Coming Together With Pride

by Alessia Brio, J Buchanan, Lisabet Sarai

Busted! the voice teased, hard.

  Shuddering, Marten crossed the few steps to the counter. Then he dropped the plate in front of the dark haired man. “What,” Marten grabbed the lip of the counter and leaned over, up close, “are you doing here?” He kept his tone low so Avie wouldn't hear.

  "Having a cup of coffee and something to eat.” Grabbing a fork, Raven picked at the pie. Without looking at Marten, he asked. “What are you doing?"

  "Working."

  "Right, working.” Raven's voice sounded almost, but not quite, like the voice in Marten's head. Maybe it was just all sorts of the same seduction. “It's too nice a day for working. The sun's finally coming out.” Using the coffee mug as a pointer, Raven swung his hand toward the dingy front window. “You ought to play hooky."

  His smile tempted Marten more than Marten wanted to admit. Stuffy kitchens and rank dishwater weren't half as appealing as the open sky. But, he couldn't lose this job. He needed to put things by, and Avie was the only one who'd given him a chance. “No, I need to work.” If he said it out loud enough times, maybe he'd believe it. “I have to work.” Marten took a deep breath and pushed himself from the counter. As he walked away, he shot over his shoulder, “Finish your coffee and get out.” Damn if Avie got irked at him for being rude. He'd figure out something to say to placate her.

  Marten managed four steps when Raven slammed the cup down on the counter. The thud got everyone's attention. Marten spun to see Raven perched on the counter, his fists balled and bracing his weight. “That's so not fair!” Raven sputtered.

  "What?” Marten and Avie spoke almost as one.

  Indignant and hurt, Raven softened his tone. “You promised!"

  Marten blinked. “What did I promise?"

  "What did he promise?” Avie spoke to Raven but glared at Marten. What the fuck was Raven doing to him?

  "The other day.” Raven smiled at the mousy woman with sad eyes. “He promised to help me cut wood for my grandfather."

  Marten sputtered. “I did not!” This was the first time he'd ever talked to Raven. Insane did not even begin to describe the situation.

  "Yes, you did.” Raven insisted. “You said that the first decent day before the big frosts hit, you'd come help me. I can't do it on my own. It's too big a job for one person."

  It took a moment for Marten to resuscitate his shocked vocal cords. “I did not promise, and I'm working right now."

  "If you made a promise to help him,” Avie chided, “you ain't gonna weasel out of it like that."

  "What do you mean?” Marten ran his nails over his scalp. What the fuck was happening? Why was Avie buying into Raven's con? Not like the guy was a good actor or anything. “I didn't promise him shit! I barely even know him!"

  Avie's pinched face went even narrower as she screwed her mouth into a thin line. Suddenly, this was between her and Marten. “Then you shoulda thunk about promising, huh?"

  Crap! Avie had a thing about living up to your word.

  "Oh, man, I'm sorry.” Raven dropped into his chair and smacked his forehead with his palm. Gotcha. The contrite act was hardly supported by the mischievous glint in his eyes. “You didn't tell your boss. Fuck, I'm sorry.” He offered a big, wide grin to Avie while ostensibly directing his words to Marten. “'Cause I know how much you respect the old folks, and it probably just slipped your mind.” Shaking his head, Raven stood. He held up his hands as if in surrender. “But, you're right, you're working.” Softening his smile to a knowing smirk, Raven leaned toward Avie. “You know, all Marten ever does is talk about what a wonderful, kind hearted person Avie is. So great to work for and always thinking of other people first. So big hearted and so busy all the time. You're just a role model for him."

  Avie preened, running a hand behind her ear and tugging at the front of her tan uniform. “A role model?"

  "Yeah,” soft and seductive Raven continued the lie, “he tells me all the time how wonderful you are and how he wants to be just like you."

  Marten sputtered, “I do not...” and choked on the rest when Raven shot him a glare. A quick glance at Avie's pinched face told Marten to back track into a white lie. He swallowed and mumbled, “Not all the time."

  "You're a good kid, Martin.” Avie smiled at the perceived praise. Coming up next to him, she ruffled his sleek, brown hair in a motherly way. Softly, like she didn't want Raven to hear, Avie chided him, “You don't want people talking about you like they talk about him. That he's shifty and doesn't pull his weight. You're big hearted. You just mess up sometimes.” Then she squeezed his shoulder and said louder, “Go on and help the old man. I can make do here."

  "But..."

  "No.” She swatted the back of his head. “Git!” Another swat, this time to his ass, sent Marten scooting toward the door. Raven bounced along at his heels. “I'll be fine on my own,” Avie called as Marten grabbed his dark brown coat off the rack near the door. “You be good, work...” The last of it was cut off by the jangle of the bell when Marten yanked open the door.

  As he shrugged into his coat, Marten let the door bang shut in his wake. He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed off down the sidewalk. The clatter-thunk behind him told Marten someone followed. He didn't have to be a genius to guess who.

  "Hey!” Harsh and strident the voice broke through the air. “Hey!” Marten hunkered into his brown coat and kept walking. “Aren't you going to thank me?"

  He stopped and glared over his shoulder. “For what?"

  "For getting you a day off?” Raven jogged up, his long black coat flapping behind him. A whispery, asshole, fluttered at the base of his brain.

  Reaching into his shirt pocket, Marten grabbed his pack of smokes. His other hand fished in his coat for a book of matches. For a moment, he lost himself in the ritual of drawing out a cigarette with his teeth, folding over the cover on the matchbook, lighting and inhaling. After the second puff, he growled a question of his own. “Why are you always hanging out here?"

  Raven's eyebrows shot up and his mouth twisted into the already characteristic smirk. “Why not?” He pushed his glossy black hair behind one ear. Silver rings flashed, two on his hand and one through the cartilage of his ear. “It's as good a place as any."

  Marten took another deep drag. “Don't you have a job?” As he blew out the smoke, he resumed walking toward home. Not like there was anywhere else to go in the Podunk little town.

  "This is my job.” Falling into step beside Marten, Raven chuckled. “I do it well."

  That made no sense and Marten challenged him with a sharp, “Hanging out?"

  Raven bumped his shoulder, causing Marten to almost walk into a magazine rack. “Making people think, question, confront their fear."

  Marten managed to sidle around without mishap. “In you?"

  "In themselves."

  "You're whacked."

  "No,” another dry laugh, “I'm Raven."

  Finished with the cigarette, Marten flicked it into the gutter. “What the fuck kinda name is Raven for a guy?"

  "It's my fuck kinda name, and I like it,” Raven shot back. “I think it fits. Don't you?"

  "You're weird.” Out of habit, Marten checked for non-existent traffic before heading across the street.

  "I thought you said I was whacked.” Raven dogged his steps. “Where are we going?"

  Five blocks down the clapboard and cinderblock town faded into meadow. It was as if the street just decided it didn't want to go any farther and gave up.

  "What do you mean we, white boy?"

  Beyond the short field rose the forest. Marten headed there, toward where he lived. Still matching him step for step, Raven shrugged. “I'm bored, what are we doing tonight?"

  "Well, I'm going home.” Marten jerked his chin toward the woods beyond. “What you're doing ... I don't know."

  "Home is boring."

  "I have work tomorrow. I have real, put-bread-on-the-table work."

  Raven grunted dismissively and smacked his shoulder with an open fingered ha
nd. “You're too young to be dead already. If you're not working then we need to go somewhere."

  "No. I am working."

  "No, you're clocking time.” Sultry and seductive, Raven wheedled, “Working has meaning. Working should give back to the world. It's not just about putting bread on the table."

  Marten shook off the suggestion. “Maybe for you.” As seductive as that thought was, he couldn't buy into it. “Eating has higher meaning to me."

  Hands outstretched for balance, coat tails flapping in the wind, Raven minced along the curb like he was walking a ten foot tall wall. “Okay,” Raven snorted. “I'll give you that. What are we eating?"

  "Again with the we."

  Raven jumped and spun, coming to rest directly in Marten's path. Bright eyes flashing, he leaned in close. “Come on, you like me.” You do, you do.

  Marten refused to give in. “I do not.” He stepped around the other man.

  From behind, Raven's voice struck him. “I bet you've thought about what I look like naked.” The dead on guess, it had to be a guess, caused Marten to jerk short. It happened so fast, he damn near tripped over the curb. He swallowed and tried to think. Nothing, not even that damnable little voice in his head, responded.

  "The silence says it all.” Raven came up close behind him. “You know it, Marten. They talk about me to my face. They whisper about you behind your back. But I listen to all of it. Come on then, where are we going?"

  Where was he going? Nowhere, really. Avie's place was just a job. Beyond the ability to buy smokes and grub, he didn't give a rat's ass about it. He was stuck in a dead end job in a dead end town.

  Marten looked back down the street and then at the sky. Neither held the answers he needed. The last place his gaze fell was on Raven's sharp face. A little too thin maybe, but that smirk and wild hair had a lot going for it. And out in the cool air, Raven smelled all musky and warm. It was heady, intoxicating. Marten chewed on one sharp fingernail before answering, “My place.” His voice sounded husky and desperate even to his own ears.

  "Perfect!” Raven leaned in. The smell of him washed over Marten like a roaring river. Just perfect.

  For a moment, they stood there, not touching, but not needing to. Raven's bright black eyes, locked on Marten's. He found himself smiling. It felt feral. It felt wonderful. “Let's go then.” Marten nodded and started to walk.

  A jerk on his arm pulled him up short. Raven croaked in his ear. “Hey look, it's old man Parker's truck. He always leaves the keys in it.” Raven pushed away and bounced across the street heading toward the battered, green pickup. “Especially when he's drinking."

  For about two seconds, he'd thought he was about to get laid. Apparently, Marten had misread something in Raven. He scurried after the wings of a black coat. “You're not going to steal it?"

  "Fuck, no.” Raven paused at the side of the truck, waiting for Marten to catch up. Popping the door, he explained, “Just mess with the old guys head.” Raven slid into the cab. “No one's around. No one's gonna see if you hurry up and get in."

  Quick glances up and down the street told Marten that Raven was right. He darted around to the passenger side and crawled in. “What the fuck are you planning?"

  Flipping down the cracked sun visor, Raven caught the keys as they fell. Fun! It'll be cool. Quickly, he started the truck and jammed it into gear. Marten barely had time to slam the passenger side door closed before Raven reversed it across the road and down an empty side street. He grinned across the cab at Marten. “Let's go watch. The old man should be coming out any minute."

  "How do you know?"

  "Time for him to drive across town.” Raven hopped from the cab. “Mail should be in by now. It's the second Friday of the month.” Nonchalantly, he strutted to the corner and leaned against the edge of the building.

  "Oh, pension day.” Marten drew alongside.

  Slowly, Raven's hand fluttered across Marten's ass. “Yep.” The dark man smirked.

  Then he tugged and shuffled them both so that Marten's dick pressed into his thigh. If Raven hadn't been already teasing, Marten would have died. He was as hard and horny as a teenager. By the way Raven settled his weight against Marten's body; he wanted it just as much. Little twists and shifts kept them rubbing together. It felt damned good.

  Across the way, hulked a concrete bunker of a booze-joint. Once bright paint long since faded to the color of mud, only one narrow window and a wooden door broke the flat expanse of the building. The Happy Time bar looked like anything but a happy time.

  Using Raven's long coat to shield his movement, Marten reached into Raven's pocket. He slid his fabric-wrapped hand across a sharp hip until he cupped Raven's cock.

  "You know we can't do much of anything here, right?” Raven rubbed against Marten's hand.

  Long, slender, and hard, Raven's prick throbbed even through the layers of denim and canvas. Damn, feels good. If anyone caught them, Marten would have a time trying to weasel out an explanation. “I know,” he hissed into Raven's ear, “but it feels too good not to.” From across the street it might look, Marten hoped, like they were just talking ... really friendly-like.

  Marten tracked the line of Raven's cock. Raven bumped back against him, and Marten bit back a groan.

  All too soon, an old man staggered out of the bar. His jacket, sans two buttons, was fastened tightly against the wind. He stopped. He turned back to the bar and then turned around again. Lurching toward the curb, the old man stared down at the vacant spot of pavement where his truck should have been. Old Man Parker took off his battered baseball cap and scratched his head. A slow once over of the street offered him nothing but the view of two men leaning against a building. Hoping Raven did the same, Marten pretended he wasn't watching.

  The man walked back to the bar. He paused then spun. Maybe he thought that his truck played peek-a-boo. Marten swallowed his snickers. It might have been a little cruel, but no one was getting hurt by the prank. With a final glare at the street, Old Man Parker stomped back in the building.

  "That was funny.” Marten grabbed Raven's collar and tugged him back toward the truck. “Come on hurry, we only have a minute or so."

  "What are you doing?"

  This time Marten clambered into the driver's side. Barely waiting until Raven had jumped through the passenger door, he twisted the key in the ignition, fought the gear lever and drove the car back to its original spot. “Having a little more fun.” He grinned.

  "That's wicked sick."

  Marten killed the engine and jumped out of the cab. “As long as no one gets hurt,” he bounced the keys in hand, “it's good fun, right?” With a quick flick of his wrist, Marten flung the keys under the passenger side of the bench. “And with the way that old man was staggering, let's make sure no one gets hurt.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and ducked between buildings, quickly heading for the woods.

  "Yeah, his pension check'll keep ‘til tomorrow.” Raven chuckled as he followed. “He don't need to be driving right now."

  The trees closed quietly around them. A few yards off the main drag, the rest of the world faded into fantasy. Slowly, even the sky disappeared behind a laced web of branches overhead. The trees sighed hellos in the shush of the leaves. Teasing his hair like a grandfather's hand, the wind welcomed him back. Damp loam obligingly hid their steps from all but the most perceptive ears. Marten loved the smell of the forest, the richness of it, the wildness of it. He breathed it deeply.

  As they walked, Marten tried to sneak glances at Raven, but Raven seemed to catch him every time. The laughter in those bright black eyes stung a bit. Every few moments, a There yet? teased him. But Marten was shy, always had been. It wasn't his nature just to hit things straight on unless there was no other way.

  Now that they'd wandered in the woods alone, Marten figured he could be a little less wary. He looked up and smiled at the other man. “You coming back to my place then?” It wasn't really a question. Not as brash as Raven's, but he didn't have to sk
ulk around as much.

  Raven grinned back, “I don't think I'm headed to see the three bears."

  They hit the stony outcrop of a draw. Below, the soft babble of a creek added its murmurs to the whispers of the trees. “Just beyond the stream. Once we cross it, we'll be close.” Marten slithered down the boulders, bounding from rock to rock and wriggling through tighter spots. When he looked back, Raven still perched at the lip. “Aren't you coming?” he called.

  Raven stared at him. He took a few steps to one side and then the other. With a croak of a laugh, Raven ran and leapt. High into the air, his black coat spread out from his body in a broad wedge. For a moment, his shadow blocked the sky. Raven landed in a wet thud of boots to earth and the snapping of his coat as it flapped about his legs. A few hops carried him forward before he caught his balance.

  Huffing, Marten slunk past. “That was a stupid thing to do."

  "You go down the hill your way.” Raven's hands landed on Marten's shoulders and pulled him back. Mouth nearly on Marten's ear, he added, “I'll go down mine."

  For the second time that day, Marten found himself pressed against Raven's lean body. He was so close. The wind drifted fringes of Raven's hair to tickle Marten's neck, and his breathing slowed. He drew in the scent of Raven—heady and feral. Somewhere between earth and sky, rainy winds mixed wet leaves slumbering on the forest floor.

  "Mmm.” Raven's sharp cheek slid across the back of Marten's skull. “You smell good. Real warm."

  It was too chilly to get into much right there, at least for Marten's taste. If he were desperate, he might consider risking frozen nuts. With the house not far away, Marten figured he could wait a few minutes more. He pulled away. “Not much farther.” He grinned over his shoulder. Raven's face wore frustration and want. “Come on.” Teasing, Marten added, “I've got food at home."

  "I don't think I want to eat any more.” Raven's voice told Marten he wanted other things much more. Likely they were the same things Marten wanted.

  Marten hopped from the bank of the creek and landed on one of the large, slick boulders, poised. Neither on water or land, but part of both, the stream's chatter swept off the worries, the pretenses of Avie and the town. Quickly, Marten bounded to the next and then turned. As though something caught his attention, Marten stared at the water. “What's in the stream?"