I Survived Seattle (18 page)

The room filled with humidity, with the smell of sweat and sex, and with the sounds of their moans muffled by the kissing; their own private, floating den of iniquity.

When Nic tried to take control of the kiss, Justice put the slightest pressure on his neck. It was just enough to remind him that Justice was driving this bus, and Nic was more than happy to let him. Nic could already feel his balls tightening as Justice milked him for all he was worth.

Breaking the kiss, Justice sat back up straight and began pounding himself mercilessly down on Nic’s cock. He grunted every time flesh slapped flesh. Nic reached down with the one hand that wasn’t keeping him tethered to reality, and began furiously jacking Justice’s dick. Nic was about to lose it and he wanted Justice there with him.

He’d only gotten in two or three strokes when Justice started shooting, grinding his ass against Nic’s pelvis. He shot so hard, a couple of spurts hit Nic’s cheek. Justice’s channel squeezed him in such a vice that it literally milked the orgasm right out of him. Nic went wild, bucking up into Justice as he shot, and he managed to pump a few more spurts out of Justice.

Justice’s arms immediately went boneless, and he collapsed onto Nic, chest to chest. Nic uncurled his hand from the headboard, wincing as the circulation began to return to the clenched extremity. He wrapped Justice tight in his arms as they lay there, coming down from a cataclysmic shared orgasm. Their breathing slowed, slippery cum began drying between them, but neither of them made a move to separate, to clean up.

Nic wasn’t ready to let go, and it seemed as though Justice wasn’t so inclined either. Nic didn’t want to think too much about how right Justice felt in his arms, or how great it would be to wake up to him in his bed every day. There was no need to scare Justice away; a guy could dream, right?

He tried to be comforted by the fact that he’d helped Justice, had given him everything he needed tonight. But as Nic threaded his fingers through Justice’s floppy curls, his heart clenched a little, because every day they spent together was one day closer to saying goodbye.

Chapter Seventeen

Last night, Justice had lived a nightmare and then a dream. Tonight, he was living them at the same time. He was once again in the pulsing, sweating club that vibrated with so much sexual energy; and he was there with Nic, his walking, talking wet dream.

But he was also with Rory’s
entire
wedding party, at least the groom’s side, including that giant dickbag, Rich. To show his complete support of Justice’s sexual orientation, Rory had insisted that all of the wedding party accompany Justice and Nic to Neighbors. Well, Nic had chosen the club; there certainly were gayer clubs in Seattle, but this was the one least likely to traumatize the straights.

Justice was entirely mortified. Rory and Maia looked awkward standing in line for drinks at the bar. The rest of the frat-boy-esque groomsmen had taken a table in the shadow of the stage, and Rich sat by himself, glowering in a corner. Nic had invited Samara and her latest fling, trying to take a little of the pressure off of Justice, and Lara was presently chatting with Samara about shoes or makeup, or some other such female thing.

Nic was standing with his arm loosely wrapped around Justice’s shoulder, casually giving Justice the chance to adjust to being affectionate in front of his friends. Lara, Samara, and her latest boy-toy ambled over to join them. Justice had to hand it to Sam. She looked smashing in a 1950’s inspired leather dress complete with a corset, and her date was completely drool-worthy —a six foot eight-ish Puerto Rican with an athlete’s build.

“Good to see you again, Airplane Boy,” she said with a smile.

Justice had come to find out that was their little nickname for him. He didn’t mind so much. “You too Samara.”

She waved a hand in dismissal. “Sam, please. This here’s Eduardo.
Flavor of the month
,” she said in a stage whisper, and the group tittered with nervous chuckles.

Rory and Maia came back with their drinks, both looking a bit red-faced. A couple of men walked by, groping each other’s asses; Rory looked, then tried to pretend that he hadn’t seen, and reddened further. Maia giggled when she saw another couple in the corner making out. Rory wrapped an arm around Maia’s shoulders and pulled her tight against him, as if she could shield him from any vicious attack homos.

Justice knew they were making an effort for him, so he tried his best not to be irritated by their discomfort. They were going to have to get used to being around gay guys if they wanted to stay friends with him.

Eventually, they all moved over to the frat-boy-groomsmen table. Justice sat down and squeezed right up next to Nic because, fuck it, they were all in his world now, and he’d be damned if he was going to try and hide on his turf.

Rory’s gaze flicked to their joined hands, and he blushed and looked away. Again, it wasn’t disgust or contempt, just discomfort. Justice knew he would have to deal with a certain amount of discomfort as his friends adjusted to their new perception of him. Because that’s all it was; perception. He’d always been gay, they’d just only recently found out, and now they were struggling to figure out which tidy little box he fit in now.
Good luck with that, guys
, he thought.

Lara leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands. She had a mischievous look about her. This was probably going to be bad. “So, you guys met on the boat and, what, like got so hot for each other that you boned in the broom closet?”

Rory choked on his beer and Justice paled. Nic just looked over at him with sparkling eyes and squeezed his hands.

“Nah, I wish. Jus was playing hard to get.”

That earned him a snort and an eye roll from Justice. “Actually, we’d met before. On the plane over here,” Justice answered.

“Really?” Lara squeed. “How romantic.

Bitch, please
, Justice thought. He checked out a bit as Nic told the story of their first encounter, and had the entire table rolling, at
his
expense. He didn’t care too much. Nic, Rory, Lara, and probably Maia all knew about his total awkwardness, and the rest didn’t matter to him.

Justice amused himself by watching Nic; watching his tidal pool eyes, his flashing white teeth, the dimple in his chin. Nic was animated when he spoke, flailing and gesturing to go with his expressive face. Justice could get lost in him. He did.

He heard mumbling, but it took him a moment to clue in that someone was actually talking to him.

“Earth to Romeo,” Rory said with a wicked smile, as if he knew where Justice’s mind had wandered.

“Er…sorry. What’d’ya say?”

“I saaaaaid…you get a plus one for the wedding. And Mr. Valentine is welcome if you want to bring him along.” Rory held a benevolent smile on his face, like the Pope handing out blessings.

Oh, shit
. Justice had barely been
out
twenty-four hours. Could he really go from straight-until-proven-gay to bringing his male lover to his very straight best friend’s wedding? Anxiety beat on his stomach lining like baby fists. Rory had inadvertently put him on the spot. There was no way to get out of this without hurting Nic. And hurting Nic was the last thing he wanted to do. What choice did he have?

“Uh…sure. I mean, if he wants to.” He glanced at Nic, silently hoping for a reprieve. Nothin’ doin.’

Nic gave him a shy smile and looked at him from under absurdly long golden lashes. “Yeah. Love to.”

“Great!” Justice said entirely too brightly, hoping the brittle smile he held in place didn’t crack his face. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for Nic. He cared about Nic
too
much. But he was a fucking disaster on a good day. There was no way he’d get through that spectacle without ruining it. Well fuck it all to hell. Not like he could back out now.

“’M gonna go get a drink. Anyone want?” Cue headshakes because, yeah, they all already had drinks. Justice braced his hand on Nic’s shoulder as he stood. He felt the muscles coil and bunch under his hand and it grounded him some, calmed him. “Be right back,” he said with a smile that was all for Nic.

Justice found a bar stool and waved at the bartender. She held up two fingers and went back to the drink she was pouring.
Two minutes
. Justice studied the shelves of liquor and tried to decide on a drink he didn’t really want. He heard someone come up beside him and could barely make out a dark suit in his periphery. Fuck, he wanted that drink now, and make it a double.

“I see you’ve landed on your feet, haven’t you, queer?”

The voice grated like sandpaper. “Rich. To what do I owe the misery?”

Rich sank down on the barstool next to him, smelling of cheap cigarettes under a thick layer of Emporio Armani. He shrugged a padded shoulder and flicked his hand at the bartender.

“Just getting a drink like everyone else, don’t get your thong in a wad.”

The man’s snide attitude, even in the face of his failure at turning Rory against Justice, was sawing at Justice’s last nerve. He half-turned on the swiveling stool to face Rich, because fuck if they weren’t going to have this shit out.

“What is it about me, man? Why do you hate me so goddamn much, when you barely even know me?”

Rich mock-cruised him from his shoes to his haircut, then gave a delicate sniff.

“You’re not good enough.”

“For
what?
” Justice hissed, finally losing hold of his tenuous control. “What the fuck-all are you talking about?”

“For Rory. You’re not good enough for
Rory
. He’s always talking about his awesome best friend. Justice has his own business, Justice is such a great artist, Justice fucking this, Justice fucking that.

“
I’m
the one who’s been around, making him dinner when he forgets to eat, dumping him in bed after he ties one on.
I
was his wingman when he met Maia. But you’re still his goddamn best friend, even when you didn’t have the stones to tell him what you really were.” He said it as if what Justice “really was” was a cockroach.

He’d gotten all fired up during his monologue; face red, spit flying, eyes flashing. Justice stared at him, finally trying to read between the lines. Rich gesticulated wildly as he continued the tirade, but Justice was looking underneath the bluster. Hate. Jealousy. Passion. Love.

“Oh. My. God”

“…Whatthefuck?” Rich blinked, thrown off by the interruption.

“You’re in love with him.”

“With the who now?”

“Rory. You love him.” It dawned on him like a baseball bat to the head. You didn’t get that fired up about a fucking roommate. Probably not even over a friend. “Why were you at Neighbors the night you saw Nic and I?”

Rich coughed and sputtered, losing the color that had suffused his face. “Told you. I was with friends.”

“Uh huh. You were cruising. Maybe trying to find someone to take your mind off Rory.”

“I’m not…gay!”

Justice continued as if Rich hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t like he’d expected the guy to admit it. “You knew he was marrying Maia, but you didn’t get so upset until I got here. Why is that? I mean, did you think you’d hang around until they invited you in for a little ménage á blah? And somehow I threw a wrench in that plan?”

Rich had gone very still, a hunted look washing over his face. “I’m not gay,” he repeated in monotone. “Dunno what the
fuck
you’re talking about.”

“Whatever, Rich. You know the old adage…you doth protest too much, man.”

Whatever wire that had held Rich’s composure snapped, and he got right up in Justice’s face, grabbing onto his arm hard enough to bruise.

“You listen to me, you fucking cocksucker. If I
ever
hear of you saying shit like that to anyone,
especially
Rory, I’ll kill you. Are we clear?”

Justice held his gaze steadily, not showing an ounce of fear, because the guy was all bark. “Crystal,” he said with the tiniest smirk. Felt good to rattle his enemy, he wouldn’t lie.

Rich slammed a handful of bills down on the bar and grabbed the beer the bartender had barely set down, and stalked out of the bar.

“Well fuck me sideways,” Justice said to himself. “The gayer they are, the harder they fall.”

* * * *

Nic had gone outside to get some air, and to cool off after all the dancing. He was standing against the corner of the building, in the shadow cast by a street light. His gaze sharpened when he saw Rich burst out the door of the club and immediately pull out a pack of Capris.

Nic rolled his eyes as Rich pulled out a slim cigarette and lit it with a match, his already gaunt cheeks caving in with the inhale.
Okay, Audrey Hepburn
, he thought. Men smoking Capris were only cool in Europe —and even there, it wasn’t that cool.

Obviously Rich was trying and failing to pull off some Euro-chic metrosexual vibe. Ugh. Nic glared holes in the back of the guy’s head until he saw his shoulders stiffen. It was the moment he realized someone was behind him.

Nic waited for Rich to turn around, well aware that he was barely visible through the shadows. Rich puffed out his chest, some alpha posturing when he knew he was out weighed and out classed.