Charles thought about the woman who lived three houses away from him, the one with the
garden full of birds, which Rudegar considered his own personal pantry. Tart of tongue she might
be, but she wasn't without her kinder side. Since he'd moved in, she'd been a good neighbor, even
if their paths didn't cross that often. He knew that she was more or less estranged from her
Drawing Closer - 13
family, but she'd mentioned her grandson once or twice, and her pleasure that he'd moved back to
town had been plain.
"You're an artist," Charles said slowly. "You've been in Europe--"
Gray nodded. "That's right. Six months over there. I got back just before Christmas. I've got a
studio on the north side of town with an apartment attached. Tiny, but I don't need much living
space. Just room to paint."
"I'd like to see your work," Charles said without thinking.
"Got an exhibition coming up soon," Gray said off-handedly, his pride poorly concealed. "At the Florence Gallery; you know it?"
Charles nodded, wondering how the conversation had slipped into something so civilized.
"But you wanted to know stuff," Gray went on. "How I got that book, right?" He smirked and ran his hand over his chest and down. "You could say that I sold my body for it."
"And you could say that you're pulling my leg," Charles said dryly.
Gray leaned forward and stroked his hand very slowly along Charles' thigh. "It's tempting." His hand paused at Charles' knee, warm and strong. There was a faint smudge of what Charles
assumed was oil paint at the base of his thumb, in a deep, rich shade of blue. "The book belonged
to my grandmother."
"You can't be serious?" Charles blurted out. He'd only been inside Beatrice's house a few times, and he recalled seeing a library, but he'd been too polite to ask to look at it on his first visit and
never got around to it on later visits. She'd given no indication that she shared his interests so he'd
assumed her books would hold nothing he'd want to read. He winced. He always had been a bit of
a snob when it came to books…
Gray nodded. "She's as much a packrat as you are when it comes to books."
"But--" Charles was floundering. "You saw it and asked her for it? Gray, it's worth a good deal of money--"
"Not to her. She paid a dollar for it in a thrift store about twenty years ago and she's read it
once." Gray moved, and before Charles could stop him, he tugged up his T-shirt and turned so
that Charles could see the long line of his back. "See that scratch?"
Charles reached out and traced it with his fingertips, no more able to help touching the tanned,
smooth skin than he could help breathing. Which he was doing a lot of, because he felt dizzy and
more oxygen seemed to be called for. The scratch was deep and long, slashed in scarlet across
Drawing Closer - 14
Gray's shoulder blade, but it was scabbed over and healing well.
"Paid for that book in blood." Gray sounded solemn, but he was grinning as he turned his head to look at Charles. The grin faded, probably because Charles couldn't hide his reaction to having
Gray this close, half-naked. "I -- I worked in her garden. For three weekends. The roses --
Charles,
fuck
, don't look at me like that if you aren't going to do anything."
"What do you want me to do?" Charles asked, watching Gray's lip whiten where his teeth were
digging in to it. "Gray, I don't know what you want--"
Gray twisted around and Charles glanced down at a smooth chest and a flat stomach, the line of
dark hair beneath the navel just asking to be licked darker, before the T-shirt fell back into place.
"Yes, you do." Charles looked up. Gray's eyes were blazing. "You fucking do know."
"Gray, please, just tell me--"
"No." Gray shook his head, a lock of hair falling across his face. He brushed it away impatiently.
"You don't get to have this made easy for you."
"I don't? Why?" It seemed like a reasonable question, and Christ, he wanted to kiss that sullen, resentful look right off Gray's face, biting down on that fucking tempting lower lip that was
jutting out.
"Because you don't, that's why."
Charles gave a small chuckle. "You weren't that illogical in class."
"No?" Gray's eyes narrowed. "We're not in class,
sir
."
A jolt of arousal left Charles with nothing to do but ride it out, his breathing shallow now.
"I'm waiting for an answer, Mr. Collins." His voice fell easily into the bored drawl he used to tame a recalcitrant student. "So you've spent ten weeks building up a head of steam, and now--"
"No." Gray's hand came up to rub across his face. "Not ten weeks. Longer than that. Since the first time I saw you." He blinked. "Fuck, maybe I
am
stalking you ..."
"What?"
Gray sighed. "Put it this way," he said. "I wouldn't have taken that evening class if you hadn't been teaching it, and if you'd been teaching Watercolors for Beginners, I'd
still
have signed up for it. It was a way to get to know you. God, are you always this dense when someone's hot for
you?"
Drawing Closer - 15
Charles swallowed. "It doesn't happen with enough frequency for me to be able to say," he
managed. "When -- when did you see me first, then? Because I know I didn't see you before the
class began."
He was certain of that. The visceral reaction the first time he'd seen Gray had been strong enough
to have made it impossible that he'd ever seen him before and ignored him.
"I was at my grandmother's and you came over to get your cat after he'd pounced on a bird and
Gran had pounced on
him
." Gray's eyes went distant. "I heard your voice... God, you had me at
'Good morning', you know that? I wanted to go out and meet you, but, shit, I was hard, and I...
lurked."
"You did
what
?" Charles was grinning now, Gray's discomfiture relaxing him.
"I peeked around the door," Gray admitted, starting to grin himself. "Got a nice view of your ass when you bent over to pick up your cat and then I watched you walk down the street. Asked
Gran about you, got a lecture on curiosity, and then everything she knew, because she loves
gossiping, no matter what she says." Gray took a deep breath. "It's how I knew you were gay.
And English, which I'd kind of figured, and not seeing anyone, or at least no one you were
bringing home."
"Does she have my bedroom bugged?" Charles asked acidly. "For your information, I've brought several men back here."
"Not recently," Gray said. "So how long has it been?"
"Not long enough that I'm desperate," Charles said harshly. "Not long enough that I'm going to allow you to manipulate me to satisfy what sounds like nothing more than a whim."
"Have you been listening to a word I've said?"
"Since you pulled up your shirt? Not really."
That got a chuckle from Gray. "Hey, humor. It's a start."
"I wasn't really joking." Charles frowned, thinking. "I remember that day. About four or five months ago, wasn't it?"
"You're wondering what took me so long to make a move when you don't have me down as the
shy, retiring type?" Gray asked.
"I suppose I am."
Drawing Closer - 16
"I wasn't out then." Gray looked thoughtful. "Wasn't sure I wanted to be, if it was who I was."
"And you are now?" Charles asked, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice.
Gray's eyes focused on him. "Oh, yeah. I am now."
Charles stood up. "And I'm sure I'm very happy for you. I'm still not going to be the way you
test that conclusion in the field."
"Relax. You wouldn't be. My first, I mean." Gray raised an eyebrow. "I spent six months in Europe; you think I didn't take advantage of what was available?" He sighed. "Luke... yeah, could say my taste for Englishmen started with him, although I'd have to say when it came to blow
jobs, Sarah was better."
"And what am I supposed to say to that?" Charles asked. "Or do you think my competitive
streak will push me to try and out-do Sarah?"
There was nothing but heat in the look Gray gave him. "You? You don't have to try hard with
me. You don't have to do anything but look at me."
Charles met his eyes. "Really."
"You don't believe me. Why?"
A shrug was all Charles could muster as reply. He knew that he was in good shape -- and he
wasn't even close to adding 'at my age' to that statement because he didn't feel old at all. Knew,
without vanity, that most people would call him attractive, although his brown hair and dark-
gray eyes weren't anything out of the ordinary as far as he could see. But being used to seeing an
unmistakable warmth in someone's eyes when he smiled at them with intent didn't translate into
being the sort of man someone like Gray would want.
"God, it's like you don't know what you're like," Gray said. "What you do to me."
Charles snorted. "Gray, a word of advice: I'm as susceptible to flattery as anyone, but you're
laying it on too thickly. Go and find yourself another Luke -- or Sarah. The town's full of
students who'd love a quick fuck with someone like you, just a little bit older than them, a place
of your own... I can't imagine you'd get turned down often, if at all. Hell, the way you look, you
could probably have Luke and Sarah at the same time if that was what you wanted."
"It isn't." Gray's face flushed with anger. "It
isn't
. You are. Or you were, but I'm starting to think I've been wasting my time."
"You have been." Charles tried to keep his voice steady. "I'm not interested in a serious relationship with you, or anyone else, and when I want sex, you're not remotely close to the men
Drawing Closer - 17
I go with."
Which was the truth, even if it missed out on the fact that there hadn't been anyone since he'd
met Gray, and until the memory of their single kiss had faded it was going to stay that way.
"What's wrong with me?" There was a baffled frown on Gray's face and Charles found himself
torn between sympathy and amusement.
"Nothing," Charles assured him. "I just prefer men closer to my own age, with a lot more
experience -- and no expectation of an encounter leading to more than that."
"Kind of cold," Gray said scornfully. It was, deliberately so, but Charles had no intention of defending his lifestyle. "And from where I'm sitting, we're not that far apart in age. Fuck; you talk like you're fifty or something, and I'm sixteen!"
It had been too many years since Alan for that to do more than make Charles flinch inwardly.
"I admit that nine years isn't much under some circumstances, but right now you need to be with
someone your own age."
Gray shook his head. "And we're back to you being full of it. Forget it." He stood up and headed toward the door. "Keep the book."
The front door slammed behind him. Charles was starting to wonder if all their conversations
would end that way.
Of course, it could be that he wouldn't get a chance to find out. Just how convincing had he been?
"Not very," he said aloud. Rudegar padded in and gave him a curious look. "Oh, don't you start."
Charles stood up and headed for his glass. "I did the best I could." He swallowed what was left of his drink and poured another. "Could've had him," he told the cat, sitting down where Gray had sat and stretching out his legs to give the cat something to jump on and knead. "Right now, I
could've been doing anything I damn well wanted to him. And it's not like I haven't given it some
thought." He shivered, picturing that smooth bare skin, remembering the responsive warmth of
Gray's mouth. "The hell with Sarah," he said. Rudegar's tongue flashed out, pink and derisive as he began to wash a paw. "And the hell with fucking Luke, too," Charles said, just for good
measure. "Oh, God."
That night, he wanted to dream of Gray. He didn't get his wish, although at least his sleep wasn't
haunted by memories, either, as he'd feared.
Alan
. Not fifty, no, and Charles hadn't been sixteen either, but still...
They'd met when Charles had been starting his second year at university, sophisticated as hell --
Drawing Closer - 18
compared to the first-year students, at least. He'd known all the good pubs, had a circle of
friends, although none of them were close, and was doing well enough to have his tutors
guardedly optimistic about his chances of a First in History. And he'd decided once and for all
that he was gay and got very earnest about defending that to middle-class parents who'd gaped at
him in horror and then been very, very understanding, which was worse.
Alan had taken that safe, predictable life and given it a negligent nudge, just to watch it smash.
He'd been about to turn forty, something which bothered him far more than Charles, secure in the
immortality of someone still six months shy of twenty, could comprehend. Alan's way of coping
was to abandon London for Oxford and turn up drunk at his old college for dinner with his uncle,
who just happened to be one of Charles' tutors. He'd been impossibly elegant, with his straight
fair hair falling across his face every time he leaned forward and getting raked back with hands
that were still the most beautiful Charles could remember. Charles had watched him across the
dining hall, his heart hammering in his chest, aroused in a way that left no room for self-
consciousness. He'd been there when Alan had stood, graceful in drunkenness, and given his uncle
an ironic farewell bow -- and when Alan had turned on his heel and cannoned into him, he'd held