Gasp!

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “Whatever you want is fine. It’s hard to believe only a couple of days ago you tried to drown me.” Nigel found the opener and started on the cork. “You bastard.”

  “That lake is still there.” Jeff lifted an eyebrow. “I’m just sayin’.”

  “I thought you were a self-righteous arsehole.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Who says I’ve changed my mind?”

  “Ha-ha.” Jeff threw a pot holder at him, but he dodged it neatly.

  “You’re blokey and silent. A bit of a do-gooder.”

  “Shows how much you know.” Jeff stalked up behind Nigel and pressed him against the counter. The heat from Nigel’s body burned through his clothes, and Jeff could smell the juniper-berry scent of Nigel’s skin. Jeff’s cock lurched against Nigel’s ass. He put his hands on either side of the counter to trap Nigel there and blew raspberry kisses against the skin of his neck.

  Nigel reacted predictably, hunching away from his tickling lips. “I guess you can be a bit of a bad boy too.”

  Jeff lipped the skin just below Nigel’s ear. “Maybe.”

  Nigel leaned into him. “This is nice.”

  Jeff sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Red Chief? You’re all mischief and mayhem one minute, and the next you smell so good I could eat you.”

  “I’m all for that.” Nigel turned and wrapped his arms around Jeff’s neck. “We could take the wine upstairs. I go very well with a nice red wine.”

  “You need dinner, Nigel. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

  “Exactly. Follow me, and I’ll let you know just how to do that.”

  Jeff caught Nigel’s hair at the nape of his neck. He couldn’t seem to make his lips or his hips behave. Nigel’s full mouth tasted sweet. His cock was hard against Jeff’s thigh. When they broke apart, Nigel looked flushed and happy—obviously pleased.

  He picked up the wine bottle and two glasses. “I’ll be in the bedroom.”

  “Give me a minute, I’ll be right there.” Jeff listened to Nigel’s light feet on the stairs while he checked the doors and set the alarm. From somewhere he heard the sound of water running.

  Nigel in the shower. Nigel in the bathtub, wet and hard and waiting.

  Jeff took the stairs two at a time.

  “You in here?” He entered the master bathroom and found the wine bottle and glasses on the granite counter next to the sink. The room was small but nice. Nigel had the lights dimmed so they almost felt like candlelight. Muted colors. Cool tile. Beautiful glass-enclosed shower with multiple spray jets, behind which steam puffed in little tendrils like lazy clouds.

  Jeff opened the door and looked in. Nigel waited under the spray. The pupils of Nigel’s blue eyes were a little dilated, whether from the low lighting or wine or arousal, Jeff didn’t know, but he didn’t have to be asked twice. He dragged his T-shirt over his head and dropped his jeans and shorts into a heap on the tiles. Before he got in, he made sure to put down the bath mat so they wouldn’t slip when they got out.

  Silly rock star. Nigel just didn’t think about things like that. Deidre was right. Nigel needed taking care of.

  Nigel started singing “Somebody to Love,” holding the shampoo bottle like a microphone. His voice bounced off the tiles and filled the tiny room. When the crescendo came and he struck an oddly powerful note on the word free, Jeff shivered all over. If he kissed Nigel, the music would stop, and Jeff didn’t want that. He couldn’t imagine a world in which anything stopped Nigel’s amazing voice, so he fell to his knees and pressed his face into Nigel’s groin. Nigel’s breath caught, and Jeff looked up.

  “Please,” Jeff whispered.

  Nigel caressed his face with a soapy hand and started singing again.

  Jeff curved his fingers loosely around Nigel’s ankles and slowly, so slowly, ran them up the back of his calves, and then his thighs. Jeff skimmed his fingers over Nigel’s sleek, hairless legs, and he found them pleasing and smooth to the touch. Silky. Someday he wanted to soap them up and feel them wrapped around his hips while he pressed Nigel’s back into the tiles and fucked him, but right then Jeff wanted to read the language of chill bumps beneath his fingertips like braille. He wanted to kiss and caress and taste the salt-sweet of Nigel’s alabaster skin on his tongue until Nigel couldn’t sing because he was begging for release.

  He explored the long, lean sinew of Nigel’s muscled legs and got a grip on Nigel’s hips. Nigel fell softly against the wall and braced himself there. Jeff’s cheeks weren’t smooth. He had a couple days’ growth of beard on him, and he looked up again, unwilling to rough up Nigel’s delicate skin without asking first.

  Picking up Nigel’s tattooed arm, he pressed the damp fingers to his cheek. “Do you want me to shave?”

  “No.” Nigel gripped Jeff’s face between his hands and rubbed his groin lightly along the stubbly cheeks. “’S good.”

  Jeff laughed against the fragile skin of Nigel’s ball sac. “Man face?”

  “Open your mouth, lover.”

  Jeff mouthed Nigel’s balls and nuzzled his cock. While the water sluiced off his back, he bathed Nigel’s skin with his tongue. He was more than hot breath and saliva. He wanted to be warm and welcoming. He worshipped the delicate flesh, loving the thin, tender skin, savoring the flavor of salt and soap while Nigel’s more private, earthy essence found its way right through Jeff’s taste buds and straight to his gut.

  Nigel stroked his hair and absently took up the song again—singing the words so perfectly, so softly, filling Jeff’s heart and wrapping the two of them in music like the heat of the water and the steam it created wrapped them in warmth.

  Jeff laid his hands, palms flat, against Nigel’s belly while dancing his tongue in small circles over his skin. He memorized every swell of muscle, every tender valley, every raised ridge of bone. He cupped Nigel’s pecs and thumbed his nipples, feeling them tighten while he listened to the effect of his play in the desperate, breathy timbre of Nigel’s voice.

  Jeff made Nigel’s body his instrument and became a virtuoso.

  Hands gripped Jeff’s head tighter. Maybe Nigel’s voice broke as his hips shot forward, maybe he shook and stuttered while Jeff took him as far as he could to the back of his throat and swallowed around his throbbing cock. Maybe Nigel gasped and lost the last notes of the song, his essence—his music—down Jeff’s throat.

  “G—” Nigel’s voice failed him, forcing him to swallow hard or choke. “Jeff… Lover…fuck yes.”

  While Nigel’s hand opened and closed reflexively on his hair, Jeff lowered a hand to his own cock. A few short jerks brought him off, his cum falling in ropy circles on Nigel’s feet. Nigel relaxed, and his body slumped against the tiles.

  Jeff bent deeply, bowing his head to lick his cum from Nigel’s skin.

  Worshipping Nigel in that way felt necessary, even essential.

  He gripped Nigel’s ankles and kissed each separate toe, sighing and wrapping his arms around Nigel’s legs. He took his time, made it his business to go slow—to be thorough—even as Nigel tried to stop him.

  “Hey.” Nigel pressed his hands into Jeff’s hair. “You don’t have to do that.”

  Stunned by his need, Jeff glanced up at his equally surprised lover. Nigel’s eyes had darkened with desire—or satisfaction maybe. His lower lip looked swollen and red as a ripe strawberry, as if he’d bitten it until it bled.

  Nigel took Jeff by the shoulders and tried to lift him. “That’s…don’t do that. Please.”

  “I want to.” Jeff raised his chin until he was looking into Nigel’s eyes. He pressed his lips to Nigel’s thigh. “I need this.”

  Nigel pulled Jeff to his feet. “You need what?”

  “Here.” Ducking his head, Jeff removed his dog tags. He wanted the act to appear smooth, but they caught on one ear and it was no use. He was an idiot. An idiot with a hard-on for a goddamn rock star.

  “No. Jeff—” Nigel put his hands up to stop him.

  Jeff held
the tags in front of Nigel’s face. “This is me. Everything that ever mattered about me goes with these tags.”

  “No.” Nigel’s brows drew together.

  “I want you to have them.” Jeff gently draped the chain around Nigel’s neck. He met Nigel’s eyes, willing him to understand why he couldn’t articulate what was in his heart. Thanks for the magic. Thanks for the music. Thanks for being Nigel Gasp. Thank you, Nigel Hazard, for letting me be here with you like this. “Please. They’re for you.”

  Nigel swallowed again and nodded. That lower lip was taking a major beating. Jeff kissed Nigel again, and the metallic flavor of blood blossomed on his tongue.

  Nigel managed a smile eventually. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Jeff pressed his lips to Nigel’s for another brief, fierce kiss, then wrapped his arms around him. “Good.”

  Chapter Ten

  Three weeks of loving the day away, followed by music appreciation and private cooking lessons later, Nigel stood behind the stove, burning onions.

  God, what a smell.

  There was no hope for the man. Jeff had worked one-on-one with him in the kitchen, trying to impart the most rudimentary skills, but it just wasn’t sinking in.

  Jeff walked into the room, and right on cue Nigel smirked at him. “Everything come out okay?”

  The crap jokes had gotten old a day after he’d chewed up the pills to kill his damn tapeworm. Nigel was the most oddly persistent, inquisitive—the most intrusive—person ever when it came to that goddamn tapeworm. In the weeks since he’d killed it off, Jeff had even jogged to the gas station in town a couple of times so he could use the bathroom once or twice without a fight for privacy.

  “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.” Jeff got a pot holder from the drawer and picked up the skillet. He emptied the contents into the side of the sink with the garbage disposal and rinsed it out, accidentally giving himself a searing burned-onion steam facial that stung his eyes like acid. He handed Nigel the pan to dry, then got out his favorite knife to start cutting more onion.

  “Remember what I said about garlic and onions?”

  “Once they’re burned, there’s no going back?” Nigel attempted to look contrite.

  “Yeah. It’s the difference between the heat you need to caramelize them and a fire that will scorch and turn them into an inedible, bitter mess. Low and slow. It requires patience, Red Chief, which isn’t your strong suit. You don’t have to do this. I said I’d cook.”

  “I thought I’d try to help fix tea tonight, but I got distracted by the hummingbirds.”

  “Everyone burns shit sometimes. Not a big deal.”

  “I guess that celebrity cooking show is out of the question.”

  “I guess.” It was clear Nigel was bored. They’d accomplished an easy familiarity—even domestic harmony—but six weeks was a long time to expect Nigel to go without the limelight. “How about you do some Bloody Mary mix?”

  “All right.” Nigel headed for the refrigerator. “I’m a goddamn genius with a bar blender.”

  “Figures.”

  “Wasted my youth perfecting the frozen daiquiri, didn’t I?”

  “I did not know that.”

  Nigel was gathering tomato juice tins, celery salt, pepper, horseradish, and Worcestershire sauce. “Bloody or ruddy? Vodka or gin?”

  “I just like the mix, and in case you’ve forgotten, I’m on the clock. Amuse yourself with the alcohol.”

  Nigel turned away and put his hands on the counter. “Vodka then. I pour vodka very well.”

  Something in Nigel’s voice gave him away. Jeff stopped what he was doing and wiped his oniony hands on a towel before crossing to wrap his arms around Nigel from behind. “Hey. Turn around.”

  Nigel ignored his request. “Sometimes I feel positively useless.”

  Jeff rested his chin on the top of Nigel’s head. “Can I remind you that you are Nigel Fucking Gasp? You are the opposite of useless. You are so talented, so charismatic, and so uniquely successful you have people to cook your damned onions. You have people who hire people to cook for you. Never talk like that, all right?”

  “Would you be saying that if you weren’t on the clock?”

  Jeff stiffened. “What did you just say?”

  Nigel remained silent.

  Jeff tried again to turn Nigel. If anything, Nigel drew further into himself.

  “Is there anything you know about me, any reason to believe that my admiration and friendship is something a guy could buy?”

  “No.”

  “Then where’s this coming from?”

  “I don’t know.” Nigel sagged against him.

  Jeff got tired of trying to get Nigel to look at him, so he simply picked the smaller man up and sat him on the counter. Nigel’s cheeks flooded with color, but from the look of things, he was angry and turned on at the same time. Jeff could work with that.

  “You’re bored.”

  “I know that.” Nigel glared at him. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

  “Let me tell you a little something about being bored that my mom used to tell me all the time.”

  “What’s that?” Nigel snapped. “Oh wise one.”

  “Only boring people get bored.”

  “Oh hell no.” Nigel pushed Jeff away. “You did not just call me boring.”

  “No, I did not.”

  “I only say that because it sounded very like you just called me boring.”

  “I am merely suggesting if you can’t think of something with which to amuse yourself, you might want to take a look at—”

  “I am the least boring person you know. I am the least boring person on the entire—”

  Whatever Nigel was about to say, he was interrupted by the gate buzzer. Before he could jump down, Jeff stopped him.

  “I’ve got this.”

  Nigel rolled his eyes and chased after him. “Is it so difficult to push a button now that I can’t even do that?”

  Effortlessly Jeff held Nigel away from the intercom. “I’m on the clock, and I’ve got this.” Jeff pressed the button. “Yeah?”

  “It’s me, Sheriff’s Deputy Marsden. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “I’ll enter the gate code.” Jeff pushed the buttons. He and Nigel went to the door and waited while Deputy Marsden parked his patrol car. Nigel peered out from behind him like a curious dog.

  “Hey.” Marsden held out his hand. “Nice to see you’re looking better. I thought I would come out here and follow up on a couple of things.”

  “Sure.” Jeff stepped aside and let him in. Nigel stood with his arms folded over his chest.

  “Mr. Gasp.” Marsden actually tipped his hat.

  “Marsden. We were just making tea. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Marsden frowned at this. Maybe it was the idea of making tea and drinking coffee.

  “We’re also making Bloody Marys.”

  “I can’t,” Marsden said. “I’m on the job.”

  “This way.” Jeff backed up and ushered them both into the kitchen. While Nigel poured coffee, Jeff picked up his towel, flipped it over his shoulder, and went back to cutting onions.

  “This is homey. Is this what a normal bodyguard gig is like?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Nothing about this is normal, and I’m not a bodyguard. I’m just here filling in for my sister.”

  “His sister is my personal manager,” Nigel explained.

  “Mother hen,” Jeff corrected.

  “Wendy lady.” Nigel grinned and gestured at Jeff. “She sews on my shadow when I lose it.”

  “Yeah, right. Okay.” Marsden took a mug of coffee from Nigel. “Anyway. I got a call from Fish and Game, and it looks like they finally found your bear. He was spotted heading north toward the lake, so they drugged him and took him back where he belongs. He won’t be coming back here.”

  “That’s good. Nigel is getting so bored I’d hate to think what he’d do if he got another chance to tangle with a b
ear.”

  Nigel brightened. “Ed, can I drive your patrol car?”

  Marsden’s brows lifted. “Hell no.”

  “Will you let me ride along while you fight crime?”

  “No.”

  “Can I at least turn on the lights and sirens?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I may as well just go back to bed then. That’s the only place anything happens around here.”

  Marsden laughed out loud at that.

  Jeff’s face burned, but he only shrugged. “Nigel is feeling cooped up.”

  “I see. Well. It’s karaoke night at the bowling alley.”

  Marsden might have been joking, but Nigel pounced on the idea. “That’s it.” He whirled around so fast his hair fanned out like helicopter blades.

  If a look from Jeff could kill, Marsden would have dropped dead on the spot. “Thanks for that, Deputy Marsden.”

  Marsden laughed again.

  Jeff got hold of Nigel’s arm. “Settle down, Red Chief. No way we can go. You’ll cause a riot.”

  Nigel’s hauteur was back. “Not if they don’t know it’s me.”

  “That can work in a pub where it’s dark and people are drinking, but in a bowling alley? They’re usually lit up with fluorescent lights and—”

  “No one will know,” Nigel assured him.

  “No, Nigel. It’s not a good idea.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll do what I did before.”

  “Think. You can’t go to a bowling alley dressed like a woman. This is a redneck town.”

  “You want to bet? Who’s going to know it’s me if I go en femme?”

  “‘En femme’ mean in drag?” Marsden finally took a sip of his coffee. “I want in on that bet.”

  Jeff turned to Marsden, feeling oddly resentful on Nigel’s behalf. “Nigel looks awfully good in drag. He’d knock your socks off.”

  “Not if I’m there with my wife.”

  “Believe me, when you see Nigel in drag, you’ll forget your wife’s name.”

  “That would be dangerous for all of us.”

  Nigel leered at him. “You’d better look out, lawman.”

  “Nigel, honestly, this is a terrible idea.”