Gemini (9 page)

Afternoons. Three days a week.

"Can't live on that, Gent." He sounds skeptical.

"Don't intend to. Get another job somewhere. Just can't be working with blood right now."

"You're damn good at what you do. Think about it, Gent.

You take care of yourself, keep working smart, you're not gonna catch anything. Don't let this throw you. Most guys ink for years and never get a positive for anything."

"Yeah. I know. Just give me some time to work this out, okay?"

Fred finally just gives in. "See you in a couple days. And we'll talk about it then."

Jamie and Paul spend a lot of time talking to me about why I don't want to ink. I try to make them understand that just because it turned out okay this time doesn't mean that there won't be a next time. That the thought of anything hurting them because of what I do makes me ill. That I would rather work at a job I hate than put them in any danger.

Paul doesn't like it. "You love what you do. You're good at it."

"Yeah. But—"

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"Fuck this, Gent. I can die walking to work. Hell, I work at City Hall. You know how many disgruntled city employees there are? Stop being stupid and
think.
"

I look at the floor. Jamie gets down in front of me, hands on my knees. "Gent."

I look into his eyes and all I can see is trust. And that just blows me away after last night.

"You take every precaution there is, right? You're careful.

You're smart. There's guys out there who don't work with blood who take far more chances than you. I've seen you looking at your hands. You're obsessed with being safe."

I nod. Fight the urge to check my hands.

"So don't do this, okay? Go afternoons only if you want, but please, don't go out and get some crap job you hate just

'cause you're scared for us. Hell, I get cut up more than you just playing sports. See me after pick up basketball? Think, Gent. Do what you love."

"But I don't want you to get sick."

"Keep being as careful as you are. We won't. You won't."

I sit back in the chair and close my eyes. Think. Feel Jamie's hands on my legs, Paul's on my shoulders. I feel like I could sleep for days.

"Okay." I take a breath and think for a minute, or at least try to. "Afternoons only. See how it goes. Might have to get a night job somewhere, though. Maybe pull beer at the Edge, yeah?"

Hear a soft sigh and then Paul's kissing me. Hand at my neck turning my head and then Jamie's there and we've got 79

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one of those wonderful and strange three way kisses going on.

I'm just so tired.

* * * *

Not sure what it is about being shit scared that make us all want to get shit drunk, but we do it. Don't even do anything else, just stare at the TV and drink beer, then rum. Eventually we order some Chinese food and try to get a little sober.

We talk about me going back to work again, but not for long. I'm still adamant about only working part-time and Taff gave me a job at the Razor's Edge so I'm making the same amount of money—a little more, actually, with tips.

Jamie still thinks I'm wasting my talent, and Paul still thinks I should do what I have to do for now, but hopes I'll go back fulltime soon. He misses me on the weekends, he says, but I suspect he agrees with Jamie.

"I just ... I can't take knowing I can pass something on to you as easy as that," I try to explain for the seven hundredth time.

Jamie sighs and passes me the fried shrimp. "Nothing's changed, Gent. Nothing at all."

"I know," I say, gesturing with my chopsticks. "But that's the point. We were fucking reckless, boys, and I won't do that again. We gotta be more careful, not just go on like we were."

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They exchange an uneasy look and Paul looks at me out of the corner of his eye and shrugs. There are times I hate that secret-twin-language thing.

"Um, Gent?" Jamie says slowly. "Wanna run that by us again?"

I set down my plate and lean forward. "We have to take better care of ourselves."

"Break it down a little more."

I sigh and Jamie shakes his head. "Just fucking humor me, will you? What precisely are you suggesting?"

I look at him, then at Paul and back again. "Condoms. All the time, not just when we fuck."

Jamie's eyes do this weird thing, they go really wide and then really narrow. Paul just looks unhappy.

"No way," Jamie says. "In fact, I think we should ditch the rubbers altogether, now that we all know we're clean for sure and provable."

My jaw drops. "Are you insane?"

"No, but I'm beginning to think you are." He stands up, angry vibes just rolling off him. Paul looks less unhappy and more freaked than anything, his eyes darting from Jamie to me and back. Like he's watching the worst tennis game ever and knows it's going to end in carnage.

I stand up too. "Jamie, you can't be serious."

"I am. And I think you're taking this too far, Gent. I think you're letting your paranoia seep out and it's affecting us too, now. I won't let it, pretty." He's standing in front of me with his arms crossed and I get that horrible them-against-me feeling again.

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Jesus, I thought we were past this.

I fall back on the couch and close my eyes. "This isn't a game, Jamie. You don't get to win by being faster or stronger—only smarter."

Jamie makes a noise that can only be called a grown of frustration. I open my eyes to see him pacing and Paul watching with wide eyes, biting his lip.

"Baby," I say. "Paul. I can't take the chance. Do you see that?"

Paul looks at me for a moment and then comes over and sits next to me, curling into my side. "Listen to me, Gent.

Okay? Just for a minute. You too, Jamie. I want to tell you what I see, and I need to say it all. No jumping up and talking over me, or I swear to God I'll deck you both."

Jamie and I both grin before we can help it, though it doesn't stick around long. Just a whisper of light. We nod and I put my arm around Paul, kiss the top of his head. He tilts his head to look up at me and he smiles before pulling away.

Without saying anything he goes to Jamie and kisses him, then gets Jamie to sit on the couch with me.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Paul's in charge, standing in front of us and looking like he's about to lay down the law. I think Jamie feels it too, he's already sitting straighter, like he's ready to jump up and walk away. I grab his wrist and give him a warning look. He rolls his eyes at me, but stays where he is and even leans back. And he holds my hand.

"Okay, this is how I see it," Paul says. He's crossing his arms across his chest, exactly like Jamie does, and I wonder vaguely if their dad did it too. "You two are opposite ends of a 82

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spectrum over this, and we have to find a compromise that works. Gent, you're freaked and worried and your instinct is to protect us, to do everything you can to keep us safe. I appreciate that, I do."

He smiles at me, looking encouraging and weirdly hopeful, so I open my mouth to say he's right, that I have to take care of them, and he tells me to shut up.

"Shut up," he says. Really. "Let me finish. You're being over-cautious and you're projecting your fears."

Oh, I am not!

"Jamie, you're being reckless. You're trying to prove you're fucking invincible or something."

Oh, he so is!

"I am not!" Jamie bursts out.

"You are," Paul insists. "And shut up. Now, look. Jamie, you're my hero, you know that. Don't you? You should know that by now." He comes a little closer and sits on the coffee table right in front of Jamie. "I know you're not going anywhere. I know you love me. And if sometime I have to sleep alone, I know I won't have nightmares." His voice gets real soft and he leans forward until their touching, staring into each other's faces. "You're always going to love me, I know, and I know you're not going to die or leave me, okay? You don't have to prove it anymore, don't have to do things just to prove you can live through it for me."

One of us sniffles, and I'm pretty sure it's one of them, but I wouldn't swear to it. It's wildly intense being a part of something that intimate, that heartfelt. Being allowed to be a 83

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part of it. Then Paul kisses Jamie and they both kind of rub at their eyes. I sniffle this time.

Jamie leans back and takes a deep breath. "Okay."

Paul looks at me and I hold up my hands. "Go easy on me, baby."

"Nope." He slides down the table until he's in front of me and then he kisses me too before looking at both me and Jamie. "Here's what we need to do. Gent, you're asking too much of us. We've never used condoms with each other, really. Just the odd time when the three of us have been together. You asking us to start using them all the time, despite clean tests, isn't going to fly so we need to find a compromise that will make us all somewhat happy."

He tilts his head at me and I open my mouth again, only to get the now-expected "Shut up." He might bottom a lot, but the boy isn't very subby.

Jamie's sitting back again, and I take his hand, which makes Paul smile absently. He's thinking, and therefore distracted-looking. It's kind of cute, actually, and sometimes it goes on for a while—not this time, though. He's only in his thinking place for a minute or so before he sits up straight.

"Gent, promise us you'll take every possible precaution at work."

I blink, surprised. "Of course I promise."

Paul nods. "Thank you. That's your job. Jamie, I don't want you to use a rubber when you fuck me."

Jamie grins and Paul holds up his hand again and says,

"But as long as Gent's uncomfortable about it, he can. As long as he wants. And if he wants to use rubbers when you two 84

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fuck, you let him. No arguments, and if you're in him you wear one until he says otherwise."

Jamie frowns and looks at me. Like I'm supposed to tell him I changed my mind or something. But he sighs and nods, and I squeeze his fingers as a thank you.

"Gent?" Paul asks carefully.

Uh oh. I sense a big flashing light of warning coming on.

"Yes?" I say, just as carefully.

"Did you
always
use condoms for blowjobs before us?"

Damn.

I sigh to match Jamie's. "No," I admit. "That usually fell into the acceptable risk category."

"Fine, it still is. So, I suggest—rather strongly—that we ditch the latex for that, all three of us, and you continue to use condoms at your discretion for fucking, with the understanding that we won't be. Reasonable. Yes?"

No.

Ah, damn it. Jamie and Paul are both looking at me, and I have no freaking idea why they don't see that they'd be much safer locked in a room and wrapped in plastic and never ever allowed out in public where something can hurt them.

Okay, I might be projecting.

"Fine," I say. Sometimes it's easier to give in than fight until they do. Besides, with my boys? The after-discussion sex is a lot of fun.

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Chapter Nine

Being with twins, you learn a lot about three-way relationships. You learn how to suck and get fucked at the same time. You learn how to kiss in weird combinations. You learn that it can get strange when the two guys you're with have been together forever, literally.

And you learn that no matter how much they love each other, no matter how in love they are with each other—and yes, there is a difference—they are still twins. Which means that they are hot and sexy in the same way physically, and they are hot in their own ways, 'cause they're different people. It also means that they are siblings.

Are you listening to me? I mean, think about it. Sibs. Who fuck and fight. And when you fight with your lover, someone you trust not to leave, you can say some bad shit. When you fight with a sibling you say worse stuff.

They don't fight very often. They're too close, too much in love, to do it any more than once every few months. But when they fight it's bad. They scream and shout and curse and bring up shit that happened when they were twelve. One of them will finally have enough and storm out of the apartment, and then I'm left with one angry twin and a pain in my gut.

Usually, if I'm left with Jamie, we have a beer while he grumbles and moans and swears under his breath. Then he works it out in his head until it makes sense for him and we have a sympathy fuck until Paul comes home and they make up in some kinky twin way that I get to watch.

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If I'm left with Paul he gets all quiet and depressed and I have to stay away from him until I can't take it anymore and I drag him off to bed, get him naked and just hold him until Jamie comes back. Then they make up and I watch. Then we all fuck.

But this time it's different. I'm left with Paul after Jamie takes off and he's not sad or quiet. He's really fucking angry this time, and he's aggressive and not like my Paul at all. I don't have a sweet clue what to do with him. So I ask.

"What do you need, baby?"

He stares at me from across the living room and then runs to me, throws himself across my lap, ass in the air. "Gent."

"Yeah?" I admit I'm a little confused. This is so not a Paul position and I'm not sure where to put my hands. I put one palm on his ass and wait, something uncurling in my belly that I don't quite get, but sort of do.

"Gent, I need."

"What do you need?" I keep my voice low and smooth, rub his ass, feel him start to get hard against my leg.

"Hit me."

I freeze, knowing he was going to say it, and knowing I can't do it.

"Paul. I can't hurt you."

He looks up at me then, his eyes wide and needy and full of something I just don't get. "Hit. Me."