Knave of Broken Hearts (14 page)

The three stopped a few feet away. “He’s just had a couple too many, but he’s our friend’s boyfriend, so we need to take him back so they can hook up, got it?”

Were they telling the truth? That would explain why Ken was at this weird club dressed like this. Still—“Your friend should have taken better care of him. He called me to help him, and that’s what I’m doing. They can hook up some other time.”

The skinny one said, “I don’t think so.” But the big one stepped forward.

Ken muttered, “Leave Jim alone.”

Jim stepped to the side, took Ken’s hands, and attached them to a parking sign. “Hold on.” He looked up at the big guy. “Kid, you may be bigger, but I’ve been winning bar fights since I was younger than you.” Okay, he made that sound like decades instead of a couple of years. “You sure you want to do this?”

It wasn’t the big guy who answered. Skinny dude said, “He belongs to us. We want to take him to our friend. Right, Tommy?”

Jim sucked in a breath and tried to look bigger. “Tough shit.”

Tommy looked unsure.
Good sign.
But he still lunged forward and hurled a wild punch in Jim’s direction. Jim stepped in, thrust a mild left into the big guy’s gut, and watched Tommy’s face crumple as he fell back. Tommy hadn’t been hit much, obviously. Jim had. Big advantage.

Jim spread his hands.
See, no brass knuckles.
“All I want is to take Ken home. If your friend really has a date with him, he can find him there. Try that again and I’ll get serious. You don’t want that.”

Tommy shook his head like a bobble-head doll as he backed up.

“Okay.” Jim stepped back to Ken, who hung from the pole like a spent horse. “Come on, doc.” He slipped an arm around his waist and dragged him the few more feet to the truck. It took some maneuvering because Ken’s body kept wanting to collapse, but he managed to prop him in the front seat, then hurried around to the driver’s side. Skinny guy and Tommy stood and stared. Jim gave them an evil look, and they finally turned and slouched back toward the club.

Inside the truck Ken had fallen over and his head hung at a sharp angle. Looked like a perfect doll with a broken neck. Jim scooted him into as comfortable a position as he could manage. And took a deep breath. Damn, his chest hurt. “Sorry, doc, we gotta get out of here before those assholes come back with reinforcements. Where to?”

No answer. Just shallow breathing.

“Ken, what’s your address?”

Nothing.

Well, damn.
He started the truck and pulled out of the parking space to let another eager car grab it from behind him. Probably not safe to leave Ken alone anyway. “I’m taking you to my place. I’m sure it’ll be a big comedown, but at least you won’t die alone.”

Ken mumbled something and slid sideways against the door. Man, he was out of it. Jim clicked his cell phone and dialed Ian.

“Hey, bro.” He sounded sleepy. Jim had left him crashed on the couch with the TV on.

“Hey. I’m gonna be there in about ten minutes. Will you meet me in the parking lot? I’ve got one seriously blitzed dude with me, and I need help getting him upstairs.”

“Is that where you went? To rescue a drunk?”

“Kind of. Just meet me. I’ll tell you later.” Not sure what to say, though. Who knew what happened?

Ian was standing in Jim’s parking space when he pulled in. He’d put on one of Jim’s jackets, and it hung on him like a letterman’s sweater on a cheerleader. Jim stopped the car and jumped out. Ian was peering through the window at Ken’s head squashed against the glass. When Jim got to the passenger side, Ian greeted him with huge eyes. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. How the mighty have fallen.”

“No. I gathered he got roofied.”

“No shit?”

“He was lying under a tree when I got there, and he hasn’t talked much since. Some guys were after him, and I’m betting they’re the ones responsible, but I had to get the hell out of there.” He eased open the door. Instead of falling out, Ken sat up, so that was a good sign. Still looked like somebody punched him out. Jim reached in and pulled Ken toward him. Ken helped, and they managed to get his feet on the ground. Ian took one side and Jim the other, and they started a halting walk toward the stairs to the second floor.

Ian peered at Jim around Ken. “He looks crappy. Want me to call the cops now?”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell them.”

“No. No cops.” The mumbled words made them both look at Ken.

“You sure? Somebody ought to get those assholes off the streets.”

“Nuh—no cops.”

“Okay, whatever you say, doc.”

Ian frowned. “Should we take you to the emergency room?” Hell, leave it to his brother to ask the intelligent questions.

“Nuh.”

“You sure? You’re in pretty bad shape.”

“Sleep.”

Ian looked at Jim. “I think we should take him to a doctor.”

“He is a doctor.”

“Shit.”

Jim hauled Ken higher. “Get ready for some stairs, doc.”

“Whe ah we?”

“We’re at my apartment. Mine and Ian’s.” He smiled at his brother. “I couldn’t wake you up enough to find out where you live.”

“’Kay. Sleep.”

“Big step.” Ken raised a leg in the general direction of the first stairs.

It took five minutes, but they half dragged, half encouraged Ken up the stairs and into the apartment. Thank God the doc’s eyes were closed so he couldn’t see the rattiness of his surroundings. Of course, he had to wake up sometime.

Jim started toward the hall. “Put him in my bed.”

Ian shook his head. “Nah. Give him mine. I’ll take the couch.”

“No. If he wakes up, I’m better able to handle him. I’ll stay out here or sleep in the chair just to make sure he doesn’t wander away or something.”

They got him to Jim’s unmade bed and let him crash. For a second he just lay on his back like a corpse; then he curled on his side like some perfect yaoi teddy bear. Ridiculously cute.

Ian stared at him. Hard not to. “How the hell is he dressed? He’s wearing eyeliner, for crap’s sake.”

“Yeah, this is a new look to me.”

Ian stared some more. “Shit, that is one gorgeous man.”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you think he called you? Doesn’t he have family?”

“No idea. He definitely has parents. I’ve heard him talk about his mother. Maybe he’s embarrassed about the situation and didn’t want anyone he cared about to know.”

“Maybe.” Ian kept staring. “Bad off as he is, I’m surprised he could think at all.”

“Yeah.”

“So it seems unlikely he considered calling someone he didn’t care about.”

Breathe.

Ian seemed to tear his eyes from Ken. “What happened with the architect thing?”

“The guy came through. But you’re the real hero. Your design is what had the boss lady panting. The architect just interpreted it. But he did a damned good job. And he’s nice. You’d like him.”

“I’d love to see the drawings.”

“I’ll bring a set home tomorrow.”

“Cool.” He stared some more, and there was lots to stare at. Ken had flipped on his back, long legs spread, one arm above his head. A little of his eyeliner had smeared on his cheek and the scrape from his face-plant shone red against his smooth beige skin. Ian shifted legs. “Want me to take a turn watching him?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Okay, I’ll go to bed. Glad the drawing thing worked out.”

“Me too. Thanks for helping me with him.”

“Anytime, man. Anytime.” Ian shook his head a little like he was trying to clear it and walked out of the bedroom.

Jim let out his breath.
Okay, here I am. Now what?

H
E
CLOSED
the door, then opened it a crack. Well, damn, he was not ten and therefore could be in a room without parental supervision. He closed it again and turned toward the guest in his bed. Ken’s incredibly fashionable leather-and-canvas shoes mocked Jim’s ugly blue bedspread and grayish sheets, so he pulled them off along with his silky socks.
Wow.
Those slim feet were as elegant as the rest of his body. He
didn’t even have hairy toes. Jim’s gaze traveled up. Ken was only about an inch taller than Jim, but a lot of that was legs. Narrow waist. His T-shirt had untucked and a small triangle of skin gleamed above the top of his low-slung jeans, revealing an inch of flat belly. No happy trail. Not that Jim could see, anyway. He swallowed. Ken’s wide shoulders strained the fabric of the shirt; his neck looked like a column of beige marble. Only, that scratch and dirt on his cheek didn’t fit the perfection.
Fix that.

Jim walked into the tiny attached bathroom that was one of the only good things about this apartment and wet a washcloth with warm water. Back in the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over Ken. Very gently, heart beating fast, he wiped the cloth across the scratch and removed the dirt. Maybe he should put something on it.

Moving slowly so he didn’t jostle the sleeper, he went back in the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. A tube of antibiotic ointment turned up behind the toothpaste. God knows he’d needed it often enough for all the scrapes and cuts he got on the job. Again he returned to Ken, sat softly, squeezed a little ointment on his finger, and gently touched the red cheek. His breath sucked in all by itself. Warm, smooth. This was the first time Jim touched any of Ken’s skin other than his hand. So soft. What would it be like to touch other parts—and why the hell did he want to know?

It was the yaoi comic. Ken’s resemblance to the book’s hero played with Jim’s mind.

He popped to his feet, taking less care not to jolt the bed, and walked to the ratty old flowered chair he’d bought at a thrift store.
Just go to sleep and worry about Ken Tanaka in the morning.
Removing the three layers of clothes from the chair, he tossed them in the small closet and sat. This chair was pretty comfortable. He took off his sneaks, loosened his belt, stretched out his legs, and rested his head on the overstuffed back.
Lights.
He hopped up again, turned off the overheads, and left on the low light from the bedside lamp.
One more time.
He sat.
Wait. Better set the alarm.
He grabbed it from beside the bed and ticked off 5:30 a.m. Not too far in the future—again.
Jesus, talk about no sleep.

Okay, rest.
He propped his head and closed his eyes. Breathing. All he could hear were Ken’s soft exhales and inhales. His mind followed the sound. In and out. In and out. He scrunched onto his side and rested his head on the arm. In. Out. In. Out. Damn, his neck hurt. He flipped onto his butt and propped his head on his hand. In and out. Hypnotic. In and— His head flopped off his hand and hit the chair arm. Damn.

Enough.
He stood and tiptoed to the bed. Ken lay on his side on the far edge of the queen-sized mattress.
I should go sleep on the couch.
But what if Ken woke and was scared or sick? Jim sat carefully on the edge of the bed, lay down, and slowly pulled his legs up until he was stretched flat on his back. Okay, he felt like a board, but at least his neck didn’t hurt. He reached out and flipped off the bedside light, then closed his eyes.

O
H
. O
H
.
Oh man. Talk about wet dreams! Shit. What the fuck?

Jim’s eyes flew open and his head popped up. Too dark to see well, but that was one amazing-ass mouth on his cock.
Shit. Holy shit. Not a dream. Living dream.
“Wait. Stop.”

The hot hole in the universe swallowed another few inches of his meat, then pulled back. One slippery tongue laved his crown, then bored into his piss slit.
Oh God. Who?
Had to be—didn’t care.
Oh man. Jesus. Don’t stop. Don’t.
His head flopped onto the pillow and thrashed while his hips thrust up and up. Strong hands held him, but that mouth just swallowed him whole, sucking and licking. In his whole life, this was it on blow jobs. Nothing ever came close.
Oh shit. Oh God, do it. Do it.
“Do it! Don’t stop. So close.”

Lips sucked his cockhead until it had to be twice its normal size
. Gonna
explode.
Cum boiled in his balls, the pressure unbearable and unbearably good. “Oh God, I’m going to come. I’m coming. Cominnnng.” Spunk shot out of him, but the mouth didn’t pull back. It swallowed and swallowed until everything in Jim drained out, his eyes drooped, and he dropped into sleep.

T
HE
SOUND
of the alarm beat like a hammer on his brain.
No way. Want to keep sleeping. So good. Such great dreams.
He slammed a hand onto the alarm clock and pressed his ear against the pillow. Back to the blow job of the century.

Wait. Breathing.
Not his.

Shit! Ken.
He sat straight up and stared into the still-dark room. He was covered. Had he covered himself when he went to sleep? His hand crept under.

Holy God.
Naked. No. Not naked. His hand felt lower on his thighs and discovered his boxer briefs, then lower still and found his jeans pooled around his knees. Okay, this was what a lawyer would call incontrovertible evidence. That dream was no dream.

Well, no, actually it was. A dream of the “come true” variety. The best damned blow job of his life. Just thinking about it brought his morning wood to Rockefeller Center Christmas tree status.

Shit.
He lowered his head back onto the pillow and felt his dick throb. How did he feel about this turn of events? He’d received real live head from a guy, and he knew it. He could tell himself he thought it was a dream at the time, but that was a lie. He’d known Ken Tanaka was sucking his dick and he hadn’t cared. Hell, that had made it better.