RHYS FORD
Dearest Teej and Eric—
I have so much faith in your love. So much faith in you. You are our stars, our hearts, and our sun. So much joy to both of you.
THERE WAS a dead body on his floor. Well, the comic book shop’s floor, but it was his shop, so technically it was his floor.
And if Alex’s heart kept trying to squirm its way out of his rib cage as it fled from terror, there would soon be another one.
Leaning against the steel-reinforced glass door to his comic book shop, Alex pressed his fist against his chest, willing his galloping pulse to calm down. His racing heartbeat not only ignored the scolding, it seemed to kick it up a step, until it felt like he’d injected jalapeno juice directly into his veins. Fear apparently mimicked an overdose of Mexican food—or at least that was how Alex saw it.
Outside, Los Angeles continued on its merry way as if there wasn’t a dead body lying facedown in front of Planet X’s bargain table.
A scrubbed-out butter container with his leftover pad thai hit the floor when his already cold fingers went numb. Some part of his brain hoped the top hadn’t come off, more because he’d really liked how the pad thai’d come out, pretty well considering it was the first time he’d cooked something that exotic. Belatedly, he wondered if he should check on the man—if it was a man. From where Alex stood, he couldn’t actually tell.
He took a step toward the too-still form on the universe-patterned industrial carpet he’d scored from a theater closing but then stopped in his tracks, nearly stepping on the dropped butter container. Normally he was through the door by nine, anticipating opening the shop at ten, but today he’d been running a bit late. Thankful for the single designated space he got from the strip mall, he’d parked his Mini up front and got out to open the door, figuring he’d just open a little bit early and do anything he needed to catch up on while waiting on customers.
But now, with a dead body, it looked like Planet X probably wouldn’t be opening anytime soon.
“Shit, it’s a crime scene,” Alex said to no one in particular. The dead body surely didn’t care. If it even was a dead body. “How long do they need to keep the store locked up for a crime scene? God, that was selfish. Shit, how long has he been there?”
He stopped himself, realizing that had to be probably the dumbest thing he’d said in his lifetime. Obviously, the man wasn’t there before the store closed. His night crew did get lazy sometimes, but they weren’t so dim as to not notice a dead man lying in the front of the shop.
Alex studied it, pushing his new glasses up. He was still getting used to the wire frames. After so many years of wearing thick black plastic, he’d let himself get talked into a supposedly more modern look. In reality, he suspected his mother’d just had a fondness for Harry Potter.
“Okay, maybe someone’s just screwing with me. It’s probably a mannequin or something.” Alex peered through the dim store. “Josh. He’s an asshole. He’d do something like this.”
Alex forced himself farther in, leaving his keys in the door. The carpet was mostly purple with swirls of stars and planets forming patterns over the floor. It was difficult to tell if there was blood or not, but Alex was fairly certain the large stain by the man’s ribs hadn’t been there when he’d left yesterday.
If it was a mannequin, then it was a damned good one, because its knuckles were hairy and banged up in places, and its black sweatpants and hoodie were rumpled enough for Alex to catch a peek of bruised, pale skin over its waistband. He couldn’t see any evidence the body was anything but human—and a deceased one at that.
“Shit.” His day’d gone from crappy to apocalyptic, although—he grimaced—probably not as bad a day as the guy on the floor. A very dead guy. “Sorry. Um, sir. Okay. Let’s check your pulse. Maybe you’re just… resting.”
He put his hand on the man’s back, hoping to feel breathing or something, but Alex felt nothing pushing back up against his palm. Nope, the man lying on Planet X’s carpet was definitely dead, human, and from the smell, rotting at an alarming rate.
Alex didn’t know what exactly dead smelled like, but he kind of knew what dead felt like. Sort of.
The closest thing he’d come to handling a dead thing was when he’d gone fishing with his uncle one summer and caught a perch. He’d been excused from cleaning the flopping thing because he was six, and in retrospect, he hadn’t even been sure if the hook’d been baited. More than likely they’d given him a pole and told him to dangle it over the pier like the other boys were doing—a pole he’d almost dropped into the water when the fish bit his line and he’d jumped up in surprise.
There’d been pictures and oohing over him, and when it was all said and done, he’d wondered out loud when it was time for the fish to go home. His uncle explained quite frankly—and brutally in Alex’s mind—about death and how the fish was now going to be dinner.
That was when he’d started screaming blue bloody murder, and it’d been the last time his uncle took him with them. While he’d never caught another fish ever again, Alex probably would still scream blue bloody murder.
Much like he almost did when something in the man’s side churned about and a dark splotch on his skin ripped apart, spilling out something startlingly like blackened, chunky cottage cheese.
His stomach lurched, and Alex practically leapfrogged over himself to get to the front door. He almost didn’t make it. The mall’s bedraggled lily bushes took the brunt of his vomit, but it was mostly water and coffee. He’d lost too much time waking up late and scraping a hairball or five off the living room carpet to make himself something for breakfast.
Yep—Alex stared at the pool of ick he’d just tossed up into the landscaped green buffer between the sidewalk and the parking lot—mostly water and coffee.
“Hey, man, you going to be open soon?” Alex found himself looking at a pair of black leather shoes. Glancing up, he recognized the man who owned the printing shop a few doors down. “I’ve got to go take a piss, and I don’t want to use ours. Yours is a lot cleaner.”
“Um, no,” Alex burbled around his moist tongue. “I’ve got to call the cops. There’s a dead guy in my store.”
The man frowned and peered through the door, his eyes narrowing in disgust. “Well, shit, now where am I going to go take a leak?”
DETECTIVE JAMES Castillo parked his unmarked police-issued sedan behind a row of orange traffic cones set up in front of the crime scene. He’d gotten the call on the DB while he was getting coffee a few blocks away, and he’d called in his location, reluctantly accepting to take on the case. Reluctant mostly because of where the dead body had been found.
He’d grown up with geeks for brothers—hell, he had a hard-core love for more than a few sci-fi shows, but pulling information out of somebody who spent his life parsing out the differences between stormtrooper uniforms or arguing about exactly what Gygax meant by halfling wasn’t his idea of a good time.
Planet X sounded like a day spent listening to nerd babble as he tried to figure out exactly what was important information or speculation.
Because, God, his brothers loved to speculate.
No, he’d prefer a straightforward murder in suburbia any day, where the neighbors were in everyone’s business and the motive usually came down to sex or money—sometimes even both.
“Who found the body?” James asked, flashing his badge at one of the cops standing guard by the door. He’d beaten the forensics team to the site, which wasn’t a problem since he had booties and gloves in the trunk of his car, but he wanted to question the witness before the details got fuzzy.
“Over there, talking to Mancha. Witness’s name is Alex Martin. He owns the store. Has for the past five years. Before that, it was his father’s. Says he only touched the body to see if help could be rendered. Got sick in the bushes over there. At least he had the stomach to make it outside first.”
“How bad can it be?” He cocked his head at the cop. “Was the store closed for a long time? Deceased in there for a while?”
“He says no. Night shift closes the store at nine, then takes about an hour to lock the place down. So if he’s telling the truth, the DB’s only been in there twelve hours at the most, but it’s in a serious state of decay.”
“So, transported.” James contemplated the man standing a few yards away. “I’ll take a look inside—a quick one. Then if you can have him ready to talk to me, I’ll take over.”
His mind should have been on the job, but James’s cock had other ideas when it perked up at the sight of the tall, slight brunet in glasses standing next to one of the uniforms. From the serious—and slightly green—look on the man’s face, James figured the civilian was connected to the scene in some way, especially since he was talking to the biggest asshole to wear a blue uniform in forever. The rainbow Bird of Prey silhouette sticker boldly displayed on the store’s glass front door was a good omen, and James took a moment to study the store’s owner.
Alex Martin was attractive. Even flustered by a dead body, he was alarmingly good-looking, though not normally James’s type. No, usually he liked a sturdier man, one he could grab hold of and not wonder if he’d break an arm or shoulder, but the man’s tousled sable mane looked soft, its length nearly begging to be grabbed and tugged on during sex. His mouth was a sin waiting to happen. Full and lush in a sharply angled face, his lips balanced out his enormous owlish eyes, their color masked by the flash of sunlight on the man’s wire-rimmed glasses.
He wasn’t dressed the way James would think a fanboy would show up for work in a comic book store. A pair of worn but expensive jeans made the most of his long legs, and a collarless button-up shirt poked up from the V of his dark green sweater, his sleeves ruched up to expose most of the man’s sinewy forearms. A pair of black Chucks covered his feet, but they were practically new, or Martin took very good care of them. From the looks of the slimline gold watch on the man’s slender wrist, James supposed the man was used to having money or at least knew how to appear as if he’d been bathing in a silver tub since the day he was born.
Yeah, James decided, he definitely was going to interview Martin before he headed in to look at the body. There was something off about the man owning a mecca for geekdom, and damned if he wasn’t going to find out exactly what that was.
ALEX KNEW the man was a detective as soon as he got out of the black sedan. Actually, he looked more like he’d be rappelling down a steep cliff to rescue a busload of Swedish Bikini Team hopefuls while holding off a yakuza kidnapping squad with little more than a knife and a winning smile, but a detective wasn’t much of a stretch.
The man was dressed in black, an unrelieved black of jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket. Broad shouldered and trim hipped, he pulled off his sunglasses, tossed them onto the car seat, then slammed the door behind him. A quick flash of metal—a badge by the look of it—was shown to one of the four cops who’d shown up to hold vigil on Planet X, and he was through the blue line, striding with powerful long legs to the shop’s front door.
The day was overcast, but the sun was bright enough to pick up the blue sheen in his black hair, and Alex looked away, wondering if the man was as hot up close as he was from a few doors down. Behind him, a woman murmured appreciatively when the detective glanced to where Alex stood, and he felt his face go red at the man’s assessing, keen gaze.
“Oh great. Look who’s here. Castillo,” one of the older cops muttered under his breath. “Damned homo. We’ll be here forever.”
“He’s not so bad,” another cop—the lone female in the group—answered.
“That’s ’cause you’re both chicks,” the grizzled cop snarled.
“And that kind of shit is why you’re still driving around in a squad car waiting for your get-out date. He better not hear you, or you’re going to be gumming your morning doughnut,” she shot back, then eyed Alex carefully. “Sorry. Hopefully no offense.”
“Oh no, none taken,” he replied absently. Alex wasn’t surprised she’d figured out he was gay. Hell, his own mother said she’d known he’d like dick before he even entered kindergarten, a declaration that made him very uncomfortable at the time since really, whose mother assessed a child’s sexuality before he could even fully recite a multiplication table?
But the detective being gay—that left Alex speechless. He was the kind of man Alex lusted after but never in a million years approached. He didn’t go out with hard-bodied, tough-faced bad boys. Hell, he didn’t go out at all, so running into a hot gay man wasn’t even something he’d ever done—even if he’d had fantasies about being frisked by a broad-shouldered cop.
Although by the looks of the detective eating up the sidewalk with his long strides, Alex soon would be doing more than just running into one; he’d actually have to make conversation. And about a rotting corpse in the one thing he’d been truly successful at—his shop.
“Mr. Martin?” Castillo, as the cops called him, was heartbreakingly gorgeous up close, and worse, he smelled good. Like fresh-linen-and-coffee good. “I’m Detective James Castillo from LAPD. Can I have a few minutes of your time, please? To talk to you about what you found in your store?”
Castillo had a few years on Alex’s late twenties, but they were damned good years. His black hair fell over two soulful brown eyes, and the man’s mouth crooked in an off-kilter rueful smile, as if he was kind of sorry Alex had started his day off with a dead body. The low purr of his voice grabbed at Alex’s spine and tickled up and down his back until his balls danced in response to even the purse of the detective’s lips. He was golden skinned and laughed a lot, if the tiny lines around his deep honey-colored eyes were anything to go by.
The man’s strong, large hands were on his hips, pulling back his leather jacket enough for Alex to spot the leather straps of his harness and the weight of a weapon nested into his side. It also gave him a clear view of the man’s rock-hard stomach, because Castillo’s gunmetal black shirt fit him tightly enough that his abdominal muscles stood out in faint shadow.
“Mr. Martin? Alex?” Castillo repeated softly. “You okay?”
“What? Oh yeah, sorry.” Alex tried to get his tongue to work, but the presence of the man pressing into his space was nearly too much for his tired brain to handle. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… been a long morning.”
“Let see if we can’t shorten it up a bit?” The detective looked around the area, and his gaze fell on the coffee shop tucked into the corner. “How about if we grab something hot to drink, and I’ll take down your statement?”
“Sure, okay.” Alex heard himself and winced.
“Why don’t you sit down at that table, and I’ll get you some coffee. Black? Cream and sugar?” Another purring rumble, and Alex had to tell his knees to be strong enough to carry him to one of the metal café tables outside of Drip and Stir Coffee.
“Uh, cream and sugar,” Alex mumbled, pushing himself to follow Castillo. The man’s jeans snugged up into his ass, and Alex was given an incredible view of two firm, rounded cheeks moving beneath black denim. He plopped down in a chair, scraping its metal legs on the cement, and watched Castillo open the door, suddenly remembering his manners. “Oh, um… thanks!”
“Don’t mention it,” Castillo replied smoothly. Then he was gone, swallowed up by the coffee shop’s interior.
Alex exhaled and leaned back against the chair’s hard wooden back. His legs were shot, nearly gummy at the thought of dead bodies, hot detectives, and an empty, echoing stomach reminding him he hadn’t eaten since early last night.
“Damn it.” He glanced back at Planet X’s front door, where he’d accidentally dumped his lunch. “I probably should have cleaned that up before the cops got here.”
“Cleaned what up?” Castillo’s former purr now had teeth, and they sank down into Alex’s nerves as the man put down two cups of coffee on the table. “I hope you weren’t talking about the deceased. You seem like you’d have more sense than to mess with a crime scene, Mr. Martin.”
“No! I wouldn’t—” Alex protested softly. “I dropped my lunch in the doorway. It’s probably all through the carpet by now.”
“Ah, the noodles?” The detective slid one of the cups in front of Alex. “No, we got that up off the cement. They’ll be bringing a gurney in, and yeah, it would contaminate the findings. Have a sip, and let’s see if we can’t figure out what this mess is all about.”
The coffee was good. It was always good, and Alex let the caffeine work through him, wishing he’d worn something warmer since the air cut right through his sweater and shirt. Although, he realized, Castillo seemed quite the heater, and Alex shifted in his chair, angling his legs to leech off as much of the man’s warmth as he could without looking like a perv.
Castillo didn’t appear to mind Alex’s proximity. In fact, he turned his chair and blocked off most of the wind coming through the mall’s curved adobe-plastered columns.
“Thanks. It’s a bit cold,” Alex admitted. “The coffee really helps.”
“That could be shock too,” Castillo replied gently. “You’ve gone through a traumatic experience. Let’s start at the beginning and see what we can find out.”
“Sure.” He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “I was late this morning….”
It didn’t take him very long to tell the detective what he’d done and what he saw. Castillo was exacting, going over several points in Alex’s story and then inquiring about his staff. Alex’s brain short-circuited at the thought of someone on his staff being able to—being willing to—drag a dead body in the store, and he said as much, bringing a smile to the detective’s sexy mouth.
“Sometimes people do odd things.” Castillo jiggled his coffee cup, stirring its contents in a swirling motion with his wrist. “I’m not saying that someone on your crew is responsible for this, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask.”
Alex nodded and shivered again, caught in a gust of wind. “I understand.”
“Much like I have to ask you this.” The man must have practiced his little-boy-lost look in a mirror, because his brandy brown gaze cut through Alex much like the wintery chill had a few moments earlier. It was a begging-forgiveness instead of an asking-permission glance, the kind of look guaranteed to get a man out of trouble—or into another man’s bed. “Where were you last night?”
“You think I did this?” Alex gaped at the man, his outrage rolling over any burgeoning desire for the handsome detective. “I could never—hell, I can’t even kill the spiders in my house. I just leave the door open and hope they go outside.”
“I have to ask, Alex.” Castillo rolled over his name, wrapping it in velvet and heat. “It’s just procedure.”
“I was at home.” He sniffed, suddenly disgruntled. He spent most of his nights alone, much to his disgust.
It wasn’t that he felt ugly. At the very least, Alex thought he could pull off cute if absolutely necessary, but what he couldn’t fake was interest in hitting a club and drinking himself silly. Any friends he had—and he did have friends—were either married with children or lived too far away to spend an evening with. His social life mostly included trips to conventions or film festivals—perfectly acceptable activities, he reminded himself, except they seemed to be severely lacking in hot gay men.
Glancing up at Castillo, Alex briefly wondered what the supposedly gay detective did for a social life. When his mind eagerly provided graphic and vivid images of backroom sex orgies and lines of young men willing to suck the detective off, Alex struggled to contain the blush he felt burning up his face.
“Can anyone corroborate that?” The detective looked sincerely apologetic for having to ask, but Alex wasn’t sure he believed the man.
“Other than my cat, no.” Alex shook his head. “No.”
“What did you do? Alone. You and the cat?” The man’s odd phrasing made Alex look up, and Castillo grinned widely. “Watch television? Read?”
“I don’t see—” He cut himself off and swallowed reflexively. “I was watching Sherlock. The new season’s out, so I wanted to catch up. Mrs. Who doesn’t have much say about what’s on the television.”
“Mrs. Who being the cat?” Castillo sipped at his coffee.
“Yeah.” Alex looked over to where a large dark blue van pulled up in front of Planet X. “Is that… forensics?”
“Coroner’s.” Castillo followed his gaze. “A couple of the forensics techs will be along in a few. We should have you open again tomorrow. Day after by the latest.”
“God, I’ve got to call everyone on shift.” He realized he didn’t have a clue about what to do when the business was closed for a dead body. They’d never even been held up, although he did have his accountant set up a pay code for his staff if there was a robbery. “I’ll have to arrange to pay everyone for time lost, I think. Hell, who the hell plans for shit like this? God, and that poor guy. Jesus.”
“Probably not the guy in there—plan for this, I mean,” Castillo said, jerking his thumb toward the store. “But it’s decent of you to pay your guys. Can you afford it?”
“What?” Alex looked up from his phone where he kept the store’s schedule. “Yeah, the store’s… good. I make more money on rare comics and collectibles than subscriptions, but the shop’s been pretty solid.”
“So money isn’t an issue, then?”
“No, it’s….” Alex scowled at the man. “What are you asking me? Is this about the man in the shop? Do you think I’m connected to him somehow?”
“I don’t know what to think, Alex,” the detective admitted softly. “Most people are killed for money or relationships. If the man in there isn’t connected to you, then I have to find out who he is connected to, but I’m always going to start off where a body’s been found. Essentially, it’s ground zero. If I’m lucky, I can find a trail back to who killed him, but in order to do that, I have to eliminate everyone else—and that includes you.”
HE FLUSTERED Alex Martin. If there was one thing James knew, it was men, and the owner of Planet X definitely was flustered. After a few more minutes of questioning and securing the names and contact information of Martin’s staff, he cut the man loose and watched him as he walked back to the shop, arms tucked in tight against his body to ward off the cold.
A few hours later and covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs he’d gotten from climbing through tight attic spaces, James was lost in thought as he sat in front of the coffee shop when the table rattled under his elbow. He looked up to see his partner, Lois Washington, easing into the chair Martin had vacated a few hours before. Lois placed what would be his third cup of coffee in as many hours in front of him, and James took it gratefully as she joined him.
A pleasant-faced black woman from East LA, Washington’d been his partner for nearly three years, and they’d hit it off nearly immediately. He admired her doggedness, and she tolerated his leaps of intuition, providing of course he could find evidence to back them up. Their close rate was good—quite good—and he’d been touched when she asked him to give her away at her wedding. He’d accepted on the stipulation he didn’t have to do a father-daughter dance with her. He did it anyway and embarrassed the hell out of her with his rendition of the mashed potato.
Thankfully, she’d decided to forgive him by the time she and her husband, Raoul, got back from their honeymoon.
“Came with the meat wagon?” he asked, giving her time to swallow from her own cup. “I thought you were going to be out until the afternoon.”
“It’s two thirty,” she growled over her coffee. “Close enough. What was the deal with the owner? Uniforms say he’s shaken but not too bad.”
“I cut him loose. One of the uniforms will call him when he can lock up.”
Lois eyed her partner. “Is he good for the kill?”
“Did you see the DB? Heavy guy. I don’t think Martin could have gotten him up into the ceiling to stash him there, and the DB was definitely up there.”
“Yeah, so not recent. From the looks of things, I’d say a few days dead. Maybe even more. Bloated, and there’s insect activity.”
“Yeah, Martin said the victim’s side burst open. I’m guessing parasitical expulsion. I don’t think he did it. Too… clean. Not meek but gentle. Besides, I saw the guy on the floor. Even with bloat, he was a big guy. I don’t think Martin ever saw the ceiling tiles were missing.”
“He didn’t mention the missing ceiling tiles?” Lois cocked her head. “Not even to ask where they were? Because they weren’t under the DB. Someone’d left them up there. Moved them out of the way. I’d say he was shoved out from the hole.”
“Yeah, and I don’t think Martin actually looked up. He said he checked the DB, then went outside to toss his guts. So the question is, who moved the tiles, and how did the body get up there?”
“Stored up there? Odd place to put a kill, but we’ve seen odder.” She contemplated the mall’s exterior. “All of the shops share walls, but you saw the pass-through break between the right part of the curve and the rest of the place.”
“So if he came from the ceiling, then there’s only a few shops he could come from,” James concluded. “The comic book shop is just one of them.”
“Want to make a wager?” Lois looked innocent, but he’d been her partner long enough to know her round-cheeked guilelessness hid a cunning mind. His wallet still whimpered when he thought of the first time they’d joined Raoul’s monthly poker night and she’d cleaned them all out with a wink and a smile.
“No, I’d like to be able to put my mother in a nice nursing home at some point.” He rocked back in his chair.
“So what do you think happened?” She pressed him. “No bet involved. Just, you know… a guess.”
“I don’t know, but I sure as hell want to find out.” James wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Because the sooner I do that, the sooner I can hit on our lead witness.”
IT’S MADDENING—the not knowing, Alex grumbled to himself. Also, if he had to listen to “The Time Warp” one more time over the shop’s speakers, he’d go insane. One of his business classes had suggested a good owner allowed his employees to take ownership of their environment, and he’d initially thought having each employee determine the music selection for two hours during their shift was a good idea—providing there was little to no profanity.
He just hadn’t expected show tunes. Just ten songs. On an endless loop. For two straight hours.
A communicator chirrup announced the store’s latest visitor, but Alex didn’t look up from his filing of misplaced comics. He’d just gotten to putting away yet another stack of Lady Death when Giselle called out to him over the squeak of Columbia’s singing voice.
Detective James Castillo nodded a hello to him, as suave as if he walked into Planet X on a daily basis just to grace them with his sexiness.
From the openmouthed expression on Giselle’s face, Alex figured she wouldn’t mind at all if Castillo made the store a pit stop in his daily routine. He almost handed her one of the shop’s dusting rags to catch her drool before she slobbered all over the glass spotlight case, but he thought better of it.
Mostly because he might need it himself.
Alex couldn’t imagine how he’d forgotten how buff the man was. Or how hot. But it’d been nearly three weeks, and Alex figured he’d romanticized the man in his mind, adding a layer of sexiness he couldn’t possibly have possessed.
No, he corrected. He obviously couldn’t handle the detective the last time, and his mind had gone the other way, washing a layer of doubt over the actual article so his brain could continue to function. He was paying for it now, because the sight of the detective framed by the lit-up, sized-down Stargate he’d had built into the long wall for decoration was enough to make him weep.
Castillo wore the same leather jacket Alex’d first seen him in, but his jeans were now faded blue Levi’s, and the shirt was a heather gray Henley, its buttons undone and the flap pulled open enough for Alex to catch a good peek at Castillo’s tanned chest and collarbone.
God, he apparently also had a thing about collarbones.
“How are you doing, Alex?” Castillo smiled, turning the sexy up to a dangerous level. “Do you have a minute? Maybe grab some coffee?”
“Sure. We can talk in my office.” He looked toward the back where he’d set up a coffee machine. “Um, I can make a pot.”
“Just made one,” Giselle called out sweetly from where she’d been eavesdropping.
“Okay, then.” Alex clapped his hands, instantly regretting doing so. Nothing said gay man like a Teletubbies impersonation. “Um, follow me.”
He walked a few feet ahead of Castillo, but Alex could have sworn he felt the man’s heat on his back and thighs. Opening the door to his office, he motioned the detective in and asked, “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black’s fine,” Castillo answered, sliding up past Alex close enough he could smell the detective’s faint cologne mingled with the leather he was wearing.
Separated by mere inches, Alex stood against the office door and brought his hands to his sides. He clenched his fingers in, steadfastly refusing to even accidentally brush the man’s body. He needn’t have worried. Castillo did it for him, with a gentle brush of fingers along Alex’s thigh as he went in.
After clearing his throat—because suddenly there was a lump of something in it—Alex said shakily, “I’ll be right back. Um… the couch is comfortable. Sit wherever you want.”
Retreating back up a few feet to the break room, Alex almost jumped out of his skin when Giselle hissed into his ear, “Holy shit, he’s hot. New guy? Hell, did you have an old guy?”
“Why are you back here?” Alex muttered back. “Suppose there are customers?”
“I’d hear that chirping thing go off.” The young woman rested her chin on Alex’s shoulder, watching him as he doctored up his own coffee after filling up two mugs. “You’re going to go in there with those dorky transporter cups? Dude, no one wants to watch old-school Kirk and Spock disappear as they drink coffee. So not sexy.”
“I’m not trying—will you get off my shoulder?” Alex nudged her back with his elbow. “He’s probably here about the dead guy. Remember that?”
“God, how can I forget? Best two days of not-working I’ve done in my life,” she said gleefully, tousling her bright red hair. “Went to the beach. Got a pedicure—”
“If working here’s a problem, we can cure that,” Alex jibed playfully. “Especially since you’re supposed to be work-working right now.”
“Well, shit, give me the details when you’re done.” She pouted. “Or better yet, lock the office door, and I promise to keep everyone out for at least an hour. If you yell loud enough, you can even make it two.”
“God, I’m going to fire you one day,” he promised without much heat. “Go back up front. Now.”
Juggling the mugs, he made it back to the office without spilling anything on the floor only to find Castillo up on his feet and studying the items Alex’d shoved into the bookcases lining one side of his office walls. He was fondling a blown-glass dragon when Alex walked in, turning the creature over to watch the opal chips suspended in glycerin bob about in its hollow belly.
The area was originally used to store collectibles, but Alex had converted it into his office when he took over Planet X, opening up the space in the front as a break room for his employees. Spacious enough to hold a desk and a short couch, it was a place for Alex to relax in while he did the books. Furnished mainly for comfort, the office resembled more of a family room than a place of serious business. He needed that bit of comfort, especially since he used the office to flee the employee-empowered musical program if the tunes got too much for him.
“This is pretty,” Castillo remarked, carefully returning the dragon to its original spot. Alex felt the detective’s gaze follow him as he sat down on the wide chair near the couch, and when he looked up, Castillo’s amber eyes caught him as neatly as if he were an insect on a tree. “But then, so are you.”
Alex fumbled his coffee cup, splashing a few drops into his lap. Staring up at the cop, he patted away the liquid, wondering if he had heard correctly. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
“Yeah, I’ll get back to that,” Castillo promised as he sat down on the couch. “I suppose I have to take care of official business before anything else.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m really confused right now,” Alex admitted.
“Let me help with that.” The detective pulled out a small notepad from the inside pocket of his jacket. “We’ve discovered who the dead body was and, more importantly, found out how he got in your shop.”
Alex had to put his mug down. His hands were shaking, and he didn’t trust himself not to drop his coffee. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Okay. What happened?”
“First, I wish you’d told me your father invented air or something.” Castillo’s rueful look was back. “We—my partner and I—were surprised by how much cash flow you’ve got. It sent up a couple of red flags for a few days until we got it all figured out.”
“My father didn’t invent air. He just sort of figured out a couple of ways to make—look, what does that have to do with anything?” Alex frowned. “I didn’t think my financial situation had anything to do with me finding a dead man in the middle of my shop.”
“No, but it did help us get to why that man was there,” the detective replied. “Apparently part of your shop’s services include acquiring expensive collectibles.”
“Well, yeah, but none of that’s stored here.” Alex shrugged. “My cousin is—well, I don’t know what you’d call him exactly, but he deals in antiques and collectibles. Geeky stuff, mostly. He offers me first bid if it’s something he thinks I’d be interested in. I have a list of clients who are interested in a lot of things but mostly pop culture stuff.”
“And you store those items where? Not here, right?”
“No, at his warehouse. If I buy an item, I rent the space it’s in until it is purchased. He’s got a staff there who’ll box it up and ship it out for me. I mean, I do go look at the items. I don’t ever purchase anything blind.”
“And these items—those would be the ones listed on your website?” Castillo referred to his notes when Alex nodded. “Some of these things are worth a lot of cash and aren’t too big, right?”
“Some,” he agreed with a shrug. “Price is all dependent on rarity. Sometimes the smallest things are worth the most, because people threw away a lot of props from early movies. A near-mint lobby card of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula sold for over twenty thousand dollars. You’d be surprised at what people have stashed up in their closets or attics. Why?”
“Because we found a list of items in the dead man’s pocket—a list that matched up to some of the inventory you had on your site. A few items didn’t line up, so I’m going to ask you to verify they were sold.” Castillo unfolded a Xeroxed list from his notebook and passed it over to Alex. “Can you do that for me?”
“Um, sure.” Alex took the paper and studied it. “I’ll have to check my inventory to see when something was sold, but what you’ve highlighted looks about right.”
Castillo nodded and took the paper back. “Apparently, your next-door neighbor, Mr. Shandan, felt the printing and copying business wasn’t as lucrative as he’d like, so he decided to pay one of his more… larcenous employees to liberate some of the items listed for sale on your site.”
“But none of that’s stored here,” Alex protested softly.
“Mr. Shandan seemed to think otherwise.” The detective motioned around the office. “Has he ever had access to your shop? Back here, maybe?”
“He uses our bathroom a lot, but that’s across the break room. I usually keep my office locked unless I’m in it. We don’t have a lot of cash on hand. Most of our payments are electronic, but there’s a safe for the drawer. It’s maybe two thousand at most.”
“See, our dear Mr. Shandan didn’t know that. He thought you were stashing the good stuff back here. So he sent one Michael Rafferty, formerly a resident of North Kern State Prison, to locate a few things in your inventory in exchange for a payout. The plan was for Rafferty to go up into the ceiling, squeeze through an opening between your shops, and let himself down into your place.”
“But how the hell did he end up dead? And in my shop?”
“That’s where it gets interesting. Our Mr. Rafferty not only did not show up for work, he also did not contact Shandan about the items he’d been sent for. Shandan figured he split with the goods, but after a little while, there was a curious smell coming from Shandan’s shop. He finally popped the ceiling tiles up over on his side and peered through the opening—”
“And what?” Alex was almost afraid to ask.
“His burglar had the unfortunate luck of expiring from a heart attack before he could actually get into your shop.” Castillo paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Shandan didn’t know what to do, so he left Rafferty up there until he could figure something out. What he finally decided on was to go through the opening himself and get Rafferty out of the crawl space by pulling back the tiles on your side and shoving his deceased employee out of the hole.”
“Oh God, so he’s been up there? The entire time? Dead?” Alex was grateful the cream he used in his coffee was nondairy, or he was sure it would have curdled in his stomach at the thought. “Oh my God!”
“See, Shandan opens later than you do, and for some reason, he thought the two of you were on the same schedule. He’d just gotten Rafferty pushed out of the space when you pulled up. He didn’t have time to retrieve Rafferty’s body. Hell, he barely had enough time to get out of your ceiling space before you got the door open.”
“Shit, he was there when I was throwing up in the bushes,” Alex murmured. “It didn’t even dawn on me he was there early. He never opens up early.”
“So there you have it. Once we ID’d Rafferty, it was a quick walk to motive and then to Shandan. We showed up to ask him about Rafferty’s disappearance, and he stonewalled us. That’s a bigger red flag than some rich kid selling comic books in a strip mall.” Castillo winked at Alex’s scoffing laugh. “See, and now comes the difficult part, because when I started this investigation, I was planning on doing one thing when we got it all wrapped up, but now I don’t know if I can.”
“What? What one thing?” He studied the detective lounging back in the nearby couch. “You found the guy who did this… even if it’s Mr. Shandan. Hell, he’s been there for years. I can’t believe it. What’s there left to do?”
“Just one matter I wanted to deal with, but it’s all dependent on you,” Castillo replied. “You’re kind of way above my pay grade now.”
“Eh?” If confusion was edible, Alex had an entire mouthful and was choking on it. “I don’t understand.”
“Would you like to go out with me?” Castillo leaned forward, his hands dangling between his spread knees. “I’ve been wondering how that mouth of yours tastes since the moment I laid eyes on you, and I’ve worked this case so hard to close it just so I could find out. So what do you say, Alex? Maybe dinner and a movie?”
“WOW, YOU look incredible.” James stood outside of the Italian restaurant he’d suggested to Alex. It was a casual enough place to wear jeans to—something Alex looked relieved to discover—but with intimate tables and candlelight, a romantic kind of place meant to put the man at ease.
And if anyone needed to be put at ease, it was Alex Martin.
Dressed in dark jeans, light blue French-cuff shirt, and a black pea coat, Alex Martin was hitting all of James’s buttons. When the man dashed through the light Los Angeles rain to duck under the awning next to James, he lit up with a faint shy smile as he shook a scatter of drops from his thick, wavy mop.
“Sorry I’m late.” Alex shot a dirty look up at the sky. “I don’t know why we Californians get crazy when there’s rain. Everyone on the road acts like it’s the apocalypse.”
“Well, you know… Death, War, Famine, and Precipitation,” James joked, pulling a full, sweet laugh from the other man. “You’re right on time.”
Dinner was fun, if a bit perplexing at times. Alex seemed to have no clue about what a date entailed, and if James didn’t know better, he’d have thought the man was interrogating him for a case. Halfway through their entrée, Alex broke off a piece of bread from the basket between them and heavily dabbed it with Alfredo sauce. The sight of the man’s open mouth enveloping the white cream dollop made James think of much better things for Alex’s lips to be wrapped around.
“I am very jealous of that piece of bread right now,” James said softly as Alex took a bite. “And maybe your fork. I like how you glide it in and out of your mouth as you take a bite of your food. Possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Not for the first time in his life, James was very happy to know how to perform the Heimlich maneuver, although judging by the beet red burn on Alex’s cheeks when he was done, James was fairly certain the other man would have preferred to expire on the spot.
Even after he’d gotten the bread dislodged, James left his arms wrapped around Alex’s torso, his fists pressed into the hollow beneath the man’s breastbone. It was probably wrong to get hard when forcing a bit of bread out of a man’s windpipe, but James’s dick didn’t seem to care about propriety. It gleefully took the embrace of Alex’s butt cheeks, and James damped down his desire, choosing instead to rub at Alex’s bruised belly.
“You okay there, babe?” James whispered softly amid the panic and chaos around them.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Alex choked out. “Is that your sick idea of job security?”
“I am so sorry, Alex.” He eased the man down into his seat, crouching by Alex’s knee. “I don’t normally kill on the first date. Usually it takes me at least until the third before I trot out the hard stuff.”
“Don’t joke. It hurts to laugh.” Slinging his arm around his ribs, Alex winced in pain. “Oh God, you’re strong.”
“Yeah, sorry,” James said ruefully. “Feel like finishing dinner?”
“Hell, no.” Alex shook his head. “Can I get a rain check? I need ice cream or something. My throat feels like it’s on fire.”
MRS. WHO met him at the door, her mottled form winding around Alex’s legs as he tried to get through the foyer. He tossed his keys onto the table near the front door, then picked up the tortoiseshell cat and carried her into the living room, collapsing onto the couch in front of a river-stone fireplace. The feline mewed and pushed her chin against his cheek, and Alex buried his face into the cat’s fur, breathing in deeply.
“Ick, you smell like tuna,” he muttered, pulling the cat away. Mrs. Who meeped and wiggled down out of his grasp, settling on the couch to knead at a throw pillow. “Mrs. Who, I totally suck at this dating thing. He let me out and then sped off. I’d be surprised if I ever see him—”
The doorbell chiming a hearty tone through the house interrupted Alex’s thoughts. Moving the cat out of the way, he passed through to the foyer and peered out of the door’s inset glass panel, sighing when he recognized Detective James Castillo standing on his front porch.
Resting his forehead on the door, Alex called out, “Can you just let me die of embarrassment in peace? Or are you hoping you can watch me choke on my own tongue or something?”
“You die of embarrassment? I’m the one who had to flee the villagers’ torches and pitchforks! Pretty sure they called me a witch for bringing you back to life!” Castillo answered through the door. “I promised you dessert.”
“I spat up on you like a baby with colic!” he reminded the detective.
“I brought you ice cream.” The enticement was a good one, and Alex sighed, seriously contemplating letting him in. Then James said, “It’s mint chocolate chip.”
“Shit.” Alex opened the door and grabbed at the plastic Rite-Aid bag. “That’s like my kryptonite.”
“Isn’t kryptonite bad for you?” James asked as he closed the door behind them. “If you point me toward the kitchen, I’ll grab a couple of spoons. I figured we could share a pint.”
“No, I’m just going to open the container and shove my face in it. I hear wallowing’s good for depression.” Alex set the bag down and motioned to the cat. “Castillo, meet Mrs. Who. Mrs. Who, this is the man who tried to kill Daddy earlier. Try not to eat his face while I go get utensils.”
James dug through Alex’s DVDs and found an old black-and-white sci-fi movie he’d never seen, and they ate enough of the ice cream that neither one of them wanted to see another chocolate chip for at least several days. When James nodded off on the end of the couch with Mrs. Who purring in his lap, Alex let the man sleep until the end of the movie, staring at James’s hand clasped over his.
THEIR SECOND official date didn’t go much better. It came after spending more than a few nights together on Alex’s couch, eating takeout and watching movies. When James suggested they hit up the Santa Monica pier one night instead, Alex thought it would be fun to spend an evening eating bad food and walking with James out in the open.
To be fair, Alex had to suppose James wasn’t expecting the clown’s rainbow wig to catch on fire, but it did, and things took a downturn when one of the boardwalk workers accused the detective of sabotaging the man’s act. Despite James’s smooth charm, they’d finally just made a run for it, scrambling to get to Alex’s Mini Cooper before escaping in a squeal of tires and laughter.
“You could have just told them you were a cop,” Alex said between fits of laughter, slowing the Mini down when they hit the main street off the pier.
“Yeah, but where would the fun be in that?” James chuckled, stretching out as much as he could in the passenger seat. “And I had nothing to do with the fire. Who the hell juggles flaming torches in the middle of a busy boardwalk?”
They kissed on Alex’s doorstep that evening, a gentle, sweet kiss Alex could taste even after James pulled away and let him go. The man’s arms were around his waist, and Alex pressed his hands over James’s back, exploring the powerful muscles along his spine.
“God, I hate that I have to leave you, but….” James cocked his head. “I’ve got court first thing in the morning, or I’d try to persuade you to let me stay.”
“I’d let myself be persuaded,” Alex admitted and reluctantly let him go. “I’m kind of… overwhelmed, you know?”
“Hey, I’m trying to take it slow. The wild Martin startles easily, I’m told, but God, I want you,” James said, brushing his mouth once more over Alex’s lips. “And if I don’t leave now, that slow thing ain’t going to happen. I’ll call you tomorrow, ’kay?”
Tomorrow came, and so did the phone call, an early-morning growling purr of sexual innuendo and sweet promises.
Then another dead body got in the way.
WORK KEPT the detective busy for the next week, but they’d kept in touch with texts and late-night phone calls. Los Angeles seemed to be competing for a body count to equal a war zone, and James began to seriously wonder if he’d pissed off someone in heaven, because all he wanted was to spend some time with Alex—quality time, preferably naked and with lubricant.
Hell, even just sitting with the man on the couch would have made him happy. That realization stopped James short in his tracks.
“Holy shit, I’m falling in love with him,” James muttered, and Lois chuckled under her breath.
“Castillo, you’ve been in love for the past two freaking weeks. From how you tell it, I’d be able to toss Alex out onto the ocean and he’d just stroll on back, walking across the waves with a piece of bread in one hand and a fish in the other.” His partner snorted. “You’ve only just now figured that out?”
The late-afternoon call came in just as James debated if the department would forgive him when he shoved his partner out onto the open freeway at eighty miles per hour. They both exchanged a brief glance, and Lois reached for the mic.
“We’ve got this, dispatch. ETA in ten,” she replied, rattling off their numbers. Cutting off the call, Lois glanced at her partner. “Looks like your boyfriend got another one.”
“Well, shit. He might be able to walk on water, but I don’t think Alex can raise the dead.”
Even with their lights and siren going, it took James twenty minutes to fight through downtown traffic. Dodging film crews and road closures, he argued himself in and out of calling Alex before Lois made the decision for him.
“Look, we need him fresh on the scene, Castillo. In fact, when we get there, I’ll take his statement. You go see about anyone else around.”
“Can I at least kiss him hello and tell him it’s going to be okay?”
“Only if he doesn’t have blood on his hands, and even then, maybe I’ll let you. God, I hope I’m not this sappy with my husband.”
“How many times has Raoul found a dead body?”
“Other than headless rat corpses? None,” Lois admitted. “But your guy seems to have set the bar. He might feel like he has to compete.”
Planet X looked like it’d been invaded by extras from a movie. Costumed people mingled with a growing crowd of police officers, and James’s mind strained to take it all in. Most of the outfits appeared to be Victorian-ish, but a few were leaning more toward a spaghetti-western slant. Spurs jingled alongside rattling pocket-watch chains, and there were curious contraptions of antiqued metal, lenses, and gears strapped to arms, legs, and in some cases, heads. Lois couldn’t help but stare as they pulled into the parking lot, and James drove slowly through the crowd, forcibly parting the mass with the front of the sedan before one of the uniforms shooed people to the side.
“What the hell is going on here?” Lois muttered as she got out of the car. “It looks like crazy town.”
“Let’s find Alex.” James scanned the crowd, but the sheer glut of top hats and mantillas made it difficult to see over to the shop. “Come on.”
“Jesus, look at what they’re wearing!” his partner hissed behind him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if our DB died of heat exhaustion… or embarrassment. Are those girls’ boobs coming out of that thing? What the hell is wrong with these people?”
He found Alex alone in the store—if being with five police officers could be counted as alone. The store floor’d been cleared in the middle, and long tables were set up with snacks and tanks of soft drinks and water. The walls and ceiling were decorated with black streamers, Tesla globes, and odd creatures, a creepy combination of science fiction and horror.
But the star of the event was the seven-foot-tall rubber tentacle monster with two stiff legs poking out of the bottom. Slumped up against the wall between the break room and the toilet, it seemed to be what kept the uniforms occupied.
Alex spotted James and left the conclave of blue, heading over to the door. Many of the uniforms looked guiltily at the detectives and one by one mumbled something, then headed out. The last one opened her mouth but then shook her head, exiting without an excuse.
Smiling briefly at Lois, Alex reached for James but stopped short of touching him. “Hey, I’m glad it’s you.”
“Need a hug, babe?” James asked softly, then wrapped his arms around Alex, giving him a quick, firm embrace. Letting go, he stepped back and nodded to his partner. “This is Detective Lois Washington, my partner. She’s going to take your statement.”
“Tell me what happened.” Lois took out a notepad and clicked her pen. “And what the hell is going on outside?”
“We’re having a Lovecraft day.” Alex sighed when the two cops stared at him. “Just… never mind. Anyway, it’s an event. Prizes, food—you know, that kind of thing. I hired this guy to be one of the Elder Gods—”
“Would that be the tentacle thing over there?” Lois pointed with her pen. “What is that? Latex?”
“A combination of things. It’s a costume worn by—okay, that doesn’t matter, but it’s been worn before.” Alex shook his head. “This time, something seems to have gone wrong. And don’t say the guy was allergic to seafood. I already got that crap from the first two cops who showed up.”
Lois approached the dead man encased in the rubbery suit, peering through the bulbous eyeball set into the monster’s upper body. “Did you try it on?”
“Yeah, we all did,” Alex admitted. “Most of the staff, anyway.”
“Okay, let’s run down what he ate and drank, and then we’ll work through the witnesses. Castillo, kiss the boyfriend good-bye and see if we can’t find someone in this mess who was talking to the guy or something when he went down. They might be able to give us some clue about what happened before tox comes in sometime next year.”
IT WAS midnight before James knocked on Alex’s front door.
He’d been awake, sitting on the couch with the TV set to a show he had no idea about. Mrs. Who spent a good amount of time kneading her claws through his jeans, the pinpricks enough of a reminder for him to catch her and clip them, but he was too taken over by the day to care. Instead, he watched as chef after chef seemed to compete with one another in some sort of Lord of the Flies marathon until only one man was left standing, a stern-faced Asian man dressed in a shiny suit, who then introduced the next opponents.
It wasn’t until Alex recalled seeing those same two chefs in other kitchens that he realized he’d lost the evening and he’d been stuck on the couch through quite a few very different shows.
Fortunately, James’s arrival shook him up enough to get off of the couch and answer the door.
“Hey,” the detective said, kissing Alex on the corner of his mouth. He held up a bag of food, the name of their favorite Thai restaurant in bright red letters screened on the white plastic. “I brought you a late dinner. I’m guessing you didn’t eat.”
“No,” Alex replied, making a face. “And Mrs. Who only eats tuna. I gagged even at the smell of seafood.”
“Well, luckily there’s not a sucker or shrimp to be found in here.” James coaxed Alex to the living room with a gentle nudge. “Come on, let’s get some food in you.”
“Screw the food,” Alex grumbled, plopping down on the couch. “It’s been a long day, and I’m—damn it, I’m glad it was you that showed up. Isn’t that shitty of me? Some guy dies in a squid suit, and all I can think of is Oh good, James is here. Life’s gotten much better.”
“Yeah, I thought that too,” James admitted. “Well, about seeing you. Hell, food. In you. And unlike our deceased cephalopod fetishist, you’re not going to expire from eating poisonous mushrooms. I have it on good authority any fungi contained in these boxes are purely for nutritional purposes. Although there might be some vegetables in here that are as shady as fuck, but the ’shrooms are on the up-and-up.”
“It’s always good to know the alignment of what I’m going to eat. Hey, I’ve got a question, are we ever going to fuck?” Alex surprised himself, probably as much as he did James, because the words no sooner left his mouth than he immediately wished the couch would swallow him up whole. “I have no idea why I said that. Shit.”
“Yeah, we are,” the other man promised. “I just wanted to… take my time with you. Enjoy falling in love.”
“Are we? In love?” He studied the detective, and his heart skipped and danced a bit in his chest. “Wow. I guess I never—”
“Never knew what it felt like?” James offered him a bite of a spring roll, its end dripping with a sticky hot sweet sauce. “Yeah, it kinda kicks you in the gut, huh? So yeah, we’ll do all sorts of things. Probably in about half an hour or so—”
Something dark filled James’s deep amber eyes when Alex leaned forward and sucked the sauce off the offered roll. Tossing what was left from Alex’s bite back into the tray, James grabbed Alex’s hand and tugged him up off the couch.
“What?” he mumbled around a mouthful of tofu, rice paper wrapper, and bean thread noodles.
“That damned mouth of yours. Screw it,” James growled. “Thai food can wait. I’m going to find us a bed.”
THEY GOT as far as the stairs up to the second floor. Alex debated if his ass hitting the third step qualified as getting far enough up the steps to be called upstairs. He certainly had time to contemplate it because he’d been halfway through one of the most delicious kisses he’d ever experienced when the cop suddenly stopped. Left gasping and wanting more, Alex sat in bewildered confusion while James fumbled with his jacket, digging for something in one of the pockets.
“What the fuck?” Alex blinked. The foggy haze of desire in his mind was starting to dissipate under the perplexing absence of the man he’d been groping when James grinned and came up with a bottle of lube.
“I got you covered, babe,” James quipped. “Or at least got me covered. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Thought you’d get lucky?” Alex smirked back.
“Yeah, I’d hoped to,” James bent over and kissed the crook of Alex’s neck. “I just didn’t know it was going to be tonight. You sure about this?”
“Oh yeah,” Alex shifted, the hard edge of the step digging into his ass. “But maybe not on the stairs.”
“Bed or couch?” James glanced over his shoulder to the living room. “Couch is closer.”
“Couch.” Alex swore under his breath. “Okay, I’m not going to get OCD about fluids.”
“Sure you will,” James replied. “Because you’re you. I’ll just have to spend a lot of time scrubbing the hell out of the cushions afterward, but it’ll be worth it.”
He felt James’s arms under him, and then the world tilted a bit when James lifted him. Gasping with surprise, Alex grabbed at James’s shoulders and hooked his legs around his lover’s waist.
“I can walk, you know.”
“I’m trying to be manly here.” James gave a mock wheeze. “It’ll offset my shoddy performance in a few seconds when I come too soon and leave you unsatisfied.”
Alex was snorting his doubt when James dumped him back onto the couch and the air whooshed out of his lungs, leaving him breathless and panting. The panting and lack of air continued to dog him as James quickly shed his clothes and his dick bounced free, a flushed pink monster of a cock eager to get down to business.
“Um, I don’t know if all that can get in.” Alex gulped, shifting until he fit in between the back and arm of the couch. “Have you got anything smaller? Something less? Maybe a sampler plate?”
“You’ll be fine,” James promised, covering Alex with his hard long body. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
James took his time, touching places on Alex’s body he didn’t even realize had nerves until James’s hands and mouth nipped, pinched, and stroked there. There was a bit of a shock when James’s blunt fingers, warm and slick with lube, teased at his hole for a brief second, but the surprise was replaced with a gasping need when James slid two digits up into Alex’s passage.
After that, he could only hold on and writhe on James’s stroking fingers, each play of tips inside of him touching his core and sending currents through him. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it anymore, James withdrew and Alex groaned out loud, disgruntled at the sudden emptiness. The snap of a condom on James’s cock was enough to send tingles through Alex’s spine, a muted promise of things to come.
“Lift your legs for me, baby.” James nearly purred when Alex hooked his hands under his knees and spread himself open. “Yeah, just like that.”
His cock fit up against the furl of Alex’s body, and suddenly Alex’s mind blanked, focused only on the press of the hot length of flesh pushing on him. His lungs burned and he realized he was holding in his breath, anticipation gripping his brain.
“Breathe, Alex,” James said, stroking at Alex’s stomach. “Just breathe.”
He inhaled, and James suddenly filled him.
It was too much to take—not James himself—but the feeling of being poured into. Everything around him snapped into focus, too bright, too stimulating—everything so much more than Alex expected. Then James began to move, and his awareness snapped back in, closing down until only the two of them existed.
The press and pull of James inside him seemed to last a short forever, but Alex needed more. He moaned in shock when James’s cock hit his gland; then the climb to his release began. His balls reached up, curling and folding in on themselves as tiny shockwaves burst out from them. His cock went rigid, slapping against Alex’s belly with a wet smack of its leaking head. James reached down between them and smeared the clear dew around Alex’s slit, toying with the shaft until Alex thought he would lose his mind.
He lost it anyway.
He came in an explosive geyser, jerking strands of hot liquid in the tight space between their joined bodies. James thrust with another snap of his hips, and he leaned over Alex, gripping the back of the couch with one hand as he worked Alex’s spurting cock with the other. Somewhere deep inside him, James’s heat was captured in its latex sheath, but Alex could feel its warmth, enjoying the spread of its touch along his insides.
“God, I love you,” James whispered as his cock softened slightly in Alex’s tight clench. “And damn, you’re going to be the death of me.”
“No more dead bodies,” Alex promised. “Including yours. I don’t think I could take it.”
“REALLY?” ALEX looked at the cupcakes Giselle had ordered for Swag Saturday. “Zombies?”
The display itself was nice, a gothic spread of candied eyeballs, gummy skeletons, and now, garishly colored minicakes. Worms, also gummy in nature, poked out of chocolate cookie crumbs masquerading as dirt. Tombstones and decayed limbs completed the graveyard theme, and when Giselle broke one open, it oozed what smelled like raspberry gel from its interior. She licked at it, turning her tongue a bright pink, which she showed Alex in mocking defiance.
“They’re actually just dead people,” she said with a wicked grin. “Pretty cool, right? Especially since they’re now calling the shop Death by Comics. You should change the name.”
“I’m not changing—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “God, why do I put up with you?”
“Hope you’re not talking about me.” James stepped up behind Alex and wrapped him into a hug. “Wow, those are….”
“Cool?” Giselle offered.
“I was going for gruesome, but sure, we can go with cool.” James kissed Alex’s ear and whispered, “I just stopped by to see if you want to catch some lunch, but I forgot you’ve got a Geekfest going on.”
“Hey, I wear my geek badge with pride,” Alex muttered, but he leaned into the hug. “And no, Giselle, I am not changing the shop’s—”
He was cut off when his other salesperson on duty came in through the back door. A scrawny scarecrow of a young man, his face was bleached nearly as white as the transparent skeletons filling one of Giselle’s crystal punch bowls.
“Hey, um… Alex?” Charlie stuttered. “You might want to rethink that. Guess what I found in the alley behind the store?”