Bliss

by Lisa Henry

  Rory flushed, drawing back from him slightly. “Don’t thank me, you’re the one doing all the work.”

  Tate nodded and smiled. He dropped his gaze. “Still. Thank you for giving me a chance. I won’t disappoint you again.”

  Again? Rory’s face burned. The aborted blowjob. As though he needed another reminder of that. It was bad enough looking at Tate’s face and seeing those lips stretched around his cock every single time. “I’m not, um, I’m not keeping score or anything, you know. And you haven’t disappointed me.”

  Confused the shit out of me, maybe.

  Tate seemed pleased.

  “Okay, so I’ll see you tonight.” Rory grabbed his bag and left before he felt the urge to say something else and probably ruin both their good moods.

  It felt wonderful to work hard for Rory. Tate cleaned the entire house, paying special attention to the dining room and the bathroom. He didn’t want Rory’s guests to think that he wasn’t doing a good job. He especially didn’t want them to think that Rory was doing a bad job managing his rezzy. After cleaning, Tate went to the grocery store. The staff there still glanced at his wristbands curiously, but Tate had told them solemnly on his first visit that he’d punched a man and he was very sorry, and now they treated him kindly enough.

  Even though he’d been there numerous times now, he still stared at the shelves with a mix of wonder and horror. Wonder because he’d never seen such plenty, and horror because he didn’t know what to choose when there were so many options. Not the fault of the chip, he knew, but because he was an outsider. There had been no stores like this in Tate’s old neighborhood. Just a twenty-four-hour convenience store with half-empty shelves. And the soup kitchen line, of course, but that was before Tophet’s government had cut Tate’s benefits as a part of the No Handouts for Crims bill.

  No fresh food. No choice. Tate hadn’t even known there were so many different kinds of milk. He’d only ever seen the powdered stuff before Beulah. Tate was so very lucky to be here.

  So lucky.

  So grateful.

  So happy.

  “Well,” Lowell said as he arrived, “something smells divine!”

  “That would be me,” Ruth told him with a laugh, and Zac snorted.

  Ruth and Zac. The lawyers Lowell had handpicked for his department, and after working with them for the week, Rory knew why. They were both dedicated, ambitious, whip smart and, most importantly, untainted by professional jealousy. They worked well together, a brilliant team.

  “And you must be Tate,” Lowell said, holding out his hand.

  Tate shook it. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

  “You’ll be joining us for dinner, I hope.” Lowell smiled at him. “If Rory agrees, of course.”

  “Of course,” Rory said, gratified. He’d been worried there might be some awkwardness with Tate. If Rory hadn’t yet figured out how he fit into his life, then how would the others react? He was glad to see them taking their lead from Lowell and shaking Tate’s hand.

  “You still don’t have any pictures up,” Aaron commented, stepping inside. “It looks like you only moved in today!”

  “I haven’t had time to take any yet,” Rory told him.

  “You should go to the North Lakes on the weekend. If you like ducks.” Aaron straightened his tie. “The sunsets are really beautiful there. They’d make a nice picture.”

  “Let the man decorate in his own time, Aaron,” Lowell chided him.

  “It’s a good idea,” Rory said. “I’d love to see more of Beulah. I don’t have a decent camera, though.”

  “You can borrow mine,” Aaron said. “Wow, dinner does smell nice! I hope it tastes half as good!”

  “Tate’s learning to cook.” Rory cast him a proud look. It really did smell amazing.

  Lowell clapped Rory on the back. “See? Already his restitution duties are fostering a new skill set.”

  Tate smiled, his face lighting up with pleasure. “Would anyone care for some wine?”

  Rory relaxed. No, there was no need for awkwardness at all. He should have known that. His colleagues were good people, open and friendly, and not prejudiced. Nobody here thought that Tate was less of a man because he’d committed a crime. No, that had just been Rory, bringing his outside prejudices in.

  Tate had already proven to everyone else that he was taking his restitution seriously, that he wanted to get better and earn people’s trust. And like the good and honest people they were, the citizens of Beulah were welcoming him with open arms. Now all Rory needed to do was follow suit.

  And it was hard not to be impressed with Tate. He’d chosen a good wine to go with dinner, and dinner itself was great. Hell, Rory had never tasted anything so delicious. The roast was perfect, not too dry, and Tate had made some sort of sauce, as well, although Rory didn’t know what it was. He’d even baked fresh bread. Rory felt more than ever like Beulah truly was paradise. He could never have imagined that one day he’d be eating a meal like this, surrounded by friends like these. They talked and laughed and joked, and even Tate was smiling and looking relaxed.

  “That was perfection,” Lowell announced. “Marvelous. I really ought to invite myself to dinner more often, Rory, if Tate will cook every time!”

  Tate flushed at the praise, his smile widening.

  “You need to get married, sir,” Aaron grinned. “And stop eating takeout.”

  Lowell raised his eyebrows. “Are you offering, Aaron?”

  Aaron blushed all the way to his ears. “Um . . . no, sir!”

  Rory was pleased to see that Lowell was teasing Aaron again. Ever since he’d been brusque with him the other day, Aaron hadn’t been himself. It was obvious that he worshipped Lowell and he’d been upset that Lowell had been short with him. And whatever had been bothering Lowell enough to take it out on his eager intern, it seemed to have passed, as well.

  “I made dessert too,” Tate volunteered.

  “Ah, then let’s have at it!” Lowell patted his slight paunch. “And is that another bottle of red I see on the counter?”

  Tate stood up. “Let me get it for you, sir.”

  “Nonsense. You get the dessert, Aaron will get the wine.” Lowell raised his eyebrows. “Aaron?”

  “I’m on it, sir,” Aaron said, giving the man a mock salute.

  Rory laughed.

  “Oh, he is the best intern ever,” Ruth said under her breath as Aaron headed for the kitchen. “Nothing’s too much trouble.”

  Zac rolled his eyes. “Except sitting still in court. He’s like a puppy.”

  “Hush now,” Lowell said. “Enthusiasm’s no bad thing.”

  “No, but if his tongue starts hanging out, you’re going to have some explaining to do.”

  Lowell roared with laughter.

  “What?” Aaron asked, setting the wine on the table. “What did I miss?”

  Lowell reached out and tugged Aaron down onto his lap. “Nothing at all, my boy.”

  “Um.” Aaron smiled awkwardly, his face flushed. “Okay. I think, um, I’m going to have to stand up to pour the wine, though.”

  He squirmed a little, trying to pull himself up, but Lowell just tightened his grip. “Nonsense. That’s what Tate’s here for. You’ve run yourself ragged today; you deserve a little fun time.”

  Rory glanced at Ruth and Zac to find that they were suddenly looking somewhere else. Shit. So Lowell got a little handsy when he was drunk. A little too handsy. At the moment, one of his hands was tucked into Aaron’s jeans. And Aaron looked petrified.

  “Aaron, I think Tate needs a hand in the kitchen,” Rory said, his gaze fixed on Lowell. Please don’t make this a big thing.

  Lowell laughed and let Aaron go. Maybe he hadn’t realized he was being inappropriate, and all it took was a gentle reminder. He was still a good man, Rory told himself. Good men were allowed to have faults, especially when they were gracious about having them pointed out.

  Aaron headed for the kitchen, face bright red.

  Nobo
dy scolded Lowell for what he’d done. Nobody even commented on it.

  “I won’t stay for dessert,” Ruth said, standing. “I’ve got an early deposition tomorrow. Thanks for having me, Rory. Thanks, Tate!”

  “I’ll give you a lift,” Zac said.

  “Thanks for coming,” Rory said, seeing them to the door.

  Aaron was still hiding in the kitchen when he returned to the table. Lowell poured himself a generous glass of wine.

  “So tell me,” Lowell said, leveling his twinkling gaze on Rory. “Have you availed yourself of Tate’s other services yet?”

  “O-other services, sir?”

  “Two healthy young men living in close quarters, and one of them so very, very enthusiastic about his placement?” He shrugged and leaned back into his chair with a chuckle. “Ah well, I suppose the two of you have seven years to give in to your baser desires, don’t you? All good things in time.”

  Oh God, he thinks I’m going to have sex with Tate. Have had sex. Am having sex. Rory flushed hot. “Isn’t that a little unethical, sir? What with me being in a position of authority?”

  “Of course not! Not if he’s willing. Not if he approaches you, especially. It’s not like he stands to gain or lose anything by it, after all. His position here is safe and secure regardless.” He took a slow sip of his wine. “All I’m saying is, if that’s something you do want, there’s no need to threaten him for it or make yourself feel guilty over it. Make yourself available and I think you’ll find him only too happy to play along.”

  “He, uh—” Rory flushed, wondering if he should really admit it, considering Lowell’s earlier behavior. On the other hand, it would be nice to have someone as respectable and educated as Lowell soothe his conscience on the whole thing. “He actually already has, sir. Sort of.”

  Lowell slapped his palm against the surface of the table with a roaring laugh. “That’s what I like to hear! And you enjoyed it?”

  “I actually, um, I actually put a stop to it. I didn’t think it was appropriate at the time, especially since, well, I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t playing me.”

  “Oh, Rory. You need to be more trusting. Tate’s a good man. He likes you. You’re attractive and fit and pleasant. Of course he’d want to explore that option with you. Really, isn’t seven years with a lover so much better than seven years with a stuffy, by-the-books sponsor?”

  That was true.

  “My advice is, enjoy his company. Cut yourself some slack and stop worrying and just trust the system. Tate obviously does. He wants to enjoy himself and take advantage of this opportunity.”

  “But . . .” Rory rubbed his hand over his forehead. Could it really be that simple? “But what if I met someone? Someone else.”

  Lowell swallowed another mouthful of wine. “You’re a strange bunch, you outsiders. Why deny yourself a bit of fun and friendship now, just on the off chance you’ll meet someone in the future? Relax, Rory, and worry about crossing that bridge when you get to it.”

  Well, shit. Maybe it really was that simple after all.

  Or maybe it was the wine talking.

  “God, I don’t know,” he groaned. “I think I’ve had way too much to drink to be thinking logically right now.”

  Lowell laughed. “How’s that dessert coming, boys?”

  Rory couldn’t help noticing that Aaron walked the other way around the table this time.

  “I’m sorry that Ruth and Zac couldn’t stay,” Tate said. “If there’s enough left over, maybe you could take some into work tomorrow, Rory?”

  “I will, thanks,” Rory said. He blushed when he saw Tate’s answering smile.

  “Don’t count on leftovers,” Lowell warned him. “Tate, you’re a marvel!”

  “All this time I had a hidden talent!” Tate agreed.

  “And just think, Rory, if not for the restitution program, he’d have never discovered this side of himself. Isn’t it amazing, the wonderful things we are capable of awakening in a man?”

  “Y-yeah,” Rory said, looking at Tate with new eyes.

  Tate looked happy. The smile curving his generous lips was genuine, and his eyes were bright. He didn’t look at all like the kind of guy who could attack a stranger . . . Rory killed the thought. No. He was the only one still judging Tate by that. And if he kept doing it, he’d be the one who undermined Tate’s chances at rehabilitation. All Rory had to do was trust and believe.

  Not such a hard thing as he watched Tate smiling and gathering up armloads of plates, laughing at Lowell’s jokes. Rory’s own prejudices were more dangerous than Tate’s history.

  Well, not anymore.

  “Let me drive you home, sir,” Aaron said. “You’re in no condition to walk. It’s no trouble.” He tried to smile, but the kid was still a little bit shaken. He was trying nobly to push through it, though. Tate admired him for that.

  Aaron carried a plate over into the kitchen, and Rory followed him.

  “Are you sure?” Rory asked, his voice pitched low with concern.

  Tate began to fill the sink.

  “Yeah.” Aaron smiled. “He’s just a bit tipsy, that’s all. I can handle him.”

  “Okay,” Rory said.

  Tate liked—loved—that about Rory. He worried about people. It was nice. It was nice to know that there were people like that in the world, and Tate was honored to have one as his master. He didn’t deserve Rory, but he could spend the next seven years trying to be worthy of him. And he wanted it, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  “Goodnight, Tate!” Lowell called from the dining room.

  “Goodnight, sir.” Tate smiled at the sight of Aaron trying to help the man into his coat.

  “See you tomorrow, Rory,” Aaron said from somewhere under Lowell’s arm. “Bye, Tate.”

  Soon, they were gone, and Tate was left to clean up the imposing stack of dishes they’d left.

  A sign of a successful meal. Tate was proud of that. It would probably take all night to get through this stack, but he’d do it, and he’d be happy. He’d made Rory happy, and that was all that mattered now. He settled the first of the plates in the sink and began to wash them.

  He jolted when a warm, firm shoulder nudged his own. Rory, having shed his buttoned shirt in favor of a soft white undershirt, was standing next to him, drying and stacking plates.

  “Oh no!” Tate protested. “Oh no no no no no, you don’t need to do that, please. Please, go relax. I’ll take care of things here.”

  “No way. You slaved away”—something in Tate twinged—“all day in here and made me and my boss an amazing meal. Least I can do is dry some plates. It’s no trouble, really.” He knocked their hips together. “And anyway, I was thinking . . . I was thinking maybe we could talk. Get to know each other.”

  “R-really?”

  “Yeah. Look, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting around you. I’m just not used to all this, you know? You’ve taken to it so well and here I am, ten steps behind.” He laughed self-consciously. “But I see that you’re trying really hard to make it work, and I want to try too.”

  His praise warmed Tate. “I am trying, Rory. But you haven’t done anything wrong. I mean, it’s—” The chip. It’s the chip. His skull pounded. “—it’s different here.”

  Rory smiled, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. “God, you can say that again!”

  A joke. Rory was joking with him. Tate laughed, and it felt so good to laugh. Tonight had been perfect, more than he could ever have hoped for. Rory liked him.

  “I never cooked before I got here,” Tate volunteered. “I mean, there was no kitchen in my place. Just a hot plate I heated cans on.”

  “I had a microwave,” Rory said.

  “Oh! A rich man!”

  Rory burst out laughing, and warmth spread through Tate.

  When the last plate had been cleaned, dried, and stacked away, Rory stretched. “Want to watch a movie?”

  “Yes,” Tate said eagerly. So many nights going
to bed alone, lying awake on that narrow mattress and listening to Rory watch television or make himself coffee, wishing he could go out and talk to him, have some company, beg him for help, just get to know him. And now it was finally happening. “Please.”

  He was surprised and gratified when they went into the living room and Rory made space for him on the couch. He’d never sat on it before, not even during the day when Rory was at work. It seemed presumptuous. If he was done with his chores and wanted to sit, he either found a place on the floor or he went to his room and sat on his bed. The furniture was Rory’s.

  Tate sat perfectly still, perfectly upright, with his hands folded in his lap. He stared at the TV screen but didn’t see it. He was too aware of Rory sitting beside him, and of the heat where their thighs touched. He wanted desperately to lean toward Rory, to relax against him, but he didn’t dare.

  The movie was dumb. A dumb comedy, but Tate found himself smiling a little, and once he even snorted and Rory laughed. When Tate turned to look at him, embarrassed, Rory’s face softened. “You did really well tonight.”

  “Thank you.” The praise was electric. He turned toward Rory, leaning into him, unable to articulate what he wanted but needing to get closer. He wanted Rory. He wanted Rory to want him. Tate swiped his tongue over his bottom lip.

  Rory sighed and slipped an arm around his waist. “Are you sure, Tate?”

  Tate turned toward him. He’d never been so sure. “Yes,” he whispered.

  Rory’s face was drawn with worry. “Because I don’t want to, like, pressure you, or—”

  Tate kissed him. Kissed a man. His master.

  A sudden flare of pain in his skull. What the fuck are you doing? You don’t even like men. You shouldn’t be making out, you should be trying to get the hell out of here.

  But God, Rory tasted so good. Like dessert. The dessert he’d made but hadn’t eaten because it wasn’t for him. He didn’t deserve nice things like that, and anyway, he needed to keep himself slim and fit and attractive. Needed to be everything Rory wanted.