Velvet Memories (2 page)

Robert Hilton. Whoever would have guessed?

Chapter One

Ten Years Ago

Michael was freaking freezing. Detention had let out fifteen minutes earlier and he, along with his fellow felons, had been booted out of the school to await their rides in the December chill. No late buses
—
oh, no, not for detainees. Michael snorted derisively, watching his breath plume in the air. All the other kids had been picked up promptly at five thirty. Of course none of them were friends of his, so none bothered to offer him a ride. Mom wasn’t answering her cell phone, which meant she was probably pulling an extra shift at the restaurant, and that meant Michael needed to head for the city bus stop. Dammit.

To add insult to injury, he’d been set up. As much as he’d wanted to draw a caricature of Mr. Butler, he hadn’t done it. Hell, if he’d done it, it would have been a lot better quality. He was probably lucky all he’d gotten was detention, though. A suspension would look way bad on his record, and he wasn’t going to let anything mess with his scholarship to the Detroit Art Institute. Not even asshole World Geography teachers.

Michael sighed and started down the concrete steps to the path leading around the building. Might as well get walking. At least there was a shelter at the bus stop. He was heading down the driveway when three cars whipped past him, honking and revving their engines.

Perfect. Wrestling practice was letting out. Michael moved to the side of the driveway, getting as close to the edge as he could without actually stepping into the snow. He didn’t actually think any of the wrestlers would run him down, but it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to put to the test.

A car pulled up next to him and slowed, and Michael felt his shoulders tense up. He’d never really been bullied, but he’d never been caught alone like this either. So when the window rolled down, he was ready for pretty much anything.

“Hey, Mikey.” Rob Hilton was the captain of the wrestling team, the captain of the football team, and starting pitcher on the baseball team. He was also six feet two inches of hard muscle, with a smile that could melt ice and a dimple that made Michael want to lick chocolate out of it.

“Hey, Robbie,” he answered with an irritated smirk. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he and Rob were friends. They lived down the street from each other, had been in the same classes for their entire school careers and with last names both ending in “H,” they’d been seated close to each other for-practically-ever, but Rob was a jock, a popular kid, practically king of the school, and Michael was just
…
just another student.

“Right, right,” Rob smirked back at him. “Sorry,
Michael.
” Rob had given him grief about his name for as long as Michael could remember, and he figured the jackass probably always would. “Anyway, you wanna ride? I’m heading straight home.”

“Oh hell yes!” Any irritation melted at the thought of the heater in Rob’s Explorer.

Home was a twenty-minute drive in traffic, so Michael settled in, heat vents aimed directly at his face.

“So,” Rob cast a wicked smile in his direction, and Michael reminded himself that, unlike him, Rob liked
girls
. “I hear you shared your vision of Mr. Butt-head with the senior class.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me.” Michael rolled his eyes at Rob’s disbelieving snort. “Seriously, dude. Did you see it? I could do ten times better with my left hand.”

Rob laughed a little. “Yeah, I guess so. You always were into the Play Doh and finger paints.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be brainless jocks, Robbie.”

This time Rob’s laugh was full and rich, and his damned dimple winked at Michael, beckoning like a candle flame to a moth. “That’s what I like about you, Mikey,” he chuckled. “You aren’t intimidated by me in the least.”

“Hard to be intimidated by someone you once saw eating his boogers,” Michael shot back with a small smile of his own.

“Oh, so untrue,” Rob groaned. “Slander!”

They arrived at Michael’s house first, and as the truck idled in his driveway, Michael realized Rob was peering down the street toward his own house, which looked every bit as dark and cold as Michael’s. He knew he’d regret it, knew Rob would turn him down and even if he didn’t, spending any time with the guy was bound to be torture, but the words came out before he could stop them.

“Hey, looks like my mom’s working late again. I was gonna nuke a pizza and watch
Troy
for Mr. Cutter’s extra credit. Do you wanna come in?”

Rob looked surprised, then pleased. Then surprised he was pleased. Michael suppressed a groan. Such a bad idea. Then Rob smiled, more tentative than his usual sunshiny beam, but somehow sweeter.

“Sure. God knows I could use the extra credit. English is so not my thing.”

“Brainless jock,” Michael teased, ducking the fist swinging playfully in his direction. “Okay, Forrest Gump. C’mon inside.”

*

Three hours and a frozen pizza later, Rob was sprawled out next to him. Somehow those long legs were stretched the length of the couch, size thirteen feet draped over Michael’s legs.

Michael cast a surreptitious look up the length of Rob’s thighs. They were thick and muscular, and Michael had to force himself to look away before his gaze reached the place where they joined because Rob. Wasn’t. Gay.

“That wasn’t bad.” Rob stretched arms overhead, long body taut and way too tempting for Michael’s peace of mind.

“Totally inaccurate, but not bad.” Michael busied himself with the remote; anything to distract himself from the way Rob’s Henley had pulled up during his stretch, baring a slice of lean belly.

“Inaccurate how?” Rob looked interested. He also looked like he wasn’t thinking of moving any time soon.

“Well, the war lasted years, not weeks. Agamemnon didn’t die. Oh, and Patroclus was Achilles’ lover, not his cousin.”

Rob blinked slowly, then blinked again and seemed to notice the way he was draped all over Michael and the couch, and sat up with a jerk.

“Okay, that’s just stupid,” he argued. “They were warriors, not queers.” He flushed and shot Michael a sideways look. “No offense.”

Michael hadn’t “come out” at school or anything, but he hadn’t hidden his orientation, either. Yeah, he’d dealt with some bullying, some asshole-ish behavior from the other kids, but whatever. If the dickheads weren’t giving him shit because he was gay, they were picking on Patty Jakway because she was fat. Or Phil Matthews because he was just too fucking weird to exist. Michael had never gotten a homophobic vibe from Rob in the past, but then he hadn’t really spent any time with him, either. And it would definitely make sense for a popular jock like Rob to gay bash
—
even if it was only verbally. So maybe his voice was a little more bitter than it needed to be when he answered.

“Right. A bunch of warriors, stuck a long way from home for years. No women
—
another inaccuracy
—
‘cuz there wouldn’t have been all those women around. No way to get off but their own hands.” Rob’s flush grew darker with every word Michael spoke, and something in Michael loved it, reveled in the bigger guy’s discomfort. “And did you watch the scene where they’re sparring? That wasn’t cousinly eye contact, dude.”

He’d had to close his eyes through most of the scene; it had appealed to him in far too many ways. All the toned bronzed skin
…
The teasing banter and the light of pure enjoyment in both warriors’ eyes
…
The way Achilles had controlled Patroclus, keeping him in line, showing him who was boss
…
And he’d fucking
spanked
him
…
Just the memory made Michael’s dick twitch.

“Michael,” Rob looked over, and this time he met Michael’s eyes. “Dude. I didn’t mean anything. I’m not like that.” He looked miserable, and he’d used Michael’s real name.

“Look,” Michael stood, gathering up the paper plates and napkins littering the coffee table in front of them. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” He carried the trash to the kitchen and dumped it in the can under the sink. When he turned to head back, he was startled to find Rob right behind him, dirty glasses in his hands. One step and he’d be right up against the taller guy’s chest, which would be a mistake because, again, Rob. Wasn’t. Gay. Maybe if he tattooed it to the insides of his eyelids, Michael’s dick would get the idea and stop twitching every time he looked at the guy.

Rob set the glasses in the sink, and put one hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Just that, plainly spoken with no excuses. Those dark green eyes met his, serious and missing their usual mischievous twinkle.

The moment stretched and the space between them filled up with silence. A strange stillness gripped Michael, something he’d never felt before. He felt the hair on his arms stand on end. The deep green of Rob’s eyes grew lighter, a thin rim around pools of black as his pupils expanded. The hand on Michael’s shoulder tightened, and so did something in Michael’s groin. And, fuck it all, Rob was
not
gay.

“Mike? I’m home. Whose car is outside?”

Michael’s mother’s voice cut through the weird moment like a razor. Like the sword Achilles had spanked Patroclus with. Rob’s eyes went wide and he jerked away from Michael like he’d been shocked.

“Uh.” Michael had never seen Rob less than composed. Had never seen him at a loss for words. Rob visibly pulled himself together, and turned as Michael’s mom walked into the kitchen. “It’s mine, Mrs. Henderson. We were just watching a movie. For school,” he added quickly. “Not for, like, anything else.” His cheeks were stained deep red, and he headed for the door like the room was on fire. “Thanks for the pizza, Mikey,” he muttered. “Later, dude.” And he was gone, pulling his coat on as he jogged to his car.

“Not for, like, anything else?” Michael’s mom had one eyebrow raised as Rob whipped out of the driveway.

“That’s right,” Michael agreed, because it was true. That was all Rob had come for, to watch a movie for school and to put off being alone in an empty house for a few hours. That bizarre moment didn’t mean anything, and Michael was going to just put it out of his head.

“Whatever you say, baby.” His mom ran an affectionate hand through his hair, pushing his bangs off his forehead. “Did you eat?” And everything was almost normal again.

* * * *

Rob froze in the doorway of the weight room when he saw who the sole occupant was. Shit. He’d known Mikey had some muscles, he’d seen him in a bathing suit during gym, but he’d never thought about how he’d gotten them.

He’d avoided Michael all week, since the incredibly strange moment Tuesday night when Michael’s blue eyes had suddenly seemed almost neon, and the space between their chests had taken on the weight of an anvil.

He’d watched that damned movie a dozen or more times in the last two days. No, to be perfectly honest, he’d watched that damned
scene
a dozen or more times. Suddenly the universe seemed tilted. Achilles and Patroclus, lovers. The way their bodies worked together, the way the air between them crackled
…
it was all terrifying and inexplicably hot. But what was really freaking him out was the way his dick had come to life at the sight of Achilles smacking Patroclus’ ass with his sword.

He’d gone online, had researched Achilles specifically, and Greek warriors in general. He’d learned about pederasty, which skeezed him out; but he’d also learned of the bond between the
erastes
, the lover, and his
eromenos
, his beloved. The ancient Greeks hadn’t looked down on gay men. They hadn’t actually even acknowledged homosexuality. It was all a part of a guy’s education. You rubbed off against your teacher who, hopefully, wasn’t a fat, cigarette-smoke-reeking slug like Mr. Ravi, and then you eventually grew up and married a woman. Easy peasy.

So, if it was so easy, why had he woken up the last two mornings with his sheets damp and sticky, and the image of Michael naked and gleaming, his mouth pink and swollen, burning behind his eyes.

Now, because he’d had to make up a test for Mr. Ravi, he was late for his workout, and Michael and his muscles were spread out in front of him like a taunt.

He had every intention of walking away. He’d rig some sort of workout system at home. No way was he risking interacting with Michael after the weirdness of the movie, and the even bigger weirdness of his dreams. Even so, Rob still somehow found himself approaching the weight bench.

Suddenly he was standing over Michael, and those pale blue eyes were blinking up at him in surprise. A tentative smile curved his full mouth, and Rob found himself licking his own lips.

“Perfect timing,” Michael said, sliding down on the weight bench and sitting up. “I need to add more weight, but I need a spotter.” His uncertain smile flickered when Rob didn’t answer immediately. “Never mind,” he started, and Rob shook his head sharply.

“No problem, dude.” No way was he going to give in to the weirdness. If he ran like a little girl, he’d be admitting something was wrong, and he wouldn’t let that be true. He made a brief gesture for Michael to go ahead and add on some weight, then stood back while the other guy slid back under the barbell.