by R. Cayden
“It’s lovely for the most part. Some of my favorite cafes have been driven out by gentrification over the past years, but I like the art and being close to the water.”
“I’m sure you have exquisite taste.”
Lawrence laughed. “Does my midriff give it away?”
“Yes,” he answered, matter-of-fact. “Are you an artist?”
“Not at all. But I took a lot of art history courses in college. I was a philosophy major, and they’re kind of connected.”
“Questions of the heart?”
“Something like that,” Lawrence replied, waving his hand to dismiss the line of conversation. He didn’t want to bore the man with esoteric questions about power and economics, like he had studied, and anyway, it wasn’t as though he had done anything with his degree. The flirtation was a much more pleasurable conversation, as far as Lawrence was concerned. “And you? What other hobbies do you have, besides distributing cocktails around the Fire Hose?”
“I do technical things with computers for my income. For recreation? Well, you know how this city is. I feel like I’m always getting swept up into something new.”
“Definitely.”
“Sometimes, I wish I had grown up here. All of my family is far away. I feel like people who grew up in New York navigate it much better than us transplants. What about you, dear Lawrence?” he prompted. “You grew up here?”
Lawrence licked his lips. “Born here, but I went away for school.”
“Does your family—”
Lawrence grabbed the man’s hand, then pointed across the street. “Look!” he said, mainly in hopes of changing the conversation. “The cherry blossoms are blooming!”
They both stared at the tree, exploding with white and pink blooms, a sign that spring had fully arrived. Lawrence adjusted his sunglasses, and when they started walking again, he kept his hold on the man’s hand.
“So your family?”
Lawrence sighed. The question popped the magical bubble that he had been floating in. So much for counting on mysterious strangers to distract him from all of his problems. “They’re still here in the city. I see them, but we’re not close.”
“Not close?”
Lawrence shrugged. “Some men are good fathers. Some are just assholes.”
“Sorry to hear you got the second one.”
“Not as sorry as I am. Maybe one day I’ll even stand up to him and do something about it. At least, I like to think that I will, even if I haven’t had the courage yet. But that is hardly the kind of romantic conversation appropriate for a latte and a spring morning stroll through the city.”
“Right, of course. More cherry blossoms, fewer asshole fathers.”
“Now you’re making me swoon again.”
They kept walking, chatting and exchanging flirtatious jokes. But for the last stretch of the walk, the other man seemed distracted. Lawrence tried to think of what he had said that might have turned him off, but he came up short. By the time they returned to Chelsea, the strange distraction seemed to have passed.
“You asked about living in Chelsea,” Lawrence said, toeing his shoe against the pavement and glancing up with his best pout. “Want to see inside my place?”
The man in the suit seemed to hesitate. He bit down on his bottom lip and eyed Lawrence like he had in the club, like Lawrence was some temptation he just couldn’t quite resist. But then he turned away and shook his head. “Maybe next time, sweetheart.”
Lawrence groaned. All the warmth in his chest crashed into disappointment. “I can’t believe you just walked me all the way across town, and now you don’t want sex.”
“Oh Lawrence,” he laughed, then nodded his head back to say goodbye. “Enjoy your afternoon.”
Lawrence’s mouth fell open. Was he losing his charm or something?
Because every time he got close to a hot man lately, it was just to watch him walk away.
Raiden
Saturday night, Raiden found himself at Revolutionary Disco. Standing in the shadows and nursing a slow beer wasn’t bad, even if the music sucked. But just like he thought, the temptation was pure torture.
The men who kept cruising him were one thing. Although there were more than a few fashionable twinks like Lawrence scattered around the club, the prime clientele were burly men in denim, and not a one of them was shy. They pressed their thick fingers to Raiden’s chest and scorched him with their eyes and whispered the obscenest things in his ear when they passed.
It was hard enough to say no to a quick, hard fuck. But the real torture was watching Lawrence, writhing and flirting in the middle of the dance floor, and knowing that one of those men were going to do unspeakable things to his guy that night.
Raiden adjusted his jeans and pushed his stiff cock to the side. For the past two hours, he’d been watching Lawrence practically glow on the other side of the club. He was wearing another midriff shirt, and when he climbed up onto a platform, Raiden could see the V of his hips while he swayed. His curls were pushed back with a slim pink headband, making his face even brighter than usual, and every now and then he turned Raiden’s way with a wide smile and a wink.
Was Raiden falling for the guy? They barely knew each other, but the more he watched Lawrence from afar, the more he felt like he needed to know the kid’s story. Hell, Raiden spent years flailing around like Lawrence did, like he was trying to self-destruct before anything good could come his way.
Had Lawrence been rejected and hurt like Raiden had? Or was Raiden just lonely in a city where he didn’t know a damn person and looking for someone to look out for him the way his friends used to back in Albany?
Either way, it didn’t mean he should cross any professional lines with Lawrence. And when the kid pulled some stranger up onto the dance platform and took him into a deep, slow kiss, the jealousy and frustration that reared up inside of Raiden just proved how bad of an idea that would truly be. He gritted his teeth, and his muscles knotted as he watched Lawrence, rubbing his soft body all over some total stranger.
“Fucking hell,” Raiden cursed, then turned his eyes away. At least he could tell himself now that the flirtations Lawrence kept throwing his way didn’t mean anything special.
Raiden steeled himself and kept his expression calm as emotions stormed. An hour passed, then another, and finally, a bubbly, stumbling Lawrence appeared at his side, ready to leave. They had worked out an easy routine, and Raiden kept his distance while he followed Lawrence out of the club, then trailed him from a block behind on the walk home.
On some nights, once they were a couple blocks away and safe from the eyes of the club, Lawrence would gesture for Raiden to join him, and the two would chat on the walk home. Raiden was hoping the evening would end that way. Even if it meant Raiden had to turn down a few more come-ons from the guy, Lawrence just had a way of making him laugh that he craved.
Ahead, Lawrence rounded a corner, and Raiden picked up his step. When he turned at the intersection, his heart jumped as he saw two large men emerge from the alley, then rush toward Lawrence.
Immediately, Raiden’s brain lit on fire, and his instincts kicked into gear. He charged forward, his boots pounding the concrete as he pumped his arms. He didn’t stop to think why there were suddenly men, grabbing Lawrence by the shoulders. He just knew he had to get there.
He just knew that Lawrence needed him.
One of the men turned as Raiden plowed ahead. He had a baseball cap pulled down, shadowing his face, but Raiden could see the gasp of surprise as his mouth flew open. Raiden’s shoulder did all the work to send the man flying, but he stumbled to the sidewalk when a fist exploded against his cheek from the side.
The other man was on top of him. Raiden couldn’t get a look as they wrestled side to side, punching and kicking, until finally, he was able to throw the man off. He turned his attention back to the guy in the cap. Raiden blocked his fist and then came at him hard, pounding the attacker’s face and chest until he collapsed backward.
<
br /> There was a pause in the night. Raiden risked a glance at Lawrence, who looked terrified as he clung to a lamp post. Terrified but safe. And when he turned back to the attackers, they were helping each other to scurry away.
Raiden jerked forward, ready to lurch after them and to keep throwing punches until they learned to never come after his guy again. It surprised even him, how primal and raw the feeling was.
He licked his teeth and realized he could literally taste blood.
But then Lawrence placed a hand on Raiden’s bicep, startling Raiden to attention. He fought his instincts and let the men escape, needing instead to turn his attention to his charge.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
Lawrence blinked. His eyes were wide and watery, and after a moment, he threw his arms around Raiden.
Raiden softened. He held Lawrence like that, counting his heartbeats as he tried to feel less awkward. He wanted to bend forward and squeeze Lawrence, to pull him close and lift him up and hold him like they meant something to each other. But too nervous, he instead just stood there, hoping he could at least give the kid something to hold onto.
Lawrence finally pulled back, then wiped his eye. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“What was that was all about?”
Lawrence winced, then turned away.
“Oh?” Raiden asked. He placed his fingers on his aching jaw, fingering the spot where the fist had landed. “Don’t think I’ll be mad at you just because I took a punch. This was nothing, trust me.”
Sighing, Lawrence nodded. “I saw one of those guys the other night when I was out with my friend Tyler,” he admitted. “I kind of stole his cocaine.”
Raiden snorted a laugh. “Kind of?”
“He was being very loud and very racist. I didn’t do any of it, though. I just flushed it down the toilet.”
Another laugh exploded out of Raiden. He glanced up and down the street, making sure the assholes weren’t regrouping, then wiped the dirt off his jeans. “Then you’ve got nothing to apologize for. I’m happy to punch any racists that come after you, Lawrence. Now come on, let me walk you home. We should probably take a new route, just to be safe.”
Lawrence grinned, his cheeks even rounder than usual. “Okay. Thanks, Raiden.”
They started in the opposite direction down the street, passing empty storefronts and brownstones. The streetlights cast a muted gray across the neighborhood, and it was late enough that even in Chelsea, the sidewalks were largely empty.
“Are you hurt badly?” Lawrence asked.
Raiden shook his fist out. “Nothing more than some bruising, I don’t expect. And you’re sure you’re okay?”
“I am. You were there so fast they barely laid a hand on me.”
Raiden grunted, satisfied to hear that. “Just give me a heads-up next time you might have a couple goons tracking you down.”
Lawrence stumbled, then caught himself on a newspaper box. “I had no idea, I swear.”
Realizing how drunk Lawrence was, Raiden took his arm to steady him. “Have you ever taken a self-defense class? I could teach you a couple of things, if you want.”
Lawrence glanced up, his chocolate-brown eyes watery. “Sure, if you’re offering,” he said, then stumbled over his feet again.
Raiden caught him. “Maybe balance lessons first.”
Lawrence stuck out his tongue. “Or dancing lessons. Are you really going to go to every hot club in New York and never dance with me?” he pouted.
“You think I dance to music like that?”
“I think you could.” Lawrence started bouncing his hips, butting up against Raiden with each sway. “Or don’t you like me, Raiden?”
Raiden tried pretending he was a rock, totally incapable of desire. “I like you just fine,” he said.
“Like, how do you like me?”
“How do I like you?”
“The way you like an ice cream cone, maybe?”
Raiden thought about it, then laughed. “Sure, Lawrence. I like you like I like an ice cream cone.”
“Ha!” Lawrence shouted, then bumped his hips against Raiden again. “You want to lick me.”
A rock, Raiden reminded himself. No matter how much he suddenly wanted to tug down Lawrence’s pants and smack his butt, Raiden’s job was to remain a rock.
“Anyway,” Lawrence sang as they rounded another corner, “I know you like me. Do you know how?”
“How?”
“Because of the way you look at me. You’re not just watching me the way a bodyguard would watch someone. You’re watching me like you like me.”
A truck passed, rumbling toward the Avenue. “How do you know I don’t look at everyone that way?”
“Trust me,” Lawrence said. “I’ve given that eye to a lot of men. I can tell.”
“You gave it to about twenty men tonight, I noticed,” Raiden grumbled.
Lawrence laughed. “You do care. But did you notice I kept saving all my best looks for you?” He sucked his top lip between his teeth, then bit down on it with a moan, eyeing Raiden just like he had on the dance floor. “This look is just for you, Raiden,” he whimpered.
Raiden was grinning, so he had to turn away. At least, side by side, Lawrence couldn’t see the growing bulge in his pants. But as soon as he thought about Lawrence on the dance floor with all of those other guys, he was jolted by jealousy. “You’ve got a good pout, kid, but I think you’ve met your match. I wouldn’t be worth shit as a bodyguard if I fell for that.”
Lawrence whimpered again. He pressed his body up close to Raiden, almost like he was going to hump him right there while they walked down the street. Raiden turned his eyes straight ahead, then whistled a little tune. “Nice weather tonight, though,” he said casually.
Sighing, Lawrence relaxed into a deflated lean against Raiden. “You’re no fun. No fun at all.”
Raiden steadied him as they came to a stop in front of Lawrence’s building. “I’m having a pretty fun time,” he said, then grinned. “Wait a second, I got it. I like you the way I like a curl of hair that sticks up funny.”
“A curl of hair?”
Raiden pushed one of Lawrence’s curls back behind his ear where it belonged, and it felt like the night warmed between them for a minute. Taking care of Lawrence just felt right.
Then he flicked the curl out again, making it bob in place. “Like a loose curl of hair, it’s nice to take care of you, but it’s fun to mess with you, too,” he teased.
Lawrence squinted, and Raiden could see his drunk brain trying to figure it out. “Is that a compliment?”
Raiden shrugged. “However you want to take it. But now that you’re home, I should call it a night.” He hated that part, tearing himself away, but he knew he would hate it a lot more if he and Lawrence exploded into each other. With how freaking jealous he felt as the bodyguard, Raiden could only imagine if he were actually hooking up with him.
Lawrence’s pout turned into a frown. “Fine,” he said dismissively, his voice dropping into a slur. “I only have two hundred dollars to my name anyway. No one will love me again until the first.”
“Excuse me?” Raiden asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Nothing,” Lawrence sighed.
Raiden took his shoulder, then turned Lawrence to face him. The guy was always making these dismissive statements about money, and Raiden hated hearing him put himself down. “No, really, what are you talking about?”
“It’s just my family,” he said, the wobble in his voice suggesting he was spilling a bit more truth than he intended. “My father was so worried I wouldn’t get a respectable job, he made a fake one for me in his company. So now I have my trust fund, and my other trust fund, and my salary, but I don’t have to do anything. Do you see?”
Raiden frowned. “Not really.”
“I give the money away,” Lawrence whispered. “It takes me all month to do it, and then when the next month comes, on the first, I get a bunch more money all over again. So I
figured, if my dad just throws money at me to make me go away, the least I can do is to throw money at other people who actually need it.”
It was drunk logic, but Raiden thought he was putting the pieces together. Transferring his wealth to people who needed it was admirable, but had Lawrence been so confused by his family that he didn’t know how to value himself at all, outside of that money?
“Lawrence—”
“Whatever, bodyguard,” Lawrence said abruptly, then spun on his heel. “Thank you for walking me home, even though you didn’t give me sex.”
His head spinning, Raiden could only laugh. Lawrence stood on the concrete steps, glancing at Raiden over his shoulder. He was trying to offer a seductive glance, but the blurry drunkenness in his eyes just made him look pleasantly, happily tired.
“Have a good night,” Raiden said. “And Lawrence?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re very likable, don’t worry.”
Lawrence stood still for a second, then scurried inside without another word. Raiden shoved his hands in his pocket and started toward the subway. The kid confused the hell of him, but Raiden had to admit the truth to himself.
He could only resist so many more of those pouty fucking looks.
Lawrence
Raiden didn’t want to fuck Lawrence? Fine. It wasn’t like Lawrence had never been rejected before. And he was living in a city full of distractions.
Firm distractions. And soft distractions. And hairy one and tall ones, distractions that smelled like cedar and sweat, and every other kind he could imagine. Lawrence could dream up just about any man, walk down the streets, and have him right then.
At least for one night. You could have just about any man for a single night. And that’s why Lawrence found himself back at the club a couple nights later, writhing between men on the dance floor while Raiden stared, barely even blinking.
A redhaired, short man in his thirties pressed his bare chest to Lawrence’s, dancing close. Lawrence trailed his fingers down the man’s side, then traced his hips. After the man tangled his hands in Lawrence’s curls with a tug, Lawrence gasped, still swaying to the music.
