by Rhys Ford
“Twenty bucks if you take the trash out for Leigh again.” Sionn eased back into a patio chair before resting his feet on the edge of another. “And she’ll cough up another twenty if you help her empty the fry oil. She hates doing that shite.”
“I don’t need charity….” Who was he kidding? Damie thought. Not only did he need charity, he was making a scrape at a life begging with a song.
“Not charity,” Sionn drawled, looking over at Damie with a wolfish grin. “I hate doing that shite too. Better you than me, boyo.”
“Sorry. I can be an asshole… sometimes.” The coffee was hot and a bit sweet, just the way he liked it. There was enough of the brew in the mug to keep him warm for a long while if he took small sips, but the cold had already settled into his chest, pinging a bit of tightness across his scar. Gulping the coffee helped loosen the twisting skin, and if he planned on stalking Sionn the entire day, he’d probably blow more than Leigh’s twenty bucks on coffee alone.
He could have gotten a blow job or someone’s rough hand around his cock for that twenty, but Damie’s brain churned with disgust at the thought of anyone touching him. That same brain, however, was more than willing to call up images of Sionn’s blunt-edged fingers working his cock’s loose skin or rolling his balls, and Damien once again cursed the fit of his thrift-store jeans.
“Definitely tighter underwear,” he muttered into his coffee.
“Tell me something about yourself, Cowboy.” Sionn’s eyes never left the clotted gray mists in front of them, but Damien could feel the man’s attention on him. “Why are you out here singing like a canary? Or something else. I don’t know much about you.”
What was the saying? Damien tried to remember it clearly, but his mind was faulty at best, and sometimes he wasn’t sure about what it spat up at him. In for a penny, in for a pound?
“Just found out I’m gay.” Sionn nearly choked on the coffee in his mouth, and Damie wiped a few errant drops from his arm. “I mean, not just just, but pretty fucking sure of it now.”
“That’s certainly not what I expected to come out of that mouth of yours.” The other man ran his palm over his chin, smearing away a bit of splatter. “Here I was thinking maybe you’d tell me about your place or something. Maybe a sob story of your life being shite because you’re really a street musician at heart and you live in the suburbs.”
“Nah, I live in a shithole.” Damie chuckled. “Pretty sure the guy down the hall shoots porno with blow-up dolls down in the laundry room, and he’s one of the better ones living there.”
Sionn tried another sip of his coffee, then said, “So yeah, gay. Leigh tell you I was?”
“Nope.” Damien’s cock couldn’t have been trying harder to get his attention, and he dropped his hand down to squeeze at its head, shifting his legs as if he were getting more comfortable in his chair. Telling his body to fucking behave, he tried not to squeak when he replied, “I’m shitty at the whole gaydar thing. Apparently it doesn’t even work on me.”
“When did you figure it out, then?” Sionn’s chuckle rumbled, a lolling wave of bass. “’Cause not like it’s something you get as old as you probably are without some idea there, Cowboy.”
“I kind of woke up this morning and figured out I was kind of… either or. Maybe a bit more either one than or. I dunno.” Damie’s mind raced with the possibilities, which he quickly shot down.
He liked coming to the pub and playing. He enjoyed sitting in the front when there was no one around and talking to Sionn about stupid things like Fun Dip or cheese fries. Hitting on the man would fuck that all up and probably get him kicked out of Finnegan’s. Damie couldn’t risk that. The pub was the only place he’d found that gave him a tingling connection with Miki. Determined to steer the conversation away from sex and desire, he opened his mouth to change the subject, only to be horrified by what dropped out.
“How’d you know? For sure, I mean. That you liked dick… or ass?” Jesus, it was like he was raised by wolves. Damie kicked his brain. Short of threatening his noggin with a marathon session of Teletubbies in the library’s children section, there was little he could do about his gray matter dancing off into the inappropriate. “I mean, if you want to talk about it. Some people don’t, and that’s cool.”
“Well, my dad caught me wanking off when I was watching a rugby match. I guess that’s when he found out.” He cocked his head. “I think I knew when I was pissed off I couldn’t get one of my schoolmates to kiss me. I must have been six? Maybe seven? Feeling got stronger as I got older, especially after the infamous wanking, and I got shipped out over here to Gran’s. I was about… sixteen by then.”
“That young?” Damie couldn’t remember a damned thing about being six, much less knowing he was different. “Shit.”
“Yeah.” Sionn matched Damie’s sharp exhale with one of his own. “I had shitty taste in guys even back then. That asshole’s in jail for boosting draw checks from old ladies. The boy I tried kissing. Not my da. Although he could be keeping the asshole company for all I know. Haven’t heard from him since then.”
“Probably blow-up doll guy’s cousin or something. The asshole. Not your dad.”
“Probably.” Sionn laughed softly. “Tell you what… I haven’t had anything to eat, and I’m guessing Leigh hasn’t shoved anything fried down your throat yet. How about if we head over to Dot’s and get something to eat. My treat.”
“That sounds like a date.” Damien tried laughing off what he said to take away the fluttering hope burning up his chest. “I don’t know….”
“Only a date if I kiss you, Cowboy.” Sionn’s grin was a sly, wicked thing that sent naughty whispers through his mind. “And since you’ve just found out you’re gay that might be rushing things, but I’m willing to give it a go if you are.”
THEY didn’t kiss then. For almost a week and a half, Sionn brought him out coffee and spent the morning with him, talking and laughing. Something inside of Damien kept nagging at him to stay quiet about his cracked-open brain, but the Irishman’s smooth calm made it a challenge.
But, God, he just wanted to hand his life over to Sionn and say, help me, fix me… save me.
Today’s coffee came with donuts, fat, plump, yeasty balls filled with fresh crème and glazed to perfection with a dusting of cinnamon sugar. Picking up the pastry, Damien studied it for a moment, wondering the best way to attack it, when Sionn nudged his arm with a finger.
“Just eat it. They’re good. I got them from Golden Gate Bakery, near my place. Picked up some egg tarts too. Those are like Heaven wept into crust. You’ll be loving those, boyo.” Sionn nearly moaned when he bit into his, and Damien watched with interest when the man’s long tongue lapped at the crème spooge he’d gotten on his hand. “Sometimes, Dee, it’s like you’ve just landed on this planet. How have you lived in California and not had In-N-Out? Thank God that’s done. I’d have mourned your life if you’d passed without having one.”
The pub owner had nearly choked on his disbelief when Damie admitted he didn’t remember ever eating at the iconic California burger chain. Within moments of his confession, he found himself sitting in Sionn’s red Jeep Cherokee and holding onto the chicken grip as Sionn threaded through the pier’s tight traffic. He’d wanted to complain about the loss of tips, but the first bite into his juicy, double-stacked burger shut him right up.
From the tingling want building up in his belly as he watched Sionn eat, Damie decided he was going to have to make do with the donut because his mouth wanted a lot more than baked goods and sweet, frothy crème. So he bit down and let his tongue orgasm around the treat.
“Oh my fucking God.” His groan of pleasure lit a fire in Sionn’s silver-gray eyes, and the man smirked back at him.
“Good, yes?” Sionn harrumphed with satisfaction at having been proven right. “Told you, boyo. Nothing like anything you’ve ever had.”
The crème went everywhere, and Damien tried catching it as the thick froth oozed out of the donut, b
ut it escaped through his fingers and spread over his chin.
“Fuck.” The napkin he grabbed was too small to do anything but catch up a bit of the mess from his hand.
“Hold on now,” Sionn murmured. “Let me help you with that.”
The small piece of paper Sionn used mopped up a bit of crème, and Damien leaned in, angling his chin up. He kept his eyes down, trying not to overtly inhale the woodsy green cologne Sionn wore or stare at the faint stubble scruffing the man’s strong chin. He already knew Sionn’s eyes were flecked by pale sky-blue specks around his pupil with a black ring running around his irises, but Damie didn’t dare stare into them, not when the man’s breath whispered over his jaw and his fingers scraped crème from Damie’s cheek.
There must have been a dollop of crème left somewhere, or maybe Sionn had more than a bit of it when he’d bitten into his donut, because when his lips met Damien’s, their kiss tasted of milky sugar and hot cinnamon.
It ended before Damien could breathe again, and when Sionn pulled back, he heard himself whimper mournfully. Dabbing his mouth with the edge of his thumb, Sionn took his time inspecting his work, then nodded at the dumbstruck guitarist before picking up his cup of coffee again.
“There you go, boyo.” Sionn went back to staring into the fog with a satisfied smile on his handsome face. “And if you’re wondering, these donuts taste so much the better with you on them.”
“FUCK you, Sionn,” the blond man jogging behind him panted. “I hate you. Hate you like your mama hated bathing and left a trail of dead flies behind her when she walked.”
“You think I like doing this, Rafe?” Sionn came to a stop, his lungs burning nearly as much as the muscle knot in his leg. Panting, he bent over, stretching out as deep as he could to ease away the ache forming along his back and ass. “You’re crazier than I thought.”
They’d taken their run up near Ghirardelli Square, pounding through the predawn light. The first hill nearly killed Sionn, and he’d heard Rafe muttering about crazy Irishmen a few steps behind him. Going down on the next street, his long-legged friend outstripped his pace, easily eating up the decline with a slanting jog.
After his cousins, Rafe Andrade was the reason Sionn made it through high school. After Sionn was thrown into a Catholic school nearly twelve hours after landing in San Francisco, he’d been sullen but Rafe waded through the broiling anger Sionn’d brought with him from Ireland, sweeping it away with a cocky smile and an attitude so brash most people wondered how he’d stayed out of juvenile detention.
He hadn’t. He and Sionn were combustible, first finding ways into the principal’s office, then police stations where his uncle held sway. While Sionn went home with his aunt, Rafe often spent the night in a cell, or CPS picked him up until his mother could be found. Outgrowing their anger took longer, and Rafe kept his troubles personal until he could no longer keep in the damage they caused. They’d both struggled through Rafe’s downfall and then, resurrection. Now Rafe was there again, stoically pushing Sionn along as he regained the pieces of himself he’d lost.
“It would be fecking great if we both had our shite together at the same time,” Sionn muttered at Rafe one time over a pint of ale. “Imagine that, boyo?”
“It would be fecking great,” his friend mocked him, mimicking Sionn’s accent. “The damned world would end. We’re the ultimate gay bromance… a homo-platonic Romeo and Juliet, destined to be a tragedy and dying young while we look good. Well, me anyway. You… well, you should buy stock in a paper bag company so the guys who have to fuck you have something to put over that ugly face of yours.”
Sionn would have punched him if he hadn’t been drunk… and if Rafe hadn’t been able to kick his ass since they were teens. No, he thought as he watched his friend wipe sweat off of his hard chest with his damp T-shirt, Rafe’d grown up mean and played dirty. They’d been too close to the bay, sitting on Finnegan’s patio, and Sionn wouldn’t have put it past his friend to dump him into the freezing water.
“You been up to the house yet?” Rafe gasped in between heaving breaths. “Your aunt’s house, I mean. Not mine. I can still smell your stink from the last time you came over and watched the game.”
“Your dog’s the one that farted, not me. And Jesus, why are you giving me shite about that, Rafe?” Sionn didn’t need to ask him which house he meant. Rolling his eyes at the man, he scoffed. “Don’t tell me she’s called you.”
“Not only did she call me, but she gave me crap for not coming over too.” He grinned back, laugh lines crinkling his face. “So I threw you under the bus and said I’d seen you eating at Burger Time last Sunday.”
“While you were escorting a pack of nuns to Sunday Mass, I imagine? Or maybe feeding the poor bread and fish you conjured up out of thin air?”
“Imagine away. You’d be wrong, but the guy I was with could certainly suck the crust off a baguette if he tried.” Rafe gave him an eloquent bow, the beginnings of a graceful dip until Sionn’s elbow dug into his ribs. “Jealousy is not a good look for you, Murphy.”
“You’re a sick and pathetic boy, Andrade.” Sionn began to walk in a broad circle, shaking off the tremors in his legs.
“Speaking of pathetic….” Rafe shook his long hair back from his face and queued it back with a tie. “Anyone been sucking your baguette? You know, diddled your weenie?”
“Jesus, Rafe!” Sionn shot an apologetic look at a woman trotting by at a slow crawl. “Have a care, boyo.”
“That was as politically correct as I get, mate.” His friend showed no remorse, other than gracing the frowning woman with a broad smile. The blond’s off-kilter grin was enough for her to return it over her shoulder before she continued down the pier walk. “’Sides, she didn’t seem to mind. So, no sucking, then? Baguette or anything else?”
“No,” Sionn grumbled darkly. Long fingers playing over strings flashed through his thoughts, teasing his mind. “Maybe. Complicated, it is.”
He wasn’t sure if he should mention the guitarist he’d let take up residence in front of Finnegan’s or how just the sight of the man strolling down the pier made his stomach clench up and his dick thicken. There just wasn’t a way to talk about Dee without bringing up his playing a guitar or reminding Rafe of his own failed career.
“Here.” Rafe handed Sionn his half-full water bottle. “Now, how about if you tell me the whole truth? Whatcha hiding from your mostly best friend?”
He was grateful for the water, but he growled at Rafe as he drank. “What makes you think I’m lying to you about summat?”
“If I told you that, you’d stop it.” He smirked back at Sionn. “Then you’d win at poker. I like having you pay my electrical bill. Come on, let’s walk over and get some coffee. I’m freezing my sac off here in the wind.”
“Oh no, can’t have that, can we?” Sionn muttered at his friend’s back.
“Nope, there are too many asses out there I’ve yet to plunder,” Rafe replied dryly. “Especially since it looks like you’re not holding up your end of the deal. Think of it as me taking one for the team.”
“You’re a piece of shite, Rafe. I seem to recall a time when I told you I’d liked a bloke standing over at a bar, and then next thing I knew, you were right up there against him.” He poked Rafe’s shoulder with the water bottle.
“I don’t remember him, so he probably was a shitty fuck.” The blond shrugged. “See? I’m all about sacrifices. I did him so you didn’t have to.”
“You’re all about your dick getting off.” They’d spent a lot of time together as kids, less as adults, and Sionn realized he’d missed the man walking beside him.
“Well, yeah.” Rafe took the bottle from Sionn’s hand before it could be used on him again. “But at least I admit it. Come on. I’ll buy the coffee. You talk.”
Chapter 3
Little boy, smile oh so sweet
Swinging your ass on C-town’s dirty street
Pick up your heels, move that sweet ass along
> Stay here much longer
Someone’s gonna do you wrong
—Virgin Kiss Blues
RAFE listened as he always did, his soulful brown eyes intent on Sionn’s face, and silent, taking in everything his friend said. Sprawled out over one of the chairs in front of the coffee shop, the man’s fingers played with the handle of his cup, tapping at the ceramic surface. Sionn talked until he was nearly blue in the face, describing how he’d been about to move the musician along until he’d gotten up close.
Then everything changed.
It was a stupid thing. Something from songs or bad mushrooms, but there he’d been, staring out the window at a man he knew nothing about, and his heart… skipped. For the first time in his entire life, he felt something in a place of his soul he never knew existed.
And Sionn was man enough to say it scared the living shit out of him.
“So yeah, there you go.” Sionn stared back at his friend. “I’ve now got a guitarist playing in front of Finnegan’s, and it’s driving me nuts.”
“And you’re… interested?” Rafe picked at the kernel of attraction Sionn refused to look at. “More than a kiss interested, chickenshit.”
“You sound like you’re reading one of those women’s magazines there, Rafe.” He made a face at his friend. “How do you know if you like him? Seven ways to make him notice you? We’re guys. We don’t do shit like roses and chocolates.”
“Murphy, if you don’t have roses and chocolates in your life, that’s a sad, sad thing. You’ve not fucked anyone in a long time.” The blond snorted when Sionn opened his mouth to protest. “Come on, when? Before you went to Europe this last time?”
“Yeah, before everything went to shit.” It was hard to admit and even more difficult to stare down the rut he’d worn himself into. “He’s not the kind of guy who’s going to stick around. Hell, I’m not sure I’d want him to. It’s not like I need sex.”
