Fault Lines Box Set

Chapter 2

Chapter 2The apartment was exactly what Rory would have expected from a twenty-one-year-old man living on his own. Posters, in a genre-bending mishmash that encompassed everything from old punk to glam rock, were the only art that adorned the walls, but they were literally everywhere. In the bathroom while he peed, Rory even had the pleasure of staring at the cigarette-dangling image of s***h. “Interesting choice for a young gay man,” he told it, though it was hard to argue with the image’s s*x appeal.

The space wasn’t entirely disgusting. It had an aura of attempted tidiness, but it was tidiness that masked a lot of grunge. Dust bunnies gathered copiously in corners, a couple of days’ worth of dishes sat hardening in the kitchen sink, and the space had a lived-in scent that could not be considered pleasant. It was, however, quickly replaced by the aroma of cheese and pepperoni once the pizza went in the oven. A small television mumbled through the dialog of an unknown program, too quiet to hear what it was about.

Danny set the barely touched beer he’d filched from the bar on the coffee table. “Here. You can have this. I’m not much of a drinker.”

Rory pushed away the bottle. “That’s all right, you go ahead and finish.” He offered Danny a smile and a quirked eyebrow. “I have no idea where your mouth has been.”

“Your choice.” Danny pulled a baggie out of his side table and began the process of rolling. “So, tell me something. What moved you out here? If you hate the town so much?”

Rory instantly regretted passing on the bottle; he would have liked to have something to fiddle with. “I don’t know. I thought it would be a good spot to work, I guess.” He paused, waiting for the oh really, what do you do, and when it didn’t come, he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or offended. “How about you? Have you lived here for long?”

Danny lifted the paper and began to form a narrow tube. “Yep. Forever. And I literally mean forever, all the way back to the start. My grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather, that kind of thing.” He brought the joint to his mouth and dragged his tongue across the length of it.

The action inspired Rory to drop his eyes so he could squash the butterfly waking in his stomach again and force away the new and unreasonable desire to morph into a joint. “You like it here?”

“It’s all right. I know everybody. They know me.” Danny dropped the joint on the coffee table and stood, raising his voice as he walked to the kitchen. “Nobody hassles me too much.”

Metal tins clattered and an oven door slammed. Cupboard doors opened and closed with a bang each time. The smell of pizza intensified as Danny returned with a beaten-up pizza tray and roll of paper towel. Angrily, Rory’s stomach reminded him that he was starving, yet as he went for the pan, it was yanked out of his reach. “Hey!”

“Weed first. Pizza after.”

Rory shook his head. “No. I can’t. Seriously, you go ahead.”

“Nuh-uh, that wasn’t the deal.” Danny picked up the joint and placed it between his lips, then tried fruitlessly to fish his lighter out of the front pocket of his too-tight jeans. He finally had to resort to straightening his back and lifting his hips so he could slide his hands in.

Rory found himself settling into the corner of the couch, almost without conscious thought. Danny was so slim that his hips rose like blades beneath the denim. His T-shirt slipped up and displayed skin so pale, it probably glowed in the dark, which was a sharp contrast to the thin trail of dark hair that began below his belly button and snaked out of sight below the jeans. Rory couldn’t help but imagine his own hand sliding into the jeans as well. Much higher than pocket level, of course, up by that tightly curled belly button, between skin and fabric, reaching past the trail of dark hair, and sinking deeper…

Shaking his head, Rory shifted on the couch and forced his eyes back to the television and his mind out of the gutter. As an afterthought, he reached for the beer. f**k it. No matter where the kid’s mouth may or may not have been, Rory needed to wet his throat.

“Ah-ha!” Danny gleefully held up his lighter, sliding back into a seated position. He flicked it and held the flame against the end of the paper.

Rory would have sworn that he was going to stick to his plan and decline the joint when it was offered. He didn’t, though. The moment Danny passed it, Rory accepted it. If nothing else, it gave him something to focus on other than thoughts of lithe young bodies and men who weren’t Gabe. While the pizza had made the room smell amazing, the combined smell of the weed and the pizza was like stepping back in time, and with the lack of airflow in the apartment, the air was thick with it. Even if Rory hadn’t taken tentative sips on the joint, the haze that surrounded them would have been enough for a lightweight like him.

The pizza sat on the table in front of them, all but forgotten. With his head back, Rory watched the overly bright cartoon characters flash and mumble on the television. Danny turned towards him, giving him a slow, small smile. Danny’s eyelids were heavy, his eyes glassy. “Feel better?”

Rory attempted a shrug that didn’t really happen, but it was his best attempt at an answer. He wasn’t sure how he felt. Tired, weighted, disconnected—but in a warm, comfortable kind of way.

“So, did you quit?” Danny asked, holding Rory’s gaze.

Rory frowned, confused. “Quit? Smoking? Eating? What…?”

“Working. Writing. Are you done for good or what?”

Rory’s foggy mind tried to grasp what Danny was saying. While his muscles felt listless and his thoughts were registering at the speed of a snail, his heart was suddenly racing.

The silence lingered while Rory tried to form words, then Danny inched closer. His voice was soft when he spoke. “I know you.”

Rory felt his already quickened heartbeat speed up. He thought of heart attacks and strokes, and tried to control the panic he could feel surfacing.

Danny nodded at Rory’s lack of reply. “I have all six, you know. I even bought the last one.”

Even if he had known it was coming, Rory wouldn’t have been able to control his response. He flinched, pulling back, already hating where the conversation was going. It was time to leave—if he could make his legs work.

“I’m right, aren’t I? R. Finch?” Danny leaned back, no doubt giving the retreating Rory space, but Rory could still feel the weight of his gaze. “You look younger in person than in your pictures. I guess that’s a good thing. Not that I take issues with older looking men. Old guys are hot.”

Rory’s mind prodded him to respond, to stand up, to do something, but his body chose to ignore the prompts.

“Have you become one of those recluses or something? Or have you given up altogether? Is it because of the last one? Or is it something else? I mean, I guess it could be the boyfriend. And you’re new around here, so it could have been the move, too. But four years is a long time for you.” Danny’s face was inquisitive, but kind. Kinder than his next comment. “And that last book was pretty bad.”

Rory groaned and turned his head, then had to wait for his eyes to catch up with the movement. f**k you, kid, it wasn’t pretty bad, Rory wanted to say. It had sold well enough. Not as good as his earlier ones, no, but not every book could be a bestseller. Not every book had to be the next great American novel.

“f**k this.” Rory wasn’t sure if he said it out loud or not, but if he hadn’t, he meant to. He sat up, then had to grab the coffee table to steady himself.

“Wait!” Danny squeaked. “Don’t leave! I didn’t mean it.” Danny paused, then chuckled as if he couldn’t help himself. “Actually, I did. Seriously, man, and only because I’m a true fan. It was bad.”

Rory sent Danny the most withering look he could manage, but he remained seated and silent. He refused to validate the kid’s pontification—the smug little s**t.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop. Sorry. So, you are working on something, then? Can you tell me what it’s about? Maybe even read some?”

Rory clicked his tongue and shook his head, and that seemed to get his voice working again. His speech was slow, but at least it was coming out. “You know…you’re ballsy. But do explain…please do…why you would ever think I’d start gabbing about plots or characters with someone who just told me my work is s**t? Obviously, my talent doesn’t…measure up to your oh, so high and mighty requirements.” His voice sounded more wounded than he had hoped it would; it sounded downright pouty.

Danny set his hand on Rory’s thigh. He slowly ran it up and down, soothing Rory like a child. Or a dog. “Not true. I am literally your biggest fan.”

Rory raised his eyebrow. “Lucky me. My biggest fan is my harshest critic who has the sudden need to tell me, now that I’m drugged in his apartment. Are you sure your name isn’t Annie Wilkes?”

Danny tilted his head, seemingly processing the statement. “Uh, yeah, no. I don’t know what that means. But haven’t you heard that you always hate the one you love? Or, is it love the one you hate? I can never remember which way that saying goes.” He tugged Rory’s pant leg and leaned closer. “Don’t take offense. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before. I know, I read the reviews, too. So…please?”

Rory snorted. He shrugged half-heartedly. “Begging won’t make any difference. And I’m not about to start sharing story ideas with some stranger. That would be all kinds of stupid on my part.” He wasn’t sure when Danny had stopped petting his leg and slipped the hand up to his shoulder, but he was very aware that Danny was now pressed against him. A pleasant, cozy sensation was doing its best to rise over the annoyance and it was only partially inspired by the weed. It had been too long since someone had shown any interest in him, let alone his work. God knew Gabe couldn’t care less about it.

The thought of Gabe brought a small smirk to Rory’s face. If Gabe could see him now, legs stretched out under the coffee table, head back against the couch, with an undeniably attractive young fan pushed up against him, Gabe would lose his damn mind. Surprisingly, that thought didn’t scare him in the least. Instead, it sent a thrill through his core and a rant through his mind: f**k you, Gabe. f**k you and your ignorant, self-important bullshit.

Rory closed his eyes and chuckled at how easy it was to say all that internally. Amusement quickly became startled when he opened his eyes, though. Danny’s face was far too close, and before Rory could react, Danny’s lips were pressed against his own. He could taste the flavored rolling paper on Danny’s lips and the smoke on Danny’s breath. The kiss was soft, Danny’s lips were smooth, and Rory had to fight off the urge to press his tongue between Danny’s lips. Instead, he groaned, and pulled away. Fortunately, Rory didn’t try that hard and Danny merely responded with more pressure, sliding his hand to the back of Rory’s neck. Danny’s fingers seemed charged with electricity. They drew trills of sensations that started in Rory’s neck but ended south of Rory’s belly. No calluses roughened the pads of Danny’s fingertips, and he brushed his fingertips back and forth slowly and gently. Rory could feel himself responding even as he pushed Danny back, with effort this time. “I can’t, I told you. I live with someone. We don’t…we have…like rules and stuff. This would be a no-no.”

“Oh, yeah?” Danny brushed his lips against Rory’s chin. “Where’s he at then?” He rested his lips against Rory’s jaw. “While you’re hiding in the rain? While you’re up here?”

Rory considered making something up. It would be easy enough to do—out with friends, out of town, family emergency—but he couldn’t come up with the effort to try. Besides, it was getting increasingly difficult to manage thought. The way that Danny was kissing him, the way Danny’s smooth face kept brushing against his own, even the way Danny’s breath had quickened and was streaming against Rory’s skin, was the world’s greatest distraction. Those remarkable sensations, coupled with the weed, had Rory light-headed and blissfully high.

Danny slid close again and this time pressed his lips against Rory’s neck. When Danny pushed his hand up Rory’s shirt, Rory didn’t stop him. In a move that was contrary to everything Rory’s mind was trying to scream at him, Rory put his arms around Danny. As if Danny had been waiting for that move, Danny swung his leg and straddled Rory’s lap. Danny’s weight, resting on top of Rory, was almost too much to fight against.

Rory trailed his hands up Danny’s spine, then slid the curtain of dark hair from Danny’s back so that it fell over Danny’s shoulder. He kissed Danny’s neck, then his jaw, his cheekbone and his ear, until their mouths came back together again. This was how Rory remembered s*x in the years before Gabe: long moments of slow, easy touch and the sweet, ticklish sensation of mouth and hands. Gabe wasn’t really into that kind of thing. Gabe was hard and fast and furious. It was nice to slow down and feel again. It was an erotic connection that went well beyond d**k in hole, this thrill of touching and being touched, that Rory hadn’t even realized until now that he missed.

And it had to stop. It had to stop right then and there. It was already too close to being too late. “Okay, hold on,” Rory whispered. “We need to slow down.” Yet even as the words came out of his mouth, Rory’s hands dropped, the rebels that they were, falling to Danny’s hips and pulling Danny closer.

Danny groaned and arched his back. “What we need is to stop thinking so much.” He crossed his arms in front of him, grasped the hem of his shirt, and pulled it over his head.

It had been a while since Rory had seen skin that perfect and he caught his breath. Gabe had beautiful muscles, wide shoulders, and a pelt of hair on his chest that one couldn’t help but dig their fingers into. But where Gabe was earth and autumn tones, Danny was winter—carved ice, smooth alabaster, unblemished marble. The few dark hairs that circled Danny’s n*****s served only to make the skin underneath them seem that much fairer. Rory couldn’t stop himself from touching, and it was as though Danny’s skin provided the electrical charge that woke Rory up. Once woken, Rory’s body refused to let him disengage from it, drawing from Danny’s skin the vitality he’d been starving for. Rory touched everything: chest, n*****s, belly, mapping it all while Danny watched, offering Rory full access to every inch of his half naked body.

The flow of sensation skipped to a stop, though, when Danny pulled at the hem of Rory’s shirt. He knew that if he allowed Danny to remove his shirt, if he let skin meet skin, there would be no way to turn back. He caught Danny’s hand. “Bad idea.”

Danny reached for Rory’s face and stroked his thumb over Rory’s jaw. “You’re over-thinking,” Danny chided. “You know, they say it makes for bad writing.”

Rory narrowed his eyes. “Oh, well, thanks for the insight, professor.” He caught Danny’s lower lip between his own, gently securing it. His voice was a low, sarcastic growl against delicate skin. “How did I ever manage up until now without your input?” He let go, then pulled away. He slid Danny off his lap. “But we’re done with this.”

“Wait, I—”

“No.” Rory stood. “I’ll be right back.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you!”

“You didn’t. I promise. I’m just not…we’re not…this can’t happen.”

Rory walked to the bathroom. He stood over the toilet, peed, and stared at s***h’s reflection. He shook his head at s***h’s silent rebuke. “It was just some fooling around,” he told it. “Just a little bit of fun, nothing happened.”

As expected, the poster didn’t respond, but Rory felt the weight of judgment anyway. He washed his hands, and stared at his reflection while he rinsed. It really was fine. Everything was super fine. He hadn’t done anything that could get himself in trouble. No, he shouldn’t go around kissing and touching people, but it’s not like they had s*x. They didn’t even suck each other’s d***s. Hell, there wasn’t even any d**k involved. And yeah, he probably wasn’t going to run home and tell Gabe all about it, but that didn’t mean anything. He was just a bit stoned. Danny was super cute. He just had to keep his hands to himself.

And his lips.

He shifted his gaze back to the poster and nodded at it. “See? I’m good.” As an afterthought, he blew the poster a kiss on his way out. “Put that where you want it.”

Danny was perched at the end of the couch, both legs up, with a slice of pizza in his hand. His chest was still bare. “Who you talking to?”

“Your poster.”

Danny nodded appreciatively, “Excellent taste.”

Rory watched in fascination as Danny pushed nine-tenths of a pizza slice into his mouth. “Hungry?”

“Starving! You?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Rory said. He sat down, leaving the entire length of the couch between them. “If you’ll recall, that’s what I came up here for.”

Danny rolled his eyes and motioned to the pizza tray. “Okay, if you say so.”