Entry tags:

dr. noh, issue15

Songs You Know by Heart, part 1
by Dr. Noh

Author's note: Many thanks to Flower of Carnage, not just for betaing, but also for letting me use her character, Daniel, and for writing the bit of this story in which he appears.

David detached himself from a woman dressed as a drooping rose. Her costume wasn't the only thing past its prime. The party should've been put out of its misery hours ago. The room swam slightly as he looked around, and his throat felt raw from the truly awful "authentic" vodka he'd been drinking all night. He went to say his goodbyes to Pierre.

Pierre's costume was Apollo, done in a lot of gold body paint, feathers, and very little else. It made him easy to spot, sprawled among his admirers in front of the immensely tasteless gold-leafed fireplace.

The fireplace was a good compass for the rest of Pierre's penthouse, and, indeed, life. The main reason David still went to his parties, apart from the business contacts he made, was to see what Pierre had bought since last time. Previous purchases, on the better end of the scale, included a minor Picasso and, on the worse, a rug made out of the pelt of some recently extinct animal. All in all, David was glad they'd never actually had sex, despite one or two close calls.

"I'm leaving," David told him.

"Not until you try this!" Pierre held aloft a glass of wine with a giggle and a look of triumph.

"That gulag vodka of yours was more than enough."

"Come on. Ten thousand, for only one bottle! That must make it good, yes? And they tell me it was a theft at that price."

"A steal," David corrected. This must be tonight's extravagance. "What's it meant to be?"

"Forty-seven Cheval Blanc."

David took the glass and inhaled. He didn't need to taste. "If it is, which I doubt, it's worthless now. Just as a general guideline, wine shouldn't smell like cat piss." He handed the glass back and left Pierre's protestations behind him.

The night air was a delicate coolness that wrapped around him, washing away the heat, mental and physical, of the party. He'd take the shortcut through the park and be home in five minutes.

The cherries were in bloom, white and thick as snow along the boughs. David passed into their shadows and stopped a moment. They seemed almost to glow.

"Don't move."

David started to turn at once. A hand in the middle of his back shoved him forward. He stumbled, fell, and then turned quickly. Bits of gravel dug into his ass and palms.

A knife sliced cleanly through his cravat. Several shots of vodka swam through his bloodstream, and the man over him swam in and out of focus. He was a dark shape in tight jeans, long hair and poor light obscuring his face.

"Money," the man said. "Where are the pockets in those damn pants?"

"Breeches don't have pockets," David said, with careful enunciation. "That is why I don't have money."

"What the hell, no one goes out with nothing! Cough it up or I'll fucking cut you."

The knife was very cold against his neck and so sharp he could barely feel the edge. He tipped his head back and licked his lips. "You could search me."

The man hesitated. "Don't try anything funny."

"Oh, I promise."

The knife point hovered at the hollow of his throat, and he felt he should be more worried about that. His mugger's free hand patted down his jacket and slid a little too slowly over his hips and thighs.

He'd spent all night dancing too closely with men and women who tended to let their hands wander, none of whom he'd considered taking home. All night and into the morning; the sky was a dull, pearled grey now. David shifted and stretched his legs out.

"I could give you something else," he said.

The man stopped, warm hand spread out across David's thigh. He swallowed visibly, and David hoped he hadn't read things wrong. Inept as the man seemed, he did have a weapon.

"Yeah, you could," the man said, at last. He yanked David's arms down by his sides and knelt over his chest, pinning them there. "Dressed in tights, walking through here this late. You're fucking asking for it."

He pulled his zipper down and got his cock out, thick and hardening already. A few jerks, and it was standing up in his hand. He stuck his knife in the dirt and grabbed David's hair. "Open up."

David leaned up and licked the head before he opened wide. The man grunted and shoved into his mouth. His dick was hot and incredibly smooth, wide enough to stretch David's lips. David felt the head against the inside of his cheek, pushing against the skin there and then skidding over his tongue, easing back towards his throat. He closed his eyes and couldn't help the sound he made, a soft, muffled moan. This was what he'd wanted all night.

"Jesus, fuck, good," the man panted. His hand hit the dirt over David's head, and he bent low, hips jerking sharply forward.

It was going faster than David would've preferred. The thrusts rammed down his throat didn't give him enough time to taste and feel. He pushed his tongue tight against the cock in his mouth and sucked. The man groaned louder and pulled at David's hair.

"Fuck, fuck, yeah, that's it. Oh, god. You like it. You like that dick."

David hummed in agreement, feeling his own cock harden in his breeches, stretchy fabric tight around it. He thrust up and got shoved back down flat for his trouble.

"You're not going nowhere," the man said. "You stay right there and take my cock."

David moaned again at that, and then had to concentrate on getting enough air as the guy curled over him and started to thrust hard and fast. He was muttering under his breath. "Yeah, you love it, bitch, gonna fuck your throat, oh Jesus." His hand in David's hair was trembling just a little.

His breath got harsher, and he started to come, hot spurts down David's throat, holding David tight and close, lips pushed right to the base of his dick so there wasn't a choice but to swallow. David shuddered and groaned and hoped he could make himself wait till he got home to jerk off.

The guy stayed still a long second, and then pulled out and grabbed his knife. He was still panting as he zipped up and got to his feet. "Don't tell anyone," he said. "Or, or I'll kill you!" David saw his face clearly for the first time in the onrushing dawn, young and flushed, with eyes the color of the lightening sky.

"I wouldn't dream of it," David purred. He wiped the back of his hand slowly across his mouth. "Tell me, if I happened to be so unwary as to take this way home again, should I expect the same sort of rough treatment?"

His mugger stared at him a second, took a step back and then another, and then he turned and ran.

David picked himself up and walked home, whistling.

***

David smiled at the feel of the cool metal against his throat. The rough voice in his ear was the same, too.

"You're really asking for it this time," his mugger said.

David tipped his head back onto the man's shoulder, baring his neck. His heartbeat was picking up, cock stiffening in his jeans.

"Come to a party with me," David murmured. He did have an invitation at home for one of Ian's parties, not that he was more likely to attend this one than any of its predecessors.

The man froze. "What?"

"A party. Drinks, vaguely obscene hors d'oeuvres, young men in gold shorts passing out condoms and lube. You'll love it."

"I'm not some queer."

"You want to fuck me, don't you?"

The knife pushed against his throat. "I can do that right here."

"Mmm. Yes, you can, because I thought to prepare myself before I came out here. But wouldn't you rather do it somewhere warm and reasonably soft? A bed even?"

"You came out here to-- Fuck, are you crazy?"

"At least tell me your name."

Some insomniac bird tootled quietly in the tree nearby. The body behind David shifted, pressed more firmly against his. David could feel the hard bulge of his cock, hot through his jeans.

"Jasper," the man said. "Jazz. People call me Jazz. And I don't want to go to no party."

"Too bad. I would love to show you off."

"You are fucked in the head."

"I'd rather be fucked in the ass."

Jazz shoved him away a step. "Then get your pants down."

"Are you sure? I live very close, and I promise to let you steal my silver."

"You can't be for real."

"Don't you want to get me alone so you can have your way with me? I have handcuffs if that would help."

Jazz stared at him for a wide-eyed second. "Yeah. Show me."

He twisted David's arm up behind his back, and pushed the knife against his side. David caught his breath and nearly moaned.

"The Green Street side of the park, and then left onto Bower. Keys in my pocket."

In less than five minutes, Jazz was stabbing the key into the lock and pushing open the door of David's townhouse. The mirrors in the front hall glittered at them, reflecting the dull gold streetlights before Jazz kicked the door shut.

David shook him off and ran for the stairs. There was a moment of stillness, and then footsteps pounding after him. He smiled and slowed enough to let Jazz catch up with him at the door to his bedroom.

The knife was gone, but hard hands caught his shoulders and shoved him face-first into the wall. "Don't run away from me," Jazz said, low and rough.

"If I don't run away, how are you supposed to catch me?" His own voice was breathy and excited, and he was so hard he pushed his hips forward and rubbed himself against the wall.

"Guess I'm gonna need those cuffs."

"Bedside table."

The weight left his back. He heard the open and slam of a drawer, and the rattle of metal on metal. One cold circle cinched in around his right wrist.

"Are you," Jazz started. "You shouldn't-- Jesus, dude, I tried to mug you."

David thought Jazz's concern was pretty strong evidence that he didn't need to worry at all, but he only shrugged. "Do you want to do this or not?"

There was a long stretch of heavy breathing in his ear, and then Jazz yanked him around and pushed the other cuff through the bed frame before snapping it onto David's left wrist. It left him perforce bent over, elbows resting awkwardly on the mattress. He straightened his legs and pushed his ass out and up.

Jazz cursed and nearly tore David's pants open, pulling them first down and then all the way off, right over his shoes. He palmed David's cheeks roughly and spread them. "Shit. You did. You got yourself all slicked up like a chick."

One finger touched David's hole, and David made a high sound in his throat. "Please," he said, almost needy enough to be embarrassed by it. "Put it in."

"Yeah," Jazz breathed.

And then there was the blunt head of that thick cock forcing its way inside him in short little stabs, no time to adjust or do anything but moan and hump back against it. Jazz grabbed his hips and slammed in the rest of the way, hips and balls right up against David's and so deep that David's cock jerked and spat pre-come across his belly.

"Tight," Jazz whispered. "Jesus. Didn't know it could be so tight."

David squeezed down around him and heard his breath catch. The next second, Jazz was fucking him flat out, so hard David's cock was bouncing in the air and his feet were slipping on the floor.

David bent his head to press against his cuffed hands and braced himself against the bed. Jazz's fingertips ground into the blades of David's hipbones as he yanked David back against him. His elbows slipped off the bed, and he clung to the bed frame. A sharp kick spread his legs still wider.

"Christ, shit, gonna fuck your ass so hard," Jazz mumbled, and he was, hard and wild, and David let his head hang down between his arms and panted. He could feel every inch, slicked barely enough, and that hot touch of friction was making him sweat.

Jazz paused inside him, screwed his hips forward so hard and slow that it made David whine helplessly and turn his face against his arm.

"Hot," Jazz whispered. "You want it bad, huh?"

"Yes, fuck, yes. Move."

Jazz moved, fast and deep, pounding him hard with quick strokes that nearly knocked the breath out of him. David's fingers slipped on the bed frame, and he bent further, Jazz's hand sliding up his spine to the back of his neck. His other hand slipped down across David's stomach, tipping his hips back and up still more so he could sink deeper.

David closed his eyes and bit at his own arm. His cock jerked and pulsed, so close, and then Jazz's hand closed tentatively around it. David moaned and shoved into his hand, and that was all it took. He came hard, knees shaking and feeling like they might dump him on the floor at any second.

Jazz shoved into him still faster, low sounds muffled against David's back, and stilled as he came. His nails dug into the back of David's neck, and his panting was the only sound in the room.

By stages, they sank to the floor. Jazz unlocked the cuffs, and David rubbed at his wrists. They hurt now, had probably hurt before, though he hadn't felt it. Irregular red circles ringed them like bracelets. He smoothed his hands down his thighs and drew a deep breath.

"The silver's downstairs if you want it."

"I don't."

David looked over his shoulder. "Is there something you do want?"

Jazz gnawed at his lip and came nowhere close to meeting David's eyes. "A guy like you-- You must have a bunch of suits, right? You look like sorta my size."

David blinked at him. "Yes. Certainly." He waved at the closet. "Take whatever you like."

Jazz zipped up and stood, unsteady and gripping the bed frame. He opened the closet door and flipped through David's stuff. A lot of it was suits, unfortunately. One had to look respectable.

David crawled onto the bed and wiped himself clean with a handful of tissues. He kicked his shoes off and lay back against the pile of pillows, watching. He'd half-expected Jazz to grab what he could and run, which was why the spare key to the cuffs was on a chain around his neck. He definitely hadn't expected the reach-around, let alone the odd sartorial request.

Jazz turned around holding the grey Hugo Boss to his chest and probably wrinkling it irretrievably in the process. "This one?"

"Told you, any one you like." He rolled off the bed and found Jazz a light blue shirt and a dark silver tie.

"They're expensive," Jazz said, with the hint of a question in his voice.

"I wouldn't wear anything cheap."

"Right. And these all go together, yeah?"

"I promise," David said solemnly.

"Right." Jazz let his eyes sink below the level of David's shirt hem, presumably checking out his cock. He looked quickly away. "I'm going now."

David walked him down and locked the door behind him. An interesting night indeed. Ian's party could only have been anticlimactic by comparison.




TWO

Dinner Friday next was at Kiwi. It was a bit boring for David's taste, but Kevin liked it and so did Angie, and it was popular enough that David didn't feel a hundred years old eating there. He thought their new trend of naming desserts after fashion designers was questionable, but that wasn't stopping him from eating Betsey Johnson and licking the fork clean.

"Pierre's after the goddamn Cheval Blanc again," David said. "He was waving around some counterfeit he paid a mint for."

"If you'd just get it for him, he'd stop bothering you," Angie said.

"It's overrated."

"You've never had it," Kevin said, in what David considered an unnecessarily loud voice.

David waved a hand. "It makes a good story. The little wine that could, throwing off the stench of the Nazi occupation, excelling under difficult conditions. That's the only reason the media's latched onto it."

"Media," Angie said. "A couple of online articles."

"Enough so Pierre's heard of it, and that is more than enough."

"You could just try it," Angie said. "It wouldn't kill you. Or you could buy some and let me try it. You know, take one for the team."

"One of our clients offered to sell me some. He's docked in Argentina right now."

"He has a wine cellar on his boat?" Kevin said.

"I think when it gets that large, you're meant to call it a ship."

"Are you sure about Argentina?" Angie said. "Do we really need it after the Casa Mafalda stuff?"

"It'll sell. Argentina is the new big thing in organics," David said. The piano music was a bit loud, he thought. He scraped more pink frosting off his plate.

"If people will trust anything that comes from South America," Angie said.

"They will. A few banner ads, hard working farmers and donkeys, et cetera. No problem."

"Hey, yeah. Nice." Kevin sounded faintly admiring. He was in advertising.

Angie gave both of them a look.

"It is not my fault people are easily manipulated," David said. "Anyway, Argentina's organic safeguards are very good. It's not like we'd be lying to them. Except about the donkeys."

"Wouldn't count on that. That biodynamic vineyard in California uses mules and oxes."

"Oxen," Kevin corrected.

"They bury oxen horns under their vines at the full moon," Angie said. "Filled with cow shit I think."

David half-listened to the ensuing conversation about what kind of crack the state of California was on, but the piano music kept poking at him like a polite but insistent panhandler. It was loud because it was live, he realized, and who had live music these days? Kiwi did, apparently, and now that he was actually listening, David thought he might see why. It really wasn't bad.

It took him a few seconds to locate the piano in the room's glittering labyrinth of mirrored walls and Venetian chandeliers. When he did, he looked away again immediately. That was his suit over there, and presumably the young man inside it was Jazz. He looked astonishingly respectable out of his jeans and grubby hoodie and with his hair tied back in a short ponytail.

"--check, David?" Kevin was saying.

"Hm?"

"I said, should I get the check?"

"I'll get it." He nodded to the waiter and thought about Jazz's hands on him, rough and utterly lacking in subtlety. Weren't musicians meant to take care of their hands?

"I can get it this time, honestly." Kevin was usually as smooth as an oil slick, but when he was groping for his wallet in these situations, he always managed to look like he was touching himself inappropriately.

David sighed. "Why do you bother? You always lose."

He lost this time, too. When David handed over his card, he slipped the waiter a folded-up hundred as well. "For your piano player. What's his name, Jasper something?"

"Yes, sir. Jasper White. Thank you, sir. I'm sure he'll appreciate your generosity."

David watched to make sure the waiter actually handed over his generosity, and then turned away. He didn't particularly want to see Jazz's reaction.

"Suddenly a patron of the lounge singer arts?" Kevin said.

"He's not singing," Angie said. "And really, he is quite good."

"If I wanted live music, I'd go to a damn concert. People are here to eat and blab, and here's this poor sucker stuck in the background, cramping up his fingers for five bucks an hour. It's so nineteenth century."

Angie clasped a hand to her heart. "Oh, Cutthroat Kevin, man of the people!"

They were off again; dinner and a show.

David signed the bill, tipping the waiter equally as absurdly. On the way out, he mentioned to the maitre d' that they had a good thing in their piano player.

"Jasper White, isn't it?" he said, and watched Marcel get that shifty look common to all social climbers who fear they might be unfamiliar with the next rung on the ladder.

"You've heard of him?"

"Mm. Talented, I'm told. Of course, I'm not musical myself."

"Nor me," Marcel agreed, glancing at Jazz with newfound respect. "But you can hear he's got something, yes?"

"Indeed," David murmured. He let himself look back once before they left. Jazz was focused entirely on the sheet music in front of him.

Angie and Kevin watched him warily as they left Kiwi, questions in their eyes they weren't quite asking. Even David would admit that his romantic history was something short of ideal, but he did wish they wouldn't automatically assume he was going to jump every innocent young thing in sight.

"Who's coming with me to Argentina?" he said, to head them off.

"Not it!" Kevin said immediately.

Angie rolled her eyes at him. "My god, are you five?"

They were still bitching at each other twenty blocks later when the cab pulled up in front of David's townhouse. David wondered if Angie even knew her hand was on Kevin's thigh.

"You're both coming," David said as he got out. "Let's say Thursday. I'll have Miss Forbes make the arrangements. Clear your schedules." He slammed the door before Kevin could make the inevitable crack about Montezuma's revenge.

***

It started raining around midnight. David was sitting in his kitchen, reading over profit reports and eating ice cream out of the carton with a teaspoon. The sound of his doorbell was almost drowned by thunder.

When he opened the door, he was somehow unsurprised to see Jazz on the other side. His clothes--the hoodie and jeans, not David's suit, thankfully--were sodden and dripping.

"What do you want?" David said. "If you offer me my money back, I'm going to shut the door in your face, incidentally."

"No. Uh." Jazz looked at him through the wet streaks of hair pasted across his face. "Thought maybe I could stay here tonight? Ain't got anywhere else. It's cold."

For a hundred dollars, he could get a fairly decent hotel room, even in this city. He might well steal David's silver, or at least his electronics. He was a thug, regardless of how well he played.

David hesitated for far too short a time. "Get in here then. Towels and dry clothes upstairs, and don't bother me, I'm working."

Jazz pushed past him, disappearing upstairs.

"And don't throw those on the floor, the hamper's there for a reason!" David called, just as he heard the first wet splat. He sighed and went back to the kitchen.

He meant to put the ice cream away, or at least put it in a bowl. Eating it out of the carton wasn't a habit he indulged in front of--well, anyone. But Angie's summary of organic cacao plantation proved oddly engrossing, and he was sucking absently on his spoon when Jazz came back down.

Jazz was wearing David's Harvard sweatpants and nothing else. His still-damp hair spotted beads of water down his chest. His exceptionally well muscled chest. Perhaps letting him in hadn't been a mistake after all. David wondered if he were wearing underwear.

"What's that?" Jazz said.

"The work you're interrupting."

"What are you, like, a lawyer?"

"God, no."

"Shrink? Stockbroker?"

"I buy and sell wine."

"Your thing says chocolate."

"My research division is trying to convince me that single-estate organic chocolate would be a good addition to our investments." That should sound sufficiently obscure to head off any more questions. Calling Angie his research division was overstating things a little, but Vinique.com was still a small company.

"Huh. Makes sense, I guess."

Well, now he had to ask. "Oh?"

"Chocolate and wine go together, right? And single-estate, that just means not mixed in with other chocolates, like wine doesn't get mixed in with other wines, yeah? Unless it's really crappy wine. That's what the wine guy at the restaurant said. You could match them up and sell them in pairs, like, the perfect combination. For people to get fat and drunk on."

That was a disturbingly good idea. David frowned. "Organically fat and drunk. Stop hovering. Why don't you eat something?"

"Like what?"

"There's meatloaf in the fridge."

"Rather have ice cream." He stole David's spoon and dug it into the carton of Rocky Road.

It was difficult not to watch him. His lips. His hands. David still had bruises from those hands, faded and yellowing. Jazz sucked on the spoon and dripped spots of ice cream onto David's clean counter top.

"How come there's sheets on all your furniture?" Jazz said.

"I'm not here much. I was in South Australia for a month, and I'm leaving for Argentina on Thursday. It's hardly worth it."

"So you just sit in your kitchen and eat ice cream?"

"And occasionally get molested in the park by musical muggers, yes."

"You liked it. Both times."

David shrugged and looked down at the report again. It was mysteriously less interesting that it had been a few minutes ago.

"You did," Jazz said, sliding off the counter to stand behind him. "Even in the park when I was fucking your mouth, you had a boner like fucking Texas. You really get off on the rough shit."

David ignored him, as much as was possible when he could feel Jazz's heat just behind him and see one large hand resting on the granite beside his. He wondered again how it was possible for those hands to play as they did. Jazz's knuckles were skinned, like he'd been fighting.

"So if I just shoved you down over the counter and--"

"I'm working," David said, as severely as he could while all the blood in his brain was rushing south. "There's a piano in the living room. Go and entertain yourself."

There was a long, tense moment where David thought Jazz might do it anyway, just push him down and take him, and he closed his eyes as his cock grew stupidly harder. When he opened them again, Jazz was gone.

A few jangled notes came from the living room, and then a shout. "This fucking thing needs to be tuned!" But Jazz played anyway, something faster than the classical music at Kiwi.

David listened and looked at his reports and utterly failed to read them. Eventually, he got up and closed the door to the living room so he could concentrate.

In the morning, he called someone to tune the piano.

***

The week before Argentina went quickly, and David saw little of Jazz. His spare key had disappeared from the hook by the door, and he heard music at odd hours of the morning. The Hugo Boss suit he discovered draped over the kitchen island in sad need of cleaning, so he sent it out with his other things. He should change the locks, he thought.

Tuesday night, they had dinner at Kiwi again because Angie wanted to irritate Kevin further with their nineteenth century live music. David got up to use the men's room while he was waiting for his Dolce and Gabbana tart. Jazz joined him as he finished washing his hands.

"You keep looking at me," Jazz said.

"No, I don't," said David, who had been careful not to let himself do any such thing.

"Well, then you keep not looking at me!"

"I can hardly help that."

Jazz shoved him back against the wall, where he was hemmed in by two small tables piled high with fluffy, kiwi-colored hand towels. Jazz smelled like his aftershave.

"I ain't giving you your keys back," Jazz said. He sounded uncertain, and his hands pressed harder into David's chest as if to compensate.

"I don't believe I asked you to." It would be foolish to ask, anyway. He might've had copies made. Getting the locks changed was clearly the way to go. Perhaps tomorrow.

"I could steal all your shit."

"You haven't so far." He eyed the suit Jazz was wearing tonight; not the Hugo Boss, but definitely one of David's. "I assume I'll get that back when it needs to be cleaned."

Jazz clenched his teeth and shoved at David again, though David was already flat against the wall with nowhere else to go. Jazz stepped in close, and David could feel the ridge of his cock against his hip. He was wondering if it would be a bad idea to blow Jazz in one of the stalls when Jazz planted one hand on the wall beside his head and kissed him.

Jazz kissed like he fucked, rough and unsubtle. His teeth clicked against David's, and he bit at David's lip before shoving his tongue into David's mouth. He wouldn't have gotten that far if David hadn't been caught in a little bubble of shock.

David grabbed his shirt and pushed hard, swinging him to the right with all his body weight. Jazz crashed into the counter and stayed there. His mouth was open and wet, and the front of his suit was wrinkled. His hard-on was incredibly obvious through his pants.

"I thought you said you weren't queer," David snapped, and then he was out the door, his back to the wall. He forced his breathing back to normal and wished he could do the same for his heartbeat.

It'd been a stupid thing to say. Hurtful, which was why he'd said it. Jazz would likely be gone by morning, or at least by the time David got back from his trip. For the best, he thought. He went back to the table.

Angie punched Kevin in the shoulder as David sat down. "David," she said, "Just tell this idiot I'm right. You know it's true--" She stopped and looked at his face.

He passed his tongue over his bottom lip and could feel the heat and swelling there from Jazz's bite. His hair was no doubt disheveled, and he felt too warm.

Kevin and Angie looked in unison toward the piano just as Jazz stalked back to his place.

"I like this restaurant," Angie said grimly.

Kevin looked down and shook his head, exiting the conversation as thoroughly as he could without physically leaving the room.

"I want to be able to keep coming here."

"I'm not--" David started.

"Don't think I've forgotten the incident at El Paradiso."

"Oh, dear god," Kevin muttered.

"It's nothing," David said quickly. "He's nothing. There won't be a problem."

There was no way Jazz could've heard, but David couldn't help glancing his way. Jazz was staring right back at him. There was too much distance between them for David to read his expression.

Much later that night, David lay in bed, listening to the faint creaks and groans in his otherwise dead-quiet house. He was listening for Jazz, he realized. Not unreasonably; Jazz usually got home about this time. Not tonight, David imagined.

His lips were dry. He groped for lip balm on the bedside table and came up empty. He thought of Jazz's lips on his, wet and slippery. He let himself imagine, only briefly, how things might've gone if he'd allowed the kiss.

It was better not to set up unrealistic expectations. The waiter at El Paradiso was a case in point. Kiwi was looking to be Angie's favorite restaurant for the next few months, and her snark level would skyrocket if they had to abandon it. David preferred her snark directed at Kevin, where it belonged. At least Kevin was getting sex out of it.

There had been no sex with Jazz since that one hot fuck cuffed to the bed. He'd expected at least once more after Jazz had shown up at his door dripping wet.

David closed his eyes. Enough. He had things to do in the morning, things he should be well rested for. It was much less messy this way than it might've been.




THREE

David woke to warm breath on his cheek and cold metal pressed to his throat.

"This is how you like it, right?" Jazz said.

If he hadn't been woken from a dead sleep, if he hadn't pictured exactly this scenario at least a dozen times since Jazz started sleeping his spare room, he might've managed a sensible answer. What came out was: "Oh, god, yes."

The knife clattered on the bedside table, and Jazz ripped the covers back. "Damn," he said, palming David's ass, fingers digging into his flesh, "you always sleep naked?"

"Usually."

"Good to know."

That wasn't the sort of statement that suggested an end to their arrangement, whatever their arrangement was. David couldn't worry about it, not with Jazz pushing his legs apart to kneel between them and pushing cold fingers between his cheeks.

"Lube," David gasped. "In the drawer."

"I know what I'm doing, shut up." There was the sound of a cap flipped open, and a glob of cool slick landed on David's skin. "I looked it up online."

"God bless the internet," David muttered into his pillow. Something made him add, "Condoms, too. Did you look those up?"

Jazz paused. "Didn't use one last time."

"This isn't last time."

"I always used them before, couldn't we just--"

"And I haven't, which is why you should," David said shortly.

There was a brief silence, and then a hand reaching forward into his line of sight to open the drawer. The usual noises of crinkling plastic followed. David hoped they weren't past their expiration date.

"You haven't, like, got anything, right?"

"Nothing I'm aware of."

"Okay," Jazz said. "Do I have to, you know, do the stretching thing?"

"Not if you go slowly."

"Good. Up." Jazz pulled at David's hips until David got his knees under him. "Fuck," he muttered. "Can't believe I'm doing this again."

"Nobody asked you to," David snapped.

Jazz smacked his ass hard, sting fading into lingering heat. "You shut up," he said. "Just can't believe I want to, that's all." His fingers slid over David's hole, warmer now, and slippery-wet. "Never did a girl up the ass."

"I would imagine not."

Jazz smacked him again, almost casually. David closed his hands on the sheets and shuddered.

"Gonna fuck you now," Jazz said, and the head of his cock was already pushing at David's hole, hot and stiff, nudging forward in short, hard stabs. It hurt, and David didn't care, or rather only cared that it not stop.

Jazz forced his cock in, inch by inch. David heard his soft grunts, and the wet sound as he added more lube. Jazz was muttering under his breath, hips twisting and rocking, hands heavy on David's skin to hold him, pull him closer.

"Yeah, Jesus," Jazz said. "You want it, right? Tell me you want my dick."

He shoved forward sharply, and David gasped. "I want it," he whispered.

Jazz moaned and shoved in all the way. The tips of his hair brushed along David's back, moving with his heavy breath. "I gotta move. Enough of this slow crap. I gotta."

"Do it."

More lube spilled down between their joined bodies, and Jazz grabbed David's shoulder. His nails sank in. He pulled David's body back to meet every thrust. "Yes, yes, yes," he hissed, bearing David down into the mattress, pounding him hard.

David pushed the pillow away before he smothered in it, chest and cheek flat against the bed. His brain was still sluggish with sleep, thoughts winding through it like snakes uncoiling in the sun. Stupid thoughts, like come to Argentina with me, thoughts that had no place in the real world.

Jazz's hand groped down his stomach until it found his cock and squeezed, not hard enough to hurt, but close. David groaned and spread his knees wider, back arching hard.

"The fuck is wrong with you," Jazz panted, braced over him, bent down to bite at his shoulder. "Can't kiss you, but I can slap you around and fuck your ass and call you names?"

David pushed a hand over his eyes until he saw red. "Do you always talk this much during sex?"

"You don't mind it when I'm calling you a whore and telling how deep I'm gonna stick my cock in you." He thrust in so deep on the last word that David moaned. "See?"

"Don't fucking psychoanalyze me," David snarled. "You're not equipped. Just--move."

"Okay, okay," Jazz muttered. He ran a hand down David's back. It was probably meant to be soothing, but only made David want to hit things.

And then Jazz was thrusting again, deep and steady, and jacking David's cock while he did it. David closed his eyes and let his thoughts scatter gratefully. "Harder," he said. "Harder."

Jazz did it harder, and harder still, until every thrust was slamming David towards the headboard and Jazz was grunting behind him. His hand slipped from David's cock and rubbed restlessly over David's stomach.

"Fuck, fuck, yeah. Gonna shoot inside you, baby, fill you right up," he muttered, low and quiet against David's skin, and then he was coming, nails scraping over David's stomach, breathing short and fast.

Jazz's body settled over his, muscles relaxing, sheer weight holding him down. He got his hand around David's cock again. "Go on, fuck my fist. Get yourself off. I ain't gonna do it for you."

David couldn't have stopped himself. His hips moved by themselves, sharp and fast, with no kind of control. He moaned and panted and bit at his knuckles. His heart thudded against his ribs, and he came hard over his stomach and Jazz's hand. His knees gave out a second later, and he slid down flat with Jazz spread out on top of him.

He couldn't even work up a complaint when he felt Jazz's hands on him, just touching him. It wasn't so bad this time, or he was too fucked out for it to make him twitchy. He only wanted to be still and close his eyes.

When he woke, it was morning. He was alone and sticky. And sore. He stretched, smiling at the ceiling. There were thoughts lurking at the edges of his mind, but he pushed them back for now to enjoy the warmth of the sun falling across his bed and the ache of his body.

The sun caught on something and glinted in his eye. It was the knife Jazz had used: David's letter opener. He stared at the tracery of his grandmother's initials on the silver handle.

When he went down for breakfast, he found Jazz hunched over a bowl of Lucky Charms. He must've bought the cereal himself because it certainly wasn't David's. Jazz ignored him, which David was fine with, almost grateful for.

David made oatmeal on the stove and was pouring maple syrup on it when Jazz asked, "That chick at the restaurant, she your girlfriend?"

David stared at him and kept pouring maple syrup until he'd nearly flooded the bowl. He set the bottle down firmly. "No, she is not my girlfriend. Because I'm gay," he said slowly, spelling the last sentence out in fake sign language. "And don't call her a chick, she wouldn't like it."

"Whatever," Jazz mumbled. "She was giving me dirty looks."

"She was giving me dirty looks. She thought I was taking advantage of you." He spooned his overabundance of syrup into the sink and washed it down the drain before stirring the remainder into his oatmeal.

"You haven't told them? About--" Jazz frowned and gestured broadly, presumably meaning to indicate how he was living in David's house and in fact taking advantage of him, or at least his suits and his internet.

"I haven't told them anything. All they know is that I like your music." He ate his oatmeal and watched Jazz's expression waver.

Jazz blinked at him. "You do?"

"Well, yes, obviously. I did give you a hundred dollar tip."

"I thought that was just because, you know..."

"No, I do not generally tip the men who fuck me." David turned away and rubbed at his eyes. He had a headache blossoming in his right temple, and his jaw ached.

"Are there a lot of them?" Jazz asked, sounding like he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"None of your business."

"Some music guy came to hear me play," Jazz said, after a few seconds.

"How lovely for you." David scraped the last of his oatmeal from the bottom of the bowl and turned to wash it out.

"Don't you even care, man? It's only because of what you said to the head waiter guy."

"Please, enough with the 'man' and 'dude.' I do have a name, even if you've never bothered to ask it."

"I know your name," Jazz said, having the affront to sound faintly hurt. "I, uh. I read it off your mail."

David turned around to tell him off--for any number of things--but Jazz was looking at him, so intent and still weirdly hurt. He shut his mouth again.

"David," Jazz said. He got up and came around the island. "Hey, David. Are you gonna hit me if I try to kiss you again?"

"Yes," David said, and was careful to walk and not run as he got his coat and keys and fled onto the sidewalk.

He didn't get home until after nine that night. Jazz was already at the restaurant, or maybe playing for his music man. David ate a pizza, packed, locked his bedroom door, and went to sleep.

Jazz wasn't lurking in his kitchen the next morning, but had left David a note on the fridge, stuck under a magnet:

Hey, get some more ice cream while you're out. I like chocolate.

There was also an empty carton of ice cream on the counter with a spoon welded to its bottom by a small, sticky pool of melted Rocky Road.

David was still staring at it when the phone rang to let him know his taxi was outside. He ripped the note down and crumpled it, meaning to toss it in the trash on his way out. He did trash the carton, but somehow, between getting his coat and the suitcase and his files, the note ended up in his pocket instead.

Somewhere over Brazil, he tucked it between the pages of The Plague to mark his place and closed his eyes. He dreamt of rats, a whole concert hall full of them, every beady eye intent on the stage, where Jazz was playing.




FOUR

The days were long, but the weeks went quickly, filled with tramping around hillside vineyards and learning more about the process of drying cacao beans than he'd ever wanted to know. He got a few good deals out of it, though, and a really good tan.

The day before they left for home, he went to see Daniel Kahn, the man with the 1947 Cheval Blanc and the yacht that was definitely too big to be called a boat. He got there at eleven and didn't leave until the next morning. He hadn't planned on the sex, but he didn't regret it. Daniel was creative.

Afterwards, Daniel offered him a taste of the Cheval. David was unable to think of any logical reason to refuse.

It was quite horrible, in a way, to find out that everyone had been right. The wine was the real thing. The first sip filled his nose and mouth with a brilliant, clear flavor. This was a wine that no one would spit out, regardless of how many more they had to taste that day.

"You want to be alone with that?" Daniel said.

He did, sort of, but he wasn't about to admit it.

They took their glasses up on deck as the sun rose. David hated to think of Pierre getting his hands on it.

"Call me if you change your mind," Daniel said. He was sprawled in a deck chair, wearing only thin white cotton pants that showed off his flat brown stomach and finely muscled chest. In some ways he looked rather like Jazz.

"Why're you selling the case?"

"I have two."

"Most people wouldn't consider that a valid reason."

Daniel shrugged. He held his glass up so the rising sun shone through it. "Yeah, well. I value things more when they're in short supply. I'd hate to take this for granted."

David left while the sun was still touching the horizon. Back at the hotel, in the perfectly crisp, dead air of his room, he called his house. The phone rang nine times before his voice mail picked up.

He had a dozen reports to occupy him on the way home and didn't think twice about loaning The Plague to Kevin. Halfway through the flight, Kevin passed him the note.

"Who are you buying ice cream for?"

"Don't dog-ear my pages." David stuffed the note back in his pocket where it had started out. All the way to Argentina and back and he still hadn't tossed it. Christ.

He stared out the window and drummed his fingers on the arm rest. It wasn't even as if it had any kind of sentimental value whatsoever. If it had, he definitely would've trashed it. And probably called a locksmith.

He did finally throw it away when they got off the plane, and felt an odd sense of loss that he stamped down without mercy. It was a stupid piece of paper with an even stupider message, completely meaningless in every possible way.

"You're in a foul mood," Angie said, as they got in the cab.

He didn't answer, or say another word between the airport and his place. He wasn't going to take it out on her, or even Kevin. It would be unprofessional. And if he said anything at all, he might tell her what was bothering him, and that was not going to happen.

The taxi dropped him off first. When he unlocked his door, he didn't even know what to hope for; that Jazz would be there, or not, or obviously long gone. What he didn't expect was to find Jazz naked but for David's robe and making out with some woman on the kitchen counter.

And by 'making out with' David actually meant 'very nearly having sex with.' Right there. In his kitchen.

He cleared his throat.

Jazz started and looked over the girl's shoulder at him. "Oh. Uh. You didn't say when you'd be home."

"I see. And that's some excuse for entertaining whores in my kitchen? I do eat off that counter. You may not mind sharing whatever microbes are running rampant through her bloodstream, but I do."

"Hey!" the woman said. She scrambled off the counter and started pulling on the dress that lay crumpled on the floor, getting tangled with one of the arms inside out. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Yes, you're right. What was I thinking? If you were selling your body, you'd be able to afford something better than that--article of clothing you're attempting to wear."

She didn't deserve it. He knew she didn't deserve it. He just didn't seem to be able to stop himself. He wasn't trying all that hard.

"The door's that way." He picked her purse up off the chair and smiled, not quite offering it to her. When she reached for it, he tossed down the hall towards the door. "Fetch."

She looked more stunned than insulted, and after a moment's silent gaping, shook her head and hurried out. "Fucking asshole!" she called back over her shoulder.

He couldn't blame her. They'd all been cheap shots, both easy and unfair. He wasn't even angry at her, not really. He wasn't angry at Jazz. That would be stupid. He was just angry.

Her bra was still lying on the kitchen floor, flowers and yellow lace. He looked away.

She'd left the door standing open, and he went to close it. As he turned the deadbolt, he thought that now would be the time to tell Jazz to get out.

Jazz's hand landed on his shoulder and yanked him back, shoved him up against the wall. He leaned in close, right in David's face. His eyes were dark, and he didn't look happy. "Since when do you care who I fuck?"

"You're absolutely right. I don't care. So take this unfortunate specimen," and he paused to flick the head of Jazz's cock with his forefinger, "to whatever dive you dragged her out of and find a replacement to stick it in. If I've given you a taste for ass, I apologize, but I don't think you can afford the places I frequent."

"What, parks? Dark alleys?" Jazz grabbed his hair and forced his head back, bare cock rubbing against David's stomach.

David's breath caught, and his heartbeat rocketed. He saw where this was going. It wasn't what he'd intended at all. "You should go after her," he said, but he couldn't have sounded less like he meant it.

"After your jealous psycho boyfriend act? Nuh uh. Guess you'll have to do."

"Not jealous," David gasped, as the hand in his hair tightened. "Don't be stupid."

"I'm pretty sick of you calling me stupid," Jazz whispered, right up close so his lips touched David's ear as he spoke. "I'm pretty sick of you talking, period. I think you better just get down on your knees and suck my dick."

"Forget it," David said, but what was stupid was expecting Jazz to believe him when he sounded like that. David wasn't even sure he believed himself. And he was usually so careful to mean no on the rare occasions he said it.

"Can't forget it," Jazz said, voice low. He pushed his free hand between their bodies and rubbed over David's cock through the light wool of his suit. "Hottest thing that ever happened to me, you down on the ground, mouth stuffed full and still moaning for more."

David closed his eyes, feeling Jazz's teeth on his neck, up high where the mark would show, and Jazz's hand shoving down the front of his pants. He pushed his hips forward, rubbing his cock against Jazz's palm.

"Yeah, you want it," Jazz said. "Down. Now." He pulled hard at David's hair until David gave in and dropped to his knees. "Open up."

David hesitated, still unsure about this, knowing it was a little late to be unsure. Jazz slapped him across the face. It stung, and his mouth fell open with the shock of it, and then he had Jazz's cock pushing between his lips.

David tried to pull back, but he wasn't trying hard enough, not with both of Jazz's hands fisted in his hair now. He choked a little on the first thrust, more on the second, but Jazz didn't stop or even slow down. His hips snapped forward again and again, and when David let his teeth scrape lightly along the shaft, Jazz only moaned.

"Yeah, that's good, good," he panted, and thrust again, forcing his cock down David's throat.

He wasn't going to stop, David realized. It made him feel too hot and almost sickly relieved. He clung to Jazz's robe and let Jazz use his mouth. The thrusts didn't get any easier, but they did get easier to take as he relaxed, leaned closer. Jazz's hands unclenched and held his head more gently. David closed his eyes and sucked.

"Fuck," Jazz muttered. He pulled out and leaned forward against the wall, still holding David close with a hand cupping the back of his skull. David breathed hard and mouthed at his stomach and the base of his cock.

"Get up here," Jazz said, pulling at him, pressing him flat against the wall, and then Jazz's tongue was fucking his mouth nearly as hard as his cock had been a second ago. Jazz pulled at his belt and pants until his cock was bared and started jacking him, hard.

David whined and tried to turn his head away. Jazz kissed him harder until his lips felt bruised, swollen, until he didn't want it to stop anymore, until he was clutching at Jazz's shoulders and coming in hot spurts across Jazz's stomach and his own white dress shirt. He was panting and dizzy when Jazz broke the kiss.

"Stay," Jazz told him quietly, and knelt. He stripped David from the waist down and grinned. "You look hot like that, with the jacket and tie and your dick hanging out."

"I look absurd," David said, or tried to say. It didn't come out much above a whisper.

"Nah. Hot. Trust me. Turn around. I'm gonna fuck you."

David pushed himself back against the wall and shook his head. "You-- You don't have lube."

"You do. Right? In your bag, yeah?"

Jazz bent over to rummage through the pockets. David bolted for the stairs. He felt like an idiot, but it seemed impossible to stay still and let this happen. It didn't matter anyway, because Jazz caught his wrist before he'd gotten two steps up. He fell, one knee on the third step, foot on the first, sharp edges digging into his thighs and stomach. A second later, Jazz was between his legs, cock rubbing up against his ass.

"Told you before not to run away from me," Jazz said.

"You can't just--not on the stairs."

"Yeah? Wanna bet?"

Slicked fingers pushed between his cheeks and rubbed briefly over his hole before they started to press into him.

"Condom," David said. It came out so harshly it hardly sounded like a word at all. His throat felt raw.

Jazz paused behind him. "David--"

"Don't. Do not argue with me. You don't know where I've been."

David stayed where he was while Jazz dug through his bag again, though it was a struggle. He closed his eyes and pushed his face against the crook of his arm. He'd never felt so confused about sex in his life. His touched his mouth, lips still hot and raw feeling from the pounding of Jazz's cock and from that kiss.

Jazz's lips touched the back of his neck. "You're okay," he said. "Don't flip out on me."

It wasn't comfortable, but he'd gotten fucked in worse positions. Jazz slipped an arm under his chest to support him, and then his cock was pushing against David's hole. It slipped in more easily this time than the last. Even the cursory stretching made a difference. David shivered and sucked in a fast breath when Jazz pushed in the last few inches.

Jazz stopped there and lay over him, hips rocking just a little like he couldn't stay still. David could feel his heartbeat against his back.

"You're so hot," Jazz said softly. "Jesus. Don't even know how you can be." He ran a finger over David's lip and moaned when David sucked it into his mouth. "You want it, right? You want it hard?"

"I don't know," David whispered, hopefully too quietly to be heard. He remembered saying the same thing to Daniel just last night. He'd asked if David had a man at home. David shook his head. "Don't know."

Thankfully, Jazz either didn't hear or didn't care. His hand pushed up under David's shirt to stroke his skin, and he started to move. He held himself up, pulling David's hips back toward him rather than crushing him against the steps, but the thrusts were still hard enough to make David moan.

He fell into it, braced himself so he could push back, take it deeper. Jazz's balls smacked against his, and Jazz pinched at his nipples, twisted until they were standing up hard and throbbing. He sucked hard at Jazz's finger and spread his legs.

"Yeah, baby," Jazz muttered. He pushed at David's shirt until it was up under his armpits, mouthed along his spine. "Fuck that hot ass of yours on my dick. Gonna get hard for me again? Get it up while I fuck you? Come on."

Yes, he was, and quickly too, more it seemed with every sharp stab of Jazz's cock inside him. It wasn't quite fast enough, even so. Jazz's teeth scraped along his skin, and Jazz groaned loudly and swore as he started to come. He shoved their bodies tight together and held David there. His hands slipped on David's skin, faintly damp with sweat.

"Now you," Jazz said. He pulled out and manhandled David around to sit sideways across his lap, leaning against his chest. He bit at David's neck and rubbed over his chest and stomach and sides. "Go on. I wanna watch you."

All David's resistance had drained away, and he wrapped a fist around his cock without hesitating. Jazz's mouth was working at his neck, licking, sucking hard. David let his head fall back and thought about going into work tomorrow with his skin all marked up. A small whimper escaped him, and he bit his lip. "Harder," he said.

Jazz laughed a little. "You got it, baby." He bit at the curve of David's neck and shoulder, pulling at his collar. His hand wrapped around David's tie and held tight, using it to keep David still as he leaned forward to kiss him.

The pressure of the tie against his throat and Jazz's mouth somehow built, one on the other, and David felt it in his stomach and balls. One last twist of his hand on his cock, and he was coming, hard. It left him boneless, drained, and oddly chilled. Jazz's arm around his shoulders was the only thing keeping him upright.

He looked up at the leaded glass fanlight above the door and the sliver of light coming through it from the streetlamp. It was late, must be nearly midnight. That made it three a.m. for him, and he was feeling it. His body seemed impossibly heavy.

"Up," Jazz said. He more or less hauled David upright and left him swaying on his feet while he took off the rest of David's clothes and dumped them on the floor, along with the used condom.

"That's disgusting," David said.

Jazz put an arm around his waist and started up the stairs. "What? I tied it off."

For some reason, that made David want to laugh. He pressed his lips tight together.

Jazz pulled back the covers, tumbled David into bed, and followed him. He was stretched out along David's back before there was any time to protest. And warm, he was very warm. He pulled the covers up and draped an arm over David's waist.

"Just this once," David mumbled, and then he was asleep.


PART TWO