Head 01 Hot Head (5 page)

They’d grown up together, yeah. And they were family, sure. But Dante had become his axis, a vital organ necessary for his survival. Whole days would go by with nothing but those occasional two hours of Dante to make him feel like a human being. The world was this barren, radioactive junkyard he had to survive between Dante taking off and Dante coming back again. Even though they were two guys, the thought of losing him felt like amputation using a fork with no anesthesia.

Griff had panic attacks. He imagined muggings and wrecks and ilnesses that might visit Dante, even though they didn’t. He dreamed up revenges and rescues

and cures that never took place. He knew it was weird. And somehow, Dante sensed his panic and never said anything. He just fucking knew and stood beside

him and Griff was grateful, grateful like a kid puled out of a burning school.

The smoke and the smel cleared, and the Big Apple climbed back up onto its branch. As a big fucking thank you, the dirtbag mayor decided to close down

a bunch of firehouses and retire old-timers to balance his shitty budget. But little by little, the men of the FDNY put Humpty-Dumpty together again.

Even Griff. Even though he knew that Dante had done most of it for him while he was a zombie. Even if he had al these awful feelings for his friend, for a

man, that he couldn’t control. In their world, two guys together was impossible.

Two guys? Bad idea.

“Too bad we ain’t queer, you and me,” Dante said one night at the Stone Bone and planted a firm kiss on Griff’s ginger-stubbled cheek and tipped their

foreheads together. Griff almost choked on his Guinness Extra Cold. “Think of al the money we’d save on booze and roses.”

Then Dante left with a pair of sisters who kept him tied up most of that weekend. Literaly… French bowlines with their stockings. He didn’t know that he’d

left Griff in knots of his own, worrying how easy it would be to fuck up the friendship that was holding him together, to lose the one person beside him. Two

towers, alone together.

Too bad.

THE morning after the party, Griff woke up to baritone snores with his face pressed against hairy skin. It was early enough to stil be dark outside. And dark

enough that he should have been in his own damn bed. Griff froze.

Holy shit.

With painstaking caution, Griff lifted his mussed copper-top to squint at the room. Dante’s.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Kennedy
. How had they wound up crashing in bed together? He never slept at Dante’s because he didn’t know if he could trust

himself late at night with too many drinks messing with his judgment. He knew better. Griff remembered dancing at a club— no—fighting at a party somewhere. In Staten Island? No, the Stone Bone. World Trade anniversary, ten years. Ugh.

Please
God, please don’t let me have done something boneheaded.

He squinted an eye to see what the damage was.
Huh
. He was naked; it seemed like Dante was wearing something down there, but no way was he gonna

risk checking. Griff could feel his pale skin flush, pink washing over him.

Griff’s mouth was sour and dry. He could smel the alcohol sweat in the sheets. Dante’s big bicep was hooked around his neck. Crisp black chest hair, the

nipples like old pennies against the tan. The ridged stomach gurgled for a second, rising and faling, rising and faling before his eyes as Griff braced himself to move.

I’m such a numbskull. What the hell did we do last night?

Wait…. He remembered leaving the Stone Bone to get away from the September 11th idiots. He remembered Dante ditching his brunette and the near

three-way.
Thank Christ.
They’d gone for a late dinner… pizza? But there’d been tequila, obviously, and a lot of it. He’d come back to help Dante with something? No, that wasn’t it. Dante wouldn’t let Griff help, but they’d shared the bed. How did he get naked?
Jesus
. His mouth tasted like a whorehouse ashtray.

It had been September 11th. Out with the guys. Then…?

Ugh! His head felt like beetles were trying to tunnel in through his left eye socket. Tequila was always the wrong choice, and he prayed he hadn’t caught any

worms, either. They must have been drinking til 3 a.m. while they ate. Dante was so nuts; Griff couldn’t help it if crazy was catching when they got together. There oughtta be a vaccine.

“5:17,” said the clock.

“Get your ass gone,” said his gut.

“Come back to bed,” said Dante’s warm skin.

Did we actually—?! No fucking way
. Dante’s underwear meant nothing had happened, right? Griff lifted his arm in slow motion, watching Dante’s face for any change.

Lucali’s! They’d headed to Lucali’s Pizzeria and picked up a pie with artichoke and sausage and peppers. But there had been no tables ’cause everyone was

in the street, partying with ghosts. Dante had been cagey about whatever was bugging him, dodging the question while they waited for their order to come out of the oven.

At some point they must have carried the steamy box back to Dante’s, but Griff couldn’t remember that part. They must have eaten. They must have talked.

Something about money? He couldn’t find the memory; his skul was too ful of dog turds and broken glass.

Dante must have met a girl at the restaurant; he always met a girl
. Shit!
Had they brought the brunette home after al? What if there was some piece on the other side of Dante right now who’d seen something, who’d say something. Dante might forget, but no way a chick would fail to notice a homo vibe. No way Griff could have kept a lid on things with her between them; he had to get out of here, pronto.

Milimeter by milimeter, Griff roled away from Dante’s glossy olive skin toward the edge of the bed. It was Monday and they were both on duty at six

o’clock this afternoon. If he could sneak out without a discussion… if he could pul his head out of his ass… if he could just get to the bathroom before his buddy woke up, everything would be fine.

Thank the Lord he can sleep through a missile strike.

Dante muttered something and shifted away from him into the rumpled space Griff had been warming until about four seconds ago, taking deep breaths

against Griff’s pilow, inhaling Griff’s scent as he dreamed.

Griff was awake now, realy awake. The other side of the bed was empty: no girl. In the wee hours, Dante had scootched over to cradle him in his sleep.

Dante was always tactile. They’d been drunk. Pizza and shots. But Griff hadn’t blown a load on his best friend. Crisis averted.

Slowly, slowly, he pushed off the mattress and onto shaky feet; his stomach turned over. “Tequila to kil you,” Mr. Anastagio always said.

Griff tried not to look at the muscles under the twisted sheet, the broad back rising and faling. Rising, faling. The club in front of him jerked.

Motherfucker
. A dot of precum and his foreskin shifted. What was wrong with him?! He could see his kilt wadded at the base of the nightstand, one boot peeking out underneath. Dante had literaly stripped him and put his big butt to bed.

Griff swalowed, his face hot with the fresh blush.

He tried to focus on his pale feet, the rusty hairs at his toe-knuckles. His size fifteens looked about a half mile away. He tried not to focus on Dante’s jumbo jar of finger-grooved Vaseline peeking out from under the bedframe. He swalowed. His heart thundered in his ears as he tried to plan his escape route. His heart was going a mile a minute and he had morning
redwood
.

“The fuck are you doing, G?” A sleepy rumble from behind him.

“Jesus!” Griff flinched and froze.

Dante was propped up on his elbows, his dark hair an endearing, stupid nest on top of his head. His grin was infectious, but Griff couldn’t meet his eyes.

Dante tilted his head in confusion. “You need clothes or what?”

“Piss. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.” Griff kept walking, keeping his damp ramrod aimed away.

“You hung?” Dante licked his lips, and Griff managed to nod before he closed the bathroom door and let out the breath he’d been holding.

Ten more seconds and his erection would have given him away. He braced himself on the sink and concentrated on not puking, begging his thick dork to cut

him some slack.
Fat chance
. He pinched it, hard.
Ow
. And finaly it started to shrink.

Turning on the tap, he leaned over and took a mouthful of water, swished it through his furry teeth and spat it into the sink. He avoided the vanity mirror;

whatever was looking back at him was not something he wanted to see. His stomach rumbled ominously. He headed to the tub to turn on the shower, but before he

could get the water going, the door sprang open.

Dante staggered in, hand inside his baggy boxers, and stopped in front of the toilet. He yawned and scratched his furry bals—
scritch-scritch—
before hauling his junk out to piss. “I tried to make you drink water but you just zonked out.”

Stop watching and put your pants on, shitwit.

Griff grunted and slid out of the bathroom, keeping his eyes on the tiled wal. “I gotta get home. We’re both working a tour tonight and I got shit to do.”

Behind him, Dante’s stream hit the water loudly. Griff hunted for his scattered clothing.

“G, you remember what we talked about?” Dante suddenly sounded nervous and stubborn. He rinsed his hands in the sink but didn’t dry them.

“Yeah. Sure. Not realy.” Griff scanned the floor.
C’mon, c’mon
.

“Can I ask a favor?” His best friend stood in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, eyes lowered a little.

Griff’s other boot was under the chair and his shirt was nowhere.

“Griffin?” Dante’s body was so close to naked, and the perfect sweet muskiness of his skin was everywhere.

“Yeah, man. Whatever you need.” Griff bent over to grab a sock, keeping his back turned, super aware of his plump cock, more visible than it should be.

“I ain’t even asked yet.”

Griff raised an eyebrow, completely confused. “And the answer is yes, Anastagio.” Where the hel was his shirt? Probably stil downstairs in the living room.

It had been hot last night. He remembered that.
Fuck
. He’d started undressing downstairs. What else had he done or said?

“It’s just….” Dante looked as embarrassed as Griff felt, but definitely for different reasons. “I’m a little short right now and ConEd is giving me hel. I need another job.”

“Course, man!” Griff’s exposed nipples were impossibly hard.

“Great.” Except Dante didn’t sound like it was great. “You’re not mad, right?”

“No! I don’t have cash on me, but I can run get some.” Griff buckled his kilt, keeping his back to his best friend. At least his dick was covered. He needed to get dressed and get home. He crossed his own arms, which felt like he was either angry or holding a weird pose. “How much do you need?”

Dante didn’t say anything to that, just watched him swerving around the clutter in the bedroom.

Griff puled on his socks. Finaly he looked up and noticed the rings under his best friend’s eyes, the arms crossed tight, the scabbed cut on his knuckles.

Dante looked like he was coming down with something.

“You ought to go back to bed, D.” He realized something was wrong with Dante for real. “Are you sure that’s al?”

Dante ran a hand over his blue-black stubble and wiped his mouth. “If, uh, you can’t swing it—”

“Hey! Hey! Seriously, man. You can have whatever you need, D.” He stuffed his feet into his boots. “I’l stop by the ATM and grab five hundred. Cool?”

Dante looked at him for a second, forehead creased, like he could hear the batshit things Griff was thinking about him. Like he was freaked out by Griff’s

hard nips and morning wood.

Griff knelt to tie his boots.

He’s going to say something. He had to have noticed. I did something when I was trashed.

“That’s cool.” Dante smiled and nodded. The smile did not reach his eyes and nothing was cool.

Griff squinted at him.
What’s going on?
He’d have to get some answers when they were both actualy wearing clothes.

“Thanks, G. You’l bring it to the station tonight?”

Griff nodded and stood up to go, careful to give Dante space. “I’m sorry I crashed and drooled on your pilow. I hate doing that.”

“Spicy pizza needs shots. It’s like a law. And I only trust myself to drink tequila when you’re around. You oughtta keep a change of clothes here anyways.

No way can you fit al that into my tighty-whiteys.” Dante waved at Griff’s oversized… everything.

“I like being in my own place.”

“This
is
your place, G. C’mon.” Dante ambled to the door, his eyes shadowed. “Plus the guys were al hooking up at the Bone and I wasn’t feeling it.”

Griff needed to get downstairs. “I don’t wanna be underfoot al the damn time.”

“Ya kidding?! I’m Italian; I’m fucking miserable without a houseful of hungry bums.” He laughed once and hugged Griff, squeezing his big ribs. “Don’t be an