Venetian Masks (20 page)

“After you left m—left, I was pissed off. And confused. Because I thought we—I was almost kind of believing you.”

Cleve squeezed his eyes shut as if he was in pain and bit at his lower lip. Then he stood abruptly, and Jeff thought he was going to flee. But instead Cleve merely unzipped his motorcycle jacket and tossed it onto the rumpled bed. The weather was too warm for leather anyway, Jeff thought, his gaze locking onto Cleve’s strong, tattooed arms. Cleve sat back down again. “I’m sorry,” he said very quietly.

“I talked to the chef at that restaurant,” Jeff announced.

Now Cleve looked slightly panicked, and when he spoke, it was clear he was fighting to keep his voice even. “What did he tell you?”

“Not a lot. Enough for me to do some research on Edvin Weibull.”

“Fuck! That’s exactly what I didn’t—” Cleve jumped from his chair again, sending it skidding slightly backward, and stepped around the little table to crouch in front of Jeff. Bracing himself on the arms of Jeff’s chair—and, perhaps not incidentally, trapping Jeff in place—he pitched his voice low and urgent. “Eddie’s bad news, Just Jeff. Serious bad news. You have no fucking idea. You need to get on a train or a plane and finish your Grand Tour, and then you gotta go home to Normalville.”

Jeff shoved hard enough to topple him onto his ass. As Cleve tried to regain his footing, Jeff stood and stalked to the other end of the room—which admittedly wasn’t very far. “I’m not some kind of simpleton hick who faints if someone raises their voice!”

Cleve marched up to him so they were standing almost chest-to-chest. “And I’m not a damsel in distress from one of your goddamn romance novels!”

Jeff blinked. “I read
gay
romance novels.”

“Same principle!”

The thread of the argument seemed to have been lost, and they stared at each other, both breathing hard. Finally, Jeff gathered his courage and cupped a palm around Cleve’s cheek. Cleve sighed and pressed into the touch. “You’re in a lot of trouble,” Jeff said gently.

“A whole fucking world of it.”

“And you don’t have anyone to help you out.”

“It’s always been just me.”

“Just Cleve,” Jeff said with a small smile. “Doesn’t have the same ring as Just Jeff.”

Cleve chuckled softly, brushed Jeff’s hand away, and leaned in closer, resting his head on Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff wrapped his arms around Cleve’s waist and tried not to shiver at how good it felt, how right it seemed to be nestled together this way. He began to say words that he couldn’t have spoken if Cleve had been looking at him.

“After the accident I was a nut job. Missed that entire semester of school and had to make it up the next summer. I couldn’t ride in cars, couldn’t tolerate enclosed spaces… just about had a meltdown over taking frigging showers. And the nightmares! God, you think they’re bad now, but back then I’d have four or five of them a night unless I was drugged to the gills. I hid a rope in my bedroom closet, Cleve, and more than once I went so far as to tie it around my clothing rod. I even tested the rod to see if it’d hold my weight.” He’d never admitted this to anyone before. Not his parents, not Kyle, not even his shrink.

Cleve’s voice was muffled by Jeff’s shirt. “Why didn’t you go through with it?”

“I kept picturing my mother’s face when she found me. My parents had already lost two of their sons, and I guess I couldn’t quite rob them of the last one.”

“Fuck,” Cleve said.

“Yeah. I was a mess. I’m a model of mental health now, compared to how I was then.”

“You were only a kid.”

“A really fucked-up kid, yeah. But my point is, I survived, more or less intact. But I wouldn’t have by myself. I had my parents at my back, you know? Hell, even Kyle was patient about the dreams and some of my other issues.”

“He’s still an ass hat.”

Jeff squeezed him. “I came to Zagreb because I thought maybe you might want me at your back.”

“I kinda like you at my front,” said Cleve, squeezing back. But then he let go, squirmed out of Jeff’s hold, and walked across the room to the window, where he looked out at the unremarkable view. “Your parents helped you out because they loved you,” he said.

“Yes,” replied Jeff, not refuting the implication the other man had raised.

“But you can’t…. There’s shit you don’t know about me, Jeff. A lot of shit.”

“I know about Max Palmer.”

Cleve flinched as if he’d been hit. He was silent for a long time, all the way on the other side of the room, and then finally he rasped, “Not anymore.”

“Huh?”

“When I told you in Venice that I’m not a whore, I meant I’m not one anymore.”

Jeff didn’t answer. He could have mentioned the Austrian guy in the main square, but that seemed petty. He wasn’t trying to pin Cleve down for his lies. He was only trying—Christ, he wasn’t sure
what
he was doing. Except for Cleve. He was sure he wanted Cleve.

The man in question left the window and sat down again in the chair. He picked up the saltshaker and ran a finger along the smooth metal top. “I’m not ashamed of the modeling. Didn’t mean to make a living at it, that happened by accident, but once I was there, it wasn’t so bad. I made pretty good money. Had fun sometimes. It kinda… kinda turned me on, knowing guys were out there, getting their rocks off from looking at me, watching me. I bet you think it’s disgusting, though.”

“I never said that.”

Cleve looked up at him. “Did you watch some of the videos?”

Jeff blushed. “Clips, yeah.”

“Did they turn you on?”

“Um… yeah.”

“’Course they did. They’re really fucking hot.” Cleve tilted his head appraisingly. “Is that why you came after me? To see if you could nail the porn star again? Maybe get your euros’ worth out of his ass?”

“Five minutes ago I was boring Jeff from Normalville. Now I’m a… a pervert. You can’t even get your stories straight about me, let alone about yourself.”

Cleve put down the saltshaker. “So what the hell do you want? My entire fucking life story in sordid detail, with helpful pictures and diagrams on the side?”

Jeff did want exactly that. But suddenly his knees felt ready to buckle with fatigue, and he yawned jaw-crackingly. “Not now. I know it’s early, but I didn’t get much sleep and… and what I really want right now is for you to get into bed with me. And promise me you’ll still be here in the morning.”

“Okay,” Cleve said, as if it were as simple as that.

They didn’t speak much as they took turns in the bathroom that was too small for two. Cleve watched as Jeff chased his pills with a glass of water, then asked, “Can I borrow your toothbrush? Or is that too personal?”

“I had my dick in your ass,” Jeff pointed out, “and your tongue’s been in my mouth plenty of times. I think that’s pretty damn personal. Help yourself.”

Cleve laughed and then brushed his teeth.

They both stripped quickly—nothing sexy about it—and Jeff turned out the lights before climbing into bed. Cleve lay down beside him. They sighed in unison as Cleve snuggled back into Jeff’s arms, and although Cleve’s smooth round ass felt really nice pressed against Jeff’s cock, Jeff was asleep before he could muster the energy to move.

H
E
HAD
forgotten to close the drapes, so he awakened with sunlight in his eyes. To his enormous relief, Cleve was still stomach-down in his bed, one leg thrown over Jeff’s. Moving carefully, Jeff managed to get up without waking the other man. The blankets were already down to Cleve’s waist, and Jeff drew them very slowly all the way to the foot of the mattress, revealing Cleve completely. Cleve mumbled something incoherent and shifted a little but didn’t wake up.

He was beautiful. His skin almost glowed in the morning light, and the ink on his arms was especially bright. His hair was glossy, his face heavily whiskered and yet childlike in repose. Jeff admired the long sweep of his spine down to the full curves of his ass, the thick thighs with their sprinkling of dark hairs, the vulnerable pink of his balls nestled between his splayed legs.

Jeff padded to the bathroom and drank a glass of water. Then he pulled a clean pair of boxers on and, making sure the volume on his computer was turned off, booted up.

After quickly deleting the usual spam and advertisements—Eddie Bauer was having a clearance sale—he opened a message from his mother.

Jeffy,

How is Zagreb? Will you stay there for the whole week? Do you still plan to go to Paris next?

Next week. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Really, he hadn’t thought past finding Cleve and figuring out what was going on. He turned his attention back to the e-mail.

I have an offer on your house, darling. It’s less than the asking price: $185k. But I think if we counter-offer we can get them to $200k. Let me know what you want to do. We have 2 days to decide.

Love,

Mom

He’d been over the figures in his head many times. Because his mother was willing to skip her commission, two hundred thousand meant he’d just about break even. He’d be broke, but he wouldn’t be in debt, and on his salary, he could afford a decent apartment. But… his house.

“Hope it’s not pictures of me making you frown like that.” Cleve’s voice was sleepy, rough-edged. He hadn’t moved out of his sprawl on the bed.

“Why would I look at pictures when the real thing’s right here?” Jeff countered.

“C’mere.”

Jeff found himself drawn to Cleve’s lazy smile. He sat on the mattress, but Cleve reached up and pulled him down flat and then draped himself on top.

“I see you wake up happy,” Jeff said. Cleve’s hard dick was digging into the elastic waistband of his boxers.

“It’s been a while since I didn’t wake up alone. It’s nice.” Cleve licked beneath Jeff’s ear. “You don’t grow much of a beard, do you?”

“Not really. Drove me nuts when I was a kid. I thought I didn’t look manly enough.”

“Manly enough for me,” Cleve said, pressing his hips more tightly against Jeff’s.

Jeff groaned. “God, Cleve, this isn’t—”

“I know. You want to interrogate me. How about we fuck first and then you question me when I’m too spent to put up any resistance?”

Lust, embarrassment, and amusement warred confusingly in Jeff’s head, and he couldn’t put up even token resistance. Cleve kissed him, sweet despite morning breath, and then suddenly flipped himself around so that his ass hovered temptingly over Jeff’s face. Jeff reached up and squeezed with both hands. But Cleve had plans: he bent over and pulled Jeff’s hardening cock through his fly, then began to lick it. At the same time, he lowered his pelvis a little, making it clear that he expected reciprocity. Which Jeff was happy to provide.

In the golden morning light, they sucked and licked and stroked, and their moans and gasps echoed off the walls of the small room. Jeff tried to warn Cleve before he came, but Cleve simply continued to work him, reaching his own climax moments later. He twisted back around and lay on his back beside Jeff, panting. Jeff reached over to tug at the hair on his chest. “Have I softened you up for questioning now?”

Cleve snorted. “Pretty much. But can we eat first? I never had dinner last night.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

They attempted to cram into the shower together, but it was just too small. Jeff ended up going first, with Cleve watching through the glass and waggling his brows lasciviously. Then it was Cleve’s turn to wash. He had to dress in his clothes from the day before.

“We can go by your hotel and get your stuff,” Jeff said. “It’ll save me some charges on my credit card.”

But Cleve shook his head. “Wait. When you hear everything you… you might change your mind. You
should
change your mind.”

Jeff disagreed on both points but didn’t say so.

Jelena smiled at them as they walked through the lobby. “She’s really pretty,” observed Cleve when they got outside.

“Yeah. Do you, um, like girls too?” It was sort of a basic question, but not one they’d discussed before.

“Like men better. I’ve had sex with women a few times—out of curiosity or… you know. Professional reasons. But it didn’t really float my boat. How about you?”

“Once. College. I was drunk and horny and she was cute.”

Cleve snorted softly. “Those are good enough reasons sometimes, I guess.”

“When you’re nineteen, sure. Not so much when you’re thirty.”

“Or thirty-five,” Cleve sighed.

Jeff glanced at him. “Really?”

“Would I lie about that?”

Jeff didn’t know what Cleve would lie about, but he didn’t say so. He just walked alongside the other man, and within a few minutes they were dodging trams and passing by the horseman with the pointy sword. Cleve led them through a passageway that cut through the middle of a building—Jeff hadn’t noticed it the previous day—then across the street and up the stairs that led to the greenmarket. The place was buzzing again, men and women of all ages haggling over produce and cheese and jars of honey. Jeff wondered if Croatian strawberries were as tasty as Italian ones.

Cleve chose one of the cafés, and they sat down at a wobbly outdoor table. Without even asking Jeff first, Cleve ordered for them both—in English, which the waiter seemed to understand well. The waiter returned with pastries that were close cousins of the
burek
, comprised of phyllo dough around a cottage cheese sort of filling. There were also cups of thinned plain yogurt, which they were evidently supposed to drink, and strong sweet coffee. “Turkish coffee,” Cleve explained. “It’ll grow hair on your chest. Watch out for the grounds at the bottom of the cup.”

“I never grow hair on my chest.”

“Consider yourself lucky, dude. Waxing sucks.”

That seemed to be about as serious as Cleve was willing to let the conversation get, at least for the moment. He answered Jeff’s questions with a shake of his head until Jeff gave up and watched the market crowds instead. Cleve was keeping an eye out as well, but his attention seemed more focused, as if he were looking for someone.