by Rhys Ford
“I leave them there all the time,” he informed the dog. “That’s how I know where to find them again.”
Living with other people was sometimes difficult, especially when those other people had been raised to be much more civilized than he was. There were all kinds of household rules everyone seemed to know but him, and while he’d picked a few up living with Damien over the years, it apparently hadn’t been enough. Laundry was easy enough to do, but Miki pretty much had two baskets, one for dirty clothes and one for clean. The closet was a place to hang leather jackets and guitar straps, and the dresser the interior designer put in the master suite never made it downstairs to the room he’d claimed as his bedroom following the accident.
Kane changed all of that. He and his brothers spent one Saturday morning rearranging furniture, only to stand there dumbfounded when Miki asked if anyone told him to do so. The brothers snuck out so he and Kane could have a glorious high-volume fight about boundaries, space, and change.
The sex afterward had been great, and Kane took another step closer to understanding Miki’s need to control his own space. Although, he did admit, the bedroom did look a hell of a lot better, and it now had enough storage and bookshelves to fit all of their crap.
He still had a hard time remembering to fold his clothes and put them way away, but Kane agreed, so long as it worked for Miki, he wasn’t going to insist on a traditional dresser. Not like Miki did anything traditionally anyway.
“Where’s your other guy?” Miki asked Dude. “Is he off with one of his brothers or—”
There was what looked like a large blue-and-orange plastic machine gun sitting on the couch with a note taped to it. Two round canisters much like the one at the front of the gun sat next to it, as well as a pair of clear protective glasses like the ones he’d seen Kane use in his woodworking shop. Frowning, Miki picked up the note and read it, then looked down at his dog.
“So let me get this straight, he wants me to play a game of Nerf darts? To actually hunt him down through the house and shoot at him with these things?” Miki picked up the plastic toy, surprised at its heft. It seemed simple enough to operate, and the note told him to leave the canisters there, as backup ammunition for when they’d run out of their first one. “Okay, so not only am I to shoot him with these, if I run out of darts, I’m supposed to make it back here and reload?
“The guy shoots guns for a living,” he explained to the dog. “Yeah, to be fair, we do play Rock Band at the parents’ house, but it’s not like those are actual guitars. You’re just tapping buttons. Asshole wants me to call him when I’m ready. This is crazy.”
Kane picked up on the first ring.
“You ready to do this, Sinjun?” he barked through the phone, and Miki laughed. “You find this funny? You’re going to go down.”
“Probably,” Miki agreed. “Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
“It’s pretty easy,” Kane rumbled through the line. “What you have there is a Nerf N-Strike Elite HyperFire Blaster. Canister just pulls out, and the other one snaps back in. It’s just like a camera. Point and shoot.”
“Okay. You’re crazy, but okay.” He was about to hang up, then said, “Dude’s not going to eat these things, right?”
“No,” he replied gently. “There is another kind that shoots little balls, but I figured he would probably think those were his. The darts are pretty big, and he didn’t seem interested in them, even after I shot one across the room. So I’ve got his back on this. Just don’t trip over the dog when you’re running for your life.”
With that, Kane hung up.
“I don’t see why we’re doing this, but I guess it’s some weird suburban thing,” Miki informed the dog. “Okay, puppy. Let’s go get my ass handed to me.”
HE FOUND Kane in the garage, hunkered down behind the Hummer. A volley of darts went off between them, and a few found their mark. Dude joined the fray with a few barks, then gleefully danced out of the way as Kane ran past him. Miki gave chase as best he could, scoring a direct hit between Kane’s shoulder blades, then skidded to a stop when Kane mounted the stairs leading to the second floor.
Kane paused on the landing, glancing down at a disgusted Miki. Twisting his face into a rueful grimace, he said, “Stairs should be off limits. Your knee. There’s no way you’re going to take these at a dead run.”
“Not if I want to be able to walk in a couple of hours,” he shot back, tilting his face up to meet Kane’s apologetic gaze. “And I’d be a sitting duck trying to get up them. I mean, the physical therapy’s been great but….”
“Okay, then I’ll take the penalty and give you a two-minute head start to hole up somewhere. Is that good?”
“I’ll take the two-minute head start, and you pick up the darts we shot and reload my canister. After that, that’s when my two minutes begin,” Miki negotiated. “And if you want to reload after that without using the other canister, that’s your time.”
“You sure you haven’t played this before?” Kane remarked sarcastically, coming down the stairs. “Because that sounds like somebody who knows what they’re asking.”
“I’ve played more than enough games of quarters and poker while on the road. Haggling terms is like breathing.” He handed Kane his weapon. “The sooner you start reloading, the sooner my two minutes start.”
AN HOUR and a half later they were both lying on the couch, exhausted and panting. Dude was chewing on a beef bone he’d been given as a treat, gnawing on it after he drank about a gallon of water from running around with Miki. A couple of bottles of unsweetened iced tea sat on the coffee table, but Miki was too tired to grab his. Instead, he scooted up to the L-corner of the sectional and laid his head on Kane’s shoulder.
They were both damp with sweat, and Miki could only taste salt on his lips when he dabbed at them to ease their dryness. His legs hurt a little bit, his thighs burning as if he’d just done a three-hour show, but his knee seemed to be holding up, despite the slight throb in it. He was bone-dead worn out, but the middle of his soul felt happy beyond belief. It was as if he’d swallowed a star or held all of Kane’s kisses in his chest. Content, Miki sighed and let out a short laugh.
“Where did you keep getting the darts from?” Kane grumbled. “You never seemed to run out of ammunition.”
“I carried the empty canister with me and reloaded whenever I found one on the ground. Then I would switch them out.” Miki laughed at Kane’s disgusted hiss. “What did you do? Leave the canister on the couch and keep coming back for it?”
“That’s exactly what I did. The canisters are supposed to stay on the couch. Or at least near it.”
“That wasn’t something you set down in the rules. And you know me, if you don’t tell me the rules, I’m in a do what I want mood.”
“Yeah, I should understand that about you by now,” Kane murmured, then bent down to kiss the top of Miki’s head. “You doing okay? Is your leg bugging you?”
“No, I’m good.” He sniffed at his arm. “I need to shower, but I’m good. I just want to lie here for a little bit.”
“I’m good with that too.”
He tilted his chin, staring up at Kane’s face. “What made you think about doing this? It was so not on my radar.”
“Well, funny thing about it is, a ghra,” Kane replied, “Kel and I were going to question someone about a case, and we came across some kids playing with Nerf guns in the street. He and I got to talking about shit we used to do as kids; then it dawned on me you probably never played. Not like we did. So I just wanted to give you that. I wanted you to have fun. Just pure, simple fun.
“I’ve never heard you laugh like you laughed today, and listening to you was like I was bathing in a sea of stars. I didn’t even mind that you kicked my ass.” He chuckled at Miki’s scoffing snort. “It’s true. Totally handed me my butt, babe. But I wouldn’t mind losing a million Nerf battles if it means I can hear you laugh like you did today.”
“It was the bes
t.” Kane’s arm came down, draping across Miki’s side, and despite their sweaty dampness, Miki felt happy. An odd, effervescent but worn-out happy. “It was one of the best presents you’ve ever given me. Thanks. That was cool, and I’m probably going to fucking hurt in a couple hours, but I really had a good time.”
“Today’s the day Dude stole a sandwich from my shop. He would come into my place every day and fuck with me, until weeks later he went too far and I followed him home,” Kane whispered. “I figured it’s an anniversary of sorts for us. Kind of the start of you and me. So I wanted to give you something special, just because I hoped it would make you laugh. And God knows I love hearing you laugh.”
“I love hearing you laugh too.” Miki snuggled back, adoring the feel of strength in Kane’s hard body. “Actually, I just love all of you.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, a ghra, because I’m going to have to ask you to get up so we can go take a shower,” Kane said, tightening his arm around Miki’s chest into a quick, intense hug. “Because the Nerf guns weren’t the only present I got for you today. I might have bought a building with a certain fire escape attached to it, and I thought you might want to go see it tonight before we have dinner someplace.”
Miki pulled free of the hug, sitting up so he could rest back on his haunches, facing Kane. Cupping his cop’s face, he stared into Kane’s stormy blue eyes and said, “You take my breath away. And I can’t believe you bought a fucking building for me, but dude, all I want to do is stand under the water with you, then spend the rest of my night making you scream my name. K, I love you. I mean, man, I am stupid in love with you, but we can go see the building tomorrow. Right now, my life is going to be all about you.”
On The Balcony with Harley
“DO YOU think the reason most cats don’t like water is because they lick themselves clean, and when they’re in the water and have to lick all that off they get fur on their tongue?” Quinn set the hammock into a gentle sway with a push of his toes. “It’s kind of like eating the last of the cereal by cutting open the box and the plastic bag so you can pour the milk in it and you don’t have to do any dishes.”
Harley didn’t answer him.
San Francisco stretched out around him, a breathtaking panoramic view spreading out behind the penthouse balcony’s eight-foot-tall clear barriers. He’d initially been fearful of having Harley out there with him, until Rafe pointed out not only did the cat not jump more than to the top of a bed or a couch, the floors below actually had a larger footprint than the penthouse, so there was considerable buffer room in case something went over.
Quinn listened to Rafe’s logic, absorbing everything the bassist told him, then nodded when Rafe studied Quinn’s face and made a call to a contractor to install ten-inch angled-in clear panels on top of the already existing barriers.
An enormous freestanding hammock and frame found its way onto the balcony, positioned carefully under the protective overhang, and Quinn had taken to spending the afternoons there, grading papers or reading a book, while Harley—who’d never shown the slightest bit of interest in inspecting the balcony’s edge—lazed next to him, curled up in a hollow near his hip.
The threat of rain hung on the horizon in a tapestry of dark gray clouds creeping toward the city, and the scent of water clung to the breeze. It was getting slightly chilly, but Quinn was too lazy to turn on the balcony’s heaters or go inside and get a blanket.
“You’re comfortable, right?” he asked the cat, adjusting her sweater so it covered her rounded stomach. Harley stretched, elongating her legs out to a nearly impossible length; then she curled in on herself, rolling over onto her back in a silent demand for a belly rub.
The sweater was his youngest sister’s first serious attempt at knitting. Or at least he thought it was knitting. It could’ve been crochet, but Quinn was unsure about the difference and knew if he began to investigate it, he would end up somewhere in Mongolia studying yak yarn weaving. Ryan chose a velvety soft yarn, but the colors were nearly blinding. He’d accepted it with a wide smile and gave her a very large hug, sincerely grateful for her thoughtfulness and silently glad his cat could only see a limited spectrum.
Harley meowed crossly at him, so Quinn stopped fidgeting with her sweater and ran his fingernails across her mostly naked belly.
“Where’s my girl?” Rafe called out from the apartment. Quinn twisted about, much to Harley’s disgust, and lifted his face up for Rafe to kiss. The touch of their lips was brief but enough for Quinn to get a taste of Rafe’s mouth. “Is that reader of yours loaded with stacks of depressing papers on historical events no one actually read about, or are you living it up and reading something for fun?”
Rafe tasted of bitter coffee, sugar, and strong mints. There was a whiff of cigarette smoke on his clothes, the acrid sting catching on the back of Quinn’s throat when he inhaled. He held still while Rafe eased himself into the broad canvas hammock, carefully arranging Harley between them once Rafe leaned back. The cat traitorously refused to stay between them, opting instead to crawl over onto Rafe’s chest where she could shove her head under his chin.
Quinn waited for Rafe to share his day.
His lover’s eyes were hooded, a little tender, and more than a little broken. There was a bit of dirt under his nails, and Harley took offense at its too natural smell, chewing on Rafe’s fingers when he tried to scratch her head. There was a weight on Rafe, a very familiar one. He’d dragged a demon around for most the day, or at least that’s what Quinn thought. The feel of him was steady, slightly worn out and exhausted from working. Beneath the cigarette smoke was a hint of sweat and the faded aroma of sunshine.
He was patient. Either Rafe would need to talk or it would sit there beside him until it went away of its own accord. Either way, Quinn could wait it out.
Rafe’s exorcism began five minutes later.
“I saw one of my buddies today. Down at The Sound. I don’t know if you remember him. Brad Sutter. He used to play rhythm guitar for… shit, a whole bunch of bands.” Rafe played with the collar of Harley’s sweater, worrying at the yarn with his fingertips. “He’s doing nickel and dime work in the studio now.”
Quinn still waited. A long time ago he learned conversations really were a stream of send-and-receive. In most cases, the person sending needed long gaps of quiet to gather their thoughts. Rafe was one of those people. He could ramble and babble and laugh while talking about everything under the sun or nothing at all, but when it came time for him to share, Rafe needed gaps in the noise, because his thoughts and emotions were as difficult to herd as drunken cats.
He didn’t need Rafe to tell him about his relationship with Brad Sutter. He didn’t recognize the name, but many of Rafe’s alleged friends from those days were people he couldn’t be around anymore. In a lot of ways, Quinn hurt for his lover. Having to erase others from your life was always difficult, especially when your memories of them were hazy and numb so you’re left wondering if you’d been closer than you remembered.
Or at least that’s what Quinn thought.
“Brad used to be really good,” Rafe started, his gaze drifting off toward the horizon and the incoming storm. “I heard him play today, and all I could think was that could be me fumbling through chords and losing my place in the music. He showed up for the gig stoned out of his mind, and the kids who’d hired him… they deserved a hell of a lot better than what he brought to the table.
“When he saw me come into The Sound, first thing he said was: ‘Oh, take a look at Mister Rock Star over here! Slumming with the rest of us.’” Rafe bit at his lower lip, his nostrils flaring. “I was never like that. I never once rubbed someone’s nose into shit. Fuck, I went as high up as I could and fell down just as hard. I know how shitty it feels. I wouldn’t do that to a guy.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Quinn slid in, the silence needing a small pebble to create a ripple in the emotions Rafe swam in. It would anchor him, at least enough for him to feel there was soli
d ground beneath his feet. “So what happened?”
“I left it off like he was teasing, but you know how people sound when they’re trying to joke but they kinda really mean the shitty things they’re saying?” He glanced at Quinn, grinning as he said it. “Sorry, I know you have a problem with that. I think that’s what I love about you is I know you don’t play those kinds of games. The crappy plastic fake chatter pisses me off, but it’s a game we have to play a lot of the time. I mean, I stood there in front of those kids who knew who I was and were excited to see me, but at the same time I had to swallow all of the fucking shit Brad shoved into my mouth.”
Another stretch of silence and Quinn placed his hand over Rafe’s, joining him in Harley’s adulation.
“I went to give him a hug goodbye when it was time for me to go and….” Rafe took a long breath, hitching it into his chest. “There’s a smell on people’s skin when they do coke. I don’t know if you have to be a hard-core user, but it gives off this…. It’s kind of like how eating the white pith from a grapefruit would smell if taste was an odor. Do you know what I mean?”
“You’re talking to the person who spent five minutes describing how purple tasted to you.”
“Yeah, you understand,” Rafe murmured. He leaned over, resting his head on Quinn’s shoulder. “I could taste the high in the air around him, and I wanted to skin him open and crawl into his body because I wanted a hit so fucking bad. Not for long, but it’s kind of like this moment where it’s all I can think about.”
