Lazarus

by Cooper McKenzie

  He would wait, and if need be, he would call in an order later. After all, he had brought snacks with him, though the raisin boxes and granola bars didn’t really appeal, with the scent of cooking meat and fried potatoes he’d just walked through in the bar.

  Laz was sitting in his chair, once again picking the stuffed animals up and examining each one. There were three sitting on the table as he contemplated two others. Finally, he nodded and added them to the ones on the table.

  “Starting a zoo?” Quillan asked with a grin as he stepped into his booth.

  “Can you hold on to these for me? I have to make a food run for the brats next door since their men have apparently abandoned them.”

  “No problem,” Quillan responded as he pulled out one of the large plastic shopping bags he had collected to hold the larger purchases. “If you don’t get back, do you want me to give them to the ladies next door?”

  Laz glanced over at his family’s booth and shook his head quickly. “No, don’t do that. You’ll ruin the surprise. Here’s money. I’ll take them with me. Would you like me to bring you something to eat, too?”

  Quillan shook his head with a smile. “Thanks, but I brought snacks to nibble on.”

  Laz looked skeptical when Quillan’s stomach gave a loud, long grumble to contradict him. “Looks like you might want to nibble on something before that thing attacks someone.”

  Quillan sipped on his water, hoping that would fill the void.

  “Okay, cub. I’ll be back,” Laz said before striding away, looking completely at ease with the large bag of stuffed animals he carried.

  Quillan wished he had that kind of confidence.

  Quillan watched until Laz disappeared around the building, entranced by the way the man’s jeans hugged his tight ass just right.

  “He is single, though we’re not sure if he’s gay or bi,” a cheery voice said softly, breaking his concentration and causing him to jump and whirl in reaction to find one of the biker women standing next to him.

  “Excuse me?”

  Lyssa smiled from where she had moved to stand next to him without his even noticing. “I said, he’s single, but we’re not sure if he’s gay or bi. Rumor is that he hasn’t dated seriously since his last relationship broke up two years ago, but I’ve only been in the family for a few months, so I don’t know if it’s true or not.”

  Quillan’s face grew hot, and he knew he was blushing. Being fair-haired and fair-skinned was not always a good thing. “Um, thanks?”

  “Sure. Just be warned, we think he’s as much a Daddy Dominant as the rest of the Santi men. Probably even more so since he’s been single for so long.”

  Quillan blinked, but couldn’t think of a response. Did they know he might be a Little? He wasn’t sure, because he’d never really explored that side of him, though he did still sleep and share secrets with Norville, the narwhale he’d had since he’d been a boy.

  That didn’t automatically make him a Little, did it?

  Being a gay man was hard enough in Texas, how was he supposed to be Little as well?

  Was that why he’d lost his job just days before? There had been no explanation except the company was moving in a different direction and his services were no longer needed. Quillan didn’t buy it. He had a feeling it had more to do with the fact that he refused to go out to dinner with his supervisor, a prick of gigantic proportions.

  But there were other jobs around, especially for a computer geek who didn’t mind hard work. He needed to find a job soon because his online store wasn’t as busy as it had been in previous months and he needed to move off the family ranch so he could live the life he wanted and not the one his father felt he should. He also needed to buy more fabric.

  “What’s a gutless quilt?” Lyssa asked, lifting the tag on the replacement quilt he’d hung once the first quilt had sold.

  He smiled. “Just what it says it is. A quilt with no guts. It’s just the quilt top and a back sheet without a blanket or stuffing in the middle. It’s the perfect quilt for a Texas summer, or so I’ve been told.”

  By this time Cara and Willow had joined them, though the women kept a close eye on their own displays. “That sounds like just what I need. Da…Nico is a furnace, but I like sleeping under something and most blankets are too heavy,” Cara said.

  The other two women nodded their agreement.

  “Do you take orders? I’d like this quilt pattern, but the colors are wrong for our bedroom. Oops, gotta go, but I’ll be back,” Lyssa said as she hurried back to her table to talk to a pair of women who stopped and were looking at her books.

  “I do take orders,” Quillan said to the others. He pulled out the folder with order forms he’d created for times like this. “If you’d like to get together some time, I have several notebooks of quilts and the different patterns I’ve made over the years.”

  “Years? You don’t look old enough to have been quilting for years,” Cara said as she took three forms before handing one to Willow.

  Quillan smiled. “My mother helped me make my first quilt when I was twelve from my old clothes and fabric scraps that she had in her scrap bag. The next year, I took a sewing class in school instead of shop, which got me beat up a lot, but by the time class ended, I was taking orders from the guys in my gym class for funky-patterned boxer-style shorts. They’d seen the ones I’d made for myself and wanted ones. My love of sewing kind of grew from there. I’m not Joe Boxer, but sewing for my classmates helped pay for me to go to college and now I use it to fill in the gaps while I hunt for a new job.”

  “That’s so cool,” Cara said. “You should join our crafts group sometime. We meet at Annie’s Crafts on the southbound frontage road just north of town almost every Sunday afternoons.”

  Quillan shrugged, though he did wonder why a group of women would want to hang around with him. He really wasn’t anything special. “Maybe.”

  Willow grabbed several of his business cards before darting back to their tent to deal with another customer as several women stopped just outside his tent.

  The morning raced past as customers came and went, often looking and complimenting his work, and often buying something even if it was just a set of coasters. When the last customer walked away with his last gutless quilt and two stuffed animals, Quillan sat down and sighed.

  Looking at the bag of snacks, he scrunched up his nose. He was hungry, and a box of raisins or a fruit and nut bar wasn’t going to cut it.

  * * * *

  Laz watched from across the street until the latest flurry of women finally left the area in front of Quillan’s tent. By the time he approached, they had moved past the family tent as well. Only then did he approach with plastic bags in both hands.

  After delivering food and bottles of water to the Santi women, he grabbed one of the spare folding chairs they’d brought. Carrying it and the bag of food he’d brought for him and Quillan, he ignored the whispers of the three women. Stepping into Quillan’s tent, he took in the several bare areas on the tables where the man had sold a number of items.

  Quillan sat in his chair at the back of the tent, looking smaller than he had earlier. His eyes were closed and he looked tired. Laz knew how he felt. He’d been up too early this morning after working until nearly two the night before. He really did need to find a manager for one or the other of the family restaurants. Trying to run both places alone was too big a job, even for him.

  Especially if Quillan proved to be the Little boy of his future.

  “Here,” Laz said as he set his chair up besides Quillan’s and sat down. He pulled two food boxes from the bag and set them on the table.

  Quillan jumped as he opened his eyes. Looking from Laz to the boxes on the table, he frowned. “What’s this?”

  “Lunch. I heard your stomach growling a block away,” Laz said as he pulled out the condiment packets, silverware, and napkins he’d packed.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” Quillan said, though his tone said he was really gl
ad Laz did do it.

  “I know, but you need to eat and I was delivering food for the women. It wasn’t a problem. Question is, do you want the cheeseburger or the chicken strips?” Laz said as he flipped open the lids of the containers.

  “Oooo, chicken strips, please.” Quillan grabbed the container and lifted it into his lap.

  Laz smiled at the man’s enthusiasm as he opened the plastic containers holding ranch and barbecue sauces for dipping. The little man then opened several ketchup packets and squeezed them over the pile of fries, nearly covering them. It was a good thing he’d put a couple of wet wipe packs in his pocket.

  “Oh, these are delicious,” Quillan moaned after his first bite of chicken. “So much better than a granola bar.”

  Laz chuckled. “I should hope so. No meat in a granola bar.”

  Picking up his own burger, Laz focused on filling his own stomach. They ate their meals in silence, though Quillan did have to get up twice to help customers, both ending successfully in sales.

  “Looks like you might sell out before the day’s done,” Laz said as the man sat down again.

  “I can only hope,” Quillan said as he inhaled several fries before picking up another chicken strip. He didn’t elaborate, leaving Laz wondering if the man was having a hard time, or if something else caused his cryptic statement.

  Telling himself this wasn’t the time or place to make his move, Laz’s heart and cock urged him to do it anyway. Instead of speaking, he forced himself to focus on finishing his lunch as his brain argued with his body about what to do.

  “So, do you have plans for after this is over?” Laz asked once he finished eating and stuffed his lunch remains in the plastic bag that he’d brought them in. He hoped he sounded more casual than he felt. “Or tomorrow, if tonight doesn’t work? I’d like to see you again.”

  Chapter Three

  Quillan swallowed wrong and choked on the last French fry. Before he could react and try to Heimlich himself, Laz had him standing up and was behind him, wrapping his arms around and pulling a fist hard into his soft stomach.

  The glob of fry flew out and landed in the street on the second pull. Quillan gratefully pulled in air before turning around and looking up at Laz. “Thank you,” he said as tears began to flow down his cheeks.

  Laz looked at him with an expression he couldn’t translate. “Any time, cub,” he said before his head dropped and Laz kissed him.

  Laz kissed him.

  Laz kissed him.

  Quillan froze then slid his arms around Laz’s middle and held tight as he lifted his chin, tilted his head, and whispered, “Again.”

  This time when Laz kissed him it was more than a brush of lip on lip. Laz settled in and soon his lips parted to take the kiss even deeper. Laz and this kiss were the answer to Quillan’s nearly nightly prayers for a man who not only looked like a wet dream, but could also kiss like one.

  Quillan could now die a happy man. He’d been kissed. To ask for more would be totally selfish, especially since he was a twenty-eight-year-old virgin.

  “Get a room,” a deep voice called, pouring the verbal equivalent of a bucket of ice water on his head.

  Jerking, he tried to step away, but Laz’s arms held him secure. He did, however, break the kiss to whisper, “Shh, cub. It’s just my brother being an ass.

  “But people can see,” Quillan whispered intently as he tried once again to back away.

  This time, Laz relaxed his hold, allowing him to step back, though Quillan refused to turn to face the front of his booth. His cock was fully erect and pushing hard at the front of his jeans.

  Dropping his head, he looked at the bulge in his jeans, and then a matching, albeit larger bulge in the front of Laz’s before lifting his head to look up into the man’s face. “What do we do?”

  “Sit down, cross your legs, and think about old, fat, ugly women in string bikinis,” Laz said with a smirk.

  Looking Quillan in the eye, he stepped back and sat down in his chair. As soon as he was comfortable, he lifted his left leg and planted his ankle on his right thigh.

  His face burning with embarrassment, Quillan followed the other man’s lead. Thinking about old, fat, ugly women in any kind of bathing suit had his erection subsiding, as long as he didn’t look back at the man sitting next to him.

  He had just about gotten his body under control when Laz’s three biker brothers stopped in front of his booth. They all looked surprisingly alike with shiny healthy black hair, deep brown eyes, and bronzed skin. Quillan wasn’t sure who was who.

  Was it a requirement of membership that they all look alike? It would probably help if they were doing illegal things that any witnesses wouldn’t be able to pick one out of a lineup over any of the others.

  “Find something you like?” the one who looked like Laz’s twin asked with a grin.

  “Go away, Max,” Laz responded with a growly tone that made Quillan’s face begin to burn once again.

  “Should we call Nonna? I’m sure she’d love to meet your friend,” the man continued with a grin that told Quillan the man was teasing Laz for some reason. “You should bring him to Friday dinner.”

  Quillan watched as Laz pushed from his chair. He didn’t understand the language Laz was speaking as he crossed to stand at the front of the booth. Whatever he said had the other three laughing and nodding before they drifted next door to join their women.

  Feeling a chill, Quillan grabbed the jacket he’d worn that morning and pulled it over him. There was a bug going around and he’d been telling himself he couldn’t be sick until Sunday, but apparently his body wasn’t willing to wait.

  “Are you all right?” Laz asked when he sat down again.

  “I’m fine,” Quillan answered automatically even as he winced.

  All at once he was fifteen again and his father demanded he “never let them see you vulnerable” as he brought the belt down over and over on Quillan’s back, trying to beat the gay out of him. It hadn’t worked, though Quillan had learned to lock his tears and most other negative or sad emotions deep inside where no one could see them.

  He focused on the light, the bright, the happy instead.

  He lifted his chin a bit when Laz frowned at him. “No, I don’t think you are,” the big man said.

  Before Quillan could respond, Laz’s phone rang out, causing the man to curse. Or at least Quillan thought it was a curse. It was a string of words he’d never heard before, and didn’t think they were English.

  He waited until Laz answered his phone, held a terse conversation which ended with him assuring the caller he’d be there in a few. Only then did Quillan asked, “What was that language?”

  Laz blinked and had to think a few seconds before he said, “Italian. Our grandfather taught us to curse in Italian when we were fourteen. That way we couldn’t get in trouble with the teachers for calling the class bully a dickhead because no one knew what a testa di cazzo was.”

  Quillan giggled at the thought of swearing at someone in a language they wouldn’t know. “Can you teach me sometime?”

  Laz shook his head. “Littles shouldn’t swear.”

  “But no one will know,” Quillan argued, though he hesitated at Laz identifying him as Little. He’d tried to hide it, but maybe had not done as good a job as he’d thought.

  “Doesn’t matter what the language is. I don’t want my cub swearing. Now, give me a kiss goodbye. I have to deal with a crisis at Saints.”

  Before Quillan could argue, Laz stepped in close and gave him a quick, hard kiss before stepping back and walking away. He stopped next door just long enough to say something to the three bikers before striding away without another glance in Quillan’s direction.

  * * * *

  Laz swore the entire time he raced his motorcycle to Saints Bar and Grill. Quillan had been looking paler than he had earlier in the day, and though he claimed he was fine, Laz knew differently. Something was wrong with his cub. Unfortunately, work had to come first.

&
nbsp; Kinky Saints MC was a motorcycle club first, but also owned numerous family businesses, which their grandfather had started years before in order to move the club into the light and legitimate side of things. As the boys had grown up and graduated high school each was encouraged to follow their heart and start a business of their own, with the club investing and owning half.

  Laz had gone to cooking school and worked his way up at Saints until he took over managing it. He then convinced his grandparents the club needed a second, nicer restaurant, which resulted in him now managing two businesses and being too busy to scratch his ass on a good day.

  He hadn’t minded spending his life in the restaurants. Staying busy keeping waitresses and busboys from killing one another, and cooks from killing their diners, and bartenders from killing everyone had kept him from thinking about Daniel and his lonely life.

  And then he’d answered the call to help the women and met the man who fit perfectly in his arms, and was his Little boy, whether Quillan realized it or not.

  By the time he put out the fire at Saints and roared back into town on his motorcycle, it was much later than he’d wanted. Parking his bike illegally at the corner, he strode around the corner and frowned. Quillan’s booth was packed and gone, and Max was putting the last box into the back of the SUV while the Cara climbed into the driver’s seat. The brothers had all ridden their bikes while the women had brought the two SUVs full of gear.

  “Where did he go?” Laz asked as he approached.

  “Home,” Cara answered. “He didn’t look too good when he drove away. I think he was getting sick or something. But he wouldn’t let us help him pack up. All he asked was that we watch his stuff while he went for his car.”

  Laz growled and turned a circle in frustration. “Did he happen to leave an address? A phone number? Anything?”

  The women looked at one another, and then Annie scrambled to pull out her big bag that she carried all sorts of things in.

  “Hang on. Let’s see,” she muttered as she began to pull things out and lay them on the seat. Laz’s eyes grew wider as the pile grew bigger and bigger.