Belonging (26 page)

I held on tight, moaning as my orgasm
shook me. When I closed my eyes, he said, his voice low, “Look at
me, Gianni.”

I did as I was told, resting the back
of my head against the wall as I met his gaze. His eyes were black,
the pupils fully dilated. He looked wild and stunningly gorgeous,
his skin flushed, his dark hair spilling around his bare shoulders.
When he started to cum in me, he cried out, driving into me
forcefully. The connection between us was absolutely intense, and
Zan filled my senses. My head swam, my fingers digging into his
skin. It felt as if holding on to him was all that was keeping me
together.

He shot into me again and again, and
it was a long time before his thrusts slowed. When he stilled in
me, his body shook in my arms. With the last of his strength, he
swung me around and laid me on my back on the pillows, his cock
sliding from me as he did that. He rested on top of me, most of his
weight supported by his knees and elbows, and then pushed his
softening cock inside me again and just held it there. When I
smiled at him, he murmured, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve
ever seen in my entire life.”

His hair hung over his right shoulder,
creating a curtain beside us. I reached up and tucked a stray
strand behind his left ear, then let my fingertips trace the line
of his cheekbone. “Right back at you.”

“Are you alright? I didn’t intend to
be that rough.”

“Please don’t ever hold back with me.
That was incredibly perfect.”

He smiled at that, then leaned down
and kissed me. When he shifted a little, his cock slid from my body
and he murmured, “Damn. I would have liked to stay in you
forever.”

“Alternatively, you can just fuck me
again any time you want to.”

His smile got wider. “Careful there,
love. That could be far too tempting an offer for a man who’d been
celibate most of this century.”

“Wow, that’s actually true. I have no
idea how you managed.”

“Honestly, it wasn’t that bad until
you came along,” he said. “I’d adapted to being alone and to being
celibate, in part because there were so few reminders of what I was
missing. As soon as I met you though, that all went straight to
hell.”

He rolled onto his side and I went
with him, draping my leg over his. “Sorry to throw a wrench in the
works,” I said as he pulled a blanket over us and I nestled in his
arms.

“Meeting you was the best thing that
could have happened to me,” he said as he settled in comfortably.
“I was stuck before you came along, like the Tin Man, rusted in
place.”

I smiled and told him, “With that
analogy, apparently I came along and oiled you up.”

That made him grin. “More lubed than
oiled, as it turns out.”

“That works, too.”

He grew serious and kissed me, then
murmured, “You saved my life, Gianni.” He didn’t seem to realize
that he’d saved mine, too.

Chapter
Fourteen

“So, how’s the hostage situation this
morning?” Yosh asked. I was at the kitchen table and we were
Skyping on Jessie’s laptop. Mine was being retrieved from the
airport by my brother Vincent, along with everything else I’d
packed for New York. After I’d contacted the airline, my luggage
has been sent back to San Francisco.

“Same as yesterday. Reporters and the
paparazzi are nothing if not relentless.” I took a sip of tea and
glanced at the muted television in a corner of the kitchen. The
total lack of activity on our part had dissuaded the TV stations
from continuing to broadcast live footage of the house. But more
and more fans kept arriving, driving in from all over the place,
and that pilgrimage had become the top story.

When the huge crowd overflowed the
little park down the street and started blocking traffic, the
police had dispersed them. They’d started congregating in Golden
Gate Park instead, which the police were opposed to at first, but
then they’d decided to allow it, as long as it remained peaceful.
So far, it had been.

“So where’s your incredibly famous
boyfriend?” Yosh asked, leaning back in his chair. He was in the
little office at the back of his tattoo studio.

I grinned and told him, “He’s not my
boyfriend yet. We’ve only had one date so far, last night in the
treehouse. And at the moment, he’s upstairs in my bathroom taking a
shower.”

Yosh shook his head. “A date in the
treehouse. That’s too cute for words.”

“Well, it wasn’t like we could go to
the movies, or a restaurant, or anyplace at all for that
matter.”

“Yeah, good point. You know, I can’t
get my head around the fact that my best friend is famous,
literally overnight!”

“I have to say, I really don’t
understand the whole fame thing. I mean, you and I have known a few
famous individuals, including He Who Shall Not be Named, and
they’re just regular people. Why is everyone so damn fascinated
with so-called celebrities, just because they act, or sing, or in
my case, do absolutely nothing at all but land in the public eye
anyway?”

“I really have no idea. But
they
are
fascinated, and right now you and your almost-boyfriend are
all anyone can talk about.”

Zan came into the kitchen just then.
His hair was damp, he was barefoot as usual, and he was wearing one
of my t-shirts and an old pair of my jeans, which were loose on me
but fit him like a glove. When he sat down in front of the laptop
with me and kissed my cheek, Yosh exclaimed, “Oh man. If you wear
that shirt when you finally break down and talk to the media, I’ll
love you for freaking ever.” The black t-shirt was one Yosh had
given me, and it had the name of his tattoo studio printed on the
front in white letters.

The shirt hugged Zan’s broad shoulders
and chest in a way I found incredibly distracting. It took me a
moment to tear my eyes off him and make some introductions. “Zan
Tillane, I’d like you to virtually meet my best friend, Yoshiro
Miyazaki. Yosh, Zan.”

“A pleasure,” Zan said.

“Likewise. Well, listen, I hate to
meet and run, but I have to open up the studio. I have a client
arriving in a couple minutes. You two take care, and let me know if
there’s anything I can do for you from this side of the crazy
zone.”

“That reminds me, thanks for the
groceries and various items you brought over for me,” Zan told him.
“That was much appreciated.”

“It was no problem. I’ll talk to you
guys soon.”

We said our goodbyes, and when we
disconnected, I turned to Zan and smiled at him. “Hi.”

He leaned in and kissed me, then said,
“Hi yourself.” He kissed me once more, and it turned into a bit of
a makeout session.

“Get a treehouse, you two,” Jessie
said as he came into the kitchen.

“Sorry, we were just—”

Jessie interrupted me. “Oh, I know
what you were doing, and I heartily approve.” He sat down across
from us and said, “I want to ask you something, Zan. Do you have
any plans to speak to the media, and if so, is there a reporter you
like that you’ve been thinking about giving the story
to?”

“I really do need to give an
interview,” Zan said. “Once I do that, some of the insanity around
my reappearance might start to die down. I don’t have a fondness
for any reporters in particular, though.”

“In that case, I have a suggestion for
you.” Jessie leaned across the table and pulled the laptop over to
him, then hit a few keys as he said, “Have you ever heard of Eddie
Guerrera?”

“No, who is he?” Zan asked.

Jessie pivoted the laptop back around
to face us. “He’s this college kid that has a small following on
YouTube. He’s gay and talks openly about his sexuality and about
the challenges he’s faced, like being bullied all through high
school and almost taking his own life. He wants to be a journalist
when he finishes school, but he talks about his shyness and
insecurity and how he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to
overcome them to pursue his dreams. Anyway, take a look at that vid
I pulled up, it’s a short one but it’ll give you some idea of what
this guy’s all about.”

Eddie was a cute guy of about twenty
with glasses and shaggy black hair that spilled forward into his
big, dark eyes. The video was just two minutes long. In it, Eddie
tried to talk about a transgender teenager that had recently
committed suicide. He ended up breaking down in tears, then
reaching up and shutting off the camera.

“You want to make not only
someone’s day, but someone’s
life
?” Jessie said once the video
ended. “Call up Eddie Guerrera and give him the interview. You’ll
totally be my hero if you do.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, but do you
think he’d do it?” Zan said. “If he’s really that shy, dragging him
into this media circus might be kind of terrifying for
him.”

“Doesn’t hurt to ask,” Jessie said.
“He has a website, and I can shoot him an email if you
want.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Zan told him. “I
like the idea of going public this way, instead of rewarding any of
the vultures that are perched out front.”

“Great.” Jessie spun the laptop to
face him again and started typing. “He lives in Vallejo, so he’s
less than an hour from here, which is convenient. There’s every
chance he’ll just think I’m a crackpot and not bother to reply, but
I’m going to ask anyway.” After a minute he said, “Okay, message
sent,” and got up from the table. He pulled his phone out of his
pocket, and slid it over to me. “Go ahead and answer if he calls
back, I gave him my number. I have to go help Nana now.”

“Help her with what?” I
asked.

“She’s totally perturbed that the
rainbow on the front of the house is only half-done, so we’re going
to go out and finish it. Dante and Charlie are going to
help.”

“Is that a good idea?” Zan
said.

“Well, we’ll see. The reporters aren’t
allowed to come onto the lawn, and Dante alerted his big, hot,
beefy security team, who are going to act as a wall of muscle
between us and them. Have you seen those guys? Holy crap, talk
about sexy. Anyway, Nana had a good point: if ever there was a time
to make a political statement, it’s right now, while the whole
world is watching.”

“I wish I could help,” I said. “I’m
pretty sure that’d cause a stampede, though.”

“It totally would. You just sit
tight.”

“Christian’s not going out there, is
he?” Zan asked.

“Nope,” Jessie said. “He’s as worried
as you are about the media finding out you have a son. Since Skye’s
his bestie and they spend a lot of time together, they thought he
should remain off camera, too. If the paparazzi started following
Skye and spotted Christian, they might do some digging and find out
who he is.”

Nana came into the kitchen.
She never just walked into a room, she rushed, bustled, or
scurried. This time she did a combination of all three. The idea of
confronting the media obviously excited her. She said, “Hi boys.
Jessie, the security team’s in place, and of course the moment they
made a move, the fucking paparazzi all jumped up like they got
poked in the ass with a sharp stick. Here’s your t-shirt, fresh
from the dryer. Let’s do this!” She tossed a rainbow-tie-dyed
t-shirt to Jessie, who pulled off his plain yellow one and put it
on. The front of the shirt had a big, black equal sign on it. Nana
was wearing an identical shirt. When he turned around, I saw there
was a hand-lettered message on the back, which said
equality now
.

“Did you guys make matching shirts?” I
asked.

Dante appeared in the kitchen. He too
was wearing a rainbow tie-dyed t-shirt with an equal sign on the
front. It was a big change from his usual expensive dark suit, and
I smiled at him. “We all did. You missed the arts and crafts party
last night,” he said with a little grin.

“So, you’re going out there and
getting on camera? Aren’t you worried about being hounded by the
media forever?” I asked him.

“Fuck it,” Dante said. “I’m
sure the reporters already found out who all your relatives are, so
what’s the difference? If I’m going to have a spotlight on me, I
might as well say something important.” He turned around so I could
read the back of his shirt, which said,
I
love my husband
. Charlie came into the
kitchen and smiled at him, then turned around and showed us the
back of his rainbow shirt. It said the same thing. He was holding
the puppy’s leash, and even the dog was wearing a rainbow t-shirt
with an equal sign.

“Let’s do this thing!” Nana
exclaimed and rushed/bustled/scurried from the room. On the way
out, I caught a glimpse of the back of her shirt. It said in big
block letters:
If you have a problem with
gay homosexuals, you can suck my dick!

Zan burst out laughing and I muttered,
“Oh hell. Did nobody try to steer her toward a more appropriate
message?”

“Of course we did,” Dante said as
Jessie, Charlie, and the dog followed Nana. “When has that ever
worked?” He grinned at us and followed his little tribe of tie-dyed
warriors.