by Liv Rancourt
On the radio, Chet Baker played “My Funny Valentine,” a soft purr in the background. “You’re missing one, I think.”
Another sigh, this one deep and tinged with sadness. “My brother Rory. He was in the middle, and I guess he always felt bad that he was too young to go fight in Europe.” Russell paused and cleared his throat. “When the government started things in Korea, he joined right up.” Another pause. “He was killed about four years ago.”
Skip was pretty sure he’d stepped into something way more painful than he’d intended. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Russell shrugged, his expression closed. “Can’t be helped, but thanks.”
“My family’s not as big.” Did he really want to talk about old news? “Just me and Mom, really. She used to work down here,” he said. “She’s at Firland now. Got TB.”
Russell nodded, a wordless expression of sympathy. Surprised by a sudden burst of emotion, Skip had to look away.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So I work at Boeing, you know? I can’t make enough money in this town playing music, and I can’t leave until she’s better.”
“You’re so good, though,” Russell said, with gratifying enthusiasm. “You’re the best horn player I ever heard.”
Now it was Skip’s turn to blush. “Um...” He rubbed his mouth with an open palm. “Thanks.”
Russell reached across the table and laid his hand on Skip’s. “And I think it’s swell that you’re staying here to take care of your mother.”
Skip honestly didn’t know what to say. Silence filled the space between them.
“Geez,” Skip snorted, “if we keep this up, we’ll be weepy as a couple of girls.” He flipped his hand around to squeeze Russell’s fingers before pulling away. “If you want, after this we can go to a club where I can teach you to dance.”
“Is that right?” Russell’s laugh warmed Skip through and through.
“Yes, sir. The place is down in a basement so no one can see. Gents dance with gents all the time there.” Skip gazed up from under his lashes. “And I’d be happy to dance with a fellow as handsome as you.”
Russell turned away, expression so perplexed, Skip had to burst out laughing. A wild spirit took over before he could get himself under control. “So what are you going to do? Go back home and look for Susie’s replacement without trying to kiss me?”
Russell went from grinning to furious in a heartbeat. “So what if I am?”
Still caught in the moment, Skip leaned forward. Yeah, he was teasing a tiger, but he couldn’t help himself, what with the way Russell’s eyes were locked on his mouth. “I don’t believe you.”
The stare-down lasted several long, hot seconds.
“Fine.” Russell downed the rest of his whiskey and banged the glass on the table. “You win. I don’t want to go home without kissing you.”
“You’re in the right place, then. We could go to one of the bathhouses.” He talked over Russell’s surprised “no.” “Or just find a quiet alley. Nobody cares what happens here,” he continued. “Skid Road’s just a bunch of drunks and fags and musicians, all of us just trying to make enough dough to put food on the table.”
“Drunks and fruits and musicians.” Russell chuckled.
“You know how us horn players are.” Skip fooled with his lower lip, tugging the corner between his teeth, flashing a bit of tongue. Russell followed every move, so much heat in his gaze, it about made Skip steam.
The music changed to something by Billie Holiday, and the bartender strolled over to the end of their table. Raising an eyebrow at Skip, Russell ordered them another round.
They talked, or Skip talked, because even after the alcohol had time to loosen both of them up, Russell still didn’t use many words. He smiled, though, and his gaze wrapped over Skip like a comfortable blanket. Past experience taught Skip how to grab a guy and let off steam after a gig. Simple conversation, about his mom and her illness and his dream to move to San Francisco, was new. He’d meant to take Russell’s measure, to find out if the big swimming god was a friend of Dorothy too. Instead, he found a man he could be friends with.
The bartender interrupted Skip to ask if they wanted another round.
“What time is it?” Skip guessed it was close to midnight.
“Half past twelve.” Russell’s eyes were heavy, and Skip’s alarm was going to go off at five o’clock. Time to move.
“We can sneak out the back,” he said. “It’ll be closer to where we parked the car.”
He hadn’t quite told a lie, but close. They paid for their drinks, and he led Russell toward the back of the narrow room. As soon as they were in the dark hallway, between the tavern and the restroom, Russell backed him up against the wall.
“This is good enough for me.”
A firm hand on his chest sent ripples of anticipation through Skip’s body. “Me too,” he murmured, so close, the warmth of Russell’s breath moistened his lips, his internal thermostat driven to the red line by all the teasing and flirting.
“Mmm.”
For a screaming instant, he almost stopped, afraid of chasing Russell off. The man had been so skittish, so to make his intentions plain, Skip rocked his hips. In return, Russell’s hard heat thrust against his thigh.
“Oh God,” Skip said, and Russell met his lips, crushing his head, his shoulders, and his ass into the brick wall.
Russell’s body was solid, and he gripped Skip’s waist, digging in, nowhere near the touch of a virgin. A groan vibrated up from his belly, and Skip went crazy, both hands grabbing the lapels of the other man’s jacket to keep from reaching for his cock. The energy running through them went off like a match thrown in gasoline. It was hard to breathe, hard to stand still. Kissing such a gorgeous man took every ounce of Skip’s concentration and hardened a harmless flirtation into bone-deep need.
Russell’s lips parted, giving Skip something new to play with. He opened up, sliding his tongue along Russell’s lower lip, letting his hands roam over his high cheekbones and close-cropped hair. Their tongues tangled. Whiskers burned his chin. A solid nip to his lower lip almost dropped him to his knees.
They didn’t ease off the throttle until someone came looking for the restroom. The man passed them with a murmured, “Careful, boys,” and kept moving.
Russell jerked, stiffened, and pulled away. Skip scooted to the side so they stood shoulder to shoulder, their backs to the wall and fingers interlaced, hearts pounding on a backbeat.
“Okay, so dragging you back to the john wasn’t my classiest move.” Skip flipped his head to clear the flopping bangs out of his face. “That fellow’s cool, though. He won’t rat on us.”
Russell shook their clasped hands. “You don’t hear me complaining.”
“Yeah, but if Demetrio or the bartender finds us, we’ll be out on our cans.” Reality kept raining down. “I’d bring you home with me tonight, but I have to work early in the morning.”
Russell tipped his head back against the wall and chuckled. “What are we doing here, then?”
“I promised you a drink with a friend.” Skip kissed the back of Russell’s hand. The kiss turned into a caress, which turned into a tug, and in moments they were in the alley behind the bar. Another couple grappled with each other a dozen feet away, but Skip had a better place in mind anyway. He led Russell midway up the next block, pushed him up a step into a doorway, and knelt in front of him.
“Well.” Russell sounded surprised, like he didn’t know his way around a quick suck-off, though he was already threading his fingers through Skip’s hair.
Skip glanced up once, asking permission, then went to work on the other man’s fly. Damp seeped through the knees of Skip’s cheap gabardine trousers, but he didn’t care. Russell’s dick, thick and rosy red, sprang out from his slacks.
He couldn’t help himself. He sucked it down, deep enough that his nose met the forest of curls at the base. Russell made a noise halfway between a groan and a gasp, and his thighs quiver
ed.
Grasping the base with one hand, Skip slid off slowly, teasing, trailing the tip of his tongue around the head.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Russell’s hips hitched, thrust once, and again.
“Mmm.” Skip pressed the tip to his lips as he hummed. “Tell me you like this.”
Russell’s head rocked back, his fingers dragging through Skip’s hair. “What?”
“Tell me.” He swallowed again, the whole fat length, then slid off, twirling and teasing with his tongue. “You like it.” Because Skip liked every bit of it, the scent of sweat and musk, Russell’s oddly nervous smile, and the way his whole body trembled. Skip could suck on this cock till the cows came home.
Chuckling at his own pun, he played some more, setting an easy rhythm between his hand and his mouth. “Tell me,” he said, then swallowed deep enough to feel the head in the back of his throat. Gave a little cough, and finished the command. “You like it.”
Russell was nearly vibrating. “Oh God. Oh yes.” He thrust in earnest, banging into Skip, tearing at his hair. “I like it.”
Skip got a hand free to cover Russell’s mouth and stifle the noise, then reached for his own fly. He’d wanted to kiss Russell, sure, but this was the real McCoy. He sucked hard, his pace going from lazy to rapid to frantic, vaguely aware Russell had a fist mashed against his own lips. Good boy.
Russell went rigid and made a noise somewhere deep in his gut. He flooded Skip’s mouth with salty, bitter come, and Skip gulped it all down. In the lull that followed, Skip jerked hard on his own shaft, until the white noise of pleasure overrode anything else.
“Hey, are you okay?” Russell smoothed the curls back from Skip’s face. “Hey, Lawrence. Speak to me.”
Skip nuzzled Russell’s thigh. “Call me Lawrence again, and I just might bite it off.”
Chuckling, Russell stroked himself, tucking his dick back in his pants. “Now that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?”
Skip had to admit, it would. Later, after dropping Russell at the dorm, he had time to wonder how a man who could give himself so fully to some back-alley mambo would ever think about marrying a woman.
Chapter 8
On Tuesday, the organizers planned for the swimmers to take a ferry to Whidbey Island. According to his aunt, it would give them the chance to spread the Seafair cheer along the coast, as if the mere presence of a bunch of tourists from the Midwest would brighten people’s day.
The girls had pushed their dining tables to the side so Russell could lead their morning stretches. Midway through, the paper boy interrupted their routine, causing a race to see whose photo made the front page. Afterwards, Russell sacked out in his bunk, hoping they’d leave him alone. He wanted to spend his time reliving those moments in the alley with Skip.
When he wasn’t wallowing in shame because of it.
“Are you ready?” His aunt’s sharp voice punctured his little fantasy. “The bus leaves in ten minutes.”
He rolled over and buried his head under a pillow. “I want to skip this one, Aunt Maude.”
“You’ll have fun, son.” Although she sounded pleasant enough, she gave his doorknob a hard rattle.
The threat of her entrance worked as she intended. He struggled to sit, still tired from a restless night. Still exhausted from his internal battle. “I’ll be right there.”
The ferry Evergreen State was glossy white and smelled like damp metal and diesel exhaust. The school bus loaded with swimmers parked in the empty hull of the boat for the thirty-minute trip. The girls—and Russell—were invited to the viewing deck to admire the forested islands studding the cobalt water.
Along the perimeter of the passenger deck, chocolate-brown banquet seats were perpendicular to big windows. They sat face-to-face and back-to-back, creating spots of pretend privacy. Rows of chrome-framed bench seats ran down the center of the space, and glossy mahogany frames separated the windows. Russell found a seat apart from the girls and their ferocious giggling. There were few passengers besides their group, and the area was quiet except for the growl of the boat’s big diesel engines.
A tugboat churned along beside them, headed back toward Seattle. Russell wished he could catch a ride on it, and shut his eyes against the glare of the sun on the water. Skip’s question—did he mean to find a replacement for Susie—poked at him like a charley horse he couldn’t quite shake off.
A soft “hey” interrupted his introspection. Skip sat at the next bench, his eyes sleepy like he’d just crawled up out of bed.
Utterly flustered, Russell cleared his throat and fought down the sudden surge in his groin. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I feel a little under the weather.” Skip faked a cough into his fist.
Russell half rose, as much to shake hands as to adjust his slacks and give his cock more room.
“Ryker’s shadowing Susie, and I thought you might want a pal too,” Skip continued.
Too many emotions pummeled Russell, weighing down his gut. Anger that Susie would have the gall to wave Ryker right in his face. Embarrassment that all the girls would witness his humiliation. Frustration with Skip’s heavy-lidded smirk. Shame because of a crazy desire to grab the other man and find a secluded corner.
Back around to anger, this time directed at Skip because he was handy.
“I appreciate the thought, but...” Russell flattened his fingers on his thighs to keep from making a fist. “No.”
Skip’s grin took on more of a surprised edge. “No?”
“No.” Russell’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to elaborate, didn’t want to explain.
“So, you’re going to make me tag along like a third wheel? Because...” Skip scooted over to sit right next to Russell. “I was under the impression you enjoyed my company.”
Skip’s body heat pulled at him like a magnet. Embarrassed by a shudder of desire, Russell interlocked his fingers and raised his hands high, giving his shoulders a stretch. He needed a good long swim, something hard and fast to get his mind out of the gutter. “I think we have a misunderstanding here.” I’m a lawyer. I can reason this out.
“I guess we do, because as near as I can tell, people don’t notice what they’re not looking for. The two of us walking side by side’s not going to make anyone think we’re a couple of fruits.”
Russell swallowed down the urge to slap the smirk off Skip’s face. “That’s beside the point. I’m not the kind of man you think I am.”
“You’re lightin’ up the tilt sign now, my friend.”
“I’m what?” Don’t push your luck, Lawrence.
“I guess a college boy like you never played pinball.” Skip shifted his weight, radiating skepticism in the jerky scrape of his hand through his hair.
“Not a college boy anymore.”
“Yeah, but you got the jets, so figure it out.”
Russell wanted to say something. He opened his mouth, almost forming a word, but closed it again. Skip’s full lips distracted him, gave him ideas. Memories. They were fencing over foolishness to avoid the real issue. “I give.” He conceded their unspoken game. “What does it mean to light up the tilt sign?”
Skip leaned closer and spoke low, just audible over the rumble of the ferry’s engine. “It means you’re lying.” Then he stood, cool and nonchalant, giving nothing away.
“Lying or not, I can’t.” Daylight. Aunt Maude. Susie and Annette and all the other swimmers. Russell could come up with a whole list of arguments against palling around with Skip. People might talk.
“You were happy enough when I was down on my knees.”
“Hush.” Russell checked to make sure no one was near. “That was different.” Russell turned away so he couldn’t see Skip’s tongue teasing his lower lip.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Skip snorted a laugh. “It’s okay to pal around in the dark, in an alley, but not in the light of day.” He cracked his knuckles, one hand in the other palm. “I see.”
; “I guess I have common sense.” Russell glared at Skip until his know-it-all grin faded. He headed for the exit, but Russell glued his gaze to the row of black-and-white life preservers strapped to the wall. Anything so he wouldn’t see the breadth of Skip’s shoulders and the way his ass moved under his blue jeans. For once, having the last word didn’t feel like a victory.
***
A horn’s deep blast marked the end of their journey. Russell kept his head down till well after the bus left the ferry. The day’s agenda involved an island tour and a stop at Deception Pass. From the excited twittering coming from the back of the bus, Russell guessed Skip’s Buick was following them.
At least Aunt Maude’s bulk blocked some of the noise.
“You’re quiet today,” she said, dragging Russell into a conversation against his will.
“Mm-hmm.” Maybe if he kept his eyes on the road, she’d leave him alone. Russell assumed Susie had made up a story to explain their breakup, somehow making him the bad guy. His belly churned at the thought, thought the memory of his conversation with Skip made him feel worse.
“I’ve never liked Susie.” Aunt Maude’s hands rested on her knee, as prim as her clipped words. “I know she meant something to you, but I, for one, am glad you’ve given her the boot. You’re family, and I only want the best for you.”
Russell managed a weak “thank you” without meeting his aunt’s eyes. They drove past tiny farms, like the ones back home done in miniature, through dense forests dominated by evergreens instead of maples and aspens.
Mountains jutted up raw and craggy along the horizon, a crown of broken teeth surrounding the island. Between the rolling hills and his aunt’s placid concern, he felt hemmed in, trapped. He might envy Skip’s boldness, but that wouldn’t last long in Red Wing. Russell also remembered how the cop recognized “that pervert Skip Johansen.” Skip might talk a good game, but Russell suspected things were just as dangerous here as back home for men with certain tastes.
