Lonely Hearts (3 page)

Elijah leaned into those exploring fingers, wishing the futuristic Tesla had teleportation capability. Since it didn't, he only let himself shiver under the blistering heat of Baz's touch a moment before he said, “Race you there,” and opened the door of the car.

As Elijah stumbled out of the front seat, Baz clutched the bottle of Oban and tried to gauge how big of a fuckup he'd initiated. He hadn't meant to let it go this far. The idea of hanging out in his car with Elijah had felt so good, so safe, he couldn't stop himself.

Elijah opened the passenger-side door and glared. “Fuck. You're having second thoughts, aren't you. I knew it.” He pushed away from the car.

Baz grabbed him before he escaped his reach. “Slow down, tiger. You're not going anywhere.”

If Baz hadn't held him so tightly, he'd have lost Elijah in the squirming. “The fuck I'm not. I can read
that
expression through those fucking glasses. Take your pity somewhere else.”

With a growl, Baz yanked Elijah onto his lap. He winced at the impact on his bad hip, but he swallowed the yelp of pain and focused on the more important issue. Pulling off his glasses, he held Elijah's chin tight.

“I don't pity you. I wouldn't fucking do that to you.”

The manhandling and rough tone took some of the wind out of Elijah's sails, but not all. “What
are
you doing? You've been fucking with me ever since we met in Saint Paul. You haul me out of a nightmare, but when I try to thank you, you shove me on a bus to South Dakota with a wad of money like the sight of me revolts you.”

Baz winced. “I didn't—”

“I was there. You fucking did. And when you saw me years later in the computer lab at Saint Timothy, you all but vomited on your way out the door. You looked away anytime you saw me on campus—right up until you leapt in front of a fucking bullet for me. But then you ignored me until tonight, when you get me drunk and high and promise me sex, don't follow through, and I catch you
wearing that face
. So fucking figure it out. You want me or not?”

Jesus Christ. Baz opened his mouth to argue, but Elijah shifted and let in a shaft of setting sunlight directly into his eyes. This time he did cry out, a tight gasp of exquisite pain as he slammed his eyes shut and hunched forward to reclaim the shadow.

Swearing under his breath, Elijah pressed Baz's glasses clumsily onto his face. “You shouldn't have taken them off.”

No, he shouldn't have, not facing the setting sun with a headache from the wedding already killing him. “You said you couldn't read my face with them on.”

“So
that's
what you listen to? You won't fuck me, but you'll blind yourself? What kind of screwed up are you?”

Baz pushed his glasses into place. “I wasn't pitying you. I was trying to decide if I'd fucked up by hunting you down. For once I thought I'd try to see the train wreck coming and stop it. I don't pity you. I worry about you.”

“How would you fuck this up by doing me? Do you have some stupid idea I'd get all gooey over you if you put your dick in my ass? My name's not Aaron Seavers, thanks.”

“I fuck shit up. I worry about you.”

“The name is Prince, bitch, not princess. I can take care of myself.” He flicked Baz lightly on the nose. “You're a lot wetter than I thought.”

Baz nipped at Elijah's fingers as he pulled them away. “This the Xanax kicking in?”

“Yes. I warned you.”

Baz skimmed his hands up Elijah's sides, lingering on his hipbones. Stared up at that dark hair framing his pale face, angular features. Angry eyes that couldn't hide his arousal. “Still wanting to fuck me, even though I'm wet?”

“You're more damp than wet.” Elijah ran his fingers through Baz's hair. “Plus you're one of those assholes who looks hot when you're emo. So, yes.”

“Climb into the moonroof and I'll blow you.”

To his surprise, Elijah
pouted
. “But I was going to blow
you
.”

Baz squeezed his hip. “Climb up there now, hooker, or I won't put my finger in your ass.”

Elijah skimmed his body over Baz's on his way to the roof, pausing to suck briefly on Baz's bottom lip. “Crying shame. I'd be the best you ever had.”

Baz pinched his nipple. “Up. Roof. Now.”

Elijah's wink tipped Baz's erection from semi to full-on painful wood. “Yes, sir.”

His foot slammed into Baz's hip a second time. Biting his tongue, Baz moved it to the console and arranged Elijah's knees against the seat, putting his groin level with Baz's mouth.

“Whoa.” Elijah's torso undulated as Baz undid his dress pants and tugged the waistband down. “Hard to keep my balance. This moonroof is huge. Nothing to hold on to.”

“My hair.” Baz skimmed the trousers to Elijah's thighs and let the mound of tiny ass fill his hands. Before him, Elijah's long, red cock swayed in front of his face.

A pinch of Elijah's ass sent those hands onto either side of Baz's head. “I'll end up pulling it.”

“Good.” Baz sucked on the patch of skin above the dark nest of Elijah's groin, rubbing his chin in the wiry hair. He smiled as Elijah's abdomen quivered, going concave as his cock teased Baz's throat. Baz buried his nose in the thatch, drinking in the sweat and smell of dick. It did more to erase the shadows from his brain than a bottle of scotch, a bale of weed and a basket of Xanax ever could.

“Fuck, suck it already.” Elijah didn't pull Baz's hair, but he buried his fingers deep. “And where's the finger in my ass?”

Baz licked Elijah's belly and slapped his butt. “Bratty.”

“I haven't gotten laid since…before.”

Empathy washed Baz out. He stroked Elijah's ass, his thighs. Baz licked the underside of Elijah's shaft. “Then let me make it good.”

“I don't want it good, I—” He gasped, tugging Baz's hair as Baz sucked on his balls and teased one finger at Elijah's asshole.

As one hand kept up insistent pressure, Baz reached the other into the console for the vial of lube. When he found it, he switched his mouth to the other sac and greased his finger.

Elijah cried out in falsetto when the finger breached his ass, and he thrust his cock into Baz's face. “
Ohgod.
Please.
Please.
”

“I won't leave you hanging, baby.” Baz sucked on the creases of Elijah's thighs, moving counterpoint to the finger gently fucking from behind.

“It feels so good.” Elijah ripped at Baz's hair now, desperate, crazed. “Everything feels so good.”

“Let me make it last.” He whispered the words over Elijah's skin, pausing to slide his tongue up the dick brushing his cheek. “Let me make it better.”

“People might come—
ah
.” He panted as Baz added a second finger inside him. “I'm sticking out the roof of your car. It's pretty obvious what we're doing.”

Baz sucked on the tip of Elijah's cock, digging his tongue in the slit before pulling away to speak. “Stick your head out the roof and enjoy your blow job.” Baz reached for the dashboard controls with his free hand. “We need music, though. Who's your favorite artist?”

“RuPaul, but that's not good make-out music. Try Hi Fashion.
Unghf.
Oh my God, your fingers are long.”

Baz hadn't heard of the band, but Spotify had—except as soon as he keyed them up, Elijah jerked out of euphoria.

“
No.
Not the 70s shit. Hi Fashion. H-I Fashion, not H-I-G-H Fashion. ‘Amazing' and ‘Lighthouse' and ‘I'm Not Madonna'.”

Baz tried again, and sure enough, there were all the songs Elijah had rattled off. He hit random play, and as a bass backbeat thumped through the Tesla, he pushed deep into the sweet ass and took Elijah's cock into his mouth.

Elijah was right—everything felt so good. His car, sexy and sleek and keeping them safe. The music, which was kind of distilled Scissor Sisters. The sweet abandon of Elijah's body as Baz made love to it, fucked it, sucked it down. The tug of Elijah's grip on Baz's hair. The buzz of drugs and alcohol—it all swirled around them, erasing the pain and darkness, leaving them with nothing but light.

Baz wanted to make it last forever.

“I want you to fuck me.” Elijah thrust deep into Baz's mouth, whimpering as a third finger speared his ass. “I need you to fuck me.”

Baz couldn't answer, mouth too full of dick, but he didn't have to reply as sensation quickly overwhelmed Elijah's ability to speak, leaving Baz to focus on the feast. Elijah was a perfect handful, perfect mouthful. If they moved to the backseat, Baz could sit in the center, have Elijah straddle him backward or forward—or both—and as the song they listened too suggested, park and ride.

Except the two jabs to his hip and the flash of sun in his eyes had exacted their toll. Sometimes the right kind of bang could make all his metal insides light up, and they did now, a nice complement to the spiderweb cracks of pain across his skull. He needed topical analgesic for his hip, two oxycodone and twenty minutes for it to kick in before he could entertain any action. His flagging erection was testament. Pain could be an aphrodisiac, yes—but not this kind.

So he drove Elijah to a punishing climax, making him howl into the marina parking lot. He swallowed the spray hitting the back of his throat in three thick gulps, teasing deep into Elijah's ass to milk him as much as possible. Spent, Elijah went limp, and Baz lowered him to his lap, carefully arranging him away from the angry hip.

Elijah collapsed on Baz's shoulder, breathing rough against his neck as he returned to earth. Baz shut his eyes and cradled him close, aching at the way he fit. The song playing now was sweet, and it wrapped the moment in safety and softness.

I don't want this to end.

The thought sent an electric thrill of terror through Baz. It had to be a side effect of the drug cocktail—projected yearning from last call, watching a high school friend get married and chase down a life Baz knew he couldn't have anymore. Yearning to keep Elijah close couldn't be real, because Baz Acker was the dictionary definition of dissatisfaction and distraction.

Yet he couldn't shake wanting this moment with Elijah to stay. When Elijah pressed a drugged, open-mouthed kiss on Baz's neck, Baz shut his eyes and sank into a well of safety he would have sworn ten seconds ago didn't exist.

This was worse than wandering around agitated and lonely. This was what had led him chasing after Aaron last year and eventually breaking his friend's heart. He couldn't hurt Elijah. He couldn't let anyone hurt Elijah. He needed to text Marius, have him take Elijah to the hotel, pour him into a bed and apologize on behalf of his asshole best friend. Again.

Elijah lifted his head. Baz touched his smooth cheeks, grazing the barest hint of fuzz on his jaw. He stared into those dark, endless eyes and got lost all over again.

“How about you have a cigarette and fill your flask with Oban while I take a few pills, and we go in and dance?” When Elijah's mouth flattened into a thin line of complaint, Baz pulled Elijah's lip into the pout he loved. “Then I'll bring you back here and fuck you.”

He expected a protest—not naked yearning. “You'll change your mind.”

Baz stroked the open line of Elijah's neck. “No.”

“You really want to dance with me? In front of people?”

Baz pressed a reverent kiss on his chin. “Especially in front of people.”

Elijah still seemed wary. Baz vowed if he did nothing else tonight, he would wash that doubt away.

Chapter Three

If drugs could make Elijah feel the way being with Baz Acker did, he'd have died of an overdose years ago.

Baz kept his hand on Elijah at all times, usually on his ass. When people gave them questioning glances, Baz became more proprietary, all but pissing a circle around Elijah.

They had to linger at Baz's end of the table, where he reassured Damien and Marius he was fine, just
occupied
, which he punctuated with an open grope of Elijah. For his part, Elijah tried to play giddy trick, which wasn't hard, but he came up short when Damien started to lecture Baz.

“Do you think that's appropriate?” A darting glance indicated Elijah.

Setting his teeth in a feral grin, Elijah leaned into Damien. “Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry. Were you jealous?”

A feminine gasp reminded Elijah Damien had a fiancée, but Baz's bright laughter cut through before panic could set in. “Down, Cujo. He's being a nice guy.”

“Don't pity me.” Elijah mellowed into a simple glare. “You want to fuss over somebody, go to Aaron.”

Damien raised his eyebrows at Baz. “Must be like looking in a mirror.”

Baz tipped his mouth in a crooked smile that could mean about anything. It faded, though, when Marius put a hand on Baz's arm to pull him aside, the cocky expression replaced by thin-lipped earnestness.

Damien spoke into Elijah's ear. “A word of warning. Talk to Marius the way you did to me, and it'll be Baz who snarls.”

A tendril of shame curled through Elijah. “Sorry.”

“You're not.” Damien didn't seem upset, though. “Don't get stars in your eyes over him. He doesn't mean to, but he'll break your heart. Marius and I have the scars to prove it, and we're only his friends. If you're fool enough to think you're the exception, you're already screwed.”

Elijah shrugged, turning away so Damien didn't see the flush on his cheeks. “You can stand down. I'm not looking for a savior.”

“He is.”

Those words echoed in Elijah as Baz finally extricated himself from Marius and took Elijah to the dance floor. That he was hoping for a savior in Elijah made his skin crawl—but then he remembered the confession from the Tesla.

I worry about you.
Not something you said to someone you hoped would save you. That was the other way around.

Elijah frowned at Baz, who was enigmatic once more behind his glasses. “You don't make any fucking sense.”

Baz's only response was to quirk an eyebrow and draw Elijah closer. An extended remix of “Get Lucky” played, and Baz was trying to lead them in a dirty dance, but it hadn't escaped Elijah's notice Baz barely moved at all, doing his best to keep his weight off his left hip. Elijah had assumed the handful of pills Baz popped in the car was Baz joining the party. Obviously those drugs truly had been medicinal.

He flicked the center of Baz's chest. “What the fuck are you dancing for, if you hurt?”

“Honey, if I only danced when I didn't hurt, I never would.” He drew Elijah closer, bringing his stomach into contact with Baz's groin. “Besides, moving around usually helps.”

Sounded like a crock of shit to Elijah, but he was tired of keeping track of Baz's BS. “So you're telling me you hurt all the time? That sucks.”

“Beats being dead.”

The quip had an edge to it. “What the fuck happened to you in high school, anyway?” Too late, Elijah remembered the Xanax lack of filter. He held up his hands. “Forget it. Ignore me. Or lie. Tell me you fell out of a jet or something.”

Baz pushed hair out of Elijah's eyes. “I was bashed outside of a Boystown bar on my sixteenth birthday. I lived. My boyfriend didn't.”

Elijah stumbled. He shook as he recovered his balance, staring intently at Baz.

What did Baz find that night you first met in Saint Paul? You, trapped in an alley with a bad trick. Must have been one fuck of a flashback. That's why you freak him out. You're a goddamned ghost. You probably even look the same as the old boyfriend.

Elijah told himself it was fucking stupid for the knowledge to hurt. What, he thought one fucking blow job through a moonroof meant fairy godmothers were real?

Baz's eyebrow arched over the glasses. “No pity, and all Xanaxed up too. I'm impressed.”

“I've been to reparative therapy. Some of us get our hell in one whap upside the head, some of us spend ten months on our knees.”

You are an asshole,
Elijah's rusty conscience screamed at him, but Baz only smiled. “I like you, Elijah Prince.”

Elijah tried to throw his walls back up, but he was far too drugged. “Fuck.”

Pretty sure that was a wink behind those glasses. “Give me another fifteen minutes to let the oxycodone fully kick in, and you're on.”

“Yes, so we can live out Sid and Nancy: This Time They're Gay.”

Elijah watched to see if he'd get the reference. It was an admittedly obscure test—how many millennials knew about a codependent, tragic 1970s punk romance glamorized in a mid-eighties movie? But Elijah wanted him to pass.
Come on. Show you're a freak like me.

Baz neither confirmed nor denied. With a sideways grin, he drew Elijah in close. “Don't try to brush me off. I know how to push your buttons now. I can make you putty in my hands with barely any effort at all.”

He skimmed a touch up Elijah's side and a deft tuck into his crack. Elijah would have had a tough time resisting that sober, but as it was, he all but sat on Baz's index finger in front of a bunch of Minnesota Nice. He groaned when Baz pulled away, but Elijah swatted at him—and missed—when he laughed.

“You'd better be good, is all I can say, you neurotic mess.” Elijah rested his cheek against Baz's chest and shut his eyes when Baz enveloped him in a swaying embrace. “And if you say it takes one to know one, I'll bite you.”

“Promises, promises.”

Everyone around them boogied to Daft Punk, but the two of them downshifted into a slow dance. It was nice, until he saw Baz limp. He pressed his fingers to Baz's ribs, trying to guess which ones were titanium through his skin, which of course he couldn't.

Baz kissed his hair and slid a hand over Elijah's ass. “Oxy's full power. Still up for a tour of the backseat?”

Oh yeah. Elijah was up all right. Nuzzling Baz's shirtfront, he opened a button with his teeth and teased at the hairless chest above the vee of his undershirt. “Bring it on, Sid.”

Baz laughed and slipped a hand into Elijah's waistband. “Oh no, you don't.
I
call dibs on Nancy. I'm the one with the drugs, after all.”

On the way to the parking lot, Elijah tried to light up a cigarette, but Baz pulled the pack out of his hand and replaced it with a hard box of some other brand before Elijah could protest.

“Bought them at the bar. They're menthol. Have to be better than whatever the fuck you're gagging on there.”

Elijah tapped the cigarettes, peeled off the wrapper and took a whiff. Yummy and expensive, like the scotch. “I'd make a joke about your need to queen out over what I put in my body, but you have such good taste, you make it difficult to argue.”

“Money's got to be worth something.”

Elijah lit up, enjoying the rush of quality nicotine. “How loaded are you, anyway?”

“Pretty. My parents both work, though not traditionally. Largely what they do is make money breed. My mom is angling for public office, so she's running a lot of charity things as well. Community organizer and all. I think she'd have bitten on the calls for her to run for the House if it weren't for my accident. I told her to use it, make me her goddamn platform, but she says not until I get myself together.” He made
gimme
motions for Elijah's cigarette and took a hit before passing it back. “Dad owns half of Chicago. He's one of those buy, rip apart, sell people everybody loves to bitch about. Pays for three houses and a skyline downtown apartment, plus all my fucking around, so no complaining from me. And it'll finance Mom's candidacy if she ever gets off her ass.”

“They're still together?”

He shrugged. “I don't think they've fucked each other in years, and I rarely see him unless it's for something official where we need to look like a functional family. But if they have pieces on the side, they're quiet about it. They're more about the whole than the part. Plus it wouldn't be good for Uncle Paul, since they're neck-deep in his campaign.”

“Uncle Paul is who, exactly?”

“Senior US Senator representing the great state of Illinois.”

Elijah's stomach flipped over.
Holy. Shit.
“Your uncle is Senator Barnett?”

“Yep. His dad was a senator also, and his brothers are all in politics in some fashion or other. We're kind of the Illinois Kennedys on my mom's side. Hated about that much too. Paul's been after Mom to take up the family business for years. She should. Dad would totally dig being a political spouse.”

“Is it easier dealing with a shit life with money? Because I could see it going either way.”

When Baz held his hand out, this time Elijah passed the whole pack and the lighter, and Baz paused to light up before he answered. “Sometimes. Easier to be distracted. Easier to feel guilty.”

“Why guilty? What the fuck did you do?”

Baz shrugged. “Lived. Moved on to other guys. General survivor shit.”

Elijah took a drag while he considered. “Makes sense. What a clusterfuck if I'd fallen for somebody along the way. Of course, they'd have had to push past my barbed wire, which nobody's suicidal enough to do.” He rolled his eyes and ashed his cig. “Except Aaron, the shithead.”

Baz passed over the flask. “Aaron's a good kid. He and Giles are right together.”

Yes, and sometimes Elijah hated that. He withdrew his now-Oban-filled flask. “I fucked Giles, you know.”

Baz chuckled and blew a stream of smoke. “I fucked Aaron.”

Elijah remembered—mostly how upset Aaron had been when it ended. “Is he as sweet and innocent as he looks?”

“Yep.”

“Bet he purrs like a kitten.”

“Affirmative.” He stubbed out his cigarette into the gravel with half of it remaining. “I assume Giles takes a second to get over himself, then fucks with abandon?”

“He's got ninja skills. Total top, though. No switching except maybe for novelty. Surprised the hell out of me.”

“Hmm. Too bad I passed him up.”

Elijah hit him with the flask, laughing. “Shut up. Really? You want to rearrange?”

“We'll save it for next time.” They were at the car now, and Baz pressed Elijah into it. “Somebody got me in a
mood
.” Baz sucked lightly at Elijah's neck, inspiring him to tip his head to the side. “We're climbing into the backseat, I'm firing up some Maino, and you're sucking my cock until I decide to put it in you.”

That's what they did. Baz leaned over the console from the backseat and fussed for a second, and once the sultry beat of R&B pulsed from the stereo, Baz settled against the door, spread his legs wide and arched an eyebrow over the top of his sunglasses.

Elijah didn't need a second invitation.

He tugged at Baz's fly, palming him through the expensive fabric to get to the goods. He admired the pretty, cut length of Baz curving to the right—then stuck his ass in the air, nestled into Baz's crotch and sucked him fast and deep into his mouth.

He pulled off quick, mostly wanting to get Baz's attention and make it clear he meant business. Sucking cock was Elijah's greatest skill. He'd worked on Grindr to get a rep as a hot, talented mouth, which meant if he priced fucking higher, he could mostly stick to blow jobs for cash because they were still great and seemed like a bargain. When he actually wanted a guy, his talents got him gratitude and affection.

For Baz he got out the big guns—lots of attention to his balls, sucking them gently, running his tongue around the tender sacs, massaging them as his mouth returned to the shaft. The music wouldn't have been his first choice, but it worked—apparently Maino was a fan of blow jobs, because the beat let Elijah climb on top, bob and weave and lick in time to the rhythm. The car was silent, shutting out the world, keeping them in a sleek, futuristic red bubble. Elijah glanced up, lips spread, figuring by this point Baz's eyes ought to be rolled back in his head.

He shuddered, a moan escaping when he found Baz staring intently at him—as far as he could tell with the shades—completely contained, a small smile on his face. His hand moved down Elijah's back, slipping beneath his waistband, moving insistently south as he pressed Elijah deeper onto his cock with his free hand.

“I should have said…” his fingers tightened on Elijah's hair, “…I like a little desperate on my dick. Let me at your ass.”

Elijah fumbled with his own fly, getting his waistband slack in time for Baz to push his dress pants down, his briefs. Baz's fingers teased the sweat of Elijah's crack, but only for a moment. When those same fingers brushed Elijah's jaw, he turned, whimpering, to take them in his mouth.

When they left, he latched on to Baz's cock, took him deep and moaned as Baz pressed at the pucker of his ass.

One stroke was all the warning he got—Elijah sucked in a lungful of sex-tinged air into his nose, opening his throat and helping Baz fuck his face. He tripped out of his head, lost to the metric of cock, air, cock, distracted by the thrust of two of Baz's fingers. It was dirtier than he expected. It was wicked. It was almost more than he could handle. He loved it so hard he wondered if the tears leaking out of his eyes weren't entirely the strain of so much dick.

He gave Baz desperate—he whined, gasped, let Baz muffle the sounds with his cock. Spread his knees as wide as the seat allowed to give Baz plenty of access to his ass. The fingering made him crazy. The face-fucking, the drugs—been there done that. But his bare butt aimed at the window in a silent car getting frigged
while
he was held down, his mouth used as a hole,
while
he was tripping on quality chemicals—
fuck, fuck, fuck,
he was going to blow if his cock so much as brushed anything.