Take a Chance on It

by K.A. Mitchell

  Theo laughed. “Instant parenthood. Not a lot of gay guys fall into that.”

  “Wouldn’t trade it, though.”

  Jax seemed about to wax poetic about the joys of child-rearing, which to Dane sounded like a great time to reveal that there were still people who liked to fuck for the sake of fucking, two of which were right under their feet.

  He drew breath to call Theo’s name, but Gideon put a hand over Dane’s mouth. It smelled deliciously like sex, and Dane wiggled his tongue against the palm. Gideon squeezed him tighter.

  Did he honestly care if Jax and Theo knew they’d been fucking? Dane tried to turn so he could figure out what had Gideon acting like they’d never been caught with their hands in each other’s pants. It was only Jax and Theo.

  Feet made the wood scrape and stretch softly as Jax and Theo moved. Despite Gideon’s grip, Dane tilted his head enough to see up through the slats. The dark shapes blended into one.

  “God, Thee. Dane. Fuck this. Just fuck this shit.” Jax’s voice was hoarse.

  A rustle of material followed. Probably a hug.

  Dane squirmed. He didn’t want to hear this. He and Gideon could sneak away. If they kept to the shadows of the building, Theo and Jax wouldn’t see them.

  “Wait.” Gideon’s word was just a breath in Dane’s ear.

  Dane shook his head.

  “C’mon,” Gideon murmured. “Where’s your sense of adventure? It’s like getting to go to your own funeral.”

  Dane choked a laugh against Gideon’s palm.

  “I know,” Theo said. “Dane knew you had enough going on with the new show and the kids. That’s why he was waiting to tell you.”

  “Until when? The fucking funeral?”

  Actually, Jax, that extra dose of drama is exactly why I didn’t tell you.

  “Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma has a very high survival rate, even for stage three. His odds are really good.”

  The numbers sprang immediately to mind, blinking red like a bomb timer in a movie. Then they were whispered in his ear. “A 63.5 percent average five-year survival rate.” Gideon had been paying close attention.

  Over their heads, Theo continued, “Gideon couldn’t know more about where the best treatment was if he were a doctor, and this oncologist is tops in this kind of cancer.”

  Gideon had had Dr. Fuentes’s number for Dane that day. July 25. The diagnosis tumbling around in his head, Dane had driven out to the sound, driven until he ran out of road. Spencer had offered to go with him to the appointment, but Dane had insisted he’d be fine. In that moment of panicked flight, Gideon’s number had been the one he pressed, Gideon the only one he could tell.

  “He damned well better be,” Jax said.

  “He’s going to be fine.”

  That was Theo, the power of positive thinking.

  A creak as someone leaned on the rail. Dane could breathe easily through his nose, and under other circumstances, Gideon wrapped around him keeping him silent would have been a nice way to spend the next fifteen minutes, but they’d already done that. Dane wanted to go. He’d had more than enough of overheard intimacy.

  “Well, now Gideon will finally have what he wants,” Theo said. “About fucking time.”

  Gideon’s body snapped tight, fingers pressing into Dane’s cheek with bruising force. Dane wished like hell he could see Gideon’s face.

  “You really think this is the way he wants it?” Jax’s voice went high and sharp.

  If Gideon didn’t have his mouth covered, Dane would have yelled “Try asking him.” At least Theo and Jax had changed the subject. This was far more interesting.

  “When does Gideon ever do anything he doesn’t want to?” Theo stated it like it answered everything.

  Jax made a disbelieving laugh. “Have you met him?”

  “Our very own Captain Control Freak?”

  Dane kissed Gideon’s palm. Theo needed to look in the mirror before he threw that assertion around.

  “You’re talking out your ass, Thee.”

  Thank you, Jax.

  “You have no idea what Gideon wants,” Jax went on.

  “And you do?” Theo shot back.

  Exactly.

  Dane had made a close study of Gideon’s face for almost twenty years, and if Gideon didn’t want a thought to show, it didn’t.

  “Hey.” That was a new voice, and it took Dane a few seconds to place it. Kieran. “Cab’s here.”

  “Hey.” Theo’s tone softened. “Give me a second.”

  Kieran enunciated in the careful way of someone who’d been at the bar every time Dane had. “Every second is one you’re missing with me as drunk as you are ever going to see me.”

  Theo chuckled. “How can I pass up that offer?” After a kiss sounded, he said, “Breakfast?”

  “If you plan to be up at six,” Jax answered dryly.

  “I’ll call you instead,” Theo countered.

  “I’m sure Gideon will issue a communiqué with our instructions.”

  “Like I said, Captain Control Freak.”

  Gideon kept his hand over Dane’s mouth until all three sets of footsteps had faded away. Dane started to hitch up his trousers, but his legs felt rubbery, and he reached back for the support post. Gideon stretched an arm around Dane’s waist.

  Dane buttoned and zipped up, then pushed Gideon’s arm away and glanced at his arch expression.

  If Dane was sure he had the balance to pull it off, he’d have put his hands on his hips. “Bet you’re impressed with yourself.”

  “Always.”

  Dane shook his head. “Don’t leave the condom out here.”

  “Ever the environmentalist.”

  “And proud of it.” Dane leaned his back against the post and dragged in a lungful of the salt-thick air. “Are you planning on driving your ridiculous gas guzzler of a status symbol back to the city tonight?”

  “You know, it’s easier to just call it a BMW X6.”

  “But less accurate. You know you won’t get back before four a.m.”

  Gideon shrugged.

  Fuck it. Dane really didn’t feel like sleeping alone tonight. “We—I’ve got a room at the Rose Terrace B&B.”

  Gideon’s face was unreadable; then his lips compressed like they did when he was considering.

  Dane sweetened the offer. “And I’ve got more lube.”

  The corner of Gideon’s mouth twitched. “Sounds romantic.”

  “That’s me, Environmentalist King of Romance. So are you with me, Captain Control Freak?”

  “Who promoted you to king?”

  Dane dug his toes into the cold, damp sand. He should go find his shoes. Say good night to whoever was left. Thank the bartender and DJ. But all he wanted to do was grab Gideon and head for a soft horizontal surface and forget everything else that had happened today. Burn the memory to ashes with an even hotter fuck than this one had been.

  He pulled Gideon by the hand, leading him back around to the parking lot. He already felt happier that Gideon didn’t resist.

  Dane needed to make something clear, though. It’s how they’d made this work for all these years. No holding back. No pretending. “About what Theo said.”

  Gideon stopped in front of a bayberry shrub.

  Dane went on, “I know you didn’t want things to go like this. With Spencer. That you never wanted him out of the picture. Well, maybe not never. But don’t worry.”

  “About?”

  “That things will change.”

  “Maybe that makes sense in drunk logic, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  After licking the salt off his lips, Dane said, “I’m okay with being single. No expectations. So you don’t have to worry.”

  Gideon started walking toward the parking lot. “I wasn’t worried.”

  Chapter 7

  “FUCKING SHIT. I told them not to do any of this.” Dane followed that up with a petulant suck on his teeth.

  Gideon shut the door behind them and looked to
see what had sent Dane into a tantrum. Towels folded into swans were arranged on the bed so their necks made a heart shape. A circle of fanned towels around them were strewn with rose petals. A table held champagne in an ice bucket, two glasses, and a tray of cheese, crackers, and chocolate-covered strawberries.

  Dane swept the towels off the bed and sat where he could reach the nightstand phone. “I specifically said no honeymoon crap when I made the reservation.”

  Gideon took the receiver out of his hand and placed it back in the cradle. “You can do Wrath of the Jilted tomorrow. It’s one a.m.”

  “Fuck you.” But there was no heat in Dane’s voice. He stood and brushed past Gideon, heading for the bathroom. “I’m going to throw up.”

  Gideon wasn’t entirely certain if that was exaggeration or a genuine need. “Be my guest, King of Romance.”

  “Motherf—” Dane paused in the doorway.

  Gideon came up behind him to see what had inspired the bitten-off curse. The towels on the washstand were also covered with roses, whole ones this time, arranged around the standard-issue toiletries. After stepping around Dane, Gideon snatched up the offending flowers, then put the toiletries on the rim of the tub.

  Almond massage oil?

  Maybe not-so-standard issue. He palmed that particular bottle.

  “If they were going to all this trouble, they could have at least put out some lube.” He kept his tone flat as he waved toward the toilet. “The throne is yours, Your Majesty.”

  Dane’s laugh was bitter and monosyllabic, but it was a laugh. He shut the door. A few seconds later Gideon heard the shower start up.

  He brought the flower to his nose and inhaled the perfume before dropping it and its companions into the trash. The petals he scraped up from the floor went next. He peeled off the lacy, crocheted bedspread and piled it and the formerly waterfowled towels on one of the chairs. The champagne—Veuve Clicquot, not bad—went under the table along with the bucket and glasses.

  He scooped up a strawberry and bit it. The chocolate was dark and bittersweet, the fruit full and ripe. The management might not be adept at following directions, but they did have access to quality catering. A notecard rested in the pink crease of a large conch shell decorating the table. Gideon pulled it free.

  Congratulations, Spencer and Dane.

  Love, Mom and Dad

  He folded the card around his strawberry hull and wadded it into the trash. In consideration of Dane’s opinion on seashells, he put the conch on the top shelf in the closet. A rolling carry-on bag stood upright in the otherwise-empty space. Gideon recognized it as Dane’s from times Gideon had picked him up at the airport. He pictured Spencer grabbing his own case and leaving Dane to walk into the rose-petal minefield on his own.

  Hope that bastard has a black eye for a month.

  Still clothed, Gideon stretched out on the bed.

  Dane came out of the bathroom, dress clothes crumpled up in one hand and a towel in the other, nothing but sexy wet skin in between. Gideon’s mouth watered more than it had over the strawberry. With one quick roll across the bed, Gideon could be licking the water from Dane’s sharp hips, his navel, his satiny dick. Dane certainly wouldn’t resist, but in the end, Gideon would just be asking himself what he thought he was doing. The pull between them wasn’t going to change, but Gideon’s response had to. He wouldn’t be able to get Dane through this if he turned into a panting dog every time Dane took his clothes off.

  Dane caught him staring and lowered the towel over his belly. He tossed the wadded-up dress clothes onto the pile on the chair. “Thanks for….” He gestured around the deromanticized room with the towel, then brought it back to wipe at his chest.

  With an effort, Gideon looked away. Shrugging, he said, “Just part of being a best man.”

  “You are that. You know the historical purpose of a best man was to be ready to fight the bride’s family if necessary. Since brides were sometimes kidnapped. Stolen property.”

  “The more you know. Look, I’ll go another round with Spencer anytime, but I’m not tangling with Julia.”

  Breathing out a laugh that was part sigh, Dane sank onto the edge of the bed. His hair was dry, but water still beaded along his spine, down to the crack of his ass. Gideon swallowed and tried to focus instead on the gooseflesh caused by damp skin meeting air conditioning.

  He swung off the bed and flipped up the panel on the unit, turning down the cold.

  “It’s too muggy to turn off,” Dane said, despite the shivers Gideon could see vibrating on his skin.

  “It’s not off.”

  Dane threw back the sheets and climbed in. “You could always warm me up. Then we don’t have to worry about it.”

  “Really, Archer? That’s your best line?”

  “I get all the ass I can handle, DeLuca.” But his last word was swallowed by a yawn.

  “That’s convincing.” Gideon plucked another strawberry off the tray.

  Sublimation. It’s what’s for dinner.

  “What’s that?”

  Gideon picked up one of the three remaining berries and brought it over to Dane. “Good is what it is.”

  Dane opened his mouth as if Gideon would feed him.

  “Like hell.” Gideon threw it, aiming at Dane’s left nipple.

  Dane shot out a hand and fumbled a bit before he scooped it up. “Asshole.” His lips wrapped around the fat tip of the strawberry obscenely. A hint of the usual gleam flashed in Dane’s eyes as he rocked the berry in and out. Then he bit down.

  “Damn. That is good. Okay. I’m over the bullshit with the flowers. They’re forgiven.”

  And Dane would never need to know the Partridges had set it up for their son and his new husband.

  Dane finished off the strawberry and put the hull on the nightstand. He reached in the drawer and held up a pump bottle of lube. “The extent of my unpacking. I do keep my promises.”

  “Yes, you do.” Gideon took the lube but placed it on the other nightstand. “But I didn’t make any promises to use it.” He sat on the bed with his back to Dane.

  “What? Now you’re going to come at me with some you-need-your-rest bullshit?”

  “No. I need some rest. I went into work today. I’ve been up since five.” He unlaced his shoes.

  “Oh.” Dane laid a hand on Gideon’s back. “Sorry.”

  Gideon looked over his shoulder at him.

  “Old man,” Dane said.

  Gideon ignored the dig and stripped down to boxers and his undershirt, then lifted the sheet on his side.

  Dane dropped back against the pillows. “I was kidding about the old-man thing. You don’t have to wear the grandpa ensemble to bed to prove it.”

  To bed. Dane’s words slipped between Gideon’s ribs like a blade. No, it wasn’t the first time he and Dane had shared a bed. They’d fucked more times than Gideon could or wanted to count, under a deck or in a bathroom stall, in a back room or bedroom. To bed was different.

  It was domestic; it was comfortable. It implied a shared life and shared dreams—even if they were only subconsciously present. It was all the things Gideon couldn’t have with Dane. But no matter how often that reality slapped him in the face, he didn’t stop wanting.

  Gideon pulled his undershirt over his head but left on the scant armor of his boxers. He switched off the lights and climbed in.

  As soon as he stretched out on the mattress, Dane was pressed against him. Gideon opened his mouth, and Dane put his hand over it.

  “I know you said you wanted to sleep. I get it. I only want to… be touched. I’m cold. I had a shitty day. Okay?” He took his hand away and rested his head on Gideon’s shoulder.

  Gideon put an arm around him. “You want to cuddle?” He was too tired, too emotionally drained, to give the word as much disdain as he wanted.

  Dane lifted his head. “Isn’t that what I just said, asshole?”

  Gideon forced his body to relax and his mind to not read anything into Dane’s momentary vulne
rability. Dane had more in common with a tomcat than the green eyes and wandering attention. It didn’t matter what lap he sat in as long as it got him petted, didn’t matter who opened the can as long as there was food.

  Dane ran his hand down Gideon’s chest, sifting through the hair over his ribs, hard enough to not tickle, but soft enough to make Gideon want to purr himself.

  “I love you,” Dane murmured.

  Gideon held still, forced the breath in and out of his lungs, and stayed silent.

  “You know that, right?” Dane wasn’t drunk anymore, wasn’t riding an orgasm high, or having one of his bouts of giddy enthusiasm for everything in life. He sounded urgent, serious.

  Gideon managed a quick nod.

  “You and Theo and Jax. I love you.” Dane flattened his palm over Gideon’s sternum, fingers still. “And I don’t fucking understand.”

  “What?” Gideon pitched his voice low and soft.

  “He said it wasn’t the cancer when I asked him why. He told me he was in love. Had fallen in love. With that guy. The one who showed up.”

  “In flannel and work boots. That ought to go over big with the Hawthornes on Nantucket.”

  “Don’t try to make me laugh.” Dane nestled into Gideon more, hand sliding to cradle his neck, thumb brushing his jaw. “His name is Cole.”

  Gideon couldn’t see how that mattered, but refrained from comment.

  “Spencer proposed to me almost ten years ago. After it was legalized in Massachusetts. But he said he understood why I wanted an open relationship and that he was fine with it. He swore he meant to go through with it today, until Cole showed up.”

  Go through with it? How fucking noble of Mr. Partridge.

  Dane lifted his head and studied Gideon’s face. “He said, ‘I didn’t know what having my dick in someone else had to do with love. Until it did.’ What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Of course sex is different with different people, but that’s just bullshit. What’s that guy’s ass made of, gold or something?”

  “With a platinum dick.”

  Dane sighed explosively and settled back against Gideon’s chest. “I don’t understand.”