Take a Chance on It

  He’d been staring at the bland beige countertop so he didn’t have to see Gideon’s reaction. If Gideon looked at him in disgust, Dane would punch him. If Gideon tried to hug him and pity him, Dane would punch him twice.

  Gideon came and stood close, close enough to feel him, smell him, warm leather and crisp aftershave. The inch of air between them teased the hair on Dane’s arms. “You’re not going to die.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “When’s the last time I promised something that didn’t happen?”

  “You couldn’t stop Theo from marrying Kieran.”

  “But I changed my mind on that. I’m not changing my mind about you dying.”

  Dane straightened up from his hunch over the counter, and Gideon was there, solid, hard body to lean on, arms wrapping around Dane’s waist.

  “I’m scared,” Dane admitted to the glass-fronted cabinet. “Can’t I just skip it all somehow?”

  “’Fraid not.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Dane picked out Gideon’s reflection, his face quartered by the wooden pieces dividing the glass into panes. “You should have to do something that scares the shit out of you.”

  “Fine. After your treatment, I’ll go skydiving with you. Once.”

  “I don’t mean like that.” Needing to see the eyes that were blocked by a piece of trim, Dane turned to face Gideon. “I mean something that feels like letting someone cut you open and pour poison in you.” Dane pulled the neck of his T-shirt wide enough to show Gideon the port.

  No, thank you. I’d actually rather cut my wrists.

  Gideon had said that once, when Dane had suggested participating in a psychological study. They’d both been flat broke, Dane starting grad school at Hofstra and Gideon going to law school at NYU. The study paid and Gideon, with his alcoholic father, had been a perfect candidate.

  Gideon’s eyes narrowed. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, no.”

  “Sure. I’m supposed to just get through it while you get to mumble platitudes about life? No way. If I have to do another two months of this, you’re doing something about your own fucked-up life.”

  “Thank you for the commentary, but my life is fine.” Gideon’s arms dropped to his sides, but he didn’t step away.

  “Right. That’s why you’re a workaholic who doesn’t actually like his job, who’s never had a serious relationship.”

  “Christ, I don’t need therapy to tell me I’m a fucked-up asshole. I have the three of you to do it for me.”

  “Not therapy,” Dane agreed. There was no guarantee Gideon could even find a therapist on short notice, or that it would be the right one for him. He needed something that focused on the actual issue. His family. “ACOA meetings.”

  “I’m not an alcoholic.” Gideon turned away and snapped down the lid on the first-aid kit.

  “It’s for adult children of alcoholics. You going to tell me you’re not that?”

  “I’m going to tell you it’s none of your business.” Gideon started to carry the first-aid kit back to the bathroom.

  “If we’re going to get married, it is.”

  Gideon stopped in the kitchen doorway, leather-clad back to Dane.

  “I’ll do it. Go down to city hall with you tomorrow, do everything Fuentes tells me to. Take my goddamned lethal medicine if you take yours.”

  Gideon turned, skin tight over the bones of his face. “One meeting.”

  “For each one of my chemo treatments.”

  Gideon shook his head. “Three.”

  Dane hadn’t really expected Gideon to agree. It had been about getting Gideon to understand what it was he was asking Dane to do. “All right. Three. But you go between now and the end of my protocol.”

  Gideon nodded.

  Dane leaned back against the counter. “So, are we hyphenating our names or what?”

  GIDEON PUT the first-aid kit in the bathroom cabinet and made a silent sigh of relief as he closed the door.

  Dane had always been a shark at negotiation, could turn a no into a yes better than anyone Gideon had met in the legal field. But all that mattered was that Dane had agreed. To the treatment, the coverage, the marriage.

  It was only sensible and reasonable. Expeditious. Gideon avoided looking at himself in the mirror, afraid he’d see some reflection of the tiny bubble of happiness in his chest.

  This wasn’t going to be a real relationship between them. Not the kind that came with expectations of behavior and permanence. And it had come at such a cost that only the most loathsome human being could be happy about it.

  Gideon faced himself.

  Hello, loathsome. And you thought Daddy DeLuca was the real scum.

  He went back into the kitchen to find Dane pinching the handle of the teakettle he was filling to avoid pressure on his cut hand.

  Biting on an inside cheek to avoid grabbing it and taking over, Gideon leaned on the counter and folded his arms. “Are we expecting the queen?”

  “Not unless you want the title, babe.” Dane stretched on tiptoe to pull down a small paper bag from the top shelf of a cabinet.

  Unable to contain his curiosity, Gideon strolled over and opened it. Tea, as he’d expected, but this was full of bits of bark and other dried vegetation. He sniffed and choked back a gag. Based on the smell, it also may have contained some of the fertilizer used to cultivate the plants.

  “What is that shit? And I use the term literally.”

  Dane sniffed and screwed up his face in disgust. “Some herbal blend recommended by Spencer’s chiropractor. Dr. Fuentes said there was no contraindication to it if it didn’t leave me dehydrated. The chiropractor swears it’s beneficial to my lymph system.”

  When Dane chose a path, he went down it hard. The problem, Gideon knew, was getting Dane to stick with anything. Even his career consisted of moving from grant to grant, preparing ecological impact studies on different parts of the coast.

  “Have you tried this herbal blend yet?”

  Dane eyed the top of the cabinet where it had come from and shook his head. “I took one whiff and shoved it up there.” He grinned evilly. “But since you’re going to share in my suffering, we can try it together.”

  “You’re a sadistic motherfucker.”

  “I’m telling Mama J.”

  Gideon located the broom and dustpan and went out to tackle the debris in the dining room.

  After transferring the surviving frames to one of the boxes, he loaded the damaged ones and the broken glass into the other. He recognized fewer than half of the places in the pictures, places Spencer had taken Dane, indulging his appetite for variety. Gideon brushed a thumb across the cheek of an enraptured Dane at the top of that Peruvian mountain site Dane had always wanted to go to. His dark blond curls blew across his face as he looked out over the ruins, a frozen bit of awe in his eyes. Damn, Spencer was good at his job.

  Good at a lot.

  Except for sticking around when it counted. There, Gideon was pretty sure he had him beat. But that wasn’t the kind of thing that made Dane’s face look like it did in the picture.

  Gideon tossed the photo into the box and swept more glass in on top. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know he and Dane got each other off like no one else. And no matter how they fought, whatever they said to each other, they ended up coming back for more. What else Gideon knew was that it had never been enough—not for Dane. And Gideon didn’t think it would ever be.

  “Get in here,” Dane called, and the urgent tone had Gideon dropping the broom and sprinting through the arch to the kitchen.

  There was no disaster with boiling water. The burner was off, a strainer in the sink.

  Dane eyed him over the rim of a mug. “Get your cock out. I need something to get the taste of this crap out of my mouth.”

  Chapter 9

  “EXCUSE ME?” Gideon demanded.

  Dane watched Gideon’s throat work, a sure sign he was trying to hide a rush of arousal with that imperious tone.

  Dane
would never understand why Gideon made such a big deal about sex—or at least about sex between the two of them. Sex was fun, a basic human need, and with Gideon, it was always fan-fucking-tastic. Right now he ought to be glad Dane wasn’t planning on making Gideon drink his share of that vile shit.

  After swilling down the rest of what tasted like smoky dirt with a bitter licorice chaser, Dane crossed over to Gideon and put a hand on his zipper. “I said, ‘Get your cock out. I want to blow you.’”

  Gideon covered Dane’s hand with his own. “To get the taste of that tea out of your mouth.”

  “You’re about to get your dick sucked, and you know I’m good at it. I can’t see an argument.” Dane knelt. The tea sloshed in his gut a little.

  Gideon’s hand fell away. Dane brought his uninjured hand up to trace the swell of Gideon’s dick in the leg of his jeans.

  The jeans were soft and thin, Gideon hard enough that Dane could find the coronal ridge easily with a thumb. He licked his lips in anticipation.

  Gideon gasped as Dane’s thumb stroked. Every pulse and twitch he felt in that skin echoed in his own dick.

  Sitting on his heels, he looked up and unzipped Gideon’s fly. “You’re hot as fuck in that jacket.”

  “Thank you,” Gideon said as politely as if Dane had been a waiter dropping off a check.

  “You should wear it tomorrow.”

  Gideon made that same gasp, though Dane wasn’t touching anything but the two sides of Gideon’s waistband. Dane opened the jeans, revealing black pubes and the bloodred base of Gideon’s trapped cock. Nothing under the denim but skin.

  “Optimistic much?”

  Gideon shrugged and slid a hand down to ease his dick free. “I think the word you’re looking for there is correct.”

  Dane’s mouth watered as he brushed his lips across the head. “If that tea wasn’t so gross, I might have to prove you wrong on principle.”

  Gideon cupped the back of Dane’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine that ended up a sweet jolt of want in his balls. “You gonna talk to it or suck it, Archer?”

  Dane parted his lips and let Gideon drag him forward, mouth opening around the head, taking him just to the ridge. His tongue flicked across the slit, then flattened on it and lapped.

  Gideon sighed and spread his legs wider, hips pushing him forward against the rub and press of Dane’s tongue.

  A slippery drop of salt rewarded his efforts, then another, coating his tongue. The much more pleasant smell and taste from Gideon’s skin and precome replaced the earthy residue from the herbs.

  Dane hadn’t been kidding about wanting to get the taste out of his mouth, but as he soaked Gideon’s cock with spit and took it deeper, Dane forgot everything but Gideon. His dick, the feel of it, slick and satiny over the iron-hard shaft. The special spongy rub of the head against Dane’s palate, the veins throbbing on his tongue.

  And sweet gods, the smell of him, like nothing else Dane could describe. Sex and sweat yes, but that head-rush top note that was pure Gideon.

  After filling his lungs, Dane sank down all the way, fitting the solid length into his throat, burying his nose in that dizzying scent from Gideon’s skin.

  “Fucking Christ,” Gideon muttered and jerked, holding Dane’s head there, shoving against the back of Dane’s throat.

  Dane hummed, and Gideon started bucking. Cupping Gideon’s balls, Dane let a finger slide toward Gideon’s hole.

  Dane had meant to take it a bit slower than their usual gotta-get-off-right-the-hell-now pace. Meant to draw it out a little, but Gideon’s breath was whistling through his teeth, balls full and heavy, cock pulsing against Dane’s tongue.

  Dane bobbed fast, pressed his finger in, and Gideon came with a bit-off yelp and convulsive thrusts of his hips. Dane drank him down as Gideon’s fingers dug into Dane’s scalp, holding him there for the first deep pulse, and then two—no, three—more shuddered through Gideon’s body. Dane lapped gently until Gideon pushed him off.

  Gideon cradled Dane’s cheek, rubbed a thumb across his lips. Breath still uneven, Gideon panted, “I’d be embarrassed if you didn’t give the best head in the five boroughs. I think that was a record.”

  He was so easy—things between them were always so much easier—after sex.

  Dane turned to kiss Gideon’s palm. “Nope. That time in the dorm laundry room still stands uncontested. And what do you mean five boroughs? The entire East Coast, at least.” He wiped his mouth on Gideon’s jeans.

  “Better now?” Gideon’s voice had returned to normal, but there was a softness to it that stirred pride to straighten Dane’s shoulders.

  “Shouldn’t that be my line?” Dane smiled, enjoying the pull of his swollen lips.

  “I meant the taste.”

  “Right.” Dane sat back on his heels. “A definite improvement.”

  “Get up here. I should make sure.”

  Gideon didn’t have anything smart to say as Dane used him for leverage to get vertical, just met him with an open-mouthed kiss. Gideon’s hand slid into the slit of Dane’s sweats even as a press on his shoulder had him turning around.

  Dane leaned back into Gideon’s chest, already riding the sensation of those first few strokes.

  “I’m not the only one free-balling today.” Gideon’s hand made a light twist, right under the head of Dane’s dick.

  “’S my hou—I’m home. Not running… mmm… in public.”

  Dane’s head got lighter, and he let it drop back against Gideon’s shoulder. Fuck, that felt good. It damned well should. After the last two treatments, his libido had been letting him down.

  Gideon rubbed the wetness out of the slit and then brought his hand up, filling Dane’s ears with filthy, wet slurps as he coated his palm and fingers with spit.

  Gideon’s hand glided on Dane’s shaft now, delicious strokes, perfect friction.

  “After you come”—Gideon’s voice curled like a tongue in Dane’s ear—“you’re going to go upstairs and pack what you need for the next couple weeks.”

  Dane felt an instant protest at being told what to do, but Gideon’s hand was moving faster, and arguing seemed like a waste of air right then.

  “I am?”

  “You are.” Gideon’s breath was hot, sticky, so very sweet.

  “Where am I… uh… going?”

  Gideon switched to longer, slower strokes, letting Dane ride out the climb, backing him away from the edge.

  “You’re coming—” Gideon paused to tongue the side of Dane’s neck, his ear, until the words felt like kisses as they blew across the wet patches. “—back with me—” Lick, kiss, breath. “—to the loft—” A graze of teeth, tingling. “—where you’re going to be staying for a while.”

  “Uh, it’s… oh fuck… bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

  “Then I guess blowing him was a really bad idea.” Gideon’s grip tightened, and he concentrated friction right under the head. “Besides, that only applies to a bride.”

  “Fuck… ing lawyers.”

  “And this….” Gideon stopped stroking.

  He circled fingers and thumb tight at the base, reversing everything into Dane’s already full balls, and he wanted to take the insult back.

  Shit, please, I’m sorry. Finish me.

  Tongue, lips, a tingling suck under his ear while Dane bit his lip.

  “This,” Gideon repeated, “is not standard bride equipment.”

  Dane would have spit the rejoinder, “And how many wedding dresses have you looked under?” But he couldn’t. Because Gideon was jerking him off again. Hard, steady strokes, faster, thumb in exactly the right spot. Everything Dane needed to make the pleasure jolt hot and thick from his balls to the tip of his dick. And then Gideon sucked a tiny love bite in the skin he’d made hypersensitive, and Dane couldn’t think at all.

  A final thought that this was totally the last thing he wanted to feel before he died, and then the bright orgasm confetti shorted out his brain, and he shot, spasms
rocking him, the pleasure spilling over and over, all slippery and sharp smelling.

  Gideon took more of Dane’s weight as he sagged against him, wrung out and blissful.

  “Go pack.”

  Dane turned his head so he could kiss Gideon’s jaw. “You think I’m going to run off on you.”

  “No.”

  Despite the crispness of Gideon’s answer, Dane suspected it was a lie.

  Gideon continued. “I think you don’t really want to be here. Alone.”

  Though most of Dane’s jizz had hit his sweats, there was a puddle on the floor he and Spencer had retiled as their first homeowners’ project. Their house. Where Dane had respectfully never had sex with anyone else. Until now.

  Fuck you, Spencer. I hope you see that there whenever you come to claim your precious Waterford goblets.

  Dane turned completely and landed a kiss on Gideon’s soft-with-surprise mouth. “They have stores in Manhattan, right?”

  “A few, as I recall.”

  “So fuck it. Let’s just go.”

  Chapter 10

  THE ONLY thing worse than the sounds echoing through the block-long marble hall of the New York City Marriage Bureau were the smells. Dane’s sinuses ached. The range went from the acrid clash of mothballed tuxedos and dry-cleaned gowns to the cloying of too much perfume or cologne, to the burned chemicals of hair products, all of it infused with a miasma of human sweat. He cast a glance down to the buckets of bouquets for sale at the end of the hall, tempted to grab one to wield like the nosegay of an inhabitant in bubonic plague-era London.

  The numbers on the counter went to C426. The ticket tucked in the pocket of Gideon’s leather jacket had them as C432. Based on the average cycle, that meant fifteen more minutes. Dane pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to regard his and Gideon’s witnesses, who were currently occupying a third of one of the bilious green sofas. Jax, Oz, and Theo sat, while Kieran and Gideon held up one of the gilt-topped pillars.

  The number switched over to C427. A bride in a veil and a poofy white dress who’d been bouncing a suit-and-tie-clad toddler on her knee rose from the far end of the sofa.