Too Stupid to Live(Romancelandia) (26 page)

“Yeah, bed,” Sam whispered. “I think I owe you a blowjob.”

“No, I want a handjob, with your dick against mine,” Ian murmured against his neck.

Sam shuddered and thrust his hips toward Ian harder. “Not here,” Ian said, then nipped at his skin. “I’m not as young as I used to be. I need a mattress.”

Sam fell asleep after coming again, and when he woke up, Ian was wrapped around him and snoring softly in his ear. Fights must also tire him out. Sam extricated himself carefully, trying not to wake Ian or instigate an episode of the usual grabby arms. He finally made it out of bed and turned to look back at Ian.

Okay, the black eye was kind of sexy. It made him look like the kind of guy Sam shouldn’t be with. The kind of guy Sam never thought he
would
be with (even if he’d kinda, sorta wanted to), and the kind of guy Sam had taken Ian for at first.

But he wasn’t a bad boy, not really. Ian was amazing; loving and careful of Sam’s feelings and his insecurities.
He defended my honor
.

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, reluctant to leave, troubled by the faint rumblings in his heart. There was a revolt brewing there. In spite of his best intentions, he’d fallen in love, and his heart was planning to make him acknowledge it.

Oh sheesh, he didn’t really want to fight a losing battle, anyway. Maybe it wasn’t going to turn out well, and maybe he was going to get his heart stomped on, broken, then drawn and quartered and hanged, but dammit, he wasn’t going to be a coward and run from it, right?

Right.

You win, heart. I love him
.

Sam was so absorbed in his book, he didn’t notice when Ian got up. He was lying on the couch, head pillowed on one end and feet propped on the other, a paperback clutched tightly in his hands. He’d reached an exciting scene. He was preoccupied. Sue him.

“Got a thing for studs in kilts, kiddo?”

Ian’s voice exploded in his ears, and Sam jerked in surprise, nearly falling off the couch, pulling the book up to cover most of his face. He peeked at Ian over the top of it. “No,” he said, voice muffled by his paperback. After a second he added, “Yes.”

Ian grinned at him.

“Maybe,” Sam continued.

“I thought you were supposed to be doing homework,” Ian said, prowling—
walking
(he really did read too many romance novels)—over to the couch. Sam lifted his legs to make room. Ian sat and pulled Sam’s feet into his lap.

He inspected Ian over the top of his book a few more seconds before finally dropping it with a sigh. His face felt hot. “I finished my homework and you weren’t awake yet, so I started my new book.”

“Your new romance novel,” Ian corrected, then grabbed it before Sam realized what he was doing, making him yelp.

Sam pouted. “Give it back.”

Ian ignored him and looked at the back cover. “A Highlander, huh?”

“Oh God,” Sam groaned, covering his face. “Please don’t make fun of me.”

Ian dropped the book on his stomach. “Sorry.” He felt Ian rubbing his feet. He looked out from between his fingers suspiciously. “I think it’s cute,” Ian said.

“Oh,” Sam said, dropping his hands. Ian
seemed
sincere. He wiggled his toes so Ian would pay more attention to them, maybe rub each one individually. “The first time I saw you, you looked like a Highlander to me,” he blurted.
Dammit
.

Ian looked at him blankly a few seconds. Then he said, “At that rugby game?”

Sam nodded and fidgeted with his book, running his fingertips around the edges of the pages and fanning the corners. “They’re in all these novels, they’re practically their own sub-genre. I thought . . .” Sam took a breath. “Later I thought . . . um, fantasized you were chasing me, and when you caught me you’d . . .” He circled his hand in the air, making a “you know” kind of gesture.

Ian’s grin about swallowed his face. “Ravish you, kiddo? Throw you down and take your ass?”

Sam squeaked, then nodded, pressing his lips together and cringing in shame.

Ian lifted Sam’s feet off his lap, then stretched out next to him on the couch, nudging Sam until he made room. Ian nuzzled his ear and cheek. “I’d love to do that sometime,” he said softly, his breath on Sam’s neck making his skin prickle. “But I’m not as young as I used to be, and I beat up some guy this morning.” Sam frowned, trying to turn his head enough to look at Ian’s face, but they were too close together. “And yeah, I got beat up some myself. I think I might be tapped out for a while, kiddo.”

Weird, but Ian sounded almost worried about that. Sam struggled to turn and face Ian, nearly knocking him off the couch. He saw a slightly darker spot forming along Ian’s jaw. Was that another bruise?

Sam caressed Ian’s cheek with his thumb, just above the potential bruise. “It’s okay, I don’t care. I’m happy like this.” He kissed Ian’s nose, then gently kissed Ian’s bruised eye. It really wasn’t that dark, not like he’d expected a black eye to be. More like a charcoal-gray eye.

They lay there a long time, not really talking or making out, just being together as the room got steadily darker. Sam felt enveloped in a special Ian bubble. It made his heart ache in a happy-sad way.
God I hope this lasts awhile
.

Then Sam’s stomach growled. He groaned, and Ian laughed. “I’ll make us dinner. You read your book, kiddo.” He let go of Sam and rolled off the couch, catching himself on his arm, then standing up. “You staying again tonight?”

“I’d like to if you want me.”

“I want you.”

Sam stayed Sunday, but he couldn’t stay Monday. Unless Ian really, really wanted him to.

Or just really wanted him to.

In the morning, Ian stood at the bathroom sink and knotted his tie while Sam shaved. Ian was done shaving, since he had an electric razor. Sam should get an electric razor, but since he could go two days between shaves before anyone noticed, he didn’t think it was worth it. Disposable razors were a pain, though.

“I have a late meeting tonight, but I want to see you tomorrow,” Ian said.

Sam stared at Ian’s hands on the red silk of his tie. He was slowly discovering that Ian was a closet hedonist. Five-hundred-thread-count sheets and silk ties, not to mention cashmere sweaters in his drawer.

He’d only seen those accidentally. That drawer had come open almost on its own. He’d barely done more than brush past it.

Ian’s hands stopped messing with his tie. “Sam?”

“Huh?” Sam dropped his razor in the sink. He was done anyway. “What?”

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he blurted. He thought about backpedaling and making it look less like a foregone conclusion, but it seemed pointless. Besides, Ian smiled at him in the mirror and kissed his cheek, then walked out of the room.

Sam rinsed the few bits of foam off his face and walked into the bedroom. He was still in boxers and a T-shirt, and Ian was shrugging on his suit jacket. “Do you have to leave soon?” he asked, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Yep,” Ian answered absently, shoving stuff from his dresser into various pockets.

That sucked. If he had a little less on and Ian had a little more time, they could play corporate raider and houseboy.

Ian walked behind him and patted him on the butt. “C’mon, kiddo. You hurry up, and I’ll have time to drop you at campus before I go to work. We can make out in the pickup behind the English building.”

“Oh, okay,” Sam said, and dived across the bed for his backpack.

Tuesday morning, and Ian felt like he’d already put in three days at work. He’d barely had the energy to call Sam last night when he got home from his meeting, but he had.

It had been totally worth it. He may not be comfortable admitting everything he may or may not be feeling for Sam, but he could admit that talking to Sam relaxed him. He needed to be able to relax. He had a fuckton of work to do.

Most immediately, he had to chair a huge interagency roundtable meeting and navigate the tricky political waters of district boundaries, protocol overlaps, procedural clashes, and insurance payment share disputes among the fire, police, and ambulance agencies in a three-county area.

His main issue right now was convincing all these yahoos—oh, excuse him,
agency representatives
—that, seeing as the emergency backup radio frequencies for the first responders were transit’s primary frequencies, yes, they needed to be included in the good ol’ boys’ network.

He could talk that way about these guys; he was one. Totally all right.

Sigh
.

Who in hell ever thought he’d be any good at this? He didn’t tend to suffer bullshit and posturing well, and meetings like this were nothing but. He knew from experience; he’d attended enough of them as a representative of the fire district.

Yet somehow, he actually—kinda, sorta—liked this job. He liked figuring out how to make it all run smoothly. He even sort of liked the chess-playing air of it all, figuring out what leverage applied by who to whom would get him support. This was the suckiest part, meetings with multiple parties who thought the simple desire to fuck with each other was reasonable motivation to go ahead and do so.

So why the hell was he in such a good mood?

Like you don’t know
.

He smiled guiltily to himself, sitting at his desk, thinking about his boyfriend.

Yeah, he’d thought the word. “Boyfriend,” he whispered out loud. There, he’d said it, too. Suddenly it occurred to him he might need to talk to Sam about that. Hell, how did that work? Was he supposed to clear it with Sam before he used the “b” word? Ian sighed. One more thing to ask his therapist.

He heard Dalton’s disembodied voice say at his elbow, “Mr. Cully? You have a call from Jurgen Dammerung on line one.”

“Dalton, call me Ian,” he called out his open office door.

“Sorry, sir,” Dalton’s voice said at his elbow.

Ian shook his head and picked up the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jurgen said. “Guess we’re coming up tonight.”

“Yeah, to make sure I’m treating my boyfriend well.” Holy hell, he’d just called Sam his boyfriend to someone else.

“Did you hear what you just said?”

“When I accused you of being all up in my shit? Yeah.”