Busted (36 page)

“Hey, Joe,” Steve said, carefully nudging the sleeping man. “Wake up, it’s time for bed.”

Joe snapped awake in a moment of panic. “What? Where… oh,” he said, relaxing as he saw Steve’s house. “Guest room. Thanks, Steve.”

“Any time, Joe.”

Steve got out of the car and started walking around the side of Chris’ house to the back yard.

“What are you up to, Steve?” Joe asked as he followed.

“Me?” Steve asked with as innocently fake a smile as he could muster. “Nothing. You need a bed, Chris has a bed.” He knocked on the glass of the kitchen door twice.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Joe said. He was dead tired, his arm hurt, and his soul felt completely numb and awfully fragile. He wasn’t sure he could cope with Chris’ very existence reminding him of Alex.

“Hi Chris,” Steve said. He gave Chris a hugely fake smile.

Chris glared at Steve, then yanked him into the kitchen and slammed the door, leaving Joe outside.

“What is he doing here?” Chris asked. He’d spent the last hour yelling at the teams of officers that had been scouring the neighborhood around Joe’s apartment complex, and his voice was rough and growly.

“Right now? Standing on your back porch, you inhospitable bastard,” Steve said calmly.

“Yes, I know that,” Chris snapped. “I meant why did you bring him to my house?”

“Needed someplace safe for Joe tonight,” Steve said with a smile that made it clear there were at least a dozen places he could’ve chosen instead. “He’s had a hell of a day, and he shouldn’t be alone. You know that.”

“Yeah, but here? Toby—”

“Will be fine,” Steve said. “We weren’t followed, so there’s no way our guy would know Joe was here. There’s no extra danger, not tonight, and you know Garrett and Bonham always park their cruisers at the Dunkin’ Donuts. They’ll keep an eye out and do a few extra sweeps of the neighborhood.”

“I don’t like this,” Chris grumbled. The thought about Joe staying the night left him very unsettled, torn between worry about Toby and worry about Joe.

“Never mind, Steve,” Joe called through the kitchen window, which Chris realized had been open enough for Joe to hear him arguing with Steve. “I can stay at a hotel tonight.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Chris snapped. He pulled the door open and dragged Joe inside. “That’s not safe. You’re staying here.”

Joe felt the retort rise, but he couldn’t get it out. "Can we just not fight?" Joe asked instead, his voice tired and plaintive. "We get along okay when we're not fighting."

That stopped whatever Chris was going to spit out. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He took a good look at Joe in the bright light of his kitchen. Joe was haggard, with dark bags under his eyes and his freckles standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin. He was swaying a little, and Chris wasn’t sure he’d make it upstairs to the spare bedroom without help.

“I’m going to leave Joe here,” Steve said as he eased out the door. “I’ll come by in the morning and we’ll work out what we need to do then, okay?”

“Sure,” Chris said absently. He didn’t take his eyes off of Joe, so missed the smirk that flashed across Steve’s face. Instead he pulled one of the kitchen chairs out and eased Joe into it.

“Did they feed you in the hospital?” Chris asked. Joe gave him a confused look, then his stomach growled loudly enough that Chris could hear it. “Guess not,” he said.

“No, I was going to eat when I got home, but…” Joe trailed off. Chris could see him blanch as the memory of the attack hit him. It was painful to see, and without thinking Chris stepped forward, put a gentle hand behind Joe’s head, and gave him a long, soft kiss. He surprised himself almost as much as he’d surprised Joe, and as soon as the man started to relax Chris let go and turned towards the refrigerator.

“There’s meatloaf and potatoes,” he said. “That okay? I can heat them up easily enough.”

“Guh?” Joe asked. Chris glanced over and saw the utter befuddlement on his face. It was kind of endearing, which surprised Chris.

“I’ll take that as a yes. It’ll be a few minutes,” he said, pulling a plate of leftovers out and putting it in the microwave. “Though maybe you ought to have something now. You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” Joe said, his voice finally working. “I’ve had better days.”

“Not too many worse ones, I hope,” Chris said.

Joe gave him a tired little smile. “Not too many.”

“I have some ice cream,” Chris said. “Green, it’s Toby’s favorite flavor.”

“Green?” Joe asked. “You mean lime?”

Chris shook his head and pulled the tub of sherbet out of the freezer. “Nope. Green. See? It even says so on the lid.” He held the container out so Joe could see it. Emblazoned across the lid in bold letters were the words ‘Green Sherbet’.

“Oh. Um…” Joe had memories of cheap ice cream. Mostly cleaning the stuff off the carpeting as a kid and the smell of it mixed with cheap vodka.

“No? You sure? It’s got a giraffe on it,” Chris said as he waggled it at Joe.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Probably for the best. It doesn’t match your complexion.”

“Do I even want to know?” Joe asked.

“Toby ate most of a gallon of this stuff over New Year’s. Turned him chartreuse for a week,” Chris said as he put the sherbet away. He heard Joe laugh from behind him. That’s when he saw it, the pint of ice cream he’d bought on a whim last week, sitting at the back of the freezer under a half-empty bag of tater tots. He
knew
it was Joe’s favorite, and he wasn’t sure which scared him more, finding out he was wrong or finding out he was right.

“I don’t suppose…” Chris yanked the ice cream out and showed it to Joe.

“Hey, Rocky Road! My favorite. I didn’t know you liked it too.”

“Well…” Chris said weakly. “It’s pristine. Since you’re hurt and all, you can do the honors.” He put the container on the table and dug in the silverware drawer for a spoon.

“Um, Chris?” Joe asked as he tried prying the lid off with just his right hand. “I’m… I can’t… it’s kind of stuck.”

“Oh, sorry,” Chris said. He grabbed a bowl out of the dish drainer next to the sink and popped the carton open. He heaped three big scoops of chocolate marshmallow nut ice cream out into the bowl.

“That enough?”

“Little more, please,” Joe said.

Chris dug one more spoonful of ice cream out. It was mostly marshmallow and nuts, and Chris could see Joe eyeing it. Instead of dropping it into the bowl Chris raised it to Joe’s face. Joe opened his mouth and Chris slipped it in. He watched Joe’s lips close over it, his head moving back slightly as Chris slowly pulled the spoon back. He could almost feel those lips wrapped around his cock. That was his undoing —
 
Chris’ left hand twitched and just as he was about to lunge forward and give Joe another kiss the microwave screeched, snapping him back to reality.

“That’s, um…” he said. “Food.”

“Thanks,” Joe said. “Spoon?”

“Oh, right!” Chis blushed and held the spoon out to Joe. When Joe’s fingers touched his, Chris gave a tiny whimper that thankfully was drowned out by the microwave.

“I’ll just… yeah,” he said, jerking backwards. Joe had a slightly dazed look on his face.

Chris took a moment to breathe and try and center himself before he opened up the microwave. The kiss had been bad enough but he could, if he tried very hard, not think about the impulse that had driven him to do it. Feeding Joe that one spoonful of ice cream, though, was more than he could ignore. He was well aware how stupid that seemed, where feeding someone was more disturbing than kissing them. It was, and it took all he had to collect himself enough not to let it show.

“I’ll make up the spare bedroom,” Chris said as he put the plate down in front of Joe. Those weren’t the words he wanted. He wanted to ask if Joe wanted to sleep with him, but he couldn’t. At least he didn’t run when he went upstairs.

Well, not much at least.

* * *

Joe tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable on the twin bed in Chris’ guest room. It was just past one in the morning, if the little clock on the nightstand was to be believed. Through the window Joe could see the moon shining in the night sky, half full and casting a ghostly light through the room. It was bright enough to accentuate the darkness, but not bright enough to see anything but shadows.

 
His shoulder was a constant ache, and every time he moved it sent a little stabbing pain to remind him it was there. Knowing that Chris was sleeping just down the hall wasn’t helping either.

The kiss Chris had given Joe had lingered with him. He’d never had a kiss like that from Alex, one filled with so much gentle affection. He couldn’t remember getting a kiss like that from anyone, really. Maybe one of the guys he’d dated back in college, but that had been so long ago.

It scared him how hard the kiss had grabbed hold of his heart. Joe knew better; falling in love with someone took more than a kiss and some kind words, especially when he was on the rebound. Alex had just dumped him
hard
, and there was no way that getting involved with his twin was anything but a bad idea, made worse by the resemblance and his desperate need for someone, anyone, to show they cared.

Still, right then he was tired, heartsick, and terrified in ways he’d tried hard all evening to not think about. That kiss had been the one good thing in a miserable day, and Joe held on to the feeling of Chris’ lips against his. Concentrating on that memory helped dull the pain in his shoulder in ways that no amount of Tylenol could touch.

A faint whisper at the other end of the room drew his attention, though he couldn’t see anything but moving darkness. For a moment he thought it might be Toby’s monster, come back from wherever it had gone, but as the shape moved closer it resolved into a familiar face.

“Chris?”

Chris looked up from the shadows at the foot of the bed and placed one finger on his lips. The movement shifted him just enough that a beam of moonlight splashed across his face, giving him an almost etherial glow. A few strands of black hair fell forward to hang in front of Chris’ left eye and at that moment he was the most beautiful thing Joe had ever seen.

Joe nodded, falling silent. Toby was sleeping just across the hall, and they needed to be quiet.