Sidecar (33 page)

“Kid?” he asked, his voice gruff and pleading.

“Yeah, Joe?”

“Can I grab you and fuck you now?

“’Til I’m blind,” Casey said cheerfully, and Joe dug his fingers into Casey’s thighs and held him just high enough for Joe to piston his hips upward in a frenzied rabbit fuck that had Casey
howling
, throwing his weight a little forward and holding himself on the bed so Joe could
really
cock his hips and hammer him.

“
Oh God, Joe… keep it up… oh God… don’t stop… don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, oh fuck don’t ever stop fucking me!
” And his voice must have done it, or the first contraction of his orgasm. Casey’s entire body froze in a clench around that giant thing in his ass, and he grabbed his cock hard and shot across Joe’s chest, and again and again. For his part, Joe held on tight and buried himself in Casey’s body, howling, coming, hot and hard, until Casey could feel it sliding out of his body and lubricating Joe’s still-erect cock some more as he fucked through both their orgasms, until Casey was slumped on Joe’s chest in a puddle of his own come. His hips could barely twitch anymore, he was so incredibly replete.

“So,” Casey panted as Joe’s hands came up and rested comfortingly on his shoulders, “do you trust me
now
?” He reached up and pulled off the bandana so he could see those wonderful, placid, warm brown eyes while they had this conversation.

Joe nodded, and Casey stretched a little more, letting Joe fall out of his ass in a gush of come, and thought dimly of a shower.

“Good,” he said after their mouths met, and Joe’s tongue swept between his lips, and they retreated. “Because I’ll tell you something.”

“What?”

“I’ll go to Europe, and I’m damned grateful, but I’m not screwing around. Okay?”

Very slowly, Joe’s lips turned up in a smile.

T
HREE
months later, Casey and Alvin were in Europe, having the time of their lives. They were going with a tourist group, the kind that moved from hotel to hotel and then split up with the understanding that if you didn’t make it back to the group, your people at home would be contacted immediately. It was typical of Joe to send Casey in a situation that was so safe and that gave him so much freedom at the same time.

They were in Pisa when Alvin got sunstroke. Poor Alvin—the hot Mediterranean sun had not been good to him. Casey had tanned, his hair turning gold like it did in the summer, but Alvin had spent most of his time burning or trying to keep from being burnt or getting sick because he’d had too much sun.

At Pisa, Alvin—who was great at not whining—had finally had enough. “God, Casey—don’t hate me. I know everyone’s going out to a club tonight, but… Jesus. I just want to sleep. I’m sorry.”

Casey patted him on the shoulder (gingerly—he’d burnt through his shirt) and went downstairs, planning to have a dinner at the hotel and then go back to the room to keep Alvin company. Instead, he met Paolo.

Paolo was a sloe-eyed con man if Casey had ever seen one, and that first twitch of the full lips and slow assessment of the half-lidded, liquid brown eyes made Casey remember his street days, so very long ago, and he had to grin back.

Paolo sauntered up to where Casey was seated, and said, “You look lonely. Would you like some company? My name is Paolo, and I seem to have lost my group.”

Casey looked at him wryly and glanced around the restaurant. Paolo must be exclusively a man’s man, Casey figured, because there were two pretty girls at a table nearby who were looking at him excitedly, and at Casey too, and Casey didn’t want to think about their heartbreak if they figured out what was going on at their little table.

“I’ll tell ya what,” Casey said, feeling generous. Paolo’s white shirt looked a little threadbare, and it may have been a few days since he had showered with a mark. “You sit down, I’ll treat you to dinner, and you skip the song and dance where you try to seduce me and roll me for my wallet.”

Paolo spent a whole thirty seconds trying to look wounded, but apparently the weight of Casey’s skeptical eyebrow was too much. “You are too kind,” he said, seating himself and deferring to Casey as the waiter stopped by.

Casey ordered wine for Paolo and mineral water for himself—he was wearing a new white linen shirt, the kind that opened up almost to the navel, and he didn’t want to spill wine on it before Joe got to see it. Levi had not been doing well when Casey left; Casey wanted Joe to be as happy as possible that Casey was home when he returned, in case things went south.

Casey frowned in thought, knowing that Joe’s voice had sounded funny at their last phone call, in Rome, and wishing he knew what was going on. He’d asked repeatedly about Levi, and Joe had reassured him that their boy was fine. The whole social work thing was still up in the air, but since they had visited the boy damned near every day—hell, even
Alvin
had taken up visiting him at odd hours of the day—that had to count for something, right? The hospital staff knew them, and Alvin had started dating a nurse who worked in labor and delivery, and basically? That tiny child with all the tubes in his battling body had become the one point of purpose in the world of three grown men. The system might not recognize Joe and Casey as parents yet, but Levi was their boy in everyone’s eyes but the law’s.

“Might I ask what is the matter?” Paolo asked, and Casey figured what the hell? He was paying for dinner, right? May as well get a shrink service on the side.

So he started talking about Joe, and about Levi, and about the family and the promise and how he and Joe were in reaching distance of everything they’d ever wanted, and if Levi fought his last cold and the powers that be finally signed their paperwork, it would be within their grasp.

While he was talking, dinner arrived, and they ate—Paolo voraciously and Casey a little more carefully. He was never going to be able to compete with Joe, and his metabolism was going to slow down any day. When he was done, Paolo looked at him and shook his head.

“You would never think,” he said after a moment. “Rich Americans come in all the time. Students whose parents will wire them more money, rich businessmen who are trying to escape their wives. I walked up to a pretty man and thought, ‘He can afford to lose some money. He will probably even enjoy the lay.’ You never think that you are walking up to a man with a lover and a good heart.”

Casey winked. “Well, the good heart is mostly Joe,” he said frankly. “But as for the lover… hey. Could you do me a favor?”

So after dinner, they went up to the concierge, and Casey asked to make a phone call to the States. He used his phone card and gave a sigh of relief when Joe picked up the phone on the fourth ring. Even though it was morning in Foresthill, Joe had put himself on the schedule for nights when Casey was gone. Casey was pretty sure he’d be waking Joe up out of a sound sleep.

“Joe?” he said, winking at Paolo. “How’s Levi?”

“Out of the woods,” Joe said, and Casey gave a sigh of relief. “Weren’t you going to call me tomorrow?”

“Yeah, baby. I just wanted to tell you something.”

“Okay.” Joe yawned. “You know. Fire away.”

“I’m standing here with a beautiful… oh God,
amazing-
looking guy. He’s hot. Just… fuckworthy in the extreme.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because he’s about to leave the hotel to find someplace to stay, and we will
not
have sex. Isn’t that right, Paolo?”

He gestured at Paolo, who bent down and spoke into the phone. “Is true,” he said winsomely, winking at Casey.

“Is that okay?” Casey asked and was rewarded by Joe’s dry chuckle, echoing darkly in his ear. Something about the sound reminded Casey of their room in the moonlight and Joe moving slowly and powerfully in Casey’s body, like he had the night before Casey left.

“Yeah, kid. It’s absolutely fine with me if you don’t have sex with a handsome stranger. I love you, Casey.”

“I love you too, Josiah. I really miss home.”

“Four more weeks.”

“Too long.”

“You’re telling me. Enjoy yourself, okay?”

“I promise.”

And with that, Casey rang off. Paolo bent and kissed his cheek and only made a halfhearted grab at Casey’s wallet before he left, and Casey went upstairs so he could bring a bottle of fruit juice and sparkling water to Alvin.

We’ll Be Together

~Joe

C
ASEY
’
S
call
had
woken Joe up at nine in the morning after a swing shift—but he didn’t go back to sleep.

The first thing he did was go to the social services office in Auburn and sign what he’d been told was the final round of paperwork. He’d believe that eventually, but as it was, he and Roy Petty were practically old friends now. Petty had investigated the house, which turned out to be an excuse to stay for dinner, because Petty was newly divorced and not really a bad guy. Really, really
busy
, and not inclined to socialize when there was a kid present, but not a bad guy. They’d rented a movie—Roy asked him if he’d seen
Philadelphia
yet, and Joe said no, he and Casey wouldn’t watch it. They’d seen too much of it in the last eight years, and it just hurt too damned much. Instead, they rented
Four Weddings and a Funeral
,
which had come out the year before as well, and Joe had liked it very much. In fact, he liked it enough to buy it used, because he wanted Casey to see it with him.

So this visit in, Roy shook his hand and said, “When Levi is released from the hospital, Mr. Daniels, call me. I’ll be there to sign you out and to check on you for the first two years. If there are no challenges after two years in your home, then he should—barring anything unforeseen—be yours to keep.” Roy smiled kindly, looking tired, and anxiously glanced at his clock for the next appointment. “He’s already yours, Joe. You and Casey made a real nice home.”

Joe had smiled, pleased, bashful, and not quite believing that it was true, and gone on to his next errand.

He was driving the pickup truck with a dolly and a ramp in the back, because he was going to need them. He went to Rocklin, to Ruhkala Monument and picked up two basic headstones. One read “Seth Joshua Daniels, b. Feb. 22, 1995, d. March 7, 1995, Son to Casey and Joe.” The other one read, quite simply, “Rufus.”

Joe hadn’t had the heart to tell Casey about Rufus. He’d had no idea how old the dog was—they’d had him for eight years, but old Ira had probably had him for six before that. One morning, Joe got up to let the dogs out only to find them curled up in the kitchen instead of by his bed where they’d been sleeping. That morning, Rufus hadn’t gotten up. Hi had lingered, sniffing the cold body where his friend had once been, and Joe had been heartbroken, particularly because Casey hadn’t been there.

If it had been Levi, well, Joe’s passport was still in order—he would have flown to wherethehellever and given Casey the news himself. But it was Rufus, and Casey couldn’t do anything about it, so Joe hadn’t told him, and he hoped it was the right decision.

He’d buried Rufus where he’d buried Seth’s ashes (because he’d been given custody of them and had applied for a permit to do that on his own property)—out in the back stretch, where you only went if you were looking for a lonely walk in the woods.

Hi had taken to wandering over there and sleeping in the impression made by the displaced dirt, and Joe thought that after Casey got home, they’d go pick out another puppy from the nearby shelter to keep him company, if he looked to last that long. Poor thing was like to grieve himself to death without his buddy. Joe might have to get that puppy alone.

So his second stop was to the headstone place. It was family owned and had been in the area for over a hundred years. There was even a street in Rocklin named after the family, and a little house rumored to sit on a foundation made entirely of broken headstones.

His third stop was to the pick-and-pull places in Rocklin and Roseville. There were a couple of them in the area, back to back, big junkyards out by the railroad, acres of cars stretching out to be sold as parts. Joe had sat down with a pad and pencil during breakfast, doing the math so he could get his first round of parts. By the time he was finished with that, it was five o’clock on a blistering afternoon. The temperatures were in the low hundreds, and the dust was so bad he could barely breathe. He rolled the windows down in the truck on his way up to his place, because the truck still didn’t have air-conditioning. He left the truck parked when he got home, hopped on the bike in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt, and rode it down to Lake Sugar Pine, which was less than twenty minutes away. He swam in the lake for an hour and dried off as he rode the bike home in the green/red twilight of the foothills, planning his next move.

J
OE
waited anxiously at the gate of Casey’s return flight at Sacramento’s newly “international” airport, so called because it had a flight to Mexico. (It was big news—there was a sculpture of piled suitcases and everything!) Casey and Alvin should be coming up the ramp at any time—the arrivals/departures board said they’d arrived half an hour ago. Casey was, in all but his actual physical presence in Joe’s arms, home.

Alvin’s girlfriend, Wendy, was there waiting with him, casting surreptitious and shy looks Joe’s way until he said something friendly. She smiled and replied, and together they talked about when they’d heard from the boys and what they’d been doing and how much they’d enjoyed the trip. It wasn’t long before he was thinking Alvin should have Wendy for dinner more often, but odds were good Alvin probably wasn’t going to let her out of the bedroom for at least another week.

Then Casey shouted, and everything else left his brain.

For a moment, Joe just looked at him hungrily as Casey dodged through the crowd coming from the plane, hauling Joe’s old duffel bag over his shoulder as a carry-on. He was brown, which he usually was in the summer, and his hair had grown over his collar and was shiny gold from the sun. His face was a little bit rounder than it had been when he’d left—he’d complained about the rich food during the whole trip—but his deep-set eyes were squinting as he smiled, and he was
galloping
in an ecstasy of delight that Joe should be standing right there.