Drawn Together (16 page)

Rory was used to Yamane’s good looks and unusual fashion sense. He was trying to imagine a small-town stranger’s reaction when he distinctly heard Yamane say, “What the hell did you just say?”

“Oh, here it comes,” Rory muttered under his breath as he got up and walked to the bar.

“I said, why don’t you cut your hair? You look like a woman. Are you one of those trannies? Do you even still have your dick?”

Yamane sputtered with outrage. “Of course I have a dick or I couldn’t tell you to suck it, could I?”

The man started to come after Yamane, but before things could get out of hand, Rory stepped between them.

“Yamane,” he barked. “Did I fail to inform you how painful it is to have the shit beaten out of you?”

“Did you hear?”

“Of course I heard,” said Rory. “Why is it you’re only brave when someone’s about to kill you?”

“Freaking homo,” muttered the man. He had a look in his eye that told Rory he was trying to get Yamane’s goat because he knew he could.

“Look, you.” Rory was losing patience with the both of them. “He may be a freaking homo, but he’s my freaking homo, and if you don’t mind your manners you’ll be enjoying that beverage you’re drinking glass and all, do I make myself clear?”

“You’ve got some nerve, kid.”

“I do,” said Rory. “What’s it going to be -- do you act like the man your mama hoped you’d be and let me buy you a drink, or do you go home in a paper sack?” Drawn Together

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The man tilted his head and considered Rory carefully. “I like you, red.” He laughed.

“Now who’s the freaking homo?” hissed Yamane from behind him.

“You?” He pointed at Yamane. “Not so much. My name’s Frank; pleased to meet you.” He held his hand out to Rory, who shook it.

“Mine’s Rory, and this is Yamane.”

“Okay, I’m drinking single malt whiskey, if you’re buying,” said Frank.

“The hell you say.” Yamane glared. “That swill you were drinking before was made for lighting barbecues.”

“Well, I’m drinking single malt whiskey now that he’s buying,” said Frank, jerking his thumb toward Rory. Then he burst out laughing. “Yammy, I think I’m really getting to like you too; the world must be coming to an end.”

“Color me thrilled,” sneered Yamane.

“Who the hell are you?” Rory asked Yamane incredulously. “Jeez, you’re like this bipolar multiple personality, Ran Yamane action figure.”

“I’m hungry, damn it!” Yamane pounded his good hand on the bar. “I’m so hungry I could kill something and eat it right now. And I need nicotine, you sadistic, health-loving prick. I’m going back to the table and eat those chips. Get me a couple of beers.” Rory and Frank watched him go.

“Newlyweds?” Frank asked.

“You’ve got no idea,” said Rory. “Is that your bike out there?”

“Yep, isn’t she a beauty? Much better than women or testy little men, I’d guess.”

“I think you might be in a position to help me out.”

“Burying the body will cost you extra.”

Rory laughed. “You two are a lot alike. Actually, I wanted to know where you’re headed.”

“San Diego,” said Frank. “How’d you know I don’t live right here?”

“I can’t believe anyone who lives here would come out at this time of day.” Rory took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you about it over dinner, if you’ll join us.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “If you’re buying.”

“Sure.” The bartender finally returned, and Rory put in his drink order.

On the way back to where Yamane was sitting, Frank said, “What the hell are you doing? You don’t look like the type to get mixed up with a guy like him.”

“What can I say? Love is blind,” said Rory, sitting down next to Yamane. “Yamane here is the acknowledged world master of queer fu.”

“Oh, no, you did not just say that.” Yamane shot him a sour look and drank the last of Rory’s beer.

94 Z. A. Maxfield

“You’ll have to excuse him; he’s had a bad day,” said Rory. “People are trying to kill him.”

“Jeez,” Yamane said. “What a buzzkill.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’s okay; we’re not going to let them.” Turning back to Frank, Rory said, “We’re headed southeast, and since you’re headed southwest, I thought you might enjoy using my gas card, to confound the enemy, if you know what I mean?”

“Somebody tracking you?” asked Frank.

Rory nodded.

“Is it legal to use your card? Not that I care much.”

“I don’t know why not as long as I pay the bill,” said Rory. “But you could run into some trouble from the people who are looking for him. Bad trouble, maybe.”

“Do I look like I mind a little trouble?”

Rory grinned. “You look like you cause a little trouble everywhere you go. If you use my card, it may buy us time. I think they found us when I applied to play the high limit tables at the Venetian. That was so stupid.” He’d been berating himself for that.

“No, it wasn’t, Rory,” Yamane said. “It was just Amelia. She’s evil.” Yamane took out a sketchbook, and Rory noticed he was relaxing. By the time the waiter brought them heaping plates of carne asada and camarones adobado with piles of fresh corn tortillas to make tacos and enough rice and beans on the side to feed a third-world country, Yamane was purring like a kitten. He continued to sketch, eat, and drink until the true dinner crowd started coming in, then finally ordered flan for dessert.

“I have never seen a little guy like that eat so much. Where does he put it?”

“Well, if he keeps drinking, he’ll probably be throwing it up.”

“Hey, I can hear you. I’m right here,” said Yamane.

“He eats a lot of junk food and he smokes,” said Rory. “His looks are deceptive. He’s totally polluted inside, like the guy in The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

“If you eat any more, you better order a cardiologist to go with it,” said Frank.

Yamane burst into drunken tears, sobbing and hiccupping.

“Oh, here we go,” said Rory.

“What did I say?” Frank asked.

“Nothing, I’m taking the princess home.” He helped Yamane to his feet, putting an arm around his shoulder. He left money on the table for the food and a generous tip.

Outside, with Yamane still sobbing on his arm, he exchanged cell phone numbers with Frank and gave him his gas card.

“This will only work for about two hundred dollars. After that, cut it up and throw it away. Be nicer to strangers.”

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Frank laughed. “Now, how would I meet interesting people if I was nice?”

“Bye,” said Rory. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too, and take good care of the princess. What a handful. Better you than me, man!” Frank waved.

“I heard that,” Yamane said between sobs. “You know you want me, Frank,” he added, practically shouting it.

“Yamane, don’t look now, but people are watching,” said Rory, half carrying, half dragging Yamane to the motel.

“Well, I know they want me too.” He staggered along. “Everybody wants me except you, you straight bastard. Wait, no! Until today!” He laughed right up until he passed out.

Rory tenderly carried him the rest of the way.

“Yep,” Rory said under his breath. “You’re the freaking ninja of love, Yamane.”

* * * * *

Amelia threw a vase at the two big men, who dodged it and stepped back. They cringed in the Venetian Hotel tower suite that she was currently destroying in a fit of rage. “I told you to find him, you idiots. The man dresses like a Chinese doll. How hard is it to find a man who dresses like that?”

“Apparently, pretty hard,” said Ethan, “or we’d have him by now, wouldn’t you say?”

“You shut up, Calderon.” Amelia turned on him. “We had him right here, at the Venetian, and you couldn’t deliver.”

“There are times to hunt with beaters, Amelia, and times to hunt with stealth. How do you think your plan of stabbing a prominent cardiologist worked out?”

“Shut up. He knew where Yamane was hiding. I told you, the doctor called and warned him off,” Amelia raged. “Saying he’d spent the night with Yamane, that liar.”

“Amelia, did you seriously stab an innocent man just for being Yamane’s lover?”

“Don’t say it like that!” she shrieked. “You should have been watching the exits. He probably walked right out the front door.”

“He was alone, though. Do you suppose the redhead left him?” mused Ethan. “Maybe because of the doctor. Maybe they had a lover’s tiff, or something like that.” He felt Amelia stiffen next to him and decided not to talk about that. “What do you want to do now?”

“If Delaplaines is still here, you can bet Yamane hasn’t gone far. Check the poker rooms again, damn it!” shouted Amelia. “Look for the redhead. Start from scratch. I want every hole out of Vegas examined. Damn, damn, damn. Sooner or later they’ll make another mistake.”

“There’s another way,” said Ethan, hating himself even as he said it.

“What?” Amelia stood still for once.

96 Z. A. Maxfield

“If they’re still together, we can bring them both to us. I don’t think Delaplaines would sacrifice his family, even for Ran Yamane, and I don’t think Yamane would allow him to do it.”

“Set it up,” snapped Amelia.

Drawn Together

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Chapter Fifteen

Rory placed the passed-out Yamane on the solitary queen bed and sat in the chair next to him. When he was lying there sleeping so peacefully, it was hard to imagine him taking on Frank like that. Rory remembered he’d been unusually chilling with Amelia face-to-face as well. Yamane, he guessed, was just one of those people who found his cool when there was real danger, and jumped on chairs if he saw a spider in the kitchen. Rory massaged the back of his neck as he got back up and shucked off his own clothes, down to his briefs. What a roller coaster the day had been. If that was what came from not smoking, Rory would buy Yamane a carton and an ashtray and back away on his knees. He sighed.

Yamane stirred, rubbing his feet together in his shoes. Rory sat down on the side of the bed with the intention of removing Yamane’s clothes for him, and found himself studying his beautiful face, the profile of which was now facing away from him. Rory gave in to the desire to undo Yamane’s braid. Something about the man’s hair made Rory’s fingers ache to touch it wherever they were. Rory stroked its softness, letting it fall through his fingers like liquid.

Yamane was still unconscious, but Rory had no misgivings about undressing a passed-out man. He thought of the many times he and his mother had undressed Charles and poured him to bed, yet this was different. Guiltier. Rory relished the opportunity to look his fill.

I’m just going to make him comfortable.

Rory unbuttoned the shirt, keeping a careful watch in case Yamane woke up. He slid the shirt off Yamane’s shoulders with the palms of his hands, enjoying the feel of smooth skin gliding under his touch. He removed the shirt completely by lifting Yamane a little to get it out from under him. Holding Yamane in his arms, he pressed a kiss to the base of his throat where the pulse was ticking gently under his creamy skin. This wasn’t exactly consensual. Rory put Yamane down.

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I’m just going to make him comfortable, he repeated to himself as he placed his hands on Yamane’s fly button. Rory touched first, ghosting his fingers across the fabric over his limp cock. After pulling the jeans off, he put them on the chair with Yamane’s shirt.

Seeing Yamane like this, in only his briefs, Rory felt heat suffuse his cheeks. Damning the consequences, he placed his hands on Yamane’s body, exploring his shoulders, chest, and abdomen. The hollows of his pelvis, his hips and thighs. He ran his hands lightly over Yamane’s nipple ring and tasted each café au lait-colored bud.

Rory lay down next to Yamane and held his breath as Yamane sighed and rolled over, facing away from him. Yamane caught Rory’s arm and pulled it around him like a blanket.

Faced with this, Rory had little choice but to lay beside him, spoon fashion. He used that excuse to pull Yamane into his body and hold him close.

Rory tried to shove the sure and certain knowledge that he was feeling up a drunken man aside. The pleasure of running his fingers over Yamane’s skin made almost all the guilt recede, leaving only a modicum of shame in its wake. He held Yamane, slipping both his arms around the sleeping man, and touched him as he might have touched himself. He cupped Yamane’s dick and balls with both hands, and then slid down Yamane’s knit briefs…

None of Rory’s experience prepared him for wanting a passed-out man. Yet the evidence was unquestionably there; Rory was erect and he wanted Yamane. He burned with it. He pressed himself between tight little ass cheeks, his cock grazing the crack, parting it and rubbing along the hidden recess behind Yamane’s balls.

Yamane’s upper body still felt boneless against him as Rory’s breathing grew shallower, coming in faint gasps. He began to press his erection upward, to get friction from Yamane’s unresisting flesh. He jerked forward and felt the slap of Yamane’s balls against the head of his dick. Yamane made small noises that had the effect of stirring Rory’s senses, and soon Rory was slipping along, gliding between Yamane’s thighs using his own precum to slick the way as he pulled Yamane tight back against his chest. He continued to move against Yamane, doing what felt good to him until he uttered a shuddering cry and emptied himself in a splash of heat high into the junction of Yamane’s thighs.

It wasn’t long before the enormity of what he’d done hit him and he wanted to die of embarrassment. He touched the creamy wetness and pulled his glistening hand from beneath the covers. Fascinated, he held it up in the still-lit room and then tasted it.

Still unwilling to comprehend that he’d just gotten himself off on an unconscious man, he left the bed as carefully as he could to keep from disturbing its occupant. He found a towel and dampened it, cleaning himself up and returning to do the same, carefully, for Yamane.

Rory put on the flannel drawstring pants he usually wore to bed and climbed in beside his lover. If Yamane sensed this, or remembered it, Rory knew he’d have some explaining to do. He pulled Yamane back against him, still feeling the languid warmth of passion’s Drawn Together