Strays

by Garrett Leigh

In answer, Nero took his hands from Lenny’s thighs and placed them behind his own back, clasping his fingers together. He pulled his mouth from Lenny’s cock. “Like this, with you . . . I feel safe.”

  Oh, Nero. Lenny cupped his chin, catching a bead of moisture from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. No sensible reply came to him, so he tapped Nero’s lips with his cock and slid back in. A heartbeat later, he came hard in Nero’s mouth, but he didn’t linger in the heated bliss. He withdrew and yanked on Nero’s shoulders, tugging him to his feet and throwing himself at him, almost tumbling Nero back to the floor. “You are safe with me, Nero. I promise. For as long as you want to be.”

  Nero’s only answer was a crushing embrace. Lenny pressed his face against Nero’s chest and tried to count the beats of his racing heart. What the fuck had just happened? Nero was his rock, his port in the storm. How had he not seen that Nero needed sanctuary too?

  Lenny rolled over for the millionth time, torn between having the warmth of Nero behind him, and the compulsion to stare at him while he slept, rubbing his palm over Nero’s short hair, and gently scraping his fingertips through the dark beard. Even the pad of his thumb found entertainment in Nero’s beautiful cheekbones.

  But the frown marring Nero’s face as he slept was hard to take, so Lenny turned his back on it over and over until he gave himself whiplash and settled for lying on his stomach, searching for solace in Nero’s hypnotic breathing.

  Solace, though, was hard to find at 4 a.m. when there was no reason to be awake apart from the whirling dervish in Lenny’s mind, which had been there every night since his encounter with Nero in the staff changing room. With his cock still hard and his tongue in Nero’s mouth, it had been easy—too easy—to believe he knew what Nero needed, that he understood the storm in his gaze, the painful strain in his clenched fists, but when the cold light of day had dawned the following morning, Lenny had met Nero’s dull half smile and realised he knew nothing at all.

  I don’t know him.

  And it hurt. Lenny was more attracted to Nero than he’d ever been to anyone—consumed, fascinated, and addicted to his quiet company, but it stretched beyond that. Far beyond. Lenny ached for Nero, and seeing the torment in him each and every day was tearing Lenny apart.

  I need to know him.

  But how? Nero wanted Lenny—Lenny didn’t know much, but of that he was certain—but his reticence was so deeply entrenched, Lenny reckoned even Nero couldn’t find a way round it. And likely didn’t want to. Nero wasn’t a talker; he’d made that plain.

  I can’t force him.

  Could he? What if—

  “Fuck’s sake. How’s anyone s’posed to sleep around here with all that huffing and puffing?”

  Lenny turned his head to find Nero glaring at him through heavily hooded eyes. “I’m not huffing and puffing, and last time I looked you were sleeping just fine.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  “Yeah? How do I know that you’ve been drawing them bloody tigers on my stomach all night, then?”

  Ah. Nero had him there. Lenny had painted a technicolour tiger on the biggest wall at the Vauxhall site, and stray wild cats had possessed his fingertips ever since. Jake had asked if he could digitally paint a smaller one for the marketing graphics, but Lenny had never been into small art. He liked it big, like Nero’s cock.

  Damn it. And that was the other thing keeping Lenny awake—the raging horn, despite starting off each night with his dick in Nero’s mouth. Or his dick in mine. Either way, there was no shortage of orgasms. “Sorry I woke you.”

  “Don’t sound it.”

  “What do you want me to do? Kneel at your feet and weep?”

  Confusion flickered in Nero’s gaze, then it hardened, throwing up the guard Lenny was tired of butting his head against. How was it that a man could stare at him with such naked hunger and submission, all the while keeping so much of himself hidden?

  Lenny turned his eyes to the ceiling, waiting for Nero to sigh and leave the room. And for Lenny to let him, and wonder if it was time he returned to his place on the couch. Because as addictive as the warmth of Nero’s embrace had become, what did it mean if his arms were those of a stranger?

  Lenny jumped off the Tube in Vauxhall and let the crowd carry him above ground. On the pavement, he lit a cigarette, then turned in the direction of the bakery site and sniffed the air, detecting for the first time the telltale scent of fresh bread. They’ve turned the ovens on.

  Excitement skipped in Lenny’s veins. The last few weeks had been frenetic, but with the slick Urban Soul machine at full throttle, the Vauxhall project was nearly complete. All it needed was a name, and Lenny was here today to tell the powers that be that he thought he had one.

  He shifted his portfolio case to the other hand and followed the happy smell to the site. Inside, he found a full house—Nero, Cass, Jake, and a Bradley Cooper lookalike he knew to be Tom, plus a team of chefs at work in the kitchen, testing the restaurant menu Nero had honed to perfection.

  Nero had his back to the door, working the pizza oven. Lenny didn’t need to see his face to know his tongue was caught between his teeth, his brows knotted in a concentrated frown that cast a perfect shadow across his chiselled features. Cooking brought Nero to life in a flawless contradiction of inanimate fire.

  Lenny left him to it and approached what was clearly the inner circle—Cass, Jake, and Tom all huddled around giant stacks of paperwork. Cass looked bored, Jake intense, and Tom, well . . . despite the authority Lenny had always sensed from the other two—and Nero—it was plain who was in charge.

  And it was Tom who noticed him first. He glanced up with a broad smile. “Lenny?”

  “It’s me.”

  Tom’s grin widened. “I wasn’t sure I’d recognise you in the flesh, but Nero said you were on your way, so I’ve been watching out for you.”

  “He did?”

  Cass chuckled. “Course he did. Reckon he’s gonna have a nervous breakdown if you don’t go tell him you got here safe. Give me that case. We ain’t going nowhere.”

  Skipping out on Tom so soon after meeting him seemed a little wrong, but Lenny couldn’t deny the invisible force that was drawing him to Nero’s side. He relinquished his portfolio case. “The stuff for the frontage is all in there. Have a squiz while I’m gone, that way I can piss off home if you hate it.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Cass took the case and laid it on the huge wooden table. Lenny cringed and turned away. Late last night while Nero had smoked alone on the fire escape, the concept of the wandering wild cat had made perfect sense, but in the cold light of day, faced with the three men who commanded London’s hottest restaurant company, he had to wonder if it was the daftest idea he’d ever conceived.

  No, dying your hair rose gold is the stupidest thing you’ve done recently, dickhead. Lenny moved across the buzzing restaurant, running his fingers self-consciously through his freshly tinted hair. Would Nero even notice? Given the brutal way he was digging pizzas out of the giant wood-fired oven, probably not.

  Lenny chanced a hand on Nero’s arm, sliding his fingers around his wrist. “Hey.”

  Nero spun around, pizza shovel raised, his beard dusty with flour, and the relief in his eyes unmistakable. “You made it.”

  “I did. Were you worried?”

  “Yes.”

  God, I love him and his bluntness. “So was I, if I’m honest. It was weird being outside without you.”

  “Managed just fine, though, eh? Don’t need me at all.”

  There was humour in Nero’s eyes as he spoke, but it felt hollow. Lenny frowned, his fingers digging of their own accord into Nero’s arm. “I do need you. I want you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  Nero turned slightly and scraped a pizza out of the oven. “Don’t ask me shit like that. I ain’t got a clue why someone like you would want a bastard like me.”

  “You’re not a bastard
.”

  “Uh-huh.” Nero dumped the pizza at the mouth of the oven. “Feel like one when you stare holes in my soul.”

  Lenny glanced around. No one was looking their way, not that Nero seemed to care. “I only stare because I want to see.”

  “I know.”

  Another dead end. Lenny suppressed a sigh. Part of him wanted to shake Nero into a submission of a different kind than the one that made his bones burn, but aside from the fact that Nero could subdue him with both hands tied behind his back, this was a conversation best had, or not, at home.

  Lenny let it go and studied the pizza still sizzling at the mouth of the oven. “That smells amazing. Which one is it?”

  “The asparagus and feta. I did the meat ones this morning.”

  “Good.” Lenny wrinkled his nose. “I hate the smell of that sausage one.”

  Nero snorted. “If you say so.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Later.”

  Lenny’s pulse quickened as Nero’s eyes smouldered, then he remembered that later was a long time away. It was the Urban Soul staff party that evening—a BBQ and bar crawl in Farringdon—and it would likely be arse o’clock in the morning before they stumbled home together. And before the party even started, Lenny needed to meet Debs in Angel to help her with her hair extensions.

  Reluctantly, he released his death grip on Nero’s arm. “I’d better get back to the bosses.”

  “Yeah? Cass said you’ve designed the frontage.”

  “I’ve tried. I’ll find out soon enough if they liked it.”

  “They will. Cass loves that tiger.”

  “So do I, mate. So do I.”

  Lenny left Nero to his pizzas and drifted back to the big round table. Only Tom was there, Lenny’s scribbles and designs spread out in front of him, his unreadable frown one Nero would be proud of. Lenny bit his lip. “Um . . . hi.”

  Tom glanced up. “Hi. Thought I’d lost you to the kitchen.”

  “No, just checking in with the boss.”

  “The real boss, eh?”

  Lenny winced. “Sorry—”

  “It’s fine.” Tom held up a hand. “Nero runs this business on the ground, and he’s the face frontline staff see most. I don’t have a problem with people calling him boss.”

  Fair enough. Lenny peered over Tom’s shoulder. “You gonna put me out of my misery?”

  “Do I need to? Or do you seriously not know how talented you are?”

  “Erm . . .”

  “Why tigers, Lenny?”

  He shrugged. “They just fit.”

  Tom nodded slowly. “I think you’re right. They’re strong and warm, a little bit mysterious, and a little mismatched with the rest of the decor. I like that. It makes me feel like there’s a place for everyone here—” He stopped and something seemed to click. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its briskness. “We wanted Nero to do this, but we always knew he wouldn’t. This is the next best thing.”

  “You really like it?”

  Tom’s gaze flickered to the pizza oven as he traced a finger over the restaurant name Lenny had painted on the draft front sign. “Yes, Lenny, the Stray Tiger . . . it’s everything we envisioned and more.”

  Later that night found Lenny and Debs fighting through crowds in one of Farringdon’s busiest bars—a gay bar, no less—searching for the Urban Soul crew.

  Debs tugged his sleeve. “They’ll be by the dancefloor. They always are.”

  “Thought you said you hadn’t been here before.”

  “I haven’t, but they’re animals, all of them, and they’ve been out since eight. If they ain’t doing the conga to the YMCA by now, I’ll eat my bra.”

  Charming, though she turned out to be not far off the mark. The dance floor was packed with Urban Soul employees, Cass and Jake right in the middle of it, busting out some dubious moves to an old Alice Cooper track. Lenny itched to join them, but first he wanted—needed—to find Nero. It had been hours since they’d spoken in Vauxhall, and Lenny craved his fix, damn it, even if the nonconversations of recent days had left him a bundle of pent-up nerves.

  It wasn’t long before Debs abandoned Lenny for the dance floor. Laughing, he scanned the rest of the Urban Soul crew. Tom was at the bar, which seemed the most sensible place to look for Nero too, but there was no sign of him nearby.

  The volume of the blasting music went up a notch. Lenny swayed to the beat, absorbing it, letting it seep into his bones and melt away the tension in his muscles and joints. Think about it. Where would he be in a club like this?

  Truthfully, Lenny had no idea, as every night he’d spent with Nero outside of the kitchen had been a party for two, but logic pulled him to the smoking area on the club’s terrace, and sure enough, there was Nero, sitting on a wall with Jolen, drinking what looked like rum.

  “Hey.” Nero’s dark eyes glittered over his glass. “Debs with you?”

  “She was. I left her with Cass.”

  Nero snorted. “Disco twats.”

  “You don’t dance?”

  “No.”

  “Shame.”

  Nero tipped his glass back, draining it. “Is it?”

  Lenny shot a pointed glance at Nero’s slim hips and shrugged. “I reckon so.”

  Jolen cleared his throat and slid down from the wall. He socked Nero’s arm and disappeared into the crowds, sparing Lenny a knowing wink. Lenny watched him go, then turned back to Nero. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak.”

  “I know. That’s why I like him.”

  “Bollocks. You like noisy people ’cause it keeps the attention off you.”

  “If you—” Nero caught himself. “Even if that’s true, it don’t explain why I like you, ’cause you flit from one to the other like fucking whiplash.”

  “Do I?”

  Nero reached for a second glass of rum Lenny hadn’t noticed. “Yeah.”

  With no further explanation forthcoming, Lenny left it at that and plucked Nero’s glass from his fingers. “How many of these have you had?”

  “A few.”

  “A few, eh?” Lenny chugged half and passed the rum back. “By the flush in your cheeks I’d say you’d had a few too many.”

  “Nah, that’s just you making me hot.”

  Lenny stepped between Nero’s legs and laid a hand on Nero’s forehead. It felt more heated than usual, but it was a warm night, and the club was packed and sticky. Add in the rum, and the palpable current lacing Lenny’s own blood and—

  Nero’s kiss cut Lenny’s thoughts in half, though why he was surprised, he couldn’t say. And he didn’t try. He wrapped his arms around Nero’s neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, losing himself in it, in Nero, until the need for air won out.

  He sucked in a breath and dove back in, despite the fact that they had never done this in public, and that he had no idea if Nero’s bisexuality was common knowledge to anyone but Cass. Lenny let his self-control slip free, because everything about Nero drove him insane—his smell, his strength, and the cool way he leaned on the wall and turned Lenny inside out all at the same time. Nero still claimed to be bad at making decisions, but as he took what he wanted from Lenny with devil-hot strokes of his velvet tongue, he was anything but.

  He wants me. And he could have Lenny, anytime, anywhere.

  Here.

  Now.

  Lenny pulled away with a gasp that bled out into a breathless groan. “How long do we have to stay here?”

  “Long enough to rinse Tom’s credit card. It’s behind the bar until midnight.”

  “Free drinks?” The prospect didn’t calm the heat throbbing in Lenny’s groin, but if Nero wanted to stay, Lenny was damn well gonna get drunk. “Why didn’t you say?”

  Nero grinned and kissed Lenny’s nose. “You were too busy harping on about dancing. Come on. I could do with a refill.”

  Lenny let Nero take his hand and lead him back inside. There was a crowd at the bar, but, like magic, Tom appeared with more rum for Nero
and a questioning grin for Lenny.

  “What are you drinking?” he asked.

  Lenny peered over the bar, scanning the dozens of novelty flavoured vodkas. “Bubblegum voddie and lemonade, please.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Tom disappeared, leaving Lenny at the mercy of Nero’s obvious amusement.

  “Bubblegum vodka? Is it gonna turn your tongue blue?”

  “Pink, actually. To match my hair.”

  “Or that neon shit you’ve got on your eyes.”

  So he had noticed. Lenny couldn’t deny that he’d had Nero in mind as he’d rummaged through the bag of tricks he kept in the bathroom, because despite spending the past few months fighting to be invisible, Lenny needed Nero to see him, now more than ever.

  Because maybe then he’d let Lenny see him.

  Tom returned with two glasses of Lenny’s pink vodka. He hovered a moment, as though he wanted to linger, but Cass bounced up and dragged him away. Lenny watched them go, watched them reach Jake’s side and envelop him between them, Cass kissing first him, and then Tom, like his soul burned for them both. Lenny’s heart ached with a heady mix of awe and envy. Nero cared for him, wanted him, but he’d never loved as freely as the three men Lenny couldn’t stop staring at.

  “You never look happy.”

  Lenny fought to keep his gaze from Nero’s. “What does that mean?”

  Nero stepped into Lenny’s space, claiming what was left of it as his own. “It means, you’ve got the best smile, but you don’t let me see it enough.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Uh-huh. Who gives a fuck?”

  Nero had a point. Perhaps Lenny’s sudden black mood was down to his sobriety. He downed lurid pink vodka until both glasses were dry and held them out to Nero. “I’m gonna dance. Who knows? Might cheer myself up.”

  He wriggled from Nero’s loose embrace and stomped away without waiting for a response, if there had been one. Nero habitually left conversations unfinished, his only answer a dull stare that drove Lenny insane. Still, dancing was the best cure for all kinds of frustration, and for the first time in months, a packed dancefloor and a kicking beat were right in front of him.