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shower. Thanks, he whispered, and Tate looked at that hand on
his tattooed wrist and then back up at Brian.
My pleasure, he said with a small smile.
Brian grinned quickly. Will be.
Want me to help you with the studs?
Brian grimaced, and then blushed. O nly some of them. I,
uhm, sort of like the idea of having two, you know? Besides, the
bottom two were real, and Lyndie had wanted him to keep them. It
had felt like a blessing.
I like the one in the nose, Tate confessed, and Brian gave
another quick grin.
Yeah?
Yeah.
I ll keep that one, kay?
And Tate smiled shyly. F or me?
I d do anything for you. Their eyes connected, and like that,
the moment became intimate. Brian s hand had never left Tate s
wrist and he rubbed his thumb over the thick blue veins of Tate s
pulse point. Because it was his thumb, he couldn t tell whose heart
was beating faster.
He swallowed hard, almost completely lost in Tate s oak-gall-
dark eyes. Tate blinked, and Brian noticed the vestiges of his
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74
makeup, still smeared over his cheekbones, and he managed to be
practical. But you shower first, he said, his breath coming quickly
in his chest. I ll make you some dinner. Lyndie sent food.
Lyndie? With obvious reluctance, Tate straightened and they
broke their physical connection.
Who do you think did the hair and the piercings?
Tate blinked at that, and Brian stepped out of the shower. His
towel was pretty sodden, so, with a blushing glance at Tate, he
hung it over the curtain rod and took one of the dry ones from the
towel rack.
Why? Tate asked, and Brian was glad his back was turned
as he wrapped the dry towel around his waist.
Because I told her I loved you, and I was worried, and I d told
you repeatedly, but you weren t seeing me. I had to find a way to
make you see me.
He turned back around and Tate had moved closer. I see you
now.
Loving you is about all I got in the way of interest, Brian told
him, to make sure he d know. Because being roommates for almost
a year might not have clued Tate in to how basically boring his
roommate was, right?
Tate nodded, never breaking his gaze, and put out a tentative
hand to the middle of Brian s chest. Brian s skin felt like it rippled,
shivering, and his groin and nipples tingled, and he was forced to
close his eyes.
I do that to you? Tate asked, and he held himself very still,
like he doubted the answer.
O h G od, yes, Brian mumbled, and then managed to pull
away. Shower, he begged. Shower. G et the crap out of your hair.
Let me feed you. Let me take care of you. Please, Tate I& . His
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cock gave a vicious throb and he remembered that whimpering
sound he d made in the bathroom at the club and contemplated
making it again. I want you so bad but I want to talk, too, and I
want& oh G od. Tate was moving that hand in little circles, and his
palm grazed Brian s nipple and Brian reached out a steadying hand
to Tate s shoulder.
Tate laughed a little, breathlessly. It was a happy laugh, and
Brian could tell he was impressed with his own power. G ood. That
hand made another pass, and Tate s thumb got brave around
Brian s nipple, and then Brian was impressed with Tate s power
too.
Which was why he grasped Tate s wrist gently, and brought
his scarred palm (Tate had taken off his glove to help Brian get the
glue out of his hair) up to his mouth and gently kissed the palm.
Tate whimpered, just like Brian had.
Tate?
Yeah?
All that shit I said in the club? About taking care of you?
Yeah?
I meant every word of that. Take a shower, and I m going to
make you some food, and then I m going to touch you with my
whole body. But I m not going to do that now, okay?
Tate nodded, a sort of wonder on his face, and Brian lowered
his mouth, thinking once again that Tate s lips were surprisingly
soft. I promise. I m going to take such good care of you.
The kiss was brief, and Brian forced himself to go put on a pair
of sleep shorts and a T-shirt. As he walked out of the bathroom,
though, he heard Tate start to sing And our love would have
soared, over treetops over rooftops.& to himself, and Brian
wanted to turn around and hug him just for that alone.
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O h G od, he d missed hearing Talker sing.
He restrained himself, and got the food from his trunk and
made them omelets (which he was really good at), and by the time
Tate came down the hall, wearing brightly colored Iron Man boxer
shorts (he had a collection he seemed to favor superheroes and
Scooby-Doo) and nothing else, there was food on the table, and the
last of their milk in two glasses, and a bunch of pinks and daffodils
and buttercups that had been growing up around Lyndie s little
cabin that she d cut and sent with Brian in a wet paper towel.
Brian had put them in a Big G ulp cup, because it was what
they had, but they made the kitchen smell good, at least, and they
made Tate smile.
Brian smiled back and ducked his head, shyly, and turned
around to dry his hands on a kitchen towel that had once been a
tapestry calendar. Without warning, he felt Tate s arms creeping
around his waist, and Tate s bare chest pressed up around his
back.
Brian brought his hand up to touch Tate s hands, and Tate
whispered, Tell me I didn t imagine it.
You didn t imagine it.
Tell me it will be true in the morning.
It s been true for the last nine months hell, the last two and a
half years I don t know why it would change now.
Talker nodded, and rested his cheek against Brian s shoulder.
O kay. I can eat now.
G ood, Brian said gruffly. You re getting too thin.
They sat and ate, much like they used to, and Talker told him
about work and about the new DJ and about the cooks in the back
who kept trying out new shit that tasted exactly like shit, and then
he stopped.
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This is how it happened, he said, looking at Brian. Brian
stopped mid-bite and looked back.
This is how what happened?
This is how I never knew. You just& you sit and listen. You
never talk.
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