Chapter 11

"Thank you for blurting that out, Big Bear," Angelo said, his expression one of newly-familiar exasperation. "So much for dropping the arranged marriage gently."

"Marriage?" Patrick parroted, his eyes getting saucer-like.

It might have been funny if Bryan wasn't so hyper-focused on making this okay for Patrick, rather than a mind-boggling shock. "It's not a marriage," he said. "But yeah, Angelo needs a relationship to fix his money problems, and I agreed to help him in exchange for a small percentage."

Patrick gaped at him, his Adam's apple bobbing but no words coming out. "Do you need money, Bryan? Are you having some kind of problem? Are you…doing something?" The small, sad way Patrick said doing something broke Bryan's heart, as much as it stabbed him in it, too. The unasked question was, "Are you doing drugs and in over your head?" And he didn't blame Patrick for jumping to the wrong conclusion, not after his troubled past.

"No, I'm not in trouble with money," Bryan replied. "Angelo offered that as a perk for pretending to be his significant other for a few months."

"It's gay for pay, Bryan."

Patrick sounded more hurt than anything, which helped Bryan not snap when he said, "It's actually not."

"Wait, you're gay? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His hurt shifted into suspicion. "You told Angelo before you told me? Or are you saying that so the whole arrangement doesn't seem weird and predatory?"

Angelo made a disgruntled noise, probably over the predatory remark.

Bryan's skin crawled at the accusation and his own temper sparked. "I didn't tell Angelo before you. I mean, yes, I did, but it was just part of our conversation." It had slipped out naturally in the moment, because Angelo, while only a casual friend, was a safe space to let that kind of thing slip. He and Patrick had never sat down and had a conversation where either of their sexualities had come up, so Bryan had simply never said anything. Being bi had never been a major part of his personality; it was simply a part of him, like his brown hair or his height. And after having his entire life on view for the public, both before and after the band broke up, he was tired of having nothing left to himself. He'd had this one single thing left, even if it wasn't a huge revelation in his mind.

But the grief-stricken look on Patrick's face said it was a huge revelation for Patrick. "I'm actually bi," Bryan said. "If it matters."

"Of course, it matters! I mean, no, it doesn't matter matter, but it's kind of a big thing, Bryan. I thought you trusted me."

"I do with the stuff that matters. I guess I don't see liking guys and gals as a huge thing. I never came out to myself or anyone else. It's just something I've known for a long time."

"You've known all this time?"

"Most of it. How does it change anything? Knowing now? Do you see me differently? The selfish prick of a big brother who exploited your work isn't just an asshole straight guy, like all the asshole straight guys who bullied you growing up? He's actually in the rainbow? I'm still me, Patrick, and I'm sorry for hurting your feelings by telling you this way."

Patrick's face smoothed out in a way he didn't like. It was too neutral. "So you and Angelo are going to play house to get his inheritance. Fine. Thanks for the info. I'm going home."

"Patrick?"

But his brother was up and out the door, leaving stunned silence in his wake. Bryan released an angry snort. He should have seen that coming a mile away, and yet he'd ignored the little whispers in his mind, telling him to share this one final thing with Patrick. To stop being selfish with the only secret he had left and tell his brother, explain why he'd been quiet about it all these years.

Too late.

"How did Patrick not know you're bi?" Angelo asked, sounding as annoyed as Patrick had been. "Dude."

"Because he never asked. I guess I thought all the blog stories about me being involved in wild sex parties would have been a big clue that I'm not straight, and I definitely wasn't going to go around telling people in prison." He glared at the coffee table, no real outlet for his frustration. "After five years you get used to not talking about certain things. So I didn't."

"That's understandable, but you've been out for four months, living under your brother's nose."

"Look, dude, you're the one who solicited me to be a fake boyfriend when you thought I was straight, so don't get up on a moral high horse about this."

Angelo held up his hands in mock surrender, but he didn't look any happier. Bryan looked at Russell, who'd been oddly silent since intuiting the bombshell announcement and dropping it for them. The burly man seemed more sad than distressed. "Are you mad at me for upsetting Patrick?" Bryan asked.

"No." Russell popped the knuckles on one hand, then flexed them. "I'm a firm believer that people gotta come out when it's right for them, and I'm real sorry for blurting the plan out like that. I shoulda let you guys say it a lot better than I did."

"I'm not certain there's a tactful way to say someone is faking a relationship for money," Angelo said, "but it might have gone over better coming from Bryan."

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault," Bryan replied, desperate to reassure his friend. "This is a complicated situation, and I probably should have told Patrick sooner that I'm bi, but like I said, it just never came up before prison, and afterward, it was something I didn't talk about."

Unless I'm watching Angelo jerk off on the couch we're both sitting on, and directing him on what to do, and I can't go there right now. Bearded dragon, chicken sandwich, anything but sex with Angelo.

"I get that, honest," Russell said. "And I think Patrick will, too, after he's had a minute to think about things. I guess after everything with Frog, he assumed you guys didn't have any secrets left, and this kinda tossed him upside down and out the window."

"I know, and I'll apologize to him again." He glanced at Angelo, who was looking at his phone and didn't seem to have heard the Frog comment. Only four people knew that Patrick wasn't Robbie's birth father: Patrick, Robbie, Russell, and Bryan. The immediate family. Obviously, Tracy did but she was God-knew-where, living her life free of the responsibilities of being a mother.

If Patrick wanted Angelo to know the truth, it was Patrick's truth to tell. They'd made that agreement when Patrick legally adopted Robbie.

"So this inheritance stipulation," Russell said to Angelo, "was what you didn't get a chance to talk about the other night? I'm sorry I wasn't there to listen."

"You had another crisis to deal with," Angelo replied. "Besides, if Frog hadn't cut his hand and I'd been able to vent to you about it all, I never would have gotten to experience the unique thrill of being flung out of a barstool by a fiery blast."

"Very funny. But are you sure you wanna fake this whole thing? Why not wait until you meet someone real?"

Bryan's heart flinched in a bizarre way, and he really hoped Angelo didn't bring up the connection they'd made last night. That was personal.

Angelo released a long breath through his teeth. "Because I need the money. My properties aren't selling, one project is about to go way over budget, and I can't fail at this. I need the cash." Russell opened his mouth, and Angelo held up a staying hand. "And before you get all noble on me, I will not accept anything extra in rent from you, Patrick, Bryan or anyone else. I got my ass into this mess and I'll get out of it my own way."

Russell grunted. "By paying Bryan to pose as your long-term boyfriend?"

"Yes. And the lawyer doesn't seem too interested in home movies about our long, romantic dates, or even proof of blood tests, or whatever. It's a show for one guy so he'll sign over whatever he needs to give me."

"And what if you're wrong? What if the lawyer hires a private investigator to tail you guys and make sure you're really together? What if he asks why you were at Tim's alone until close when you've got a guy?"

"The same reason other people get wasted at a bar alone," Bryan replied, the excuse coming easily. "We had a fight so Angelo went to tie one on. I went to the hospital with you to pick up Angelo, and now he's living with me. The whole near-death experience plays in our favor. And if there's a chance we're being spied on, we only have to go out together a few times, be seen in public. Since Angelo's a known barfly and I'm an alcoholic, no one's going to wonder why we're only doing the occasional dinner out, instead of being heavy into the scene."

Russell tilted his head to one side. "You've put a lotta thought into this."

"When you're nailing drywall all day, you've got lots of time to think. Listen, Russell, Angelo is your best friend and I know you're protective of him. He's my friend, too, and I want to help. I promise I'm not going to screw him over or take advantage."

"I believe you. You've been a straight shooter since we met. And you're both grownups, so I guess you can do what you want."

"Yes, we can," Angelo interjected. "I know this is weird, which is why Bryan and I wanted to tell you and Patrick together, so you knew what was going on. Neither of us was keen on lying to you guys, even if we didn't think you'd both see through us inside an hour."

"Yeah, it's not…" Russell looked between them several times, and Bryan tried not to squirm. "Actually, you do kinda make a handsome couple."

"Oh God, don't go getting all Hallmark movie on me just because you're practically married with children. This is not a Christmas rom-com setup."

Again, Bryan's heart gave a weird little kick at the way Angelo and Russell kept downplaying this relationship—such as it was. He didn't understand his reaction. Sure, he and Angelo had connected on a visceral level last night, but this thing was just an act. "Right," Bryan said, because Angelo was watching him expectantly. "It's an arrangement. We put on a small show, Angelo saves his business, and I have something to do until my parole is over."

"To do, huh?" Angelo teased.

"Not do like that, you pervert."

Angelo proved how seductive he could be by stretching his long, lean legs out in front of him and resting both hands over his belly. "Like you wouldn't hit this if I said yes."

Bryan would absolutely hit that if given the chance, but he wasn't rising to the bait in front of Russell. Bryan's first priority was talking to Patrick and making sure they were okay. He'd talk to Angelo about flirting boundaries later. "Careful, Voltini, or I'll rescind my offer, and you'll have to go fishing for a boyfriend in another pond."

With an irritating smirk, Angelo pretended to lock his lips and toss a key.

"So you're okay with pretending this is real?" Bryan asked Russell.

"Sure," Russell replied. "Not my secret to tell and Angelo is my family. I'll do whatever you need me to do, friend."

Angelo smiled. "Same. And thank you. I apologize that how we made the announcement pissed off Patrick."

"Don't think he's pissed off so much as disappointed. He needs to get up in his feelings for a little while, and then he'll be ready to talk."

Bryan didn't know that about Patrick, but he was still learning so much about his Little Brother the Father, who was still a stranger to him in many ways. Being the surrogate dad to an infant for a year wasn't the same thing as being a full-time dad for seven more. This was the first time since Bryan got out of prison that he'd truly hurt Patrick's feelings, and it sucked that Russell knew what Patrick needed more than he did. He wanted to fix things, but acting on his own impulsive tendencies had only ever gotten Bryan in trouble.

"Then I'll give him space tonight," Bryan said. "I don't want to push him when he's upset."

"Okay. Can I help you guys clean up?"

"Nah, there aren't that many leftovers. I'll rock-paper-scissors with Angelo later for who gets to pack them for tomorrow's lunch."

"Take them," Angelo said. "Cold chicken and potato salad belong in a metal lunchbox. I'll get sushi or something."

"Aren't you supposed to be pinching pennies, Mr. Be-My-Fake-Boyfriend? I can make a sandwich."

Angelo opened his mouth, then shut it and scowled. "Fine, I'll eat the leftovers."

Russell laughed. "I don't think I've ever heard you say such a thing. Leftovers? My friend Angelo? You don't even like cold pizza. In college, he was the only guy in our dorm who wouldn't eat it for breakfast, especially after a night out of boozin'."

"Man, cold pizza on the morning after is heaven," Bryan said. "I can't tell you how many times I woke up to cold pizza for breakfast."

"You're both heathens," Angelo said.

"Hey, I wasn't the only one eating their leftover spaghetti the other night. That was you, too, Voltini."

Angelo huffed.

"Don't pretend you've never snuck out to get a few greasy Egg McMuffins to cure a hangover," Russell added playfully. "I've seen the receipts you tossed in our trash can."

"If you're going to cheat, you need to ditch the evidence," Bryan said. He enjoyed the way Angelo's ears got red and he shifted in his seat, adorably annoyed by being picked on. Between the fancy car, the suits, and the regular diet of sushi, the guy was the exact opposite of Russell's beer-loving, t-shirt-wearing, everyman personality. Their friendship made no sense, and yet somehow made perfect sense.

Bryan was incredibly jealous of that sort of friendship. His last best friend had been in high school, and they'd grown apart after Jason chose to attend college in Oregon, while Bryan focused on his music. He'd been friendly with his bandmates, and for a long time he'd been in love with Tracy, but those feelings had all been tied up in their music. He considered Patrick a friend, but their relationship was so complicated by both Bryan's betrayal and in giving Patrick his son to raise as his own.

Bryan didn't have a confidante, someone to vent to about his problems and listen to theirs in return. Someone who just got him, the way Angelo and Russell got each other. More than a coworker, more than a relative, Bryan wanted a relationship that was real. Maybe he could find that sort of relationship here in Reynolds; maybe he'd need to look elsewhere when he was free to leave the state.

Maybe.

"You two want to gang up on me? Fine." Angelo stood with a huff, but his attempt to flounce away was marred by a flinch of pain. He grunted then headed for the stairs. "You can put the leftovers away, roomie. I'm taking a shower."

"Don't get your stitches wet yet!" Bryan hollered.

"Fucking fine, a sponge bath! Later, Russ!"

Once the bathroom door slammed, Bryan said, "I didn't mean to chase him off."

Russell shook his head. "You didn't hurt his feelings none, don't worry. He'll be fine." His expression sobered and his head stilled. "Right?"

"Of course." It took Bryan a few seconds to catch the double meaning in Russell's question. "I know I said it, but I'm not doing this to trick or take advantage of Angelo in any way, I promise. Call it me trying to do someone else a favor and balance the scales a little. I owe the universe a lot of good works in return for everything I took from Patrick."

Russell leaned forward and rested both elbows on his knees. "I'm gonna ask you somethin', and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but here goes. Since you've been out, have you and Patrick sat down and gotten things square between you two?"

"Square? How am I supposed to square up what amounts to me stealing millions of dollars in royalties from him, and then blowing it all on booze, drugs, trips, and all the bullshit rich people waste money on, instead of saving even ten grand to put away for a rainy day? I'd have had something extra for when Robbie was born. I fucked up both our lives. I can't square that."

Bryan's entire body flushed with both shame and, oddly, relief. He'd never been this blunt with anyone about his current situation, or about the whiskey barrels of guilt he still harbored over his own selfish choices. He'd neglected his mother and his brother, and then he'd given up his child, so Robbie wouldn't grow up with a father in prison. The one smart financial thing he'd done was set up an account for all future music royalties that went to Robbie when he turned eighteen. Bryan would never see or squander another penny of that money.

He'd shared a little of this with his parole officer during their first meeting, as proof of his determination to get a job, make amends, and stay clean and on the program. He owed an impossible debt.

His eyes stung but he refused to shed any more tears over his failures. "I am a royal fuck-up, Russell. I let a little bit of talent and a shit-ton of ambition go to my head, and I blew up a lot of lives. If I can help Angelo out with a little white lie so he doesn't lose his shirt? I'll do it, but only if Patrick is really okay with the lie. Angelo's a friend, but Patrick and Robbie are my family. They're everything to me."

"I know it. It's why I asked if you guys've talked, and I'm guessin' that's a no, ‘cuz Patrick and I have. It ain't my place to repeat what he's said to me, but you two should really talk about everything. You might not be on the same page about who's to blame for how much of what."

"What the hell does Patrick blame himself for?"

"Not so much what he's taken on but what he's put on you. And again, you two need to talk about it."

"You're right." Bryan glanced out the window. The upstairs windows shined brightly in the main house. "How long do you think he'll be up in his feelings before he wants to talk?"

"Hard to say."

"Will he be mad at you for staying here and talking to me?"

"Nah. We might be a couple, but we're still two people with two minds and feelings." He checked his phone. "It's gettin' close to Frog's bathtime. I'm gonna collect him and head home."

"Of course. Thanks for the chat, Russell."

"No problem." Russell stood and headed for the door. With one hand on the knob, he turned his head back to Bryan. "I know you think you've gotta lot to make up for with Patrick and Frog, but once in a while, it's okay to put yourself and what you want first. You're allowed be happy, too, Bryan."

With those sage words, Russell left. Bryan stared at the door, his vision blurring behind those stirred up emotions. He thought he'd used up his Happiness Allowance years ago, while squandering his life, his talent, and his money on being a cliché of sex, drugs and music. He'd had years to get his rocks off, to live his life at top volume, and he'd always thought now was the time to dim his shine and live on mute. To spend his days making others happy. To work hard, prove he was a changed man, and finish his parole.

But maybe…maybe he didn't have to hide in the shadows like a phantom of himself all the time. Maybe it was okay to, as Russell said, be happy a little.

Maybe.

Okay, so flouncing out of the living room and up that annoying spiral staircase had not been Angelo's best moment—not emotionally and definitely not physically. The muscle control it had taken not to limp or grimace the entire way left him in a bit of pain by the time he shut the bathroom door and sat on the closed toilet lid to catch his breath.

And worst of all? His pills were in the kitchen.

He wasn't really upset at Russell for teasing him about his somewhat bougie tastes in clothing and food. After growing up in a household that could barely feed all the mouths at every meal, he'd promised himself he would eat whatever he wanted when he had his own income. That meant sushi, seafood, and meals at wonderful little locales like River Bistro. Sure, he sometimes craved a burger or simple bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, but who didn't?

No, something about Bryan joining in the teasing irritated him, and he didn't understand why. There had been no cruelty in Bryan's words or tone of voice, no mocking of Angelo's choices. He'd been playing along with Russell, probably trying to deflect from pissing off his brother with the bisexual secret. A strange secret to keep from his gay brother, but this was not Angelo's family dynamic to criticize. He had his own oddball dynamic to deal with.

So Angelo had hauled his discombobulated ass upstairs and spent a long time visualizing how he'd eventually wash off the sweat of his workday. Not that he'd broken much of a sweat, but he might as well attempt what he'd come up here to do, so Bryan didn't think he'd fled from the teasing like a scared child. Getting up and getting started was the real bitch.

He couldn't hear the rest of whatever else Russell and Bryan talked about, if anything, but after a while he did hear the thud of the front door closing. Had to be Russell leaving. He and Bryan were alone again.

Angelo was also too worn out to go in search of his new roommate, or to test the waters and see if last night had been a fluke, or a precursor to something more. He cracked a long, loud yawn while he undid the buttons on his shirt. Poked gently around the perimeter of his stitches but they looked okay. Not inflamed, infected or weeping anything—all stuff his paperwork said to watch out for. His socks and trousers required a bit more effort and a lot more bending, and he'd broken a real sweat by the time he had them folded on the counter with his shirt.

"Angelo?"

His entire body jerked, and Angelo nearly slid off the toilet seat. His heart slammed into his ribs so loudly his ears rang. "What?"

"It's time for your ibuprofen. I've got them."

"My…" The genuine kindness of Bryan not only remembering when his next dose was, but of also bringing it upstairs to him, kicked Angelo in the feels. Hard. The level of attention and caregiving Bryan had shown him in the last two days never stopped surprising him—in all the best ways. "Thanks."

He didn't move.

"Um, can I come in?" Bryan asked.

Angelo snorted at himself. "Yes, come in. I'm mostly decent."

The door swung inward. Bryan took two steps inside and paused, making no effort to disguise his quick appraisal of Angelo's nearly-naked body. Angelo was showing off all the skin he hadn't shown last night, with none of the fun bits exposed, and he didn't miss the way Bryan's gaze seemed to linger on his chest.

"You haven't gotten very far with the sponge bath," Bryan said, his voice a touch huskier than before.

Angelo couldn't stop himself. "They're a lot more fun when someone helps."

"I'll take your word on that. The closest I've ever gotten to a sponge bath was in rehab by a female orderly old enough to be my grandmother and who smelled like dead roses. Except it was more her shoving my puke-covered ass into a shower with no curtain and watching me struggle to clean myself."

"Guess rehab is about getting clean in more ways than one."

Bryan chuckled. "Guess so. Here." He handed Angelo the two caplets, and then scored more points by rinsing the gargle glass by the sink and filling it with water.

Angelo chased the pills with the offered drink. "Thanks. I think I'll sit here for another half-hour until the pills kick in. Then I might brush my teeth."

"You're half naked, you might as well wipe down." Before Angelo could question or protest, Bryan turned the sink's hot water faucet on full blast. He got a washcloth from the small linen closet and plucked Angelo's towel from the metal bar. Next came the green soap from the bathtub. Angelo didn't know the brand but it smelled like Bryan.

Bryan asserted authority over this process without saying a word, and something inside Angelo responded to that authority. To Bryan's quiet strength and the effortless way he took charge of a situation when Angelo was floundering. He didn't understand it but his curiosity and overall fatigue won out over any remaining hints of skepticism. So when Bryan lathered the washrag with soap, Angelo closed his eyes and relinquished control.

The warm, wet rag left its trail of moisture and soap across his shoulders first, the pressure just enough to feel like a gentle massage. In a switch from what Russell had done yesterday morning, Bryan followed up the soapy stroke with a wipe of the towel, immediately drying the skin. As Bryan continued across his back and down his arms, the method of soaping and wiping kept Angelo from getting cold.

Warmth and pressure and the unfamiliar sensation of being taken care of lulled Angelo into such peaceful state that he startled when Bryan switched to washing his hands. He blinked at Bryan, whose expression was calm, but his eyes burned with something scary and wonderful. Angelo closed his eyes again and fell into the hand massage. Each digit, each knuckle, the palm to the wrist. Then up his forearm, calming and waking his body at the same confusing time, and Angelo's head spun with sensation. Blood pulsed to all points, including his groin.

Bryan gave his left hand and arm the same careful attention, leaving both limbs jelly-like, while something farther down was getting hard as steel. Angelo didn't care how tented his briefs were or what Bryan thought about it; he was in heaven and in no hurry to fall back to earth. Why wake up when floating in the clouds while a hot man gave him a bath was so perfect? Even more perfect when his arms were finished and the treatment moved to his clavicles. His pecs. His upper abs, trailing closer and closer to his straining cock.

The touches gentled around his ribs, avoiding the stitches with a deft hand. Then around the waist of his briefs, dipping lower, pushing the hem down…

Water ran again, followed by the squelching of more soap. Angelo smiled at nothing, ready for some attention on his dick. The air whispered around him. And then Bryan picked up his right foot and began to wash his sole. Angelo barked laughter and kicked. Hit something soft. Bryan yelped and something thudded. Angelo blinked away his previous haze of bliss and stared at Bryan, who was sprawled on the bathroom floor with a befuddled look on his face.

"Ticklish?" Bryan asked.

"You think?"

"You could have warned me."

"Well, I didn't think you were going to go all Jesus Christ on me and wash my feet."

Bryan leaned back so both palms were behind him on the vinyl floor, knees bent and legs apart, perfectly showing off his own crotch—and the erection hiding behind his fly. And somehow the man was the very picture of innocence. "I guess I was getting a little too into things. Didn't think you'd kick me like an irritated pack mule."

"You mean a ticklish pack mule?"

"That too. Should we, uh…" He gave Angelo's groin a pointed look. "Continue the bath, or go into the bedroom and get you more comfortable?"

Heat flooded Angelo from head to groin to toes. "Only if you get more comfortable with me. I've always wanted a sponge bath from a naked nurse."

Bryan quirked one eyebrow. "If that bed gets wet tonight, it's not going to be from soap and water."

Oh, hell yes."Promise?"

Bryan was on his feet faster than Angelo anticipated, and he braced for rough handling. But Bryan gently tugged Angelo to his feet and gave him a few seconds to steady himself. Angelo's side hurt but not enough to distract him or turn down whatever Bryan had in mind. Observed jerk-off last night aside, Angelo hadn't gotten laid in weeks. Bryan had the claws of an angry tiger but moved through the world like a shy kitten, and Angelo really wanted to know what sex with Bryan Gillespie was all about.

They stood almost toe to toe in the narrow space between the toilet and sink, nearly matched in height, but Bryan definitely outweighed him in bulk. The muscles hidden beneath his long-sleeve t-shirt were a huge turn-on for Angelo. He was used to attracting guys shorter than him, both twinks and cubs, and he loved being challenged by someone who could overpower him if he had a mind to.

Angelo had no fear of Bryan hurting him but a little power play? Yes, please. Bryan had already shown an affinity for domination. Angelo was desperate to see how much further Bryan would go. He parted his lips, welcoming exploration, curious what kind of kisser Bryan was. Slow and sensual? Hard and demanding?

Bryan tilted his head a few degrees to the left, his warm breath gusting across Angelo's lips. "How many times have you nailed a hot twink in a bar bathroom?"

"How many times did you nail a hot groupie in back of the equipment van?"

"Not enough for the old me. Too many for the new me."

"Ever nail a hot, older man in the bedroom of a house he designed and is renting to his best friend's boyfriend's brother?"

"Not yet, but I'm about to." Bryan hooked his fingers in the waist of Angelo's briefs. Anticipation curled hot and tight in Angelo's gut, but Bryan didn't yank them down. He used them to draw Anglo forward as he walked backward. A slow shuffle, never breaking their intense eye contact. Bryan's blue eyes, usually so shuttered, simmered with a heat Angelo had never seen before but liked. Oh yes, he liked. He allowed himself to be led out of the bathroom and into the hallway—such as it was. The upstairs was basically a long balcony that overlooked the living space and gave the entire main room a larger, airier feel.

Angelo shuffled slowly forward, ready to follow Bryan's sultry stare anywhere—even directly to the metal balcony railing. A row of two-inch-thick steel bars separated them from a fifteen-foot drop, adding a new veil of danger to this liaison. Just enough for the butterflies of arousal zooming around in his stomach to be joined by the buzz of a couple of fear hornets, creating a beautiful new cacophony.

He expected to be led to Bryan's bedroom so they could start getting those sheets wrinkled and wet, but Bryan released his waistband. Angelo stumbled once and grabbed the rail with his right hand. He'd lost the script now and confusion was starting to crowd into the pleasant feelings, leaving him off balance.

"Close your eyes," Bryan said, the words somehow both a demand and a plea.

Angelo shivered then did as asked. He breathed carefully, finding his equilibrium, his hand on the rail his only real anchor to whatever was happening. Warm hands grasped his waist and turned him so he faced the rail and the open floor below. Angelo could see it in his mind, the layout and furniture, and tried to shut those images out. To focus solely on the way Bryan moved to stand behind him, hands still on Angelo's waist in a loose hold, his body so close Angelo swore he felt the other man's heat.

"Do you hear the music, Angelo?" Bryan whispered. "That thumpa-thumpa deep in your chest? The bass in your ears and throat? It's writhing around you like a living thing."

God help him, yes, Angelo could hear it. Every club track he'd ever danced to or fucked to played in his mind, the perfect seductive song. His hips even swayed to something only he could hear, and he swore Bryan danced with him. Bryan's right hand slid up his side, skating lightly over ribs and flesh, circling around to rest over his abdomen. A thick erection pressed into Angelo's crease and he moaned. Humped back.

With only the music in his mind and the sexy man at his back, Angelo stopped thinking and gave in to whatever came next.