by A. E. Wasp
The crowning piece was a dusty, unopened fish-shaped bottle made from sculpted glass. No one knew what kind of alcohol it contained, just as no one was one hundred percent sure if the alcohol or the glass gave it that yellow tint. Family legend held that it was, indeed, fish-flavored liquor brought back from Korea by either an uncle or a family friend. No one had ever been brave enough to taste test it and find out.
The music kicked up as Dmitri stared into the depths, searching for something perfect for the moment.
I think I better dance now, Tom Jones sang, and Dmitri did, swiveling his hips as he reached for a serene-faced monk with a twist off head. He sniffed. “Kahlua?” He held the bottle out to Angel. “Black Russians?”
“Sounds perfect.”
He dropped the bottles of Kahlua and vodka on the coffee table, then filled the pineapple-shaped bucket with ice and grabbed two old-fashioned glasses. One thing about inheriting a hand-me-down house - he might be upside down in the mortgage, but he could throw a hell of a cocktail party. Not that he ever did, but he could if he needed to.
He plopped down on the couch; pouring their drinks and arranging them so all the ingredients were within easy reach. He had no illusions about the direction this night was going in and how much like road kill he was going to feel tomorrow. But that sounded like a problem for future Dmitri. Tonight’s Dmitri was going to drink and party like it was 1999.
They each leaned against an arm of the couch, legs tangled in the middle. Dmitri pulled the crocheted afghan off the back of the couch and settled it over them.
“So, you really like this guy?” Angel asked.
“Yeah, I do,” Dmitri confessed.
Angel kicked him gently. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. It’s okay to like people, you know.”
Dmitri’s sigh channeled every ounce of the teenager he used to be. Being around Angel brought that out in him. “I barely know him.”
“If it makes you feel better, we all like him. He’s a good guy. I wouldn’t have set you guys up if I thought he was a dick, you know that.”
Dmitri pushed himself up, pointing a finger at Angel. “Speaking of that. He asked me what branch of the military I had been in. You told him I was a vet!”
Angel took a sip of her drink, eyes wide over the rim of the cup. “Well, you are,” she answered innocently.
“Don’t give me that.”
She snorted into her drink, sending drops of Kahlua and vodka spraying onto her face. She wiped them off with a finger and then stuck her finger in her mouth. “Fine. I thought it was funny. Vet, vet. Get it?”
He stared at her.
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
Thoughts of the way Troy’s tattoos disappeared into the waistband of his jeans wormed their way into Dmitri’s brain. The rattling of ice alerted him to the fact he had finished his drink without noticing. He reached out and poured a new one, holding the bottle out to Angel.
She nodded and held her cup out. “Still,” she said. “It was kind of funny.”
“Yeah. It was kind of funny.”
An hour and three or four drinks later, everything was funny.
“No, no, not that.” Laughing, Angel reached over, grabbing sloppily for the cell phone. Dmitri held it out of reach over the back of the couch. “Gimme,” she said, climbing onto his lap. “Now. Ha!” She grabbed the phone and crawled off the couch and across the floor, ending up sitting against the old recliner in the corner.
Dmitri would have gone over there and taken the phone back, but it seemed so far away. Plus moving his head made everything swirl around him. He rolled his head again, just for fun.
Angel pulled her knees up to her chest, brow furrowed in concentration as she texted. It was the last thing Dmitri saw before he passed out.
chapter eight
Dmitri woke up with his face smushed into the rough upholstery of the couch. Angel was on the floor, the afghan wrapped around her. How many times had they ended up like this after a night of shared confessions? Hundreds, probably. Sometimes he thought his mom forgot she had not actually given birth to Angel. In high school, Angel had had Sunday chores just like the rest of them. Angel brought her permission slips and report cards to his parents more than she did her own.
Groaning, swearing for the thousandth time never to drink again, Dmitri pulled himself upright. He sat still, letting his stomach catch up with his head, then stood and wobbled unsteadily to the bathroom.
He peed, and then dug through the cabinets for some kind of painkiller. Anything that would help the killer headache that had woken him up. Ibuprofen. A hammer. Whatever.
The light in the living room blinded him. The sun rose early this time of year, no way to tell what time it was. His phone lay on the floor near Angel’s snoring body. Dmitri nudged it with his foot, bending down with a loud moan as his head pounded with the movement.
He registered the time. Seven forty-five am. Plenty of time to go back to sleep. He’d barely straightened up when he saw the text notification on the top of the screen. From Troy. That was a nice surprise to wake up to. He swiped it open, read the text, and the twenty-seven texts preceding it, and collapsed down onto the couch, kicking Angel as he did. “Holy shit!”
Angel’s arm flailed wildly. “Quit it,” she mumbled.
He kicked her again. “Wake up.”
She rolled onto her back with a pained cry. “Oh, God. Why do you let me drink?”
Dmitri didn’t even bother dignifying that with an answer, he just held the phone down in front of her face.
She frowned and squinted, then took the phone out of his hand. Her eyes grew wide as she scrolled through the texts. She covered her mouth with her hand and looked over at Dmitri.
He shook his finger at her. “You sexted my boyfriend!”
Angel gave up trying to hide it, and burst out laughing. She winced in pain, hand going to her head, but didn’t stop. “Oh God.”
“Give me that.” Dmitri grabbed for the phone.
Angel rolled onto her stomach, wedging herself against the coffee table, cradling the phone like Gollum with the One Ring. “No way, Jose. This is gold.” She scrolled through more. “I’m like a porny Cyrano. You owe me. This is making me hot. Damn, I’m good.”
Dmitri put a foot on her back, holding her in place, and yanked the phone out of her hands, almost smacking her in the face with it. “Jerk.”
The texts started innocently enough if maybe a little awkward. Had a great time, let’s do it again, etc. Troy hadn’t responded in depth, just a simple me, too and a disappointingly vague sure.
Then there was a long gap in the timestamps before a text from his phone that read I want to lick your tattoos. Dmitri hadn’t been blackout drunk; he never got that bad, and he knew he hadn’t written that.
Ten minutes later, Troy had replied with yeah?
Oh yeah, Dmitri thought.
From top 2 bottm n bak again Angel had written.
From there the sexual content got more explicit as Angel’s typing ability deteriorated. The last coherent thing Dmitri could read seemed to be an offer to suck Troy’s brains out through his dick. An offer Dmitri would stand by if the opportunity came.
“Jesus, Angie. I would never tell someone I was going to ‘make them take it.’” He licked his lips, mouth dry.
“Yeah, you would, you toppy bastard.”
Dmitri considered it. “Well maybe. But not in a text.” He stood up, taking a wobbly step over Angel’s body.
“Where are y’going?” she mumbled, halfway back to sleep.
“I have to go talk to Troy. Apologize for even knowing you.”
“You love me.”
“I do. Water and aspirin on the table. Bacon in the fridge. I’ll be back.”
“K.”
He took a quick shower, threw up, which helped his stomach but not his head, and picked out what he hoped was a flattering outfit. Maybe it would distract Tr
oy from the sweating, pale skin and dark circles under his eyes.
Moby whined and barked at the back door. Dmitri let her out to pee and run, knowing that her barking and clawing to get back in later would annoy the hell out of Angel. She deserved it.
Grabbing his car keys, stomach clenched for more than one reason, Dmitri went out to face the music.
He got two miles down the road before pulling over and calling Vincent to get Troy’s address.
“Normally I wouldn’t do this,” Vincent said into the phone. “But I’ve known you a long time. And I think the boy needs some more friends.”
Dmitri scrawled the address on a receipt he’d found on the floor of the car.
“If he’s pissed,” Vincent said, “tell him you threatened to sic your mutt on me until I spilled the beans.”
“I’ll tell him I stalked him. Thanks, Vinny. You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just call me and let me know what’s going on, okay? I worry.”
“You got it.”
Troy lived on the western outskirts of town in an old house that had been carved into three separate apartments. The only thing between his street and the foothills was the huge reservoir that supplied the area with water.
Dmitri pulled his Sentra onto the dirt driveway, distracted by the sight of Troy bent over, looking under the hood of a beat up El Camino. Dmitri would recognize that ass anywhere. An older man in a t-shirt and jeans, right arm in a cast from wrist to elbow, stood watch, a cup of coffee in his good hand. He’d kill for a cup of coffee.
Both men turned as Dmitri pulled up. Troy was shirtless, sweat glistening on his skin. The little bit of grease on his chest and arms and the socket wrench he held merged in Dmitri’s mind with the images the graphic texts had created, and he had to breathe deeply through his nose and take a minute to get himself under control.
Troy watched Dmitri get out of the car. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable.
“Morning,” the old guy said, raising his coffee cup in greeting.
“Morning,” Dmitri replied. “Car trouble?”
“I was replacing the master cylinder when this happened.” He raised his casted arm. “Troy’s giving me a hand.”
“Least I can do. You’ve fed me enough burgers and beer.”
“That’s for your service to our great country, son. I owe you for this.”
Troy shook his head. “Not a bit.” He looked at Dmitri, taking in his khaki shorts and pink polo shirt. “I’m almost done. Why don’t you stay over there? That way you won’t get dirty.”
Dmitri nodded, blushing. He knew he looked like a douche; he should have gone with the band t-shirt. All his hopes of things working out with Troy flew away as he leaned against the hood of his car and watched Troy work.
A few minutes later Troy straightened up. “All good. You shouldn’t have any problems.”
The guy walked over and inspected the work left-handed. “Thanks, man. Looks great. I owe you. I kept you from your trip.”
Troy lowered the hood gently and shook his head. “No problem. I’m not on a schedule.”
Trip? Was Troy going somewhere?
Troy turned to Dmitri, looking right in his eyes as he wiped his hands with a rag, and then moved the rag slowly up to the tattoos on his chest, slowly wiping off the small amount of grease with what seemed to Dmitri a sincere dedication to duty.
Dmitri licked his lips, eyes dropping to Troy’s chest and back up again.
“So, what can I do for you?” Troy asked, eyes dark.
So many things, Dmitri thought. None of which he was going to say in front of Joe the Plumber here.
“It’s, uh, about the phone?” His cheeks heated up just thinking about it. He closed his eyes.
“Yeah?”
Troy sounded amused. And closer than he had been, so Dmitri opened his eyes. That was definitely a smirk on Troy’s face now; it grew clearer every step Troy took towards him. Car guy was nowhere to be seen.
“I just. Wanted to apologize. I, we, were drinking and…”
Troy was inches away now. Dmitri felt the heat radiating off his skin. He smelled like sweat and grease and summer. “So you don’t want to lick my tattoos?”
“No!”
Troy raised his eyebrows.
“I mean. Yes?”
Troy laughed.
“Oh, God.” Dmitri dropped his face into his hands. “I am too hungover for this.” He took a deep breath and looked Troy in the eyes. “I was drunk last night, most of those texts were from Angel, I think you guys had phone sex, and yes, I very much want to lick your tattoos.” He exhaled.
The look in Troy’s eyes did things to Dmitri. Feeling brave, he reached out for Troy’s hips, fingers curling around the back of his jeans.
Troy tilted his head up to whisper in Dmitri’s ear. “And the part about sucking my brains out?”
“Oh, God.” Dmitri shuddered, and his hands tightened on Troy’s hips.
“I should probably shower,” Troy said, the before I kiss you unsaid but definitely heard. “Come on up.”
chapter nine
Troy led the way up the narrow stairs to his small apartment at the top of the old farmhouse. He hoped he looked and sounded more confident than he felt. He couldn’t help flirting, and he really did want to have sex with Dmitri, but more so he found himself wanting to maybe, possibly, date Dmitri even though he knew it was a bad idea. He had no idea how to date a guy, but sex on the second meeting probably wasn’t in the handbook. But Dmitri was so hot, and Troy’d been at least half-turned on since those texts last night.
Dmitri stopped at the top of the stairs, taking in the small, almost empty apartment. Troy hadn’t had much with him when he moved, and since getting the couch and a kitchen table to work at, he hadn’t bought much new. His apartment was basically one big room running from the front to the back of the house. Dormered windows on either end provided the only source of natural light. Cheap oak cabinets, and a refrigerator and stove, both in colors last popular in the mid-eighties, lined one wall.
Troy stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed with indecision. What should his next move be? He really wanted to kiss Dmitri, but his experience with a normal guy, in a normal dating relationship, was pretty much nil. Were they dating? Did you need to have more than one date and some kind of talk for it to be considered dating?
Dmitri smiled and stalked over to Troy, meeting him in the middle of the floor. Despite his obvious hangover, he was still good looking. His blue eyes dark with desire, he reached for Troy.
“Is this okay?” He dragged Troy in for a deep kiss, hands roaming all over his chest.
Dmitri’s hands felt incredible, and Troy was up for it in more ways than one. He was almost embarrassed by how quickly he’d gotten hard. In his defense, he’d been turned on since last night. A fantastic solo session had only fueled the fires. Though he’d realized pretty quickly that Angel was the one drunk texting him, he knew she had to have been with Dmitri, and they had to have been talking about him. He had a feeling there were no secrets between those two.
“Are you sure you don’t want some breakfast first? I should probably take a shower.”
“Later,” Dmitri growled. He walked Troy backward towards the small kitchen area, pushing Troy against the counter. Troy grabbed onto the edge as Dmitri dropped to his knees, ripping Troy’s jeans open as he went, thumbs tracing the black lines curving down Troy’s right hip. “Jesus,” Dmitri breathed against Troy’s leg. Then he put his mouth where Troy’d been picturing it since last night.
“Nngh,” Troy said succinctly as Dmitri dragged his tongue down the crease of his thigh, fingers digging into the muscle of his ass. Troy shivered at the feel of Dmitri’s soft hair trailing against his hard cock as Dmitri followed the black lines down Troy’s thighs.
Dmitri dragged the flat of his tongue up Troy’s cock from base to tip, then took Troy deep into his mouth.
Troy’s knees buckled, a
nd he caught himself on the edge of the counter. He felt Dmitri smile against his skin, and when he looked down, he met Dmitri’s blue eyes. God, the picture he made. Blond-haired, blue-eyed American boy in those frat brother clothes on his knees in front of Troy’s muscular, tattooed body. Troy wished someone was filming them.
Dmitri held his gaze as he pulled off slowly. Troy groaned.
“Good?” Dmitri asked.
“God, yes,” Troy croaked, hips pushing forward without his permission.
Dmitri laughed low and soft, and then pushed Troy’s hips back against the counter, holding him in place. He leaned towards Troy’s body, lips barely touching, hot breath rolling down the spit-slick length of Troy’s cock.
“Please,” Troy whimpered.
Dmitri licked him from top to bottom like an ice cream cone, tongue swirling around the top. Troy strained against the hold on his hips, trying to get deeper. Dmitri pulled back, waiting for him to stop moving. Panting, he forced himself to relax back against the counter.
“Good boy,” Dmitri murmured.
Troy’s cock jerked so hard he doubled over as far as he could against the restraint of Dmitri’s hands.
“Oh yeah,” Dmitri sighed, sinking his mouth down over Troy.
“Fuck,” Troy cursed. He let go of the cabinet, hand searching for Dmitri’s head. When he felt the soft curls, he grabbed them gently, just holding on, not forcing anything. This was Dmitri’s show; he was just along for the ride.
And what a ride. Dmitri teased him, licking and sucking, pulling off to bite at the tender skin at the top of Troy’s thighs, fingers slipping further and further around his ass until they teased at the center of him.
Pleasure ratcheted higher and higher in Troy until his head hung back and even the pressure of Dmitri’s hands couldn’t hold back the rolling of his hips. “God, Dmitri. Oh, Jesus.”
Dmitri let go of Troy’s hips and he couldn’t stop himself from lunging forward, shoving himself into Dmitri’s mouth. Dmitri wrapped one hand around the base of Troy’s cock and ripped open his butt-ugly shorts with the other. He groaned around Troy as he fisted his own cock.
