Fire and Flint

by Andrew Grey

  “Check, please….”

  Chapter 4

  ENERGY ROLLED off Jordan the entire ride home. It had been a long time since he’d been intimate with anyone, and while he wasn’t nervous exactly, he was apprehensive. What if he couldn’t remember how to do things…? Well, that was a stupid worry because he knew the ins and outs of sex, but what if he was… out of practice? God, he wanted to slap himself for his stupid thoughts.

  “You okay?” Pierre asked quietly, taking his hand as he drove.

  “Yes.” Jordan peered into the back where Jeremiah was slumping in the seat already. “He’s full and getting sleepy.”

  “That isn’t a bad thing,” Pierre told him slyly as he pulled into the drive. He turned off the car, and they got out quietly. Pierre got Jeremiah out of his seat, resting his head on his shoulder as they headed to the door. Jordan was amazed at how quickly Jeremiah had taken to Pierre. His son had been through so much in his short life and, like Jordan, didn’t trust people easily. Pierre was definitely the exception.

  Inside, Pierre set Jeremiah on the sofa, and he curled up right away. “I should get him a bath and into bed, or he’ll wake up again and not get back to sleep for hours. I’ll be a while, so make yourself comfortable. I put some wine and things in the refrigerator. Help yourself.” Jordan got Jeremiah to his feet and into the bathroom, closing the door behind them.

  Jordan hoped Pierre found the things he’d left and didn’t try to wait if he was a little hungry. He ran the bathwater and plopped Jeremiah in it. There was none of his son’s usual play, and Jordan got him washed and dried off fairly quickly. He carried a towel-wrapped Jeremiah to his room and got him ready for bed.

  “Story?” Jeremiah asked, and Jordan agreed. “Pierre?”

  “Okay, sweetie. I’ll ask him. Just stay here, and I’ll be right back.”

  He left the darkened room and found Pierre in the living room with the wine and cheese on the coffee table, unopened and untouched. “Jeremiah is asking if you’ll read him a story. He’s half asleep and isn’t going to stay awake through all of it.”

  “Of course.” Pierre got up and followed him to Jeremiah’s bedroom. “Is that what you want me to read?”

  Jordan had known which book it was, and Pierre sat on the edge of the bed with The Velveteen Rabbit and began to read. Jordan left the door ajar. As much as he wanted to sit and listen to Pierre read, he couldn’t bear to hear that story one more time.

  His mother had given the book to Jeremiah for Christmas, and he had loved it instantly. Jordan had hoped it would take its place on the dark blue bookshelf with the myriad of others that were rarely read, but no. Just like him, Jeremiah had fallen for the story, one that was painful for Jordan. But he’d read it to Jeremiah three or four times a week for months, burying the loss under funny voices.

  Finally he heard the last words of the story, and Pierre came out, closing the door. “He’s sound asleep.” Pierre set the book on the edge of the coffee table and sat down, reaching to open the wine. “What is it about that book?” Pierre asked, and Jordan swallowed. “Is it only that one you don’t like?”

  “It isn’t that I don’t like it… damn…. I love the book, that’s the problem. That and The Giving Tree. My dad used to read them to me. They were my favorites. He used to do the voices for me, and they were funny. I’d laugh, then sniffle at the sad parts. But it was time I got to spend with my dad. In fact, I always think of him when I read them to Jeremiah, and that’s the problem.”

  “Where is your dad?”

  “I was a few years older than Jeremiah when he lost his job. Dad was a machinist in a factory that made auto parts, and they shut down. The jobs were moving to Mexico. He couldn’t get another one, and he saw an ad for machinists to work in oil fields in Texas. It was during one of the booms down there, so Dad applied, and they took him. He was making a lot of money and he had an apartment there. He worked, like, four months straight, and then had a month off before doing it again. I didn’t get to see him very much, and once Mom took me down there to visit him, but it was pretty yucky in the small quarters they had for the journeymen. Anyway, Mom got a call after almost two years. There had been an accident and Dad had been killed. To make a long story short, it was an accident, but the drilling company was found to have been in violation of safety regulations. So Mom got a lot of money, which she used to help raise me. But I still lost my dad.”

  “And you think of him when you hear those stories?”

  Jordan nodded slowly. “But probably not in the way you think. See, Dad went to Texas to try to provide for Mom and me. He didn’t want to go, and I remember him calling to talk to us every few days. Once I heard Mom talking to him, and she told him not to cry.” Jordan wiped his eyes. “My dad was a lot like you, big and strong. I never thought of him crying. He was my dad and he didn’t cry, so it must have been really hard for him there.”

  Pierre handed him a glass of wine, and Jordan drank it because he needed something to steady his nerves. “You don’t need to go on if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s okay. See, I was eight and I had put away most of the stuff from when I was younger, and after Dad died, Mom had a yard sale. She said she had to do what she could to move on, and she sold some of the things we didn’t need. I put out a bunch of my old books, and that’s when I found The Velveteen Rabbit and The Giving Tree. I read them, and they were like having my dad. They gave up everything to make the boy—in my dad’s case, me—happy.” Jordan set the glass on the coffee table. “So I can’t read those books anymore without thinking about him and the fact that I lost him.”

  “Did you keep those books?”

  Jordan pursed his lips. “Mom must have, because the copies Jeremiah has are the ones I had, the ones my dad read to me.” He wasn’t going to cry, that was a definite. What happened with his dad was a long time ago.

  Pierre leaned over, holding Jordan. “You know that’s pretty amazing.”

  That wasn’t the reaction he expected. “Oh… kay?”

  “Think about it. Those are the books your dad read to you, and you read them to Jeremiah. That means that in a way, your dad is there with you.” Pierre cocked his head slightly, and Jordan nearly gasped. “I know your dad is gone, but the people we lose stay with us in the things we do and how we remember them. You’re passing on the stories your dad told you.” Pierre smiled. “Maybe next time I’ll tell Jeremiah one of the ones my dad told me. He would be thrilled to know that his stories still live on.” Pierre held him tighter, and Jordan rested his head on his shoulder. Being comforted was nice, really nice.

  “I carry my dad with me as much as I can. I have a few pictures of him, but after all these years, it’s hard for me to recall what he looked like on my own. Mom’s family had a few plots on the old cemetery in town, and she had his ashes buried there.” Jordan hadn’t thought of all this in a long time. “Am I oversharing?” God, he really felt like it. What kind of guy wanted this type of thing dumped on him the second time they went out? Especially since Jordan was hoping this night would be a little more romantic. He certainly hadn’t expected to be baring some of his deepest regrets.

  “You know you can talk about whatever you like.” Pierre gave him a squeeze.

  “Then how about something more fun and less depressing?” Jordan asked, trying to lighten the mood. Things had gotten way too heavy way too soon, and he needed to get them on more familiar ground. Not that there was a huge deal that was familiar when it came to Pierre. For him, this whole thing, whatever it was, was largely uncharted territory, and that was both exciting and scary as hell all at the same time.

  “Like what? Gardening?” Pierre asked.

  “Huh?” Jordan pulled away, chuckling. Sometimes the things Pierre said surprised him.

  “Yeah. You wanted to talk about something fun, so I figured we could talk gardening. My mom and I used to plant a huge vegetable garden each year. She loved it, and it took me a while before I realized that although she di
d the planting, I was the hard labor the rest of the season. I did the weeding and watering and stuff. I also did the picking, and she canned. God, there were times when I didn’t want to see anything green to save my life.” Pierre grinned. “I can still grow a mean tomato in a pot, but that’s about all.”

  “I wish I had a small area, but all the yard is communal here. I pay a small maintenance fee, and they take care of mowing and things. There is a playground behind the building where Jeremiah can go, but he really likes it when I take him to the huge play structure in LeTort Park. He’ll run through that for hours, swinging and climbing. It’s like nirvana for him.” Jordan shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to talk about anything except Jeremiah for more than ten minutes.” Jordan turned away, kicking himself for not keeping his mouth shut. This was supposed to be a date, after all.

  “Hey. Then let’s change the subject again.” Pierre touched his chin. “We can talk about your eyes.”

  Jordan gulped. “Please….”

  “I’m serious. Do you remember those pictures of the earth they show from space where it’s so blue and pure? That’s the color of your eyes, a deep, shining blue. Makes me want to go swimming in them and never get out.” Pierre leaned closer.

  “Don’t tell me things that aren’t true,” Jordan said.

  Pierre met his gaze. “I never lie, and that’s what your eyes make me think of. Why is that so hard to believe? That you could be handsome? That I find you attractive? That surprises you, but I don’t understand why. Tonight you said half the people in the restaurant were looking at me, but I saw them watching you.”

  Jordan thought that highly unlikely. “Come on.”

  “They were.” Pierre leaned a little closer. “You don’t see it, but I noticed you as soon as I walked into that office. I even had trouble talking to you sometimes because I was attracted. And no matter what you might think, I’m not a horndog or a guy who goes after every person I see. That isn’t me. You can ask some of my friends.”

  “I believe you.” God, he really did. Jordan couldn’t understand why Pierre was interested.

  “There’s an old saying. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I think that can be modified to don’t look a hot lover in the pants.” Pierre wriggled his eyebrows, and Jordan lost it. He leaned back on the sofa and threw his head back, cackling like an idiot. Jordan slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from waking Jeremiah, but the effect only heightened the giggles and he nearly lost it completely.

  “You need to send that in to one of those words of wisdom websites.”

  “I might just do that.” Pierre had the grace to let him get the laughter out of his system. He drew closer once again, and the nervous titters that had engulfed him vanished in seconds. Pierre’s heat surrounded him, and slowly Pierre pulled him in, encircling him in his strength. “You need to let go of this worry.”

  Jordan’s breath hitched as he drew closer, Pierre’s wide, powerful chest pressing to his. “How do I do that?”

  “Oh, that’s the easy part. Let someone else look after you for a while.” Pierre kissed him, gently at first, the attraction and zing building, little shocks racing down his spine until Jordan held on to Pierre for dear life. “You take care of everyone else.”

  “I do?” That came as a surprise.

  “Of course. Look….” Pierre motioned to the coffee table. “You prepared snacks for tonight, you look after the judge and Jeremiah, you anticipate what everyone else needs and then make it happen without thinking about it.” Pierre drew him closer once again, sliding his lips over Jordan’s, heat spreading through him like wildfire. The million things that always seemed to race through his head, like juggling balls he needed to try to keep in the air, came to a stop as all he thought about was Pierre. Damn, that felt good to let go, if even for just a little while.

  When Pierre pulled away, Jordan instantly wanted him back. Instead, he handed Jordan a glass of freshly poured wine. Then he shifted on the sofa, tugging Jordan next to him so he rested against his chest.

  “I thought….”

  Pierre’s chest rumbled softly. “We have all night. Jeremiah is in bed, and you need a little quiet time.”

  Jordan felt him drink, and then Pierre set his glass aside. He started a little when Pierre’s hands returned, this time to his shoulders, fingers kneading slowly, working out the tension. “Oh dang, that’s good.” He had to admit that he was really wound up. Seeing the judge at dinner, and those almost sinister things he’d said, had really gotten to him. “Do you think the judge knows or suspects that I found that stuff in the files?”

  Pierre kept working his muscles. “I don’t know. I doubt it. He may have been feeling guilty about something at dinner. People get weird when they’re on the defensive.” He gently kissed his ear. “I’ll look into things when I’m on shift. The department has lawyers that we consult on a regular basis, and I can ask one of them about the ethical implications of his meeting. It isn’t like they’re personally privy to the lawsuit, and it would be hard to find a judge in this town who isn’t acquainted with members of the borough council.”

  Jordan closed his eyes and tried to let go. It was harder than he thought, but Pierre kept working his shoulders and then up his neck, gently stroking the tips of his fingers behind Jordan’s ears. “Oh God.”

  “You like that?”

  A shiver raced up Jordan’s spine and settled in his groin. He arched his back, leaning more heavily on Pierre as his entire body tingled. Pierre slid his hands back to Jordan’s shoulder and then down over his chest, each movement slow, enticing, building the fire that was already almost too hot to control. “Pierre, I’m….” His mouth went dry as Pierre worked open the buttons on his shirt, letting the fabric fall open. He pushed it aside, leaving trails of white heat on Jordan’s belly as he brushed against him. He quivered like a leaf as Pierre’s hands roamed over him. He stilled and held his breath as Pierre’s fingers approached the waistband of his pants.

  He placed his hand flat on Jordan’s belly, holding still. All Jordan could do was concentrate on the spot where Pierre’s hand met his skin. His muscles quivered and he lolled his head back just enough to know that Pierre’s eyes had grown dark and deep, his mouth hanging open a little and his breathing coming fast.

  “You’re going to kill me,” Jordan gasped.

  “We can’t have any of that.” Pierre shifted, helping Jordan forward. Then Pierre slipped from behind him to stand up. He carried the plate and glass to the kitchen, then returned for the rest. Pierre left them on the counter and came back to help Jordan up onto legs that seemed to have turned to noodles. Pierre turned out the lights and checked the door. Then he gently guided Jordan into his bedroom and closed the door.

  Jordan had done the room in warm tones. The walls were a pale yellow because he loved how the color caught the sun in the mornings, but when Pierre turned on the small light on his dresser, the lamp cast a deep warm glow that filled the room.

  “I love your bed,” Pierre said as he pressed Jordan down on the side of it.

  “Because it’s king-sized?”

  Pierre shook his head. “Because it’s where you sleep and it smells like you.” He kissed him hard, and Jordan wrapped his arms around Pierre’s neck, letting him guide him back onto the duvet, which puffed around him as he pressed into it. “You look beautiful right here, like this.” Pierre stood back up, reaching for Jordan’s leg. Pierre took off a shoe, letting it thunk to the floor. Jordan’s sock followed. He expected Pierre to do the same for the other foot, but—holy hell—he rubbed Jordan’s foot with his strong hands, then pushed his pants upward as he caressed over the heel and up his calf.

  “Oh God.” Jordan groaned, closing his eyes and soaking in the care. His head buzzed with excitement that grew by the second. He shook as Pierre’s fingers slipped up his calf and over his leg. Pierre lowered it and took off the other shoe and sock to give Jordan’s other foot the same delicious treatment.

  “I
told you it was time someone took care of you for a change.” Pierre set his foot down, and both legs now dangled over the side of the bed. Pierre leaned over him and slipped Jordan’s shirt over his shoulders. He rocked slightly to get it off. “Damn.”

  “Look, I know I’m not—” Jordan tensed, opening his eyes, but the nervousness receded as he met Pierre’s adoring gaze. That was the only way to describe it. The words of protest died on his lips as Pierre captured them in a kiss that seared its way to the depths of Jordan’s soul. He hadn’t expected to be touched that way, for a single kiss to make him want so much more than what he thought he could have.

  “You’re beautiful and you need to see it.” Pierre sucked lightly at the base of his neck, mumbling something Jordan couldn’t understand. “You really do.”

  Jordan moaned softly, stretching to give Pierre better access, because what he was doing was driving him crazy. His cock ached and throbbed in his pants, begging for release from its confines, yet Pierre was in no hurry, and that added to the anticipation.

  “Just let me take care of you.”

  Jordan nodded. “As long as you don’t take forever. My head is going to explode.” His words trailed off into unintelligibility as he attempted to hold himself together. He shook and gripped the bedding, trying like hell to hold in the pressure that was building. He wanted Pierre to touch him, but damn it all, Jordan was afraid if he did, he’d go off instantly. “Jiggly parts… my grandmother… cows….”

  “What are you doing?” Pierre asked, propping himself up on his hands.

  “Trying to think unsexy stuff so I don’t go off like a randy teenager.” God, that would be as embarrassing as all hell.

  “I like you just like you are.” Pierre kissed him again. “You’re kind and caring.” He smoothed Jordan’s hair away from his eyes. “You spend your time and effort taking care of others.” Pierre ran his hands down his side to the top of his jeans.

  “I like you too. But maybe I’d like you more if you had less clothes on.” Jordan hissed as Pierre tickled him slightly.