Michael, Reinvented

by Diana Copland

  “Yeah, but not like this. He really did the full-court press, you know? And Manny, who never did understand why guys wouldn’t just approach him and say hi, was charmed by him. They moved in together within days of that night.”

  “So, had Wilkerson been telling the truth? About the job and the money?”

  “Oh yeah. That was all true. He was a white-collar guy who worked for a brokerage firm, income into high six figures. There was an over-the-top honeymoon period where he bought Manny lots of stuff and moved him into his big house. Then he started to chip away at his self-esteem.”

  “Chip away how?”

  “He made him feel bad that he was a plumber, said it was beneath him and he was too smart to be dealing, literally, with other people’s crap. Manny is hands down the best plumbing guy I’ve ever met, has amazing instincts about what might be wrong in pipes and how to fix it. I mean, so often Jackson has teased him about being the ‘pipe whisperer.’ But that wasn’t good enough for Wilkerson. He wanted Manny to go back to school, get a degree, be his ‘equal.’”

  Michael pursed his lips, thinking of his own hard-earned degree. His parents had paid for it, but he was the one who’d made the dean’s list four years in a row. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Not at all. It just showed how little he bothered to get to know about Manny.”

  “How so?”

  Gil reached for his beer, even though it had to be warm, and took a drink. He grimaced, then looked at Michael over the lip of the bottle. “This is between you and me, right?”

  Michael nodded, he hoped reassuringly. “Of course.”

  “Okay. Manny doesn’t like for a lot of people to know this, but he’s dyslexic. So school was kind of a nightmare for him. Plus, he likes what he does, and he didn’t want to go back to school. The more Manny said no, the more Wilkerson pushed back. Jackson and I were trying to get him to dump the jerk. Then all of a sudden, Manny just stops hanging out with us or talking to us. The only one he stayed in touch with was Vernon.”

  “Huh.” Michael thought of the grumpy old man. That was a surprise. “I would have thought maybe Jackson.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Jackson and Manny are good friends. But once things started to get weird at home, it was Vern Manny turned to. And Vern kept trying to tell the rest of us something was off, that we needed to intervene. We tried for a long time, tried to call him just to talk or see if he wanted to hang out, but there was always some excuse. He was tired, he and George had plans. It just got to the point where there’s only so much you can do, you know?” Gil sighed, and it sounded like it had the weight of the world behind it. “Well, that’s what I thought then. I’m going to tell you something, Michael; if you have a good friend who suddenly starts acting weird, who makes excuses not to hang out, or whose lover seems weirdly possessive, don’t ignore it. Jackson and I will never forgive ourselves for not staying closer, doing more.”

  Michael stared unseeing at the glass on the top of the coffee table. Even though he had tried to tell him what a loser the guy was, David’s ex had done such a mind fuck on him he was still recovering. Michael felt guilty every time David got that haunted look on his face.

  “Yeah.”

  “And Vern….” Gil rubbed one of his big hands over his face. “Vernon was convinced everything that happened to Manny was his fault because he hadn’t checked in on him more.”

  Michael had read the clinical description of the crime against Manny in the newspaper, but there had to be more to the story than what they’d reported. “Does Manny know what set Wilkerson off that night?”

  Gil sighed. “Honestly? The dry cleaning.”

  Michael frowned. “What? Seriously?”

  “Dead serious. He was pissed off because Manny hadn’t picked up his shirts at the dry cleaners. He ragged on him and ragged on him, and finally Manny had just had it and told him to pick up his own fucking dry cleaning. The son of a bitch responded by taking a ball bat to his head.”

  “God.” Michael’s heart ached when he saw Gil’s eyes fill with tears.

  “Somehow the police found the info in Manny’s wallet and called Vernon as he was being loaded into the ambulance. I picked up Jackson and we raced to the ER. There were cops fucking everywhere, and at first we couldn’t find Vern. When we did, he was—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “That old man has a heart of gold, and it was broken. Once we saw Manny, we understood why. I couldn’t believe anyone hurt that bad could still be alive. There wasn’t a spot on him that wasn’t bruised or broken. And his face….” Gil shook his head. “Let’s just say his plastic surgeon is a fucking genius.”

  “I’m sorry,” Michael said, because he was. “I never should have asked.”

  Gil rubbed his hand over his head. “No, if you’re going to be a part of us, you need to know.”

  The inclusion warmed Michael. He hadn’t been included in many groups of friends.

  “It’s why we live in each other’s pockets, why we’re so tight now. The paper can tell you about the numbers of surgeries and broken bones, but it can’t tell you about Manny’s uncle trying to get his mom and dad to come to the hospital, and them saying no because his ‘sinful lifestyle’ was why he was there. Like he deserved it. I was there when Vern first saw Manny, and there wasn’t an inch of unbroken skin on his face. I held the old man while he cried, and it damn near broke my heart. Vern spent almost every night in the ICU with Manny, spending every day with him from ten in the morning until they threw him out at eight at night. Then he’d get up and do it all over again. Jackson and I started staying on weekends so Vern would go home and sleep. He wouldn’t take any jobs with me; he said his job was to be there for Manny, because his uncle had to work. So Jackson and I took extra jobs so we could keep both Manny and Vernon afloat. It was touch and go whether Manny would even make it for the first week. Once we knew he wasn’t going to die and he didn’t have any permanent brain damage, we figured out what to do to help him.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Michael whispered, meaning it. “That’s… it’s awful. I can’t even imagine.”

  “It was hell.” A shadow passed over Gil’s handsome face. “Then we get him healed and back upright, which took six months of intensive physical therapy, and the trial starts. That was actually the worst thing, that fucking trial.”

  “How? Wasn’t Wilkerson convicted?”

  “Oh yeah. After another six months where his defense attorney tried to make the case that Manny basically asked for it, that he liked to play rough and Wilkerson just got a little carried away.”

  Outrage filled Michael. “A little carried away? Are you fucking kidding me? All of those broken bones and six months of therapy, and he got a little carried away?”

  Gil gave him a wry smile. “Easy, tiger. I’m on your side, remember?”

  Michael was still fuming. “It’s bullshit.”

  “You’re right; it is bullshit. And it took its toll on Manny. I’m not sure it will ever be over for him. But he is finally getting better.”

  “I’m glad. He deserves to be happy.”

  “He does.” Gil studied Michael for several seconds, assessing him. “And aren’t you a surprise.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You, talking about Manny deserving to be happy. You aren’t nearly the hardass you want people to think you are, are you?”

  Michael looked away. “Oh, shut up. I like Manny.”

  Gil chuckled. “I do too.”

  Silence settled between them, but tonight it wasn’t awkward. Gil rested his head against the back of the couch, lifting his big hands to rub over his head before turning to look at Michael. He gave him a faint smile.

  Michael took in the lines around Gil’s mouth, the weariness in his eyes. He looked exhausted, and Michael sat forward, preparing to stand.

  “You need to get some rest.”

  Gil shrugged. “I’m okay. It’s not even nine o’clock. We can watch a movie or something.”

/>   “What time do you usually go to sleep?”

  “Depends.”

  Michael gave him a flinty look. “Don’t be stupid. You were up half the night, then got up again at five. The guys will be back at seven. You don’t need to entertain me.” Michael pushed to his feet. “And tonight you’re sleeping in the bed.”

  Gil frowned. “No, I’m not.”

  “Gilbert, don’t fight with me. We could both use a few hours of sleep, and you have to admit I fit on the sofa better than you do.”

  “You planning to be my mom now, Michael?” Gil’s tone was dry as dust.

  “Oh, fuck you, asshole.” Michael reached out his hand. “Come on.”

  One of Gil’s brows arched. “You’re going to pull me up?”

  “You don’t think I can?” Michael gestured again in irritation. “Give me your damned hand.”

  Gil looked amused but took Michael’s hand. His skin was warm, his grip firm; the shock on his face was worth the strained muscle across Michael’s shoulders when he yanked Gil to his feet. They ended up standing chest to chest, hands linked, and Michael looked up into Gil’s widened eyes.

  “I’ll be goddamned,” Gil murmured, looking into Michael’s upturned face. He lifted his free hand, hesitating just a moment as if giving Michael a chance to pull away, then cupped his cheek. He stroked his thumb across Michael’s cheekbone. “Aren’t you just full of surprises?”

  Michael’s heart slammed into his ribs. “What are you doing?” He wanted to sound stern; at the very least he didn’t want to sound so out of breath. But he was breathless. They stared at one another, Gil’s thumb moving from his cheekbone to the bridge of his nose. The touch made Michael shiver, and he tried to hide the visceral reaction.

  “You have freckles, right here.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do.” Gil’s full lips pulled up in a small smile. “When I was a kid, my mom called freckles on my nose ‘angel kisses.’ Is that what you have here, Michael Crane? Angel kisses?”

  Michael blinked, taken off guard by the gentleness of Gil’s touch and tone. “I doubt an angel would bother.”

  “Oh, I think you sell yourself short.” Gil’s fingers shifted to Michael’s jaw, and he tipped his face up. “If I was an angel, I’d be more than happy to kiss your nose. I’d be happy to kiss you lots of places.”

  Michael swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The months of teasing and wanting and fighting crumbled around him and only the wanting was left. “Lucky for me you aren’t an angel, then, isn’t it?”

  “Hmm.” Gil bent his head, his eyes dropping to Michael’s mouth. “Sure about that?”

  A dozen smartass answers competed in Michael’s head, but he surprised himself by being honest instead. “I’m not sure of much of anything right now.”

  Gil nuzzled the side of his face with a stubble-covered jaw, and Michael caught his breath. “Be sure of this; when I say I want you, I’m not messing with you. And I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  “You can’t promise that.”

  “Watch me.”

  They’d shared a couple of casual kisses, usually when Michael had been drinking and his resistance was low, and once or twice as hello or good-bye when the cocktails made him feel loose and flirty. This was different. There was nothing casual about the hand that slipped around Michael’s waist, pulling him in. And once Gil’s mouth settled onto his, there was nothing casual about the kiss either.

  Michael’s heart took up a rapid drumming against his sternum. He had plenty of opportunity to pull away, but he didn’t. Instead he gripped the soft cotton covering Gil’s wide shoulders, his fingers curling in the fabric, and when Gil slid his tongue along the seam of Michael’s lips, he opened to him with a soft, welcoming sound.

  Michael loved being surrounded by Gil’s size, and the feel of the hard body under the cotton shirt was going to prove addictive. He ran his hands over the mounds of muscle on Gil’s chest and made a soft sound, curling his tongue around Gil’s. When Gil had held him in his arms the night before, it felt like coming home to a place he’d never been but had always craved. Tonight, he knew going in this was a dangerous, dangerous thing to do. Dangerous to his peace of mind, to his resolve. In fact, he felt his usually steadfast willpower taking a hit with every swipe of Gil’s tongue over his.

  When Gil pulled back, Michael made a sound of protest he’d have found embarrassing if he hadn’t been so far gone. He was so hard he ached, pressing against the inside of his snug jeans. Gil leaned his forehead down against Michael’s, his eyes closed and his full lips slightly parted as he took several deep breaths.

  “Michael,” he said finally. “I have to stop now.”

  “Why?” Michael asked, stretching up to nuzzle the flesh under Gil’s chin. Gil grunted softly.

  “Don’t.”

  “Why?” Michael rubbed his hands over Gil’s chest, marveling again at the size of him, the shape of him. He was like a giant, muscled playground. His nipples were hard and pressed against the fabric, and Michael fingered them softly. When Gil grunted, Michael did it again.

  Gil caught his hands and held them in front of his chest. “I’m already at the point where I don’t want to stop, okay?”

  “So am I,” Michael murmured.

  “You’ve been pushing me away for months. I don’t—”

  Michael pressed his lips over Gil’s, stopping the words. He lingered, sliding his tongue along Gil’s lower teeth before pulling back.

  “Isn’t it enough that I’m not pushing you away now?” He grabbed Gil’s T-shirt, rucking it up, leaning forward to place his lips over one small, copper-toned nipple. He flicked the center with his tongue, then nipped it with his teeth, and Gil arched his back with a soft hiss. “Like that, do you?” Michael moved to the other side and suckled hard on the erect nub. Gil’s hand lifted, fingers spearing through Michael’s dark hair. One of Michael’s roaming hands slid down, and he found the thick ridge of Gil’s cock caught between the worn denim and his sturdy thigh. He felt the girth and weight, and he squeezed.

  “Goddammit, Michael.” Gil’s hands lifted to grip Michael’s head between his palms. He forced his face up until their eyes met. “What are you doing?”

  Michael slid his palms over the smooth skin on Gil’s sides and back. “Wanting you, Gilbert.” He nuzzled his face into Gil’s palm. “Isn’t that enough?”

  Gil sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah.” He sighed. “If it’s what you’re willing to give, it’s enough.”

  Then they were kissing again, Michael with an intensity that battled with the tenderness Gil was trying to show. Finally Michael grabbed his shoulders and simply jumped up, wrapping his long legs around Gil’s hips and his arms around his thick neck. Gil grunted, curling his fingers into the back of Michael’s thighs. “The things I want to do to you, little man.”

  Michael shuddered, his lips on the lobe of Gil’s right ear. “I’m not that little,” he hissed as Gil carried him through the dining room and down the hall to the bedroom.

  He dropped Michael onto the high bed, pulled him to the edge, and whipped Michael’s shirt off over his head.

  “No.” Gil studied him with admiration, “you’re not that little. You’re perfect.”

  Feeling scorched everywhere Gil’s gaze touched, Michael knelt, precariously balanced on the soft bed as he pulled Gil’s shirt up and off. Michael knew his lean body was nothing compared to Gil’s. The man had caps of muscle on his shoulders, wide, full pecs, and a striated stomach with more than six “packs.” Michael didn’t look like that; he was pale and slender. He had pecs he’d worked on, but no matter how many sit-ups he did, his stomach was flat, with no bulging muscles, and his legs were long and whipcord lean. Michael thought his body looked better in clothes than out of them, but none of his insecurities seemed to bother Gil. He reached for the fly on Michael’s jeans, popped them open, and pushed them over his hips. Michael lay back and shimmied to help the snug fabric along, then kicked them off over h
is feet. Gil paused when Michael straightened, his gaze avid as he ran his palms over the soft hair covering Michael’s thighs. Michael shuddered, painfully aware of the erection pressing insistently against the front of his gray briefs.

  Gil made a pleased sound in his throat, running the back of his fingers up Michael’s length. When he turned his big hand and gripped him, Michael pressed forward into the engulfing heat. Gil moved his fingers up and down experimentally, and Michael grabbed on to his shoulders to steady himself. The sensation of Gil stroking his dick made his knees weak. After several minutes of the almost tortuous sensation, Michael pulled away to lie down on the bed, and pushed off his briefs. His cock curved up toward his belly, and he grabbed it hard around the base, holding back what was rapidly becoming an embarrassingly quick orgasm. The look on Gil’s face as he stared down at him wasn’t helping matters any.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he said almost reverently as he stared at Michael.

  “Do you plan to join me?” Michael held out his hand. “Come on, Gilbert.”

  Gil grinned, shoving down his pants and briefs, his long cock flopping out, full and thick between large, strong thighs.

  Michael whistled softly. “Wow. That’s… proportional.”

  Gil climbed onto the bed, lifting one thick leg to straddle Michael’s hips, bracing himself on his hands and knees over his body. His cock brushed Michael’s thigh, a warm weight. “Thanks.” Gil gave him a wry grin. “I think.”

  “Oh, it’s a compliment. No one ever told you that before?”

  “Not that I can recall.” Gil leaned down, still holding his weight on his hands and knees, and kissed Michael gently.

  Michael looped his arms around Gil’s neck. “Come here,” he whispered. “Lie on me.”

  “I’m too big.”

  “Gilbert, shut up and lie on me.”

  Michael lifted his head and caught Gil’s lower lip between his teeth, biting gently. Gil grunted, following him when Michael pulled, gingerly lowering his body.

  He was big, there was no mistaking that. Big and heavy. But all the strength and size, covering him, was also warm, pressing him into the softness of the duvet. And safe. Michael sighed, feeling safer than he’d been in his life.