Venetian Masks (25 page)

“I don’t know why.”

“I could list a bunch of reasons if you’re fishing for compliments.” Jeff felt the puff of air against his skin when Cleve snorted in response, and Jeff responded with a tickle against the side of his lover’s waist before continuing to speak. “People make bad decisions. I stuck with Kyle even when I knew deep down that we weren’t… weren’t meant to be. Sorry. Too many romance novels, I guess. And you made an even worse decision, to stick with Eddie because he made you feel wanted. But me falling for you? That doesn’t feel like the wrong decision at all—jilted mobsters notwithstanding.”

Cleve was silent for a long time after Jeff’s little speech, until he finally said, “You don’t trust me. You can’t. How do you know that everything I’ve said to you isn’t a lie?”

“Doesn’t change how I feel.”

“Fuck. So if I tell you I love you back, how do you know I’m not lying about that too?”

“I don’t. I guess… I’m going to hope for the best.”

Cleve snorted again, softer this time, and shook his head against Jeff’s body. “I love you, Just Jeff,” he whispered.

Jeff smiled.

Cleve began to move against him, slowly but purposefully. First he rolled to his side and shoved his nose deeply into Jeff’s armpit, inhaling several times. Jeff could feel Cleve’s cock hardening against his hip and wanted to stroke it, but instead used his fingers to explore the contours of Cleve’s back, his strong muscles and broad scapulae, the tender nape of his neck. Cleve hummed his approval, undulated a little bit, and moved his head so he could lick and nibble at the pink peaks of Jeff’s nipples.

And then suddenly he stopped and looked up at Jeff. “Porn’s not like this.”

“Huh?” Jeff was completely lost.

“When I modeled, it was all about being aware of camera angles and making sure you stayed hard and listening to the director or photographer and catching the money shot. I’m not saying I hated it or anything. But it wasn’t like this, when all I gotta worry about is whether I’m making you feel good.”

“And you, Cleve. Worry about you feeling good too.”

Cleve grinned. “No problem,” he said and returned his attention to Jeff’s chest.

The wind rattled the window in its frame, and rain continued to pound against the glass. The air in the room became thick, slowing the men’s movements, and every flash of lightning outside was answered with a tingle in Jeff’s spine as he and Cleve passed hands and mouths over each other’s damp skin.

They were again devoid of condoms and lube, but that didn’t matter. Jeff was too busy memorizing Cleve’s scent and flavor, cataloging his inchoate little sounds of pleasure, mapping every inch of his body more intimately than GPS ever could. Cleve’s facial stubble was wonderfully rough against Jeff’s inner thighs, his fingers as clever as any musician’s. Jeff couldn’t remember what city he was in or even what country, didn’t care about lost luggage or changes in plans. All that was important to him at that moment was Cleve, and touching him right
here
or licking him just
there
, feeling Cleve’s heart beating against his chest, inhaling the molecules Cleve breathed out.

They climaxed within moments of each other and lay in sweaty, languorous bliss, Cleve’s head pillowed by Jeff’s shoulder.

Chapter 17

T
HEY
woke up slowly. The storm had passed and night had fallen. The room was dark except for the bit of light that crept in under the door. Cleve gave Jeff a few teasing pets and a kiss, then climbed out of bed to wrestle the window open. Cool air rushed in. Cleve leaned his elbows on the wide sill and looked outside. Jeff, however, was treated to the dimly lit but still arousing view of his lover’s fine, firm ass.

“Now neither of us has a toothbrush,” Cleve said.

“Oh shit!” Jeff had been lying down, but he sat up very quickly.

Cleve turned his head to look at him. “No big deal. I’m sure they have toothbrushes in Trieste.”

“My pills.”

After a moment of blankness, Cleve winced. “Shit. I’m sorry, Jeff. We can go to a pharmacy in the morning. Maybe if I sweet talk ’em, they’ll give you the meds without a prescription.”

“Maybe.”

“Can you get through tonight without them?” Cleve walked over to the mattress to run his fingers through Jeff’s tousled hair.

“Yeah,” Jeff said, feeling like an idiot—the kind of
special
idiot who had to be handled with kid gloves. “I should’ve kept them on me. I bet you would have.”

“I’ve been on the run for a long time and you haven’t. Not like anyone gave you an instruction manual. Fuck, I should have thought of this.”

Jeff climbed out of bed. “It’s okay. It’s not going to kill me. But starvation might. Think we can find someplace to eat?”

“Probably.”

They dressed and tried to tame their hair with tap water and fingers. After they clomped down the stairs, Cleve had a brief conversation with their host, who was still sitting on the couch in front of the TV. The only parts of the guy that seemed to move were his hands.

It was a short walk down the hill toward the main square. The cobbles were still slippery from the rain, but the sky was now clear and the stars twinkled merrily overhead. Cleve took them to a shop-lined pedestrian area behind the square, to a small restaurant with outdoor tables protected by an awning. They were thankful for their jackets, because although it was chilly, it was pleasant to sit outside and watch people stroll by.

Their waiter seemed to take a shine to Cleve. They talked together at great length in Italian, and Jeff would have felt a little left out if Cleve hadn’t winked at him.

They ended up with enormous plates piled high with sliced boiled pork and ham. Sauerkraut, mustard, horseradish, and crusty bread came on the side, and they each had a big glass of beer. Everything tasted wonderful. Almost before Jeff knew it, his plate was clean. Afterward, they had to walk only a few yards away to buy delicious gelato.

“Still starving?” Cleve asked.

Jeff rubbed his belly. “Nope.”

“Then let’s go for a walk.”

They walked along the waterfront for a while, watching the lights reflected in the water. Then they headed back through the main square and up the hill, which became steeper after they passed their motel. At one point, they came across a small niche built into a stone wall: blue paint and yellow stars over a bright Madonna and Child, all lit by a streetlamp. But at the very top of the hill was an ancient church, an even older castle, and Roman ruins, as well as panoramic views of the city and the sea.

“Archduke Ferdinand could have built a castle anywhere, but he chose this city,” Cleve said, looking out at the Adriatic. “Then the poor bastard got himself executed in Mexico. Never declare yourself emperor of Mexico, baby.”

Jeff had no idea what Cleve was talking about, but he nodded agreeably. “’Kay. Where would you build your castle?”

“Don’t want a castle. Just… a nice little home and someone to share it with.”

“Now you’re sounding like one of my novels.”

“Guess you’re rubbing off on me.” Cleve leaned back slightly, resting some of his weight against Jeff.

Rubbing off on Cleve sounded like a good idea, Jeff thought. What he said instead was, “I guess you’d want to live somewhere exotic.”

“Just Jeff, for me Sacramento
is
exotic.

They strolled around the hill for a long time. Sometimes they came across a little restaurant, bright with lights and activity, or sometimes a car went screeching past, but mostly they were alone in the darkness. They held hands.

Even though they had spent hours sitting in the train and had later taken a nap, they were both yawning well before midnight, when they returned to their room. The man wasn’t on the couch anymore. He’d been replaced with another young guy who was probably his brother.

Jeff and Cleve climbed tiredly up the stairs. Cleve groped Jeff’s ass as they went, which made Jeff think that maybe they had another round in them before bedtime. But they had just closed the door to their room when someone knocked. They exchanged nervous glances, and then Cleve threw the door open.

They were both relieved to see the first of the couch-sitting men. But that relief was short-lived. The man said something to Cleve—complete with florid gesticulations—and Cleve paled. As soon as the man was gone again, Cleve began shoving his few possessions into the plastic shopping bag he’d acquired in Ljubljana. “He was here, asking about us. An hour ago.”

Jeff didn’t have anything to pack. His Kindle and laptop and ceramic tile were still in the messenger bag. He slipped the strap over his shoulder and raced Cleve back down the stairs. They waved at the brother on the couch and ran outside.

“What if Eddie’s at the train station? Or he could have someone there, watching for you.”

“I know,” Cleve said with a sigh. “But we gotta get out of town somehow.”

They walked quickly but, Jeff hoped, unobtrusively down through the square, where the cafés were all closed and dark, along the waterfront, and to the station. Cleve bought tickets, and when a train chugged to the platform ten minutes later, they climbed on. “Where to this time?” asked Jeff. He and Cleve were leaning against each other, their legs stretched out in front of them.

“Back to the beginning, man. We’re heading to Venice.”

I
T
WAS
only a two-hour ride, and they both slept most of the way, waking up only when the train came to a smooth stop at Santa Lucia. At this hour, the station was mostly deserted, the broad concrete steps were empty of people and pigeons, and even the waters of the Grand Canal were tranquil and still.

“God, it’s a beautiful city,” said Cleve.

Jeff had to agree.

They walked along the canal for a short while, then along a street with jewelry shops and
gelaterias
. “Do you know where we’re going?” Jeff asked.

Cleve stopped very suddenly. He looked at Jeff, his eyes visibly stricken even in the soft lamplight. “I can’t do this,” he said hoarsely.

“Do what?”

Cleve stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. “I need to talk to a couple of people.”

“Okay.”

“You go to your time-share, okay? See if they can get you a room. If they can’t, there’s a decent hotel just off the
campo
where we used to meet. Hotel Ca’ Luna. Meet me there.”

“But—”

“Please.” Cleve squeezed Jeff’s shoulder hard. “Won’t take me long.” And before Jeff could craft a response, he turned down a side street and was gone.

Jeff felt ill and exhausted. He knew there would be nobody at the time-share at this hour of the night, so he headed straight for the
campo
instead—or as straight as Venice’s streets permitted, anyway. He found the hotel without any problem—another relic of grander days, faded but proud—and was relieved to discover a sleepy mustached man behind the counter. “Do you have a room available?” Jeff asked.

The man yawned and poked at his computer keyboard. After what felt like forever, he nodded. “
Sì
,
signore
. I have one with a double bed and private bath. One hundred seventy euros.”

“Perfect.”

Jeff handed over his credit card and waited to be checked in. More clicking and clacking, and finally he was handed a little cardboard sleeve containing two plastic key cards. He had to walk up a flight of stairs to get to his room, which proved to be small. The private bathroom was obviously not original, and three of its walls protruded awkwardly into the main room, reducing the space even more. The room was decorated with a glass chandelier, lots of gilding, a red-and-gold brocade coverlet on the bed, and a matching canopy. It looked like a place Marie Antoinette would stay if she were slumming it.

The bed looked inviting. But after poking around for a few minutes, using the toilet, and washing his hands and face, Jeff traipsed back to the lobby. Having learned a lesson, he brought his messenger bag with him. “Is it all right if I sit here?” he asked the desk clerk. “I’m waiting for someone.”

The man shrugged his unconcern, and Jeff sat in a chair upholstered in gold floral fabric. He took out his Kindle, but his tired eyes couldn’t focus well enough to read, so he put it away again. And then he just sat.

He knew how this would end. He’d known the moment Cleve walked away from him. Probably even well before that. Every time they parted, he expected that he’d never see Cleve again. And now his expectation had come true.

The first rays of sunshine had already appeared, and Jeff was stiff and sore when he stood. He limped to the desk. “I’m…. Somebody might come looking for me. He has dark hair and a leather motorcycle jacket. If he shows up, please send him to my room.” Then he had another thought. “But don’t tell anyone else. Please!”

The clerk raised a single eyebrow. “Very well. I will leave here soon, but I will leave a note for my replacement.”

“Thanks. Grazie.”

Feeling as miserable as he had ever been, Jeff trudged back to his room. He set his bag on a chair and kicked off his shoes, then collapsed onto the mattress and fell asleep.