Just Like Cats and Dogs

by BA Tortuga

  Pete clapped him on the back, and they left the hotel. The car was nice, the driver this big dude, and the side of town they headed toward rough. Damn.

  He looked at Pete, eyebrow raised. “He lives here?”

  “Somewhere, yeah. He says the restaurant is really good.” Pete sounded unconcerned, which emphasized how not city he was.

  “Good.” This wasn’t just dirty; this was dangerous. Maybe it was just that Sam wasn’t home much, so he didn’t care. Surely he could afford more.

  The car pulled over, idled. “Mister Finn says he’ll be here in just a few moments. We’ll just wait.”

  Gus stared out the window, wondering if one of these buildings was Sam’s. He sure hoped not.

  Why in the hell would anyone want to live here?

  “WHAT ARE you doing out and about, you little bitch?”

  Sam heard the words but refused to look, refused to act like he heard. The assholes were getting bolder, beginning to come uptown to harass him. He stayed away. He had his flat, his place; he didn’t engage.

  Not after the last time he’d fought back—that had left him flat on his back with Helena coming in from Chicago, saving him from bleeding out on his own balcony.

  “You smell like dog cunt, little bitch, like one of those stupid fucking pups.”

  Just keep walking, Samuel. They’re assholes. They don’t have the sense of a goldfish.

  Pete was waiting for him so they could go to Pastori’s, with a box of some of the things Ma wanted him to have. Silly pup didn’t offer to stay with him this time. Dork.

  A bottle crashed at his heels, and he did hurry, out into the sunlight, out where he could see Chris, the car, and wave.

  Leave me alone. Just leave me be.

  The others faded back when he reached the car, disappearing. When he slid inside, Pete was there, as was Gus. Great.

  “Hey. You didn’t tell me you had company, Pete.” This was going to get him killed.

  “Didn’t I? I hope the restaurant is cool with three.” His oldest friend was terrible at appearing innocent. Gus was terrible at appearing pleased. He looked like he’d swallowed a troll.

  “Don’t be a dork, Pete. They don’t care. How’s the jewel digging business, Pup?”

  Gus raised a brow. “Lucrative, this weekend. How’s kicks, Puss?”

  “Good. Choreographing a TV special filming next week. Fun stuff.” He winked, going for casual. God, this sucked. “How about you, Pete? What are you up to?”

  “I came with Gus to help deliver shit for his show.” Pete grinned brightly, his eyes so much more green than Gus’s goldish ones. “I need to talk to you too.”

  “Is she pregnant?” Ma had called two days ago.

  “Christ, does everyone know?” Pete rolled his eyes. “I—I need your blessing, Sam. With your dad gone and all.”

  “She loves you. You love her.” He shrugged. “Go for it, man. Be good to her.”

  “Thanks.” Pete grinned hugely, elbowing Gus. “Did you hear that? You guys will be related.”

  Gus snorted. “Oh, goodie.”

  “Make sure he’s your best man at the wedding.” This was hell on earth, sitting here and not looking, not touching. Fucking hell on earth.

  He’d thought Gus was completely unaffected, that the man didn’t care, but now he could see the tapping of Gus’s fingers, the slight bulge growing under the zipper of Gus’s jeans.

  Pete was, as always, oblivious. “I brought a bunch of stuff from your mom. She says she misses you.”

  He nodded. It was too dangerous for her to come, at least right now. Ever since LA, it was just too much.

  Too wolfy for the ass hats to deal with.

  “We’re here, sir.” The car pulled up in front of the restaurant, thank God.

  “Thank you, Chris. Pick us up in an hour and a half.” He left the box from Ma without looking at it. “Come on, guys.”

  Pete climbed out of the car first, but Gus waited for him. He could swear he felt Gus’s hand on his ass as he stepped out to the street.

  Sam didn’t look around, didn’t check to see if they were being watched. He just kept walking, leading them into the restaurant. “How long are you guys in town?”

  “I leave tonight,” Pete said, standing aside so Sam could talk to the host. “Gus leaves tomorrow. He has to ship stuff.”

  “Ah. Cool.” Sam smiled at Gianni. “Gianni, my dear friend. Tell me there’s a table for me.”

  “Of course, signore. This way, sí?” Gianni was a sixtyish Italian immigrant with a terrible comb-over and a penchant for dance shows.

  They got the best seat, a quiet booth in the back, Sam settling in easily. A part—a huge part—of him dying to know if Gus might be interested in a quickie, just for shits and giggles.

  Gus’s nose was working overtime. “Smells good in here.”

  “The food is amazing. I’ve been coming here for years.” Almost since the beginning. Almost.

  “I’m starving. Gus made me work like a slave.” Pete managed pathetic way better than he did innocent.

  “Try the chicken parm. It’s huge.” He chuckled softly. “Did the big puppy make you carry boxes, Petey?”

  “Oh, man, you have no idea how much of a bastard he can be.” Pete rolled his eyes when Gus growled.

  The sound sent a shiver down Sam’s spine.

  “I can imagine.” He met Gus’s eyes. “I bet he’s a taskmaster.”

  Gus’s lips curled in a tiny smile. “A regular slave driver.”

  They actually grinned at each other, at least until Pete made a weird little noise and shifted and Gus looked away.

  Right.

  No smiling.

  Not where anyone could see. Especially someone who knew them as well as Pete.

  Gus reached for the bread basket.

  He watched the man’s hands, remembering how good they’d felt on his skin, on his body. They were brown, callused, and had a few new scars. He wanted to feel them on him now, to suck those fingers and get them wet enough to slide inside him. He wanted to watch those oddly pale brown eyes go almost gold with heat, teeth bared as Gus thrust, filled him up.

  Gus paused in the act of buttering his bread, head lifting, nose flaring a little. Those eyes fastened on him, flashing with something dangerous.

  “If you two are going to have a fight, go into the damn bathroom. This bread is too good to waste.”

  Sam was going to kill Pete.

  Gus took a deep breath, looking away. “So, what’s good besides the parm?” Gus asked, voice low and scratchy.

  “I like the beef roulade. I like the ravioli.” He’d like to watch Gus eat spaghetti.

  “Hmm. Maybe pasta. Linguine.”

  That would work too.

  Pete got the parm, Gus a linguine with Bolognese. Gus ordered them wine too, which was just downright dangerous.

  He licked the wine off his fingers, nibbled the anchovies from the Caesar salad. Gus drank one glass way too fast, and Pete just kept staring back and forth between them.

  “Are y’all okay? I mean… everyone heard you fought at the funeral, but….”

  Sam lifted one hand to his scar. “We didn’t fight.”

  “Sure you did. You were both tore up.”

  “We ran together a little.” Gus stared his brother down, which was hot. Really.

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. Christ, you’d think you two were fucking.”

  Sam stared at Pete, then slipped in before Gus’s growl could get any louder. “Be serious, Pete.”

  “Cats and dogs don’t mix, right?” Gus was going to chew the scenery any moment. It was fascinating to watch.

  “Sam’s not a cat. He’s a Finn.”

  Sam looked down, a sick feeling in his stomach. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? He wasn’t a wolf, and he wasn’t welcome with the other cats. He was a Finn.

  “Just shut up, Pete.”

  Thankfully, the food came then, and they all had something else to focus on. Like w
atching Gus suck. Listening to Gus moan over the cheese. Having Gus lick sauce off his fingers.

  “Right, Sam?”

  He snapped back to the present, Pete’s question taking him completely by surprise.

  “What? Sorry, I was off in my own little world.”

  “I said you’ll come back for the gathering soon, right?”

  Gus watched him like a hawk; not that Gus didn’t know the answer.

  “No, Pete. Why would I? No one wants me there. I’m not pack.”

  “You are too.” Pete was stalwart that way, insisting he had a place. “It has to be better than here.”

  “I’m locked in a room either way.” He met Gus’s eyes, wanting Gus to say something, to argue.

  Gus sighed. “He’s right, Pete. You know James would put him away for his safety.” Gus didn’t look away, his eyes saying how sorry he was.

  “Still, you belong—”

  “Nowhere. Just drop it, Pete, huh? The pack showed me for eighteen years that I didn’t deserve to be there. I’m at best an irritation, at worst a frigging embarrassment.”

  “Stop it.” Gus’s voice snapped like the steel jaws of a trap. “Leave it be, Pete. The pack was wrong, but they did it for the right reasons. To keep you safe, Sam. It sucks. Who wants dessert?”

  Pete stared. “I’ll take cake.”

  “Just coffee.” He didn’t know what else to say. The pack would always win. Always. God, he was getting maudlin.

  “I think you need the cheese plate too.” Gus got cannoli. That was so not fair.

  “When are you and Lizzie getting married, Pete?” He played with his coffee cup while they waited for the dessert course, the urge to pounce Gus nigh unbearable.

  “I’m not sure. I guess I’ll call. Maybe we’ll do a destination wedding….”

  “You and your pack on a cruise ship, howling under the moon.” He couldn’t help the tease.

  “Funny. No, I was thinking more that way I could invite who I wanted and not have the rest there.”

  He smiled at Pete. The man was a good friend. Honestly.

  Gus clapped Pete on the shoulder. “Good man. You need to think about a cab to the airport.”

  “Am I making you late for a flight?” Jesus, Pete was a bad traveler.

  “Huh? No.” Pete checked his watch. “I mean, I wouldn’t be too early if I went now.”

  He shook his head. “Do we need to get you back to the hotel for your bags?”

  “Nah. Gus and I shipped my stuff today. You know I hate carrying shit. I have my iPod.”

  “Cool. I’ll get you a cab.” Gus was looking… toothy. Hungry, even though they’d just eaten.

  “Excellent.” Pete grinned over at him. “Good to see you, man. Look for a wedding invitation, huh?”

  He clapped his best friend on the shoulder. “Will do. Travel safe.”

  “Thanks.” Pete leaned in when Gus went to talk to the maître d’. “If you are fucking, just wear a condom. Gus is a dog.”

  Ouch. “It runs in the family.”

  “Hey! I love your sister.” Pete laughed, gave him a half hug, and Sam noticed the bill had disappeared with Gus.

  “Go on. E-mail me.” He left a twenty on the table for a tip.

  “I will. Bye, Sam.” Pete headed off, and Sam saw him stop to give Gus a rough hug on the way out.

  He moved slower, watching Gus on the way. Admiring his mate.

  Stop that.

  Just stop it.

  Gus waited for him, almost vibrating with tension. Those eyes flashed gold, though, so pretty, the spark of lust obvious. He purred, deep in his throat. His body screamed that this was right. This was what he wanted. This was his.

  Sam called his driver, wanting to get back to Gus’s hotel, wanting a safe place to take what he needed.

  “Chris is coming to get us.” He offered Gus a half smile. “You look good.”

  “So do you.” Listen to that gravel-filled growl. Gus turned and made for the door to the street, ass swinging like crazy.

  Sam followed behind, the scent of Gus like a drug, like the best perfume, better than tuna. The man made him purr.

  They stood next to each other on the sidewalk, Gus giving him sideways looks. Those eyes… that stare might burn him alive. His cock was hard, aching. He couldn’t look at Gus without needing, without touching. He reached out, fingers touching Gus’s wrist.

  Gus started, skittering away, jumping like he’d been shocked. “Sam!”

  “What?” He blinked, stared at Gus. “Did I shock you?”

  “No.” Gus lowered his voice. “No, it’s just…. Someone might see.”

  “Oh.” He pulled away, made sure there was space between them. Enough that he couldn’t reach. “Right. I hear you.”

  Even in California, there had been casual touches.

  Of course, that was before he’d… gotten attached. Gus must have figured it out, that he’d fucked up.

  “I—you live here, huh? People know you.”

  “Well, I live here. They all know I’m queer.” That was the least of his worries, for fuck’s sake.

  Gus hunched his shoulders, pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit up, looking a little hunted. “I don’t know, Puss. It’s weird.”

  “Yeah.” Except it wasn’t weird. He was, and didn’t that piss him off. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to—” What? Intrude? Touch? Try? “—fuck with you.”

  Where was Chris?

  “I know.” Gus rolled his head on his neck, looking tired. Sam might have tried to have sympathy if the man wasn’t a giant ass hat. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? I’m not your problem. Pete made you come to lunch.” Gus didn’t want to see him. Gus wasn’t here for him.

  Gus had let him walk away.

  “I wanted to see you.” The words were barely audible and far worse than if Gus was just mean.

  He looked over. “But that doesn’t matter at all. Here’s the car.”

  Chris pulled up to the curb, and he grabbed the door handle, held the door open.

  Sam waited until Gus got in, then shut the door, nodding to Chris through the passenger side door. “Take him wherever he needs to go. Then bring me my box.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  He nodded, then headed down the street without looking back. Sometimes it didn’t matter what you wanted, you weren’t going to get it, so it was silly to try.

  Chapter Thirteen

  GUS WONDERED, not for the first time, why he’d let his buddy Cole talk him into this trip. They’d been hunting lapis, and the trip plan they’d filed with the State Department said they were going to Uzbekistan, but late last night they’d crossed into Afghanistan, traveling light.

  As in traveling as wolves.

  The area they were heading for had native wolves, so they wouldn’t stand out, Cole said. There was this guy, Fahran, who would stash clothes and tools for them, Cole said.

  God, he was an idiot.

  He was an idiot who’d been running from Sam for months, or at least the memory of Sam’s face, which had been set in resolve when he’d put Gus in the car and sent him on his way. His mate, and he’d put that look on Sam’s face.

  Hell, maybe he deserved everything he got.

  The barrel of the rifle pressed against his kidney stabbed at him, pushing him forward. He and Cole had gotten their stash of clothes, tools, and papers, gotten their secondhand Jeep, and headed into the mountains.

  Only to get stopped at the first security checkpoint they tried to pass through.

  They were shoved into a cell, the place dingy and gray and stinking of cigarettes and despair. So much for a diplomatic containment unit, which was what they’d been told they were going to.

  “Hey! Hey, you can’t do this to us! We have papers.” Cole hit the bars with one hand, snarling.

  The outer door to the cell area clanged shut, and Gus turned his head to stare at his friend. “Good papers. Don’t worry about filing the actual plan.”


  “Oh, shut up.” Cole slumped to the floor after examining the single cot and wrinkling his nose. “What about, well, if we get caught we’ll just wait until they turn their backs and go wolfy?”

  Gus held up his hands, which showed the evidence of recently removed cuffs. “Hard to do when no one turns their backs.”

  “Yeah.” Cole rested his chin on his knees, looking totally puppy, which was hilarious for such a big dude with miner’s muscles and shaggy hair.

  “When is the moon?” He couldn’t feel it yet, but he knew it was coming. He’d planned to track it on the watch he’d had Cole’s man put in the stash for them. That had been confiscated at the check stop.

  “I don’t know, man. I’m all turned around on time. Jet-lagged.”

  “You’re an ass hat too.”

  “Oh, fuck off, man. If we’re here during the moon, we’re screwed.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Gus paced, looking at the window, which was high and tiny and covered with more bars than a Los Angeles jewelry store. “You got any contacts in important places here?”

  “No.” Cole gave him a rueful grin. “Mine are all unsavory. You?”

  “Shit, no. I don’t know anyone rich and famous….”

  Okay, that wasn’t true. He might not know anyone in Asia, but he did know someone who had an astonishing number of high-placed acquaintances. If he could find a way to get ahold of the man. He wasn’t sure he had a reliable number for Sam.

  “Do you have any cash?” His had been in his boots, which were also gone. Cole was more crafty than he was, though, and might have something in the clothes they’d left him with.

  “How much do you need?”

  “How do I know? Enough to get a phone call.”

  Cole grunted and started digging in his pants. They’d been searched, but not strip-searched, which considering the scars Cole had from that one wolf-smackdown in Mexico, they might have gone right to the sticking with needles and finding out Cole and Gus weren’t human.

  Those scars were amazing.

  “Ha!” Cole came out with a small zipper bag, and Gus just wasn’t going to think on that too much, as in where it had been. All he needed to know was that the wad of cash was impressive enough. Cole peeled off a couple hundreds, American. “You think that will be enough?”