Hellion

by Rhys Ford

  The drive home went by in a blur—long shadows of buildings broken up by streetlights and pedestrians. By the time he pulled into the alleyway on the side of the house, Ruan’s eyes were burning, the long hours catching up with him. The lights were on in his front room, but he’d grown used to coming home to Ivo having already been there, leaving not just the living room lamp on but also the television, tuned in on some video of birds going about their business to keep the cat entertained.

  “I’m going to crawl into….” His mind stuttered when he spotted the enormous International Scout squatting next to Cranson’s old beater, edged close to the trash bins, leaving Ruan’s spot open. “Oh, God couldn’t be so nice to me today. That’s got to be a mirage or something.”

  Other than sharing a hastily bolted-down meal of tacos while sitting in his car behind 415 Ink, he hadn’t seen Ivo in person. Their time apart had been stitched together by texts and short phone calls. Last he heard, Ivo’s car was in the shop for new brakes and he’d been driving Bear’s Scout around, thankful he hadn’t been stuck with a sparkling-champagne minivan the brothers used as a spare car whenever one of theirs died. Parking his car, Ruan glanced over at the screened-in porch while grabbing his jacket from the back seat. Cranson’s heaters were off, and the light was on in his bedroom, a sign the old sailor was making an early night of it.

  The stairs were as high and long as Everest, or at least that’s what Ruan’s legs felt like when he dragged himself up them. Opening the front door, he stepped into the warm apartment and was greeted by a purring massive cat and the sight of Ivo dumping a basket of clothes onto the couch. Startled, he tossed the basket aside and made a grab for a heavy mug sitting on the table, laughing when he realized his intruder was Ruan.

  There was something sexy about a long stretch of man in faded jeans and bare feet standing in his living room. Ivo’s waistband rode low on his hips, hanging on the juts of bone on either side of the muscular strip of skin exposed beneath the hem of his ruched T-shirt. The crackled silkscreen of SFPD stretched tight across Ivo’s sculpted chest, the shirt’s once-bright-blue fabric aged down to a soft dove gray, a brush of foil for Ivo’s deep blue eyes and golden skin. The streaks in his black hair were a pale hematite rainbow, the pink and purple hues lighter than the teal and blues. The shift in the dye gentled the harsh shadows of Ivo’s face, picking the pretty out of the handsome, accentuating the plumpness of his full mouth and framing his strong jaw.

  He was probably the prettiest man Ruan ever met, and there he stood in the middle of Ruan’s house, doing laundry. The domesticity of it would’ve been amusing if Ivo wasn’t prepared to do battle with a thick-walled coffee cup and a fierce temper. Ruan didn’t have a lot to defend or even steal, but Ivo was there, a battle-savage snarling angel with a metaphorical sword in his hand.

  “Shit, I almost fucking brained you with this.” He chuckled, hefting the mug. “You’re home. Early even. I was going to head out after I finished folding this stuff up. Figured you didn’t have time to do laundry, so I went all stalker and jumped at the chance to fold your underwear.”

  “You can fold my underwear any time you want. I can’t even think up enough words to thank you for taking care of my life while this shit’s all gone down,” Ruan muttered, slinging his jacket on the coat tree. “Hell, it’s good to see you. Come here.”

  The cat had other plans. Spot reached up and hooked his claws into Ruan’s jeans, stretching himself up to his full length and chirruping at his owner. Laughing, Ruan wrestled the cat up off the floor, slinging Spot over his shoulder and tilting his head when Ivo came in for a kiss.

  Cinnamon and horchata shouldn’t have tasted as sweet as it did on Ivo’s mouth, but Ruan was pleasantly surprised by the punch of spices he found on Ivo’s lips. He explored slowly, sipping and biting through a long butterfly flock of kisses, gently easing his way past Ivo’s soft laughter until both of them were left screaming with need. Spot grew weary of being trapped between them, his tail lashing Ruan across the face. Then his back claws dug in, trying to find enough purchase to launch himself off of Ruan’s shoulder.

  “You better let him down,” Ivo whispered against Ruan’s open mouth. “There’s tacos in the fridge for you and some Creamsicles in the freezer. Let me finish folding up your stuff and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Letting go of Ivo was much harder than letting go of the cat, but he couldn’t do one without the other. Frowning, Ruan rubbed at the scratches beneath his shirt when he followed Ivo into the kitchen. He should’ve felt like a stranger in his own house, having not been there for so long for any length of time, but the brightness of the front room and the delicate perfume of fabric softener made it feel like a home. Almost as much as the soul-searing kiss he got from Ivo at the front door.

  “The case is locked down, and I can’t think of a better reward for me catching a murderer than having you next to me in the morning. I don’t even have to get up early. We were told we could get a couple of days off after the slog we did. All that’s left to do is some minor paperwork, and a lot of that’s going to be dependent on what the lab finds,” Ruan lobbed out, his eyes on Ivo’s ass as the inker reached for a white paper bag in the fridge. “That is, if you can stay. I know we haven’t had a lot of time together, and I’d like to promise you that it’s not like this all the time. But people are assholes to each other and—”

  “And you’re there to catch the bad guys,” Ivo finished for him, putting the bag of tacos on the counter. “Actually, why don’t you go take a shower, and I’ll throw these in the oven to heat up. The lettuce might be shitty, but carnitas taste better warmed up. I can definitely stay, and if you’re up to it, you can come down with me to San Jose. That’s where I was headed when I was done here. There’s a tattoo expo tomorrow, and I was going to drive down tonight, crash at a cheap hotel, and hit it up early enough to come back so I could feed the cat.”

  Sensing one of his favorite people was talking about him, Spot warbled at Ivo from his perch on the back of the sectional, then pounced into the clump of dryer-warm clothing, spreading it across the couch. Ivo sighed, shaking his head as he unpacked the tacos.

  “That actually sounds like a really good day. I’ll even buy you breakfast,” Ruan murmured, sliding his arms around Ivo’s waist from behind. They stood there for a moment, breathing together. Then Ivo leaned his head back, resting his temple against Ruan’s cheek. “I really would love for you to stay tonight. I sleep better when you’re next to me. I wake up happier when I stretch out in the morning and you’re there. Also, it gives Spot somebody else to lie on, and you know how heavy that asshole can be.”

  “If you come with me, you’ve got to be okay with how I’m going to look,” Ivo rumbled, a soft warning in his voice. “Sometimes these things get a little bit complicated, and I like going into them as much of myself as I can get. If you’re not good with that….”

  “I’m going to be okay. And it’s going to be a good way for me to push through some of the shit that I’m carrying and get to see you in your own world,” Ruan said. There was a lot about Ivo he didn’t understand, and from what little he’d gathered up, he could still see ego was a major part of the tattoo community. He wanted to see what Ivo dealt with and how he interacted with others, artists who weren’t a part of his family or his shop. “Are there going to be a lot of other inkers there?”

  “Yeah. People go to these things to get tattoos from other artists, and it’s a good way to see everyone’s portfolios. Sometimes we go as a shop to a few of these, but there was too much going on when they were looking to get the tables together, so we tapped out of it. There’s a lot of people who are up-and-coming that I want to look at. Bear said if I saw anybody promising, to see if they want to come in,” Ivo replied, gently pulling away from Ruan. “So I’m kind of working and kind of dealing with other artists who may or may not be assholes. I also want to check out a guy who makes custom machines. There’s also new inks and other stuff, so it’s
definitely going to be a lot of walking and talking. If you’re up to that, it would be great to have you along. But it’s your day off. If I were you, I’d sleep in.”

  He didn’t miss the tentative nibble Ivo did to his lower lip as he spoke. There was a thread of nervousness there, either about going to the expo or asking Ruan to come along, but something agitated Ivo’s confidence. The signs were subtle, buried beneath his strong personality, but Ruan was beginning to spot Ivo’s tells. The tap of his fingers on the counter or the way his attention shifted up to the ceiling for a brief moment, a pause to gather his thoughts. It didn’t matter what it was. Ruan was determined to smooth things over for Ivo, just like Ivo had done for him while he busted his ass to bring down a murderer.

  “Sleeping in might sound great, but I think I’d rather spend the day with you.” Ruan brushed his lips against Ivo’s neck, the smallest caress he allowed himself, more than a little bit afraid he would end up pulling Ivo onto the couch and making love to him in the middle of the freshly washed clothes. “I’ll go take that shower, and when I come back, I want to hear about what you did today—other than my laundry—and then maybe, if I don’t fall asleep on you, we can figure out what we want to do with the rest of our night.”

  HE FELL asleep.

  He’d come home to tacos and a beautiful man and fell asleep on the couch.

  And if it hadn’t been for Ivo nudging him awake to move to the bedroom, he’d have woken up aching and sore from spending hours twisted up on the couch like a broken doll some kid left in the middle of a sodden yard.

  At some point Ivo had gone to shower, changing out of his clothes and into the tank top and sleep pants. It was funny how the scent of his soap on Ivo’s skin aroused him. It was silly and primitive, but Ruan liked it. He liked seeing Ivo in his clothes. He liked seeing Ivo with his cat and on his couch. He enjoyed knowing how Ivo took his coffee and loved the appreciative purr Ivo made when he took his first sip, giving Ruan a sweet smile over the rim of his mug.

  He wanted to dig his fingers into Ivo’s streaked hair and pulled his head back so he could explore every inch of Ivo’s elegant neck. He wanted to kiss the tattoos on Ivo’s skin, take the time to explore the artwork, and discover where Ivo was ticklish. Their night together had been one of comfort, more of a sensual rub of their souls than sexual gratification, but Ruan definitely itched and ached for the man leaning over him.

  The sound he made at Ivo was meant to be sexy, but it came out sounding more like he’d strangled an alligator—a growling squeak caught tight in his throat, unable to break free past his numb tongue and fuzzy brain. Ivo’s scowl was adorable, and Ruan grinned up at him as he tugged at the drawstring of Ivo’s pants.

  There was definitely no underwear under the cotton, the fabric faithfully clinging to the muscles of Ivo’s taut thighs and curving around the length of his cock resting against his left leg. There was a lot of power in those limbs. Impossibly long and immeasurably graceful, they seemed to carry on forever, and Ruan desperately wanted to feel them clenched around his waist or resting on his shoulders.

  “Come on, quit grumbling at me.” Ivo’s hands were surprisingly strong, or his arms were. Ruan wasn’t quite awake enough to process anything other than to be oddly aroused by Ivo’s biceps tensed into hard curves as he leaned over Ruan to lift him up off the couch. “You’re going to be really sorry in the morning if I just leave you here.”

  “I’m really sorry now,” he mumbled, sitting up slowly. “I can’t believe I fell asleep on you. Did I at least eat the tacos?”

  “Three of them. Spot helped you polish off the one you bit into and left on the plate. He’s generous that way.” Ruan let his body go slack, purposely making it difficult for Ivo to move him. Narrowed midnight-blue eyes told Ruan exactly what Ivo thought of that plan. “You’re awake enough to walk to the bedroom. So, you either get up, or I’m leaving you here. And I’m taking the cat.”

  “You say that like it’s a threat,” he teased, sitting up and swinging his legs to the floor. Ivo moved out of the way, stepping around the coffee table to give Ruan room. “I know what a bed hog he is. And he farts. Actually, he’s been a lot more gassy since you’ve been feeding him. What have you been giving him for dinner?”

  “Chopped up, braised detective bits with sardine gravy,” Ivo drawled, turning off the main room’s lights. There was a lamp on in the bedroom, its soft glow reaching out through the shadows of the hallway. “Come on. Get up so you can go to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a lot of walking and dodging assholes. You’re going to need your strength. Catching killers is amateur hour compared to pissed-off artists with chips on their shoulders.”

  Eighteen

  THERE’D BEEN many nights when Ivo was awake at three o’clock in the morning. The reasons for that were many. Sometimes it was the hour he rolled in after a night of partying, back in the days when he wasn’t responsible for a tattoo shop and its employees. Other times it was the shock of an image so vivid it shook the sleep from his brain, his thoughts racing to capture its form before it slithered away, tucking itself back into the dreams or nightmares that brought it forward. There’d even been a few times when his nephew, Chris, called out for something, mostly to reassure himself his uncles were around but sometimes to con a scoop of ice cream out of Bear or Ivo, requesting the treat to calm his nerves.

  This time it was Ruan’s weight leaving the bed, then the click of the bathroom switch being turned on, a line of light shining out from under the door.

  He shouldn’t have been unsettled by the empty space beside him. He’d slept alone for years, rarely sharing a bed, and even then, Ivo was usually out the door before the sun really broke through and delivered the day. It was stupid how different it was with Ruan—the comfortable snug of their bodies fitting together and the softness of the covers wrapped around their legs, giving the cat a hammock to sleep in. Propping himself up on one elbow, Ivo waited for Ruan to come back out, letting his eyes adjust to the cobalt-and-gold tint of the darkened room.

  It said something about a bare-chested, rugged man who considerately turned off the light before opening the bathroom door adjacent to a bedroom. Of course, Ivo could say a lot about Ruan, most of it good. But for all the talking they’d done, Ivo needed more. And at three in the morning, it seemed like the perfect time to ask for it.

  Ruan’s torso was hard, chunky with muscle and broad across his shoulders. He was built for stamina and fighting, his hips narrow and his arms long for a good reach, pushing his large hand into a powerful right hook. There wasn’t any question he was a scrapper. Enough light came through the hastily pulled curtains from the street outside to see a lifetime of living hard and fighting, a faint roadmap of scars and blemishes curling around a street-tough cop.

  Spears of thin yellow light grabbed at Ruan’s face, sculpting gold beneath his lower lip, then across his cheekbone and eyes when he walked past the partially open curtains. The faint scruff of beard on his jaw made him look more like a pirate or smuggler than a cop—a delectable kiss of bad boy on top of his strong features. His smile was gentle, apologetic, and totally at odds with the wickedness of his face.

  “Damn, I didn’t want to wake you.” Ruan’s rasp tickled the depths of Ivo’s belly, stroking at the velvety need he’d nursed for the detective from the moment he first spotted him. “It’s way too early.”

  “Or late,” Ivo murmured, shivering at the brisk air Ruan let in under the covers as he crawled back into bed. “Crap, it got cold.”

  “Yeah, I turned up the heater.” Flicking out the comforter so it lay over both of them, Ruan yawned. “Spot climbing under the covers woke me up. He doesn’t like the cold. Or my bladder either, because the bastard dug down with his back legs until I had to pee.”

  Ruan’s arousal nudged Ivo’s thigh, a solid insistent push of flesh and heat against the curve of his crotch. His own cock thickened at the touch, responding to Ruan’s nearness and the tension they’d stoked up between them over the
past few weeks. It was odd to hurt with want. It was not anything Ivo ever experienced before, and despite it being three in the morning, he wanted to crawl over Ruan’s hard body and drink down every bit of the man’s heat.

  “I’m not asking you this because it’s a landmine,” Ivo said, hopefully reassuringly, but Ruan narrowed his eyes anyway. “Don’t give me that look. I just need to ask you something.”

  “Is this something going to change what we’ve got between us?” Ruan responded, shuffling upward so his shoulders were on a pillow, his back against the mattress. “Because I’ve been thinking about things. About us.”

  “My question was where do you see this going? But it sounds like you’ve already got a path down.” Lying on his side, Ivo studied Ruan’s face, happy to see it stripped of the mask he wore as a cop. There was a lot of emotion in his eyes, his mouth quirked up into a wry smile. The heater kicked on, blasting them with a wave of hot air, and Ivo tugged the comforter down, exposing Ruan’s chest. The dark coins of his nipples were taut, rigid points, prickled from the cold or probably from the scratch of Ivo’s nails over their surface. “Talk to me.”

  “You keep doing that and I’m going to stop talking and start doing,” he warned. “Where do I see this going? The truth is you slipped into my life, which is kind of silly, because you’re probably the loudest personality I know. So the idea of you subtly working into my heart and mind is kind of funny, but tonight when I saw you here in the house, my first thought was that I’d come home.”

  “Well, you live here,” Ivo teased. “You’ve even got a saber-tooth tiger guarding the place. I mean, he’s a shitty guard, but he’s here, ready to take any chicken or fish a robber might show up with.”

  “Funny. Not wrong but funny,” Ruan said with a smirk. His eyes went smoky as Ivo made another pass across his chest. “I dump my stuff here and I stop downstairs to talk to Cranson, but it’s always felt like someplace I was dropping by more than anything else. And I know it hasn’t been long that we’ve been doing this thing we’re doing, but you’ve become a part of my world. I go to work and I’m wading through other people’s shit, but I know you’re out there, carrying a part of me with you, and that makes me feel good. I know I’ve got things I have to work through—”