Dante had even gone to Alek and tried to take his place. He’d begged and threatened, actualy, but Alek was adamant; he wanted Griff for the photos.
Period. Which of course only exacerbated the situation. On the plus side, Dante didn’t physicaly attack Alek, but only because Griff apologized fast and got him to the truck in time.
In the end, Griff agreed to let him come along, and Dante was determined to make the next three days a living hel for everyone involved, Griff included.
During the ride up, Dante stood across the elevator fuming. His hostility smoked off him like heat in the desert until Griff was sure he was bending the air,
forming mirages around them out of his rage.
God save us from possessive Italians.
They had taken the subway to Broadway-Lafayette and walked over to an old beat-up loft conversion on the Bowery, next to a homeless shelter and a
methadone clinic. The battered red door opened to a grubby halway. This place had obviously been a factory at some point, and the elevator was open-faced,
with a metal gate that alowed them to watch the bare concrete of the shaft as they crawled slowly up to the photographer’s apartment in tense silence.
Finaly, as the lift crawled past graffiti painted on the concrete between the fourth and fifth floors, Dante muttered, “What a shithole.”
“C’mon. She needs the space. Alek said she was realy talented and chil.” Griff glanced at Dante’s stiff shoulders; why was he stil acting so crazy? This had
to be the slowest elevator in the universe.
Dante smiled, but it didn’t reach his cold eyes. “Alek wants you so bad he’d cut his own throat to get your hands on him.”
“Easy, tiger.” Griff clamped his lips together.
Ding!
They stepped out and looked right, then left into a hardwood-floored hal that creaked under their feet. There was faint music coming from one end; instinctively, they both headed in that direction.
Dante walked a little ahead of him, making sure he got there first so he could give her what-for. “I’m not gonna put up with some slutty piece drooling over
you and fondling you.”
“D, you can’t have it both ways.”
“Yeah, if I’m flirting with someone, I’m in charge. But how can I be sure what she does with you—” Dante realized he was talking to the air and walking
alone. “Where are you going?”
Griff had turned and was striding back across the creaking floor toward the elevators. “Going home. We’re gonna have to do this together. I spent my whole
life trying to get to you. I’m not gonna wreck it over some chick we never met before who just wants to take some pictures. Alek is being generous to us. This is generous, dipshit.” Griff pressed the button.
Dante reached him and raised a hand to touch him but didn’t. “C’mon, G. I’m sorry. I know… look, if the shoe was on the other—”
“Then I’d fucking deal. Oh wait, I already
did!
” Griff exploded in the empty halway, not giving a shit who heard. “I’m cleaning up a mess you made. You think I didn’t watch you on that site, flirting with Alek. A hundred times? A thousand? You think I don’t know every word you said, that I didn’t want to flush myself down the crapper every time you winked at him or licked your fucking mouth like you were gonna let him blow you? Like it wasn’t an axe in my head?”
Dante’s face was frozen. His eyes were midnight glass, any trace of that green buried deep. “Wh—I—”
“You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you twice. The idea of going in there to strip off for strangers and I wanna puke. But I’m doing it.” Griff braced himself
against the wal and bent over, hands on his knees, looking at the floor. Finaly, he muttered, “I’m doing this for us. For you! It’s awful enough without you twisting the fucking knife.” He could see Dante standing close out of the corner of his eye, but neither of them moved.
Dante made a smal sound that made Griff turn. He was fucking crying, standing like a broken soldier. Dante’s face was a rictus of agony, a tragic mask slick
with pain.
When Griff straightened to look at him, they both seemed smal in the vast halway.
Dante nodded at the floor. “I can’t lose you, man.”
“Then talk to me. Just talk to me and we’l figure it out.” Griff’s hand held out looked too big, like he would knock a hole in the plaster wals if he wasn’t
careful.
Dante shook in front of him, frustration leaking onto the floor one stinging drop at a time. He wouldn’t let himself take the pale hand.
“C’mon, D. Enough with that bulshit. You know better.” Griff straightened and puled Dante into his chest, not giving a shit who saw the queer firemen. “You
be brave for me and I’l do the same.” He kissed the top of the tangled head.
Dante nodded and let himself be held for a moment. “Prick.”
“Asshole.” Griff puled back so they could see each other. “Now you decide. Are you gonna stand here in the fucking halway singing opera like Loretta, or
are you gonna come in with me and solve our life so we can actualy have it? Your choice.”
Finaly Dante stiled and wiped his nose. He raised his eyes to Griff’s, searching them. The bastard managed a smal grin. “Did you realy watch me that many
times on the site?”
Blink. Blink.
Al innocent vanity.
Griff groaned and smacked his head, but when they reached the photographer’s door, they were standing beside each other.
“Rent-controled.” Beth puled open the door before they could buzz. “I’m not nearly as successful as this place makes it seem. I lucked out when I broke up
with my last girlfriend. You’re on time.”
She looked surprised about that. She was maybe four feet nine inches tal, definitely under five feet, and al of one hundred pounds soaking wet. Her hair was
a gleaming blond knot scraped up onto the back of her head. She wore overals over a long-sleeved T-shirt, and high-tops. Her studio took up the entire floor, with windows looking out over the Bowery.
“You’re Griffin?”
“Or Griff. Hi.” Griff shifted his weight in the door, feeling clumsy and dumb.
She held out her hand, and Griff shook it. She swung her gaze over to Dante and squinted. “Boyfriend?”
Huh
. They hadn’t exactly discussed it; Griff wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.
Dante was. “Yeah. That a problem?” Ful-on Brooklyn. He narrowed his eyes and ambled into the room, realy laying the Italian Stalion on thick.
She didn’t even watch him. “Not unless you’re gonna get in my fucking away. Was that you pitching the panty-tantrum in the hal?”
Ruh-roh
.
“We were having a conversation.”
“Sounded like a snit. I’m used to it. I work with a lot of models, so I got hot’n’cold running hysterics in this joint.”
Griff caught her eye and shook his head to let her know it was okay. She didn’t agree.
Beth turned back to scold Dante. “Like you’re a rabid Dalmatian and he’s a hydrant? Macho territorial bulshit. Nothing new to me, Tonto. Why don’t you
piss on him if it’l make you feel better?” Beth roled her eyes as she laid lenses in rows on the counter. “For the record, I’m not angling for your man, genius. He has the wrong parts. Hi?” She pointed at herself and crossed her eyes. “Big dyke, much?”
Griff tried to defuse the twin time bombs. “Uhh, standing right here.”
Dante ignored him and stuck out his noble chin. “I just want to make sure nobody hassles him or does anything—”
“Yeah, yeah. Ooga-booga. Sit down.” Beth had his number, and she wasn’t afraid of anything. “Don’t touch anything.”
The east wal was solid windows, and the west wal had an enormous rol of white paper mounted at the crown molding, which fel to the floor in a seamless
spil. It was lit by large lamps on stands, which were off at the moment. When they were turned on, it would be blinding.
“Griffin?” Beth was smiling right in front of him with her blue eyes, patting him down with her knobby little hands. Her anger had evaporated. It was like
talking to a pushy pixie. “You done any modeling before?”
“No, ma’am.” He actualy had to look down to realy see her. Even in this cavernous space he felt like a cyclops.
“Jeez. I’m not your granny. I’m only thirty-six. I mean Alek said you’d—”
Dante snorted from the kitchen. “Blown his load for Russia.”
Great. Thanks, D.
Beth didn’t blink, just waited for Griff’s answer.
“Uh-huh. But nothing like for the camera and”—Griff gestured at the expanse of white paper—“everything.”
“We’l start slow. If you need breaks, you tel me. If you get uncomfortable, say something.”
“What about if I feel uncomfortable… ma’am?” Dante sauntered from the kitchen eating a muffin, al but chewing with his mouth open.
Beth didn’t blink. “Then I know that I’m doing my fucking job, Guido.” She plucked the muffin out of his hand and took a bite and handed it back. “C’mon.”
Then she ran them through the setup and the facilities: toilet, fridge, basic equipment. It was a huge apartment, and the light from the windows was bright
enough cause a migraine.
“Jesus! You make serious bank doing this photo thing, huh?” Dante picked up a massive lens from a table of cameras, being a douche on purpose.
“Dante!” Griff hissed and glared at him.
Back off
.
But Beth just plucked it out of his hands and replaced it. “If you’re talented and bloodthirsty—but I am, so yeah.” She started to head back to the kitchen but paused to smile. Her voice was a lulaby. “And if you touch my shit again, I’m gonna kick your insides out and wear you as a party dress.”
Dante nodded and put the lens down carefuly. Griff smiled.
Smart lady
.
She regarded Griff from a couple yards away, eyeing his scale and measurements like a lioness scoping a wildebeest. “We got three days. This is a favor for
Alek.” She looked up at the light overhead and held a smal black square in front of his face. “Light meter. You’re good.”
Dante orbited them like an irritated moon, but he didn’t interfere beyond asking, “What kinda favor? I mean, why are you helping HotHead?”
“Alek finds models for me sometimes. He has—” She appraised Griff and approved. “—quite a fucking eye.”
“On that we agree.” Dante put a hand on his boyfriend’s broad back.
“Alek can’t afford my support team, so I’m a crew of one for this. I got snacky crap so we don’t have to run out al damn day.”
Griff was relieved. “So it’l just be us?”
Beth smiled. “Better anyways. I don’t like to have a massive team with someone who hasn’t—”
“Gotten butt-ass, bone-dog naked for your vadge-cam?” Dante offered with an angelic smile, standing close.
“Fucking hel, D.” Griff turned to Beth with an apology, but she spoke first.
“Huh-yeah. Thanks, cockbreath.” Beth looked at Griff for permission and then stepped closer to dissect him from about two feet away. “There’s no face in
these shots, so we don’t need that kind of makeup. I may need to trim pubes or pits or whatnot. Your skin’s very fair; maybe some shading, but not much. Little oil, maybe?”
She spoke that last to an invisible assistant, then realized there wasn’t one. She closed her eyes and grimaced politely. “Sorry. Bad habit. You look pretty cut already.”
“I work out at the firehouse. And I run sometimes, you know.” Griff felt weird looking down at his body like it was a suit that belonged to him.
“I don’t see a lot of guys built like you that aren’t charbroiled. Gay or straight, bodybuilders tend to gril themselves pretty regular. And they al got tattoos up the yingyang.”
Dante ran a possessive hand over Griff’s shoulders and neck, the calouses rough in exactly the right way.
Griff found himself arching into it like a massive cat. It felt nice being stroked in front of a friendly witness.
“You’re kind of a natural for body modeling. Seriously. You could clean up.” Beth walked Griff over behind a screen so he could strip down and gave him a
thick navy robe that he could wear in between. “So you don’t freeze.”
She left him to shuck down and he did, feeling cold and strange in this exposed room, super aware of those windows facing the stark white paper. When he
came out in the robe, she walked around him like he was a bul at an auction. His robe only reached his knees and the sleeves mid arm, which made her smile.
“You are a big one, huh? What are you, like two hundred forty? Two hundred fifty pounds?”
Griff nodded. “Sorry.”
She chewed her lip and puled on one ear, muling some options. “Don’t be sorry. It’s great. I think I know what Alek wants. C’mere a sec.”
Griff folowed her back across the hardwood floors to the sheet-metal kitchen and Dante’s irritated dark glare.
Beth simply ignored Dante, stepping around him to grab a bottle of olive oil. She poured it into her hands and rubbed them together like she was washing
them. She came toward Griff. “Lose the robe for a sec?”
“What are you doing?” Dante stepped in front of Griff protectively, for al the world like he was going to wrestle the little lesbian to the ground.
“I’m not gonna molest your boyfriend. Back down, genius!” She showed her slick palms. “The muscle wil look better under oil. Breaks the light. And he’s so
fair we need al the contrast we can get.”
“Fuck that. I’l do it.” Dante scooped up the olive oil bottle and lathered his hands with it, annoyed. Stepping close to Griff, he spoke in a near whisper. “This okay?”
“Sure.” Griff nodded. “I’m not gonna break, Dante. It’s for us. They’re just pictures.”
Dante grimaced and whispered, “I know. Sorry, G. I fucking hate this.”
Beth laughed and moved away, wiping her hands on the towel over her shoulder. “’S’better anyway. He’l let you be more thorough than me. Be sure and
find the nooks and crannies. Maybe it’l calm you both down.”
Dante put his warm hands on Griff’s colarbone and smoothed a sheen of olive oil over his shoulders, around across the top of his back, down his heavy arms
to his hands.
Griff’s dick took notice right away, jutting from his fiery bush and poking Dante. “Sorry.”