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Torquere Press
www.torquerepress.com
Copyright ©2006 by Stephanie Vaughan
First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2006
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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"DJ?"
"Yeah, I'm DJ. You must be Joe."
"Yeah. Joe D'Alessandro. How ya doin'?"
DJ was so stunned, staring into the biggest, brownest eyes he'd ever seen, that it took him a moment to realize the guy standing at his door had stuck out his hand to shake. Belatedly offering his own, DJ hesitated a second before clasping the outstretched hand and shaking briefly. It was a little old school, but for a face like that he could deal with it.
"DJ Abbot. Come on in and take a look around."
"This is nice. I had no idea this place was back here.” Olive-toned skin and thick black hair contrasted nicely with a smile that would have looked right at home in a toothpaste ad. DJ stepped back to let the guy enter, and took a discreet peek at the high, rounded backside encased so attractively in denim painter's pants.
Dimples.
He'd bet the next month's rent that there were dimples on the sides of what looked to be a truly stellar ass.
"Makes ya wonder, huh?” DJ had a few more seconds to admire the view while Joe took a slow visual survey of the room. It didn't take long, though, and DJ made sure there was a polite, disinterested look on his face when Joe turned back.
"Sure does. The bedrooms are upstairs?"
So caught up in ogling his prospective roommate's butt, DJ just then noticed the visored black helmet that dangled from two tanned fingers. “You ride a bike?"
The eighteenth person to answer the ad DJ had placed in the university's newspaper, Joe already rated well on a number of levels. Polite and well-mannered—hell, he'd even shown up at the time they'd agreed on. After interviewing numbers one through seventeen, DJ could testify to exactly how rare each of those qualities was individually. But together? Off the scale. Virtually unknown.
"Yeah. I bought it thinking I'd save money on gas. Didn't realize I'd more than make up for it in maintenance."
There was that smile again. Nice. Friendly. Like he didn't take anything too seriously, least of all himself.
"What kind?"
"Are you into bikes?"
Man liked his ride, that was for sure, the way his face lit up and his eyes sparkled, either that or ... or DJ didn't know what else. “Not really."
"Don't worry about it—you've probably never heard of it, then. It's a Buell Lightning. It's okay. Not exactly a Ducati, but it'll do for now."
DJ tried to look thoughtful, like he knew what a Ducati was. “Why don't you put your stuff down and I'll show you the rest of the place?"
Still looking around at the high ceiling and multi-level layout of the place, Joe absently dropped the helmet on the couch DJ had indicated and shrugged out of the heavy-looking black leather jacket that had seen better days.
Whoa.
Those were some seriously nice shoulders under that snug black T-shirt. And arms ... Either Joe worked out or he'd been blessed with a fine, fine natural build.
"What's down there?” Joe glanced toward the short staircase leading down off the living room.
"Laundry room and garage. Bedrooms are up this way.” DJ led the way, climbing the steep, narrow stairs that led up to the uppermost level. Conscious of Joe following a few steps back, DJ wondered if Joe was watching his ass and speculating like DJ was.
When he reached the top, DJ turned and waited for Joe. From this angle Joe's eyelashes were highlighted perfectly, ridiculously long and curly.
"This is the only shower and tub in the place. There's another half-bath downstairs next to the laundry room, but it's just a toilet and a sink, so you'd have to share this one. If you want to shower, that is. How much of a slob are you?"
Joe stepped past DJ, poking his head into the bathroom. “Not too bad. I pick up after myself, if that's what you mean. I hate doing dishes, though, so I eat out a lot."
"Yeah? Me, too. Sandwiches and scrambled eggs are about as much as I can handle. The view's not bad from this room."
Moving past DJ, Joe had stepped into the reason he was there: a room for rent. Not close enough to the beach to actually see it, there was just a suggestion of salt air that was noticeable when the wind was right. Although proximity to the ocean was the ostensible reason for the high cost of the rental price, about the only tangible sign of it were the seagulls that congregated in any empty parking lot.
Not much to see in an empty room, Joe nevertheless moved through the place, checking out the inside of the closet and the view of the neighboring condo complex from the room's only window. Shoving his hands into his back pockets, he stared out the window for several seconds before turning to face DJ.
"It's all fine. The price is still the same as what was stated in the ad?"
"Uh-huh. That, plus half the utilities. The hot water's shared by the whole building, so that's built into the price of the rent. Sometimes the electric bill gets up there in the summer because of the A.C., but most of the time it's pretty reasonable."
"No, that's great. Look ... can I ask you a question?” Gorgeous shoulders hunched, Joe looked from his feet up to DJ's face and then away, gazing casually out the window.
"Sure. Now's the time. I wish more people asked questions up front."
"DJ ... you're gay, right?"
Sighing, DJ knew what was coming next. He wished he had a dollar for every time he'd heard it. “Yeah. That's why I put the ad in Out on Campus. Is that a problem?"
"No, no, not at all. I am, too. It's just..."
"Yeah?"
"It's just, I would never have known. You're maybe the straightest-looking gay guy I've ever met."
"Yeah, I know. I get that a lot."
* * * *
"David, stop. I told you."
The hand unzipping Joe's fly hesitated for a moment, then finished the job, reaching inside for Joe's dick.
"C'mon, Joe. It's been a long time. You know you like how I take care of you."
Joe grabbed the wrist attached to the hand attached to his cock, and carefully removed it from his pants. Behind a fringe of blonde hair, David's eyes reflected hurt. Goddammit, this was exactly why he'd hesitated so long before asking for help from an ex. As much as he would like to stay friends after the romance was over, David always made things so difficult. But he was the only person Joe knew with a truck and Joe needed the help moving. So, against his better judgment, he'd called.
"Look, you promised. I told you I needed help moving and that was all. You said you were okay with it."
"I know. But...” David looked deep into Joe's eyes and tucked a bit of hair behind Joe's ear. “Giovanni ... ragazzo bello."
"David, stop it.” For the second time in just over a minute Joe removed David's hand from some part of his anatomy. “Look, this was a mistake. I'm sorry—I shouldn't have asked you. I appreciate your help, but I've got to go. I've still got a lot of unpacking to do."
"Let me help you unpack, then. I could—"
"Thanks, but I don't think that's a good idea.” Joe opened the door of David's truck and slid half-way out, touching one foot to the ground. “Thanks again for all the help."
"Any time. I'll call you."
Climbing
out of David's truck, Joe cast one last guilty glance in David's direction and bit back the “Please don't” he'd nearly blurted out. Nodding briefly in David's direction, he shut the truck's door, trying not to slam it, and headed for his new place.
God, he was such an asshole.
What a lame-ass, stupid idea that had been. He'd known David was still into him but, in his own defense, Joe hadn't realized quite how much. It had been the suffocating, bordering on stalker-like behavior, that had driven Joe away in the first place. He should have known better than to ask David's help for anything. He'd just given the man renewed hope and now Joe knew he'd be screening his calls for another month, at least.
Joe slid his key into the lock and opened the door of the neat little townhome. Talk about a find. Located midway between work and school, quiet and within his budget.
Stepping through the door, the sounds of NCAA basketball and the aroma of pizza both greeted him immediately upon entering. DJ must have ordered the pizza while Joe had been making his last trip to his old apartment and Joe could have kissed him. It was like a wall of normal going up between them and the world
"Hey.” DJ flicked Joe a quick glance before going back to his pizza and the game.
"Hey. So, who's winning?"
"Gonzaga.” This time DJ didn't bother to look up.
"Oh. Big fan?"
"Huh?"
"I asked if you were a big fan."
"Not really. But Indiana's got this shooting guard that's incredible. Just fucking gorgeous. Check out number twelve."
Joe cracked up and followed DJ's gaze to the TV. “Okay, so consider your queer street cred established. Oh, yeah. That is nice. Mind if I sit down?"
"Nah, go ahead. Have some pizza."
"Only if I can give you some money for it."
The game went to a commercial and DJ's gaze finally broke free of the television. “Don't worry about it. I don't need to eat it all, so you'd be doing me a favor. If you're really concerned, you can buy next time."
"Thanks. Ah, that's good. Man, I am so beat, I can't tell you.” Joe took another bite of the pizza and settled into the big chair adjacent to the sofa DJ sat slouched on. Feet up, diet soda in hand, DJ looked the opposite of how Joe felt: relaxed, uncomplicated, satisfied with himself and his life. After dealing with David all day, it was like breathing fresh air after an evening in a smoky nightclub.
DJ took a drink from his soda shot Joe a commiserating glance. “I hear you. I hate moving with a passion."
Joe chewed his pizza and scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes. “Yeah, moving definitely sucks. The company didn't help."
Maybe it was Joe's imagination, but DJ's expression seemed to close down a bit.
"Your friend seemed a little, um ... intense."
"I'm such an idiot.” It didn't help to acknowledge his idiocy. What did a normal guy like DJ—not a care in the world—know about psycho exes who didn't know when to say when? “I should have just sucked it up and rented a truck. I forgot just how ‘intense’ David can be. God knows, I've tried."
DJ shifted uncomfortably in his seat and switched his gaze back to the basketball game, conveniently now back from commercial break.
Great.
Not even living in the new place a full week and already he'd shown DJ what an effed up personal life he had.
Perfect.
Just to make things that little bit worse, Joe realized he was developing a semi-serious jones for his new roommate. Which was odd, when he thought about it. Since when did he go for the all-American, boy-next-door type? Big-eyed Jake Gyllenhaal types with a little Matt Damon thrown in didn't usually flip his switch. Slim, blond and artistic was more his type. Which described David perfectly, hence his problems.
God. He was even beginning to depress himself now.
Something about DJ's open face and ‘the whole world's my friend’ manner drew him in, though. Thick and muscular didn't ordinarily do it for him—unless you were talking dicks, of course. Joe let his gaze wander over DJ's body as DJ sat, so caught up in the game that Joe could look his fill. Too bad about The Rule. Otherwise he might find himself looking for opportunities to explore that muscular, athletic body a little more closely.
Interrupting Joe's speculation just then by flashing a quick grin in his direction, DJ gestured at the screen. “Did you see that?"
"No. What happened?” Oh, well. DJ would find out soon enough that he was a big fake when it came to sports.
"Did you see how, when they took twelve out of the game, how all the other guys patted his ass? I knew it. I knew he was gay. Had to be."
"You are so dreaming, pal.” At least DJ was talking to him again.
* * * *
DJ hitched the bag of groceries he carried up on his hip while unlocked the front door. He hated himself for even having the thought, but he halfway hoped Joe wouldn't be home tonight.
He liked his new roommate. A lot. But how long did he have to give it before he could admit that things weren't working out and not look like a jerk?
As DJ set the bag on the low bar separating the kitchen from the entry hall, a door closed softly upstairs and realized his wish hadn't been granted. What else was new? He separated the things that belonged in the refrigerator from what went in the cabinet and rededicated himself to no repeats of this morning's fiasco.
He and Joe had worked out a schedule for the shower in the morning. Since Joe's bank job started earlier than DJ's job as a sports injury therapist, Joe got the first shower. The schedule had worked well enough for the first ten days or so, but this morning it had unraveled badly. Like a squadron of Blue Angels, it only took a slight deviation to produce disaster. Instead of exiting the bathroom promptly and finishing his grooming in the privacy of his bedroom, Joe had spent an extra five minutes using the room's multiple mirrors to get his thick, black hair just the way he liked it.
Which wouldn't have made a lick of difference if he hadn't been doing it nude.
Miles of lovely olive skin covering chiseled muscles an underwear model would envy and DJ had been able to confirm the presence of just the kind of high, rounded butt he would love to worship—complete to the divots in the sides and two perfect dimples at the base of Joe's spine.
DJ sighed.
How high school was it to lust after your roommate?
Extremely.
He was an adult—pretty much. He could share living space with someone and not fuck them. It wasn't like DJ needed to prove anything. He'd done it repeatedly, four times at least in the past three years.
But, half-awake and slurping coffee, he'd nearly scalded himself when he'd pushed open the bathroom door and realized the room was still occupied. He'd stood there frozen, his brain unable to keep up with his roving eyes, forgetting to swallow the burning hot liquid in his mouth.
Maybe it had only seemed like forever that he'd remained there, motionless except for his eyeballs, taking in broad shoulders, trim waist, and—holy shit—a long, pretty cock resting quietly between two hairy muscular thighs. He'd been just awake enough to notice that Joe must trim down there though because, despite wonderfully hairy legs and chest, the hair surrounding his personal package was only modest.
In retrospect maybe it was a good thing he'd been paralyzed after all, otherwise he might have gotten down on his hands and knees to examine everything in minute detail. DJ paused in mid-stretch as he stacked soup cans, knowing he shouldn't be allowing himself to think about Joe's dick and what he'd like to do with it, but unable to resist.
He'd start by touching his tongue to the very tip and feel the soft skin there as he breathed in the scents of sex and skin. Run his tongue around the head, tasting any stray drops of pre-come that might have leaked out. Next, he'd pull just the head in with his lips, suction and the seal he'd make with them keeping it inside. DJ would slowly, ever so slowly, take the rest of the shaft into his mouth where he'd begin—
"Hey, how you doin'?"
DJ nearly jumped out of his ski
n when Joe came around the corner and into the kitchen, looking tired but amazing in nothing but a pair of worn jeans.
"Shit! You startled me.” Setting down the soup, DJ concentrated on not meeting Joe's gaze, just in case his thoughts were somehow visible behind his eyes. As if on auto-pilot though, DJ's gaze went immediately to Joe's crotch, the root of his dick just detectable behind a zipper that looked only barely attempted.
His view was cut off as Joe passed behind DJ, opened the fridge and took out two bottles of water. Joe edged by, heading back out of the narrow kitchen, and the heat of his body registered on DJ's subconscious.
A thump sounded somewhere upstairs, and they both paused and looked up.
His gaze falling to meet DJ's, Joe shrugged and smiled softly, his dark eyes unreadable beneath two slashes of even darker brow. “Sorry."
Joe left the kitchen, leaving DJ to wonder, as he caught a last glimpse of denim-covered legs and bare feet disappearing up the stairs, just what Joe was apologizing for.
Ignoring the chocolate milk that was calling to him from the fridge, DJ poured himself some sparkling water instead. The number of times he'd repeated the experience hadn't softened the blow any, unfortunately. His days of running laps and hours of physical conditioning—part of the price he paid for going to school on a baseball scholarship—were over.
He worked in an office now. On his feet all day, granted, but still ... he couldn't tuck away a double burger, fries and a malt the way he'd been able to most of his life. Not without buying himself a new wardrobe first, anyway. So DJ flopped down in front of the TV with his water and an apple, determined to wind down and ignore what was obviously going on upstairs.
DJ'd never met anyone quite like Joe, so it hadn't occurred to him to screen for it during the roommate-finding process. He knew the party-all-night type by sight; same with the tweakers and the drama queens. But he was coming to realize that Joe was in a league of his own.
Working in a bank as part of the management training program meant Joe had to dress well. He also went to school two nights a week, completing the educational requirements of the program, but usually took Sundays off to get his laundry done, do homework, and just generally get ready for his week. The other four nights, though, he either went out and stayed out or brought someone home and got quietly laid.
Boys of Summer: Sharing Spaces Page 1
