Hearts Under Fire (2 page)

Clark clucked his tongue and thought about how he’d dearly love to demonstrate some things to this guy as a crash course in good, better, and best.

“How long has this place been here?” the stranger asked, leaning forward. “It’s the first time I’ve been in, and now I’m wondering why.”

“It’s been here for...” Clark paused, thinking as he put away the menu. “Seven years. And obviously you’ve been missing out. It’s the best bar in the city.” Clark grinned and winked. “It would have to be. It’s mine, after all. One sec.”

Clark let that thought stew as he moved away to scribble a note for the sandwich and slid it through the window into the kitchen. Then Clark went to pour the Daze in a tall glass without bothering to ask if that was the size the guy wanted.

Clark whistled a merry tune as he brought the beer over and tossed down a coaster. He slid the glass to the man, making sure he invaded personal space in the process. “There. One Daze. One sandwich on the way. We’ll get you taken care of in no time at all.”

Despite the furrow between dark brows, the newcomer didn’t lean back from Clark as he picked up the beer and took a long swallow, seeming to savor it. “Good. I appreciate it.”

“I’m Clark, by the way,” the bartender said, offering his hand. “Always good to see a new face in here.” Clark studied the man intently.

“I’m Daniel,” said the brunet, firmly shaking the offered hand. “I’ve heard a bit about you, Mr. Clark. Good to know that your Glow is as comfortable as they say.”

Clark’s mind raced and sorted information at the speed of intuition. “You can just call me ‘Clark,’ Daniel. All my friends do, and I see my reputation precedes me. That’s probably a little unfortunate.” Clark grinned, trying to cover the unexpected bout of butterflies that filled his gut as he pondered what the man might know of him. There was an interesting list of possibilities, given all Clark managed and did in life.

Heather appeared, and Clark knew without looking that the girl moved to manage the other patrons. Yet another reason he loved Heather; she got it when Clark needed to focus on a particular customer. There were many reasons he did that: lend an ear, offer some easy companionship, make somebody feel at home.

Not to mention flirt, feel-out, and learn about intriguing people. Like Daniel, for instance, who continued to return Clark’s look with a calm expression.

Daniel nodded. “Perhaps it is unfortunate.”

Shit, thought Clark, keeping his expression friendly and neutral.

“But you were right about the beer. Exactly what I needed to get my mind off something else. Wedding this weekend. I’m not looking forward to it at all. So talk to me and tell me why a bar of all things?”

Clark gave Daniel an understanding look and turned to twirl a finger at Heather. She nodded at the “check on the order” signal, and Clark returned his focus to the man on the other side of the counter.

“Why
not
a bar?” Clark asked with a soft laugh, as he leaned down to bring their faces level. “Lets me use all my psychic powers for the greater good.”

“Better than using them for evil.” Daniel gave a lazy smile. “Hm... why
not
a bar? Drunks? Long hours? Constant social interaction? Frantic schedules and low margins? Or are those things you enjoy?”

Oh yeah. Clark liked this guy. Hot and smart was always a rather lethal combination for Clark.

“Touché,” Clark said, with a nod and a quick calculation that he’d need to give some in order to ask for more. “In truth, I think all those things are small irritations compared to other things life can deal you. I like that it’s mine, that it’s a place people enjoy going and staying awhile. I find that standing on this side of the bar offers me insulation when I need it and is a conduit to fascinating people when I don’t.”

“You’re right; there are worse things life can deal you.”

Clark hummed in agreement, making mental notes on the way the man closed his eyes on old pain. “So, why the wedding dread?”

“It’s just family. A big, conservative family going all-out on a traditional ceremony and me being... well... me. I’ll do fine, and it’ll be fun, but I can’t help the nerves beforehand.”

Clark remembered his earlier funk and wondered if Daniel was a reward for good behavior. There was a quiet, understated depth in this man that made Clark want to dive in without bothering to check the water’s temperature.

“Nothing wrong with feeling what you need to feel,” Clark said lightly, though he strongly believed it. “And I hate thinking about a world where someone like you isn’t accepted for who you are.”

Daniel’s eyes went wide, and Clark got lost in watching Daniel’s throat move, wondered how Daniel’d sound if Clark kissed over the pulse he could barely see beneath the dusky skin.

Heather came up to the pair and put a steaming plate of sandwich and kettle chips on the bar near Clark. She didn’t say a word and didn’t wait for a response. Daniel pulled the plate near, picked up the sandwich, and took a bite. Clark watched the man chew and swallow, and felt his cock twitch at the happy, contented sigh that followed.

“Oh, that is good,” Daniel said.

“I’ll say,” Clark said. “Ken -- the cook -- is great at what he does. I like encouraging talent.” He chuckled. “And enjoy partaking, I have to admit.”

Daniel made a low noise of agreement around his next mouthful.

Not wanting to let the conversation lull, Clark leaned toward Daniel, the smell of food in his nose. Clark opened his mouth to speak, looking into a pair of eyes that were -- wait. Not brown. Clark stared hard before he could check himself.

Daniel’s eyes were a deep, deep blue.

Clark’s mouth watered, and he arched an eyebrow in appreciation.

Daniel flashed a grin, but then narrowed his gaze. “How did your eye...” His fingertips reached forward, brushing the air above Clark’s cheek. “What happened?”

Clark felt a pull at his navel at the almost-touch; a delicious sensation that forced him to focus on breathing while his brain and body did a hormonal surge in premature, triumphant glee. But he put that nonsense into a box and focused on the question. Clark had a range of answers to explain his eyes, everything from the mythic to the bare-bones truth. He didn’t need to think about what he should say to Daniel; the answer was on his tongue fast and easy.

“People used to call me Sergeant Clark, and while I answered to that name, I was too close to an explosion. I still wanted to serve, and the military thought that was a good idea at the time. So I volunteered to be a test subject in a new transplant procedure.”

“Transplant?” Daniel asked, interest obviously piqued. “That’s not a glass eye, then?”

Clark shook his head. “Nope. It’s a combination of biology and bionic from what they told me.”

“Really? And did you regain full sight function?” Daniel traced a circular pattern around the eye without touching Clark’s skin.

“Not entirely,” Clark answered, thinking Daniel adorable in his fascination. “Too many glitches to be perfect, though my superiors were happy enough with it. Ultimately, though, they thought it was better for me to rejoin the civilians.”

Daniel sat back and took another bite of his sandwich, nodding. “Wounded in the line of duty. Thank you for your service. That can’t have been easy, speaking of acceptance of oneself. Unless all the rumors are wrong.”

Clark laughed, though it was slightly forced. No, learning to live with parts of another human’s eyeball was not the easiest thing in the world. It was a constant reminder in every mirror of what had happened and all the consequences.

Clark pushed back to stand by the bar instead of leaning against it, and a thread of old anxiety swirled through him. He blamed it on memories best left cold in the back corners of his mind.

“Rumors, hm?” Clark said absently, trying to disengage from his own thoughts. “Well, you can’t always believe what you hear.”

“What, you’re not gay?” Daniel asked, voice sharp. “Because I admit I do like meat.”

Gay? Clark blinked. Of course Clark was gay. The bartender went still for a moment -- a leftover from training that taught him that moving when confused or startled could get one killed. He replayed the conversation, forced the bullshit bits about his eye and the past away from his thoughts, and finally caught up to the rumor business.

Under normal circumstances, Clark thought he might be more upset that somebody got him off his game -- even for a split second or two. But some weird additional heat was mixing in with the desire to get this man alone in a dark room and learn what his skin tasted like.

“Oh? Do you?” Clark said, as he leaned back in and brushed his thumb over the back Daniel’s right hand. “I’ve acquired a taste for it myself.”

“Have you, now?” Daniel asked. He caught the wandering hand with his left and tried to turn it over. The lightness of Clark’s skin against the darkness of Daniel’s hand fascinated Clark, and want stirred in Clark’s bloodstream and groin like some grinning cat poised over a cornered mouse. Clark hummed and pressed his thumb into Daniel’s palm for a light squeeze with a hint of very short nail. Clark relented and let the other man move his hand.

“I guess I’ve had a taste for it ever since I remember,” Daniel said. He spread Clark’s fingers on the bar and traced the life and health lines, as if divining things from Clark’s skin. “That is part of my trepidation over the wedding. They’ve never physically beaten me up about it, just tried to get me to date more girls.”

Clark found it was harder than it had any right to be for him to follow Daniel’s words instead of the trails of fire igniting on his skin. Mentally, he chastised himself for getting so worked up. Then he chastised himself for chastising himself over feeling something good.

Truly, it was one long game of punch-for-punch in Clark’s head sometimes.

“’More girls?’” Clark repeated, refusing to look away from Daniel’s face. He relaxed his arm and hand with effort. “Implying there were girls to season your taste early on?”

“Mmhm,” Daniel hummed, brushing his thumbnail against the Mound of Mars under Clark’s thumb. “Beauty is still beauty, as are intelligence and courage. Though I admit that my aunt was just beside herself when I was dating a girl who was graduating
summa cum laude
.”

“I’m sure,” Clark agreed, grateful for the new information to distract him from the urge to full-body flinch from the casual touches. Calculating, he rolled his fingers and stroked the underside of Daniel’s wrist. “I’m sure they’ll all be glad to see you. Sounds like the kind of family that wants you to be happy above all else.” Touch, drag, press of fingertip, and Clark’s heart beat faster.

Daniel squeezed Clark’s hand and released him. “I don’t know about happy, but they’re always there when I need them. That’s a good thing.”

Clark watched Daniel grab the beer and empty it with one last, long pull. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, struggling with an internal wrestling match that started when Daniel let go of him. He instantly regretted the loss of contact and chided himself for it. It wasn’t sudden, so Clark didn’t think he’d offended. But something was off.

“Having that kind of support is rarely a bad thing,” Clark commented, trying to sort through the Daniel-flavored consternation.

“Indeed,” Daniel said, finishing the sandwich. The furrow was back between Daniel’s brows, and Clark shook his head, bemused, before reaching to cover Daniel’s entire hand with his own.

Giving an affectionate squeeze, Clark leaned closer, playful again. “You’re thinking hard enough to make
my
head hurt.”

Daniel blinked and then laughed, the smile reaching the corners of his eyes. The effect took Clark’s breath away.

“What an accurate way of putting it,” Daniel said, as he turned the hand under Clark’s to clasp it and then let go. “And I’m afraid that those thoughts lead me home. May I please have my bill?”

“Of course,” Clark said immediately, not so enamored of the man that he forgot Daniel was a paying customer. “Be right back.”

Clark turned, and his face darkened into a frown. The guy surely had a boyfriend or partner or some such. For crying out loud, the man was smart, witty, and nothing short of beautiful, though Clark would hesitate to tell Daniel that last. Being involved was probably the reason for the gentle refusal. Had to be. And despite the fact that Clark’s bedpost had enough notches to appear attacked by rabid beavers, he didn’t condone cheating.

But, damnit, something really bothered Clark about this guy.

“Shit,” Heather said, as she came out of the door just as Clark tried to go in. “Sorry, Clark.”

“S’okay,” Clark said.

Heather looked hard at Clark and then glanced at Daniel. “Don’t tell me he turned you
down
?”

“He needs his check, Heather.” Clark’s tone wasn’t unpleasant, but it was far from playful.

“Right away.” Heather turned and went back into the kitchen. Clark let his face relax into a neutral expression and busied himself with clearing empty glasses, waiting for Heather, and trying to decide if he was going to say anything else to the confusing man. He didn’t have long to mull it over before Heather returned. “Check, sir,” she said, handing him a black folder.

Clark put on his best smile as he sauntered back to the end of the bar. But when he looked at Daniel again, Clark’s attempts at rationalizing the rejection went out the window.

No, not a partner. Definitely not it. This wasn’t a man who did anything lightly. If there was someone permanent or even semi-permanent, then the bit with the hand tracing would not have happened.

Clark didn’t always understand
how
his intuition worked. He didn’t get exactly what it was about someone that allowed him to form an accurate set of insights with only a few exchanged words or some body language. But Clark did understand that the “how” didn’t really matter. It worked, he relied on it, and there was something strange about this guy. Not “strange” as in closet serial killer, but Clark couldn’t get a steady read on Daniel. The second he thought he had it, Daniel seemed to retreat away from Clark’s senses.