Fierce & Fabulous (Sassy Boyz) (12 page)

Could he talk about it? It would be a hell of a lot easier to speak about his past over the phone. And after everything Ansel had put him through, Fitch deserved a little background.

“Are you sure you want to hear this sad tale of woe?”

“If it’s your sad tale, then absolutely, yes.”

He sighed and braced himself for the memories. “I left home when I was seventeen. I ran away.”

“Really? Why?”

“Let’s just say the house wasn’t the greatest environment for a teenager who preferred pink over brown and heels over loafers. My mother didn’t take it well when she walked in on me trying on her shoes and wearing her lipstick. That was the first time she hit me. I was nine.”

“Shit.”

“It didn’t get any better either. I was shocked the nurses never called child services. It must have been pretty clear what was happening to me. But no one ever helped.”

He remembered the pitying looks the women would give him every single time his father brought him to the hospital. Every time they needed to do an X-ray or put his arm in a cast or stitch up his bleeding skull. But they never fucking said a word.

Honestly, though, he wasn’t sure he would have been any better off if they’d stepped up. He doubted foster care families would have taken him in. And the system was a total fucking waste of taxpayer money. He’d survived on the streets and if Lirim’s history was any proof, his path had been a blessing.

On the phone, Fitch was silent. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet. His soft, even breathing gave Ansel the courage to continue his story.

“She used to call me fagboy or Miss Priss. I’ll never forget it, the way she curled those words into the worst insult I could have imagined at the time. Still, I managed to put up with all of it until my seventeenth birthday.” Even just remembering caused his voice to tremble and his skin to itch. These were memories he had buried for so long as a defense mechanism. During his time at the shelter the in-house therapist had tried her best to get him to talk about the abuse, but he’d always refused.

He’d been scared to give it voice, like talking about it would bring it all back. Like saying his mother’s name would make her appear.

Even now, he curled into a ball and shivered in imagined fear, wondering if Fitch could hear it in his voice.

“Damn, that must have been tough. What happened on your birthday?”

“Nothing.” He said it so quietly it sounded somewhere between a whisper and a sigh.

There was another quiet breath before Fitch asked, “Nothing?”

“Not a damn thing. It was like I didn’t exist. No party, no celebration, no presents, nothing. My parents completely ignored me.” He remembered how cold he’d felt, how alone, and struggled to keep in mind where he was now. His new life was full of people who cared about him. But it was hard to hold on to those new and precious feelings when the whirling darkness seemed so much bigger, so much more powerful.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” he choked out. “It would have been easier for me to take a beating. At that point I was so used to the slurs and curses and everything that went along with them, they seemed normal. The complete absence of any reaction...” He trailed off, remembering the empty ache in his chest that day.

He’d felt like a ghost in his own home. And when he found himself wishing to be smacked around, he’d known it was time to get out. So he packed his school bag with everything he thought he’d need and took off.

“So you left,” Fitch said.

“And never saw my brother again.”

“And your parents? Have you seen them since?”

Despite the awkward memory, he answered, “My father, yes. Once.”

“He found you?”

“No. No one ever came to look for me. I’d, um...”

“It’s okay,” Fitch’s deep rough voice rasped out before he cleared his throat. “You don’t have to say any more if you don’t want.”

Ansel bit his bottom lip. “I got myself into trouble one day, about four years ago, and ended up in the hospital.”

“After everything, your father came to visit you in the hospital?”

“Not exactly. The nurses called him automatically while I was in surgery.” He’d had to have his arm set with pins. The bastard he’d gone home with had been one of the bad ones. When he’d realized Ansel had a dick he’d gotten violent, and even though Ansel had fought back he’d still ended up with a broken arm.

“What happened?”

“He wasn’t happy, especially since one of the nurses told him why I was in there.”

Fitch seemed to be waiting, but when Ansel didn’t continue he finally asked, “Which was?”

Ansel took a deep, cleansing breath and hit the back of his head against the wall, just once, not too hard, but it still throbbed. “Because I’m an idiot who keeps doing the same stupid shit.”

“I highly doubt that.” Fitch’s reply was sweet, if naive, but Ansel appreciated it anyway. “What did your dad do?”

“Nothing really. Mostly he was pissed that he’d been called at all. He told me to stop using the family name because he didn’t want my mother to find out about everything I’d been doing to sully it.” He’d been lying in the hospital bed, bruised and bloody with his arm frozen in a cast, and all his father could do was lecture him.

“What an asshole.” It was almost a growl and reminded Ansel how angry Fitch had become when he’d told him about Ray. How protected he’d felt. And just like that night, the confusion and fear started to cloud around him like thick black smoke. But this time he fought back.

“That’s my family.”

“It still sucks.”

“It’s all right.” Ansel smiled into the dark. “I told him to go fuck himself. If he didn’t want people to know we were related he could change his own fucking name.”

Fitch laughed and the sound was like a beacon of light chasing all his monsters away. “Good for you.”

The approval warmed him, and his stupid fluttery heart danced as he basked in the feeling for a second. It was a new experience. Yes, the boys and Ange were always on his side, and Ray had been steady as a rock while he was alive, but they were different. They’d gone through similar things in their own lives, which made it easier for them to accept him. Having the acceptance of his brother was great. But having someone like Fitch understand him, root for him? That was some kind of addicting shit.

“How did your family take Meg coming out?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.

“My dad didn’t get it at first. Ma was sad because she wants grandbabies, but they were great after it sunk in. They never made Meg feel like she wasn’t loved. I think that’s most important.”

Ansel tried to imagine a family like that but couldn’t paint the picture in his mind. Everything he’d experienced in his childhood was the exact opposite. “Yeah, it is. I’m curious, what was it you said to Meg when she told you? The way she used it against you the night we met, it must be something—”

“It wasn’t anything insightful or brilliant, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Fitch cut him off. “I told her I didn’t give two shits.”

He laughed. “Really?”

“Well, I didn’t. I don’t. Why should I care who she sleeps with? Who she loves? As long as she’s happy, that’s all I care about. I’m not going to love her any differently just because she’s attracted to girls. Hell, I’m attracted to girls. How could I not understand the allure?”

At the reminder of Fitch’s usual preference, Ansel quieted.

“You still there?” Fitch asked after a moment of silence.

“Still here,” he answered.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“Was it the being-attracted-to-girls thing?”

“It’s not anything I didn’t already know.” He covered his face with his free hand, mentally kicking himself for being affected by such an offhand statement. Especially when it was something he was aware of, one hundred percent.

“It’s also not the whole truth. Point of fact, I’m so fucking hard for
you
right now I had to take my briefs off just to get some relief.”

Ansel sucked in a breath, his cock instantly filling and stretching.

“And another thing, there has never been a woman that turns me on as quickly and thoroughly as you do.”

“Fuck,” Ansel whispered as a shiver shook him.

“Do I have your attention?”

Closing his eyes, he imagined Fitch spread out naked on his bed the way he’d been last week. “Hell yes.”

“Good because, if I recall correctly, we talked about my jerking off to the memory of your ass. I’ve been thinking about both ever since.”

Kaboom!
There went one of his cannonballs. He lunged over the side of the bed and found the bottle of lube, still on the floor where he’d kicked it after Fitch left. He squirted two pumps into his palm, reclined, and began stroking.

“Tell me you’re touching yourself.”

“You think I’m going to miss an opportunity to come by the sound of your voice?”

Fitch crooned. “You like my voice?”

He could barely speak with the way his heart was racing. “It gives me fucking goose bumps.”

Fitch’s chuckle was wicked and ended with a guttural groan that curled Ansel’s toes. “I love the way you smell. I’m holding the T-shirt I wore during your lap dance. It still fucking smells of you.”

Holy shit.
The thought of Fitch getting himself off to his scent almost made his balls explode.

“Thank you, Viktor and Rolf,” he said.

“Who the fuck are they?”

The edge of envy in Fitch’s deep voice sent delicious shivers down Ansel’s spine. “They’re the designers who made the perfume. It’s called Flowerbomb.”

“Oh, then yes. Thank you, indeed.”

“Christ, I think you’re trying to murder me.” He squeezed his cock and arched his back. Jerking off had never been so much fun before. It usually took him much longer to get to the point where he couldn’t catch his breath. There was something about Fitch’s voice, it was addicting.

“How would you want it? Do you want to ride me again?”

Ansel hissed as his cock twitched, memories of their single night together making the questions come alive.

“No. I want you to take me from behind, hard and fast. Dominating.”

Fitch groaned. “You like to be held down, don’t you?”

Ansel didn’t answer, but he was pretty sure his gasp was all the proof Fitch needed.

“My kinky little angel, fuck. I wish you were here right now.”

“Me too. I miss your weight. I want you on top of me, pressing me into the mattress.”

“Yeah, Angel. Squeeze your cock for me, let me hear you.”

Ansel groaned then, a loud long groan as his knees came up. He wished he had time to get his dildo, or at least lube up his fingers. Because he really wanted that stretch in his ass and to remember how Fitch had felt inside him.

“Fuck, Fitch,” he whispered after. “I want you so bad.”

Fitch’s answering growl sent shooting stars straight to Ansel’s balls. “Damn, I want to fill you. I want to feel that tight hole squeeze me.”

“God, yes.” His whole body was on fire now, pulsing and seeking for the cause of its pleasure, and Fitch’s absence brought a whole new level of frustrated desire surging through Ansel’s blood.

“How close are you? Because I’m about to come.” Fitch’s harsh panting breaths were evidence of his rising need.

Ansel moaned, his hips lifting off the bed over and over, seeking the end. “Really fucking close.”

“Yes, Angel. God, your sex noises turn me on. Fuck, I wish I could watch you come.”

Ansel’s fist whipped faster up and down his straining cock, his eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t want distractions. He just wanted to fall into Fitch. The image of him lying on the bed was seared in his dreams. The hard, hairy body ready for the taking. And those eyes, yes, those damn chocolate eyes. He’d drown in that gaze and leave the world behind.

“I can’t be too loud. I don’t want to wake Ange.”

“If I were there I’d cover your mouth so you could be as loud as you needed.”

“Yes, oh fuck. Shit. Yes.” He came in a torrent, his body convulsing in pleasure.

On the phone, Fitch cursed in his sexy growl. Ansel didn’t move, didn’t speak. He wanted to hear every noise.

On the last breath of a fading groan, Fitch whispered, “Ansel,” and it sounded like a plea.

Chapter Nineteen

“Why did you get me a whole bottle?” Ansel tried not to let his alarm show. Fitch had bought him a gift that was worth more than a week’s worth of groceries. It was expensive and way too generous, even if Fitch’s family did own their own construction company.

Such a gift was a big deal. A statement.

His stomach roiled and he pressed his hand to it. He’d never had a lover buy him anything before and had no idea how to process it.

“It was the smallest they had. I thought you’d like it.”

He did. He liked it way too fucking much. That was the goddamn problem. He’d been looking forward to tonight even though he’d tried not to. After their phone conversation, he hadn’t been able to distract himself. He didn’t want to ruin their second date by having a panic attack.

Ansel looked up from the shiny gold gift bag stuffed with rainbow paper and the pretty pink box of Flowerbomb nestled within, and smiled at Fitch. The guy had taken the time to get him a gift they could both enjoy.

“Thank you,” he said. The words were sincere, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to run away. As sweet as the gift was, it had to be too soon for such a gesture. They’d only known each other for less than two weeks.
Ten fucking days.

“It was selfish.”

“No, it means a lot, but you didn’t have to buy me anything.”

Fitch looked out the window. They were seated near the entrance of a popular pizza joint in the heart of the city. It was warm and smelled of melted cheese and tomato sauce inside, but outside the night was chilly for the time of year.

“Consider it an early birthday present or something,” Fitch said without meeting his eyes.

“Really early.” He tucked the gift bag near his feet.

Fitch turned to face him. “When is it?”

“August twenty-eighth, what about you?”

“May twenty-third. How old are you exactly?”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady that question?” Ansel pushed his hair behind his ears and off his collarbone.

“Wait, I can figure it out. Hold on.” Fitch looked to the ceiling. “Twenty-three?”

“How’d you guess?”

Fitch tapped his temple and winked. “I’m just that good.”

“Sure.”

“You were seventeen when you left home and you said it was six years since you saw your brother.”

Ansel bit the inside of his cheek, because the idea that Fitch was so into him that he remembered every word he’d said? Hell, that was scary—and damn sweet. “When you lay it all out, it’s not as impressive.”

Fitch laughed. “From now on, I’ll keep my methods mysterious.”

Their pepperoni pizza arrived and they each grabbed a slice. Ansel tore off a piece of the crust and mopped up the grease while Fitch folded his and let the oil drip onto the paper plate.

“You’re going to let all that go to waste? What are you, a barbarian?” Ansel reached over and dabbed his crust into Fitch’s grease and then popped the chunk-o-yum into his mouth.

“Seriously? That’s all fat.”

“And?”

“You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack.”

The inflection of his voice made Ansel wonder if there was more on his mind. “If something’s going to kill me, I doubt it will be pizza grease. More likely it will be alcohol poisoning or an allergic reaction to bullshit.”

Fitch shook his head. “My grandfather died from a heart attack when he was only fifty-five. Turns out we have a history of heart problems in the family tree.”

“That’s major.”

“I try to be careful, watch what I eat, get enough exercise, you know. But there are no guarantees, I guess.” He focused on the table.

Ansel sensed a deeper issue and reached across the table to touch Fitch’s hand. “Listen, I know it’s none of my business, but is there something wrong?”

Fitch looked at where their fingers connected, quickly glanced around the room, and sighed before looking into Ansel’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let it affect our date.” Even under a day’s worth of facial hair, Ansel could see the pink tinge of Fitch’s embarrassment. What he didn’t know was if it was from holding hands in public or something else.

“It’s okay. You just seem, I don’t know, worried about something.”

“It’s my father. He’s...well, we don’t really know yet, but something isn’t right. He’s forgetting things more than usual and gets confused. I guess it’s been weighing on me more than I realized.” He turned his hand to cup Ansel’s in a warm and gentle hold.

So, not embarrassed then. Or at least, not enough to stop.

Stupidly, the small act warmed something inside Ansel he hadn’t realized was so cold. He squeezed Fitch’s hand and blinked away his emotions, even while his heart was swelling in sympathy. The love Fitch had for his father was so plain to see, it hurt. “I’m so sorry. Is it Alzheimer’s?”

“I hope not. He has an appointment in a couple weeks. We’ll know more then, but the wait has been dragging me down.” He paused before adding, “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Okay, sorry.” Fitch smiled and once again his eyes were warm and twinkling.

Ansel laughed and the tension that had gripped his shoulders fizzled. He squeezed Fitch’s hand once more before returning to the task of eating his pizza.

“I have no idea what we have in our family,” Ansel said. “My parents were first-generation immigrants and I only ever met my grandmother when she came to visit on the holidays.”

After his confession Fitch seemed lighter when he replied, “Immigrants? Where from?”

“You mean you can’t tell? Come on, Sherlock, where have your powers of deduction gone?”

“Not deduction, just math. And you’ve never mentioned anything about this before. I would’ve remembered.”

Ansel lowered his eyes to the triangle of cheese on his plate and picked off a piece of pepperoni. “
Wir kommen aus Deutschland
,” he replied before popping it in his mouth. His accent was rusty. Oma Richter would have been ashamed.

Fitch snapped his fingers. “I should have guessed, your name is totally German. And Lars, wow, you couldn’t get more
Mein Kampf
than that.”

Ansel laughed. “Are you saying my brother must be a Nazi?”

Fitch wiped his fingers on a napkin, chuckling and shaking his head. “Sorry, it was the only thing I could think of in German.”

“Looks like I’ll have to educate you.” He sucked on his bottom lip and looked up as he tried to remember some of the bad words he’d learned as a kid. “Let’s start with
blas mein schwanz
.”

Fitch’s whole body shook with quiet laughter. “Hell no, I’m not going to repeat a single thing your dirty mind comes up with. You’ll have me wishing people a pleasant pig fuck as I wave goodbye.”

Ansel hid a smile behind his hand as he blinked innocently. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me.”

“Only you would take that as a compliment.” Fitch grabbed another slice, still grinning.

“I have a lot of practice finding the positive spin when life throws you shit.”

* * *

Fitch followed Ansel up to his apartment after spending the past hour watching him stuff cheese between his lips. He’d become one sick fucker in the last few weeks.

Who had a fetish about cheese?

“Do you want something to drink?” Ansel asked, crossing to the small refrigerator in the kitchen area.

“No, thanks. There is something I need to know, though.”

“What?” Ansel leaned against the appliance.

Fitch followed. “Are we exclusive?”

Those ruby lips parted, but no sounds came out.

“I’m into you. Really fucking into you.” Fitch rubbed the back of his neck. “But I don’t sleep around. I don’t want to be wondering who else you’re screwing. I almost drove myself crazy with those thoughts this past week. If we are doing this, then I can’t have any doubts. I have to know you’re in it with me.”

Less than two feet away, it was easy to see Ansel’s pupils dilate, the tic in his jaw, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. If only Fitch could read his mind, know what he was thinking. He waited, and with each new breath, dread solidified in his gut. He’d pushed too hard. Ansel wasn’t the type to commit.

He’d come up here tonight in the hopes of having another chance to feel Ansel’s smooth, hard body against his, to get a breath of the perfume, and taste his lips. It had been idiotic to ask for assurances before getting his cock inside him. But Fitch couldn’t deny he needed it. He wasn’t sure he could stand another day, let alone another week, without knowing they were on the same page. And now, since they obviously weren’t, he could maybe move on with his life.

Yeah
,
sure
,
keep telling yourself that.

“Right,” Fitch said with a shake of his head. “That’s pretty stupid, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s just...” Ansel’s words were quiet, his eyes were full of dread and courage—an odd mix, intriguing. Attractive.

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” Ansel shut his green eyes and took a deep breath. “I do. I want what you’re offering, so much. But it terrifies me.”

Fitch closed the distance between them. He cupped Ansel’s cheek. “I’m afraid too.”

Ansel looked at him. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

Stomach twisted in knots, Fitch whispered, “Just promise me you’ll try. We’ll go from there.”

Ansel’s gaze drifted to his mouth and up to meet his eyes. “I don’t want anyone else, anyway. And, last week...I didn’t. I couldn’t—”

Fitch cut him off with the kiss he’d been waiting for since he left last week. He sucked Ansel’s full bottom lip, then licked his way inside, behind his teeth to the center of the sweet taste. Their tongues twisted, lips caressed, and teeth grazed. It was deep. It was passionate.

It was like coming home.

When he pulled back, Fitch rubbed a thumb just below Ansel’s lip to wipe away the smudged lipstick.

“You are so fucking fun to kiss.”