by Avon Gale
He got me a glass of iced tea, let me inspect the coloring on his tattoo, and then we went to sit in the living room. I took the sofa, and Callum, because he was a weirdo, sat cross-legged on the floor with his drink. He had comically large straws that he used to drink his protein shakes. This one was orange. “So, what’s the newest on the shop? You get those insurance forms squared away?”
I nodded. “Yeah, filed them with my agent last week. Thanks for your help with that.”
Callum inclined his head. “Of course, of course. You know I’ll do whatever I can to help out.” He took a sip of his bright-orange smoothie. “Any luck figuring out who did it?”
I leaned back on the sofa with my arms outspread. “I know who did it.”
Callum’s eyes went wide. “You do?”
“Yeah. Friend of Poe’s.”
Callum was silent for a moment. “A— Really? Why?”
“I think he’s jealous. Poe hasn’t been hanging out with him because of the apprenticeship, and I guess this kid took it personally.”
Callum tilted his head. “Personally enough to wreck your shop and steal your tattoo equipment?”
“Well.” I sighed. “I don’t think that was the only reason.”
“He’s sweet on your man?”
I made a face at the wording, but I couldn’t deny the sentiment. “Looks that way. His name’s Blue.”
“So has he been arrested?” Callum asked.
“He turned himself in.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “The police have him in custody. I’m supposed to go there and let them know what I want to do about pressing charges.”
Callum studied me thoughtfully. “I get the feeling you’re not entirely sure what you want to do.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I mean, the kid fucked up my shop and stole from me, all because he couldn’t handle Poe having a boyfriend and a job. Sounds like he’s a loose cannon that needs to be locked up to learn some manners, right?”
“Jericho, we’ve had enough discussions about the prison system in this country for me to know that you don’t really believe that’s how they work.”
That was the truth. My opinion that prisons were inhuman institutions designed to demean and humiliate was one I knew Callum shared. One reason why he’d stopped practicing law was because he couldn’t in good conscience send anyone there anymore—especially not with a system riddled with classism and racism. We’d met at the Books Through Bars program, where volunteers went through boxes of donated books and responded to requests from prisoners all over the country for reading material.
“I’ve told you about the shit I was into as a kid, yeah?” I asked.
Callum nodded. “But you didn’t break in and trash other people’s shit for no reason, right?”
“No, but I’m sure my actions had some consequences that I’ll never know about.” I raked a hand through my hair. I tried not to think too much about those days, since they were long past and I’d more than turned my life around. “I think if he goes to jail, then he’s probably a lost cause. Exactly like I would have been.”
Callum smiled at me. “You’re a good man,” he said, so sincerely that my face went red. “A sexy, tatted-up silver fox with a heart of gold . . . why the fuck didn’t I marry you, again?”
“Would you stop it?” I would have thrown a pillow at him, but I didn’t want to spill that smoothie of his. It couldn’t be easy to get that color out of anything. “You know why. We’re a little too similar.”
“And I guess I’m too old for you,” Callum teased, but his face went serious. “So you’re not going to press charges?”
“Well. I had an idea, but I wanted to run it by you, first.”
“Using me for my former legal expertise?” He leaned back and propped himself up with his palm on the floor.
“Nope. I’m using you for the future home of Urban Art Works.”
Callum blinked. “Well, it’s hardly anything right now but a building downtown full of trash and broken glass.”
I smiled. Like my store. “I know.”
I was pretty sure the policeman thought I was a moron when I met with him at the station, but he didn’t try to talk me out of my plan. If it worked, it would be one less delinquent for them to deal with, and if it didn’t . . . well, at least I’d know I had tried.
The policeman showed me back to the room where they were keeping Blue. I was surprised to find out Blue was actually his name, having figured it was some kind of nickname. He hunched over the table, and he didn’t bother to look up when the policeman opened the door to admit me.
“Listen up, Mr. Ross. Mr. McAslan is here to have a word with you.”
Blue shrugged, insouciance etched in every line of his body. But I could tell his knee was jiggling under the table, and his fingers were laced tightly together on the tabletop.
The cop rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like “loser” under his breath, but at the glare I shot him, he said hastily, “I’ll give you ten minutes,” and quickly pulled the door shut behind him.
Blue finally looked up at me. He had dark-brown hair worn in a careless topknot, and he was wearing a tank top despite the fact it was the middle of winter. He didn’t have any ink, but there was no denying he was gorgeous. Gorgeous, and glaring at me like I was the son of the devil himself.
I pulled out the chair and sat down across from him. “So, you’re Blue.”
“And you’re Jericho.” His eyes met mine. The way he said my name sounded like a curse. “Poe’s boyfriend.”
“I’m the owner of Permanent Ink,” I said, holding his gaze. Jesus, I felt about a million years old—and like I was staring across the table at myself. I’d been younger than Blue when I’d had my come-to-Jesus moment with Chris, but still. The defiant posture, the defensiveness, the attempt to look tough . . . yeah, this shit was all too familiar. “The shop you destroyed.”
He shrugged, clearly trying for nonchalance, but he couldn’t quite manage it. I saw the tightening around his mouth, and he’d glanced away from me, unable to hold my gaze. “You want an apology?”
“Are you sorry?”
Blue stayed silent, and as I was considering pushing back from the table to leave, he said, “Yeah,” so quietly it was hard to hear.
“I fucked up a lot when I was younger,” I said. “Hey, Blue. Look at me.”
He did, and I could tell he was resentful and sullen. I didn’t blame him, but this situation was a lot better than he’d get in jail. “You gonna give me a lecture or what?”
“No, I’m not going to waste my fucking breath. You know that was bullshit, you know it was illegal, and it was a piss-poor way to deal with your fucking feelings.”
“You don’t know shit about my feelings.”
Jesus, this kid. “Yeah, well, here’s what I do know. I’m the one who gets to decide if I’m pressing charges or not.”
Blue’s fingers twisted together on the table. The stress of not knowing what I was going to do was clearly getting to him. He looked tired, and I did believe him that he was sorry. I also thought he was a punk. I wondered if I’d looked the same, sitting across from Chris in his office.
“I’m willing to let this go if you do something for me.”
The look Blue gave me was so full of fury, it took me a minute to realize he was assigning some kind of meaning to my words that I’d never intended. It made me wonder a little about his past, so I held my hands up and said very clearly, “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.”
Some of the ire filtered out of him, but he was still so tense he was fairly vibrating with it. “Then what? You want me to help clean up or something?”
His dismissive attitude set my teeth on edge. I had no idea how Chris put up with me, because I had a suspicion I’d been like Blue when I was fucked up and angry at the world. “You think I left my shop a fucking wreck all this time? No. My friend Callum Leary works for this group called Urban Art Works.” Callum did more than work for
them, but now wasn’t the time to get out an organizational chart. “They’re in the process of relocating to a new building downtown. It’s been abandoned, so it’s more of a mess than my shop was.”
He blinked, and I could tell this wasn’t what he was expecting. “You want me to pick up trash?”
“If you agree to help Callum get the space ready for Urban Art Works, I won’t press charges,” I said. Callum had, of course, been thrilled with the idea. Not only did it give him help for the organization, which meant a lot to him, but it helped keep someone out of prison. “I gave him my word that you’d be responsible and show up, do what he says, and help out. So don’t fucking make a liar out of me.”
Blue’s eyes narrowed. “That’s fucking presumptuous of you.”
“Is it?” I met his glare with my own. Motherfucking kid was out of his mind if he thought he could hang with me in the intimidation department. “You turned yourself in.”
He looked away and gave another petulant shrug. “I guess.”
“You guess? You guess, what? Look, Blue, I don’t have to do this. I could let them drag your ass to jail and then see you at the court hearing. You’ll do time, maybe not a lot. Hell, maybe if your record’s clean, you won’t do any. But whatever made you do that shit to my shop—these feelings you say I don’t understand? That shit doesn’t go away. It gets worse.”
“You,” he said, pushing back from the table and standing up—he was tall, almost six feet, all sharp angles—“don’t know shit about me, so stop fucking pretending like you do.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t. But I knew enough not to be a dumb fuck and end up in jail when I could avoid it. How about you?”
I could tell that if anything, my refusing to talk to him like a cop or a social worker was the only thing keeping him listening to me. “And if I don’t show up?”
“I can’t make you. I won’t. You accept my deal, I walk out of here and so do you. I’m not sending the cops after you if you don’t show up, but if you don’t want to fuck up your friendship with Poe, I wouldn’t advise doing that.” Oh, that got the kid’s back up—his eyes flashed and his hands clenched, and how Poe had missed the fact this kid clearly had feelings for him, I had no idea.
He opened his mouth, probably to tell me I didn’t know shit about Poe and their friendship. I didn’t want to stand here and argue with him about it, especially since the longer I was around him, the more I thought about my shop and the loss of wages and all the fucking nightmares that went along with the endless paperwork. “You’ve got one shot here, kid. Take it or leave it.”
“Why?” Blue asked, and for a moment I saw him without those defenses, stripped bare like skin waiting for the kiss of ink, like a canvas waiting for paint. “Why the fuck would you do this?”
“Someone helped me, once,” I said. “And I was as pissed at the world as you are.”
“I don’t really want your fucking help,” Blue said.
“You should.” I shrugged. “Look, it’s been a long fucking day. You want in on this or not?”
Blue stared at me for a long time, and I wondered what he was thinking. If he was weighing his options, considering if telling me to fuck off was worth what might happen when I left this room. He had to know I wasn’t fucking bluffing and that I’d sure as hell let the cops arrest him if he turned down my offer.
“Fine,” he said, as ungraciously as possible. “I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to be fucking cheerful about it.”
I didn’t bother to respond to that. I stood up and nodded at him. “I’ll send you the address.” With that, I turned to go.
My hand was on the doorknob when I heard him say, “Thanks.”
It wasn’t gracious. In fact, it sounded like the definition of grudging. But it was something. “You’re welcome,” I said, and went out to find the policeman.
Poe
It was the night before the grand reopening of Permanent Ink. In reality, we hadn’t outright closed the doors for very long. Once we’d replaced the windows, slapped some paint on the walls, and purchased new equipment, Jericho had started taking customers on a limited basis—mostly the ones coming to see him from out of state who’d already made travel plans.
Tomorrow would be our official return to normal business hours. The lobby had been rearranged, and new artwork from local artists decorated the walls, including one piece from a lady who normally specialized in sex-positive neon signs. After hearing what happened to the shop, she’d made one that said Permanent Ink as a gift for Jericho, and he’d proudly mounted it behind the front counter. But for the most part, the place simply looked like a more polished version of the original.
Because insurance companies were slow as fuck and insisted on all sorts of red tape before issuing a payout, Jericho had used his savings to do all the work. There’d be no romantic getaways for us until he got that money back, but at least his pride and joy was back to its former glory. That was the most important part.
Jericho and I had stopped by the shop to make sure everything was up to snuff for the next afternoon. Mainly this consisted of Jericho going over things he’d already triple-checked while I stood around playing puzzle games on my phone. His paranoia wasn’t entirely unjustified, not after what had happened. It would probably be a while before his nerves faded. Someone had violated his space, stolen his property, cost him money, and caused him emotional distress. Hell, I was still pissed about the fact that it had been done to him by someone I loved and considered my best friend.
Blue and I hadn’t spoken since he’d turned himself in to the cops. I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to talk to him again without feeling like I wanted to punch him in the face—although I was glad, whatever the reason, he’d decided to take my advice. I could only hope Jericho’s brilliant plan to have Blue help Callum didn’t blow up in our faces. In a way, I almost felt sorry for Callum. After a decade of experience, I knew he’d have his hands full trying to get Blue to do anything that wasn’t his own idea.
Jericho reappeared at the mouth of the hallway that led to the back rooms and planted his hands on his hips, looking around the lobby with a contemplative expression on his face. His black T-shirt clung to his powerful pecs, and his well-worn jeans almost tenderly encased the muscular thighs I loved to have wrapped around my head while I sucked on his dick. God, he was hot. Sometimes I couldn’t really believe he was mine.
I straightened from my slouch against the new front desk and crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Stop worrying. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Jericho grunted, his dark brows knitting together.
I hooked a finger in one of his belt loops and drew him closer. “I know a way I can relax you, Daddy. If you’re game.”
One side of Jericho’s mouth curved into a wry smile. “Oh yeah? What’s that, boy?”
I grinned at him. “We can give this remodeled shop a proper christening. That new desk chair over there is just waiting for our blessing.”
Jericho laughed, but didn’t stop me when I started rubbing his cock through his fly. “What about the windows? Or did you want to make a show of it?”
A negligent shrug was the simplest answer I had. “I don’t care if someone sees. But they won’t.” The area was dead already, with all of the surrounding businesses having closed for the night. “Turn the lights off and let me ride you.”
Jericho didn’t take much convincing. In less than five minutes, he was lounging in the chair, pants undone. We’d turned it to face away from the front windows and braced the backrest against the desk so the chair wouldn’t start rolling around once we got moving.
With my back to him, I sank onto his slick, latex-covered cock. I slammed down fast and hard, until my thighs couldn’t handle the strain anymore. Jericho easily took over then. He slid lower in the chair, gripped my neck in one hand, and used the other to hold my right leg up and out so he could bang into me.
A few seconds later, I came with his name on my lips, striping
my abdomen with warm, sticky fluid as I collapsed onto his chest.
Jericho lifted me from his still-hard cock before I could catch my breath. He jerked his chin at the floor. “Hands and knees. Come on, boy.”
Panting, I scrambled to get on all fours, the cold concrete eliciting a hiss. It made for an unforgiving surface to kneel on, and I’d definitely be feeling the aftereffects later, but I didn’t give a shit. I was intent on getting Jericho off. I wanted him to use me hard and finish inside me. I didn’t only want that—I needed it.
Jericho crouched over me, one foot planted on either side of my knees, and shoved back in with enough force to make me grunt and rock me forward. I was oh-sweet-fuck sensitive after my orgasm, but that only made me more eager as he gripped my waist tight and drilled into me.
It wasn’t gentle. He pounded my ass, totally unrelenting, pushing sounds out of my throat that would’ve left absolutely no doubt I was being fucked to within an inch of my life if anyone had been around to hear them.
When Jericho came, his groan sounded anguished. He lingered only for a moment before he withdrew and helped me up off the floor. I swayed against him, relishing his quiet strength, so completely fucked out I felt dazed.
But I snapped out of my sex stupor when I saw Jericho’s face. He stared at me, his eyes damp, his mouth a tight, thin line.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I cupped his cheeks, his beard coarse against my palms, and drew him down for a deep, slow kiss. I knew this wasn’t about me or us. So many feelings had been simmering inside him since we got the call from the alarm company the night Blue vandalized the shop. The emotion gripping him now was relief, pure and simple. He finally had his shop, his life, back.
Jericho wrapped his arms around me. I couldn’t tell how long we stood there, exchanging sweet kisses and shared shaky breaths, but by the time Jericho pulled back, he was smiling.
“Let’s get cleaned up,” he said. “But keep your pants off.”
I arched my brows. “It’s February. I’m not walking out of here in my skivvies.”
Jericho chuckled. “We’re not done here just yet. And keep the briefs off too.”
