar, totally smashed and asking for a "Nolan Special". Gray turned to Zane, perplexed, and repeated their request. Zane blushed hard, grateful for the dim lights of the bar, and smiled at the girls.
"No ab shots tonight, ladies, sorry."
"Oh," the one wearing a veil said, lower lip pressed forward in a pout, before she laser focused on Gray. "So what about you, handsome? You interested?" She leaned over the bar, affording Gray a view straight down her low-cut top.
Gray opened his mouth to reply but Zane was already there, wedging himself between Gray and the pack of leering women. "Not tonight," Zane said firmly.
When he turned away, both Gray and Tanner were watching him in amusement. "Not a word, either of you," he said crossly. No sleezy bachelorette party was going to be licking their way up Gray’s abs on his watch. He gritted his teeth at the mental picture he had just supplied his already overheated imagination. Only it wasn't a horny bridesmaid's mouth on Gray’s torso.
Just before two, he and Gray found themselves alone in the empty kitchen.
"Gray," Zane smiled tiredly. "You've been a godsend today. But you really don't have to stay."
Gray tilted his head. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
Zane huffed a laugh. Hardly. Jesus. The man was absolutely lethal at the bar. Women and men were falling all over him, and honest to God even Tanner in his longest hair phase hadn't nabbed those kinds of tips on a Thursday night. "No, I'm just saying, if you're tired—" He hesitated. He didn't know what he was saying. And Gray had stepped closer while he spoke, until now only the scantest of inches separated them.
"I'm staying." Gray’s eyes dropped to Zane’s lips and held for a beat, before traveling further, to his bandaged hand. "How's the hand holding up? We should probably clean and re-bandage it."
"Stings like a mother," Zane admitted. "But I'll survive til closing."
Gray’s hand was ghosting over his own now, fingertips lightly tracing the white gauze. "I'll change these before you go home." And goddammit if his voice didn't drop a full octave.
Zane’s stomach quivered in response and he swallowed.
Gray leaned in a fraction more, eyes climbing to Zane’s lips again.
"Hey guys, we really need more cherries out here!"
Zane jumped back at Lily’s declaration, but the petite blonde had already swung back through the kitchen door.
He licked his lips. "I'll get those," he said, voice embarrassingly husky. And then he put some much-needed distance between them before his head exploded all over his nice, clean kitchen.
◆◆◆
Gray, true to his word, stayed until the last customer was ushered through the door, and while he and Tanner swept floors and wiped tables, they geeked out over a mutual love of the American Revolution. Zane watched them, bemused, from his seat at the bar as he counted down the till.
He might also have replayed the moment in the kitchen on a loop in his head.
As if he could read his mind, Gray caught his eye from across the bar, where he leaned on the long broom handle and gave Zane a slow wink. Flustered, Zane looked quickly back at the stack of bills in his hand, prickly heat warming his face. Fuck, he swore under his breath when he realized he had totally lost count, and had to start all over
Chapter 5
It was shockingly easy, the routine that emerged in the days that followed. Zane would drive out to the dig site in the morning to keep Gray company (or, as Gray noted, to make the grad students crazy with his constant stream of questions and heavy-handed “help”). Zane’s brand of assistance left much to be desired, though Gray was loathe to tell him so.
The fond way in which Gray’s eyes followed Zane around the dig site did not escape the notice of his students, who secretly delighted that Professor Sloan was finally going to get that uptight stick out of his ass. So, Zane’s messy presence was tolerated by all, and treasured by one in particular.
Most evenings, Gray had dinner with Zane at the pub, then stuck around to fill in at the bar when it was busy or Tanner worked late. Paperwork and grading beckoned occasionally, and on those nights he would appear under the neon Joe’s sign, near closing time, and stay after to close up. Zane would fuss, insisting Gray should have stayed home, but Gray would wink and say it was his favorite part of the day. And it was; after two a.m., when all of the patrons were gone, Zane would get this sleepy, satisfied look about him, his supercharged sexuality mellow and gruff humor tucked away. Together they would close the pub, sweeping the floors and stacking chairs, and talk about their day with quiet voices and small smiles.
It was kind of Zane’s favorite part of the day too.
Zane joked that he was going to put Gray on the payroll, but he was drawing the line at dental.
Gray said he could probably swing him an honorary doctorate, but only if Zane would leave the grad assistants alone long enough they could actually finish their research on time.
Gray eventually got sick of diner food, Chinese takeout, and pizza delivery, and showed up one night with a bag of groceries and a cast iron skillet. Zane eyed the proceedings warily but ate the end product with gusto. He never realized he was voluntarily consuming vegetables, and Gray thought it prudent to let it go unnoticed.
Gray accepted the five-dollar bill Tanner grudgingly slid across the bar to him the next night with a smirk. They both ignored Zane’s confused scowl.
By silent mutual agreement, the almost something from that night in the kitchen was never mentioned. Or repeated, much to Zane’s increasing dismay. He still thought about it though, a near-constant, aching need that burned in his gut. Sometimes he would stand in the corner and watch Gray work the bar, turning on the charm, enough so that Zane would feel jealousy wash through him, a physical rush of white-hot possessiveness. But then Gray would brush against him, unnecessarily close, offering a brief squeeze to his wrist or fingers at the base of his neck, a whispered comment in his ear, for Zane alone, in the loud chaos of the night.
Zane lived for those moments of contact. But the perpetual rise and fall dance of emotions was giving him an ulcer.
◆◆◆
Tanner appeared on Zane’s doorstep one Sunday night, three sheets to the wind. Gray answered the bell and caught him as he fell into the foyer.
“Hey, Grayss,” Tanner slurred, manhandling him into a bearhug.
Gray grunted under Tanner’s weight as the taller man leaned heavily on his shoulders. He peered out the open door, but Lily was nowhere to be seen; neither, for that matter, was Tanner’s car.
“Tanner,” Gray said, staggering back as Tanner swayed forward. “Uhnf…Zane!”
&
nbsp; Zane stepped out of the kitchen just in time to see Tanner fall to his knees, taking Gray with him onto the tile.
“Jesus, Tanner, what’s going on?” Zane helped disentangle the jumble of arms and legs before he pulled Gray to his feet first. “You okay?”
Gray nodded and together they propped Tanner up between them. They led him to the living room, where they deposited him on the couch.
“Should I leave?” Gray asked, brow furrowed.
“What? No!” Zane rubbed a hand across his mouth, more than a little shook up. Tanner never got drunk. A side effect, perhaps, of the trauma of their childhood, when their dad would drink too much after their mother died. “No,” he said again, and shook his head for emphasis. “But you can go make a pot of coffee, maybe?”
Zane sat beside his little brother on the couch after Gray left the room. He patted Tanner’s face until the other man roused, blinking rapidly.
“Zane,” Tanner grinned sloppily. “I’m drunk, Zaney."
“Yeah, I can see that.” Zane pursed his lips. “What happened?”
“Lily.” It was just one word, but it carried the weight of the world with it and Zane flinched. Surely nothing serious had happened. Tanner and Lily were the most solid things in Zane’s life. Their unwavering devotion and affection for each other were his touchstone. “What’d you do.” It was a statement, not a question; Lily was a saint for putting up with the Nolan men. No way this wasn’t Tanner’s fault.
“I dinnt do nothin,” Tanner’s lips worked around the words and he sat up straighter. He looked at Zane with sorrowful eyes. “She thinks I slept with my new secretary, Lucy.”
Zane frowned. “Is she high? Has she seen Lucy?” Lucy was sixty if she was a day and quite taken with Pepto-Bismol pink leisure suits.
Tanner chuckled and slapped one of his giant paws to Zane’s shoulder. “That’s what I said.” Zane flinched under the impact. Tanner didn’t know his own strength. “Nah, Lucy is always at lunch when Lily comes, but she left me this voicemail…” Tanner trailed off, eyelids drooping.
“Yeah, okay, so did you tell her she was nuts? Lily will believe you.” Zane propped Tanner up again when he started to slide down the couch cushions. “Sober, at least,” he said under his breath.
“Nuh uh,” Tanner mumbled. “She took my car keys and said go to your brother’s, Tanner, he’s gay and he STILL knows more about women than you.”
“I’m not gay,” Zane said automatically, but Tanner just laughed, until Zane scowled and punched him in the shoulder.
“Zane?” Gray stood in the living room door, two coffee mugs in hand.
Zane waved him over, face heating. He wondered how much Gray had overheard. “Gray, my brother is having a lover’s spat. I say this calls for the time-honored Nolan tradition of the Chewbacca Drinking Game.”
Gray’s face relaxed as he set the mugs on the coffee table. “The what, now?”
Tanner sat up straighter, having controlled his fit of giggles. “Gray,” he chided. “You mean Zane hasn’t gotten you drunk on Chewie and Han Solo yet?” Tanner’s eyebrows waggled and Zane blushed a deeper red.
“No, Tanner,” Gray chuckled. “I’m sad to say I haven’t had the pleasure.” His gaze slid sideways, and Zane felt the temperature in the room jump ten degrees when their eyes met and held.
Zane cleared his throat. “Well, all right then. Tanner, you sit tight and I’ll load the DVD. Gray, you grab the tequila.”
The rules of the game were fluid, as most drinking games are. Before the Empire Strikes Back was half over, Zane found himself sprawled across the floor, head resting on Gray’s thigh. All of his extremities tingled pleasantly, and warmth pooled in his midsection, expanding exponentially every time Gray shifted. Tanner was still ensconced on the couch, his too-long legs and arms dragging the floor.
“I love Lily,” Tanner mumbled into the cushion as Han and Leia professed their love for each other onscreen.
“You’re a sap,” Zane chuckled. His head was fuzzy from the tequila, and from the strong muscle that flexed under his neck. Gray’s hand rested on his chest, holding a shot glass, and Zane idly wondered what would happen if he leaned up and put his lips on the pulsepoint he could see jumping in his wrist.
“No, I’m serious,” Tanner continued. He propped his face on a fist. “I love Lily more than you, Zane. ”
Zane snorted. “Uh huh, sure Tanner. Whatever you say.”
Tanner threw a pillow at Zane, but since Gray was between the two, he became the unintended target. “Hey, I’m not involved in this.”
“Sorry, Gray. Gray,” Tanner warmed up to his declaration. “Gray, you were engaged to Elise, you know what I’m talking about, right?”
The name jarred Zane from his stupor. He felt as though he’d been punched. "Elise," he repeated wanly, then waited, hoping Tanner or Gray would say, What are you talking about, Zane, that he had had some sort of mini blackout. Or an aneurysm.
But Gray didn’t say anything, just threw back the contents of his glass in one swallow. He didn’t return his wrist to Zane’s chest and Zane could feel him moving uneasily.
From his vantage point, Zane couldn’t see his eyes, and he willed Gray to meet his gaze. Gray had this way of looking at him, heating Zane’s blood with a flutter of dark lashes against golden skin, and Zane suddenly craved it, fiercely.
And since when did Gray and Tanner have heart to hearts or share relationship stories, anyway?
"Elise was Gray’s fiancé, right Gray,” Tanner provided, unaware of the sudden tension in the room. He mumbled Lily’s name again, before his head dropped to the couch and he began to snore.
“He’s out,” Gray said softly. Zane felt his thigh tense again, as if he were going to push Zane away. “I should probably get going.”
“Like hell you are,” Zane said, and rolled to a sitting position. He had to throw down a hand to steady himself when the room spun. They staggered unsteadily to their feet and he grabbed Gray’s arm. “You’re staying with me.”
Zane’s head was foggy from tequila and the sudden movement, but he recognized his words were more forceful than he had intended and he gentled his grip. He started to apologize, but then Gray leaned forward at the exact moment Zane did and they found themselves caught in a semi-embrace, hands stilled on arms, on hips. Zane’s eyes fell to Gray’s mouth and he licked his lips.
“I—” he started to say, but Gray cut him off, closing the distance. Cool, dry lips brushed against Zane’s, once, twice. Then Gray hesitated, hovering, and Zane shivered when their breaths mingled in the inch of air that separated them.
Luke and Vader dueled above Cloud City now, the zing of their light sabers matching the thrum-thrum of Zane’s heart.
And here’s the thing: Zane meant to follow Gray’s lead, take it slow and easy. But the road guiding them to this moment had been too long and too damn frustrating, too filled with delicious moments of almost there, and Zane’s head swam with the brief touches and half smiles and soft laughs. He cracked, resolve crumbling, and pressed into Gray, mouth hungry for more, more. And Gray was right there, kissing him back, all breathless sighs and parted lips and teasing tip of tongue.
Zane carded his fingers through Gray’s hair, holding him still so he could lick into his mouth, swallowing Gray’s answering moan. The sound sent sparks of white-hot desire zipping right to his groin and he shifted, needing to be closer.
Gray responded by grabbing the belt loops of Zane’s jeans and pulling their hips flush. The answering friction of denim on denim was brutally hot, and Zane thought he might have whimpered, but he couldn’t be sure because he had lost all control. Gray was devouring him, dipping in and around the recesses of his mouth, stroking his tongue and sucking it into submission.
It was, simply put, the hottest kiss of Zane Nolan’s life.
“Fuck. Why haven’t we been doing this the whole time,” he breathed when they broke apart.
Gray huffed a laugh, moist heat caressing Zane’s chee
k. “I was waiting for you to get with the program,” he growled the words into Zane’s ear, and Zane shuddered.
“Oh, I’m with the program, I’m fucking headlining the program now.”
Gray’s mouth found his again, teeth tugging on his bottom lip, strong hands holding Zane in place. As if he would go anywhere. As if he could. Heat, open-mouthed and wet, trailed across Zane’s jaw, dropping to suck gently on a sensitive spot on his neck, hitting every last one of his buttons on the way.
Zane was drunk, flying, not on the alcohol, but on Gray, male and spicy and warm, the sweet smell of spring lingering on Gray’s skin from his freshly laundered shirt. It was heady and intoxicating and Zane wondered if they were ever going to get out of bed once they finally tumbled in.
He could think of worse ways to go.
“Zane,” Gray whispered, hands stroking down Zane’s chest. “Zane, wait.” But his words were at war with his fingers as they played with the bare skin under the hem of Zane’s t-shirt. Zane captured that full mouth with his, silencing him with tongue and lips and hands, unable to get close enough. He wanted to crawl inside of him.
Gray murmured against his mouth, “Zane, wait. Not like this.”
Zane hummed against Gray’s jaw, dragging over-stimulated lips across the sandpaper of his skin. “Not like what?” he asked, not listening, not really.
He stumbled back when Gray shoved, hard. “What the hell, Gray,” he rasped, shaking his head to clear it. He watched the other man's chest heave in time with his own as they fought to catch their breath. A small sound behind him reminded Zane of Tanner’s presence on the couch.
