Drawn Together (25 page)

“Yes, sir.” Rory grinned.

“Can I try a piece of that?” Yamane pointed to some mahogany-colored bits of meat on a piece of aluminum foil. “Please?”

Skeeter seemed delighted to show off his expertise. “You surely may. Those are the burnt ends of the brisket -- you just go ahead and try that now.” He allowed Yamane to take the juicy brown beef bit from the end of his vast carving knife like he had with the other tidbits he’d fed him, treating him a little like an exotic pet.

Yamane closed his eyes and ate, moaning over the morsel.

“He doesn’t get out much,” said Rory.

“Oh, I can see; fellow like him must spend his days at home with his head in a bag.” Skeeter rolled his eyes.

“Excuse me?” Yamane snapped.

150

Z. A. Maxfield

Rory and Skeeter laughed. Yamane had liked the huge, sad-eyed pit master immediately when they’d stopped at this small, family-owned smoke-pit barbecue joint in northern Louisiana. He was taller than Rory by about five inches, which made him a giant to Yamane. He clearly saw more than was on the surface, but seemed nonjudgmental and kind.

“Where did you say you were from again?” he asked Yamane.

“Well, I’m originally from New York, but I live in Japan,” Yamane answered. “So you can see why decent barbecue hasn’t come my way before now.”

“Decent?” Skeeter raised his brows.

“Amazing,” said Yamane, playing the game. “Incandescent, radiant, fabulous, and mind-altering barbecue.”

Skeeter smiled at the smaller man’s delight.

Yamane found Rory staring off into space and touched him tentatively on the arm to bring him back. “Where were you?” he asked quietly, feeling, maybe for the first time in his life, that he had a right to a lover’s private thoughts.

Rory smiled. “Lost somewhere between your delight at southern barbecue and the beauty of your face when you’re happy.”

“Oh, Rory.” Yamane put his napkin to his lips and hid an embarrassed smile. “Oh, my.”

“Now then,” said Skeeter, looking around as though he were about to share the government secrets to a nuclear treaty. “I can see you like barbecue, but I wonder, sir, if you’ve ever indulged in a little thing we here in the south like to call soul food?” Skeeter held his hand up to stop Yamane from answering right away. “I warn you. It isn’t for the faint of heart.”

Yamane felt like a kid in a candy shop. “Bring it on,” he said. “But I think I’m going to need a drink to go with it. Can I get some bourbon and a beer?” he asked.

Skeeter laughed as though he’d made the best joke in the world.

Rory’s cell phone rang, and he got up, taking it from his pocket as he walked. He was heading away from Skeeter, who was talking about greens and pot likker and good corn bread to sop it up with when he answered.

“Yes? I’m here.” He chanced a look back at Yamane, who seemed entranced by the talk of food.

“Rory, it’s me, Rene. I think I’ve solved your grandparent problem. I’ve just arrested Claude and Euphonia on drug charges. They’re in jail right now.”

“You’re shitting me! How’d Miss Euphonia take to that, I wonder?”

“Oddly enough, she knew why I did it right from the get-go. She’s had her eye on Amelia herself and wasn’t surprised at all when I told her what was happening. She’s knitting me a scarf for the winter, she says, in case I go someplace where it gets cold enough Drawn Together

151

to wear one. And now that she’s found out that Yamane is a man, she says to tell him he’s far better off without a woman like that.”

“That sounds like her.” Rory closed his eyes and blew out the last of his tension. “So, now what?”

“I was thinking it might be fun if Yamane never came to St. Antoine’s Parish at all,” said Chanfreau in a musing sort of way, as if thinking aloud. “Only if Amelia thought he was right there, in Miss Euphonia’s house, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s kind of what I’ve been thinking too. But I didn’t know how to make it happen.” Rory had been running across the country with Yamane on instinct, hiding as best he could.

He’d been in plenty of fights and wasn’t afraid of catching a fist every now and then, but this was war, as the cop Jenkins had told him in Long Beach. “…prepare for war,” Jenkins had said. “You can’t run forever. Just give yourself high ground to stand on.” Rory was plenty prepared to write a master’s thesis, but he could never conceive of being prepared for war.

“I hear your brain creaking and groaning, Rory. Don’t work so hard,” said Chanfreau gently. “It happens I’ve done this before.”

“Rene,” said Rory quietly. “We’re just outside Shreveport, and I’ve thought of a way to leave Yamane here.”

“Good. Just see to it that he can’t or won’t come down here until we’ve taken care of Amelia.”

Rory looked back at Yamane, who looked so content. “I will. I promised to keep him safe.”

“I won’t let her hurt you, you know.”

“I know.” Rory wished he could voice his fear that Yamane would see this as the ultimate betrayal and give up on him forever. “I’m just nervous. I guess.”

“Of course you are. I am too. But we’ll make it work, and I’m counting on you to do a few things for me, okay?”

Rory listened as Chanfreau outlined his plan, paying careful attention to any part he might have in it. He looked at Yamane, unconsciously flirting now with Skeeter, who seemed not to mind the attention too much. Yamane was like a finely tuned race car rolling down a bumpy, gravel country road, and somebody was going to have to put some brakes on him before he got himself into trouble.

After a fine barbecue meal and more than a few beers, Rory and Yamane went to the Super 8 Motel to settle down for the night. There would probably be one more easy day’s driving before they reached home and Amelia. He turned to watch Yamane, who was lounging like a happy cat on the bed.

“Rory? Barbecue is a very fine thing. And so is beer. But you know what I wish? I wish we had one of those big Japanese hot springs to bathe in right now. Onsen. I could just soak forever.”

152

Z. A. Maxfield

“Sounds nice.” Rory was checking his US map and the Weather Channel on the Internet. “They have a Jacuzzi here.”

“Right, can you imagine? I can’t get within two feet of you without getting hard as a rock.”

Rory’s head came up. “Really?” He smiled at Yamane, who was stretched out on his stomach on the bed. “Is that so?”

“Of course.” Yamane swallowed hard. “I always want you.” Rory sat on the side of the bed next to Yamane. “We could take a shower together,” he suggested. “I could wash your hair.”

Yamane rolled over, laughing ruefully. “I’m not a college coed. I don’t need you to wash my hair. I want you to pound me so hard my head goes through this headboard and the neighbors call the police.”

Rory blinked. “Well, okay then, as long as we’re on the same page.” Rory drew Yamane into his arms a little forcefully. He found he liked it when Yamane was aggressive with him, his urgency transmitted by his quickened breathing and the way those artist’s hands played over his body.

Yamane seemed to be everywhere on him at once, drowning his senses and swallowing his protests. Under Yamane’s direction, their clothing fairly flew off their bodies. He maneuvered Rory to a sitting position on the end of the bed and rolled a condom onto his dick. Then he lubed up Rory’s fingers and used them to make himself ready.

Yamane straddled Rory’s lap with his back to Rory’s chest and lowered himself on Rory’s cock, and Rory looked over Yamane’s shoulder to watch them make love in the mirror over the wooden hotel dresser.

Yamane’s eyes met his in the mirror, and he said, “Go, baby.” Never taking his eyes off Yamane’s, Rory began to move within his body, pushing and stirring, filling and stretching him until Yamane moaned and dropped his head back on Rory’s shoulder. Rory held Yamane’s torso, skimming his hands down his sharply sculpted abs to the hollows of his pelvic bones on either side of the triangle of his pubic hair, and then up to his chest with its nipple ring, which still drove Rory crazy. He knew Yamane was waiting for him to touch his dick, knew it was aching and throbbing, but he left it alone for a moment while he ghosted his fingernails over other, less sensitive places on Yamane’s body.

Rory rocked his hips, feeling as though he couldn’t get deep enough, straining, pushing, and pulling Yamane down on his throbbing cock. Finally, he ran his hands down the center of Yamane’s chest. Watching him carefully in the mirror, Rory took hold of Yamane’s rigid cock. Yamane gasped and bit his lip, the expression on his face so aroused and dazed, Rory bit him hard on the neck. Yamane’s eyes flew open.

“Look at me. Keep your eyes on mine, Yamane.” Drawn Together

153

Yamane mouthed, I love you, to him in the mirror as they started a rhythm that, to Rory, looked like a dance. He and Yamane kept their eyes open and on each other until the last possible second. When a powerful climax rocked Rory, he crushed Yamane to him and buried his face in Yamane’s long hair. Seconds later, Yamane’s cum warmed his hands.

Later, lying naked and spent in bed and sharing a beer, Yamane nuzzled Rory with his head and said, “I’m completely obsessed with you.” Rory stroked Yamane’s hair, smiling sweetly at him. “Me too.”

“I wonder sometimes, you know, if you and I could make a home together,” Yamane said quietly, almost shyly. “I know you’re younger, and not finished with school, and my work is in Japan. I can’t even imagine how we could do it. Then there’s the fact that you’re straight, which is a total buzzkill, if you know what I mean…” Rory stopped his mouth with a passionate kiss. As if he were starving, he devoured Yamane, kissing, licking, and sucking his lips and neck, then nipping at his collarbone. Rory took Yamane’s nipple and ring into his mouth as if he were waiting for the taut bud to melt like candy. Then he moved and found Yamane’s erection, knowing Yamane would completely forget what he was saying until about six o’clock the next morning, and then he’d realize Rory had never shared his thoughts in return.

* * * * *

Amelia threw her drinking glass, and it shattered against the wall of the hotel where she was staying. A banging noise on the door and a man’s voice saying, “Are you all right, miss?” brought her back to herself. It wouldn’t do to trash the hotel room and wind up in jail.

“I’m fine,” she called sweetly through the door. “I’m just so clumsy these days.”

“Well, I hear that’s natural in your condition,” said the man kindly. Amelia was posing as a very pregnant woman and found that it went a long way toward explaining anything she did that was a little out of the ordinary. She wondered why she’d never thought of it before.

“Well, ’night then. Be careful now.” She heard his footsteps retreat down the hall.

Ethan was playing both sides against the middle, and Rory’s grandparents had been arrested the night before for growing marijuana in their backyard. What rotten, lousy timing. As long as Rory didn’t know, then he’d still be home tomorrow, or Saturday at the latest, if he understood her threat. She thought he understood quite well. The threat remained in place as long as he believed it was real. She’d have to call Ethan and find out what he knew.

Ethan didn’t worry her. He always ended up on top of the biggest pile of cash.

* * * * *

154

Z. A. Maxfield

Rory collected all his belongings and looked back sadly once more at the man sleeping so peacefully on the bed. He told himself leaving Yamane here and going on without him was in Yamane’s best interest. That Yamane would know he loved him and that nothing could tear them apart forever. If only his aching heart would believe it, then the crushing sadness that built as he looked on his beautiful lover’s face would lift a little, and he might be able to hope. He drove away from the Super 8 Motel before dawn was even a growing crack on the horizon, back to the highway, back to Amelia, back to the home he held in his heart as the one place he knew he’d always find love. Rory thought back to the bed where he had left Yamane, the one person on earth he would love for always, and his heart rent in two.

Drawn Together

155

Chapter Twentyfive

Yamane woke to find that Rory wasn’t spooned up to his back as had become his habit, and Rory’s arm wasn’t casually draped over his chest. At first this was a minor annoyance, as Yamane was cold and felt that Rory should still be there to warm him. Plus, he was sporting the kind of morning wood that could kindle a little fire. Yamane listened for the shower and, not hearing it, came fully awake.

The dimly lit room seemed cold and empty, shabbier without Rory’s vibrant presence in it. Yamane’s first clue that something might be terribly wrong was that Rory’s laptop, which habitually sat on the dining table of every hotel and motel they’d ever stayed in, was gone. A small fear began to gnaw at his consciousness, growing as he found each new disturbing fact. Rory’s suitcase was gone, his toiletry kit was gone, his messenger bag, not there, his phone, missing. Yamane went to the bathroom and stared hard into the mirror, trying to breathe past the panic that threatened to swamp him completely. There was a note on the faucet.

Yamane,

Please understand that I’m doing this to keep my promise, the first one that I made to you: that I will keep you safe. The hotel is paid for, and Skeeter will feed you as much as you want. He told me, because I think he loves you too. I told you everything else you need to know last night, without words.

Love always, Rory

Yamane ran to the dresser and slipped on a pair of jeans and one of his ubiquitous white shirts. He pushed his feet into shoes without socks and snapped up his wallet and the keys to the room. In the process, he noticed his wallet didn’t feel right. He opened the black leather trifold to discover the only thing in it was his driver’s license, a twenty-dollar bill, 156

Z. A. Maxfield

and a crude smiley face drawing with hearts for eyes that Rory must have thought was cute, but that so enraged Yamane he wanted to scream out loud.

Yamane had never felt so helpless, so profoundly angry in his life. Not even when he’d had to put down his dog had he felt this awful. He had loved Rory, had given him his heart and his trust and his body, and Rory had lied to him, taken away his dignity and his agency, and hadn’t trusted him back. Shit.