Bowl Full of Cherries (27 page)

“I busked,” Crowley agreed with a quiet smile.

“Please sit down,” Rell said. “This won’t take long, I promise.”

Crowley dutifully took his spot on Xondee’s couch, and Rell reached into the overnight bag he carried. It was about that time that Tyler, done for the moment with whatever New Year’s Eve project he was working on, walked out from the bedroom and froze. It was the first time in their friendship that Crowley could say with all honesty he was frustrated to see Tyler Lang. Somehow he felt certain that Rell’s being here was precarious, and what would Tyler’s snark do but drive him away?

Crowley didn’t want him to go away.

The four nights they’d spent apart were already four too many.

“You’re wearing a tie,” Tyler said quietly.

“Yup,” Rell agreed. “Can’t make a business proposal without a tie.”

Crowley looked at Tyler, and he put everything he had into the look.
Let him speak, Tyler. Please. Please just let him speak.
Tyler looked back at him, so different from Rell, and for a moment they just stared at each other, speaking wordlessly. Then Tyler walked over to the couch and sat on the arm and said nothing.

“I’ve got these for you guys.” Rell handed each of them a neat little report with a neat little plastic cover. “Full disclosure, I borrowed the plastic thingies from Mom.”

Tyler flipped his open and began to move quickly through the pages, but Crowley just watched Rell, who fidgeted uncomfortably.

“The concept is called Owl’s Figs & Painting Services—”

“Hate the name,” Tyler said.

Crowley stiffened, praying it wouldn’t dissolve into a fight. God, let it not dissolve into a fight.

“What about Owl’s Customs?” Tyler offered.

Rell considered this for a second, and then his half-grin spread. “I like that.”

“I know a guy who does logos. He owes me a favor and—”

“Wait,” Crowley said quietly. He held up his report. “Assume I haven’t super speed-read this like Tyler just did. What’s going on?”

“I’m starting a business,” Rell said. “I’ve got some capital and—”

“You didn’t borrow that ‘capital’ from Mom, did you?” The snark was sneaking in.

“Actually, Tyler,” Rell explained calmly. “I made my first figurine sale and now I’ve got the money I need to invest in more paints.”

“It’s going to take you a while to turn a profit.”

“It is,” Rell agreed. “That’s why I’m just here to pitch the idea to you, not to move up.”

“You’re not moving up?” Crowley asked, feeling his heart break.

“Not yet.”

“Where are you going to live until you start making money?” Tyler asked.

“Mom said I could stay with her a while longer. I’ll continue to do chores for her and—”

Crowley clutched the report so hard in his hands, he thought he was going to dent the plastic.
No, no, no
. Rell couldn’t leave. Not again. Not after seeing him.

Crowley looked at his roommate, and he wanted to beg, but Tyler’s attention was on his brother, and then he was taking a deep breath, opening his mouth. Whatever he said, it wouldn’t be good. It couldn’t. It never was! Maybe Crowley could move to Susset. Maybe he and Rell could—

“We have chores here that need doing,” Tyler said mildly. “But you’re sleeping on the damn couch.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch, too!” Crowley said brightly. “It folds out and we can—”

“
God
, don’t make me regret this.”

“Guys?” Rell said. “I’ve still got a whole report to go over.”

But Crowley couldn’t stand it any longer. The way they’d left things… the long silence… the time apart. He jumped off the couch and flung himself into Rell’s arms, pressing his lips hard against Rell’s.

“It’s brilliant. You’re brilliant.”

“I have charts and graphs.”

Crowley kissed away the words. “Don’t care. Summarize it in six words and then please, please shut up and make out with me.”

“I’m going back to my bedroom,” Tyler grunted, shoving himself off the edge of the couch.

“Painting figs, selling figs, adoring you.”

Crowley clung to Rell, kissing him deeply, molding their lips together in long, lingering kisses.

“You make me want to wear a tie,” Rell groaned.

“You make me want to rip it off your neck,” Crowley said playfully. “C’mon, help me fold out the couch.”

H
E
SHOULD
have been more nervous about Tyler coming out of the bedroom and catching them in the act of making love, but his roommate had turned his music up
loud
so that the mewing sound of Dogprint Sushi filled the entire apartment. Tyler knew what they were doing and he wouldn’t come out unless the bedroom was on fire. God, suddenly Crowley hoped he’d unplugged stripper Santa.

They were naked together underneath the thin blanket that he kept near the couch for Xondee, and for a while they just kissed. Pressed together like that, hands and bodies, members and limbs intermingled, like an intricate knot or a blacksmith’s puzzle, Crowley had never imagined his life could be like this.

Every time one of his old—self-conscious—thoughts tried to reassert itself, all he had to do was
feel
the throbbing evidence of Rell’s ardor, or look into the man’s eyes and see the unbridled lust that lay unveiled there. Crowley’s fingers traced lines under the blanket, and every joint and muscle in Rell’s body seemed to create sharp angles, and he ran his fingers along them, one after another.

Rell’s hand stilled, no longer exploring. He grasped Crowley’s buttocks and Crowley ground against him. The delicious, wicked friction was driving him insane. If this went on much longer, he was likely to explode, and he wasn’t ready for that. Not just yet. Crowley’s hand found Rell’s cock and was startled. The head was slick with precum. He caught as much as he could on his fingertips and blindly felt his way between Rell’s legs, looking for the welcoming home he’d missed so much these last few days.

Rell shifted his weight to offer him better access, and Crowley gently slipped his fingers inside. With his other hand, he slicked himself up with saliva. Quietly, carefully, Rell climbed on top, locked his knees at Crowley’s waist, and lowered himself inch by inch down onto Crowley, who sank into the delirium that was being inside of Rell Lang.

For a long time there was only the sound of Dogprint Sushi, the creak of the old springs, and their grunts and groans. Four days? Four days was a lifetime away from this.

“Close,” Crowley grunted, thrusting hard up into Rell.

“There,” Rell responded, biting his earlobe gently and groaning through his teeth as he spilled hot ejaculate across Crowley’s chest.

The pinprick explosion of pain in his ear as Rell bit just a hair too hard, was all it took. Crowley was overloaded, he was up to his neck in a thick blanket of sensation, and that pinprick was the straw that broke him open inside his friend, his lover. He emptied out all he was inside of Rell, holding nothing back for himself.

R
ELL
SAT
on the window seat, one leg up. He was completely naked, framed by the glow of the snowy night. Beautiful in any light, the silvery accent of the moon made Rell even more attractive and Crowley smiled at him, deliriously happy.

“Hey, boyfriend,” he said quietly.

“I like when you call me that.”

“I like saying it. Tastes good in my mouth.”

“Entendre.”

Crowley propped his head up on his arm, his eyes heavy with post-sex drowsiness. He was torn, wanting to watch Rell in the window, and at the same time, craving closeness. He wanted to spoon, wanted to feel Rell’s breath on his neck, wanted to fall asleep in his arms.

“You never said….”

“Said what, sleepy?” Rell leaned his head against the pane and stared. “How beautiful you look under me? How much I love your body? How—?”

“You never said where you got the money for your start-up.”

“It’s in the report,” Rell teased.

Crowley moaned happily, sleep tugging hard at him. “Mmm, summarize it for me?”

“I thought you weren’t interested in a board meeting? If I remember correctly, you had
other
things on your mind.”

“I’m interested,” Crowley promised. “Tell me about Owl’s Customs.”

“This guy I know—not sure if you’ve met—told me he liked my fig painting.”

Crowley listened to the steady depth of Rell’s voice. Deep and resonating.

“And my mother and sister told me that the reason I’ve always failed is because I don’t do what I love.”

“Gotta do what you love.”

“Says the classically trained busker,” Rell said, pushing himself up off the window seat. He stretched in the light. “I love painting figurines, and I’m sort of good at it. Figure it’s worth looking into.”

“Right,” Crowley agreed, loving the idea of Rell putting his creativity to profitable use. “But how are you funding it?”

“My oldest friend, James. Met him in middle school. He’s all grown up now and responsible with a wife and kids and a mortgage and all that, but he still loves
Rain Queen
. He agreed to buy the Sun Queen.”

“You sold her?” Crowley asked, very quietly. For a while he thought maybe his voice had been lost in the still night. He felt the mattress move under Rell’s weight and then the delicious warmth of his arms was there, surrounding Crowley. He was ensconced in Rell. He breathed him in. Loved every second of it. “But she’s so rare.”

“So are you, Crowley.” Rell pressed his lips to that place right behind Crowley’s ear. “You can tell me if you think it’s a stupid idea. Painting miniatures for a living.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” he said. Actually, he thought it was the most brilliant idea he’d ever heard. Rell’s “sort of good” painting skills—the attention to detail and the shading and the modifications—was actually so professional, Crowley could imagine a day when Rell made original sculpts. He knew gamers who would love to meet Rell and force money into his hands. Gamers in Avona.

“Like I said, it’s going to take a while before I can live off what I make. I’m going to sell the stock I have in Susset and then I’ll have to buy new models. Depends on what people want to buy. Some months may be dry.”

It almost sounded like Rell was trying to talk himself out of it.

Crowley leaned back into Rell’s arms and said, “Do you regret it?”

“What?”

“Do you regret giving up the Sun Queen to move up here?”

“I don’t even think that warrants answering.”

“So you believe in what you did?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then do me a favor,” Crowley murmured warmly, bumping Rell’s chin with the top of his head, very lightly. “Believe in yourself too.”

For a moment Rell was silent, and then he chuckled deep in his chest. It rumbled through Crowley’s back.

“You’re not supposed to use that logic on me.”

“I expect we’ll be using it on each other quite a bit.”

E
VEN
WITHOUT
a clock, Rell could tell it was early. He wasn’t in his own bed, but he was comfortable, and he was warm. Crowley spoke low on the phone, his back turned to Rell. He yawned and moved to tangle his legs playfully up with Crowley’s.

“Who are you talking to?” he murmured. Whoever it was, currently they were wasting precious time Rell could be using making out with Crowley, and as such, they were his enemy. Good thing for them Rell was relaxed to the point where he couldn’t have waged war, even if he’d wanted to.

Crowley rolled over on his back and smiled gently at Rell.

“You’ve… got my phone,” Rell said, confused.

Crowley raised a finger to his lips.
Shh,
he was saying.
I’m talking to your enemy on your phone and I need silence.

“What…?” Rell started to mumble, but Crowley was speaking in passionate whispers.

“I understand. It’s an amazing piece. I just wonder if you’d be willing to double your investment?” He listened carefully, nodding as if the speaker were in front of him. “Absolutely serious. I’ll pay you double what you paid him and—”

“Who are you talking to?” Rell asked again, his voice taking on shape as some of the grogginess of the way-too-early morning fell away. He propped himself up on his arm and began to play with Crowley’s curls.

“So we have a deal, then?” Crowley asked.

“Stop dealing and tell me who you’re talking to, unless you want me to tickle it out of you.” With practiced fingers, Rell began to tickle Crowley’s sides so that the man had to choke down his laughter and writhe to get away from him.

Rell may be a dummy sometimes, but the things Crowley had said into the phone were starting to fit together. Suddenly Rell knew exactly who his “enemy” was and exactly what they were talking about. With a sigh, he held out his hand and said in his sternest boyfriend voice, “Let me talk to James.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide in surprise.

“How did you—?”

“I know everything,” Rell teased. “Phone, Owl.”