Chapter 9

Angelo hadn't been kidding about needing one good orgasm so he could relax and fall asleep. Less than three minutes after blowing his load, he was sprawled out on the couch, a blanket tucked under his chin, lightly snoring his way into dreamland. A new, unexpected kind of pride warmed Bryan's chest, because he'd helped give Angelo this little slice of peace.

When he realized he'd walked in on Angelo jerking off, his first instinct had been to turn around and walk back out. That had been followed almost immediately by curiosity and a light spark of arousal. The fact that Angelo had sat there, hand on his dick, and had a conversation with Bryan about addiction, prison, sexual kinks and consent had turned that spark into a full-on burn deep in his gut.

He hadn't been lying about liking to watch other people get off. There had been almost zero privacy in the earliest years of touring with Tracy and Lyon's Den. They'd crashed in whatever cheap accommodations they could muster up at each stop, and more than once he'd sat in the corner of a dirty motel room and practiced while two or more people had sex on a bed six feet away. Tracy had also initiated a few threesomes with Bryan and another guy—and once with a woman, even though Tracy insisted she was straight.

The largest argument they'd had that had signaled the beginning of the end of their romantic relationship had been about labels, and her inability to see beyond the binary. She wouldn't accept he was bi and genuinely attracted to other men, rather than just being kinky and wanting to experiment. Her explanation for sleeping with women was grossly put as taking clothing into a dressing room: even if you're pretty sure you hate it, it doesn't hurt to try it on.

It hurt plenty when other people's feelings got trampled on in the process, Bryan's included. He wasn't trying on other people like wardrobe accessories—except in some ways, he had been. In his worst drunken blackouts, he'd fucked around and found out just what a trash human alcohol turned him into. And he'd hated that trash human. That trash human had valued fame over his own brother. He'd tried to turn things around, to get sober and be a father to Robbie when Tracy wanted nothing to do with her newborn son.

Bryan had tried for more than seven years to be a better person, a loving and giving human, and to steer clear of the vices that undermined being that person. Which was why he'd made sure Angelo was sober enough to consent to tonight's…scene was a bit too strong a word. But they'd played.

Angelo surprised him by taking direction beautifully. The man was wound tight, to the point of snapping into unfixable pieces if he didn't find some relief, and Bryan had guided him there. Orgasms did wonders for relaxation. But everything going wrong in Angelo's life would still be there in the morning. He'd still be single, bordering on broke, and couch surfing at his own properties with a possible inheritance dangling just out of reach.

"This is not me saying yes to any sort of dating arrangement."

Hadn't it been, though? He hadn't made up his mind about Angelo's proposal until Angelo had closed his eyes and given his trust to Bryan. That trust was a heady thing and very unexpected, given how anal retentive and high-strung Angelo presented every time they were around each other. But Bryan had noticed the flickers of hurt and uncertainty, and he'd needed to see more.

He wanted to know the Angelo behind the confidence and swagger, and now that he'd had a glimpse of who Angelo could be when his walls were down? He was in this, whatever this turned out to be.

After he made sure Angelo was as comfortable on the couch as he was likely to be tonight, Bryan went upstairs and jerked off in the bathroom. He closed his eyes and remembered the way Angelo's hand had moved gracefully up and down the length of his uncut cock. The soft pants and moans he released in time with the puffs of air Bryan had lent him, loving how such a simple stimulant drove Angelo out of his freaking mind.

Bryan hadn't needed to touch the man with more than air to affect him. He'd never played that line before, the razor's edge between watching and physically participating in the sex act. Using a biological function as instinctual as breathing to bring about such a combustible result.

That unique and simple power spurred Bryan's own release. It coursed through him in wave after wave, slow moving and soothing, instead of fast and dirty. He sat on the closed toilet seat for several minutes after, absorbing a new kind of orgasm that had nothing to do with the biological power of sex, and everything to do with the emotional (trust) and psychological (voyeuristic) powers of sex.

For all the sex he'd had in the past, and he'd had a lot of various kinds, this one was new. And scary. But also intriguing and something Bryan wanted to explore further. He hoped Angelo did, too.

Nothing could be done about that tonight, so Bryan cleaned up, brushed his teeth, and then headed to his bedroom. And for the first time since he'd begun sleeping indoors for the winter, Bryan slept soundly for a full six hours. He woke with a start, the dim memory of a noise fading away as the room came into focus. Moonlight spilled in through the large window, because he never pulled the curtains shut, and he knew it was six hours from the big digital numbers on the bedside clock Patrick said had come with the place.

Something shuffled outside his open bedroom door. Bryan slipped out of bed and into a crouch on the opposite side of the bed, mind whirring with possibilities, immediately concerned an intruder was snooping around, and if so what had happened to?—?

A soft thump was followed by, "Ow, shit."

Bryan stood, his instinct to protect himself taking a step back. "Angelo?"

"Yeah, sorry for waking you." Angelo appeared in the doorway, his face almost silver in the moonlight. "Had to piss again. I will never forgive myself for putting the bathroom on the second floor in this place."

Bryan chuckled. "Yeah, it has its pluses when you're sleeping upstairs, but it's not the best spot when you've got damaged ribs."

"So true. Remind me never to damage my ribs again. This fucking sucks." He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the door frame. "You mind if I crash in the other room? Now that I'm up here?"

"Course not. Bed's empty."

"Yeah." Angelo didn't leave the doorway, but Bryan swore the guy shivered.

He had pity. "My bed's still warm. Just stay on your side."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Bryan had been sleeping in the middle. After a little negotiation and elbow bumping, he took the side closest to the door, putting Angelo near the window. It was a compromise for Bryan. He liked being near the wide-open sky, but he also liked knowing where his easiest escape route was. All the options were clear, and given Angelo's injuries, he had zero fear of anything happening during the few hours before sunrise.

"Thanks, Bryan," Angelo whispered in the dark. "For tonight."

"You're welcome. Now shut up and sleep. Don't make me regret this."

With a soft snort of laughter, Angelo cracked a loud, long yawn and settled. Bryan smiled up at the ceiling and listened to his bedmate breathe.

Waking up to warm sunshine on his face was both comforting and really annoying when Angelo tried to open his eyes. His side ached but his neck and back weren't as sore as yesterday. Had the couch gotten softer? Had the ceiling gotten lower? Wait…

He turned his head to the left, hoping to see a familiar face or profile, but all he saw was a pillow and smooth covers. Who made their side of the bed while someone else was still sleeping in it? Oh yeah, a guy who probably had making hospital corners drilled into his head every morning as soon as the wake-up alarm blared and the lights came on.

The sudden rush of water through nearby pipes told him where his roommate was, so Angelo took his time getting up. He was still plenty sore, but his brain felt less muzzy. Almost focused enough that he could accomplish some actual work, instead of just napping or being driven around. And on the topic of driving, his car was still parked somewhere near Tim's. He'd need to collect that before he got towed.

Not that he wouldn't have a good damned excuse to fight the charges.

Bryan wasn't in the shower long—another habit from prison?—and after a few minutes of listening to him moving around on the other side of the wall, the bathroom door creaked open. He didn't come back to the bedroom, though, which was farthest from the stairs, so he must have taken his clothes with him and gone directly downstairs.

Bummer.

Angelo got up and silently cursed himself for leaving his phone on the couch. He liked to play music while he did his morning routine. Not that he'd manage much of a routine when all of his stuff was—"Shit."

Pain shocked through his big toe, which had come into contact with an object on the bedroom floor he was not expecting: his suitcase. Bryan had brought it upstairs?

That was insanely thoughtful.

Heart fluttering from the unexpected kindness, Angelo retrieved both his toiletry bag and a change of clothes. He still couldn't get his stitches wet, but between the detachable showerhead and the sink, he managed to clean everything that needed a good wash, and dress himself without too much discomfort. He even shaved carefully around the cuts and tried to ignore the ugly bruise on his temple. External proof of how close he'd come to serious injury the other night.

Or worse.

Any of them could have been killed on Tuesday, and he really needed to call Sasha and Nat, and to thank them both for taking care of him.

He also owed Bryan a humongous thank you for everything, too. A thank you he'd really like to deliver in a hands-on way, especially after last night. He'd never participated in sex like that, where the other party didn't touch him at all, only gave a couple of direct orders, and quite literally "blew" him. He had very much passed out afterward, and after a painful ascent of the stairs for a pit stop, had been eager to share a warm, soft bed with Bryan for the rest of the morning.

Waking up alone had kind of sucked, but they'd just shared the bed, not fallen asleep entwined in each other's arms after a night of passionate sex. Not that Angelo was prone to that, anyway. His former M.O. was sex without complications, and spending the night often led to clinginess, which was a complication. And then Angelo turned forty, and those complications had started to look more like comfortable attachments.

He wanted comfortable attachments. He also wanted a real relationship, damn it. But more than that, he needed his inheritance, and if receiving the money required a temporary fake relationship first? So be it. He was pretty sure he had Bryan about to take the hook. All Angelo had to do was make him bite and reel him in.

Descending the spiral staircase took less effort than going up, but he was still a touch short-winded by the time he reached the first floor. Bryan was puttering around in the kitchenette, and the downstairs smelled wonderfully of coffee. "Nectar of the gods," Angelo said, "thy name is coffee."

Bryan chuckled. "Had a feeling your stomach would be better able to handle it this morning."

"Not a drinker? Of coffee?"

"I can take it or leave it, like most things." He was cooking something on the stove and glanced over his shoulder. "No sense in replacing one addiction for another."

"I take it you didn't switch alcohol for cigarettes in rehab?"

"Nope. No point, since you can't smoke in prison. Legally, anyway, but some guys know how to get things for the right price. Wasn't worth it."

Angelo found a mug and poured himself some coffee, moving around Bryan with ease in the small space. "So do you have any vices?"

"I have a hard time controlling myself around anything sweet with peanut butter. I've already decimated that big piece of pie I brought home from the market on Tuesday."

"Gee, that's such a dark vice, Gillespie." He blew across the steaming top of his coffee and debated adding anything or drinking it black. Black, sugar, cream, latte, iced, he was an equal opportunity coffee drinker. He really missed the fancy espresso machine he used to own, before he became a property-hopping nomad. Imported beans, freshly ground each time he brewed a pot, perfectly thrown pottery mugs to retain heat. Everything was in storage for God knew how long.

Bryan's voice startled him into a sharp, "What?"

"I asked if you're okay with simple omelets for breakfast," Bryan said. "Plenty of eggs, but all I've got to add is shredded cheese."

"That's fine. If I'm not grabbing a breakfast sandwich at the drive-thru, I usually eat a protein bar, so a cheese omelet sounds perfect."

"Excellent. Your pills are on the table."

Angelo wasn't surprised this time. The gesture of leaving his pills out with a small glass of water was domestic and kind, and if he didn't know any better, he'd swear that he had fallen asleep a single man and woken up in a real relationship. Kind of like that Nicolas Cage movie.

He fetched his phone before sitting at the tiny dining table to take his pills. He had a couple of texts from Otis, one from Nat, and an email from Darrow about their conversation two days ago, asking for more information on "this mysterious boyfriend Bryan." Angelo answered his work texts first, because they were inching closer to the start of the workday, and him taking yesterday off was a new experience for Otis.

"Are you going in today?" Angelo asked.

"Me?" Bryan replied. "Yeah, I have to leave in about thirty minutes. What about you? Working from home or on-site?"

"Not sure yet. Honestly, I wouldn't mind working from home for a few hours. It's a lot more comfortable than working from my car, or sitting in a sterile home that's ready to be showed to a prospective buyer at any moment. There's a reason it only took me and Russell five minutes to pack my stuff yesterday."

"You know…" Bryan came over with two plates of steaming omelets and put one in front of Angelo. After grabbing his own mug of coffee, he sat in an adjacent chair. "You've still got some healing to do, and while I know the bathroom isn't in the most convenient place ever, this is your place, too. You might as well pitch a tent here and stay a while."

"A tent? Like you camped in?"

"I camped in a tent until it got too cold, and no, that was a metaphor. I mean, stay here. Not only do you already own the place, but there's plenty of room, your best friend is fifty feet across the yard, and I don't mind the company." Bryan poked at his omelet without cutting into it. "Plus, it will look good to your lawyer, right? For the relationship thing?"

Angelo's fork scraped across his plate. "Relationship thing? You, uh, watched me jerk off once. I didn't realize we were in a relationship."

"You're the one who told your lawyer that we were and had been for months. Or did your recent brush with death change your mind about the whole thing?"

"Not at all. I suppose I thought I'd have to twist your arm a little harder to get you to agree."

"Well, consider it twisted."

"Why? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful you're willing to go along with this for a couple of months. But you don't owe me a yes because of last night."

Bryan fiddled with his coffee mug. "It is a little about last night. How can it not be? Last night proved we can get along well, under the right circumstances, and I don't think I'm wrong in saying there's some real chemistry here that will help sell us as a couple. I mean, I doubt your lawyer is gonna demand a marriage license, but we've gotta at least make it convincing."

Angelo could not believe his luck—especially after not having any for the last couple of years. "What about Russell and Patrick?"

"They need to know the truth. I won't lie to Patrick. I can't, not after everything else I've done to him. And if I tell him, he'll wanna tell Russell, because they're together, so you might as well include him. You obviously know Russell better than I do but I imagine he'll support us."

"He won't be happy about the lie, but he'll understand why I need this. And Frog?"

"He's just a kid. He doesn't need to be told all the complex details. Finding out that Uncle Bryan is dating Uncle Angelo should be exciting enough for an eight-year-old. Hell, he'll probably help spread the news all around his school."

Angelo snickered. "Probably. He can talk a mile a minute when he's passionate about something."

"You've gotten the random spouts of frog facts, too?"

"Absolutely. I'm not the parenting type, but he's a great kid."

"Yeah." Bryan's smile flickered. "He is. Patrick's doing a great job."

"He seems to be. Big Bear took to it like a pro, but he was also a teacher for a long time, so liking kids is sort of in his nature. Don't you want kids one day?"

He looked down at his plate, then sipped his coffee—stalling tactics. "If it happens, it happens. If not, then I won't die a lonely old man with a hole in his heart."

Interesting answer. "How do you want to tell them?"

"How about tonight at dinner? Or after dinner, I guess, so Robbie isn't there for the conversation. I'll text Patrick about it later."

"Okay." Angelo ate a bite of the omelet. Salted just right. "I guess this means you'll be tearing up that bakery girl's number? Now that you're taken?"

"Hush up and eat your breakfast, Voltini."

Angelo gave a mock salute with his fork and did as told.