by Gregory Ashe
“This,” Somers said, producing a sheaf of documents that he had kept hidden somewhere until now. Part of Hazard wanted to know where—tucked in his waistband, under his shirt, maybe? Somers tapped the documents insistently. “This. Right here.”
Hazard unfolded the pages and read them. Then he read them again.
“She’s got to be—”
“Cravens is serious. Totally serious. That is a rock-solid job offer. Consulting work, on an as-needed basis, for the Wahredua PD. She even wrote you a check for the retainer.” Somers waved it like he’d done a magic trick.
“I want to know about the money.”
“Well, fiat currency is legal tender backed by the government—”
“John, don’t be smart. I want to know how you paid for this place.”
Somers chafed his arms; he blew out a breath, which plumed white in the faint light from the street. “I asked my parents for a loan.”
“Absolutely not.”
“They’re my parents, Ree. I can ask them for money if I want to ask them.”
“What did they say?”
Somers stared off at one corner of the room.
“What did they make you do?”
“Just drop it, Ree. Please. It’s no big deal. They were happy to do it.”
“Bullshit. I want to—”
“Please say yes, Ree. Please.”
No one had ever done something like this for Hazard. No one had ever wanted something like this for him, wanted his happiness above and beyond their own. The thought turned Hazard to fire and ice. He couldn’t hear himself over his own heartbeat, but he felt his mouth shaping the word, felt the heat of the air inside his chest moving out.
He must have said yes, because Somers was grinning like an idiot. The blond man darted forward, planting a kiss on Hazard’s cheek. “Awesome, this is going to be awesome, we can—”
Hazard caught him by the jacket and yanked on the zipper, spinning Somers and turning him out of the garment. Then he started on the shirt, fumbling with the top two buttons before giving up and yanking so that thread snapped and buttons pinged against the floor.
“Ree,” Somers said, laughing as Hazard ripped the shirt off him. He stood there, the light from the street brushing his golden skin and the dark ink of the tattoos on his chest and arms. “Hold on.”
“I need you.”
Hazard grabbed Somers’s belt and tore the buckle free.
“Hold on, hold on,” Somers was still laughing. “Let’s get home, and then we can—”
“No.” Hazard looked up, and something in his gaze stopped Somers. “I need you. Right fucking now.”
He pulled down Somers’s jeans and boxers, and then he took Somers, who was already hard, into his mouth. He stayed there, bobbing up and down, using his tongue, his hands, his lips. An ache started in his knees, but that was happening to someone else, someone a long way off. For Hazard, all that mattered was Somers’s taste, the texture of him in Hazard’s mouth, the way Somers’s fingers worked through Hazard’s hair with painful tightness that communicated their shared need. Somers’s breaths turned into gasps and then into words.
“Ree, I’m close, I’m really close.”
Hazard pulled off. He shucked his own shirt and jeans, kicked free of his boxers. Somers had propped himself against the door, his darkly-inked body glistening with sweat in spite of the November chill. The blond man was mopping his face with one hand.
“Ree, you’re going to have to get me ready. We don’t have any—”
Hazard slapped the packet of lube into Somers’s hand. “I told you: I went to CVS.”
Grinning, Somers tore at the foil. Then he froze.
Hazard was unfurling the drop cloth. He lay down, feet planted wide, and met Somers’s gaze, which had gone between his legs.
“What’s wrong?” Hazard asked, running a hand down his chest and belly. His skin felt abraded, too thin, and he imagined what it would be like to have Somers’s hands on him.
“We don’t have to do this.”
“We do have to do this. Right now, John, or I’m going to lose my fucking mind. I want you right now more than I’ve ever wanted you, and that’s really saying something. So get over here and fuck me into next year.” Hazard laid his head back, riffled a hand through dark hair, and added, “Please.”
For some reason, that made Somers laugh. Then Somers knelt between Hazard’s legs, resting cold hands on Hazard’s knees and sliding them down, thumbs meeting at the vee of Hazard’s crotch. But instead of taking Hazard into his hand, Somers slid his touch upward, skating over the rippled muscles of Hazard’s abdomen, combing the straight, dark hairs on his chest. The world fell away; Emery Hazard wasn’t cold, couldn’t feel the canvas between his shoulder blades, wasn’t even sure gravity still held him down. The only things holding him were Somers’s hands, smooth and sure, flicking a nipple, brushing at the sensitive spot on the back of Hazard’s thigh, running everywhere like wildfire.
“John.”
Somers made a noise and kept touching, tweaking, flicking scratching.
“Jesus Christ. John. John! Right now, John. Right fucking now.” He swallowed, his throat thick, and felt drunk. “Please?”
But it didn’t matter what Hazard said, how he shouted, how he ordered, how he begged. Somers went slowly. When he ripped open the foil, when his hand glistened in the light from the street like he was holding silver or moonglow, he went more slowly. His fingers first. Hazard gasped like he was broaching the surface of the Pacific, the ashen light from the street on his shoulders, his chest, on Somers’s face. Somers’s fingers came again and again, and Hazard drew in broken lungfuls like he was coming up from some unimaginable depth.
And then, not fingers anymore.
Hazard couldn’t help himself then. He wrapped his legs around Somers, crossing them at the ankle, drawing Somers to him. They found their timing. Their rhythm. Hazard turned his head into the canvas, into the dust, his breath like the west wind. He was saying things, making noises, not even sure what he needed or wanted except that more than anything else, he needed and wanted John-Henry Somerset, needed this moment to go on forever, just the two of them.
Somers did something different with his hips. He did it again. And then Hazard was skating on the crest of a wave that carried him out of himself, away from everything and everyone except Somers. He heard his own guttural cry, felt his muscles lock, the paralysis better than anything he could have dreamed.
When Somers finished, he leaned on his hands, his body framing Hazard’s, drawing in ragged breaths. Then, chuckling, he bent and kissed Hazard twice: cheek, mouth. He dropped onto his side, Hazard’s arm curling automatically to pull Somers against him.
“Does that mean you like it?” Somers asked, his breath warm against Hazard’s shoulder.
Hazard laughed and kissed Somers’s forehead. “Whether I like it or not, I think we’re ethically obligated to rent it. Fucking is kind of like a you-break-it-you-buy-it policy, I think.”
Somers grinned, but he raised himself up enough to meet Hazard’s eyes. “Do you, though? Like it, I mean.”
“Yes.” Hazard touched blond hair, parting it, savoring the feel of the fine bristles against his palm. “It’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
With a noise of disgust, Somers dropped down against Hazard again. “What I just did, that’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for you.”
Hazard rumbled in his chest, rolling onto one side, cupping the back of Somers’s neck. “Just wait. I know exactly what sounds I’m going to get you to make when I’ve got you bent over my new desk.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Really?”
Lower, deeper: “Really.”
Somers just grinned.
“Thank you,” Hazard said.
Somers smiled that megawatt smile.
“But,” Hazard said, hearing the tr
emor in his own voice and not able to hide it. Not wanting to hide it. “What you said earlier, about divorcing me if I didn’t agree to move in here and open an agency.”
“Did I say that?”
“You did.” The tremor had moved down into Hazard’s chest, deep, deep, where he’d never felt anything like it before. “You know you have to be married before you can get divorced.”
One blond eyebrow went up. “I guess you’d better get on that, then.”
POLICE BRUTALITY
Keep reading for a sneak preview of Police Brutality, book two of Hazard and Somerset: A Union of Swords.
CHAPTER ONE
DECEMBER 16
SUNDAY
6:42 PM
EMERY HAZARD WAS GETTING FRUSTRATED. He jabbed the pen at the paper again, as though this might help somehow.
“Road signs.”
“Figure eight.”
“Ouroboros.”
This last one made Hazard snap a look at his boyfriend, John-Henry Somerset, who just smiled, eyes wide and innocent.
“I guessed that one time,” Hazard said. “Just once. And it was legitimate because the last thing you drew looked like a Coptic cross.”
“Of course it did,” Somers said, grinning.
Game night at Noah and Rebeca’s house wasn’t exactly Hazard’s favorite thing, but it seemed to scratch some itch that Somers had. More importantly, Noah and Rebeca didn’t make Hazard want to eat a bullet every time their names came up. So here they were, playing a version of Pictionary, with everyone taking turns guessing. Somers had modified the rules after their last visit. And the Coptic cross.
Hazard tapped the page again, unsure how they could miss something so obvious. Two identical points. Arrows curled to show opposing directions of spin.
“Road signs,” Noah said again.
Rebeca slapped his arm. “You already tried that.”
Noah, tall and goofy and very, very white, might have looked like an odd match for Rebeca: short, dark, composed and beautiful. But five minutes with them told another story. Hazard wondered if people thought the same thing about him and Somers. One look at Somers, who was using a pair of pretzel sticks to mime walrus tusks and pretending to chase Evie, his daughter—their daughter, Hazard corrected—made Hazard think that people probably did wonder at their pairing.
“John, you’re missing the game,” Hazard said.
“I give up.” Somers pretended to charge at Evie again—it looked all wrong, Hazard thought; Hazard wasn’t even sure if a male walrus charged in an attack. He’d have to do some research and show Somers an appropriate video clip. But before Hazard could point any of this out, Raquel, Noah and Rebeca’s oldest daughter, swooped in to grab Evie, carrying her off toward whatever game the rest of the brood was playing.
“Now you don’t have any excuses,” Hazard said. “Get back here.”
“Give us a hint,” Somers said.
“No hints,” Rebeca said.
“Maybe one,” Noah said. “So we can play the next round.”
Rebeca slapped his arm again, but she said, “A small one.”
“It makes the world go ‘round.”
“Are they circles?” Noah said, squinting.
“They’re dots,” Rebeca said.
Somers kicked out his legs like he was watching something that was about to get particularly good; Hazard’s middle finger itched.
“That’s actually a question of perspective,” Hazard said. “They probably do have a round shape, but from your point of view, they might look more like dots.”
“You’re not supposed to answer questions,” Somers said.
Hazard glared at him.
“And you’re not supposed to give hints.”
“Don’t you have anything useful to contribute?”
“Just reminding you of the rules, sweetheart.”
Noah and Rebeca were working on something, whispering to each other.
“Protons,” Rebeca said.
Hazard opened his mouth.
“No way,” Noah said. “No way. They’re wedding rings.”
Before Hazard could answer, Somers laughed and said, “Ree wouldn’t draw wedding rings. He’d be afraid I’d think he was proposing.”
Hazard had heard Somers’s tone before: playful on the surface, fraught with something else that Hazard couldn’t quite read. Noah and Rebeca were trying hard not to look at each other, and suddenly the room seemed very quiet.
“Give us another clue,” Rebeca said. “I think—”
“You were close,” Hazard said, tearing the sheet from the easel along its perforation. He took his time, making sure he got it just right, no tattered edges. “Romance. Well, a symbolic representation of romance, since it’s an abstract concept and therefore difficult to draw.”
The silence practically had its own heartbeat, even to Hazard’s ears.
“Romance,” Rebeca said. “Damn it. I almost said romance.”
Nobody said anything. Laughs and shrieks from the kids at the other end of the house echoed in the room. Slowly, Hazard balled up the oversized sheet of paper.
“Here,” Rebeca said, standing and smoothing her skirt. “I’ll toss that.”
“And I’ll grab some drinks,” Noah said. “Beer? Beer?”
Hazard shook his head. Somers didn’t seem to hear the question at first and shook his head a moment too late. Noah and Rebeca looked like they were in a race to see who could get to the kitchen first, and then Hazard and Somers were alone.
“It was just a joke,” Somers said.
“I know.”
“I was just trying to be funny. They didn’t have to get all weird about it.” He cleared his throat. “You didn't think I meant anything, right?
Dropping onto the sofa, Hazard slid an arm around his boyfriend. He didn't say anything because nothing seemed safe.
“Maybe next time I’ll just piss on the rug or something. See if that clears them out any faster.”
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t pee on their rug.”
For some reason that made Somers laugh again, and he turned on the sofa, gathering his knees to his chest, to face Hazard. Somers had blue eyes, tropically blue, and they focused on Hazard now with their exceptional clarity. “So, you were drawing romance.”
Hazard flicked a look at the empty easel. “I thought it was pretty obvious.”
“Like the Maginot Line that I drew last week.”
“You drew that little hook that looked like Strasbourg—”
“Or like that All Play when Rebeca was drawing a chicken—”
“In my defense, I’d just finished that documentary on Swedish manufacturing.”
“—and you shouted out, ‘MILF.’”
“I don’t really want to fuck her. Just so we’re clear.”
“Uh huh,” Somers said, biting the corner of his mouth, which Hazard thought meant that Somers was fighting a grin. “How about you explain this one, tonight? We’re all alone. You can talk me through it. Just so, you know, maybe I won’t have made an asshole of myself for nothing.”
“It’s stupid.”
“It’s romance,” Somers said. “Come on, tell me. I want to know how you see romance.”
“It’s silly, John. You know I’m not romantic, not really. I just—I was fixated on something I’d been reading about. That’s all.”
Hazard looked at the blank easel, envisioning the drawing: the two dots, the arrows indicating opposite spin. Looking back at Somers, he shrugged. “Quarks.”
Somers didn’t blink, but Hazard got the sense that he wanted to. “Quarks.”
“Quarks.”
“Like, physics?”
“I told you it was stupid.” Somers was still staring, and Hazard felt a prickle of discomfort, the sense of alienation that reminded him he didn’t see the world the same way as everyone else. He felt it less around Som
ers—most of the time—but he still felt it. It had followed him since childhood, and it made him feel like child again, all awkward knees and elbows juxtaposed to Somers’s controlled elegance.
“Not little hearts,” Somers said.
Hazard rolled a shoulder.
“Not a rose. Or a bouquet of roses.”
Hazard gave a half-shake of his head.
“Not a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Or a candlelight dinner. Or, I don’t know, a penis.”
“John!”
With a soft smile, Somers said, “Quarks.” Like it was the heart of some unspeakable mystery.
Which, Hazard supposed, they technically were. Quarks were a part of physics still being explored, full of all sorts of phenomena that nobody really understood, which was just one reason Hazard had thought they were an obvious choice for representing romance.
Before he could explain any of this, Evie charged into the room, followed by Rocio, Noah and Rebeca’s youngest daughter. “Daddy,” Evie screamed, throwing up her arms as she raced past Somers.
“Daddy,” Rocio mimicked, throwing up her arms.
“Dee Dee,” Evie screamed on the second pass, close enough that her little body checked Hazard’s knees.
“Dee Dee,” Rocio echoed.
And then the rest of the kids were there, like clowns climbing out of a car, one after another until the gag felt worn out. Hazard still wondered how there could be so many, and if more were still coming. In theory, Noah and Rebeca only had six kids—only, Hazard thought with a trace of panic—but Hazard was fairly sure they multiplied when they were indoors. It didn’t help that, between Raquel at the top and Rocio at the bottom, the four in the middle were boys. And right now, those four were wrestling and shouting, punching and pulling, grabbing each other by the shirt or the arm and swinging. One of the middle boys came off the ground, feet whipping through the air and missing Hazard’s chin by an inch, and then three of the boys went down in a crash, laughing and shouting and the whole thing turning into another kind of fight.
“Ok,” Noah said, peering into the living room from the kitchen. “It sounds like they’re ready to go.”
