First We Take Manhattan (8 page)

"You let yourself go while I've been out of the game?" Gabe asks, teasing. "Used to be, you'd spend more time working on yourself than you did working on your mech."

"Really? Trash-talking during floor grappling?" Dave rolls to his feet, a gleam in his eye. "All right, Dumas. If that's the way you want it, I won't go easy on you." He nods at Gabe. "You've still got the form, but you've gotten a little soft around the edges. That a bit of a tummy I see there?"

Gabe rolls his eyes, refusing to be distracted. Dave comes at him. Gabe pivots, bending and going for Dave's leg. Dave sees the takedown attempt for what it is and twists. Gabe finds himself tugged forward. He shuffles to regain his balance, and Dave gets a forearm around his neck. Gabe reacts reflexively, hooking his leg behind Dave's ankle and bringing both of them down. It's only when they fall that he realizes he'd used his bad leg.

He cries out, going limp on the mat. His knee feels twisted, ligaments and bone both protesting the move. One of his arms is trapped underneath him. His nose is pressed into the floor but he doesn't care.

"Gabe!" Dave gasps, scrambling over him. "What happened? Where does it hurt?"

"My knee," he says with a groan, trying not to keen. There are lines of fire zipping up and down his veins. When he opens his eyes, he has to blink away spots. "Oh, God, I didn't think—I shouldn't have—fuck, it
hurts
."

Dave helps roll him over, stretching him out on the floor. Gabe's shirt is rucked up around his ribs; the mat is cold against his skin. "Shh, shh. It's okay, let me see."

"Stupid move," Gabe says, staring at the ceiling while Dave pushes his track pants up his leg. The pain is slowly ebbing, giving way to simple embarrassment. "I wasn't supposed to use such a stupid move. I should've used my other leg."

Dave shushes him again, warm fingers brushing his sore kneecap. "It looks okay. No bruising or redness. You just strained it." He rubs it, gently, watching Gabe's reaction. It spasms a little, but it's only the protests of an aggravated injury, nothing major.

"Thanks," Gabe says, eyelids fluttering shut. With the agony gone, he feels it when Dave casually rests a hand on his bare stomach. It surprises him, and his muscles jump under the pads of Dave's fingers.

Dave pauses. Gabe goes very still. He tries to ignore the way his insides are winding up tight. Then Dave rubs his stomach, and the room is too quiet for him not to hear Gabe's sharp intake of breath.

Gabe's eyes fly open. He finds himself looking into Dave's. Dave swallows audibly, and he licks his lips. Gabe's afraid to say anything—afraid the image will shatter if either of them makes a move.

Then Dave says, "You are getting soft around the edges." He bends down to kiss Gabe's belly, making him suck in another gasp. "Mm." He nibbles the pliant flesh, making Gabe squirm.

"Dave," he says, afraid of how far this will go—afraid of how far it won't.

Dave moans appreciatively, dipping his tongue into Gabe's navel. "Does it still hurt? Tell me where."

Gabe makes a noise when Dave's lips start moving. Soon he's clawing at the mat, trying to find purchase and failing. Dave stops at the fabric of his shirt, poking at it with his nose. He pushes himself up, and when their eyes lock, Gabe forgets to breathe.

Dave licks his lips again. The air is cool against Gabe's stomach now. "It's not just me, is it?" Dave asks, apprehensive. "Tell me it's not just me."

Gabe's kept the desire locked away for so long that he doesn't know how to let it out. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. On the fourth attempt, he manages to say, "It's never been just you."

"God," Dave groans, climbing over him. Gabe doesn't move until Dave is balancing on all fours and he's trapped underneath of him. He grabs Dave's thighs, hands stroking the muscles. Dave bends closer, leaning on his forearms.

When they kiss, Gabe closes his eyes but opens his mouth. Dave goes all in or not at all, the same way he does everything. He kisses deeper, pinning Gabe to the floor with his tongue alone. Gabe feels his belly tighten with arousal. He opens his mouth wider because it's all he can do. Dave takes and takes and takes. When they do break for air, one of Dave's arms snakes downward, groping under Gabe's t-shirt.

"Dave," Gabe says, lolling his head. Dave is undeterred, nibbling the underside of Gabe's jaw. His fingers find the flat coin of Gabe's nipple, teasing until it pebbles up. "Dave," he tries again, even as his own fingers are busy grabbing handfuls of Dave's ass.

"Hmm?" Dave replies, licking along Gabe's collarbone.

Gabe forces himself to focus. "Dave, we are going to get seven kinds of fired if we keep this up."

Dave groans in protest, reluctantly pulling away. "Fine," he says, rolling off of Gabe. He drops his face in his hands, probably trying to will away his erection.

Gabe sits up, glaring at the tent his crotch. "God," he says, rubbing his face.

"We're going to your place," Dave says. "Right now."

Gabe laughs, not ready to move yet. "David Cortez, I'm not that kind of guy."

Dave looks up at him and grins. "Okay, then how about this:  Gabriel Dumas, would you let me take you out to dinner? And if it's a nice restaurant, if everything is to your satisfaction, would you let me take you home?"

"I'd love to," Gabe says without hesitation.

*~*~*

Dave says he wants to do everything properly. Gabe indulges him, so they end up heading home to change into something more formal. They agree to meet at a posh Italian place a few blocks away from the station. Gabe settles on gray slacks and a burgundy dress shirt.

When he climbs out of his cab, Dave is there to take his hand. Gabe catches a scent of ocean breeze. Dave is wearing black slacks and a red pinstriped dress shirt. He looks incredible; Gabe has to make a conscious effort not to gape.

"Hi," Dave says, dropping a kiss on the corner of his lips.

"Hi, yourself," Gabe says, grip flexing on his cane. "I'm fine," he adds when Dave gives the cane a pointed look. "Just didn't want to ruin our evening by pushing myself."

"Good." Dave curls an arm around his waist and kisses him again. "Hungry?"

"Starving," Gabe confesses, and he may or may not be talking about food.

They move into the restaurant, Dave's hand still around Gabe's waist. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. Once they're seated, nursing red wine and nibbling on bruschetta, Gabe looks up at Dave through his lashes.

"So what did happen between you and Tim?"

Dave pauses, tomato falling from his piece of bread onto his plate. "Our first date, and you want to talk about my ex-boyfriend?"

Gabe gives him a wry smile, moving his own bread around his plate with a finger. "I need to know I didn't ruin your relationship."

Immediately, Dave reaches over and grabs his wrist. "No. Gabe, no. Tim and I … it was a long time coming. In a way, we both knew it. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault, really."

Gabe stares at the fingers touching his wrist. He nods, reaching for his wine. "Dave, I'm not going to lie. I've … thought about this—about us—before. But there's daydreaming and then there's reality." He looks Dave in the eye. "You know if we're in a relationship, we can't be partners."

Dave pulls his arm back, eyes downcast. "I know. So here's my proposal:  we take it slow. Keep it on the down-low, at least until you're going strong again."

Gabe blinks, incredulous. Dave has done a complete one-eighty since the gym. "After five years of waiting, you want us to … wait some more?"

"No." Dave gulps down some wine, still not looking at him. "I don't want to lose you so soon, that's all. I just, I just got you back."

It's unexpectedly raw; Gabe's heart swells. "Dave, that's—" he clears his throat when the waiter appears, and the moment is lost.

They're relatively silent during dinner, but Gabe can feel the intensity of Dave's stare when he's not looking.

*~*~*

Dave's commitment to taking it slow lasts until Gabe's door shuts behind them. Dave shoves him into it so suddenly that it knocks the breath out of him and right into Dave's mouth. They kiss for long minutes, Gabe's cane eventually clattering to the floor.

"What happened to going slow?" Gabe asks. He's just as guilty, pulling at Dave's shirt so he can get his hands up there.

"We're not dating," Dave clarifies, working the buttons at Gabe's collar. "We're just fucking."

"Oh." Gabe tips his head back so Dave can attack the triangle of skin he's just uncovered. "I suppose that makes it okay."

Illuminated only by the aquarium, they neck against the door for an eternity. The apartment is stifling, and they're only making it hotter. Gabe can feel their cocks straining in the confines of their slacks, can feel the sweat beading on Dave's chest. Dave actually pops a button or two when he pushes Gabe's shirt off his shoulders. Gabe then has to stand there, restrained, while Dave's tongue skates across a nipple. His groan of protest only makes Dave do it again and again—makes Dave suck one into his mouth and push his tongue against it. Gabe whines through the zinging sensation, struggling out of his sleeves so he can cup the bulge in Dave's pants.

"Christ," Dave swears, voice rough. He dips, hooking his large hands under Gabe's thighs. Gabe's knee twinges in protest, but he swallows the hurt and moves with it, wrapping his arms around Dave's neck to help maintain balance.

Somehow, Dave gets them to the bedroom. How he manages this walking backwards with Gabe biting at his ear, they may never know. They tumble into the unmade blankets, Dave taking care not to put any pressure on Gabe's leg. Gabe has half a mind to adjust the thermostat. It's on an ambient setting, but it's no match for the heat they're generating. He decides against it; he wants Dave's heat, Dave's sweat.

"Dave," he says, pushing up into the hands at his waist. He reaches down, trying to pull at Dave's shirt, but Dave shimmies out of range.

The swipe of tongue along his slacks is sexier than it has any right to be. Dave does it again, and again, mouthing the bulge. Gabe's mouth falls open and his eyes flutter shut. Dave's fingers are warm against his trembling belly.

When he whimpers, Dave takes pity on him. A few quick motions and his cock is free, hot and heavy in Dave's hand. Dave squeezes him before teasing the slit with his tongue. Before Gabe can ask, Dave swallows him down. He groans, the sound wrenched from his throat. Dave's head bobs up and down as he slurps Gabe's cock. His hair is too short to grab, so Gabe settles for pulling at the bedsheets. His vision fuzzes at the edges and his back bows, the orgasm torn from him almost unwillingly. Dave takes it all, swallowing it down and humming in content.

Gabe blinks away stars. Dave climbs up the bed and settles next to him, leaning on one elbow. He doesn't say anything, but Gabe can feel the hard line of an erection pressing against his side. He reaches for it.

"Gabe," Dave says, and Gabe knows—he
knows
—that Dave is about to start on some spiel about how he should take it easy.

So he doesn't give Dave a chance, deftly working the zipper down and shoving his hand into the folds of his pants. "Let me," he says, rubbing Dave's cock. It only takes three strokes before Dave drops to the mattress, willing and eager. Gabe pops the button on the fly and pushes it completely open.

He'd dreamed, some nights. He'd fantasized at times. Never did he believe he would hold Dave's beautiful cock in his hand—stroking it, teasing it. He leans over to suck on Dave's earlobe, nibbling it and relishing in Dave's tiny, helpless sounds.

When Dave comes, he spills hot over Gabe's wrist, groaning into Gabe's ear. Gabe kisses along Dave's jaw to his mouth. He tastes himself on Dave's tongue and pulls Dave closer with a sticky hand on his dress shirt, and neither of them care. This is their first time:  more than five years later, half-clothed, and practically coming in their pants. It's surreal.

He doesn't know how they're going to keep this a secret.

*~*~*

The standardized examination area is set up but empty. It's a compound out back near the garage, without a single tree to protect trainees from the merciless afternoon sun. Gabe is sweltering in his PT sweats. His bangs are gelled up off his forehead, but he can still feel a bead of perspiration running down his temple.

Gabe can do this. He
has
to do this, he tells himself, fingers flexing around the grip of his empty gun. He takes a deep breath and psyches himself up. It feels a bit strange, kneeling at the starting line without any other recruit hopefuls. Chief Burns and Sergeant Dahl are watching him, Dahl armed with the stopwatch that will make or break Gabe's return to active duty. Across the field, past the standard testing equipment, Archangel is waiting for him.
The first sprint, that's all you need.
He takes another deep breath and glares at the obstacle course.
If you can get up and sprint, it's all downhill from there.

"Go!"

Gabe pushes off before the word is out of Dahl's mouth. His knee protests, but it doesn't fail him. He holsters his gun while he sprints, hitting the six-foot surmount in record time. He's over and down in seconds, hitting the dirt with barely a wince.

Stairs used to be his weakness. By the second traverse across the stair climb task, he thinks they might still be. His kneecap cracks with every step but he keeps going. Dahl doesn't take pity on him, either, making him go over and back all three times. The physical restraint test is easier; they make him do six ninety-degree push-and-pulls, but it gives his knee time to rest.

Jogging around the cones is a welcome reprieve. Gabe is careful not to jar his leg by taking the corners too roughly. Dahl notices but doesn't call him on it. When Gabe reaches the prone mannequin sprawled on the ground, he grabs the victim and quickly but efficiently drags it to safety. The mannequin is heavy, easily almost two hundred pounds, but Gabe pictures a wounded man in its place and it doesn't seem like a chore any longer.

After resting the mannequin on the ground, Gabe proceeds to the final obstacle. He unholsters his gun, puts it through the small metal ring, and fires sixteen shots. The hollow clicking sound isn't very intimidating, but Gabe keeps his arm steady. Then he switches to his left hand and pulls the trigger fifteen more times. Even with his off-hand, the pistol barely wavers.