by Kelly Jensen
Pleasure at that thought relaxed Bram a little more.
Noah went up to the bar to get them another round. The music started shortly after, drowning out any attempt at deeper conversation, and they drifted into making comments about the band and music in general.
“I’ve heard them play before,” Noah said. “They came out about a year ago. That’d be the life, eh? Traveling around the galaxy, playing shows for folks who don’t know a drum from a—” he waved a hand toward the stage “—whatever that thing is.”
“I think it’s making the whining sound,” Gael put in before draining the last of his beer. He pushed to his feet. “My turn to get a round, I think.” Maia had opened a line of credit for him, pending the return of the samples he’d be making for her, and Gael seemed too pleased by the prospect of paying for something for Bram to object.
After Gael’d left, Noah turned back to Bram. “You and he . . .?” He raised his eyebrows.
Bram pressed his lips together. “I got no claim on him.” Which wasn’t necessarily true. The contract did have clauses about relationships outside the bounds of their agreement. But he didn’t like the idea of speaking for Gael, even if that was what he wanted to do. Speak for him, claim him, call him mine.
“You don’t mind if I ask him to dance, then?”
Hell, yes. “Not at all.” Noah wouldn’t be looking for more than a dance would he? Not with a pregnant wife at home. Then again, Alkirak was as Alkirak was. Its own microcosm of weird and twisted relationships. “Just dancing, mind.”
Noah’s eyebrows flew up. “So it is like that.”
Bram couldn’t think of a reply that stated his case without making him appear a lovesick fool.
“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself,” Noah murmured as Gael arrived back with three fresh glasses of beer. Noah stood and grabbed Gael’s elbow. “C’mon, let’s dance.”
Gael flashed a look at Bram, who managed a smile. It might have been encouraging.
Watching them go, Bram adjusted the position of his chair until he had a clear view of the dance floor. Then he folded his arms and worked his face around several expressions before settling on brood number two.
He might regret holding back, even though things had been easier between them since that first kiss. Tentative, but sweeter. Gael had been making gestures. Touching him purposefully. Sitting close, leaning against him, putting his head in Bram’s lap. Smiling more often. Sharing more of himself. Then there was the deal with the credit chit today and setting up some useful work here on Alkirak. His account with Maia. All indicators that Gael wanted to stay with him. Yet there he was nodding his head in time to the music while standing opposite another man.
Gael seemed to hit a moment where the music got inside him, and instead of just nodding, he started to move. His shoulders, then his hips, like a wave flowed down his body, then back up. He turned a little sideways and did it again, the motion of his legs and arms natural and perfectly timed to the beat.
Bram felt his expression shift from brooding to something else.
The beat pulsed through him, even as far away as the table, drawing his eyes again and again to the motion of Gael’s hips. Then the music faded as the vocalist wrung out a series of mournful notes. Gael tipped his head back and swayed, still in time to a rhythm only he could hear. As soon as the drum crashed back into the bar, he twirled, arms raised.
Holy hands, he was gorgeous. Not just attractive. Above and beyond. Transported by the music, Gael looked joyful in a way he never had before. As though he were a part of something.
A pair of hands touched Gael’s hips. Noah dancing closer.
The prickle returned to the back of Bram’s neck, his skin itching and burning as he watched Noah dance with the man he wanted. Move his hands up to Gael’s ribs. Take one of Gael’s hands and send him out only to pull him back in, turn him. Sway with him, in time.
Bram grabbed his beer and took a long swallow. A bubble of liquid lodged in his throat, and he forced it down, panting slightly at the effort. Then he stood, unsure of his intent—just knowing that he couldn’t watch Gael and Noah dance anymore. The sight clawed at his insides like an ulcer.
Skirting the dance floor, he made for the corridor that led to the restrooms.
A hand caught his and tugged. Bram turned. Gael stood beside him, shining now. His face was alight with joy.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
In answer, Bram tucked his fingers more securely around Gael’s and pulled him down the corridor and out into the small yard at the other end. He kicked the door closed behind them, nudged Gael up against the nearest flat surface, and kissed him.
Gael huffed out a breath of surprise. His head continued to spin with the lights over the dance floor, only they weren’t there anymore. He was outside. Moonlit clouds pulsed and swirled over his head. Gael put a hand to the wall behind him and held on, sure the ground must be moving beneath him. A desperate puff of air touched his lips before Bram leaned in and kissed him, his mouth coming down so hard, Gael’s head bounced.
Memories surged, simultaneously weakening his knees and stiffening his spine. Through the slight haze left behind by the beer and the dancing, Gael tried to organize his thoughts. His body remembered how to react to a kiss—how to become tame, to take cues from the man kissing him, to pretend to want it, to want more. The words he was supposed to whisper tickled the back of his throat. Dirty encouragements that always excited, even while they left a bitter taste in his mouth. If he followed the formula, it would be over faster.
But . . . but he didn’t want this to end quickly. Not with this man. Bram was kissing him. Bram’s warm bulk pressed him against the wall. Gael wanted this. He’d hoped for this. He tucked his hands around Bram’s ribs and pulled him closer, angled his body up into the solid form in front of him, and kissed back with equal fervor.
The long Alkirak night cloaked them in privacy, the yard quiet but for the hum of music through one wall, the soft scrape of their shoes on the rocky ground. Bram’s first long kiss trailed off into brushes of lips, visiting Gael’s jaw, cheekbone, ear, neck, lips again, each accompanied by a rush of breath as though Bram had run to be here with him. That thought was dizzying—that Bram might want him this badly.
Gael moved a shaking hand between them and trailed his fingers over Bram’s shirt, feeling for the strong musculature he knew lay beneath. The heat of Bram’s skin met his touch, even through cloth. Bram’s hands seemed to be everywhere—beneath Gael’s shirt at the back, fingers spread across his ribs, a rough thumb beneath his jaw, lifting his chin so Bram could kiss his neck.
Bram was making love to him with his hands: shaping, squeezing, soothing, holding. Gael barely dared to move, lest he break the spell. This, this, this. Breath stuttered in his throat, and the spiral of his thoughts spun faster—only to hit a wall as Bram’s hand closed over his ass, pulling him forward to meet the firm ridge of Bram’s constrained erection.
He’d imagined more than kissing Bram. Had been prepared from the beginning for what Bram might expect from him. But reality was different. Fear tangled with his desire. Remembered pain stiffened his spine again, even while his knees started to shake. He didn’t know how to do this with someone he cared about. Didn’t know if he should drop down and fumble with the fastening of Bram’s trousers, or turn around and brace his hands against the wall. Was that how lovers did it? And what if sex was the same with Bram? What if the reason he’d never liked it was because he was broken? Would Bram be able to tell? Would he be disappointed?
Yes. Yes, he would. He’d ordered a lover, not a housekeeper. He hadn’t shipped Gael across the galaxy to cook and clean for him.
Breath hissed in and out of his tight throat, and his heart hammered against his breastbone. Tears cornered his eyes. And Bram was pulling back, the furrow of his brow just visible in the dark shadows of the alleyway. His eyes widened and his mouth opened. His lips moved. Was he saying something?
Bram gra
bbed his shoulders, then let go as though burned. “Gael! Shit. I’m a such a dumb fuck.”
“I’m okay.” Gael commanded his trembling hands to reach for Bram. “We can do this.”
Bram paced short circles in front of him. “How did I not see it? Dusting hell!”
“I don’t understand.”
Bram stopped. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I’m so sorry.”
Gael gulped at the warm night air, still breathless. His thoughts began to slow, and thinking became like pulling taffy away from paper. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Bram touched his fingers to Gael’s chest first before flattening his palm when Gael didn’t move. “You don’t need to be afraid.”
“It’s okay.” He knew more words than this. Why was it all he could think to say?
“I want . . . We’ve waited . . . It should be . . .” An anguished cry ended whatever Bram was trying to say.
Gael laid his hand over Bram’s. Now that the night had fallen quiet, he felt the loss of Bram’s warmth. Missed the weight of Bram against him, despite a lingering coil of fear. Not fear, it’s excitement. He’d wanted this, damn it. He wanted it. “It can be whatever you want it to be.”
Would Bram lean in again if he tugged on his arm?
Bram’s expression morphed from sorrow to something Gael couldn’t identify. Not in the dark. He backed up a step, his hand shifting beneath Gael’s. Then he left a cold spot in the middle of Gael’s chest as he pulled away, shaking his hand, clenching and unclenching his fists. Turned and pushed through the door. It banged closed after him, leaving Gael in the noisy spinning darkness.
Gael pushed off the wall and staggered in a circle, pacing the small yard. Slowly, the noise receded to a quiet thump—his heart or maybe the band. He didn’t care, so long as the rhythm continued. He might collapse to the ground without it.
He’d fucked up.
The Bram who’d left him alone in the dark had almost seemed frightened. Or maybe it had been disappointment. Gael still couldn’t make sense of what had happened. Well, except for the part where he’d frozen up and ruined everything.
Tempting as it was to sit on the ground and wait for something that might not happen, or beat his fists in frustration against the wall, Gael opened the door and stepped back inside. A bulky figure loomed at the far end of the hallway, backlit by the swirl of color on the dance floor. Gael sucked in a quick breath and then let it out as he recognized the silhouette.
It was Bram.
“What are you doing here?” Gael asked, which was probably both better and worse than saying, You scared me.
“Waiting for you.”
Sudden anger pulled at Gael’s spine, making him stand up straight. Bram couldn’t push him into a wall, kiss him breathless, scare him, abandon him, and then seem to care. It was too damn confusing.
“I’m fine.” Gael moved to push past him.
Bram held up a hand. “Gael—”
“Why did you leave me out there?”
“I needed a minute. Figured you might need one too. We should—”
“Is it because I danced with your friend?” He’d fucked up somehow.
“What?”
“What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did you run away?”
“I didn’t run.”
“Walked very fast, then.”
Their raised voices were drawing attention, even over the sound of the band. Gael thought about doing a Bram—grabbing his arm and dragging him somewhere. But he wasn’t strong enough to pull it off, and if Bram resisted, he’d look pretty stupid. Gael was kind of tired of looking stupid. No, he was really tired of it.
Bram was right. He needed a minute. Another minute. A few more minutes. Facing down the people watching them, Gael stalked away toward the bar.
“Gael!”
He had to push through a crowd to get to the end, and when he ducked under the gate, Maia glanced up with a smile. “Here to help out? I could use a hand.”
His plan had been to ask if he could go into the store. It’d be quiet in there. He could restack a shelf or something. Dig back through the remnant bin. Maybe head on over to Maia’s house and curl up next to Aavi, who was surely deep into a sweet sleep by now. But if he’d messed everything up as badly as he suspected, he might as well start on earning his fare back to . . . somewhere.
Gael got to work.
Maia’s patrons came in two varieties: beer and whiskey. Gael catered to both, filling glass after glass until the glasses ran out. He circled the floor with a bucket, picking up the empties, and loaded the dishwasher.
“Where’s your other help?” he called out to Maia at one point.
“What other help?” she answered, and that was all the conversation they had time for.
The work was soothing in a way. Not so complicated that he couldn’t think, but busy enough to keep him from certain thoughts until the band had played their last set and the bar began to empty out.
Gael unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher again, then picked up a cloth to start wiping down tables.
Maia pulled the cloth from his fingers and nodded toward the end of the bar. “Go talk to your man. He’s scaring off my last customers.”
Bram did look a bit scary, sitting in a heap at the far end of the bar, his broad shoulders all hunched up and his face a dark cloud. Bram wasn’t his man, though, and now that Gael’s brain had switched back on, he wasn’t sure that would ever happen.
Gael sidled toward the other end of the bar, picking up empties along the way. Just working here, not coming over to talk to you. He stopped in front of Bram.
Bram looked like someone had taken everything he owned, but not away. Whoever had done this thing had laid out Bram’s stuff and pissed on it. Or worse, stomped on it, breaking all of it into tiny little pieces.
Gael wondered if he should apologize? This was his fault, wasn’t it?
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened,” Gael said, even though he sort of did.
“I do.” Bram sounded tired.
“I can stay here if you don’t think this is going to work out.” Oh, that hurt to say.
“Why do you always do that?”
“What?”
Pain slashed across Bram’s face. “Assume I don’t want you?”
Gael ducked his head. Burning sun, how had they ended up here? He wanted to go home to Bram’s farm. Sit on the lumpy old couch and have a quiet conversation about their day. A conversation that wouldn’t include Gael drinking beer, dancing with a stranger, being hauled out into an alleyway, and then freezing up and ruining everything.
“I got a room for the rest of the night,” Bram said. “I’m too tried to drive back. Maia said she can keep Aavi. She’s asleep anyway. So, I’m gonna get some sleep too. Do you want to—”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“If I want to share your room. It’d be the sensible thing, if Aavi’s settled in at Maia’s. And it’s late.”
“Right.”
“I’ll just finish up here.”
“I’ll give you a hand.”
Bram had apparently used up his allotment of words for the evening, and Gael was too done to make conversation. Soon, they had all the tables cleared and wiped, all the glasses clean and stacked, and the lights dimmed. Apparently the bar never really closed, due to miners working all sorts of shifts. After regular hours, though, customers had a choice of beverage machine or snack machine. Maia had gone home.
Gael followed Bram out into the endless night and around a corner to another adjoined building with a quiet holo flickering inside the only display-sized window: Maia’s Motel.
“Does she own everything in Landing?” Gael asked.
“Whatever Orfeo doesn’t.”
Bram led the way down a short corridor, palmed a lock, and motioned Gael through the door.
Gael glanced at the one bed
in the middle of the decent-sized room, and back over his shoulder at Bram. “I can sleep on the floor.”
“It’s a big bed.” Bram’s voice was gruff.
“Can we talk after we sleep?”
“Sure.”
Though Gael was worn out, sleep was a long time coming. Beside him, Bram seemed to be unwinding just as slowly. A weird charge filled the quiet air between them, and Gael still hadn’t figured out what it was when the world started to fade.
A sharp jab in the solar plexus jerked Bram out of the void. Something moved across his face, filling his mouth. The universe tipped and shrieked. Bram opened his eyes and coughed, spitting hair from between his lips. Next to him, Gael bucked, elbows digging backward, and rocked forward, making the bed shake. A muffled yell chased a moan. A keening followed, then words, each punctuated by another jerk. “Stop. No. I didn’t. Loic. Please. No.”
Unsure what to do, Bram lay still. Gael rolled back against him, thrashing against the quilt, and Bram’s arms did what arms were supposed to do. He pulled Gael’s back against his chest and wrapped him up tight. Remembered he had a voice.
“Shh. Shh. I’ve got you. Shh, Gael.”
Gael’s body stiffened, then relaxed. Jolted forward and back. Relaxed again. The dream, or whatever was holding him, seemed to pass. He quieted, his breaths fading to inaudible.
Bram could let go now, let Gael rest a little more, but he didn’t. Bram lay there with Gael nestled back against his chest and imagined (stupidly or otherwise) that this was how every morning started. Not with a nightmare, nor the prick of slow recrimination. With him waking to the warmth and weight of someone he cared about in his arms, tucked in close.
At some point, he realized Gael was awake and hadn’t moved away. Bram could feel the awareness that Gael carried around with him during the day.
“Did I wake you?” Gael murmured.
