Gemini (7 page)
58
Gemini
by Chris Owen
Chapter Seven
I'm laughing my ass off, watching Fred and Bobby try to get my couch into the parlor. I mean, it's nice that they bought it and all, and it'll be nice to have a comfy place to sit
... but it's hysterically funny watching two huge biker guys fight with a couch. They've tried it on its side, on one end, with the cushions off—and now they're just kind of looking at it like it'll get itself into the parlor by its own power.
Paul's just standing on the curb, chewing on the inside of his lip. I know he knows how to make it work, but he's scared of Fred. I told him that Fred's a big softy, but sometimes Paul gets an idea and won't let go of it. Apparently six foot four and damn close to three hundred pounds with a thick beard and a vat of ink on his arms equals scary in Paul's world.
Okay, Fred used to scare the hell out of me too.
I go over to Paul and sort of lean into him. "Want to tell me, and I'll tell them?"
I thought I asked nice and low, but Bobby spins around and looks at me. "Somethin' to say, smartass?"
Paul sort of shrinks a little and I brush his arm with mine.
"He means me," I say, and Bobby laughs.
"Yeah, you're not a smartass, Paul. Not very bright, letting this one move in with you, but not a smartass." He grins maniacally and I wince.
"Tone it down, Bobby," I say mildly.
"Or what?" he asks as a tease. Fred's watching us, leaning on the door frame and looking utterly unimpressed.
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"Or I'll tell Paul we can go now and he won't tell you how to get the damn couch in the building," I say smugly.
"And how are you gonna get your boxes over to his place?"
Bobby says, pointing to the van which contains most of my stuff. His van.
"Like this." I reach into my pocket and pull out his keys.
Then I run like hell, Fred laughing and Bobby yelling behind me. I almost get around the block before I figure out Bobby's not chasing me anymore, but I still take my time walking back. I may be a fool, but I'm not stupid.
I'm almost back to the parlor when I realise that all I can see of the couch is the last foot or so, braced up by Fred, and then he shoves and it's in. Paul's standing to the side looking pleased with himself.
"Was just angles and leverage," he says when I walk up.
I nod, trying not to look winded.
"Asshole," Bobby says as he comes out and swats me on the head. "Keys?"
I grin and hand them over as Fred shakes Paul's hand and thanks him. Fred's hand is huge, swallowing up Paul's, but they seem to have reached a new level—Paul doesn't look at all terrified anymore, although he's deeply suspicious of Bobby.
"Wish you hadn't let him shove a needle through your nipples?" I whisper at him.
Paul blushes and looks at his shoes.
God he's cute.
* * * *
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"So that's it?" Bobby asks as he puts down the last of the boxes. "Not much, Gent. You've been living in a closet?"
He laughs; I roll my eyes.
"Sold a lot," I tell him when he gasps out the last giggle.
That's an understatement, really. I sold everything I could.
Fred bought the couch, the girl who lived above me bought everything in my kitchen, some guy took the bed. I sold the TV, the VCR, the stereo ... just about all I'm bringing with me is clothes and books, a lot of art. Lots of pencils and stuff like that, and pictures. I guess it doesn't look like much, piled on the sidewalk outside the apartment building.
Fred offers to park the van somewhere and help us haul it all upstairs, but Paul and I figure that if we put it in the elevator we can do it one trip, so we all just grab a couple of boxes and that's it. Going up in the world.
I think Fred thinks so too, the way he's assessing the building. He looks faintly surprised, and a little uncomfortable.
I make a mental note to tell him that Paul inherited the apartment, that he's not some rich kid—thought why that would bother Fred is beyond me. Why it would bother me that Fred would think that is a little confusing too.
So I do the smart thing and wave goodbye, promise to be at work tomorrow, and close the door on them.
The ride up is too short to do more than sneak a kiss—
we've tried for more before, but testing has conclusively proven that there's no way to get more than a quick feel in.
Doesn't hurt to prove it again, though.
When we reach our floor Paul presses the hold button and we push and shove the boxes into the hall as fast as we can, 61
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then let the elevator go. I'm just standing in front of all my shit, looking down the hall to the front door. "Think Jamie will help?"
"He better," Paul grumbles. "Proud enough of those muscles—and besides, we want to watch him work, don't we?"
Oh hell yeah.
We grab a couple of boxes and take them in, using one to prop the door open so we can just go in and out, call out for Jamie and head back for the rest. Two trips later he's not come out and we're mostly done.
Paul frowns at the pile of boxes and goes to stand in front of the big window, peering out. "His bike's here," he says, then calls Jamie's name again.
I shrug. "He'll turn up, baby." I go over and put my arms around him, my hands on him, and kiss him nice and slow. He melts into me, and we're just kind of lost in it, the feel of kissing, of being home.
Until a throat being cleared behind us makes Paul pull away. I turn around and Jamie's standing there looking embarrassed, and some old guy in a suit is next to him.
"Um, William's here, Paul," Jamie says, his voice all apologetic.
Paul just stands there, his mouth open.
William—whoever the hell he is—clears his throat again.
"I'm sorry, Paul. I didn't mean to intrude." Then he looks at me and sort of smiles. "You must be the gentleman Jamie's been telling me about. Although he left out a few details."
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We all sort of make inarticulate noises, and I think Paul might choke, but he seems to snap out of it, literally shaking it off like he's a wet Lab or something.
"William, this is Gent. Gentleman. Don't make a joke, he doesn't like it."
William nods, though I'm not sure if it's for the warning or in acknowledgement of the introduction.
Paul holds onto my arm, almost like he's staking a claim—
which I so don't mind—and says, "Gent, this is William Gorman, our lawyer. Well, Dad's lawyer, then our lawyer, and more of a family friend than anything else."
Lovely.
"Nice to meet you," I say and give him a nod of my own.
Then we all stand there looking at each other.
"What brings you by?" Paul finally asks.
William shrugs one elegant shoulder and I hate him a little bit. "It's been a while, I thought I'd stop in and see how you were. Jamie was rearranging things in your father's office and told me you were getting a roommate. We were discussing ...
financial matters when you got here." He looks a little embarrassed. "I'm afraid I assumed you were taking on a roommate because you needed money. Jamie didn't see fit to set me right about the situation." He give Jamie a faintly accusing look, which is neatly deflected by a shrug.
"Not my tale to tell, is it?" he says, ironically. "Paul's a big boy, over the age of consent, and Gent's a great guy."
Jesus fuck I want to go over there and kiss him. Want to tell the whole damn world that Jamie is a great guy, that he's 63
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a damn fine lover ... but the secret keeps us all safe, lets us be together.
I just wish the pain could be shared around a little, would have been happy to let this lawyer guy thing I was with Jamie, let Fred and Bobby think I'm with Paul. But no, he had to walk in when I was shoving my tongue down Paul's throat.
Jamie smiles at me, and I can see the parts of it that don't reach his eyes. Paul's fingers, digging into my arm, tell me the same thing.
I realise we've been quiet for a while and I'm probably just in the way of some family kind of thing, so I disengage from Paul as gently as I can. "Going to go put some stuff away," I say softly. "Let you talk." And I kiss him again, just once, because I have to. He's pale and he looks like he's about to fall over.
Before I leave the room with a box under my arm Jamie is by Paul's side and his arms are crossed. The Wall of Twins has been formed, and I doubt William fucking Gorman stands a chance.
* * * *
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Paul seems rather unimpressed that William didn't know he's gay, but Jamie thinks it's funny.
"Not like you advertise it," Jamie says. I decide to stay in the kitchen for a moment or two. Okay, I so shouldn't be eavesdropping, but hell—not like it really matters at this point. The man's a lawyer, he probably expects me to.
So I grab a box and put it on the table and try to quietly peel the tape off while I listen in.
"Like you do?" Paul says back, all snotty.
William laughs. "Well, yeah. More than you, anyway."
Someone chokes, I think it's Jamie. "What do you mean?"
Yeah, Jamie, and he sounds amused and pissy at the same time.
William clears his throat. "Well, you used to spend an awful lot of time looking at Carl's butt at the office."
There's a short silence and Paul bursts out laughing. "Carl?
You're serious? Man, I had no idea Carl was your type. What with him being, like, fifty."
"He was thirty-four," Jamie protests and there's dead silence.
"Um. You didn't..." William finally says. "Because legally—"
"God, no. He had a nice ass," Jamie says. "But he also had a wife and a girlfriend—unless you didn't know that, in which case let's just say he's straight and move on, okay? I need water. Back in a minute."
Before I can really do more than pick up the box and head to the hallway Jamie flies in.
"Man, this is weird," he whispers to me. And then he's kissing me, shoving his tongue into my mouth and pulling 65
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away again. "I wanna fuck you. Right now, I wanna fuck you with him here, want to do it real fast? Bathroom?"
"Jesus Christ," I gasp out. "Are you crazy?"
"Maybe. Yeah, I guess so. But it's wild and I'm flying and Paul's freaked and he just won't go—too busy making up for
... everything."
Jamie's almost shaking, and he's grinning like mad, but there's something kind of frantic in his eyes that worries me.
I put the box down and push him into the fridge with my body, pin him there. I can feel his heart race.
"Hey, calm down a bit," I say softly. "It'll be okay, he'll go and you and Paul can be hysterical. It's all right, Jamie—
really."
He nods and takes a deep breath, tilts his head back on the fridge. "I can hear them talking still," he whispers. "Their voices."
I kiss his neck and rub at his back, his arms; it's weird, but I can feel him start to come down a bit. And go up a lot, poking into me.
"Adrenaline junkie," I tease.
"You know it," he says back.
"I thought Paul would be the one freaking," I whisper.
"Listen for them."
And it's way more stupid than the bathroom, so far beyond crazy that it scares me a bit, but I reach down and start jacking him through his sweatpants, rubbing at this dick and balls and basically letting him hump me.
He's panting and I'm working him, his hips are twisting and bucking, and he slams his hand on mine and just grinds, 66
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his eyes closed tight and his mouth open. I stare at him as he comes, feel his cock move under my hand and feel the wet stain spread. He sort of groans and I step back, shaking.
"Um, which room," I hiss at him, holding my box and willing him to just stand up and stop looking newly fucked. Oh my God, I can't believe I just did that, that we were so stupid.
He blinks and me and shakes his head, then goes to the sink and splashes some water on his face. He dries off really fast and grabs a box, holds it in front of him—and damn, if he suddenly looks less like a slut. Wild. The amazing transforming Jamie.
"What's in these boxes?" he asks me, and I look at him really closely.
He looks calmer, the wild spark gone, and I can't tell if there's anything wrong anymore. Maybe I'll look into the adrenaline thing.
"Clothes and pictures in that one, more art supplies in this one," I tell him. "There's only a couple of boxes left, and they're mostly clothes."
He nods and walks down the hall in front of me. "Put the art supplies in Dad's study for now," he whispers. "We'll shift them after Paul's old room is empty for you. Clothes and stuff, obviously, go in here." He opens the door at the end, which I'd thought of as the guest room, and sends me in.
"Home sweet home. Until William blows off, anyway."
I snort and toss the box on the bed. It really does look like a guestroom—I hope William doesn't look in, no way does Paul sleep in here.
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Jamie takes off to change and I lug the rest of the boxes into their temporary rooms. By the time I'm done Paul and Jamie are gently ushering William to the door.
"Well, Gent. It's been ... interesting meeting you," he says, and then he gives me this grin, like he's in on a wonderful, happy secret and suddenly I like him. He loves my boys. He's been cool about Jamie being gay and he's cool with Paul.
I smile at him and nod. "It's been good," I say.