
Table of Contents

Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Suspense Romance from Dreamspinner Press
Romance from Dreamspinner Press

Copyright
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
382 NE 191st Street #88329
Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cop Out
Copyright © 2011 by KC Burn
Cover Art by Reese Dante http://www.reesedante.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 382 NE 191st Street #88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
ISBN: 978-1-61372-213-8
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
November 2011
eBook edition available
To the friends and family who've supported me and helped me get this manuscript off the ground, most especially Chudney, Jax, Dottie, and Alex. I couldn't have done it without you.
Kurt hunkered down behind the car, waiting for Ben's signal. How bulletproof were these cars? Thirty years ago, they were built like tanks. His father still had one, called it an antique land yacht. Now... well, they sure as hell weren't titanium.
The sun blazed, heating his face, making sweat drip down from his short hair and into his collar. His navy-blue shirt was already drenched---Kevlar vests were hot and heavy, but they were a necessary evil. Last Tuesday in May, but the temperature rivaled the middle of July. He fucking hated midday busts on sunny, summery days. The sunshine meant they had no visibility advantages, and a sudden glare could blind someone at a critical moment.
He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. At least if he were undercover, he could be wearing a bandana to soak up the sweat. The acrid scent of the tar heating in the asphalt battled with rotting fish and garbage from the nearby market district. He wished they'd waited for backup. But he'd only been a detective for three years---Ben had been doing this for a lot longer, and he had to bow to Ben's greater experience. His partner might be taciturn and reticent, but he was a dedicated and effective officer. Kurt trusted him with his life.
As it should be.
Ben slipped into position by the front door of the building and gave him the signal he'd been waiting for. Tugging the collar of his vest one final time, Kurt crept around to cover the rear of the building, holding himself close to the wall, out of any of the windows' sight lines.
Gustav, one of Ben's informants, had contacted Ben with a tip about a suspect. Ben said they had to follow up immediately, and Kurt trusted his partner to do what was best, even though the tip was for a case that wasn't even theirs. But Ben had contacts everywhere, and it couldn't hurt to get a few kudos from the drug squad.
Glock poised, the familiar grip kept him grounded while he waited for the inevitable dash for the back when an officer announces himself at the front. He stretched to peer through the dirty window. There were no people. No movement. Nothing to suggest the room he observed had been used in a long time. A layer of dust coated the table and chairs.
Ben demanded entrance loudly enough for Kurt to hear, bringing his attention back to the door. Almost simultaneously, Ben booted in the front door and the building exploded, throwing Kurt backwards.
The light hurt his eyes, but Kurt couldn't shut them any farther than they were. He wished he could scrunch his ears shut, too, against the infernal beeping.
"Are you awake?" a strident female voice asked.
He cringed.
"Come on now, it's time to wake up."
The beeping was regular, rhythmic... like a heart monitor. Right. The harsh smell of cleansers should have given it away. He was in a hospital. The monitors must have alerted someone of his return to consciousness.
"What happened?" God. That didn't sound like him---that sounded like someone who'd swallowed gravel for breakfast. Talking hurt like a bitch too.
"Can you open your eyes, Detective O'Donnell?"
No fucking way. "Too bright," he managed to say. A throbbing heartbeat of pain started in his temples. Other body parts threatened to chime in, which he wasn't looking forward to, but hell, it meant he wasn't dead.
The light level dropped, and Kurt cracked open his lids. A nurse with---he strained to focus---teddy bears on her scrubs, stood over him, holding a clipboard and scratching out a few notes with the loudest pen ever created.
"Thirsty."
Despite her glass-cracking voice, the woman smiled down at him in sympathy. "I know. But you can't have anything until the doctor sees you."
She patted his shoulder gently and left the room, rubber soles squeaking, making him wince.
What the hell had happened?
He tried moving each limb, gingerly, testing for soreness. Nothing screamed as loud as his head, but there were issues with his left arm and left leg. Glancing around the room, he couldn't see anything with the date, or even the time. The last thing he remembered was getting into the car with Ben after receiving a tip. Did they have a car accident? Had he been shot? Trying to remember sent spikes of red-hot agony into his head. Heaving out a sigh, he relaxed as much as he could on the granite slab the hospital claimed was a mattress.
Although he wanted nothing more than to rip out his IV and storm out into the hallway, demanding someone tell him what was going on, in truth, he was afraid doing so would only make everything hurt worse. He'd never felt this horrible in his life---he didn't want to know how much shittier it could get.
The unmistakable sounds of an irate Irish couple arguing in the distance wafted into the room. He relaxed even further. If his parents couldn't convince the doctor to hurry up and see him, as soon as his brothers and sisters descended, the hospital staff would do whatever they could to get rid of the raucous brood as soon as possible.
"That's my baby in there!"
Uh. They were getting closer, and Kurt hoped they'd either calm his mother down or let them in, because his mother was working herself into a fine state, and her voice tap-danced in his brain.
"Mrs. O'Donnell. Mr. O'Donnell. The doctor's on his way, I promise. Come with me to the waiting area, it won't be long."
The firm voice belonged to his boss. What was he doing here? Did that confirm whatever happened had been related to the bust they'd been heading to? Why couldn't he remember what went down? And where the fuck was Ben?
Kurt brought his right hand to his head, and rubbed gently. God almighty, he needed some narcotics, or hell, maybe a beheading wouldn't be so bad.
"Detective O'Donnell." A tiny white-coated woman entered his room. "I'm Doctor Sarwa. How's the head?"
"Hurts." There went that croaking voice again. "What happened?"
"In a minute. Any nausea?"
"No, not really." Not a lie, but he wasn't ready to eat anything, either.
Dr. Sarwa gave a curt nod and made few notations on a clipboard before she set it down and flipped back the covers on his left side. Kurt peered down, despite the strain it put on his eyeballs, and saw a huge long bandage over his arm. Was it broken?
The doctor peeled back the bandage, revealing a number of black stitches along a jagged cut extending along the inside of his arm from mid-bicep to wrist.
"You're lucky, Detective O'Donnell," the doctor murmured as she gently probed at the... he couldn't call it an incision. No self-respecting surgeon in the world would make a cut that ragged and random. "You didn't break any bones."
That was her definition of lucky? Having seen the damage, his arm began throbbing in time with the pounding in his brain.
Kurt took a deep breath. His throat was so dry, he didn't want to say one more word than necessary. "Leg?"
She snorted. "Just a twisted knee, not serious at all."
"Thirsty."
"I'll tell the nurse when I leave. You can have a little juice." She retaped the bandage. "Looks good. Okay, quick rundown. You conked your head, and shrapnel sliced open your arm."
Kurt laughed, but shut it down after a second when it upgraded the tap-dancers in his head to a steel drum band. "Professional opinion?"
Dr. Sarwa smiled faintly at him. "I could get technical with you, but you'll remember this easier once the grogginess wears off. The shrapnel was dangerous---you had to get into surgery immediately or you were going to bleed out. But it could have been a lot worse. I'll be back later."
He might have drifted for a few minutes, but a nurse showed up almost immediately with a cup of juice, followed by his mom and dad.
"Baby, oh, baby!" His mom flew to the side of the bed opposite the nurse. At the moment, he was more interested in the approaching bendy straw. The crisp bite of apples hit his nose, and his parchment-dry mouth salivated in response.
His mom grabbed his hand and squeezed lightly. Tears wet the back of his hand. This was the first time he'd been... certainly not hurt. With six elder siblings, he'd had his share of breaks and contusions. But this was the first time he'd been hurt on the job, because why else would he have a shrapnel wound, even if he couldn't remember how he got it.
With his thirst eased, if not slaked, he turned his head to his mom. The nurse left, to be replaced by his dad.
"Kurt, baby...."
"Mom, I'm okay."
"No you're not."
Kurt winced, and his father spoke softly. "Deirdre, not so loud. Remember what the doctor said."
"But he's not okay, Sean." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry, baby."
"How are you feeling, Son?" His father's hand hovered over his bandage, and finally settled on his shoulder.
"Sore." But now that he was more awake, he was ready to go home. The pain was beginning to dull, settle, now that he knew what was physically wrong. "Dad, what happened?"
His parents exchanged a glance. His mother started weeping.
"What?" They were never at a loss for words.
"Baby, you could have died." His mom's voice broke.
The decibel level rose outside his room. The rest of his family must have arrived. Shit, this wasn't any worse than when Ian dared him to climb that rotting tree in their backyard. He'd broken an arm and a leg, then. This was a bad cut, a knock to the head and a twisted knee. Really not cause for all the histrionics. But they still acted like he was a baby, even though he was thirty-one. Why did he have to be his parents' last kid?
The door opened, but it wasn't one of his siblings who entered. It was his boss.
"Sir?" Nausea boiled in his gut, and the throbbing in his head accelerated.
"O'Donnell. Glad to see you're awake. I'm afraid I have some bad news." Like the somber expression hadn't given it away.
"What, Sir?" His mother's grip tightened, and his father stepped away, looking out the window.
"Do you remember what you were doing when the explosion occurred?"
Explosion? Now the shrapnel made sense. Nothing else did. "I don't remember an explosion. Just getting the tip from Gustav, before I got in the car with Ben. Did the car explode?" Why wasn't Ben telling him this? The nausea had transformed to a sharp, burning pain in his gut.
"The building your informant directed you to was rigged. We're almost positive that one of the guys Ben put away while he was on the drug squad---guy who goes by the name of Novi, the Russian Bear---was behind the explosion. He was released on parole a couple of months ago."
Novi. Kurt remembered stories about him---drug runner and dealer, among other things. But he could tell by Inspector Nadar's expression that there was more to come.
"I'm sorry, Kurt. Ben didn't make it."
Dead? He sucked in a breath. Shards of memories filled with heat and noise assaulted him.
"Honey, I'm so sorry," his mom whispered. His parents had met Ben a couple of times. Ben had been a loner, and even after three years, Kurt didn't know a lot about his personal life, but Ben was his partner. They'd worked well together, and he'd considered them friends. The almost fifteen-year age difference hadn't mattered in the least.
His eyes filled, and he broke the gaze with Inspector Nadar, facing his mom. She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at his damp face.
Pulling in a deep breath, he directed his gaze back at his boss. "How long ago? Have you informed his family?" As far as he knew, there was only Ben's mother. He wanted to be there; it was his responsibility.
"I did that while you were in surgery. I don't have any details yet, but the funeral will likely be on Saturday. If you want to be there, you need to concentrate on getting well."
"Yes, Sir." He'd be there, no matter if he had to drag an IV stand along behind him. Later he'd worry about getting the Russian Bear behind bars.
"Good day, Mr. and Mrs. O'Donnell." Inspector Nadar nodded sharply before he spun on his heel and left the room.
"That's right, baby. You need to get better. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
His brothers and sisters boiled into the room, all appropriately sympathetic for his loss, and glad he was mostly okay. Every one of them hugged him, awkwardly to be sure, but it wouldn't be his family if there wasn't any hugging or kissing. One of them had to be responsible for intimidating the nursing staff, because he believed most hospital patients weren't allowed eight visitors at a time. He truly appreciated his family, and he hoped Ben's mother had someone to help her, if she was having a lucid day and was able to comprehend the loss she'd suffered.
"Mom, I want to go home."
"I know, baby. The doctor wants to keep you another day, then your dad and I will take you back home with us. Erin prepared the spare room for you while we rushed right here. We'll take good care of you."
He'd thank his sister later. Stupid to want his mom to take care of him at this age, but the thought of going back to his sterile apartment made him want to cry more. He didn't have a girlfriend; he didn't have anyone he even dated regularly. But he had his big, comforting family.
The chapel was small, but already his leg protested the trip from the taxi. Ben wouldn't care if he sat at the front or the back, so he slipped into an empty seat in the very last row. Drawing attention to himself, when he survived but Ben hadn't, made him uncomfortable.
He should have let his parents come, but for some reason he'd wanted to do this alone. Stupid. The cane wasn't quite enough support, not when he had to use the wrong arm. He scanned the attendees for anyone who looked like Mrs. Kaminski. He needed to pay his condolences to her, if nothing else. Most of the pews were filled with dress uniforms---very few in civilian dress.
The minister strolled out, appropriately somber, to start the ceremony. There was no casket as there had been at Granny O'Donnell's funeral---the only other person close to him to have died. Kurt hoped the lack of casket was due to choice and not necessity, but he'd been so exhausted from his injuries he hadn't thought to inquire about the details. The service began, but didn't hold his attention. No minister could have anything to say to comfort Kurt. Not now.
Memories of the hours they'd spent in a department-issued car together flitted through his brain. Ben may have been reticent about his personal life, but he'd imparted years of wisdom to a green detective and Kurt had soaked it up, becoming better at his job every day because of Ben.
Two people, neither of them in uniform, were seated in the front row, but off to the far right. The entire front row was open, reserved for family that either didn't exist or wasn't going to arrive. From where he sat, only the woman's profile was visible, but she was around Ben's age. So, not Mrs. Kaminski. Who was she? He could see no physical similarities between Ben and the strange woman---it didn't seem possible that she was family, despite her position in the family pew.
Under his gaze, she wiped at her eyes with a tissue and offered another one to the man beside her. He took it, but clenched it in his fist instead of using it. The woman moved slightly, and the man's profile became visible. Kurt didn't recognize either one.
The congregation rose for a hymn, blocking his view. He didn't want to tax his leg any further by constantly standing and sitting, and he even had his mother's blessing not to. She'd been adamant he not do anything to reinjure himself.
When the inspector stood to deliver the eulogy, a small stab of regret pierced his heart. If it wasn't one of Ben's friends from outside the force, it should have been him giving it. Shame made him accept the inspector's offer to speak, and shame made him squirm in his seat while he listened, trying not dishonor his dress uniform by crying. But Nadar hadn't spent nearly as much time with Ben as Kurt had, and his words reflected that distance. He watched the strangers in the front row, expecting one of them to rise to speak when Nadar was done. But neither of them moved, except for the woman who again blotted tears from her eyes.
Fuck. Could he have worked with Ben this long and not known he had a girlfriend? The woman could be family---maybe---but Ben had never mentioned anyone besides his mother. The woman's hand fluttered to her face, moving a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and this time he caught sight of something he should have noticed immediately. A wedding band.
What the fuck?
Why hadn't Ben told him? Granted, Kurt probably talked more about his personal life than his partner had wanted to hear, but Ben deflected almost all personal questions. Kurt thought them friends, but he didn't even know Ben had been married, let alone recognize the woman he should have at least met in the three years they'd spent partnered. Hell, most of the married cops he knew hung out with their partners off the job, frequently with their wives as well. Sure, he and Ben had never done more than eat lunch together, but Ben had met his parents and all of his siblings at least once, when they'd stopped by the station.
A burning pain lanced up his arm. Looking down, Kurt realized he'd rested the cane across his lap and was squeezing the shit out of it with both hands. Fine for his right, but definitely too much activity for his still-stitched left arm. Taking a deep breath, he unclenched his fingers. He'd talk to the two strangers after the service. He had a duty as Ben's partner, and he needed to know. As long as he could keep his bitterness contained. Why hadn't Ben asked for a transfer if he hated Kurt so much? Because Kurt couldn't imagine any other reason for him not to mention a wife, even an estranged one, to his partner.
He couldn't talk to Ben's previous partner, find out if Ed had known. Ed had died of a coronary, after which Ben got partnered up with Kurt. The ache in his heart, knowing his partner hadn't trusted him---at all---rivaled the emptiness inside where a friend had lived. It may have been a one-sided relationship, but Kurt missed his friend. God. Why hadn't he known? Had he been too self-absorbed, or had Ben deliberately hidden the information from him? Guilt ate through him like acid, the burning pain in his gut returning. He had to have been at fault.
The service ended abruptly, or so it seemed, since Kurt hadn't paid attention at all. The two people slipped out a side door almost before the minister had finished speaking. Without thinking, Kurt was up and out of the chapel, hobbling as best he could around the side of the church, to try and catch up to them in the parking lot.
"Wait! Wait!"
Two dark heads swiveled toward him, the man murmuring something to the woman, who nodded.
"Thank you," he puffed out. God, he hoped he got his strength back soon. He stood before them, and shifted his cane to his left hand so he could shake their hands at least. They were undoubtedly siblings, but the woman was several years older and had that slight puffy cast to her jawline his own sisters had displayed in early pregnancy. Ben was going to be a father? He wasn't sure if he could find words beneath the bitter guilt drowning him.
"I'm Kurt O'Donnell. Ben's partner." The man gasped slightly and turned away. His sister elbowed him in the arm.
"It's nice to meet you, Kurt. I'm Sandra. This is Davy, my brother." She would have made an excellent witness on the stand. Her words gave him only a modicum of data that he didn't have before.
"I'm very sorry for your loss." Kurt took her hand and gently squeezed it. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face had the yellowish pallor he associated more with illness than with grief.
"I'm sorry for yours," she replied.
He stretched his hand out to Davy, glad that Sandra at least had a brother to aid her through this, but their body language warred with his expectations. Sandra had her left arm around her brother's waist, shoulders tilting toward him in a protective gesture. It should have been the other way around.
Davy turned red-rimmed eyes, like his sister's, to him. But that was the only similarity.
Sandra was sad. Davy was devastated. Davy's chocolaty eyes were filled with all the desolation in the universe. The scleras were more than bloodshot, like he'd been crying for days, and his nose was as swollen and red as his eyelids. His face had the deathly white hue of shock that Sandra's should have had, and he didn't appear to be focusing too well.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, Davy's hand in his, shake forgotten. He had a sudden urge to hug Davy, but he was too busy trying to keep the shock and betrayal off his face. The world spun dizzily as all his preconceptions and conclusions vaporized, to be replaced by the new information now in his possession.
Davy's mouth worked, but nothing came out. He dropped his gaze, but he left his hand in Kurt's. Sandra separated them.
"We need to go now, Kurt. Thanks for introducing yourself." She tried to smile.
They got into a car, Sandra behind the wheel.
"Wait!"
Sandra twisted around in her seat.
"What about Ben's mom?"
"Oh, well, she wasn't having a good day. Sunshine Manors advised against bringing her."
Kurt stood back and let them---there was no other word for it---escape. He steadied himself on his cane while the taillights receded. Assuming Ben hadn't lied about his mother, it was entirely possible she'd been too ill or too disoriented to attend the funeral. But Sandra had been lying. He'd been a cop too long. He knew.
That night, his family tried to cheer him up. His eldest sister, Erin, brought over her daughters before his mom went to the restaurant. Now that all of their children were grown, both his parents spent the majority of their time at the family-owned Finn's Frolic, a cross between a family restaurant and a pub. Since Kurt's surgery, his mom had been home almost constantly, with other family members either taking him to doctors' appointments, visiting him, or taking extra shifts at Finn's to allow mom to stay home.
He sat at the kitchen table, longing for the solitude of his sterile, joyless apartment.
"Kurt, honey, the girls wanted to see their favorite uncle. You up to playing a board game or two?" Erin kissed his cheek and set a couple bags of groceries on the kitchen counter.
"Sure, yeah, no problem." As long as they picked something simple, he could play and still digest the information he'd received today. He scratched at a flaw in the bright yellow tablecloth. "You're my nursemaid today?"
"Kurt!" Erin could have doubled for his mother. He blushed. They were only trying to help.
"I'm sorry, it's been a difficult day."
Erin squeaked a little, and came to hug him, long hair brushing over his forearms. If he ever grew his hair out that long, it would look exactly like hers. Out of all of their siblings, Erin was the most similar to him in appearance: auburn haired, golden skinned, and deep-blue eyed. When she stood next to him, probably anyone could tell she was his sister, like Davy and Sandra today.
"Hey, when you're pregnant, how far along are you when you get all fat-cheeked?"
Erin turned and threw a dishcloth at him. "Haven't you learned yet not to call a pregnant woman fat? After five nieces and nephews?"
Kurt tossed the cloth back at her. "I'm not calling you fat. No, I saw a woman at the funeral today. She had that same look on her face." He gestured vaguely around his lower jaw. "You know, puffy. I'm sure she was pregnant, but I don't know how far along she was."
She wrinkled her brows. The question was odd, no doubt, but he was finding he had a lot of latitude since the incident. Which was fine by him. He wanted to keep Davy and Sandra to himself for the time being---at least until he'd decided what to make of them. Not realizing Ben had a baby on the way with a wife Kurt didn't know about was one thing, but suggesting anything about a connection to Davy, if it were untrue, wouldn't go down well with his colleagues. He must have been mistaken about the source of Davy's grief. Either way, Kurt had to be the worst detective ever.
"Well, mine comes around the fourth month and leaves by the fifth, but Colleen and Caitlyn both had it from about the fifth month until they gave birth." Just like the twins, always had to be the same.
"What about Heather?" Mike was the O'Donnells' second-eldest child, and his wife of three years was still getting used to their large brood. She didn't share everything like his sisters did and her pregnancy last year was well advanced before she confirmed it for anyone. It was the puffiness that had his sisters and mother speculating, though, which is why he'd noticed it so quickly on Sandra.
"It was hard to tell with Heather. But I think we all suspected in her fourth month also."
"So, not before you know you're pregnant, right?"
"No. You know by then. Are you sure you're talking about a woman at the funeral? Wait.... You didn't get some poor girl in trouble, did you?"
Okay, not as much latitude as he thought. "No, Erin. I haven't gotten a girl in trouble." He had to date for that to happen, and he'd gotten so tired of the scene, he hadn't bothered in weeks... months. His brother, Ian, was practically addicted to dating, but Kurt didn't know why he went to all the effort. Kurt missed sex, but it wasn't a whole lot better than jacking off, and it was always fraught with stress over whether he was doing it right and.... Fuck. He was not going to think about sex while sitting in his mother's kitchen with his sister.
"Nothing more than a cop's natural nosiness, I promise. But it's not important. I thought I was supposed to play games with my nieces."
Erin called the girls to the kitchen, and he played while she cooked. But he couldn't shake the idea that Ben had to have known about the baby. Kurt never sensed a day of elation in him, or conversely, depression. Not once. How long had Ben been married? He positively itched to call in the plate number he'd memorized, but if his boss found out he'd used department resources for personal reasons, he'd be in deep shit.
For a week and a half, Kurt went through the motions. He went to all his physiotherapy appointments, saw the department-mandated psychiatrist, filled out forms for his short-term disability, discussed with his doctor when he could return to work, spent time with his family, and visited with friends from the force who dropped by. But he couldn't shake the memory of Davy's haunted brown eyes.
When he woke Tuesday morning, three weeks to the day from Ben's death, he found his brother Mike in the living room reading the paper.
"Don't you have to work today?" He needed to go back to his apartment. His arm was fucked up still, and his knee unsteady, but he wasn't a baby, for God's sake. Since getting out of the hospital, he hadn't had one minute to himself.
"Took the morning off. I've got lots of time accrued." His brother was an investment banker, and a damned good one. Like the rest of the family, he was a hard worker, and rarely took vacation. As irritating as it was, it warmed him inside to know his family was here for him. "I'll take you to your doctor's appointment."
Although he didn't need his left knee to drive, no one wanted him getting behind the wheel and risking tearing the stitches in his arm if he needed to react in a hurry. Made him feel even more like a helpless child, getting chauffeured around everywhere. This appointment was to remove the stitches, but he probably wouldn't be cleared to drive yet.
"Can we stop by the station first?"
"What for?" Mike set his newspaper aside and narrowed his eyes. He was the most outspoken, besides their mother, about Kurt not going back to work before he was ready. But that wasn't why Kurt wanted to go in. He wasn't in a hurry to go back to a desk job, to sit staring day after day at the seat Ben should have filled, until he was cleared to go back on active duty. Or even worse, to sit across from a new partner.
"I need to talk to my boss. About forms and stuff. Whether Ben's desk needs to be cleared out."
"I'm sure that's done, squirt." Mike's tone was gentle. "But just in case, let's go after your appointment, so you don't have to rush."
His brother stood and gave him a quick, gentle squeeze around his shoulders.
"Thanks, Mike."
He stared at the blocky building. Had he ever come here off duty? Not since he'd dropped off the final paperwork when he was hired on. "Can you pick me up later?"
Mike patted his shoulder. "No problem. There's a coffee shop around the corner. Give me a call when you're ready. You've got your cell with you?"
Kurt rolled his eyes. He was a cop, a detective, for God's sake. His cell was almost as important as his gun. He hadn't carried his gun since the incident, so he'd kept his phone almost obsessively close.
"Yeah, Mikey, I'll call when I'm done."
With the cane, he was able to maneuver out of the low-slung vehicle without too much struggle. He shut the door and walked slowly into the building.
The greetings of his coworkers and friends were an uncomfortable mix of happy-to-see-him and sad-to-see-him-alone. Resolutely, he made his way to Nadar's office without looking at the corner that housed his and Ben's desks.
"O'Donnell. What are you doing here? Ready to get back on the desk? Because I think you should take some more time." The shuffling papers gave away Nadar's nervousness. Which made Kurt nervous in turn.
After closing the office door behind him, he sat down across from his boss. "Sir, I need Ben's home address."
Eyebrows rose into Nadar's hairline. "Care to elaborate?"
"You said you went to inform the family. I think you informed someone else besides Ben's mother."
"Well, you are one of my best detectives. Are you sure you want this? If you're asking, I can only assume Ben didn't trust you with this information."
More fucking tears welled up in his eyes. "And I'm sick about that, Sir. He should have. I am... was... his partner. And I need this. Please."
"As long as I don't hear about you doing anything stupid."
"No, Sir."
A few pen scratches later and his boss passed him a sticky note with an address.
"Thank you, Sir. What about Ben's personal items?"
"I already looked. I was going have them boxed up, but aside from his case notes, there was nothing more than snack food in his desk. There were some spare clothes in his locker, which I returned already."
This wasn't new information, but it held more portent than it had before. Kurt tucked the note into his pocket and headed to Ben's desk. He sat in the chair. None of the chairs were comfortable, but sitting in Ben's chair, viewing a different angle of the department, was odd. The other detectives were considerate enough to pretend he wasn't there, keeping their eyes averted as he opened drawers and closed them, hoping to find something personal of Ben's that Nadar missed. Even the mug was standard issue. The inspector might have called him one of the best detectives, but that couldn't be true. Not when he missed Ben's lack of personal items at work. There were no pictures, nothing with sentimental value, nothing denoting causes he supported or things he found humorous. Kurt should have pushed, asked more questions. Shown Ben---somehow---he was worthy of trust.
Unable to sit there any longer, he made sure he still had the sticky note Nadar gave him and called his brother.
Saturday afternoon, he got out of a taxi and stood on the sidewalk. His physiotherapist would kill him, but he held the cane in his left hand. Maybe it wasn't ideal, but it was a hell of lot better than using his left hand to carry the heavy sack containing a Crock-Pot full of his mom's famous Irish stew. And he couldn't handle both in his right hand. Besides, if things went according to plan, he wouldn't be bringing the Crock-Pot back. Not full, and not right away.
The small, single-story house in front of him had been neat and tidy. Not that it looked run down, but until recently, someone had been caring for it with almost obsessive precision. That precision had softened, or maybe it was just Kurt's imagination. A small car he didn't recognize sat in the drive alongside Ben's pristine yet environmentally unfriendly classic car. Neither were the car he saw Davy get into at the funeral, and both were covered in a thin layer of dust.
He bit his lip and marched forward. The mailbox was full, overflowing even. Not a particularly safe practice even if you were at home. Criminals would see an easy target, assuming the homeowner was on vacation. He peered at the envelopes hanging out of the mailbox like feathers hanging from a smug cat's maw. Davy Broussard. Good. Now he had a full name.
Raising the cane, he used it to stab at the doorbell. A faint chime resounded behind the door. He waited. Peeked through the window at the side. A stack of newspapers sat side by side with several pairs of shoes and a briefcase, but with the glare of the sun, he couldn't see much else.
This time, he used the cane to rap forcefully on the door. He didn't want Davy avoiding him.
Several long seconds later, the deadbolt slid back, and a rumpled, pajama-clad Davy peered at him. Pajamas. At three in the afternoon. His eyes---only marginally less blood shot than at the funeral---widened in alarm, but with no signs of recognition.
"Can I help you?" Wow. Did the guy ever have a nice voice. Deeper than he would have expected from such a skinny guy. He could do commercials or something for sure. And he didn't remember Davy being taller than him, but the two inches he had on Kurt's six feet were nothing compared to the approximately fifty pounds of extra muscle Kurt had. Kurt might be shorter, but he was a hell of a lot bigger.
"Hi, I'm Kurt O'Donnell. Ben's partner, remember?" Davy inhaled sharply, a near-gasp, like he'd done at the funeral. Was it hearing Ben's name that distressed him? "May I come in? My leg is starting to hurt." It wasn't, but it was a good excuse. He sensed Davy wanted to slam the door in his face, but he was determined to prevent that. There were questions that he needed answered, but more important was his sense of obligation as Ben's partner.
"Oh, sure." Politeness overrode Davy's first inclination, and Kurt didn't give him a chance to change his mind as he pushed his way into the house.
"Where's the kitchen?"
"Why?" Davy pointed to the back of the house---mechanically, instead of a true willingness to have Kurt in his kitchen.
"Because I brought food."
"Why?"
Kurt shook his head. As he walked to the back of the house, he couldn't see anything but generic décor applied with military precision. Nothing personal, vibrant, or alive, except for the jumble of shoes and newspapers by the front door.
The kitchen was the whitest room he'd seen in his life, and that included the hospital room he'd recently spent three days in. The only speck of non-white came from the black burners on the stove and the chrome taps at the sink. After heaving the Crock-Pot onto the counter, he grimaced slightly. It was his mother's old one, with a dark green ceramic liner and a garish line drawing of a red rooster on the front. And it looked almost obscene sitting on the white counter in the whiteout conditions of the kitchen. Was this what Davy liked? This... nothingness? Even Kurt's shitty apartment had a blue sofa and colored dishtowels, for God's sake.
He shrugged. He was here, he'd have to make the best of it. Hope Davy at least appreciated the sentiment. By rights, he should have been here much sooner, but his lack of mobility affected his decision as much as the fact that Davy didn't know him any better than Kurt knew Davy.
After he'd fiddled with the pot and got everything set up, he turned around. Davy sat slumped at the kitchen table, chin propped up by a hand, eyelids at half-mast. Bags under his eyes and hollows in his cheeks spoke loudly of how difficult the past couple of weeks had been. Even more startling was how Davy, with his pale-blue pajamas and his dark brown hair, somehow managed to fade away to nothing in this painter's blank canvas of a room. Kurt expected him to stand out like a rose among the weeds, but the whiteness camouflaged him.
"Are you okay?"
Davy nodded with his eyes, like he was too tired to move his whole head. "Sandra's not here, you know."
What? "Um. I know?" A light flickered on in his mind. The conclusion he'd drawn at the funeral, that Sandra was Ben's wife or girlfriend, had been an intentional misdirection on Davy's part. Maybe Ben and Davy lied to everyone about their relationship, not just Kurt.
"Why are you here, then?" Davy asked.
"I'm sorry, I should have been here earlier."
A puzzled look crossed Davy's face, and he peered at the clock on the wall. "Today? I'm sorry, did we have an appointment?"
Kurt's cheeks heated. He'd barged in here, without an invitation, and Davy didn't seem to know what the hell to make of him or the situation. Maybe if the poor guy had slept since Ben's death---which didn't look likely---his coping skills would be better.
"I'm here because you're here, not Sandra."
The words made Davy's eyes open fully, and he sat straight in his chair. "What do you mean?" His chest fluttered rapidly like a frightened bird... or a man about to faint from hyperventilation.
Kurt scooted to his knees in front of Davy, pain screaming through his injured joint, which he ignored. "Breathe, man, breathe. Slowly. In. Out. There's no reason to be afraid of me, I promise."
He lightly gripped Davy's knees as he spoke, getting Davy to focus on him, on breathing.
A few minutes later, Davy was no longer in danger of fainting, and Kurt levered himself into another chair. He'd just reacted, but those reactions would have his physiotherapist yelling at him for sure. He might even need to dig out the prescription painkillers he still had half a bottle of, when he got back to his mom's. But he had more pressing concerns.
"Okay, now?"
Davy nodded, a full nod this time, his eyes full of questions.
"I know this is where Ben lived. I know... or at least, I've deduced you lived here with Ben."
A slightly fearful look returned, and Davy fidgeted with fingers that looked bloodless and cold, he but didn't reply.
Another light went on his brain. Ben's partner. He'd introduced himself as Ben's partner. The term had a much different meaning for Davy. "You were Ben's partner. Life partner, right?" He didn't see a ring on Davy's finger, so he didn't think they were married.
Pale pink lips compressed, as though Davy were afraid of what would fall out. Kurt had seen the action before, in guilty people who weren't hardened criminals. The urge to tell the truth warred with fear of the consequences.
Davy's lips parted, but instead of the confirmation he expected, Davy repeated his previous question. "Why are you here?"
"Because I wanted to apologize. Because I wanted to offer my help, with anything."
"I don't understand. Apologize for what?"
Kurt's eyes began burning again. More memories had returned from that day, but not all. "I should have done more. Maybe if I had, Ben would still be alive."
Davy cleared his throat. "Inspector Nadar explained it to me. I don't think you're to blame. You didn't need to bring me food."
Kurt raised a brow as he inspected Davy from forehead to toe. He'd only seen Davy for a few moments at the funeral, but he'd lost ten pounds or more in the intervening days and was as pale as the paint on the wall. His mom would have a fit if he left Davy in this condition. He wasn't about to let Ben's partner kill himself through neglect.
"I wasn't kidding about helping you out. Ben was my friend." Even if he hadn't felt the same about Kurt. "Wife, life partner, kids... I would offer help to anyone Ben left behind. Now, it'll be thirty minutes or so before the stew's heated through. Is there anything you need me to do?"
Davy's breath hitched, once. Again. Then he startled them both by bursting into tears. Harsh, racking sobs and great gulping breaths shook Davy's slim frame. Davy stood poised to run, rubbing his face frantically, as though he could hide his grief.
Kurt couldn't let him suffer, couldn't let him run and hide more than he had been. Kurt grabbed him with his good hand and hauled him into his lap like a baby. Davy's head landed on the top of his barely healed scar on his bicep, and Kurt bit his cheek to keep from yelling. He wrapped his good arm around Davy's stiff, shaking body, and a few seconds later, Davy curled around him, absorbing body heat into his chilly form. Kurt shifted, so Davy's head rested on his shoulder, hot tears---the only thing warm about Davy right now---wetting his neck. He rocked, like he would with one of his nieces or nephews, and Davy's legs pulled up into an almost fetal position. Where the hell was Sandra? Where were Davy's parents, friends?
Crooning softly, an Irish tune his mother sung to him as a child, Kurt rocked Davy, let him cry, wishing they'd been on a couch when Davy had his meltdown. A few tears of his own slipped down and dropped from his chin into Davy's soft hair. His loss wasn't as profound, but hurt every damned day.
He'd had complete strangers---victims and relatives of victims---break down and need comfort. Ben never understood how he could do it, but if he sensed he could help, he did. He and Ben had seen a lot of people under a lot of distress, and a hug could go a long way to ease the pain. Although he was a stranger now, Davy shouldn't be. No way would Kurt deny him the same comfort he'd give a stranger. Not this pale, thin man Ben must have loved.
Davy's spine played like Braille under his palms, and each of his ribs told the story of Davy's self-neglect.
The minutes ticked by as the edge of hysteria smoothed from Davy's sobs. Warmth radiated back from the body in his arms, and the muscles loosened, became supple.
His shoulder was soaked, and Davy sniffled, the tearing grief easing at last.
"C'mon Davy, I think you need a nap." If he could have avoided disturbing Davy, he would have, but his arm and leg were already protesting.
He coaxed Davy to his feet and followed him as he stumbled and swayed into a large bedroom with a king-size bed. He assumed this was the room Davy shared with Ben, but aside from a small pile of clothes heaped in a chair on Davy's side of the bed, the room could have been found in any moderately priced hotel in the nation.
Seconds after rolling Davy into bed---thankfully the guy was wearing pajamas---he was asleep, emitting soft, snuffling snores.
Returning to the kitchen, the mouth-watering scent of his mom's stew tickled his nose as it heated. Davy could sleep for hours after his cathartic episode, and Kurt should leave. Should. But dammit. The whole Davy and Ben situation was odd, and his overactive curiosity was a major reason why he became a detective in the first place.
Starting with the fridge, he opened up every door in the room. It only confirmed what he'd suspected---Davy hadn't bought groceries in a while and probably had eaten very little since the funeral. Cleaning products, though, were available in abundance, which was no surprise given how perfect and white everything appeared. Confirmation of a theory didn't appease his curiosity in the least.
Graduating to drawers, he opened each until he came to one crammed with unopened mail. He took it out and sorted through it. Every piece had been postmarked the week of Ben's death or later. Since Davy hadn't brought in the mail for a few days, Kurt wondered if Davy's sister brought this in. He wished he knew which of the men was the obsessive neat freak. He'd only gone through the kitchen, but that's what he was seeing---a borderline pathological compulsion.
He popped out to grab the mail and paused by the untidy pile of newspapers by the front door. All of them were dated after Ben's death. After grabbing the mail, he placed it on the kitchen table, although he suspected Davy would shove it away in the same drawer with the rest. He followed up by cleaning out the rotting food in the fridge and giving it a wipe down with bleach. He didn't know when garbage day was, so he just left the bag in the garage.
After turning the Crock-Pot to low---it could stay that way all day, and Davy would have something hot to eat when he awoke---Kurt turned his attention to the rest of the house.
Working through the house as methodically, although far tidier, as when searching for evidence, he found almost nothing. Almost nothing to suggest anyone lived here, let alone two men who were apparently committed to each other. The décor was uniformly bland, and there were no personal effects from either man. Not one ragged-edged, broken-spine book sat on the few generic bookshelves. Hell, not even a brand new book was visible. Not one photo graced a single horizontal surface. Even Kurt's lonely apartment had pictures of his family---never again would Kurt call his apartment sterile. It was lonely, but not sterile. This house was sterile, and he was tempted to dust for prints to prove Davy wasn't a ghost hanging around a model home.
Finally, there was only the spare bedroom and the master bedroom left to search. He couldn't search the master bedroom without waking Davy, although he was more curious than ever to find out what---if any---secrets it contained.
The spare room didn't appear different than the rest of the house. The dresser doubled as a linen closet, and the bed was like something out a furniture catalog. Not surprising. If Ben couldn't even tell Kurt about his living arrangements, he sure as hell wasn't having houseguests. Besides, houseguests were frequently messy.
He opened the closet. Dear God, there was an eternity of bad jokes in here about gay men in the closet. The small space was packed floor to ceiling with color. Shirts, pants, blankets, even what appeared to be a handmade quilt with a riot of crazy colors. Boxes were stacked haphazardly, with bits of paper or fabric sticking out from under their poorly fastened lids. Throw pillows, games, mismatched lamps, and mementos jumbled together. Blues, reds, greens, purples, and yellows met his eyes. The colors overloaded his retinas after investigating the rest of the house.
A single box near the door had a grubby, well-worn lid. He opened it. Photos. Why would anyone keep a box of photos, and not put a single one up in their home?
An old Polaroid photo, complete with overexposure, sat on top. The candid shot, about ten years old, depicted Davy and Ben, laughing. He almost didn't recognize either of them. He'd never seen Ben laugh, and Davy was a pale shadow of the happy young man in the photo. The two men weren't touching but they were sitting close together. Kurt bit his lip against the sudden burning in his eyes.
He quickly sifted through the other photos in the box. There wasn't another one of Ben, but several of Davy and Sandra and other people he didn't recognize. Sitting back on his heels, he considered the items in the closet. Going through them now would take a lot of time; Davy could awaken at any moment. No doubt, everything in here was Davy's. Which meant the compulsion toward cleanliness and lack of personal effects had been all Ben, a carryover of his workspace at the department.
Past experience had taught him that people kept their most prized possessions close to where they slept. This room gave that a lie; this room was the exception. Somehow, he knew this closet contained all the things dear to Davy's heart.
His investigation raised more questions than it answered; he needed to talk to Davy, but that wasn't going to happen today. He took a spin through the basement, but other than awe at the incredible home gym residing there, it told him nothing new.
After checking in on Davy, who was still sound asleep, he left a note by the Crock-Pot with his phone number and a request for Davy to call him if needed. Phone call or not, Davy needed help, and out of respect for Ben's memory, Kurt was going to provide that help and maybe satisfy his curiosity at the same time.
Assailed with déjà vu, Kurt got out of the taxi and made his way up to Davy's front door. He hadn't even been able to stay away for twenty-four hours.
Last night, he'd been restless, snapping at his parents and pacing, wondering if Davy had eaten the stew. He couldn't even tell his parents why he'd been out of sorts. Thinking about Davy's empty cupboards made him do something incredibly presumptuous. Maybe he should consider going back to desk work sooner than he'd intended, keep him from thinking too much.
He left the house while his parents were at church. He wasn't much of a churchgoer, and even if Davy was... judging by the dust on Davy's car, if he wasn't going to work, he wasn't going to church, either.
As he'd done the previous day, he used his cane to knock on the door. Again, he waited. Again, he rang the doorbell.
When Davy opened the door this time, there was recognition in his eyes, and a wary welcome.
"Hi, Davy. Feeling better?" There was a hint of color in those pale cheeks, and the purple shadows under his eyes had faded a bit. He wore the same blue pajamas he had on yesterday, though.
More than a hint of color flashed into his face, and he looked down. "Yes," Davy whispered to his feet. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have anything to be sorry about. Unless you're not gonna ask me in."
"Oh, right, yes." Davy stepped back.
Kurt smiled, hoping to put Davy more at ease and headed to the kitchen. Probably the living room had more comfortable seating, but most of his family hung out in the kitchen, and Davy needed to spend more time near food if he was going to put a few pounds back on.
"Thanks for the stew, it was very good." Davy sat at the kitchen table across from him, looking like a lost little boy, for all that he might be a few years older than Kurt.
The Crock-Pot, minus the removable liner, sat garishly on the pristine white counter. Which was a good sign. If Davy had dumped the stew, uneaten, he'd have cleaned the liner and had both parts together.
"Did you make it yourself?"
"No, my mom did."
"Oh."
They sat, staring at each other. Kurt didn't want to start any involved discussions, since he was waiting for a delivery. Davy cocked his head to the side, a faint frown creasing his face.
The doorbell rang, and Davy's frown got deeper. His gaze shifted from Kurt to the door and back again. "Who is that?" Davy's voice was heavy with suspicion.
"Don't worry about it." Kurt sprang to his feet and headed to the door, trailed by Davy.
"I don't want any visitors." A hint of hysteria replaced the suspicion as Davy's voice rose.
Kurt opened the door and showed the grocery deliveryman where to deposit the groceries, ignoring Davy's half-uttered protests. When the guy went out for the second load, Davy finally got out a whole sentence.
"What the hell are you doing?" Davy patted down his pajamas, as though he was going to find something in his non-existent pockets. "Who is going to pay for all this?"
Ah. Davy was looking for his wallet.
"I am."
"I can't let you do that. Tell him to take it all away."
"And let you starve? I don't think so."
"I can get my own groceries."
Kurt snorted. "Well, you haven't."
The deliveryman returned and began hauling in the next load. "Kurt!"
"Jesus, Davy, why don't you go take a shower and let me take care of this." He sniffed exaggeratedly and wrinkled his nose.
Davy's eyes flared open in anger. Kurt didn't know if the crimson flush coloring Davy's face and neck was from fury or embarrassment, but showering would keep Davy out of his hair until the groceries were dealt with.
"Why the hell would you say that?" Davy hissed at him, with a furtive glance at the guy setting a plastic crate on the floor by the kitchen.
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Because you were wearing the same pajamas yesterday. Isn't it about time you got out of them?"
"Shut up! You're going to give him the wrong idea." Davy's voice somehow got more forceful and more quiet at the same time.
"What? Hold on a second." Kurt turned his attention to the delivery guy who needed his signature for the credit card slip. The door shut, and Kurt went back into the kitchen. It would take him awhile to put the groceries away with his bum leg and arm. Then he could start making lunch.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting away the groceries. I thought you were taking a shower."
"I... I...," Davy sputtered. "Aren't you worried about what that guy thought?"
"Am I worried the delivery guy thinks... what exactly?"
"That, you know, we're together." Davy whispered the last word. Kurt's heart broke. What had Ben done to this poor guy with his secrecy?
"So what if he thinks we're together? He's the grocery delivery guy for God's sake. It doesn't matter." Kurt wasn't gay, but there was no shame in having a gay relationship, and he sure as shit didn't care whether the delivery guy thought he was in one. If he even had. Whatever Davy thought, the guy was more interested in a tip than speculating on their love lives.
"It doesn't?" Davy didn't appear to understand. Kurt wasn't sure he did, either. Ben didn't have to take out an advertisement in the newspaper, but shit, there were other gay men on the force. They were younger than Ben, but gay marriage had been legal for years. Why had Ben been so secretive about it, and by extension, forcing Davy into hiding as well?
"I guess I'll go shower, then."
Kurt waited until he'd left the room before starting on the groceries.
By the time Kurt had the groceries put away and prepared omelet fixings, Davy returned, smelling of citrusy soap. Kurt smiled when he saw the worn T-shirt and jeans Davy wore. He'd been half-afraid Davy would return wearing another pair of pajamas.
"Have a seat." Kurt turned up the heat on the burner. "These will be ready soon. You like eggs, right? I don't know how to make much else."
"Eggs are fine. I can cook for myself, you know."
He twisted around to stare at Davy. "Really? When was the last time you ate?"
"Yesterday." A smile didn't quite curl his lips, but the intention was there.
A chuckle escaped. "Before that."
Davy's amusement fell away. "I don't remember. I like to cook. A lot. But it's hard to do, just for me. I couldn't be bothered."
"You can cook, can you?"
"Yes."
"Cool. How about you make me lunch tomorrow? If you can cook, you can probably whip something up with the random groceries I ordered."
Kurt dished up the omelets and slung them on to the table with the panache of a seasoned waiter. Like the rest of his siblings, he'd worked a number of shifts at Finn's, but not as a cook.
Davy poked at the eggs with his fork.
"There's nothing wrong with them, you know."
"Kurt, what are you doing here?"
Throat suddenly constricted, Kurt put his fork down, his own eggs untasted. "Ben and I worked together for three years. I trusted him with my life. I knew he had my back, and even though he didn't seem to think so, I had his back. That includes making sure you don't starve to death for God's sake!"
"Ben knew you had his back. He said you were the best partner he could have hoped for after Ed died. He talked about you all the time."
"He never talked about you." His previous anger swiftly morphed into regret, and tears, never far from the surface, threatened to fall. He stared down at the plate.
"I know," Davy said softly. "That was just Ben. But I don't want you here because you feel sorry for me."
"Fuck. I don't." Kurt lifted his gaze again. "But you need some help. Your friends should have been here. Or your sister."
Davy shrugged. "My sister... well, she's having a hard time. Her husband is stationed in Afghanistan, and she's having a high-risk pregnancy. I didn't want to burden her." Davy stabbed his fork into the eggs, but didn't take a bite.
He'd accept that for now. He wanted Davy to eat, and this topic wasn't helping either of their appetites. There would be time later to find out where Davy's friends were.
"Eat, Davy." Hoping Davy would follow his example, Kurt stuffed a large forkful into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "What do you do for a living?"
"I manage drug trials for a pharmaceutical company."
"Oh, a smarty-pants, eh?"
Davy hung his head, but the compliment clearly pleased him. "Not really."
"Uh-huh. I bet you've got a graduate degree at the very least. In what, chemistry?"
"Close. Biochemistry."
"See. Smarty pants. Tell me about it."
Davy was sufficiently distracted that he ate every last bite of his omelet as he talked and gradually grew more animated. But it soon became clear his professional life was as lonely as his personal one. He managed a large number of people, but had few peers. No work friends to help him.
When they were done, Kurt cleared the table and made quick work of the dishes. "Right, well, I better get going. But I'll be back tomorrow."
He made sure to program Davy's number into his phone before the taxi arrived to take him home.
"Baby, you're going out again?" Kurt's mom hovered as the taxi pulled into the drive. "You've gone out for lunch every day for two weeks. When do I get to meet her?"
"Mom, I told you. I don't have a girlfriend. I'm just hanging out with a friend." Shit, he could walk without the cane, and his stitches were out, but he wasn't up to full strength. He couldn't imagine trying to have sex in this condition. He should be cleared to drive at his next appointment, though, and he was going to move back to his place as soon as he was driving again.
She sighed like a mom humoring her son.
"Are you sure I can't drive you? I'm worried about you, and a taxi driver won't help you get in and out of the car."
What the hell? He hadn't needed---or wanted---help getting out of a damned car since the day he came home from the hospital. Yet his mother hovered like he was made of spun glass, practically cut his food for him, and wiped his butt. He wasn't a fucking infant, he was recovering, and well, from an injury.
"The taxi is fine, Mom." She was hurt by his sharp tone, but enough was enough. Kurt hadn't told anyone about Davy---he didn't know why---but when his family treated him as helpless, he found strength and purpose in helping Davy, aside from the simple enjoyment of his company. He'd have to give up these daily lunches when Davy went back to work. Davy only had a few more vacation days left, so he'd be going back to work before Kurt's disability leave was up.
"Bye, Mom." He kissed her cheek in apology. "I'll be back soon."
Kurt's phone rang in the taxi, and he didn't recognize the number appearing in the display.
"O'Donnell here."
"Oh, uh, hi, Kurt?"
"Davy? Where are you calling from?"
"The convenience store on the corner."
"Is something wrong?" Davy had never called him before, and Kurt didn't know why he wouldn't call from home. But it might be the first time Davy had left the house since the funeral, so maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.
"Oh, uh, no. Look, were you planning to stop by today?" Like he hadn't stopped by every day so far. Visiting with Davy made his own days go by faster, and he was much happier making sure Davy wasn't slipping back into the dangerous depression he'd seen the first day. One day, Davy wouldn't be so hesitant when he spoke with Kurt, but he had kind of bulled his way into Davy's life. Being the youngest of seven kids meant he had to work extra hard to get his own way. He wasn't always successful, but he was always determined.
"Yep, I'm on my way now." Tomorrow, God willing, he'd be driving his own damned car.
"Oh, I, uh... don't think that's such a good idea."
What? "Why?" At least the cab driver was ignoring him, because Kurt's face suddenly heated. Maybe Davy was tired of him hanging out. His lunches with Davy were the single best thing helping him work through Ben's death, and he thought his presence helped Davy a bit too. If nothing else, the guy was eating once a day. But he hadn't considered he might be irritating Davy more than helping him.
"I'm sorry. I'm wearing out my welcome, aren't I?"
"No!"
Oh. "Then?"
"I'm... not feeling well." Davy was lying. Kurt could tell, even through the phone. Which only made him more determined. Something wasn't right, more than Kurt being an annoying, single-minded son of a bitch.
"Davy, I'm going through a tunnel. I'm going to lose my signal. See you soon." Kurt stabbed the off button on his phone. He was more likely to get answers seeing Davy in person anyway.
He instructed the cabbie to drive past the convenience store first, but he didn't see Davy anywhere.
Minutes later, the cab drew up to Davy's house. It wasn't Ben's house, and hadn't been since the first day Kurt had visited. Despite Ben's car in the driveway, Kurt didn't have a picture in his mind of anyone but Davy living there.
And Davy better be there now. Kurt hopped out of the cab and threw a twenty at the driver. He moved as fast as he could up the drive. Not as fast as he'd like, but he carried the cane now as a just-in-case and didn't want to go back to needing it.
Finger pressed on the doorbell, he waited. The annoying ringing he'd expected to hear wasn't audible, so he pounded on the door with his cane. Davy yanked the door open, annoyed and sweaty.
"What?" The irritation faded, a bit, when he focused on Kurt.
"Hey, Davy. What's up? Ready for lunch?" Tomorrow, he was going to bring his car over, and they were fucking going out for lunch.
"I told you I wasn't feeling well... and wait. There aren't any tunnels around here."
Kurt shrugged. "I lied."
Davy's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. "But... but... how could you?"
Tempting as it was to laugh, Kurt refrained. "You lied, too, you know. You look like you're feeling just fine."
Red climbed Davy's throat and stained his cheeks a fiery pink.
"Can I come in?" A rhetorical question, since he pushed past Davy, much the way he had the first day. At least Davy wasn't wearing pajamas again.
Dear God. It was hot as the fires of Hades. "Davy, what the hell is wrong with your air conditioner?" Should he offer to take a look at it? Of course he might make it worse.
He walked into the kitchen. "At least open some windows. It has to be cooler outside than in here." And brighter too. Wrestling with the window over the sink, it opened with a pained screech informing Kurt the windows were rarely, if ever, opened. A slight breeze, warm and humid, wafted in.
"That's better." He'd been here enough, and been pushy enough that he didn't wait for Davy to offer him a drink---he'd waste away from dehydration if he did. Davy didn't talk a whole lot, and he clearly hadn't quite figured out what to make of Kurt's daily visits. But there hadn't been a sign of the scary, sleeping-all-the-time, prelude-to-overdosing Davy displayed the first couple of days.
Opening the fridge, the light didn't come on. But one came on in Kurt's brain. Turning on his heel, he let the door swing shut behind him. Davy had followed him into the kitchen but stared at his bare feet.
Suspicion filling him, Kurt stalked closer to Davy and flicked the light switch behind Davy's shoulder. Off. On. Off again. On again. Nothing.
A power outage wasn't unusual. Brownouts were a regular occurrence when the temperature rose above a certain point, but it wasn't that hot out. A brownout wasn't a good reason for the shame skating across Davy's face, even though Davy wouldn't look at him.
"Davy, what's wrong with the power?" Kurt clenched his fists to keep from shaking the man. Was he trying to kill himself by slow roasting? Since Kurt hadn't let him starve himself?
Then he saw the drops hitting Davy's feet. Tears. Dammit. He wasn't going to do this in the kitchen, though. He was practically still bruised from the day Davy had cried in his arms---those kitchen chairs were instruments of torture.
He stalked past Davy to the living room. At least it wasn't white, but the monochrome beige made him feel like he was inside a mushroom. Thankfully these windows opened more smoothly, because he had a twinge in his left arm from opening the window in the kitchen. It was getting better, but he didn't want to piss off his physiotherapist or she wouldn't let him start driving tomorrow, or go back to work soon. The light levels improved significantly with the blinds open.
Turning back, he saw Davy standing in the doorway in that same whipped posture. He pointed at the plush, nondescript couch. "Sit."
Surprisingly, Davy sat. The man might not talk much, but nevertheless, Kurt had expected a bit of resistance. Maybe Davy realized Kurt was in no mood to put up with any shit today.
Kurt sat on the coffee table in front of Davy, whose eyes flared. He rolled his eyes. Undoubtedly Ben would have freaked by either butt or shoes planted on the table, but tough shit.
"What the hell is going on?"
Fine tremors shook Davy's thin body. Faint sounds of traffic wafted into the room, meshing with Davy's hiccupping breaths.
Kurt waited, blood pulsing in his temples. He was angry, but he didn't want to be. Grief didn't disappear after a few weeks, especially when your partner of ten years died. It would be months before Davy was better. He had to remember that, not get frustrated by the way Davy hid in here and pretended time stood still.
Long minutes passed before Davy's head lifted. His eyes were bloodshot and wet, like Kurt hadn't seen since the first couple of days.
"I couldn't afford to pay the bill."
The statement wasn't a surprise, and yet it was. Kurt couldn't imagine a man as responsible and by-the-book as Ben had been would leave his lover with crushing debts.
"I'm going to have to sell the house," Davy whispered, more tears welling up to spill down his too-thin cheeks.
The urge to gather Davy in his arms again and tell him everything would be all right shook Kurt. He hesitated for a second---was that the type of solace Davy needed? Probably not. Not this time. Nevertheless, he slid onto the couch and wrapped an arm around Davy's slender shoulders. Davy curled into him and clung like a limpet. How long had Davy been without any simple human contact?
"Whoa. Hold on a second. Your salary doesn't cover the mortgage?" He was being unbearably nosy, and God knew, property values were insanely high, but the house was quite modest. Just an older two-bedroom bungalow with a finished basement.
In the crook of Kurt's neck, Davy nodded, then shook his head. "Yes, but the funeral took all of my savings. Everything else comes out automatically from the bank. All the bills and the house are in my name. Ben...." Davy swallowed heavily and took a deep breath. "Ben usually transferred money to me each month, but the nursing home for his mom called and said they hadn't received a check. I... didn't know what else to do. I sent them a check, but that meant I couldn't cover the electric or phone. I didn't realize how expensive the long-term care facility was."
Those were the most words Davy had strung together at once since Kurt burst into his life. Wait. The phone call from the corner. "Your phone's dead too? What about a cell?"
Davy shook his head again.
"Jeez, Davy. It's fucking dangerous not to have a phone. What if you got hurt? A fire? A burglar?" Kurt pulled away to glare at Davy.
His only response was a look of confusion. Kurt clamped down on his own fear. If he had to leave his own cell with Davy, he would. But Davy had other issues more worrisome than a hypothetical disaster.
"Okay, okay. Sorry. What about life insurance? Didn't Ben have any savings? I can't believe he wouldn't have made provisions for his mother... and for you. He works---worked---in a dangerous field."
Kurt made a will the day after he joined the force, not that he had much of anything to bequeath besides some savings. But he didn't have people relying on him, not like Davy and Ben's mom did on Ben.
Davy shrugged. "I don't know. He never mentioned anything."
The pulse in his temple got louder and more insistent. Ben had been pretty much a mystery, and Kurt conceded he had been a great cop, but the more he learned, the less sure he was he would have liked the person he never knew.
"Did he have a file cabinet? Or a file folder? A box with personal papers?"
Davy bit his lip for a second before nodding. "Yes."
"Okay, bring it into the kitchen." Uncomfortable chairs or not, he suspected he'd need the kitchen table to spread out papers. He wasn't an expert, not by a long shot, but he couldn't leave Davy with no fucking power and worried about losing his home just a month after Ben's death.
Davy moved to the bedroom, and Kurt went straight to the drawer full of unopened mail. He hadn't looked at it since that first day, but there might be something in there about life insurance or... something.
Kurt set aside the envelopes he assumed were condolence cards. There were so few. Probably because no one realized Davy and Ben existed as a couple for God's sake. Some of the envelopes looked like bank statements, and Kurt set those aside. The two registered letters from a lawyer's office, addressed to Davy, were of the most interest.
A trickle of sweat slid down his back, reminding him uncomfortably of that hot moment before the raid went all to shit. The baggy long-sleeve T wouldn't be so hot if the A/C was working---he hadn't worn a short-sleeve shirt in public since... well... since the day Ben died. At first it was to protect the bandages and then it became habit.
Screw it. He pulled the shirt over his head, hoping Davy wouldn't mind.
Davy chose that moment to arrive in the kitchen, standing frozen in the doorway with an accordion file in his hands.
"Oh, hey, sorry. I was getting a little warm." And possibly a little freaked out by the reminder of the explosion. "Hope it's okay."
Kurt never thought twice about wandering around his own apartment or his parents' place shirtless, or even his buddies' backyards for BBQ's and touch football and the like. But Davy had spent ten years with the proper Benjamin Kaminski. When Davy's normally pale face paled a trifle more, Kurt reached for his shirt. Fuck it. He'd just suffer.
"It's okay." Davy moved finally, setting the accordion file on the table.
Kurt paused in the act of twisting his shirt right-side out. "Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Because suddenly, he remembered Davy was gay. This wouldn't be misinterpreted, would it?
"No. It's just... I didn't realize about your arm. I know you told me, but I somehow thought, with the cane and all, your knee was the worst injury. But it wasn't, was it?"
Oh. Right. He hadn't even considered how horrific his scar might look to Davy. Or anyone, really. The only ones who'd seen it thus far were doctors and family.
He tucked his arm close to his side and tried to wrestle his shirt on one-handed.
"I'll cover it up in a sec."
Davy grabbed his shirt. "It's okay. I was just startled. With... everything... I forget sometimes you were hurt badly."
He shrugged, shirt clamped in a fist, unsure if he should put it on anyway.
"And tattoos. I had no idea. They're very nice. Can I look?"
"Uh, thanks. Sure." People liked to look at his armbands. The intricate, two-inch wide Celtic knot-work bands were compelling visuals, or so he'd been told more than once, and Davy wasn't the first to have asked. Usually women were the ones to want to get up close, but Davy hadn't demonstrated interest in much, and Kurt was happy to encourage it.
Light fingertips along the deep black borders of the band on his left bicep gave him gooseflesh on the back of his neck, but Kurt remained still for Davy's inspection. Surprisingly strong fingers gripped Kurt's wrist and turned it outwards, exposing the long jagged scar.
"Does it hurt?"
"The scar?" It was still pink and a little angry looking, but healing well. "Sometimes. I probably overdid it a bit with the windows."
A slight gasp, and Davy's fingers tightened a wee bit. "I'm so sorry. I should have---"
"What? You didn't know, and I knew better. It's fine."
Davy drew a thin forefinger along the scar to where it bisected Kurt's tattoo. "You had it done all the way around? That must have hurt too."
He snorted. "Not as much as the damned shrapnel, let me tell you."
Was it punishment for his vanity? Because not only had the scar broken the perfect circle, the edges didn't even match up and no longer matched his right arm, either.
"I don't know if it will hurt tattooing over scarred skin or not, but I suspect they'll have a bitch of a time trying to fix it."
Davy nodded and let go of his wrist. Even in the overheated house, Davy's fingers had been cold, and they left a cool spot on Kurt's skin after Davy settled into a chair and shoved the accordion file at him.
After about an hour of sitting in silence, sifting through the papers---organized within an inch of their lives, to be sure---Kurt stretched. Davy sat there, watching, the entire time. He slid the registered letters over to Davy. "Open these up."
"Why?" Davy picked them up by the corners as though they were contaminated. When his nose wrinkled slightly, Kurt's budding exasperation melted away. Avoidance was clearly Davy's MO. If he didn't open those letters, he wouldn't have to face the final steps in letting Ben go. And he was willing to sit in this dimly lit sweatbox in order to do so.
"Because it's time. You know you're the executor of Ben's will, right?"
Davy shook his head. Seriously? Ben hadn't told him? Hadn't prepared him? No wonder. Davy didn't have a fucking clue what to do.
"I'm actually surprised the lawyers haven't tried calling you too." A furtive glance at the phone told Kurt louder than words that Davy probably had messages he hadn't returned. "Getting all this fixed up should leave you able to pay for the house just fine."
"But what about Ben's mom?"
A slight burning sensation alerted Kurt to impending tears. He blinked them back---Davy cried enough for both of them. Ben may have treated Davy poorly, but no matter Davy's tendencies for avoidance, Kurt couldn't fault Ben for choosing a caring, soft-hearted lover.
"There are two life insurance policies. One for you and the house and the other through the department for his mom." Which fit Ben's fucking pattern. God forbid anyone at work know about his partner of ten years, not even the benefits administrator. At least he'd manned up enough to make arrangements for Davy with a lawyer. "You'll need to talk to the lawyer about dispersing those funds and who will make the medical decisions for Mrs. Kaminski. There may be a way to get some help from the province or a court-appointed guardian."
"No."
Kurt's eyes widened. He hadn't expected such a forceful response.
"No. Ben left this to me. I have to do it." Davy splayed his hands over the documents as though hoping their contents would reach his brain through osmosis.
"You don't have to do it alone. You know I'll help, right?" A month ago, he would have helped solely because of his obligation to Ben. Now, though, he wanted to help because Davy was his friend.
Tears welled up in Davy's eyes as he mouthed the words "thank you" at Kurt without looking at him. With a deep shuddering breath, Davy blinked back the tears, kept them from falling.
Kurt pulled his phone out and handed it to Davy. "Call the lawyer. Make an appointment. After that, we'll order a pizza, and while we're waiting, we'll call and get your electricity and phone hooked back up."
"How?"
"We'll put the balance on my credit card."
"No." Davy sounded even more forceful than when he'd said the same word just minutes ago and waved at the table. "I can't let you do that. This is my own stupid fault. I should have done this sooner."
Kurt bristled. "You're not stupid. You've had a hell of couple of weeks. I'm a friend helping another friend out of a jam. And I won't let you stop me."
He wasn't lying. Somewhere along the line, Davy had become his friend, not just the lover of his dead partner.
The tears welled up again, but this time Davy was almost smiling. "A friend?"
Kurt's gut churned. He really wanted to punch someone. Davy had told him about Sandra's dangerous pregnancy and about how Ben had gradually isolated Davy from his other friends. Davy hadn't put it in so many words, but Kurt knew. He'd seen enough domestic abuse victims to recognize it, and even though Ben hadn't done anything overtly abusive, the isolation was bad enough. All because he didn't want anyone to know he was gay. But Kurt couldn't believe none of Davy's former friends had extended an olive branch or even checked in to see how he was coping. Nevertheless, he smiled and nodded.
With another faint smile, Davy took the phone and began dialing. While Davy was on hold, Kurt gathered up the documents he'd need into a single pile, then stood and wandered back into the living room to give Davy some privacy.
Kurt hadn't confessed to snooping in Davy's closet, but he wondered if he should. This house needed some color.
Davy didn't exactly bounce---he was kind of tall for that---but there was a definite lightness of step when he returned Kurt's phone.
"I'm to go in at ten thirty tomorrow."
"Perfect. I've got an early doctor's appointment. After I'm done, I'll pick you up and afterward, we'll go out for lunch."
"Out?" Well, shit, Davy didn't have to sound like he'd just propositioned a Victorian maiden for group sex.
"Yes, out. It's not a four-letter word, you know."
"But... but... in public? Won't people think...." Both his words and volume trailed off to nothing. Oh, Ben, what the fuck did you do to this guy?
"Friends, remember? Friends go out, you know. Besides, your neighbors probably already think you're having an affair, and I've been coming over for nooners everyday, since we never leave the house together."
Davy's eyes widened, and his fierce blush looked almost painful. But then he sputtered and a stifled giggle escaped before he locked it down. The mirth remained in his eyes, and Kurt smiled. Soon, he'd get Davy laughing for real. Soon, Davy wouldn't feel guilty about getting on with his life.
Next week, they'd both be back at work, Kurt mostly healed physically, but Davy with a mountain to climb to heal his heart and mind.
Kurt looked around the diner, wondering if he'd see anyone he knew. They were a little far afield from his own precinct, but Lettie's was one of the best all-night diners in the city, so naturally, anyone who'd worked the graveyard gravitated to it. Cops were more likely to be there at midnight, not noon, when it was apparently filled with businessmen.
"So, how come someone who claims to be able to cook wanted to go to a diner?" Because as soon as Davy had seen where the lawyer's office was, he'd asked if they could eat at Lettie's.
"The food's good. Or at least it used to be. I haven't been here in years, but I used to eat here with friends all the time." Davy glanced around, the fine lines of tension around his eyes smoothing out as he became lost in nostalgia.
"Food's still good. A lot of guys on the force eat here."
"They... do?" The tension returned as Davy glanced around again, furtively this time. Comprehension flooded Kurt. He wasn't going to ask, but he'd bet his life savings Ben had been the reason Davy stopped eating here.
They spoke fitfully until their lunches arrived. All Kurt could do was show Davy he didn't mind being seen in public with him, for Christ's sake.
"I didn't miss that little dig, you know," Davy said with a mischievous look that Kurt was happy to see.
"What dig?"
"About my cooking."
Kurt shrugged. Davy had made lunch for them a couple of times. It was good but not fancy. Mostly they had sandwiches or eggs of some description.
"Hey, no biggie. It's okay to exaggerate your accomplishments," he teased.
"Exaggerate?" Davy said in mock offense. "That's it. I'm making my specialty this weekend. You'll have to come over for dinner."
"Oh, yeah? What's your specialty?"
"It's a surprise."
Davy's playfulness suited him so much better than the zombie-like catatonia or tears.
"Okay, then, what day is better for you?" Kurt wasn't going back to work until Monday, but Davy had chosen to return to work tomorrow, figuring a short first week back would be easier to handle. One day or five, Kurt had no illusions---Davy's first week back was going to be exhausting.
"Is Saturday okay? I know that's usually date night."
"Saturday is fine. I haven't dated in a while." His family life had been a safe topic of conversation over the past few weeks, but he'd not spoken much about his dating habits.
A hint of color appeared on Davy's cheekbones, but Kurt didn't know why. Was it weird to talk about sex or dating with a gay friend? Maybe. Kurt made a mental note to avoid the topic in the future.
"Davy Broussard, as I live and breathe," an exaggeratedly flamboyant voice exclaimed.
Kurt twisted in his seat to see an impeccably dressed blond man in a suit. He was shorter than both Davy and Kurt, but he was so groomed and poised looking, he might have been modeling business suits rather than being a businessman.
"Jon!" Davy was unmistakably delighted. "How are you?"
"I'm good, hon, but I'd like to know who this hunk is."
"Oh, right. Jon, this is...." Davy suddenly looked uncomfortable, out of practice introducing people to his friends.
"I'm Kurt, a friend of Davy's."
"Oh, a friend, you say." Jon didn't make the gesture, but there were air quotes around the word "friend."
Kurt gave him the steely look he usually reserved for recalcitrant suspects. Didn't do quite as much good as it did at the precinct, though.
"Well, Davy, honey, I'm glad to see you finally dumped that miserable Ben character."
The words were like a slap across the face and they had to be immeasurably worse for Davy. A glance revealed Davy's face paling ghost white then turning positively green before he bolted from the table in the direction of the restrooms.
"What the hell?" Jon lost his affected speech in his confusion.
Perhaps he hadn't been intentionally malicious, as Kurt had first thought. Which was the only thing keeping Jon's nose unbroken, but Kurt couldn't keep his fist from clenching.
"What is the matter with you? Don't you read the fucking papers? Watch the fucking news? Ben died in the line of duty about a month ago."
The blond turned pasty white, too, and dropped into the bench seat Davy had vacated. Kurt signaled the waitress to bring the check. As soon as he paid, they'd be out of here.
"I didn't know...," Jon said faintly. "I mean...."
"How could you not know? It was all over the news."
Jon clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "You mean, the guy in the explosion? That was Davy's Ben?"
Leaning over the table, a sincere honest look in his eyes, Jon suddenly gave the impression of a young child playing dress-up.
"Seriously... Kurt, was it? I've been friends with Davy since high school, and I've never met Ben---I didn't even know Ben's last name. He never wanted to meet any of Davy's friends, and I've seen a picture, but it was a long time ago. In the past five years Davy pretty much disappeared."
Jon glanced down at his hands, then up again. "How's he doing? Can I help?"
Now Kurt knew why Davy's friends hadn't been around for him. Davy sure as hell wouldn't have called them. If Kurt hadn't barged into his life like an ill-mannered brute, Davy wouldn't have anyone aside from a sister going through a difficult pregnancy while her husband was overseas. He was tempted to tell Jon the isolation had gone both ways, but he had other concerns right now.
"Does Davy have your number?"
"He should, but just in case...." Jon handed over a business card. "Please, have him call."
The bill arrived, and Kurt threw down some cash. Pocketing the card, he stood. "I'd better go check on him."
"Okay, thanks. Tell Davy I'm sorry, please?"
"I will." He made his way to the restroom where he found Davy pale, and drying his face with a paper towel.
"I'm sorry." The quiet words were almost lost in the echoing cavern of the bathroom.
"Don't be. It's fine. I think I'd like to talk to you about your friends, but not now." Kurt debated handing over the card or hanging on to it until he'd had a chance to recommend Davy see a counselor or psychologist. But friends were friends, and maybe having someone else to talk to would help. "Here, Jon left this for you. He apologized."
Holding the card like it was fragile, Davy turned it over. "Oh. Jon got a promotion. That's nice."
Harsh, angry words welled up in Kurt's throat, but speaking them would do no good. Because even though Davy clearly didn't see it, he was a victim, not just a bereaved spouse. Instead, he inhaled deeply, almost coughing at the large infusion of chemical deodorizers in his lungs.
"C'mon. Let's get out of here."
A bit of color returned to Davy's cheeks. "Is there a back door?"
"Yep." Kurt could understand his need to hide today.
No matter how many times Kurt shuffled the files around on his desk, the piles weren't getting any smaller. He'd have to actually do something with them for that to happen, but God, it sucked being trapped behind a desk. If his boss had anything to say about it, he'd be desk-bound for another couple of weeks until his new partner arrived. Which meant all the paperwork in the world to catch up on, and too much time to worry about Davy.
Which was stupid, really. He'd gotten used to seeing Davy daily while they were both off. It had been a long time since he hung out with a buddy that often---probably not since college. Going back to work had helped Davy more than Kurt had expected, but it exhausted him, too, which meant they'd watched a ballgame at Davy's twice in the last two weeks, and both times he'd fallen asleep before the sixth inning. Kurt grimaced. Davy'd better have more stamina come hockey season, that's for damned sure. He hadn't even made good on his promise to cook for Kurt, but it wasn't like Kurt couldn't get home cooking. All he had to do was show up at his family's pub or his mom's kitchen.
"Hey, squirt." Kurt's brother, Ian, stood beside his desk.
"You can't call me that, pipsqueak. You're only one year older." Kurt refrained from adding that he could take Ian down in mere seconds, because they both knew that was true. Their faces looked a lot alike, despite Ian's dark hair and light blue eyes. But Ian was smaller than Kurt---shorter, not as broad and not as muscular. Never stopped Ian from teasing him, though.
"Whatever, squirt. You try anything and I'll tell mom!" Ian winked, and Kurt rolled his eyes. Mike was twelve years older than Kurt, and already a teenager when Kurt began toddling after him. The diminutive name Mike had given him stuck, but that didn't give Ian the right to call him the same name, dammit. Especially not at work. "What are you doing here?"
"Had a lunch meeting nearby, but it got canceled last minute. Since you're still being a desk jockey, I thought you'd like to go to lunch."
Ian's gaze flickered over Ben's empty desk before returning to Kurt. Kurt had been doing the same thing almost constantly since returning to work two weeks ago.
He wasn't sure if Ian was lying about his meeting---he wouldn't put it past any of his family to still be keeping tabs on him, but he and Ian had always been good friends as well as brothers.
"Sure, that'd be great."
Kurt turned to the officer in the next bank of desks. "Hey, Christa."
She faced him with a big smile. "Hey, Kurt. I guess this is one of your brothers."
"Ian. We're going out for lunch. Don't think anyone will be looking for me, but just in case...."
"No problem. I'll let 'em know if needed."
"Thanks, Christa."
Kurt's hand hovered for a moment over his car keys, but there were plenty of places to eat within walking distance. He led Ian out of the station.
"You hitting that?" Ian asked.
"Hitting what?"
"That Christa chick. She's totally into you."
"Okay, one, she hates being called a chick, and she could punch you out as easily as I could. And two, no, she's not."
"Into you? Yes, she is."
"Doesn't matter." God, it was hot outside, and a little early for this humidity. The smog hung over the city, giving the air a faintly acrid taste and a yellowish haze. Kurt peered both ways on the sidewalk, wondering which way to head.
"She's cute."
Thai. That'd be good. Ian liked Thai as much as he did. Kurt turned left, and they started walking.
"Yeah, but if things didn't work out, I'd have to see her every day."
"Maybe I'll ask for her number."
Kurt shrugged. "If you want." Given his brother's track record, he'd have sex with any woman as long as she was breathing, and his flings never lasted more than a couple of days. But Christa could look after herself. Kurt was too picky, and Ian wasn't picky enough; between the two of them, their mom despaired of either of them settling down.
The scent of lemongrass and curry wafted out of the open door. Kurt had been tempted to drag his brother to Lettie's, but it wasn't convenient, and he couldn't nail down why he wanted to return. The food hadn't been so fabulous that he felt he was missing out on his earlier aborted lunch. Besides, Thai was great.
His phone rang in the middle of lunch. Blinking, he noticed the caller ID said it was Davy---they rarely called each other, although he'd made sure to program Davy's cell number in his phone. "I have to take this."
Chewing, Ian waved him off.
Wending his way past tables out to the street, Kurt answered. "Hey, Davy. What's up?"
"Hi, Kurt." Davy's voice was hesitant and upset, but not the way he'd been the day he'd called from that payphone. "Are you planning to stop by tonight?"
The Jays' game was televised tonight, and Kurt had gotten into the habit of dropping by to watch it with Davy. He wasn't sure how much Davy enjoyed watching baseball, but they both liked the company. Calling first wasn't part of his MO. Most times, Davy was there, and despite not making official plans with Davy, he'd known he'd stop by.
"Yeah, I was, if I'm not needed for a case." Kurt didn't know how he was able to say that with a straight face. He wasn't going to be needed for anything until he got off the fucking desk. But he had to pretend---this weird working half-life made him feel useless. He wasn't helping anybody doing glorified busy-work.
"Okay, uh, good. Just wondering."
"Did you have plans with someone? I can watch the game with my brothers."
"No, no. I was just wondering about dinner. I'll see you tonight."
Davy disconnected the call, and Kurt spent a couple of seconds staring at his phone. Not for the first time, he wondered if Davy needed to talk to someone professional. Initially, he'd been so worried Davy was going to harm himself, then later, after he realized how badly Ben had fucked Davy up, well, Davy might need more help than just a supportive friend. And every odd, socially inept interaction only emphasized that. But he was hesitant to disrupt the fragile friendship, in case Davy took the suggestion the wrong way.
The acrid smell of antiseptic burned in his nostrils but not strong enough to bury the underlying scent of death and bodily waste permeating Sunshine Manors. He'd never been in a place like this---Granny O'Donnell had died quick, without even an extended hospital stay, and people this close to death didn't commit murder. Retirement homes were not the same as these types of long-term care facilities. Smelled like the damned morgue.
Kurt stood back and let Davy introduce himself to the receptionist. Davy had surprised him Friday with the request for his company, but now that he was here, he understood Davy's reluctance to come alone. This was possibly the most depressing place he'd ever seen... or smelled.
An orderly approached the desk, and Davy turned back to him. "We're ready."
Kurt stepped closer and followed as the orderly led them through the reception area into a ward.
Some of the residents---primarily elderly---reached out to touch them as they walked by, others nodded sightlessly to invisible visitors, and still others spoke in eerie mumbles. It was astonishingly like walking through a prison, but these poor souls had been imprisoned by infirm bodies and unraveling brains.
They were led into a clean but spartan room with a single occupant in a recliner-style chair beside the bed. The woman in the chair bore no resemblance to the man Kurt had known.
"Hi, Mrs. Kaminski. It's me, Davy. I brought Ben's partner from work. His name is Kurt. We're going to sit here and visit for a bit." They settled into the two visitor chairs.
Mrs. Kaminski's slack face gave no indication she'd heard a word. Her fingers weaved arcane patterns in the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
Davy continued to speak in a soothing monotone, and Kurt assumed it was similar to what he'd seen Ben do. What a shame Ben never introduced Davy to his mom before she lost all her faculties. Perhaps Davy's voice would have brought her some peace.
The woman took them both by surprise by sitting upright in her chair and grabbing Davy's forearm.
"Ben, Ben, I'm so glad to see you. Please take me home. I don't like it here."
Davy's head swiveled between Kurt and Mrs. Kaminski, pain and panic visible in his eyes. Without knowing why it was the right thing to do, Kurt placed a hand on Davy's shoulder. "Tell her what she wants to hear."
"Uh... yeah... I'm here to take you home. Um. Mom. We're just...." He looked to Kurt again, beseechingly.
"Keep going," he whispered.
Davy's voice firmed. "We're just waiting for them to pack up your stuff."
"Good. Good." Mrs. Kaminski smiled, released Davy's arm, and slumped back in her chair, fingers reaching for her blanket again.
Davy's shoulders heaved as he drew in a few deep breaths. When he finally looked at Kurt, his eyes were wet, but he wasn't crying. Kurt couldn't imagine how hard that must have been, but two months after Ben's death, time was starting to scab over Davy's wounds.
"That's enough for today, I think," Kurt said.
"How did you know I should pretend?"
Kurt shrugged. "They said she didn't have good days anymore, and you told me Ben hadn't seen any lucid moments recently. Stood to reason that whatever was happening wasn't going to last long."
Once outside, Kurt breathed deeply, the smog-laced humid air refreshing after an hour inside Sunshine Manors.
Davy looked completely wrung out, and Kurt didn't blame him one bit. The visit would have been hard enough without Mrs. K. mistaking Davy for Ben.
"How often did Ben visit?"
"Twice a month. He used to visit more, but once she stopped recognizing him, he wasn't sure the visits helped."
And even if Ben had been a dick about Davy, those visits had to have been painful. Kurt inhaled again. He'd seen worse in the line of duty, but it was still depressing, especially since there was little he could do to help.
"What about you?"
"I'll try to keep to the same schedule."
Kurt wasn't surprised. Davy's soft heart wouldn't let him do any less, even if it had taken him this long to steel himself for the first visit.
"If you want me to come with you, let me know."
Davy bit his lip and nodded, but he didn't say anything. The drive home was silent, and afterwards, Kurt sought out his rambunctious, noisy family at Finn's.
Monday morning, a huge dark-haired man followed Inspector Nadar out of his office toward Kurt's desk.
"Kurt, this is Simon Trent, your new partner. Simon, this is Kurt O'Donnell." The inspector pointed at Ben's desk. "That's your desk. Kurt can show you around the rest."
Kurt stood and held out his hand to shake. Amazingly, he had to look up at Simon. And the man was big, not fat, just big. Probably four or five inches taller than Kurt's own six feet.
"I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Tomorrow, you're back on active duty." Nadar retreated to his office.
Oh, thank God. Simon didn't ask about the last statement, so Nadar must have filled him in about Kurt's injuries.
"I'm sorry about your partner, man."
"Thanks. I appreciate it." Kurt refrained from further comment. Increasingly, he had a hard time reconciling the partner he thought he'd known---the partner he'd lost in more ways than one---with the man he was coming to know and possibly dislike. Made him feel disloyal, which Kurt hated, so he didn't want to dwell on it.
Instead, he changed the subject and gave Simon an overview of the basics he'd need.
"Ready to break for lunch?" Simon asked a few hours later. Kurt peered at him, wondering if this was yet another attempt to coddle the injured man, but then Simon's stomach let out a loud rumble. Anyone that big had to stoke the engine regularly.
Kurt laughed. "I could eat. There's a lot of good places within walking distance. Anything you feel like?"
"Greek?"
"Yep, just a few blocks over."
"So, what made you transfer from the RCMP?" Law enforcement was law enforcement, but there was a certain mystique about the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, even if they rarely rode horses anymore.
"I got married a couple of years ago. Jen, my wife, wanted to move back to the city, and I wanted a change, so I applied to the police force here and in Vancouver."
Kurt's eyebrows rose. "So, any city would do?"
Simon speared another roasted potato. "No, but Montreal was out, because I don't speak French, and I was stationed in Halifax. A move's a move, right?"
"How are you liking it so far?"
"It's good. Faster paced, though. We're getting settled in, and Jen started her new job this week too. We don't know many people, though. Hey, did you want to come over for dinner sometime? If you've got a wife or girlfriend, bring her along."
If he needed company, he could probably convince one of his brothers or Davy to come along, but the offer melted away tension Kurt didn't realize he was carrying around. Simon had already opened himself up to Kurt more in the past few hours than Ben had done in three years.
"No wife, no girlfriend, but I'd be happy to come over, thanks. Just let me know when and where."
Simon smiled, pleased by Kurt's response. He'd known Simon for half a day and already knew the dynamic of their partnership would be different than his previous one. With Ben so much older and experienced, they'd fallen into a novice-mentor relationship, but with Simon, it would be a partnership on much more even footing.
August was hell. A month of heat-wave-related violence and murders kept Simon and Kurt hopping---lots of overtime and not as much progress as either of them hoped. Kurt had been following the investigation of the guy who'd killed Ben, but they weren't any closer to any kind of arrest or sting. He owed it to Ben, and himself, to put that fucker behind bars. Unfortunately, as soon as they realized who was behind it, the investigation had moved out of homicide. Not that Kurt was under any illusions---his boss would never have allowed Kurt to remain involved in the investigation.
Closing this case would be beneficial for Davy... help him heal a little more. Kurt had a chance to take Simon up on his offer for dinner only twice, and visiting Davy had been reduced to once about every ten days or so. Maybe Davy was already doing better. Last time they spoke, Davy was supposed to meet up with some of his old friends, including Jon. Kurt had been so pleased.
"Whew. I think we can knock off for the night, eh?" Simon leaned back into his chair. "Want to grab a drink, unwind a bit? There's bound to be a game on we can watch."
Kurt checked his watch. It was too late to visit Davy anyway. Also too late to take Simon by Finn's. If they went in now, they'd be there all night, and Kurt needed a decent night's sleep. But he wasn't quite ready to go home to his empty, lifeless apartment. Tomorrow, though, there were two games on TV. If nothing came up, and it better not or he might commit homicide himself, he could go by Davy's.
Armed with an assortment of snacks from the local convenience store, Kurt was prepared for the double-header. It was the last weekend in August and the heat wave had finally broken, giving the police a bit of a breather.
His brothers had been surprised he wasn't going to watch it with them, which he usually would if he had the day off during one. Ian, especially, had been annoyed and tried to invite himself along with Kurt's plans. Kurt managed to put him off, but lying about it bothered him. Revealing the secret Ben guarded so zealously seemed disloyal somehow. Davy wasn't ready for his family anyway. They'd spoken a couple of times about family, and Davy was alternately wary and fascinated by how many people were in the O'Donnell family. Having spent years just himself and Ben, with Sandra and Mrs. Kaminski their only living relatives, Kurt didn't blame him. Times like this, when one of his siblings harassed him, Kurt imagined it might not be as lonely as he usually assumed.
Good. Davy's car was in the drive, so Kurt wasn't going to have to go back to the noisy pub. He loved the noise and the hubbub, but he was coming to appreciate the peace of Davy's home. He should have called first, but his work so frequently interfered with plans, he liked that Davy didn't mind his surprise visits.
Knocking and pressing his finger on the doorbell availed him nothing. He was unpleasantly reminded of the first couple of times he visited Davy where his arrival had shaken Davy out of his depressed state. He dropped the bags of snacks and peered through the window, cupping his hands around his eyes to cut down on the late summer glare. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Davy could be in the shower. He patted his hip reflexively for his weapon, but he wasn't on fucking duty. Still, there was no reason to assume the worst. There were no signs of forced entry. Hell, the man could have gone for a walk. The need to protect Davy had been strong from the very first day, over and above the expectation that came with his job. Something about protecting Davy made him feel a hundred feet tall and assuaged the frustration of his family treating him like a kid; he wasn't going to stop unless he had to.
Then there was the crushing disappointment he might not be able to spend the day in the cool comfort of Davy's place, catching up with him and watching the game. Reminded him of the time in high school when his parents grounded him, making him miss out on the biggest party of the year. Why hanging out with Davy should make him feel that way, he didn't know, but he hadn't spent a lot of time cultivating friendships outside of work or family, which might explain it.
Maybe Davy was out in the yard. He'd seen the overgrown jungle from the kitchen window, but never commented on it. Davy had other things to worry about besides the state of his backyard, but perhaps he was tackling it today.
The tall privacy fencing didn't surprise Kurt any, given Ben's obvious paranoia, but he was surprised the door to the yard gaped wide open. The expanse of grass was a good bit bigger than he'd realized. It wasn't often homes had this much property this close to the downtown core. Davy told him they'd bought the place about a year after he and Ben got together, and they were one of the few on the street who retained the large yard, instead of tearing down the house and rebuilding with a much larger one. Kurt approved of the decision; Davy's house had a lot more character than the enormous new homes.
On the patio, four chairs and a table sat, months of disuse obvious from their grimy state. After a small patch of grass, the jungle began. Right at the demarcation, a large green plastic bin sat beside a stack of weathered bushel baskets. Kurt approached, and saw Davy on his knees amidst the rows and rows of tomato plants, a half-full bushel basket to his right. His back was to Kurt, and his shoulders were shaking.
Kurt walked around the bin, a few dried leaves crunching under his feet. His approach didn't go unnoticed, as Davy's back stiffened, and he turned toward Kurt.
"Jeez, Davy, what happened?" Davy's shirt was streaked bright red, and the sight made his heart pound and reach again for a weapon that wasn't there. Kurt skidded around and knelt before Davy, inspecting his shirt. "Where are you bleeding?"
Davy's eyes flared before he let out a watery snuffle. "It's tomatoes."
Oh. Tomatoes. Kurt's cheeks flamed, probably about the same color as the few round, ripe tomatoes in the basket. A cool, clammy dampness seeped into his pants, and he stared down at the tomatoes he'd kneeled in---and squished. Ugh.
"And tomatoes are that upsetting, are they?" They did feel pretty gross, though. Maybe he'd cry too. But it had been a long time since he'd seen Davy this upset, and it constricted his heart like he failed somehow. Then again, most people seemed to agree there were lots of bad days in the first year while the wound healed. It had only been about three months since Ben died---he couldn't expect miracles.
"I can't do it, I just can't do it."
"Do what?" Davy was scaring him again. He never would have forgiven himself if Davy had harmed himself in those early days, and now---what if Davy slid back to his early despondency?
"This. Ben loved this stupid garden, and I don't know what the fuck to do with it." The venom in Davy's voice was a shock, as was the swearing. Davy didn't swear often. "I ignored it. I didn't want to look. Ben planted these the weekend before... before...."
Kurt nodded. He didn't need Davy to spell it out. "And? Can't you just pick them?"
"Ben picks... picked them. I'd make tomato sauce and cabbage rolls, according to his mom's recipe, and freeze all the leftovers. How can I do that this year? I didn't even want to come out here. But I left it too late. Can't you smell it?"
Sniffing, Kurt was able to smell a sweet, almost sickly scent. Rotten tomatoes. Kurt's head swiveled, taking in the sheer number of tomato plants, many of them drooping and trailing along the ground with the weight of the fruit. Shit. Ben must have really liked tomatoes... or cabbage rolls. Christ.
"I tried picking them, but I can't even lift the fucking basket. How the fuck am I going to get rid of them?" Davy's voice rose, almost shrill in his distress.
"Hey, calm down."
"That's all you ever say!" Davy flung a soft, squishy tomato at him, and it broke open on his shirt with a wet splat. Not rotten, but very, very ripe. Still... Kurt raised a brow and reached out slowly for another super-ripe tomato. Davy's mouth rounded in an "O" of surprise before Kurt threw a tomato in retaliation. He snorted. Davy glared at him, and he scrambled away, arming himself with a tomato in each fist. Standing, Kurt made himself a target before he bent and grabbed several tomatoes, lobbing them at Davy's ducking and weaving form.
After several minutes of chasing and, well, food fighting, they collapsed to the ground, panting. Davy was more relaxed, his entire face and body were covered in tomato juice and seeds, and Kurt's clothes were in a similar state of disaster.
"Do you want any of these tomatoes? Because I know my mom could use the ripe ones at Finn's." He didn't want to upset Davy again, but the initial problem remained. It wouldn't be healthy to leave the crop to rot on the vine.
"Do you like cabbage rolls?" Davy asked shyly.
"Yep, love them." Kurt liked all kinds of food, including cabbage rolls, but he would have said yes to anything at that moment.
"Then maybe I could keep some."
Kurt dragged the half-full bushel basket to the kitchen door. "Okay, I'll work on the rest. You shower and make cabbage rolls."
"Deal." Davy gave him that almost-smile. One day, Kurt was going to see a real smile from the man, and he'd fall over in surprise.
Kurt spent hours picking tomatoes. The ripe ones went into the bushel baskets, the over-ripe and rotting ones went into the composting bin. He loaded up the car with the bushels and dragged the bin to the curb. It was a couple days early for organic waste pick-up, but with his work schedule he couldn't guarantee he'd be back on garbage day. The bin was fucking heavy, and he didn't want Davy to hurt himself.
Letting himself into the house, the fragrant scent of cooked meat, cabbage, and tomato overpowered the sweetish smell on his clothes.
"Smells great, Davy. You mind if I borrow your shower?"
Davy wandered out of the kitchen, oven mitts on both hands, and glanced at the bag Kurt gripped. "You brought spare clothes?"
He shrugged. "I learned early on at a particularly messy crime scene never to go anywhere without at least a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt in the car." Oh, that had been miserable. He thought he'd never get the smell of rotted flesh out of his car---even the relatively short ride to the station wearing those clothes had been enough to transfer the stench to the upholstery. He'd had to drive with the windows wide open all winter.
Davy opened his mouth as though he were going to ask a question, but thought better of it and closed his mouth again. Which was good. The description wasn't pleasant, and he didn't want anything to detract from the fantastic smells emanating from Davy's kitchen.
"Shower?" he asked again.
"Oh, yes, sure. There's towels in the hall closet, and the shower's in the master bath."
Kurt grabbed the towels and passed through the bedroom to the master bath. He'd showered at places besides his own apartment, and when he'd asked, he'd forgotten the only shower was through Davy's bedroom.
He stripped and made sure his splattered, sweat-soaked clothes touched only tile and not the white bath mat or rug. What the hell was with the white in this place? The kitchen and the bathrooms were like hospitals, and the rest of the house was aggressively neutral.
He stepped under the spray, soaking himself. The water pressure was fantastic. Kurt hadn't had a shower this good since... how long had it been since he'd had a vacation? Two years? Three years? The last time he'd been in a hotel, at any rate. The pressure at his parents' house had always been for shit, and it was only marginally better in his apartment, as long as he didn't shower when everyone else was getting ready for work.
Hopefully, Davy had a big water heater. Kurt looked around for a bar of soap but didn't see any. Instead, Davy had body gel of some sort, a brand he didn't recognize, not that he was likely to. Soap was soap as far as he was concerned.
A clean, almost citrusy scent spilled out when he flipped open the lid. He lathered himself up, almost surprised at how good it smelled. Not girly like he'd expected, and he should be ashamed for even thinking that for a minute. Davy was gay, not girly. Kurt used the same stuff to wash his hair, not caring if Davy had something different. His hair was short enough that it didn't matter.
Still, something about the smell got to him, because his cock twitched. Maybe it was just a conditioned response because he frequently jacked off in the shower---but never in someone else's. Not even some of the girls he dated. He grabbed the bottle of shower gel and read the label. Lemongrass. Well, he did love him some Thai food, but he'd never got an erection over it. Must be just habit. He made quick work of cleaning, because he sure as shit wasn't rubbing one off in Davy's shower.
He finished the rest of his shower quickly and dried off. He looked around the bathroom.
Shit.
After wrapping a hotel-quality white towel around his waist, he opened the bathroom door and poked his head out.
Shit and damn. He'd left his clothes by the linen closet. And there was no way in hell he was going to let those other ones anywhere near his clean skin.
He strode out into the hall and grabbed his duffle bag.
"Are you done?" Davy called.
Kurt whirled, clutching the duffle, as Davy stepped out of the kitchen.
Davy's eyes widened. "Uh, I guess not quite," he said.
"Forgot my clothes out here. I'll just be a couple of minutes." Back straight, Kurt walked back through the bedroom to the bathroom without looking at Davy again, the tips of his ears heating.
He shut the door firmly behind him. Catching a glance at himself in the mirror, he groaned. The towel clung obscenely to his package, and his bare chest was slicked with moisture. He'd showered in many locker rooms, been naked in front of men before, but parading around half-naked at a gay man's house just wasn't right, especially since his cock hadn't fully deflated from the shower. Then again, Davy hadn't taken it as a come-on or anything. Maybe there was nothing to be uncomfortable about. Probably Davy hadn't thought anything odd about it at all.
Dressed, he stuffed his dirty clothes in a plastic grocery bag before he zipped them away in the duffle. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his embarrassment aside and went to join Davy for dinner.
Kurt pushed back from the kitchen table, belly full of cabbage rolls. "Davy, that was fantastic. I know you've got your fancy chemistry degree and all that, but you ever thought of becoming a chef?"
Color blossomed on Davy's cheeks. He must have hit a bull's-eye with that one. "I've thought about it. But I don't know if I'd like it as much, cooking for lots of people I didn't know. Besides, the hours are terrible."
True. Might even be worse than a cop's. "Well, I hate to eat and run, but those tomatoes aren't going to improve by sitting in my car in the heat. I've got to get them into the cold storage."
Davy followed him to the door. "I'm sorry about the game. Games."
"No worries. This had to be done." Kurt stretched, his muscles creaking. Maybe not all in one day, though. "There will be other games." And it was nice to take care of someone else, rather than everyone thinking he was so fucking fragile because he'd almost died in the explosion with Ben.
"Bye, Davy." Kurt leaned in a fraction, almost like he was going to kiss Davy. Whoa. He backed out of the house, quick as he could. Davy didn't look surprised or shocked or anything, so maybe the miniscule movement hadn't been obvious. He hoped.
Sliding behind the wheel, he cranked the A/C and sat there for a moment while the car cooled down. What the fuck was that? Why the hell had he almost kissed Davy? Not kissed, kissed, like with tongue, but a simple good-bye peck. Even still, he'd never thought about kissing Davy---or any man---before, but something about the moment made him think of his parents and he'd been going to give Davy a good-bye kiss like his dad gave his mom all the time. Fucking weird. But if Davy didn't notice anything, Kurt wasn't going to bring it up. Had to be some sort of mental aberration due to exhaustion.
He really was tired. Picking up his phone, he pressed his quick dial for Finn's. "Hey, mom," he said when she picked up.
"Hey, baby. How are you? We haven't seen you for a few days. Are you coming by? Do you need some food?"
Oh my God, he so didn't need any more food. Not right now, and maybe not for days. He'd eaten far more cabbage rolls than was wise, but they'd been so damned good. How come Ben hadn't been a fat, slovenly cop with Davy cooking for him all the time?
"No, mom, I'm fine. But I've got...." Kurt glanced in the rearview and did a quick count. He'd even had to put the seats down. "Eight bushel baskets of tomatoes. Think you can use them up? They're pretty ripe."
Even if she couldn't, he'd find a dumpster somewhere. He wasn't leaving them for Davy to deal with.
"How on earth did you end up with that many tomatoes?"
"I was helping a friend of mine with his garden, and he didn't know what to do with them."
"They're good, then?"
In the right hands, they sure were. "Yep. I think I ate half a bushel myself just now."
His mom laughed. "Sure, I can change up some of the specials for next week. Bring them by."
Kurt put the car into gear, and with a last look at Davy's house, he pulled away.
"Hey, man, I'm glad you're here." Simon opened the door and let Kurt step inside. Ever since Simon had told him Jen had invited a lot of people, including a few single girls from work, Kurt had considered cancelling. Simon wouldn't have held it against him, but he didn't want Jen to feel bad. After almost three months as partners, Simon stopped asking if he wanted to bring anyone special to their quiet, weekly dinners. But he didn't think Jen stopped wishing he was dating someone.
The swell of jumbled feminine voices broke, and Kurt's heart sped up. He could have used a wingman, and he wished he'd thought to ask Ian or Davy to come with him. Which was stupid. He'd never needed a wingman before, but the disturbing little incident at Davy's front door a couple of weeks ago convinced him he needed to get laid. Dating still sucked, but he needed to spend some time with a girl.
Standing by the snack table, Jen beckoned to him. Kurt smiled and joined her. After a quick hug, Jen turned to a perfectly groomed blonde woman.
"Kurt, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine from work. Tiffany, this is Kurt."
Tiffany's smile was full of nice white teeth, but Kurt couldn't help being reminded of a documentary he'd seen about lions. A chill of dread settled in the pit of his stomach, but he forced himself to smile back. Tiffany was pretty, shapely, and Jen liked her. And he'd already decided he needed to get laid. With a deep breath, he groped for a conversational opening as Jen disappeared.
"So, how'd it go with Tiffany?" Simon said with a grin as he slid into the desk across from Kurt on Monday morning. Kurt slid a furtive glance over to Christa, thankful she hadn't noticed. After Ian had pointed it out, he noticed she paid a lot more attention than she should to any conversation revolving around his dating habits, or lack thereof. He shrugged and changed the subject. "C'mon. We've got a scene to get to."
"Oh, sure, man. Why didn't you call me? I could have met you there."
"Just came in a minute or two ago. Figured it could wait until you got here."
"Right, let's go."
As Simon pulled out of the parking lot, he cleared his throat.
"Look, I'm sorry if I pried. It's none of my business... or Jen's." Sheepish was an odd look on such a large, imposing man.
"No, no, it's not that. Ben never asked me about dating and stuff." Or anything else non-job related, for that matter, but he didn't want Simon to know how much that still bothered him. And Ben sure as hell never tried to set him up. "And my brother said Christa, was, well, into me."
Simon took his gaze off the road to glance at Kurt. "Oh, man. Why didn't you tell me you and Christa---"
"No, not me and Christa." God, this was fucking embarrassing. "I just noticed she's overly interested in any conversation about me dating. Dating never works out well for me, and when it all goes to hell, I don't want to work that closely with the girl, you know? I don't want to hurt her feelings."
"That's nice of you. But I'm sorry things didn't go well with Tiffany."
"If you knew, why did you ask?" Dear God, had Tiffany spilled every single embarrassing bean for Jen? He'd never had such a humiliating experience before.
Simon laughed. "I'm a detective, same as you. You'd probably be a lot more optimistic about dating if things had gone well. Honestly, Tiffany's not my favorite person. I find her a little much, but I thought you went for that type, since you made a date for the next night."
No, Tiffany wasn't really his type, but he often had a hard time saying no to pushy women. Was that because he was so used to his forceful mother and sisters? Or was it just easier, somehow, to give in?
"But that's okay. You don't have to talk about it. I understand."
Suddenly, he had a flash of how reticent he must sound to Simon. The last thing he wanted was to end up in another stilted, uncomfortable, and---he had to admit it now---friendless relationship with his work partner.
"Simon, I'm still a little fucked up."
Simon frowned at the road, and Kurt realized his words could be taken in a number of different ways. Hell, he'd probably used the exact same words in college when he'd gone to class in the morning, drunk from the night before.
"Sorry, I need to explain. I don't know what Inspector Nadar told you about Ben, but I was thankful I didn't have to explain about him to you. I mean, I went to see the shrink about his death, all part of my return to work, but a bunch of stuff... well... I wasn't ready to tell anyone."
Simon parked the car. Were they there already?
Dark brown eyes gazed at him, serious and sympathetic, also unexpected for his easy-going partner. "Job comes first, eh? But hold that thought. We're going out for a beer tonight, and we're going to pick this up. Because you're hurting, and I don't want that for my partner or my friend."
Acid boiled in Kurt's gut. He really didn't want to talk about this, but he had a feeling Simon wasn't going to let him out of it. His new partner was nothing if not stubborn. And he liked to talk---a lot.
They'd managed to knock off at a reasonable hour, and Kurt reluctantly followed Simon to their new favorite watering hole, the Beer Bar. Kurt had never gone out for a drink with Ben, but he'd gone out with a few of the other detectives, and this was the place Simon liked best. One night, he'd have to take Simon to Finn's. He'd love it.
Instead of bellying up to the bar, which gave the best view of the televisions, Simon ordered a couple of beers and weaved around tables to one of the booths in the back.
"This okay? You'll be able to talk here?"
Kurt slid into the booth. "It's fine, Simon, thanks."
He toyed with the condensation on his glass, tracing patterns in the wetness. Simon sat quietly, waiting.
Begin at the beginning, his mother would often say. After a deep breath, he did just that. "I never went for a drink with Ben. He never asked me about my dates, or anything about my family. We never had a meal together if we weren't working. And I thought we were friends, if not exactly typical, but I didn't question it. Ben was a good cop. I learned a lot from him. But I realized after he died that I didn't know him at all. We weren't friends, and I found out some things that made me wonder if I'd even like him outside of the job."
Gulping at his beer, Kurt couldn't bring himself to look at Simon. What would he see in his eyes? Just saying the words aloud made him feel so damned disloyal. And he hated it.
Simon huffed out a breath, and Kurt dared a quick look. There wasn't any censure in Simon's expression.
"I'm sorry, Kurt. We can't always get along with our partner, but I think you and me are a good fit, you know? Ben may have been a good cop, but there are plenty of good cops who aren't necessarily the best people. You can't feel responsible for that."
"But... but... I feel so disloyal." He dropped his gaze again.
"What, you've never known anyone to ask for a transfer? Ask for a new partner? People don't all get along. How can you feel disloyal? I haven't heard one bad thing about Ben, which means you haven't told anyone about your issues... even when you probably should have. I think your sense of loyalty is more overdeveloped than most. And that's why this is so painful for you."
Really? Some of the knotted tension in his chest melted away. "Uh, thanks," he muttered.
"Feel free to tell me anything. Because I'll probably end up telling you more than you want to know about me. I want to be friends with my partner. In fact, I'd say we're already friends."
Kurt relaxed further. He took a leisurely sip of his beer.
"So, anything you want to get off your chest about Tiffany?"
Oh, God. Tiffany. He didn't really want anyone to know about it, but he didn't know who else to talk about it with. His partnership with Ben affected him even more than he'd thought. He'd bottled up a lot of his personal stuff. Even if he were inclined to put up with the teasing he could expect from his brothers, he'd stopped confiding in them a long time ago, his professional relationship spilling over into his personal ones. Fuck. If Ben were still alive, Kurt might even punch him. He sure as hell wasn't telling any of the other guys on the force about this, and Davy probably couldn't offer an opinion.
He lifted a shoulder, and he really couldn't bear to look Simon in the eye. "We went back to her place. We both thought we were going to have sex, but I... I couldn't."
"You didn't want a one night stand? There's nothing wrong with that."
"No, I mean I couldn'tgetitup." He spoke the last four words fast, blurring them together in the hopes of hiding their true import. Sure, he'd heard it happened to guys sometimes, but he'd never had an issue before.
"What? Oh...," Simon said as he deciphered Kurt's words. "Hey, that can happen."
God, he was such a loser. "Ever happen to you?"
"Well, once when I was really drunk."
Of course. Kurt grimaced. He didn't even have that excuse. He'd drunk more now than he had the night of his date. Dinner had been far too quick, Tiffany apparently eager to get him back to her place. But there hadn't even been a twinge of interest below his belt.
"Then again, if it were Tiffany, I'd probably have the same problem. Man, she can be really annoying."
Kurt had to smile at Simon's transparent effort to cheer him up.
"So, nothing? At all?" Simon asked after taking a sip of his own beer. Kurt shook his head.
"Why'd you go out with her, then? I mean, she's nice looking, but like I said, annoying."
"I wanted there to be something. Anything."
Simon looked thoughtful. "When was the last time there was... something?"
When was the last time? Sex was often more work and less reward than using his own hand. But then, he didn't even think he'd used his hand since... since.... "Before Ben died." Oh, holy shit. Almost four months. At first, he'd assumed it was the painkillers. But he'd not been on those in weeks. In fact, the closest he'd come was in Davy's fucking shower. Maybe he should have rubbed one out, since apparently it was a rare commodity.
Simon nodded like he'd just revealed the secrets of the universe. "Now, I'm not a psychologist or anything, but everyone grieves in their own way. I'm guessing losing interest in, uh, sex is part of your mind's healing process. Now that you're thinking about it again, and wanting it, it'll come back. Don't rush it. I'll have Jen lay off the set-ups, because I think she has a list of women in mind for you."
Well, that was possibly the most embarrassing thing he'd ever had to say or hear, and judging by Simon's pink cheeks, he hadn't escaped entirely unscathed. And he did feel surprisingly lighter. He'd almost died, he'd found out some very unsettling things about himself and his partner, and there was the overarching stress of knowing the man who'd killed Ben was still walking the streets free. Putting pressure on to date was exacerbating the issue. Simon was right. It would be back soon enough, and he could wait until then to dive back into the shark-infested dating pool.
"Thanks, man. I feel a little better."
"Good. Want to come watch the game on Thursday? I promise it'll just be you, me, and Jen."
"No, thanks, I have plans that night. But I appreciate the offer." It had been too long since he'd been able to unwind and watch a game with Davy. Despite the recent weirdness, Davy's place was comfortable and relaxing---he missed hanging out with his friend.
Simon held his glass up in a toast, and Kurt clinked his glass. Talk turned to less personal topics as they finished their beer.
Kurt brought snacks again, but Davy had frozen several servings of cabbage rolls, and he offered those for dinner. The first inning had barely started by the time they finished eating and doing the dishes.
Davy curled up on the couch, legs tucked up to his chest.
"Are you cold? If you don't want to fix the thermostat, why don't you grab a blanket?"
Without a word, Davy scampered up and scurried into one of the bedrooms. Within seconds, he'd returned with a wildly colored quilt, one Kurt thought he recognized from the closet of hidden treasures.
There was a sudden warmth to the sterile room that had nothing to do with temperature. Davy must have felt it, too, because he smirked at him.
"Rooting for the Jays again?" Davy asked.
"Of course, why?" For a change, Davy might stay awake for the whole game.
"I'm rooting for the Yankees today."
Kurt clutched his chest as though mortally wounded. "Why? Why would you do such a thing?"
The devilish look was softened and tempered by the quilt, making him look like an impish child. The shrug was muffled too. "Dunno. Because they're better."
"They are not."
Davy rolled his eyes. "Sure they are." Okay, now Davy was being obstinate. Kurt knew it, but it didn't stop him from rising to Davy's bait.
"Fine. What do you want to bet they'll lose?"
"Loser buys beer for the house for the next month."
"You're on."
Kurt never had so much fun watching a game with someone rooting for the other team. Every time the Yankees did something well, Kurt almost expected Davy to stick out his tongue. He'd seen hints of this playfulness before, but between this and the tomato fight, Davy's natural feistiness was returning with a vengeance.
The bottom of the ninth, the Yankees scored three runs, giving them the win, and Davy sprang up, quilt forgotten on the couch.
"Oh, yeah. I told you they were better." Davy's victory dance was hilarious, but Kurt bit his lip and tackled Davy, wrestling like he would with one of his brothers.
Davy yelped, eyes wide, muscles locked, panic stealing over his face until Kurt laughed and rubbed his knuckles in Davy's hair. He lay, braced on his arms, over Davy, but no longer restraining him.
"Fine, you win the bet," Kurt said, pretending to be upset.
"This how you act at home with your brothers?"
"Absolutely, if they had the dismal taste to root for someone other than the Jays. But they put up a better fight than you." He grinned as he said it. Living with three older brothers meant he probably did a lot more roughhousing than most. And he learned how to fight dirty from his three older sisters. Didn't look like Sandra had taught Davy that, though.
Davy laughed up at him, the sound musical and sweet. Deep, adorable divots appeared on either side of Davy's mouth. How had he known Davy for this long and never seen the dimples?
His cock swelled and his eyebrows rose. With as much dignity as he could muster, he quickly got up and sauntered as leisurely as he could to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror before dropping his gaze down to his pants. What the fuck was that? Sure, he'd gotten hard from competitive sports before. It happened, small surges of adrenaline. But he couldn't quite believe his dick chose now to reawaken from its stupor while he held another man down. Then again, maybe if he was starting to feel again, anything could have set him off. Nothing to worry about. Like puberty all over again.
After flushing the toilet and washing his hands, he returned to the living room. Davy had settled back on the couch, after switching the channel over to one of the west coast games and bringing them fresh beers.
Nothing had changed. He sighed in relief and dropped down on the couch for mere minutes when his phone rang. Work, dammit.
"Gotta go, Davy."
Davy nodded and cuddled back into the couch, knowing by now Kurt always made sure the door locked behind him.
"Be safe."
Kurt wondered, and not for the first time, if Davy said that to Ben every time he got called into work.
God, the overtime was killing him. He was fucking exhausted. The extended hours had been both good and bad. Good because he'd only had opportunity to visit Davy three times in the month since their bet, and each time he'd been called in to work abruptly and was therefore able to put off thinking about any potential awkwardness. But on the other hand, he missed hanging out with his friend. Simon was becoming a good friend, too, but Kurt couldn't figure out why that wasn't good enough.
His cell rang, an unfamiliar number on the screen. If he wasn't so fucking bored, he would have let it go to voicemail.
"O'Donnell," he barked.
"Is this Kurt?"
He didn't recognize the voice. "Yes."
"Oh, hi. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Jon, Davy's friend."
A flash of memory showed a good-looking blond man in an expensive suit.
"Jon, yes, I remember."
"Good, good. We were trying to get Davy out for his birthday on Saturday, but he says he's not ready for a night on the town, so we thought we'd hang out at his place. I know he's friends with you... were you interested in joining us?"
"Davy's birthday is on Saturday?" Why didn't he know this?
"No, it's actually the following Tuesday."
"Oh, right. Yeah, sure, I'll be there if I can." As long as none of their cases exploded. "What time? Should I bring anything?"
"Stop by around eight. If I know Davy, he'll have food taken care of, but if there's any beer or anything you'd like to drink, bring that."
"Sure, thanks, Jon. I appreciate the invite."
Kurt disconnected the call, wishing it was Saturday already. Saturday was supposed to be his first day off in fifteen days, and he'd be fucking bitter if something screwed it up now. Of course, he'd have to find a present for Davy. What the fuck was he going to get? Had to have some colors in it. Davy looked so alive wrapped up in his quilt, and Kurt had never been able to shake the memory of the patchwork colors hidden in Davy's closet.
"Hey, man, let's roll," Simon said, making him jump. "Lost in thought, were ya?"
"Looking forward to Saturday, is all."
"Don't I know it. Got plans?"
"I do now."
"Date?" Simon asked. If it had been anyone else, the word would have had a mocking edge but Simon was merely concerned.
Kurt smiled. "No. Just a small birthday party for a friend."
On Friday, he walked with Simon to lunch, but he couldn't focus on a conversation. Kurt still had no idea what to get Davy for his birthday. Their friendship had grown out of tragedy, not mutual interests, and he didn't know what kind of gift would be appreciated. Gifts for friends he worked with were either booze or a money collection where someone else was ultimately responsible for choosing the gift.
Being the youngest, his family had gotten into the habit of telling him what to buy for other family members, and quite frankly, they'd never stopped. At least, he hoped it was habit and not some misguided notion regarding his capability.
Although, he had started to take that guidance for granted. This might be the first time he'd buy a present for someone without prompting, and he was completely stumped. He'd never even had a girlfriend long enough to buy gifts.
They passed a storefront with a multicolored, sparkly display that had never caught his eye before today.
He stopped walking.
The window was filled with fuzzy lamps, chairs with fun fur and feathers, funky frames, and soup bowls sporting legs and toothy grins. He wasn't sure if he was making clichéd assumptions based on that one closet and Davy's sexuality. Could he find something Davy would like here? His fingers hovered over his pocket, wanting to call someone---Jon---to help him. But then, Jon had only recently returned to Davy's life after a long absence.
"Hey, Kurt," Simon called from almost a block away. "You coming?"
Kurt took one last look at the storefront and caught up to Simon.
"Did you want to stop in there? I can wait."
"No, it's fine. I just never noticed that place before."
Simon's eyebrows quirked up but he started walking again rather than questioning Kurt's lack of observation. Kurt ambled along beside. He was getting tired of thinking about it, but he'd be damned if he was going to talk about it too.
Kurt stood on Davy's doorstep, mouth dry, palms sweating. His grip on the twelve pack of Belgian beer wasn't exactly loosening, but it was close. Why the fuck was he so nervous? He'd had balls of steel when barging in on Davy's grief, but Davy's birthday party was making him as nervous as a naked virgin in a room full of drunken frat boys. Hell, he hadn't even been this uneasy when he'd completely overstepped all polite bounds and ordered groceries for the man.
Muted music and an explosion of muffled laughter seeped through the door. He tucked the wrapped package under his arm, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.
Seconds later, a flushed, laughing Jon opened the door. "Kurt, hi, c'mon in."
Kurt extricated a bottle from the box and turned, noting the large number of snacks on the counter and table. He'd been hungry earlier, but he wasn't quite up to eating. The dress shirt had been a mistake. It may be autumn, but between the extra people in here and his stupid nerves, it was fucking hot. Beer and present on counter, he rolled up his sleeves before grabbing both and striding into the living room.
Davy's head lifted, and he got a dimpled---fuck, those dimples---smile. Davy hadn't been genuinely happy for a long time, but Kurt knew now that those dimples were the litmus test.
"Hi, Kurt."
"Hi, Davy. Happy early birthday." He proffered his gift, hoping Davy wouldn't open it. It surely wouldn't compare to whatever his other friends had brought.
Davy sprang up off the sofa and took the package, ripping into the paper. Kurt's ears burned. He should have gone back to the store by work, instead of chickening out and hitting one of the big bookstores.
"You said you like to cook and all...."
"Gourmet burgers, eh?" Davy flipped through the cookbook. "Sounds good. Thank you!" Davy gave him a quick hug, too fast for Kurt to even tense up or worry about his reaction. There wasn't any disappointment in Davy's brown eyes or his dimpled smile, so he made himself smile back. At least that was over with.
"Who is this hunk? And can I have him?"
Kurt's blush returned in a flash. Somehow, he hadn't expected guys to be hitting on him. A tiny blond sidled up to him, casually posed such that his hips thrust out suggestively.
"Shut up, Rick. This is Kurt. You can't have him," Davy said.
"Oh, staking a claim are you?" The sultry words were accompanied by a small hand rubbing along Kurt's forearm.
Someone was going to have to turn the temperature down or open a window, because now both he and Davy were blushing.
"Rick, he's straight!"
Jon clutched his stomach, laughing.
"No, say it isn't so!" Rick continued to caress his arm. The sensation was odd because Rick was clearly a man, there was no mistaking the caress as coming from anything but a man's hand, but his size, slenderness, and sparkly purple shirt were reminiscent of many girls he'd dated.
"Sorry, Rick."
"What about brothers? Do you have any brothers, Kurt?"
"I've got brothers, but no gay ones."
Rick gave him a fierce frown and another quick caress. Kurt should have slipped away. He didn't know why he let Rick touch him, other than he'd grown up in a very demonstrative family. His personal space boundaries were smaller than most. Davy dragged Rick away anyway.
"Rick, behave. I told you he's straight."
"Uh-huh. Bet he likes blowjobs as much as any guy. And I'm damn good at them."
Kurt had to laugh. Rick was the type who had to be the center of attention in every situation, but Kurt didn't mind the comments.
Davy quickly introduced him to the other two men, a couple, Keith and David. He learned that Jon, Davy, and David were high school friends, and it was the friendship with David that prompted Davy to start going by Davy. David was a good name, but those dimples were more suited to a Davy.
Would have been a weird dynamic if Jon and Rick had been a couple, too, but that wasn't the case; Keith and David were the only couple present.
Kurt sat back into the leather armchair and listened to the others catch up and reminiscence. He wasn't able to tell if the three bonded because of common interests or because they'd all known they were gay, and he didn't ask. That sort of nosiness he reserved for on the job.
Davy's hands fluttered as he spoke, the animation and happiness unmistakable. Kurt didn't believe for a minute Davy was completely out of the woods, but he was getting there.
Margaritas were mixed, but Kurt stuck to beer. He didn't know what he expected at a party with a bunch of gay guys, but he relaxed as it appeared to be nothing more than any other party he'd been to, with slightly cruder and more ribald comments.
"Are we playing a game tonight?" Jon asked.
Game?
"I can turn the hockey game on for you, Kurt," Davy offered. Davy wasn't going to watch hockey? This must be some game---Davy liked hockey a hell of a lot more than he liked baseball, as Kurt had found out when hockey season started. Kurt liked hockey better too.
"Are you playing naked Twister?"
"No," Davy sputtered.
"Oh, yes!" Rick gave him, or rather his crotch, a pointed stare.
Kurt rolled his eyes.
"Are you playing Spin the Bottle?"
Shaking his head, Davy loosed a little giggle.
"Can we?" Rick asked.
"Strip poker?"
"No!" Davy emphasized his denial with a swift chop of his hand.
"Please?" That Rick was persistent.
Then, Davy laughed. And laughed. He fell onto the couch, eyes tearing as he whooped. Maybe it was the margaritas. Or the company. Kurt didn't care how or why. Judging from the indulgent looks on his friends' faces, neither did they.
"Just what sort of party were you expecting?" Davy gasped out as his laughter tapered off.
"Well, I wasn't sure. But if you aren't expecting me to get naked, I'm pretty sure I can handle whatever games you're going to play."
"Oh, honey, I have no doubt of that." Surprisingly, Rick amused rather than irritated him.
"I won't say no to having the hockey game on in the background, though. Check the score."
Davy turned the TV on low while Jon pulled a few boxes out of a bag.
"We'll start with a board game or two, then we usually graduate to cards. Poker, most times, or Asshole."
Kurt lifted a brow. "You want me to play a game called Asshole with you lot?"
That brought back both Davy's giggles and dimples. It wasn't worth telling them he knew the game they were talking about, and he was an expert at the tiny bit of strategy that could influence a win in a game primarily based on luck. Poker was a better game for him, though. Most amateur poker players couldn't bluff as well as some of the criminals he'd interrogated.
"I've never heard of any of these games before." Kurt gestured at the boxes. His family had tons of board games---with seven kids, it was an inexpensive way to keep them occupied. But they were the standard ones everybody had played once or twice.
The games on the coffee table were elaborate and had tons of pieces, and if Kurt had to learn the rules on his own, it'd probably take him hours just to read the manuals.
Davy's eyes had taken on the glow of a fanatic as they began. Jon and David quickly revealed themselves as fierce, almost obsessive competitors.
"Oh my God. You three were geeks in school, weren't you? Gaming geeks."
Davy looked up from his perusal of the board, a hint of pink splashed over sharp, model-worthy cheekbones he'd never before associated with those odd, brainy kids he'd admired.
"Oh. Uh. Yeah, kind of. I guess you've always been a jock?"
"Not really. It's hard to be slated like that when all the usual 'roles' are taken by older siblings. But I'm surprised you don't have a gaming console. I do love video games."
He and Ian had had tons of scuffles and fights over the years over outcomes of games.
Unexpectedly, Davy curled up on himself. It wasn't physical. Not much. More like his vibrancy faded. Kurt could kick himself. He should have known the oh-so-proper Ben wouldn't approve of video games.
All of Davy's friends noticed the subtle change in the atmosphere, but none of them seemed to know the cause. Kurt knew, like a neon sign had lit up over Davy's head---the specter of Ben leaving landmines all over Davy's social interactions.
Fuck. He had to fix this. He was having a good time, but more importantly, so was Davy. If only he could think of anything to say that wouldn't make it worse.
"Hey, what happened to your arm?" Rick asked. Great. The worst fucking time for someone to notice his damned scar. More reminders of Ben for Davy.
"Nothing," Kurt mumbled and rolled his sleeve back down.
"He was injured in the line of duty, not that it's any of your business," Davy said, a hint of protective spice in his tone. Determination limned his face, and he smiled a tremulous little smile. No dimples, but it was a start.
Kurt smiled back, hoping Davy could see the apology.
"Whose turn is it?"
Surprisingly, Kurt won the first game. They'd switched off the hockey game halfway through the first period when it became clear the outcome was going to be painful and depressing. With music on, Kurt threw himself into the game, but he was still a complete novice.
Thinking ahead, assessing the best moves for opponents and countering them were second nature on the job and came in handy for the game. David and Keith hadn't been thrilled at the ease with which he picked up the rules, but sandwiched between Davy and Rick on the couch, he got plenty of praise too. He could even live with Rick's... well... snuggling, for lack of a better word.
Jon set up the board for another game, and Kurt leaned back into the sofa. Davy popped up to get a fresh beer for Kurt while Rick poured more margaritas for everyone else.
Rick posed in Kurt's sightline, hand on hip and pelvis thrust out, but he spoke to Davy. "Davy, you coming out with us for Halloween? We're going to that new club downtown, called Empire."
Davy's side of the couch moved slightly as he shrugged. "Doubt it. Clubbing on Halloween is a little too crazy for me."
"Oh, but that's half the fun. All those hot, young guys, sweating and half-naked in whatever slutty costume they've decided on. The crowd is so massive, you can't avoid touching, and there's bare skin everywhere." Rick shimmied his hips and drew his free hand sensually up the side of his torso.
Jon licked his lips. "Yeah, that does make it all worthwhile."
Keith and David weren't paying attention to the conversation as David seated himself on Keith's lap and the two of them began kissing like there was no one else in the room.
Davy snorted. "Guys, we're here because I can't quite face a club on a regular weekend yet. Halloween is only two weeks away. Maybe next year. Although next year I'll be thirty-three. I might have less energy then."
"Wait, you're turning thirty-two on Tuesday?" Kurt swiveled to face Davy, who blushed.
"I know, I look older, don't I?"
Rick slapped Kurt lightly on the arm before wiggling back onto the sofa beside him. "Honey, you're going to give him a complex, and then he'll never go out with us."
He didn't want to bring up Ben, since Davy's luminescence had hardly dimmed all night, but the only reason he'd assumed Davy was a lot older was because Ben had been forty-five when he died. Shit. Davy had just been a baby when he and Ben got together.
"Honestly, Davy, you look...." Kurt had no idea how to end that sentence. His sisters would slug him for even bringing the topic up. Davy sure looked younger than he was, when he got enough sleep.
"Oh, give the poor straight man a break. You're making him squirm," Rick said.
Davy flashed him a smile that said he was teasing. Whew.
"How old are you, honey?" Rick trailed a finger along his bicep. At least his tattoos were covered, otherwise Rick would probably be licking him by now.
"Thirty-one."
"Oh-ho," Jon crowed. "Davy, you're no longer the baby here."
Ah fuck. Kurt was getting tired of being the youngest.
"Oh, practically a twink," Rick said suggestively. Kurt sure as shit wasn't going to ask what a twink was. That's what the Internet was for.
Even David and Keith took a break from sucking face to laugh at that statement.
"If he weren't straight, he'd still be the least twinkiest of us all," Davy said.
Rick pouted, but Kurt knew already it was more for effect than due to genuine pique. "So, hot stuff, did you want to come out with us on Halloween? You could dress like a slutty firefighter or slutty angel... I could get you a great costume."
"Rick!" Davy's voice held a warning. "He's a cop, you know."
"Well, I didn't think he'd want to go as a slutty cop---busman's holiday and all that---but you'd know better."
Kurt couldn't hold in the sputter of laughter. "As appealing as that sounds, I'll either be working or hanging out at my sister's place giving out candy."
Rick sighed. "How sweetly domestic. What a waste."
"Davy, do you hand out candy here?" Kurt asked, figuring it would be something Davy liked to do.
Davy's eyes darkened just a bit. "No. I never have, but I'm going to Sandra's to help her."
Fucking Ben.
"Ready to play?" Jon asked and poked at David who'd started kissing Keith again.
Davy won the second game, which made everyone happy, and they decided to switch to cards.
"But first, cake," Jon said.
Cake. Kurt hadn't even considered a cake. That was usually his sisters' or his mother's domain. Jon and Rick went into the kitchen while David returned to Keith's lap, but their kissing quickly progressed to something borderline obscene.
"You didn't make that, did you?" Kurt whispered, averting his eyes from the blatant groping.
"The cake? No, Rick brought it. One of his fuck buddies is a baker."
"Oh, good."
Davy flapped a hand at Keith and David. "Try to ignore them. They'll probably leave after the cake. I promise they won't---well, they probably won't---show any skin. They like an audience."
Kurt shrugged. They weren't the first gay guys he'd seen making out, but they were the first he'd seen in a non-professional capacity. He sort of thought he should be more uncomfortable, but if Davy didn't think they were being rude, or at least didn't seem to care, then neither should Kurt.
The smile on Davy's face as Jon and Rick returned was brighter than the candles on the cake. Davy closed his eyes for a second before he blew out the candles. His hand was poised to cut the cake when Kurt stopped him. His mother and sisters always insisted on a picture with the cake for every birthday---it was kind of a tradition. In fact, between the number of birthday celebrations in his family, he was surprised it hadn't occurred to him sooner.
"How about a picture?"
"Good idea, sweetie," Rick purred. "Got a camera?"
How did Rick manage to make almost every word suggestive? But Kurt didn't have a camera; it never occurred to him to bring one.
"No. Wait, my phone." Kurt stood up and motioned for the other guys to gather around Davy. He snapped off a picture.
"Wait. You need to be in it too," Davy said. "Does it have some sort of delay?"
"I don't think so." And he'd had enough beer to not want to poke around and find it.
Keith leapt up. "I'll take it."
"Are you sure?" Kurt didn't know if he was asking Davy or Keith, but Davy nodded.
Rick wiggled his brows and moved over so Kurt could sit back where he was, and the flash went off. Keith handed him back the phone, and he slipped it back into his pocket.
By midnight, they'd eaten cake and switched to poker. By two in the morning, he and Jon were battling it out for last man standing. Keith and David had left after cake as Davy had predicted, Rick was passed out on the sofa, and Davy was puttering away in the kitchen, tidying up.
How many fucking beers had he drunk tonight? Enough that he was glad he'd come by taxi.
Kurt peeked at his cards. Finally something besides jack and shit. He went all in. Jon peered blearily at him. Kurt might be drunk, but no way was Jon sober enough to pick up any tells. Kurt's job made him a little too good at this game. Probably wouldn't get invited to play again, but even if Jon won---unlikely---it'd be worth the loss of his twenty bucks. Bed was calling his name.
"Call."
Kurt flipped over his cards.
"Shit, man, next time we're playing Asshole," Jon slurred.
Kurt shrugged and gathered his winnings. Jon called for a taxi and began collecting the games.
A few minutes later, headlights appeared in the front window.
"C'mon, Rick. Cab's here." Jon rousted Rick, and the two men stumbled for the door. "Want to split a cab with us?" Jon asked over his shoulder.
"Nah, I'll stick here for a few. Help Davy clean up."
Jon and Rick left, accompanied by an icy blast of arctic air. Winter was coming.
There was surprisingly little mess. Kurt gathered up his beer bottles and a couple margarita glasses and deposited them in the kitchen. Soon, he'd have enough beer bottles stored at Davy's to make it worthwhile to drop them off for the deposit refund. The food was all wrapped up and put away, and aside from the margarita glasses there weren't any dirty dishes left.
A tiny blade of guilt sliced through him. Davy may not have baked his own damned cake, but he had both cooked and cleaned for his own birthday party. That wasn't right. Between his buzz and increasingly leaden limbs, he couldn't do anything to fix it tonight. It was time to head home. He called for his own cab.
"Davy?" Where'd he go?
Kurt opened a few doors. "Davy?"
Davy was passed out in a naked sprawl on the bed. Dark hair tousled, his face was tucked into his pillow, the faint smile on his lips only half-visible. The lean lines of his back dipped into the curve of his hip and buttock, skin shining in the sliver of moonlight bisecting the bed. In the V of his legs, a shadowy bulge lay. The fact that Kurt was looking filtered through the beer, and he hastily shifted his focus north.
Kurt didn't know how much Davy had to drink---he hadn't even kept track of his own intake---but he suspected Davy had had enough tequila to feel it in the morning. Kurt moved past the bed to the master bathroom and filled a glass of water.
Flicking open the medicine cabinet door, the first thing he saw was a bottle of lube. He shut the door.
Lube. Right. Kurt owned lube, too, but seeing it in a gay man's bathroom brought home its alternate usage and the sight... startled him, a bit.
He opened the door again and managed to force his gaze past the lube to the headache tablets.
Retrieving the tablets, he took them and the water to Davy's bedside. Davy had turned over onto his back, smooth skin bluish in the moonlight. One arm bent above his head and the other rested on his chest, fingers grazing the edge of a nipple as though caressing himself. Despite Kurt's resolve, his gaze drifted down.
A sharp honk made Kurt jump, and he ran out of the house, making sure the door locked behind him. He didn't want the cabbie to wake the neighbors, but he also had no intention of making it easy for a thief to gain entrance to Davy's, especially while Davy was inebriated and passed out.
The cab ride to his apartment was long enough for him to catch a second wind. After the long, hard weeks, he needed sleep, so he stripped and lay on the bed, idly toying with his half-hard cock as the room tilted lazily around him.
Leaning over his nightstand, he pulled out his own battered tube of lube. It wasn't the same brand as Davy's, but then, why would it be? An orgasm would help him sleep.
Hand slicked, he stroked himself more firmly. The moonlight playing on his ceiling morphed into a vision of smooth, marble-like skin stretched over long bones and lean muscles. Davy's resting hand became animated in his mind, plucking at the tiny nipple, mouth twisted into a lusty snarl. The picture transitioned to the day he'd wrestled Davy to the floor, but this time Davy was naked---they both were---Davy writhing beneath him as he held Davy's arms against the floor.
His hand sped up, the slick sound of lubed flesh against hand loud in his ears.
For a second---just a second---he saw Davy's legs pull back as he prepared to sink his cock into Davy's tight opening, imagining Davy's lips moving, shaping the words Fuck me.
With a groan, Kurt spurted over his fingers and belly, warm viscous come joining the lube already there.
Fingers still wrapped around his spent dick, he slid into slumber.
Holy shit. How much did he drink last night? He howled as he whacked his shin on the edge of the tub. Teetering, he slammed a hand against the tile to keep himself upright. He clamped his other hand to his temple as the echo of his noisy greeting to the day reverberated through his dehydrated brain.
Dried come flaked off his belly as he scratched absently. A flash of him jerking off---to an image of Davy---appeared before his eyes. He groaned. Too much beer. That had to be it. Never again.
He started the shower and stepped under the spray before it was as hot as he liked and scrubbed away the evidence.
No one knew. No one had to know. People did stupid stuff when they were drunk. He was old enough to know better, but he could pretend it never happened. The memory was fuzzy around the edges anyway.
"Hi, Kurt, how are you?" Christa smiled.
Oh. So loud. He'd gone to his family's restaurant still hungover from Davy's birthday and wound up drinking even more trying to keep his shit together. He also hadn't wanted to admit to his brothers he was hungover---or more specifically, why. Hell, he'd even told them he'd spent Saturday night working. It had been a long time since he'd come to work in this condition, and he was never doing it again.
"Fine, Christa." He was careful not to smile. After Ian's visit, he didn't want to give the girl the wrong idea. "Simon in yet?"
"Yes, I think he went to the break room."
Coffee. Yes. Kurt wrapped a hand around his warm cardboard cup. He'd stopped on the way in, desperate for an early caffeine shot. He took a mouthful and swallowed, hoping it would start waking him up soon.
His phone buzzed, and he checked it. Just a text from his sister, Erin. He scrolled through the message. Nothing important. His fingers hovered over the buttons, trying to stop himself from checking his photos. Like yesterday---several times---he failed. He'd only had two pictures from Saturday night, but the one Keith had taken was a great one. Reminded him of all those happy pictures hidden away in Davy's closet of treasures.
Davy's dimples were deep, and his eyes were shining and... shit. Another memory resurfaced, of Davy cooking and cleaning. A familiar niggle of guilt nagged at him. No matter what aberration had caused him to... imagine what he had Saturday night didn't change the fact that Davy couldn't spend Tuesday alone. Not his first birthday since Ben died. And he sure as shit shouldn't do all the work.
"Anything important?" Simon asked, pointing his chin at Kurt's phone.
"Jeez, don't sneak up on me." Kurt glanced down, and stabbed forcefully at his phone to hide the picture. "And no, just my sister."
"You okay?"
"Yeah, sure. Sorry, just a little tired."
Fuck.
Tuesday evening on Davy's front step was even more harrowing than Saturday night. Would Davy be able to tell what Kurt had done?
Shit. That was stupid. Of course he couldn't. Besides... it never happened.
He raised his finger to ring the bell when the door opened, and Sandra stood there, hugely pregnant and wan-looking.
"Hi, Sandra." Oh, God. He was an idiot. Of course Davy wasn't spending his birthday alone.
"Hi, Kurt. What's up?"
Kurt's hands clenched, paper crinkling under his grip. Right. The present. "Just dropping off a gift for Davy. And I thought I'd take him to dinner, but I forgot you'd be here."
Sweat broke out on his upper lip. Why did he admit to that last bit?
Sandra cocked her head. "Really? Because I'm honestly not feeling great. I'm supposed to be on bed rest, but I couldn't leave my baby brother alone today."
She turned around. "Davy? You okay if Kurt takes you out instead?"
"Kurt? Why would you ask about him?"
Yeah. He should have called first. Even if it would have been the first time he did that.
"Because he's standing right here, honey."
God, he wanted to turn around and run.
"He is?" Davy peeked over Sandra's shoulder and gave him a wide, dimpled smile, quieting the tremors rippling through his stomach. Whatever misgivings he had, anything was worth Davy's smile.
"Hi, there. Sis, I know you're not feeling good. I don't mind going out with Kurt tonight."
"Thanks, guys. I appreciate it."
"Can we drop Sandra at home? I picked her up on my way home from work."
"Sure. Here." He thrust the brightly wrapped package at Davy. "Happy birthday."
Davy gave him an odd look. Not surprising, because he probably wasn't expecting a second gift from Kurt. But yesterday after lunch, he'd passed by that colorful store window, and a bright blue frame with a random, wavy perimeter leapt out of the display. He bought it and had Davy's birthday photo printed at the office supply store. The present seemed to suit Davy, and was more personal than the cookbook, but who gave two birthday gifts to a friend? He hadn't anticipated how embarrassing it was.
"Can I open it later?"
Kurt shrugged. "Whenever."
Davy's smile dimmed a bit, and he retreated into the house. Kurt led Sandra to his car and helped her in while Davy locked up the house.
An hour later, they were parked a block away from Lettie's. Which was actually a great spot, even though parking here on a Tuesday evening wasn't exactly in demand.
"You sure you want to come back here?" Their last visit had been... disastrous might be a little strong, but it sure as hell hadn't been a great memory for either of them. Although it had returned old friends to Davy's life.
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Okay, birthday boy, lead the way."
Kurt decided against ordering a beer---yesterday's hangover fresh in his mind---but he tried to encourage Davy. "It's okay, it's my treat, and I'm driving. Order one if you want."
"You don't have to treat me."
"Yeah, I do. You did all the work Saturday, and it was your own party." Kurt glared at him, and Davy laughed.
"Okay, okay, but no beer. Been a long time since I was hungover, and I don't need a repeat on a work night. By the way, what did you get me?"
"Open it when you get home and see. It's nothing really." He didn't want to talk about it. It seemed so sentimental and even though he thought it was perfect for Davy, it was maybe a weird thing for a guy to give another guy.
"How was work?"
They settled back into their normal conversational topics when a hand clapped him on the shoulder.
"Kurt, how's it going?"
He craned his head up to see Simon---dressed in a three-piece suit---standing beside him. God, the man was tall. He glanced back at Davy, who'd hunched up into the corner of the booth, silent and looking for all the world like he was trying to be invisible.
"What are you doing here, Simon?"
"Jen and I have theater tickets. I'd heard you talk about this place, so we thought we'd try it."
A quick glance confirmed Simon and Jen weren't the only ones taking advantage of Lettie's good food and fast service before their show. The crowd was dressier than Kurt usually saw, but he rarely came here at this time of day.
"Simon, Jen, this is a friend of mine, Davy. Davy, this is Simon, my partner, and his wife, Jen."
Simon probably didn't notice Davy's slight flinch at the mention of partners, and he clasped Simon's outstretched hand, which Kurt hadn't been sure he'd do until he actually did it.
"Hi, Davy. Nice to meet you." Jen slid into the booth beside Kurt, and Simon sat next to Davy. Made sense, size-wise, since Jen and Davy were both slender, much more so than he and Simon were, but the proximity to Simon was making Davy uncomfortable and Kurt didn't know why.
"Hope you're okay if we join you." Simon rolled his eyes, knowing it was entirely Jen's decision.
"Oh, shush, you." Jen batted at Simon. "I haven't seen Kurt in forever. Besides, we've only got time for a snack. Have you guys ordered appetizers yet?"
Davy shook his head, warming up in the face of Jen's unrelenting effervescence.
"Perfect." She glanced at Simon who immediately raised a large fist and signaled the waitress.
Kurt knew Simon wasn't henpecked or pussy-whipped or whatever derogatory names people gave men who were merely considerate of their wives. In fact, he was envious of their accord. He was thirty-one years old. When was he going to find that for himself?
They ordered nachos to share while Jen and Davy talked about their respective jobs, then various plays they'd both seen and what they thought of them. Kurt had only heard of a few of them---either because he'd read the plays in high school or because an advertising campaign penetrated his consciousness. Probably wouldn't hurt him to see a few more, though. His sisters told him more than once the theater in Toronto was... robust and world class? Something like that. He should probably take advantage of it, and it would be cheaper and easier than getting tickets to a Leafs game.
When the nachos came, all of them were hungry enough to tuck in, creating a lull in the conversation, by which time Davy had relaxed in the unexpected company. Davy smiled at him while sucking salsa off his thumb and Kurt bit his lip. The first thing that popped into his mind was an image of Davy sucking something else entirely, and Kurt scooted his hips further under the table.
What the fuck was wrong with him? Why Davy for God's sake? He needed to get laid. And not by Davy, goddammit.
He made sure to avoid looking at Davy until Simon and Jen left. At least the burgers they ordered as entrees shouldn't cause any errant sexual thoughts or fucked-up mind tricks.
"They seem nice," Davy commented as the waitress deposited their burgers. Davy slid the bottle of mustard toward him.
"I don't know why you don't like mustard." Kurt glopped yellow across his bun.
Davy shuddered. "And I don't know why you like it at all. It's unnatural looking and tastes awful."
"Oh, and ketchup's so much better? It's just sticky red sugar."
"It's vastly superior to mustard."
Kurt laughed as Davy's nose tilted upwards, relieved the blip of sexual energy had disappeared. It had. Really. At the very least, his damned cock was behaving itself.
"So, you like the theater?" Kurt picked up the conversational thread from Simon and Jen's visit. Tickets would make a good gift for next year's birthday---he'd have to remember to add it to his calendar.
"I love it. I don't... I haven't been in a long time."
Irrational---or perhaps not so irrational---anger welled up in his gut. Anger was a more comfortable, if unfamiliar, emotion. He hated the way Davy had been almost a prisoner. Not for the whole ten years of his relationship, but from all he'd heard Ben had gotten worse over time, particularly after his fortieth birthday. Counseling might help Davy, but he sure as fuck wasn't going to bring it up on Davy's birthday. Next time he stopped by, maybe. He didn't want to be the one to wipe the joy from Davy's face, despite the potential conversational minefields waiting for him, like the video-game player at Davy's party.
"Hoo, I'm stuffed." Davy pushed his plate away, burger half-eaten and fries untouched. Kurt was still eating---he'd gotten used to his friend's lighter appetite.
"Want to catch a movie? It's cheapie night." Kurt waggled his brows, making Davy laugh.
"It's almost eight. We won't have a good selection."
"So? We'll go and see the next thing showing, whatever it is." Kurt wasn't ready to go home. Getting older sucked enough without heading home from a birthday dinner before nine. Nine! Davy deserved a break from being a responsible adult, but he wasn't sure accompanying Davy home would be a great idea.
"Okay, but I'm betting whatever is playing next is going to be terrible."
"So? It's my money. Besides, we can always chuck popcorn at the screen."
"Chuck popcorn? Is that appropriate behavior for a fine, upstanding police detective?" An amused snort ruined Davy's censorious speech.
"Eh. As long as you don't announce it, we should be fine."
Davy smiled again. "Deal. And I've got an I-told-you-so in my pocket, ready to use. But let me pay, at least."
"No way, birthday boy. Ready?"
Davy nodded, and Kurt dropped a few bills on the table as he slid out of the booth. A tug at his sleeve halted him.
"Thanks, Kurt." Sincere appreciation shone in Davy's eyes. Davy was thanking him for more than just dinner, and the last of Kurt's mild anxiety dissolved. He couldn't let Davy down.
"Anytime. You know that, right?"
Eyes a little bright, Davy smiled. No tears tonight, thank God. It had to be bad luck to cry on your birthday.
Popcorn and drinks in hand, they slid into their seats two minutes before the movie was to start. Neither of them had heard of it, but it was the next thing playing.
"Are you sure this is the right theater?" Davy glanced around.
"Yes. It's number eight. How hard is it to figure that out?"
"But there's no one else here."
It was odd. Tuesdays weren't always busy, but Kurt would have expected a horror movie to have a bigger audience than just the two of them, this close to Halloween. Then again, maybe no one else had heard of this movie, either.
The opening credits began to roll, and Davy fixed such an exaggerated look of rapt attention on the screen Kurt had to laugh. The movie was as terrible as Davy had predicted. The gore wasn't realistic at all, and the police procedure was laughable at best. As soon as Davy began a sneering, sarcastic commentary about each of the characters and their ridiculous reactions and conclusions, Kurt countered with his own scathing denouncement of the law enforcement. At times, they were laughing so hard, Kurt was sure they missed some of the wooden, stilted dialog, which didn't matter at all for their comprehension of the plot.
The last scene of the movie was a typical set-up for a sequel, although Kurt had no idea who'd be insane enough to commission one.
Davy turned to him. "That's got to be a ten blowjob movie, at least."
Just hearing Davy say those words sent a lick of heat to his groin. "What?"
"Ten blowjobs. You know, how many blowjobs it took to convince someone to make that movie."
Kurt laughed so hard he almost choked on the last sip of his drink, and his sides had already been aching partway through the movie. "Ten? Really? I'd say a hundred. Maybe five hundred."
Davy laughed with him.
The drive to Davy's house wasn't long enough to make Kurt's sides hurt any less, partly because Davy kept dredging up some of the funniest bits. Pulled up in the driveway, the almost overwhelming temptation to kiss Davy stole over him. God. They weren't on a fucking date. Kurt clamped his hands firmly on the steering wheel, facing forward.
"Thanks again, Kurt. I had a great time." Davy patted him on the shoulder and got out of the car. Kurt had too. Despite the film itself, it was possibly the best time he'd ever had at the movies.
Back home in bed, he pictured how Davy's ass moved as the man walked into the house. Shit. This was getting out of hand. He wasn't gay. He'd never thought about guys before. Davy wasn't feminine, either, so that didn't explain his fascination. Sure, he was slender, but he had a five o'clock shadow and big hands and was taller, for God's sake.
Yet, his pink lips were a torment. Imagining Davy's lips on his... anything... made his skin feel too tight and his pulse leap even as it freaked him the fuck out. His mind filled with ever more sensual Davy mini-movies. Especially Davy on his knees, blowing him. He was never going to be able to sleep without jerking off, dammit.
He grasped his cock, already hard and aching. Why did imagining Davy's mouth on him have this effect? Hell, Davy's dimples were of more interest to his cock than a topless Tiffany, his for the taking.
No. No, he could sleep without this. He could. He unwrapped his fingers, willing his erection to fade. Tried not to think about Davy scooting under the table at Lettie's to unzip his fly. Tried not to think about Davy leaning over his lap in a darkened movie theater. Tried not to think about getting a highly illegal blowjob while he was driving. Even that montage included Davy's dark hair---and no one else's---tickling his belly. His hands clenched in the bedding while his hips shifted. Lifted off the bed in supplication.
"Damn it!" His yell cut through the silence of the room, but his walls were thick concrete---he didn't have to worry about waking the neighbors.
He rolled to the side and grabbed lube from the bedside table. He didn't use it all that often, but tonight, he wanted to. Slicking up his hands, he placed one on his dick and the other cupped his balls. He groaned at the sheer pleasure of contact.
Starting slow, the way he liked, Kurt stroked the full length of his cock, giving the tip a tiny twist before bringing his hand back down to the base, then repeated, pretending the slippery wetness was Davy's mouth, dripping with saliva. All the while, he massaged his balls, imagined fucking into Davy's mouth.
Before he knew it, Kurt's mind saw him atop Davy, whose legs were spread, open, waiting. Davy's cock lay heavy and erect on his belly, plump head pointing at his chin. Frantic now, his hand moved faster on his cock, and his other hand slipped lower, a single digit insinuating itself in Kurt's ass, where nothing had gone before. The movie in his mind saw his dick disappearing into Davy's body, and he pushed his finger deeper, imagining the same heat and tightness around his dick. To his shock, the fullness felt so fucking good. His finger stroked in time to the fist around his cock but it was the thought of Davy coming all over himself, Kurt deep inside, that sent him over the edge with a drawn-out moan.
Panting, he lay there, come cooling on his belly, finger still lodged firmly within his body. He closed his eyes. Fuck a duck. He wasn't gay, was he? Guys fantasized about other guys sometimes, didn't they? He never had before....
He slid his finger free, and his cock twitched at the additional sensation. He jumped off the bed and showered, washing away the evidence, but to his horror, he found himself leaning against the tiles, finger up his ass again, madly stroking his cock to the pictures of Davy in his head. As he blew all over his hand, he realized he couldn't even blame the beer this time.
Oh God.
"How long before the onslaught?" Kurt settled back into a folding chair by the door, Erin in a matching chair across from him. Erin's two girls and his other nieces and nephews had gone off trick-or-treating with Erin's husband and the rest of his married siblings. The bunch of them had nearly overloaded Kurt's cuteness receptors, the little mites all decked out in their costumes, with bulky parkas incorporated last minute. Same as when he was a kid. Damned cold snap always happened a couple of days before Halloween, ruining the whole concept of a costume planned since summer.
"I'd guess we've got ten, maybe fifteen minutes until the first kid." Erin unwrapped a mini chocolate bar from the bowl at her feet and popped it in her mouth.
"Hey, sis, restrain yourself. Don't eat 'em all before the sprogs get here."
Erin whipped one of the bars at his head, and he ducked, laughing.
"I was going to say this is nice, hanging out with my baby brother. But I think I've changed my mind. How come you're not at a party? Since you're not working, you could have gone with Ian and Dylan."
Kurt shrugged. He was sure the party his single brothers were attending would be every bit as crazy as the club Davy's friends were at. He'd be guaranteed to get laid, or so Ian had assured him. But.... "I still could get called in. Which is why I'm here doing this lame-osity with you." He stuck his tongue out, and Erin threw another mini at him. This one he caught and ate.
They were interrupted by the doorbell, and Erin went to exclaim over the kiddies.
He'd wondered what it would have been like to take Rick up on his invitation... if Davy were going too. It had been ages since he'd gone dancing, and the thought of watching Davy dance was a dark, seductive temptation. He'd busted a few gay clubs in his early days on the force, but even on the job he'd noticed the atmosphere had been drenched with sex. Was Davy a good dancer?
The sting of a candy bar winging him in the head made him yelp. "What the fuck was that for?"
"Language, squirt." Erin glared at him.
"What the.... What was that for?" Kurt rubbed his forehead.
"I don't know where you were, but you sure weren't here. What's her name?"
"Who?"
"You gotta be thinking of a girl. You had a silly little smile, and you were completely lost in thought. When do we meet her?"
No fucking way.
"Never mind. It's nothing."
"Oh, right. You didn't even hear me when I called your name. Twice. She must really be something."
"Leave it, Erin." He used his sternest, no-nonsense cop voice, combined with a glare, but a woman who changed his diapers didn't respond as the general public would. He was still the little kid who couldn't take care of himself. The squirt.
She rolled her eyes and brushed past him. "I'm going to grab us a few healthy snacks. You get the next group."
The doorbell rang, drowning out her last word, and Kurt leapt up, hoping she hadn't noticed the heat in his face. God. If Erin did suspect he had a girlfriend, his mom would be on his case. And he couldn't tell them he was getting all weird over a guy. Especially since this was a passing phase he was going to get over. This was an attachment based on the unusual way he'd met Davy. Once Davy had recovered more, this would all go away. And hanging out with gay men socially, on a regular basis, was new to him, so he could be excused a few errant thoughts.
Erin returned with a tray bearing veggie sticks and dip, which she set on the small hall table.
"Thanks, Erin." He'd just picked up a carrot stick when the doorbell rang again, and his phone vibrated in his pocket.
"Gotta take this."
Erin nodded and headed for the door as he went further into the house to escape the hubbub of kids hyped up on sugar.
"Hi, Davy. What's up?"
"It's Sandra. I'm at Sandra's."
The raw, thready sound of panic was audible even over the squeals of small children.
"Calm down. What's wrong?" This was his stop-panicking cop voice. He was bringing out all sorts of official tones tonight. "Take a deep breath, hold it for a second."
Kurt listened closely, making sure Davy followed his instructions. "Okay, let it out slowly." He waited a moment. "Now, what's wrong?"
"Sandra. She's bleeding, and she's having strong contractions. It's too early for the baby. She's not due for a couple of weeks."
"Have you called 911?"
"No, not yet."
Warmth spread in his chest, knowing Davy had called him first, expecting Kurt to help or because he knew Kurt would take care of things. Davy didn't think he was a useless squirt.
"It's going to be fine. The baby's not that early, but Sandra's probably going to have a difficult time." He hoped he wasn't lying about the whole going to be fine thing. "I'm going to hang up now, and call 911. I'll talk to the dispatcher, find out what hospital she's going to, and I'll meet you there, okay?"
Davy's breathing sped up again.
"Davy. Breathe. Slowly. Or you're going to pass out, and you need to help Sandra."
He didn't like using such a sharp tone with Davy, but he needed to cut through the panic.
"Good. I'm hanging up now. They'll be there soon."
Kurt grabbed his coat and keys and sped past Erin. "Gotta go, sis. Talk later." Much fucking later if she was going to grill him about an imaginary girlfriend.
At least his job meant she didn't question him leaving, didn't protest. He was barking instructions into the phone as he started his car.
Minutes later, he was making his way to the hospital, keeping a sharp lookout for kids.
Traffic was crazy; it was a shitty night for driving and a shitty night to need emergency services. Although it was early enough that the ER shouldn't be full of drunken mishaps and overdoses. Yet. When he finally tore into the hospital, the placid nurse at the desk directed Kurt to where Davy was waiting. The man was almost as pale as the day Kurt first laid eyes on him.
"Hey, you heard anything?"
Davy turned wide, unseeing eyes toward him, taking a second before any hint of recognition appeared. Relief spread across his face, and he took a step toward Kurt before he halted, hands clenched at his side.
"They sent her in pretty quick. She's in with the doctor now. I... I don't know anything else."
"C'mon. Sit down before you fall down." Kurt guided Davy into a chair and sat beside him. He wanted to hug Davy. He'd hug any of his brothers in the same situation, but he was wary of more than just Davy's reaction. He wasn't sure if he could trust himself not to broadcast his bizarre obsession to everyone.
For the first time, he felt an unwilling sympathy for Ben and the way he'd handled his relationship with Davy. But Ben was gay. If Kurt were gay, he'd have no problem admitting it.
Or would he? He'd managed to avoid any sexual thoughts about Davy---recently. That was a good sign, wasn't it?
Davy began to tremble. Kurt shoved his worries aside and wrapped an arm around Davy's shoulders, squeezing briefly.
"I'm going to go grab you a coffee. Warm you up a little." Kurt looked around. "Where's your coat?"
Davy turned his head, lost. "I don't know. I don't think I wore one."
"Okay, we can worry about that later. But you definitely need something warm to drink. I'll be back in a minute."
Kurt dashed to the cafeteria and back again. The ER wasn't crazy yet, so while Sandra may have gone in first, her condition might not be as serious as Davy feared.
He thrust the cardboard cup against Davy's bloodless fingers, which curled around the cup in an automatic reflex.
Tilting his head over the cup, Davy inhaled the fragrant steam before taking a careful sip. He grimaced. "It's very sweet."
"You need the sugar. So drink up. Besides, I've had the coffee here. It's total shit, so trust me, the more sugar the better."
His words prompted a fleeting smile, and the little-boy-lost look faded from Davy's face. After he'd swallowed a few more sips, Kurt probed a little more.
"Have you had a chance to call Sandra's husband? Or her friends?"
They hadn't often spoke of Davy's much older sister, but Kurt knew her husband, William, was deployed overseas, and the other military wives were helping her out during her delicate pregnancy.
"William's supposed to be on leave in two weeks." But Davy took Kurt's unspoken suggestion and pulled out his phone. He gripped the coffee tightly in one hand and pressed the phone to his ear with the other.
Kurt wandered around picking up magazines and flipping through them to give Davy a bit of privacy. When Davy tucked his phone back in his pocket, Kurt returned and sat down beside him again.
"I wasn't able to get William, but I left a message with his CO. And I called Sandra's best friend, Liz. Umm...." Davy ducked his head away, attempting to hide his face from Kurt.
"What?"
"She asked if I needed her to come down." Davy spoke to a potted plant in the corner. "I said no, and I'd call her when I heard more. You'll... you don't have to stay. I'm glad you're here, but I don't want to ruin your night. I could be here awhile."
"I'm not going anywhere, Davy." Kurt slipped off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair.
Davy closed his eyes and bit his lip before letting out a huge sigh. "Thank you."
"Anytime, Davy, you know that."
Davy took a quick glance around. He patted Kurt's arm for a brief second before snatching his hand back with another guilty glance. Not a single person was paying any attention to them, mired as they were in their own worries. They settled in to watch whatever mindless nonsense was playing on the TV bolted to the wall.
A couple of hours later, Davy had fallen asleep against his shoulder. Stress and boredom was a killer combination. Kurt's eyes were a little gritty, too, although the sitcoms were marginally more interesting than sitting on stakeouts.
A young doctor in purple scrubs spoke quietly to a nurse at the registration desk, who pointed at Davy. The doctor headed their way, and Kurt nudged Davy awake, relieved to see a smile on the doctor's handsome face.
"Mr. Grey? You're the father?"
"No, no, I'm Sandra's brother, Davy Broussard."
Davy shook hands with the doctor, who then turned a questioning look on Kurt.
"Not me, either. I'm just a friend." He waited for a moment, but Davy wasn't offering up any further explanation. "Sandra's husband is overseas. Even if he gets emergency leave, it'll be several hours before he's back."
Comprehension lit the doctor's face. "Well, Mr. Broussard, your sister is fine. We had to do an emergency C-section, and we'll have to keep her at least a few days. She's asking for you, although she's still a little groggy."
"And the baby?" Davy asked.
"He'll be fine. You should be able to see him tomorrow, after he's settled into the ward. He'll be here a little bit longer than your sister, for observation."
Davy's grin came back in full force, dimples flashing. Kurt didn't have an effective gaydar---he'd never needed one---but he didn't miss the doctor's appreciative gaze at Davy's mouth. Just the thought Davy might return the doctor's interest was enough to send a stab of jealousy through his midsection. He'd never been jealous of anyone in his life, and he shook it off.
Davy turned back to Kurt and opened his mouth.
"Don't worry. I'll wait here until you visit your sister." Because Davy would need a ride home, and he wasn't going to let him take a taxi in this cold without a fucking coat.
Davy nodded and followed the doctor through a sliding door.
Ten minutes later, Davy returned, looking more relaxed than Kurt had seen him in a long time.
"All good?"
"Yes, all good. Liz or I will pick her up when she's released. I can't wait to see my nephew." Davy had a spring to his step that was at odds with the deep shadows under his eyes. The man needed to fucking sleep. But Kurt remembered the first time one of his sisters gave birth... he remembered all of them, actually. There was something special, something humbling about it, and he didn't begrudge Davy his excitement.
"What's his name? Have they picked one out yet?"
"Oh, yes. Oliver Alain, for our parents. Mom was Olive and dad was Alain."
Davy didn't talk about his parents much. Kurt knew they'd died in a car accident when he was a teenager, and Sandra, eleven years older, had been granted guardianship. Probably the pain of that loss had faded in comparison to Davy's more recent loss, but it had been the lack of support network, especially with Sandra having her own issues, that had worried Kurt so much when he'd first met Davy.
"I was hoping you'd show up tonight."
"Oh?" Kurt's heart sped up as he unwound his scarf. He'd stayed away for thirteen days after Sandra's emergency room visit, and hated himself for counting the damned days. When he couldn't take it any longer---which was actually three days ago---he still needed an excuse, and there hadn't been a televised hockey game at a reasonable hour until today.
Davy never had to know what he thought about in the middle of the night. Hell, Kurt tried not to think about it, ever. This was curiosity or a fucked-up, out-of-hand crush. It would go away. Eventually. And he wasn't about to give up his friendship with Davy because his cock had suddenly become unpredictable in its preferences.
"Yeah, I bought stuff to make some of those burgers in the cookbook you got me."
"Oh, cool." He'd thought it was a dumb present, but they both liked burgers.
"Make yourself comfortable. I'll just whip things together."
Kurt sauntered into the living room and turned on the TV. As he settled on the couch, a flash of color teased the corner of his eye. He pushed himself to his feet to inspect the mantel.
Heat crept into his cheeks, but that didn't stop his smile. The picture frame he'd given Davy, with the photo of Davy's birthday party, occupied a central position atop the mantel. Davy looked so damned happy.
And the photo wasn't alone. Kurt inspected the others, placed without any appearance of symmetry. He didn't recognize anyone except Davy and Sandra, but it was gratifying to see Davy resurrect some of his prized possessions. There was a picture of a tiny, red-faced baby, whom Kurt assumed was Davy's new nephew, Oliver, but despite his previous experience with nieces and nephews, he never picked up the knack of distinguishing between babies. They all looked the same to him, and the photos Davy had already texted him didn't help.
At least Sandra's husband had finally returned. He'd gotten home six days after Halloween, delayed by several winter snowstorms, both here and across Europe. Even with the help of Sandra's friends, Davy had been run ragged trying to help out with the newborn.
He'd been hard-pressed to join in Davy's exhausted joy, although it made it easier to avoid seeing Davy. What he should have done was ask his sisters, mom, and sister-in-law to help out. They'd have done it, simply because Kurt asked, but every time he pulled out his phone, shame and guilt warred with fear that his family would figure out he cared more for Davy than he should.
Turning around, he surveyed the room. Davy's patchwork quilt, one his mother made, was draped across the back of the sofa. Which also sported plump, fuzzy red pillows he'd never seen before. The bookcase now had several books, instead of catalog-style knickknacks. From the well-worn spines, it was obvious Davy loved to read. Kurt didn't remember Ben ever talking about books.
He strode over to the shelf to peruse the titles. Some were cookbooks, and there was a distinct gap, in the middle, about the width of the burger book he'd given Davy. Others were novels, some authors he recognized, some he didn't. Primarily fantasy, sci-fi, and a few thrillers. One of the ones he didn't recognize, he pulled out. His face flushed when he saw the two nude male torsos on the cover. Carefully he slid that back into place and stepped away from the shelf.
This room had transformed into a living room where someone actually lived. The pristine, sterile neutrals of walls and furniture were somewhat mitigated by the new touches Davy added to the room. Had to be a sign of healing---the place was no longer a shrine to Ben's compulsion to remain hidden. Good for Davy.
Adding a fire to the fireplace would be a nice touch. Did Davy have any firewood?
Davy bustled into the room bearing a couple bottles of beer. "Here, dinner will be ready in about ten minutes."
"Smells good." And it did. Kurt couldn't distinguish the scents, but Davy brought with him the delicious scent of meat cooking. Davy smiled, dimples flashing, sending an unexpected and unwelcome spike of heat to Kurt's groin. God. Was that going to happen a lot as Davy steadily let go of his grief and smiled more and more? Getting over this insanity couldn't happen too soon, and judging by the number of nights he'd jerked off to thoughts of Davy, it was getting worse.
No. Not worse, exactly. Just working through its course. Worse before it got better.
They sat on the couch and listened to the announcers listing the starting lineup of players.
Yet another commercial started. There were always too damned many of them. "You got any firewood?"
"Firewood? No, are you cold?"
"Not really, just wondered if you ever used the fireplace."
"Never. Ben didn't like the smoke---too dirty---and he said firewood was filled with bugs."
A muscle in Kurt's jaw tensed. Who didn't like fires? They were especially great on snowy days where it was cold and blustery but there wasn't quite enough accumulation to require shoveling. Days where there was nowhere you had to be and nothing to do but relax. At least there was a screen and utensils, but it seemed a pointless waste if you were never going to use them.
"We'd have to check the flue, make sure it's clear, but if you want one, let me know. My brother Dylan has a huge spread outside the city and always has deadfall for firewood."
Kurt glanced at the plush white rug in front of the couch. Davy didn't like having a coffee table in front of the couch for some reason, so the low table they used when they needed one occupied a corner with a couple of chairs, creating a little nook by the bookshelves. Since neither of them had dragged the table over in front of the couch yet, the area in front of the fireplace was open. He envisioned a warm orange glow emanating from the hearth, the stark white of the rug softened by the fire's light. Against his will, he imagined a lithe, naked Davy spread out on the rug, basking in the warmth. Oh, God. This had to fucking stop.
He hunched over, hoping to hide the twitching of his stupid, brainless cock. Of course, he was assuming Davy was looking. Which he wasn't. The man was in mourning, and he'd never given Kurt any indication he was attracted or anything. Which was good. It was. Davy knew Kurt was straight.
"Thanks, I'll think about it."
A high-pitched beep had Davy slamming his beer on the end table beside the couch and rushing out of the room. Kurt let out a sigh. Maybe the fire thing wasn't a good idea. Not until he was through this phase, anyway. He sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up again. Dinner was almost ready, so he stood and pulled the table over in front of the couch. Good thing it wasn't too heavy.
Sinking back into his seat, Kurt stared at the TV, but not really seeing it. The clatter of a tray on the table made him jump.
"Hell, I could have helped you with that."
Davy shrugged. "No problem. I used to wait tables during university, like you. Never really lost the knack."
"So, what are we eating?"
Davy arranged the plates to his satisfaction. Kurt loved eating in front of the TV, and he bet Ben would never have allowed it.
"They're Greek style. Ground lamb, stuffed with feta and topped with tomatoes and some very garlicky tzatziki." The accompanying salad looked Greek also, filled with olives and tomatoes and feta cheese.
Ooh. "Homemade tzatziki?"
Davy nodded.
Fantastic. Whenever he went to a Greek restaurant, he slathered everything in the tasty cucumber-yogurt sauce.
Davy snatched up a plastic yellow bottle. "Now, I brought this out for you, but will you at least try it without mustard first?"
Kurt snorted. "Okay, okay, I know I like mustard on burgers. But most places don't have tzatziki to put on them." Although he might put a little mustard on anyway, just to exasperate Davy.
Davy reluctantly placed the bottle on the table, but looked poised to grab it away from Kurt.
"Relax. Smells great." Kurt took a bite. "So fucking good, Davy," he mumbled around a mouthful. Davy was a great cook. Even with the ready access to his mom's cooking at Finn's, he was going to get spoiled. And he'd have to hit the gym more often.
Relaxing, Davy dug into his own food, and when the game started, there wasn't anything to do but eat and yell at the screen.
Kurt sat at his desk waiting for Simon to return from a meeting. He flipped through the most recent set of baby pics Davy had sent him. He'd almost think Davy was Oliver's dad, instead of doting uncle, but then, he'd been terrified of losing another person he loved, and it wasn't a crime to love your family. Kurt did, even if they frustrated him sometimes.
The birth had had an unintended side effect. Davy now felt comfortable enough to send him texts. Often. Kurt was reminded a little of passing notes in class, but that didn't stop him from eagerly checking each time his phone bleeped. And he saved them all, going back and re-reading them, like an obsessed idiot. This phase had to end soon. Problem was, he didn't know how to stop it without cutting off from Davy altogether, and he couldn't bring himself to take that step.
"Hey. Got something good on there?"
The phone clattered to the desk after a guilty fumble.
"No, just a friend's baby pics." Kurt willed himself not to flush, but he didn't think he succeeded too well.
Simon rolled his eyes. "Don't show Jen those. She's been making noises about wanting a baby. I'd like to be a little more settled first."
Kurt slid his phone back into his pocket "Speaking of Jen... you two free Saturday night?"
"Maybe. Why? Wanna go on a double date?"
If Kurt hadn't been blushing before, he sure as hell was now. Mostly because he was reminded of the night he took Davy out for his birthday. With Simon and Jen there, it could have been a double date.
Simon leaned in and lowered his voice. "Sorry, man, didn't think."
Kurt shook his head. "No, uh, my parents are throwing a party at their restaurant for my brother's birthday. They'd love to meet you and Jen."
"Oh, cool. Yeah, I'll see what we can do. You ready to head out? I got those addresses we need to check out."
Oh thank God. No more talk of dating. Between Tiffany and Davy, his head was so messed up.
"Let's go." Kurt pulled on his coat and followed Simon out to the parking lot.
Kurt saw Simon as soon as he stepped through the door, dusted with snow. He was taller than everyone else. Presumably Jen was beside him, but she was so tiny, the crowd swallowed her up. Saturday was always a busy night at Finn's.
He waved an arm above the crowd, and Simon nodded before heading toward him. It was a full house tonight, but most of the other guests had been to his parents' parties often enough to know the party was in the back room.
"Hey, how's it going? So this is the family business." Simon clapped Kurt on the shoulder.
"This is a great place," Jen said as she leaned in to hug him.
"Yeah, it used to be an old brewery that my parents bought shortly after they emigrated here. They fixed it up, named it after my grandfather, and never had thoughts about doing anything else. But it sucked growing up because we were always enlisted as waitstaff or busboys. When business stabilized, they were able to hire regular staff, and now we only occasionally help out, mostly to give mom or dad a break."
Kurt turned and led them to the back.
"Oh, Kurt, love, who's this now?" As always, his mom was the first to spot a new face.
"This is my partner, Simon, and his wife, Jen. Simon, Jen, this is my mom, Deirdre."
Simon pulled his mom into a big hug. She looked surprised, but giggled anyway. Jen rolled her eyes, but she wasn't at all upset.
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. O'Donnell." Simon set his mother back on her feet.
"Oh, now, didn't you hear my baby? It's Deirdre."
"Deirdre. Got it." Simon grinned.
All of Kurt's family noticed the arrival of Simon---how could they not? Mike was the first of his siblings to make his way over to them. His mom was making small talk with Jen when Mike arrived.
"This is your new partner, squirt?"
"Squirt?" Simon asked, a brow raised. Jen stifled a laugh with her fist.
"Simon, Jen, this is my big brother Mike, the birthday boy. He's an old man today. Forty-three."
Mike narrowed his eyes, but graciously accepted Simon and Jen's birthday wishes.
"So, squirt?" Simon asked again.
Kurt groaned, and Mike laughed. "Yeah, well, we all thought the last of the litter was going to be the runt, but he ended up proving us wrong. Ended up the biggest of the lot."
"It's just because mom loves me best." Kurt stuck his tongue out, and Mike made a move to grab him around the neck in a prelude to a noogie, but he stopped and settled for a quick squeeze.
Kurt hoped it was out of a sense of decorum rather than a lingering after-effect from his near-death experience six months ago.
"How you feeling, squirt? Haven't seen you around much lately."
Nope, not decorum. "I'm fine, Mikey. Honest. Look, all healed up." He pushed his sleeve up to reveal the scar on his arm. Only a hint of pink revealed how recent it was.
"Okay, okay."
Kurt stared at it, remembering Davy's fingers tracing its path, whisper light, and he smiled before he pulled his sleeve down again.
"I'm sure this fine young man will look out for my baby." His mom squeezed Simon's forearm. Kurt could hardly believe how different the dynamic was already between his family and his new partner, compared to their previous---and few---interactions with Ben.
"I will indeed, ma'am."
"Good boy. Now, Mikey, I know it's your birthday and all, but would you please take Simon and Jen to get a drink? Introduce them to the brood?"
"Oooh. You're in trouble now," Mike sang as he led Simon and Jen---grinning like fools---away.
Instead of berating him, as Mike clearly expected, his mom gave him another hug, as she'd done when he first arrived.
"So, when do I meet her?"
"Meet who?"
"Your girl."
"Shi---I mean, shoot. Mom, have you been talking to Erin? There's no girl."
"No, I haven't talked to Erin about this, but I will now. You're lying to me, boyo. Only time I saw that look on one of my sons, Mike had just started dating Heather. I knew then he'd ask her to marry him."
"Marry! Jeez, mom, I'm not even dating anyone!" As long as no one counted dinners and evenings with a man that were more fun than any date he'd ever been on.
His mom looked up into his eyes and rested her hand on his scarred forearm. "Oh, baby. I don't care if you're dating. You've met her. Something about this scar made you think of her. And I could see it clear as day. My baby's in love."
It was a him. And Kurt wasn't fucking in love. His mother had to be crazy. Or drunk.
"I'm not, Mom, I swear." Kurt hoped his mom didn't know how to interpret the high-pitched, panicky squeak that prefaced his words. She had to believe him.
"Okay, baby, okay, don't you worry. She'll come around. You're a fine catch for any girl."
Shit. She had heard it.
"Just remember you can always talk to me. I may be your old mum, but I know a lot about girls."
Kurt let out a breath of bitter laughter. She wouldn't be so quick to see him settled if she knew what was going on in his head. His mom was a good Catholic. She'd hate him, not offer up advice, if she knew. His whole family would hate him.
"Hey, squirt." Ian approached him and thrust a beer in his hand---the only reason he didn't get a glare and get flipped off. "Met your partner. Seems a good guy." Dylan stood behind him and nodded.
"C'mon. We've challenged him to a game of pool, and we need a fourth."
Kurt let himself be dragged off, thankful to be away from his mom's scary insight. God. If she even had a hint he was infatuated---not in love, for God's sake, he wasn't gay---but sexually fantasizing about another guy, she'd flip out. Probably disown him. As would the rest of his family.
"Hey, man, what's going on? I've never seen you looking so freaked," Ian said.
"Mom was talking to me about getting married, settling down."
"Oh, shit, that sucks. Why would you want to do that? There are so many women as yet untried."
Dylan snorted. "But not for lack of trying, eh? Really, though, just one woman forever? Maybe in a few years I'll be ready for that."
For all that Kurt was the baby, there were only three years between him and Dylan, with Ian falling almost exactly in the middle. They all had plenty of time before thinking about settling down.
"You don't have a girlfriend you haven't told us about, do you?" Ian asked.
"No." Kurt needed to stop talking about this, now.
Ian and Dylan shared a funny look. Oh, God. Surely they didn't suspect? How could they?
"So... pool...."
Simon was almost as good as the three of them, which was saying something because they'd been practicing at this table since they were tall enough to see what they were doing. But others were waiting, and after quickly clearing the table, they stepped away, turning the table over to other friends.
Jen wandered over, a beer in hand for Simon. "Thanks, hon." He bent down to give her a sweet kiss.
"I like your family," she said to Kurt.
"Thanks. I like 'em too, most of the time."
Jen smiled, and Ian lightly punched him in the shoulder.
"We'll be back in a sec," Dylan said, as he and Ian both inspected their empty beer bottles.
"Bring one back for me," Kurt called. Ian flipped him off.
"I'm sorry, I should have gotten you one," Jen said.
"No, of course not. I'll go grab one in a minute. He's just being an ass."
Caitlyn bustled up to the table. "There you are," she said to Jen. "C'mon, bring Simon." She turned a frown on Kurt.
"You should have told me you knew Jen."
"When and why would I have done that?" Kurt didn't think it unreasonable to be annoyed at her accusing tone. He spent the least amount of time with the twins---they were always doing stuff together with their own little nuclear families.
"We just started working together. We didn't realize until tonight that you and Simon were partners."
"Oh well, of course I should have known you worked together." Sarcasm dripped from his words, but his sister was, as ever, oblivious. He probably would have known, if Caitlyn didn't change jobs as often as some people got oil changes. How could he be expected to keep track?
"Go on," Kurt said when Simon looked reluctant to leave. "I'm going to the bar."
He picked up another beer and leaned against a nearby wall. All around him were couples. His sisters had invited a few single women friends, but Kurt didn't think dating them was any better an idea than dating someone at work.
"Hello. You must be Kurt." A short, generously endowed dark-haired woman stood before him... far too close for a stranger. She was quite pretty, though, and with his height, he could see straight down her cleavage. A hint of pink lace peeked out from the edge of her deep neckline.
"I am."
"I'm Heidi. One of Heather's friends."
"Nice to meet you, Heidi."
"Heather tells me you're a cop." Heidi leaned in even closer and rested her tiny fingers gently on his bicep. He rather thought he should put his sister-in-law's friends in the same undateable category.
"You must be very brave. And you're obviously very strong." Heidi squeezed his arm.
Kurt drank a large mouthful of beer to avoid rolling his eyes.
Still... he tried to imagine leaning down to kiss her. Stripping her. Feeling the heft of her breasts in his palms. And he couldn't do it. Not even a flicker of interest in his groin---even less than when he went home with Tiffany.
Oh fuck.
He tried again. This time, putting them in bed together, naked. But she wasn't tall enough. Didn't have dimples.
Oh fuck. Sweat sprang out all over, and he tried to back away, but the wall prevented his escape.
"There you are," Simon broke into his reverie. Heidi had plastered herself to him, her fingers burrowed underneath his sweater as her breasts pressed against his abs.
"Sorry, Miss, I need to borrow Kurt for a bit." Simon smiled at her, disengaged her hand, and steered Kurt back to the pool table.
"Thanks for the save." Kurt could breathe again. He'd been heading for a repeat of the Tiffany debacle, and he didn't think his ego could take another blow like that.
"Don't thank me, thank Jen." Simon pointed, and Jen waved at them, a sympathetic smile on her face. "Said she knew a shark when she saw one."
A shark, eh? More like she figured out how freaked he was. Great. Just fucking great. He couldn't be mad, though. He'd rather have Jen save him than put up with Heidi's unoriginal and heavy-handed come-on.
"You want to play another game? Jen and me against you?"
"Nah, you two play. I'll watch."
Kurt sat on a stool with his back to the wall. He had a great view of the table, but the game didn't hold his attention.
His brother Mike, with a happy smile on his face, kissed his wife, Heather. His dad grabbed a heavy platter from his mom with a grin. Erin's husband tenderly brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. Simon cuddled up close behind Jen, ostensibly to show her how to make a tricky shot, but her breathy giggle told another story.
Surrounded by friends and family who loved him, and he'd never felt so alone. He shouldn't have let his fear keep him from inviting Davy. In fact, his reasons for doing so were so strongly reminiscent of Ben's actions, shame scalded him. He knew Davy would have gotten along with his family. They'd love him, and Davy would have kept him company all night. Simon was a good friend, but he had Jen. Ian and Dylan were great, but they'd left the party already, probably trying to drum up "dates" for after. They didn't like to fish in a pond so close to home either.
But he couldn't have Davy here, even if he wished it. He couldn't risk anyone guessing, speculating.
Jen knocked a ball into the pocket and squealed, bringing Kurt's attention back to the table. She'd won, which given Simon's skill, probably didn't happen that often.
"Hey, man. We're going to head out," Simon said, arm around Jen's shoulders. "Thanks for inviting us."
"Anytime. My family thinks you're great. Glad you were able to come."
Jen hugged him, and as they left, Kurt checked his watch. After midnight. He could leave too. Although he wanted a shitload more, he'd only had a couple of beers---he could still drive.
He said good-bye to his family, except for Ian and Dylan, who were still missing in action, and left the party room to make his way through the throng in the public part of the restaurant.
Someone grabbed his arm, and he tensed before realizing it was just Ian.
"Where are you going? That hot new waitress just invited us to a party later. Her friends are strippers," Ian hissed.
"And they're twenty."
Ian gave him a so what look.
God. A party filled with aggressive women like Heidi. Women with expectations he wouldn't be able to---didn't want to---fulfill. And within full view of his promiscuous brothers. He'd rather have his eyes gouged out with a swizzle stick. His shitty, empty, lonely apartment with its almost-full bottle of vodka was calling him.
"Not tonight, Ian. I'm tired. It's been a long week."
"Best cure for a long week is a quick fuck with an easy lay." Ian grinned at him.
Kurt shook his head. There was almost a hint of desperation in Ian's actions. Maybe he was having an early midlife crisis. "Don't let Mom hear you say that. And I'm still not going."
"Fine. Lunch this week?"
"Sure, yeah, call me, and let me know what day is good for you."
Ian left, and Kurt stood there, wondering if he'd made the right decision. He scoped out the bar, wondering which waitress Ian had spoken of, when a slender blond man caught his eye. His gaze traveled the length of the man, build and profile so similar to Davy that if it hadn't been for the blond hair, he would have assumed he was looking at Davy. The blond turned and met his gaze. He stared at the man for a few seconds, who raised a brow and licked his lips, sending an unexpected punch of lust to his gut, and blood rushing south. This man had gotten a bigger "rise" out of him in mere seconds than several minutes with Heidi's generous breasts plastered against him.
Oh fuck.
He buttoned up his coat and pushed through the crowd, out into the bitter, late November cold.
It was too late to ring the doorbell. Aside from the cheery red and green Christmas lights in the front windows, Davy's house was dark. Kurt didn't even know why he was sitting here in his car, except the overwhelming need to be near Davy had been too much to tamp down with a couple of beers in him. All those happy couples at Finn's---he felt so alone. Davy would probably have hated the crowd, but Kurt was a fool for not inviting him. He was a fool for a number of reasons, because no woman had ever made him so complete. And if he wanted to see how well Davy fit into the rest of his life, he needed to man up and let him in. Share, but not push. Because Davy still had healing to do. He wasn't willing to take that step---to let Davy or anyone---know about his newly discovered sexual appetite. He still didn't quite trust it. But fully including Davy as a friend? That he could and should do.
Kurt rubbed his chilly fingers together, his breath escaping in a white puff.
This was stupid. He was sitting out here, like he was on a stakeout, but he'd never drank before going on a stakeout. God. He probably looked suspicious as all hell, and he wouldn't be surprised if a squad car came by, wondering what he was doing. Inspector Nadar would cuss him out for this stunt. Especially since he couldn't explain this without admitting things he didn't want to say aloud. Things he wasn't sure he could bear to admit to himself.
A dark compact car pulled into Davy's driveway and the engine cut out. A short man dressed all in black stepped out of the driver's seat.
Before he'd made a conscious decision, Kurt exited his car and cut across the street to intercept. There was no good reason for anyone to be heading up to Davy's door after he was clearly asleep.
Then, the passenger door opened and Davy stepped out. Kurt halted, like he'd been coated with water and flash-frozen in a shadowy patch of sidewalk. He was only a few feet from Davy's drive but neither man noticed him.
The chill from his fingers spread throughout his body, although Kurt was mostly sure it wasn't physical.
He didn't recognize the man at all. The murmur of male voices reached him as the two stood on the step, and Davy turned to speak after unlocking the door.
Davy smiled, flashing those dimples a split second before the blond cupped Davy's cheeks and planted his lips atop Davy's.
Kurt unfroze as anger exploded, hot and molten, in his chest. Snow crunched underfoot as he sprinted across the yard. He dashed up the porch steps and yanked the stranger from Davy. His Davy.
The stranger yelped and fell back against the window with a hollow thunk.
Davy stared, uncomprehending, while Kurt's chest moved like a bellows, fists clenched at his sides.
"What the fuck is going on?" Kurt's voice was hardly recognizable.
The stranger recovered quickly. "Who are you?"
"Who the fuck are you? Davy, were you on a fucking date?" Kurt wasn't sure how to express the anger coursing through him without an assault charge, and even though the asshole was no longer kissing or touching Davy, he was getting more irate.
"What the fuck, Kurt?"
"Hey, man, I didn't know you had a jealous ex."
"I don't." The words shot out of Davy's mouth like bullets. Kurt had never seen Davy snarl, and he snarled right back.
"Then who the fuck is this?"
Kurt flicked his attention to the stranger. "None of your fucking business." Kurt's glare intensified, and the blond grew alarmed by his sudden escalation of anger.
"Do you want me to call the cops, Davy?"
"No, he is the cops. Just go home, Andrew."
Andrew. A fresh flood of hatred washed through Kurt for Andrew.
"Are you sure?" Andrew edged around Kurt, skirting him like a wild animal. Kurt should have cared, but he didn't. He was ready to fling this dick off the porch, head first into the nearest drift.
"Yes. Go home." Davy shared the sharp tone Kurt hadn't heard before tonight with Andrew. Good. Andrew walked to his car.
Davy opened the door and stepped through as Andrew drove away.
"Get inside," Davy ordered. "I'm not yelling where the neighbors can hear."
Kurt followed him into the living room where Davy shed his coat and threw it over a chair.
"What the hell was that all about?" Davy's sharp, snippy tone hadn't abated any. "And take your fucking boots off. You're tracking snow all over."
"Are you fucking dating already? How could you?" Kurt flung his boots over into the corner. Somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of Kurt's mind he thought he'd have a chance to work out what the fuck was going on in his head without worrying about Davy moving on---not needing him anymore.
Davy's mouth fell open. "I don't have to fucking explain myself to you, but no, I'm not fucking dating." The words twisted into a mocking parody of Kurt's. "Not yet."
He was supposed to have six more months before Davy started dating. That's what the grief counselors said, right? A year to grieve? Six more months to decide if he wanted Davy for himself or to get this stupid obsession out of his system.
"Not yet?" Davy's words should have appeased him, but they didn't. He was beginning to vibrate with the repressed desire to shake some sense into Davy. Davy's eyes glittered darkly, reflecting the Christmas lights in the window; he hadn't bothered to turn on any lights. Which was fine. They didn't need lights for this.
"So if you're not dating, why the fuck was he kissing you, then?"
Davy glared at him and kicked his own wet boots at Kurt's.
"Oh for God's sake. He's a friend of Jon's, we were at a club, and Andrew offered to drive me home. Yes, he made a move. But I have to ask... what the fuck is it to you?"
Kurt stepped closer, looming as much as he could. Sure, Davy was a couple inches taller, but Kurt was wider and had a lot of experience looking intimidating. Davy squared his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, and stood firm, not even dropping his gaze.
"I don't like him."
"So the fuck what? You don't have to like people I'm dating. You don't have to like people I'm fucking."
"The people you're fucking?" The words stabbed him clean through the belly. He couldn't catch his breath from the pain.
Davy glared. "Not yet. Idiot."
The pain in his middle dissolved instantly. Kurt sucked in a deep breath, ready to launch another attack, when Davy's clean lemongrass scent, combined with the warm, musky scent of sweat tickled his nose. His cock sprang to immediate and almost painful life. Arguing was the last thing he wanted to do with Davy.
Grabbing Davy's narrow shoulders, he pulled him close and jammed his lips on a man's for the first time.
Davy stood stiff for a moment while Kurt savored the unexpected softness of Davy's lips. He slid his hands up to Davy's cheeks and the abrasion of stubble against his palms drew a moan from deep within his chest. He licked at the seam of Davy's mouth, desperate for admission. For a heart-stopping minute, he thought Davy would deny him, but Davy's mouth opened at the same time as Davy slid his arms around Kurt's waist.
Oh, God. The taste of Davy. The heat of Davy's mouth. This was his, not fucking Andrew's. He backed Davy toward the couch and used his body mass to press Davy down in an aggressive way he'd never used---or cared to use---with a woman.
One final nudge and he was atop Davy, groin to groin, mouth to mouth. Another moan welled into their mouths; Kurt thought it might have been him. The novelty of a full erection pressed against his, hips undulating against his, was unbelievably arousing. He'd never been as physically close to a woman; how could he? The firm planes of his body fit Davy's like he was made for them. The kiss softened as his attention wavered between all the warring, unaccustomed sensations and the pulsing desperation in his dick for ever more pressure, skin, friction.
Davy clutched at him, pushed at him, fought with him, and jammed his tongue into Kurt's mouth like they were battling, not kissing. Grappling with someone whose strength approached his own was fascinating and held more appeal than he imagined.
Ripping his mouth away, Davy panted. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"Kissing you." Or perhaps devouring.
"What makes it okay for you to kiss me and not Andrew?" The words weren't a simple question, but a sneering mockery.
Kurt's anger returned full force and his hands moved to Davy's hair, yanking his mouth back within easy reach. "You're mine," he snarled before shoving his tongue back in Davy's mouth.
Davy wasn't ready to surrender; he pulled away and bit Kurt's lip. Kurt reared back at the sting, although it wasn't entirely unpleasant.
"Bullshit." Davy glared at him, but thrust his hips forcefully upwards, the drag of two pairs of jeans between two hard cocks making Kurt gasp.
Suddenly, the room tilted as Davy took advantage of his momentary distraction. Kurt ended up on the floor, breathless, the plush carpet cushioning his fall. Davy leaned over, dark hair rumpled, lips puffy, face flushed. Before tonight, Kurt may have never had a lustful look directed at him from a man---that he knew of---but there was no mistaking the emotion lighting up Davy's eyes. And there wasn't a hint of the tenderness he'd seen in women's eyes.
Davy pounced, flicking Kurt's fly open and wrenching down his jeans. Kurt's cock sprang out, eager to play. Davy wasted no time engulfing him in the hot, wet fire of a mouth that kissed so well. Kurt cried out, arching his hips up, trying to shove himself down Davy's accommodating throat.
Davy sucked and licked and nibbled---leaving Kurt helpless under the fierce sensual onslaught. He'd never had anyone suck his dick with such enthusiasm and skill. Dear God.
His dick popped free from Davy's mouth, and he stared down. Why had Davy stopped?
Smiling demonically, Davy slithered up his body and yanked his sweater up his chest and over his head, tongue tracing a slick path along the revealed skin. Kurt writhed, trying to untangle his arms from the sweater. His desperation was increased by a hand on his dick and lips on his nipple.
All contact stopped as Davy lifted his head and looked straight into his eyes. His expression was serious, and Kurt knew Davy was still angry, as well as turned on. "No. You want more? You'll stay like that."
Oh God. He shouldn't like this as much as he did. And he'd do anything to keep Davy touching him. He stilled as much as he could, but he couldn't prevent his hips pumping, seeking through empty air for Davy's hand.
He stared into Davy's eyes. He couldn't quite bring himself to, well, beg. But Davy must have seen the plea in his eyes. Not entirely happy, Davy smirked, those dimples looking diabolical---and delicious. Within seconds, they were both naked, except for the fabric keeping Kurt from touching Davy.
Naked. With another man. He'd never been so close to another man's erection before, and the enormity of his situation yawned like an abyss at his feet, waiting for him to jump. His cock wasn't having any second thoughts, but his breath came faster---a little too fast---for simple arousal. Despite that, he couldn't take his eyes off Davy. Or his cock. It was long, longer than his own, but much more slender, just like Davy. The ruddy contrast was significant against the pale skin of belly and thigh, and the small dark patch of pubic hair framed it, drawing the eye.
Moisture pearled at the tip, and even as his own cock jerked in sympathetic response, his inhalations were way too fast and his vision started to blacken at the edges. Until Davy's mouth dropped back over his dick, sucking with an almost punishing strength, and everything was right with the world again. Davy pulled back, lavishing the tip with swirling tongue action like no one had ever done. One arm fumbled in the small end table beside the couch.
Davy shifted between Kurt's legs, and he spread like it wasn't his first time having a man kneel between his thighs, loving the sinful and amazing things Davy's mouth did to his cock. A click sounded above their harsh breathing, but Kurt didn't know what it was until a cool, slick finger stabbed at his anus. Lube. If he hadn't already tried fingering himself, and liked it, he would have clenched. Maybe he should have anyway, but he was too far gone, and it was a million times better having Davy take over. His thighs spread further, and a groan ripped from his throat.
Growling around his mouthful, the vibration rippled into Kurt's balls. Davy slid the finger back and forth, and Kurt rocked his hips in the same rhythm, the only thing he could do to fight for his orgasm.
But Davy wasn't ready for him to come, and the magical suction ceased as Davy pushed another finger into him. Kurt gasped at the unexpected burn. It wasn't bad, exactly, but it backed him away from his impending orgasm. He couldn't keep his hips still, though.
"That's it, just like that," Davy murmured.
As he added another finger, Kurt yelped and froze, the burn fiery and more intense. Why was Davy doing this? Kurt opened his mouth to tell him to stop, when Davy dropped his mouth back over the head of dick and at the same time, stroked his fingers over something inside.
"Oh God," was what actually escaped Kurt's lips. Seconds later, it was, "more, please more."
Davy lifted his head, lips shiny in the red and green light, fingers still buried in Kurt's ass. He bared his teeth, and pulled his fingers out.
Empty. So empty. He moaned and glared at Davy. "That's not more."
"Complaints?" Davy leaned over him in a flash, mouth cutting off his words. This time Davy tasted saltier and Kurt realized with a jolt that it was the flavor of himself on Davy's lips.
Then his request for more was filled even as Davy kissed him. Davy's cock pressed at his entrance, the head popping easily into his stretched opening, and Kurt's arms twisted above his head, panic and lust riding him, exclamations of his fear and distress and---yes, his ecstasy---denied release by Davy's tongue. He wanted to yell, to scream, to moan, but he couldn't seem to do anything but accept Davy's unrelenting entry into his body.
Fully seated, Davy leaned back, his cock filling Kurt but not thrusting. He looked like an avenging angel, and he saw the wildness in Davy's eyes, saw the need for movement.
Kurt panted, trying to assimilate the sensations and emotions bombarding him. Hard muscle, sharp hip bones, and springy hair pressed unfamiliarly between his thighs. The soft weight of balls against his ass tickled a bit. He was more vulnerable than he had ever been during sex, but when he clenched around the dick inside him, making them both groan, it felt so good, so unbelievably right.
Davy pulled his dick almost all the way out before gliding back in. Kurt's cock dripped precome. "More," he whispered again.
A strangled whine left his throat as Davy picked up the pace, the slap of flesh on flesh almost as exciting as the hardness driving again and again into his body, rubbing, teasing his prostate. Davy's cock pushed him higher and closer, slamming into him in a way he'd never imagined, but never wanted to stop.
"Please, oh, please." He was so close, begging seemed the fastest and best way to get what he wanted. And he wanted to come. He needed it. His balls were going to fucking explode from the pleasure.
Davy grabbed his dick and jacked it in the same frantic rhythm with which he was fucking. Kurt sucked in a breath, grunted, and spilled, his cock spraying come all over his belly and Davy's hand. Davy's face twisted up, and he continued to thrust through Kurt's almost vicious convulsions.
Then, he pressed his dick as far inside Kurt as he could.
"Oh, fuck." The words were drawn out into a moan as Davy pulsed inside, warm wetness filling Kurt as Davy shuddered above him, eyes squeezed shut.
Davy collapsed on him, panting. Kurt gulped in deep breaths, enjoying the afterglow. He'd never had sex like that, never that fantastic, and he deliberately ignored the implications lurking in his mind. There'd be time to worry about it later, when he wasn't completely fucked out. His hands pulled easily from his sweater, now that lust was no longer fogging his brain, and he was able to savor the slip of Davy's smooth skin under his palms. He stroked Davy's sweat-slicked spine, remembering a day several months ago when those bumps were more prominent and scary, when Kurt had been so afraid for Davy's life and sanity. Now, those same ridges were less prominent and fucking sexy.
Kurt moved to kiss Davy's temple, but his lips barely touched skin when Davy jerked upright, lifting his chest from Kurt's. He propped up like he was going to do pushups, and stared down where they were still joined. He slid his dick easily out of Kurt's body. And brought his gaze back to Kurt's face, looking... horrified was the only term that came to mind. Kurt reached for him, but he scrambled away and began pulling on clothes, keeping his gaze on the floor.
"You need to leave, Kurt."
"What? Why?" Kurt dragged on his own jeans, ignoring as best he could the viscous fluid between his thighs. The vibe in the room had changed significantly. He didn't know why, but he thought it might be easier to face if he were dressed. Whatever it was wouldn't wait for him to take a quick shower, although it might be easier if Davy would look at him.
"Just go. This shouldn't have happened."
"No fucking way." Kurt grabbed Davy by the shoulders and tried to kiss him. This time, though, Davy fought him for real, and Kurt backed off. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Davy.
"Get the fuck out!"
"Davy, I'm sorry, but why? It was good, wasn't it?" Please say it had been good for Davy. Because it had been unbelievably good for Kurt.
Davy's mouth opened. Closed. An angry flush swept over his features, and he aimed a punch at Kurt's face. It didn't connect---Kurt's training saw to that---but it stunned the fuck out of him.
He wrenched his fist away from Kurt and pulled back, tears standing in his eyes. "This shouldn't have happened. I'm not ready. And even if I was, I'd never get involved with you."
Kurt's life had been turned upside down since he'd met Davy, and with a few words, Davy tore it asunder. Blood pulsed in his temples, and as much as he wanted to hit back, he slammed his fist into the wall instead. Some part of his brain recognized that his knuckles would be scabbed all to hell tomorrow, but right now he didn't care.
"Why the fuck not?"
"Because I'll be damned if I get involved with another closeted fucking cop! I went through ten years of hiding, and you're not going to drag me back there! I lost so much. Never again." Davy's loss slapped Kurt in the face. In his post-orgasmic stupor, he'd somehow forgotten the man was still grieving.
"Davy, I'm not Ben. And this isn't the best time, but I think if you got some counseling---"
A paperback winged its way toward his head, cutting off his words.
"Fuck you. And what about you? Were you just waiting out there for me to get home? Isn't that a little stalkerish?"
"I wasn't really waiting. I just stopped by after I left my brother's birthday party."
Davy's mouth tightened. "And... have I met any of your family? Did you mention me tonight? Do they know you're friends with me?"
Kurt didn't know how to answer. But apparently, his silence was answer enough.
"Exactly," Davy spat out. "Just like fucking Ben. I'm okay when we're alone, but God forbid you let anyone know we're friends." Davy gave the last word a sour little twist.
"What about Simon and Jen?"
"And you'd have introduced me if they hadn't invited themselves to sit at our table? I don't think so. Hell, I don't even know where the fuck you live---you've never invited me to your apartment. Are you too embarrassed for your neighbors to see me?" Another paperback flew past his head.
"It's not like that." It wasn't.
"No, now you want to be secret fuck buddies." The bitterness in Davy's words flayed open Kurt's heart, even though he couldn't blame Davy for what he thought. What they'd done was too good to slap such an ugly label on.
"That's not true. I---"
"You... you're gay now? Going to tell all your friends and family? The ones who don't even know I exist? Going to admit you kissed a man? Fucked a man? What about your cop buddies? Think they'll be understanding about working with a fairy? Ben didn't think so."
Kurt didn't know how to respond to the barrage. The sex happened before he'd had a chance to think things through, and although he didn't regret it, he didn't have answers for Davy. He wasn't even sure if he'd call himself gay or just curious. But the vicious words ripped out every last shred of contentment and replaced it with despair.
"I just want to help you. Please."
"I don't need your fucking help. Stop trying to take care of me. I can take care of myself. And I can do it without you. Now get the fuck out---and don't come back---or I'll call the cops." Davy ran into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.
Stunned, Kurt stood there, sweater in hand. He wanted to follow Davy, but he didn't know what to say. A small part of him also wanted to hurt Davy as badly as Davy had hurt him. But he didn't want to risk making Davy angrier. And the aching emptiness inside made him... unpredictable. He breathed heavily through the ache in his chest, fighting the terrifying urge to pound something into dust.
The extra oxygen wasn't clearing his mind much. He needed to cool down more, take more time. Despite how good the sex had been, maybe Davy had been right about it being a mistake. He wrenched the sweater on, not caring it was inside out. Maybe Davy's words would cure him of his infatuation.
Slamming the door behind him, he ran for his car, wincing as the flex of his body reminded him all too keenly of his recent activities.
Having showered away the evidence of the night, Kurt braced his hands on the bathroom counter. He sucked in a breath before lifting his head to face himself in the mirror. He didn't look any different. There was no neon sign saying he'd been fucked by a guy. The pinkness on his chin from Davy's stubble should fade before morning.
A bitter laugh surprised him. He'd lost a virginity tonight, and it all happened so fast. He could have done without the fight and.... Shit. Davy hadn't meant what he said, right? He was just angry. He hadn't cut Kurt out his life entirely, had he?
Kurt was afraid. What did this mean going forward? He'd never felt so unsure about anything in his life. Was the sex going to happen again? Could Kurt allow it to? Dear God, could he stop himself from wanting it?
Staring straight into his own eyes, he whispered, "I'm gay."
His stomach roiled.
"I'm gay," he said, louder, and pictured himself saying those words to his mom. His palms slicked.
He imagined saying it to his brother, Ian. His breath came faster.
His dad. Heart palpitating, he clutched the sink as his vision grayed.
"I can't. I just can't be gay. I'm not."
A few harsh breaths later, he went to the kitchen and pulled out the vodka. There was enough left in the bottle to wash the memories away, at least temporarily. He didn't want to remember Davy fucking him. Not right now. He didn't want to risk getting aroused by someone who hated what they'd done together. Kurt should hate it, and Davy too. He should feel violated.
He didn't. The burn, even now, was a pleasurable reminder of the best orgasm he'd ever had. But he couldn't deal with everything else that came with it.
Because he couldn't be gay.
It had been over two weeks. Definitely the longest he'd gone without seeing Davy since they'd met. He slouched back in his desk chair and spun his phone around on his desk beside a case file he'd been ignoring for the past two hours.
Davy had cut off all communication. They rarely spoke on the phone before, but the texts dried up to nothing. A couple of times, Kurt drove by Davy's place---game days---but Davy's car wasn't in the drive, and the house was dark, not even Christmas lights on.
As tempting as it was to sit outside Davy's house, waiting to see if Andrew came home with him again---so he could beat the shit out of him---he managed to restrain himself and continue driving. Somehow, he'd thought it would all go back to the way it was before. But every day, the hope faded a trifle more.
Kurt hadn't called or texted, either. The difficult questions Davy had asked cycled through his head all the time on constant loop. They got louder when he was alone, but the vodka muted them a bit. Agonizing as it was to have Davy's voice constantly in his brain, until he had answers, he didn't think he had the right to contact Davy. Didn't stop him from assuming Davy would relent, give him a reprieve from this torture.
Sixteen days. It was killing him not knowing if Davy was doing okay. Did he hate Kurt? Or did he not feel any loss? Maybe Kurt hadn't left a vast, gaping hole in his life, like Davy had left in his.
A particularly heavy sigh made Simon look up from the report he was writing. Kurt had completely fucked off on report writing---he hadn't been able to concentrate---and Simon had picked up the slack without a word.
"You sure you don't want to come to dinner tonight? Jen's been asking about you."
"No, thanks. I wouldn't be very good company."
Simon pressed his lips together, not speaking, but went back to his report. Kurt was thankful for that. He owed Simon for his unquestioning support. He should accept the invite. Having dinner at Simon's house, with or without some of their other friends, had become a weekly habit. Tradition. Masochistically, Kurt had been going home every night to his silent apartment. He watched TV and drank, phone at his side, pretending he wasn't waiting for Davy to contact him.
"Maybe next week," Kurt offered. Maybe next week he could handle pretending to be happy.
Simon gave him a quick grin, but the expression in his eyes said Kurt better snap out of it soon, or Simon was going to want an explanation.
Christa walked by his desk and leaned over him, her flowery perfume too sweet in his nostrils.
"Hi, Kurt."
"Hey, Christa. What can I help you with?" Kurt learned not to ask what she needed. He didn't like the yearning doe eyes he got in return.
"Got some mail for you." Christa held out a white, standard-sized envelope with a handwritten address.
"Thanks." The return address was Davy's house. And Christa wouldn't fucking leave, was in fact smiling at him expectantly.
"Aren't you going to open it?"
What was her problem? Sure, he never got personal mail here, but then, as had been pointed out, Davy didn't know where he lived, and as a police detective, he took great pains to ensure his home address could not be found by simple Internet searches.
"It's nothing." Kurt slipped the envelope into his coat pocket and turned his attention to his computer. Christa shrugged and sat at her desk.
Kurt's skin prickled. He needed to see what was in that envelope more than he needed to breathe. But if Christa wasn't staring at him, Simon was. Or his boss. Or that guy, Ivan, from the drug squad, who was also gay. No, not also.
And what was that all about anyway? Was he giving off vibes that could be picked up by gaydar? Or was he just more sensitive now? Or... shit... did Ivan know Ben?
The past two weeks at work had been eye-opening. Now that he was paying attention, he heard enough slurs and innuendo to realize not everyone was as okay as they should be with the guys who were out on the force. God forbid Nadar got wind of any of them, but that didn't seem to stop some of the worst offenders---all guys Kurt thought were assholes already, at least. That didn't change the fact that admitting anything would suddenly place him in the category of "them." Being "them" wasn't where he wanted to be.
Ivan walked toward him and leaned over, mouth close to Kurt's ear. "Hey, man, just thought you'd want to know, we're close to arresting Novi." His voice was low, but audible.
It took him a minute to realize Ivan wasn't propositioning him right there in front of all of their coworkers, and to let his panic fade away.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Keep it quiet, though. Not supposed to talk about it, but I thought you deserved to know. We're going to get that asshole."
"Thanks, I appreciate it." And he did. Kurt hadn't ever had much reason to talk to Ivan, but he was a good guy. Didn't deserve the shit he was put through sometimes.
Fuck. He rocked in his chair. Fidgeted with pens on his desk. Scrolled through his e-mail without seeing anything. What was in that fucking envelope?
Simon eyed him suspiciously. "I'm just about done here. I'm going to grab a coffee and then we can head out. Want one?"
"Sure." Coffee didn't mix well with the vodka he used to sleep at night, but since he didn't sleep so much as pass out, he needed the coffee. Food didn't mix well with it either; he couldn't remember if he'd eaten anything today.
Simon moved away, and for a change, Christa's eyes weren't on him. Angling his body away from her, he stealthily removed the envelope from his coat pocket. Every tiny rip in the paper reverberated like a gunshot, but Kurt knew the chaos on the floor covered any incriminating sounds.
Inside was a single, folded sheet of paper. Kurt unfolded it, but it took him a few seconds to figure out what was in front of him.
Blood tests. A copy of Davy's blood tests... dated two days after they'd fucked. Negative.
Acid burned beneath his sternum. He'd not once considered the health implications of what they'd done. And he fucking should have. He balled up the sheet of paper and shoved it in his pocket.
The realization of how reckless he'd been washed over him, buffeting him like a buoy in the ocean. His stomach heaved. Again.
Kurt sprang to his feet and ran to the men's room, pushing into a stall just in time to empty his stomach into the toilet.
Not that there was much to puke up. He'd hardly eaten since Mikey's birthday. But he couldn't stop throwing up.
Heavy feet pounded into the bathroom, halted, then the lock clicked shut.
"Jeez," Simon said behind him. "You need me to call an EMT?"
"No," Kurt gasped out in between violent heaves.
Finally, his body was spent, and he slumped against the cool metal wall of the stall. Weakly, he reached up to flush the toilet. Simon had disappeared, but he returned with a water-soaked paper towel. Kurt wiped his face and flung the towel into the toilet.
"You look like hell. Have for a couple weeks. You really ought to go home, get some rest, and get rid of this virus or whatever it is."
Virus. Kurt would have laughed if his guts weren't aching. Instead, he nodded.
"Need me to drive you home? Did you want me to call one of your brothers?"
Oh hell no. The last thing he needed right now was family fussing over him. He needed to be alone. Aside from his damned injury, he was rarely ill---he had plenty of sick days.
"You're right. I'm going home. But don't call anyone, I'll be fine to drive."
"Are you sure?"
Simon helped him stand, and he wobbled over to the sink.
He did look like hell. After he rinsed his mouth out, Simon unlocked the door.
"Hey, can you do me a favor?"
"Anytime, Kurt. You know that."
Kurt had said the same thing more than once to Davy, and he had to bite his lip against the pain.
"Can you grab my coat and meet me by my car? I'd rather not face anyone right now."
"Yeah, sure. Go on down. I'll be there in a few."
"Thanks."
Simon looked like he wanted to give Kurt a hug, but thankfully, he just stepped out of the way so Kurt could get to the exit.
That afternoon, after a lengthy stop at the liquor store, he sat down with a couple fingers of vodka and texted Davy.
And again ten minutes later.
A third time, after a few more fingers of vodka. As soon as he decided Davy wasn't going to respond, he called out sick for the rest of the week, hoping he could stay home and hide without alerting his family.
As Simon drove them to their latest crime scene, Kurt's phone beeped, alerting him to a text message. Weeks later, he still hoped it was Davy. But despite the barrage of texts and occasional voicemails Kurt sent right after he got those test results, Davy hadn't broken silence. Not fucking once. Kurt passed by Davy's house a couple of times since, saw Davy's car in the drive. The courage that marched him into Davy's house that first day had deserted him completely. Davy didn't want to see him.
Kurt still sent a daily text, not matter how futile and foolish he knew it to be. And every time he got a text, some part of him still hoped. Prayed it was Davy.
It was his mother this time, nagging.
"Simon, you and Jen want to have Christmas dinner with my family? You said you weren't visiting family this year."
"I'll ask Jen, but Christmas dinner? With all of you? Are you sure your mom wants any extra people? Or is it at the restaurant?"
"Hell, no. Mom would never condone Christmas dinner at the restaurant. But there won't be as many of us as you think. It's actually only the brothers and Mike's wife and kids. The twins are taking a ski trip with Mark and Evan and the kids, and Erin will be at her in-laws'."
"Sounds good. Jen and I had been planning a quiet dinner, but I'm sure she'd love to come."
Kurt texted his mom with Simon's tentative acceptance. She responded immediately, and Kurt had to answer---firmly---that he was not bringing a date. God. What would his mom do if he brought home a man? How did one even make dates with a man without getting punched or laughed at? Was he too old to learn new habits, new rules? Dating was a worry for much, much later. He was still coming to grips with losing Davy and wanting to date men, without worrying about doing it.
Besides, Christmas dinner was special. He could have brought Davy, but he couldn't bring just anyone, man or woman.
Ian brushed a rag over the bar. "I can't believe we got stuck tending bar on one of the busiest days of the year."
Valentine's Day was always busy, but this year, to celebrate their upcoming forty-fifth wedding anniversary, his parents had decided to do a special promotion. Which meant it was extra crazy.
"Hey, it could be worse, we could be bussing tables. God, I don't miss that job." Kurt refreshed the garnish supplies in front of him. It didn't escape his notice that he and Ian were the only family members working tonight.
"Got a hot date tonight?" That could explain Ian's disgruntlement.
"Are you fucking kidding? First of all, there are cheaper ways to get in a girl's pants. And secondly, you ask a girl out for Valentine's and she'll expect a commitment for sure." Ian huffed and shook his head like Kurt was the most naïve man on the planet.
Did men expect the same? Did gay men even celebrate? He didn't know. The lack of knowledge hadn't stopped him from buying a single red rose, which he'd left on Davy's doorstep this afternoon. He'd carefully chosen a time when Davy wasn't at home and there wasn't a chance in hell he'd run into Davy's date, on the assumption---fear---Davy had one.
Pathetic. Stupid and pathetic---both the purchase and his inability to face Davy like a man. Symbolic of his whole life. His daily texts to Davy had dropped to weekly, but he was never able to say what Davy wanted to hear---that he was ready to tell people the truth about what had happened between them.
In fact, he'd been sneaking shots all night, trying to numb the pain of watching a roomful of happy couples celebrate love and each other.
"Dylan should be here with us," Ian said.
"I know. I was shocked when he brought a girlfriend over for Christmas dinner. Did you know about her?"
"Not a word. Probably worried I'd turn her head before he had her affections locked up." Ian wiggled his brows and laughed.
"Dylan does like his secrets."
"Like you." Ian's narrow face was suddenly serious, and the air around Kurt was too thin for breathing.
"What... what do you mean?"
"You've been avoiding the family, and you look... starved. Is everything okay?"
Kurt pressed his lips together. This was exactly why he'd been avoiding the family. They knew him too well. Christmas could have been worse, but with his sisters gone, only his mom had really paid attention. He hadn't lost as much weight, then.
She'd dragged him into the kitchen and asked him the very same question.
"Baby, are you okay? Have you been sick?"
Kurt hadn't been able to look her in the eyes. He'd been afraid what she'd see---his mom always seemed to know all of his and his siblings' secrets. But he couldn't let her know this one. No way.
"Oh, baby. Is it your girl? Still no luck?" His mom hugged him tightly, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. Kurt managed to wipe away the single stray tear that sneaked out before his mom let him go.
"There's no girl, mom." Kurt hoped she wouldn't correctly interpret the alternate meaning to that statement. He rather thought that was the closest he'd ever be able to come to admitting how he felt.
"Well, you'd better eat tonight. Starving yourself sick for some girl who clearly doesn't have the sense God gave her... I won't have it. Besides, if she can't see what a good man you are, she's not the girl for you."
Not for him. The words made the pain in his gut slice just a bit deeper. He ate that night, tried to be normal, but he went home, drank himself stupid, and puked it all up hours later. It was becoming an all-too-frequent occurrence, but he couldn't find the brakes for this train speeding down the wrong track.
The sting from a damp towel snapping against his shoulder brought him out of his memory. "What the fuck was that for?"
Ian peered at him closely. Kurt couldn't remember when he'd last put eyedrops in. Using those to hide his bloodshot eyes had become a regular occurrence too. "I asked if you were doing okay. And you totally zoned out. What's going on?"
"Nothing's going on. What the fuck is wrong with everyone? Can't I have a fucking bad day now and then?" Kurt threw the glass he was holding into the sink where it shattered. Ian's eyes widened, and even though he knew he'd regret it later, he shoved his brother out of the way and headed for the break room. High tide for the bar had passed, as the restaurant patrons were more intent on getting home and fucking their brains out---God dammit---than they were on drinking more. Ian could close by himself, nosy bastard.
A tiny nibble of guilt gnawed at his consciousness, but it wasn't enough to drown out the siren call of his kitchen with its newly stocked supply of vodka. At his shithole apartment, he could finally drink enough to forget. For a few hours at least.
Kurt knocked on Inspector Nadar's office door.
"Come in."
After shutting the door behind him, Kurt took a seat. Enough rumors were flying about the station when he arrived that he suspected he knew what Nadar was going to tell him.
"O'Donnell, I know the past nine-and-a-half months have been difficult for you."
Kurt barely held in the contemptuous snort.
"I know how much you wanted to join the team investigating Ben's death, but you were too close, and once we realized the motive was revenge from Ben's former position on the drug squad, well, it was only proper to turn the matter over to them. But that's water under the bridge."
Kurt didn't give a rat's ass about that. Not if the rumors were true. He never understood why Nadar danced around some subjects and was almost painfully blunt with others.
"The team sent to apprehend Viktor Novikov late last night were fired upon, and they were forced to respond in kind."
For half a second, Kurt didn't realize Nadar was talking about Novi, the Russian Bear.
"Novikov died at the hospital early this morning, but there's no doubt in anyone's mind that he was responsible for Ben's death."
Although he sat there, hopefully without expression, a dark, bitter joy filled him. Happy Valentine's Day to him, even if it was a day late. The Bear got what he deserved, but Kurt wanted to be the one to deliver the fatal shot. But he had one important question:
"Sir, did you inform...."
"Ben's family? Yes, as soon as I heard."
"Thank you. Was there anything else?"
"I'd like you to take the rest of the week off, let this settle."
Kurt shrugged and left Nadar's office.
"Hey, man, are you okay? I just heard." Simon rushed to meet him.
"Everything's fine. Nadar sent me home, though, until Monday."
"That's probably a good thing. Call me if you need anything."
A good thing. He didn't want to go home. He was starting to hate his apartment, and he couldn't go to Finn's or any of his family. They'd smother him. At least he could take comfort in knowing Davy would have some closure and wouldn't have to dredge up all that pain at a trial. Selfishly, the thought had occurred to him that at the trial he'd have a chance to see Davy, but that wouldn't happen now.
Kurt fired off one additional text to Davy about the situation, although like the others, he didn't expect a reply.
Out in the slushy, gray February day, Kurt drove to the liquor store first, just in case he didn't have enough alcohol at home to numb him for the next few days, help him sleep. And he had no intention of leaving his apartment until Monday morning. Hell, he might not even shower until then, either.
Kurt opened the fridge and contemplated the beer for a few minutes.
Fuck it. He slammed the door shut and grabbed the vodka bottle. He added a couple of cubes to a lowball glass and poured.
He touched the phone, but he wasn't hungry enough to bother ordering anything. Besides, once he got enough booze into him, he wouldn't be hungry at all.
Slumped down on the couch, glass in hand, he flipped to the hockey game. He kept looking to his right, as though Davy was going to appear. But then, he couldn't imagine Davy at his apartment, on his couch, watching his TV. Because Davy was right. He'd barged into Davy's home and life, but never allowed Davy the courtesy of an invite into his. He was such a shit, and he hated watching the game alone.
He could always go to Finn's, but that would require a shower. And a shave. It had been days since he'd done either, and had no intention of doing so until he had to go back to work on Monday. Besides, he wasn't interested in his family's company, evading their nosy questions.
On screen, a spectacular goal slipped past the goalie. Davy would have crowed and trash-talked. Watching hockey animated him, far more so than when they'd watched baseball.
Kurt stared at the screen, without seeing any of the following plays, remembering the first hockey game they'd watched together. At the first questionable call by the refs, Davy leapt off the sofa, yelling, cursing. He'd spilled his beer and looked at Kurt all shocked and embarrassed. It was... fuck... it had been so damned cute. Kurt had laughed and laughed while he helped Davy soak up the spill.
A cheer from the TV brought his attention back, and he tried to take another sip, but there was nothing left in his glass but ice. Tears wet his face, and he wiped them away.
"Fuck this." He whipped the glass at the wall, where it shattered with a satisfying crash, ice cubes melting in the glittering glass. He grabbed a nearby beer bottle and sent it sailing, adding brown shards in with the clear.
After the game ended---he had no idea who won, and he wasn't even sure who played---he stumbled over to clean up the broken glass.
Red mixed and swirled with the water. Kurt turned his hand over, but the deep cut didn't hurt until he yanked the hunk of glass out. Then it hurt like a bitch.
Who came up with that expression anyway? It didn't make any sense. The continued throbbing kept him more or less focused on his hand and the crimson dripping from it. He'd clean this shit up tomorrow.
He wrapped a mostly clean towel around his hand and collapsed on the bed fully clothed. His last thought before passing out was a hope that the cut would have healed enough by Monday that no one would comment on it.
Kurt had been back at work two days and was thankful that most of the furor had died down. He didn't really want to talk about Ben or Novi or much of anything else. Pounding the streets was better than gossiping at the station. All he was interested in right now was getting the damn witness to talk. Too bad Wally was a shiftless, drug-addled little shit.
He slammed Wally up against the bricks and leaned in to hiss a threat.
Simon grabbed him by the back of his collar, hoisting him backwards and lifting him to his toes. Oversized fucker. With the sudden removal of Kurt bracing him, Wally slipped on a slushy patch of ice and fell to one knee.
"Back the fuck off, O'Donnell," Simon hissed in his ear. To the world at large, it probably didn't look like the bigger man was actively restraining him, but Kurt would have to put in a lot of effort to break free.
"Get out of here, Wally." The ragged little man didn't waste any time following Simon's instructions. He pulled himself off the ground and ran away.
Kurt twisted in Simon's grip, but succeeded only in almost choking himself. "What the fuck? He's getting away!"
Simon opened his fingers and Kurt stumbled as all of his weight returned to his own feet. He turned to confront Simon, only to be met by the fierce glare Simon reserved for the most recalcitrant suspects. Which only pissed him off.
"I had him. Why the fuck did you do that?"
"If we'd taken that guy in, you'd be getting suspended." Simon didn't actually follow up with the words you idiot, but Kurt heard it in the biting anger.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You were bordering on brutality, and that little shit would have squealed about it the second he stepped into processing. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong with me! Who are you, my mother?" Kurt clenched his teeth, his fists, rocking on the balls of his feet. Adrenalin surged, and he was going to have to decide---soon---if it was worth throwing a punch at his partner.
"Jesus Christ, Kurt. Get in the fucking car."
Simon didn't exactly give him a choice, and muscled him into the passenger seat with his bigger bulk. Since Kurt didn't particularly want to be stranded, or be forced to use public transit, he buckled his belt and crossed his arms.
"What about Wally?" Kurt asked as soon as Simon got in the car. "He's still a suspect, and you let him go." The accusation made a muscle leap in Simon's jaw.
"He's not a good lead and you know it." Simon started the car and drove away.
They rode in silence, the radio crackling loudly and intrusively between them. Pulling up in front of Kurt's apartment building smoothed out some of his simmering fury.
"What are we doing here?"
"Get out of the car." Simon didn't wait for him, but strode to the entrance and waited.
The red haze of anger faded, and Kurt had to admit he'd maybe been a bit out of line. But it wasn't Simon's place to coddle him, or protect him from his own actions. Simon was his partner, not his parent.
"Get in," Simon said, voice still tight.
Kurt opened the door to his apartment, took off his coat, and threw himself on the couch like a sulky teenager. Simon wandered into the kitchen... and came right back out holding an empty vodka bottle. He sat on the coffee table facing Kurt and set the vodka bottle---one of several Kurt was sure he hadn't thrown out yet---beside him.
"Jesus, Kurt." The anger was gone, replaced by something else. Pity, maybe. Kurt didn't want to hear it... or see it, so he averted his eyes. He didn't think Simon would go away if he locked himself in the bathroom, though.
"How much are you drinking? What the fuck is going on?" This time, though, there was no aggressive thrust to the words to send Kurt's hackles rising. "I've been watching you unravel for months, but I didn't know it was this bad."
Simon waved a hand toward the kitchen. Kurt dared a quick glance up, care and concern etched on Simon's face, but he could barely look his friend in the eye.
"Kurt, c'mon. Talk to me. I'm your partner. I'm your friend. Please let me help you, because you can't keep going on like this."
Kurt opened his mouth intending to say, "Everything's fine," like he'd been saying over and over for the past few months.
Instead, he hiccupped, his eyes filled and burned, and every single sordid, awful detail surrounding Davy spewed out. Every dark secret, his fears, his indecision, his gut-wrenching loss.
Simon got up only to retrieve a roll of toilet paper for Kurt to blow his nose. Otherwise he did nothing to stem the flood of words Kurt had bottled up since Ben died. Like any other flood, once the dam was broken, there was no stopping it until it was over, ripping out shreds of his soul for Simon's delectation.
At the end, Kurt stared down at his hands, damp toilet paper twisting through his fingers. His throat was raw from talking, like he'd swallowed forty-grade sandpaper, and the skin on his face was stretched tight and painful like a plum about to burst. But Simon hadn't left. Or thrown a punch. Or laughed. He also hadn't said a word since Kurt stopped talking, and the silence hung thick and heavy over his cheap-ass couch. Had Kurt destroyed another friendship? Was he well on the way to destroying every relationship in his life? What the fuck would he live for then?
Simon dragged in a deep breath and let it out, setting the toilet paper tatters to fluttering.
"Whew. I get it now. And I'm just going to say one thing right now. I can't answer for you whether you're gay or not, although I think if you're honest with yourself, you already know the answer to that. Whether you decide you are, whether you decide to be open... I am your friend. I will always be your friend. And it hurts the people who care about you to see you tearing yourself to pieces."
His brow lifted. "Now, I don't think you need any more booze, eh?"
A half smile stretched Kurt's face. Relief had never been sweeter.
"And I've watched you drink your weight in coffee every day for weeks. Do you have any tea, perhaps? Or I can call Jen to bring some over."
Precisely what his mother would have prescribed. "My parents are Irish. I have tea, somewhere," he croaked out.
Simon slapped his hands on his thighs and stood, towering over Kurt. "Sit. Think. Mull, even. But don't worry, okay?"
Against his will, that half smile returned, and he leaned his head back against the couch cushions, letting the domestic clatter of tea-fixing soothe and settle him like nothing had in months.
Kurt must have dozed for a bit, because Simon sat in front of him again, steaming mug in hand. His mother might have convinced him to keep tea in the apartment, but she'd never get him to have teacups. He took the proffered mug, letting the warmth seep into his cool hands, the heated vapor easing his swollen membranes.
He waited until he'd had a couple of sips before he spoke. "You really don't care?"
"I really don't. I know some guys will be jerks about it. I hear that Ivan guy in the drug squad gets a lot of shit... but I've never seen him twisted up like you. That kind of secret messes with your head. I also know that Ivan's got as many friends as detractors."
"I have to tell my parents, don't I? I don't know if Davy will ever speak to me again, but...."
"But to even have a chance with him? Then yes, I think you need to tell people. And remember, it hasn't even been a year since Ben died. You both need a chance to regroup. Recover."
It didn't slip past Kurt's notice that they were talking as though Kurt was definitely gay. But then, as Simon said, if he was honest with himself, he already knew.
"But what if he never---"
Simon slashed his hand through the air. "You may have to let him go. Move on. But that worry is down the road. You need to fix you first. Then worry about any potential relationships, okay?"
The thought of letting Davy go made something ache with emptiness, deep inside. But Simon was right, again. Once he was back to himself, then he could pursue Davy. If not romantically, then at least repair their friendship, somehow.
"One last thing," Simon said. "The drinking?"
"I'll get rid of the booze. I promise. I'm not an alcoholic, I don't think."
"I don't think so either. But if you have any troubles letting it go, you tell me. Got it?"
"Got it. Thanks, Simon."
Simon squeezed his shoulder. "Get some sleep. I bet it's been awhile since you've done that."
In an almost zombie-like trance, Kurt followed Simon's suggestion and went to bed. As he fell on to the mattress, the sounds of bottles falling into the trash and dishes rattling as they were placed in the dishwasher floated to him. Maybe having someone take care of him wasn't all bad... some of the time. Didn't change the fact that he wanted to be the one looking out for Davy, though that might never be. A single tear slipped from his eye and down his cheek as he faded into sleep.
With the announcement of a new, interdepartmental task force, Kurt was busy enough at work to avoid having any serious discussions---that weren't work-related---with anyone. Which meant he was able to avoid telling anyone about the revelation he'd had the day he'd almost beat up Wally. Simon never spoke of it again, except to tell him Jen knew, and Kurt was able to settle back into his weekly dinners at their place. She was still chomping at the bit to set him up, this time with some guys she worked with, and he was thankful for her restraint.
He still texted Davy weekly, but each week without a response killed another smidgeon of hope. At least Davy hadn't requested a restraining order against him. He hadn't had a single drink since his confession to Simon almost three months ago, and thankfully, had no cravings.
He was able to look at himself in the mirror and say, "I'm gay," without cringing or blushing. Imagining saying it to his family still gave him the shudders.
So, he'd done the only thing he could. Dodged them. Fortunately, Caitlyn and Colleen had recently announced that they were both pregnant, again at the same time. It was enough to keep attention off him for a bit.
Tonight, his dodging was done. Tonight, he had no excuse his mother would accept for missing his own birthday party. He wasn't going to ruin the party by telling anyone, but soon. It was going to have to be soon. He was ready.
Maybe.
He had the cab drop him off a few blocks away, hoping a walk in the cool spring night would help calm him.
It didn't work. Every touch, every hug he flinched from. Every word was laced with imagined innuendo. Every glance was sly and knowing.
His parents hugged him, but there was a strange look in his mom's eyes. Haunted, maybe. Whatever it was, he'd need to do some explaining to her, and soon.
After several minutes of greeting guests, feeling like a big phony, he grabbed a beer and settled in a corner, hoping the night would pass quickly.
Would his life be different now if he'd just invited Davy to the last birthday party? Would they be friends? Lovers? Maybe they'd have attended Kurt's party as an openly acknowledged couple. He'd never know now.
"Hey there, bro." Ian's voice startled him, and he spilled his beer.
"Oh, uh, hey." So far, he was doing a complete shit job of acting normal. If this were an undercover job, he'd be dead.
"Oh, uh, hey." Ian mocked. "Is that all you got? I haven't seen you in months. Not since you ditched me at the bar on Valentine's. Been holed up with some hottie?" At least Ian didn't sound too pissed about it. Ian didn't usually hold grudges.
"No, just busy at work." Which wasn't a lie, at least.
"Excellent! As soon as we can blow this place, I got us VIP passes to that upscale nudie bar down on Queen Street. The women are fucking hot. Perfect place to celebrate you birthday, and hey, you're the only single brother I got left. We gotta make the most of it now that Stephanie seems to have landed Dylan."
Like that day with Simon, Kurt had had enough. No more lies. "Where's Mom?"
"What?"
"Never mind. I...." Pretending was too hard. "I've got to find Mom." He left Ian gaping, but that was the least of his concerns.
He peered over heads, searching for his mother. He spotted her setting up the cake by the bar.
"Mom, I need to talk to you."
She glanced at the cake, and the crowd. "Now?"
"Please." He might not have the courage later.
"The break room?" she asked.
The break room was small, but private, and it had a door. "Yes."
She pursed her lips, looking both sad and resigned. "What about your dad?"
The little boy inside quailed. "No. Not right now. Just you, please." If she hated him, there'd be no need to risk his father's disappointment as well. He'd just leave, make a clean break. His mom did pass a silent communication to his father, something he'd only started noticing between couples since he met Davy---and started wanting that kind of connection for himself.
As his mom walked toward the break room, Kurt glanced over his shoulder. Simon, looking right at him, nodded his support. Jen was there, too, even though he couldn't see her. He had at least two supporters, and that would have to be enough for now.
They settled into chairs, and his mom squeezed her hands together. Kurt wanted to as well, but he was afraid of breaking the beer bottle. He drank a little, stalling, but it didn't sit right on top of the ninja kickboxing butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach.
"Please, baby. Talk to me." His mom's eyes filled with tears, and he realized his pain had been shared, even though he'd been unaware. If she hated him... no. He had to say it, give her a chance to be the loving mom he'd always known.
"I'm gay," he whispered, but somewhere he found the courage to keep looking in her eyes. Because he had to know what she thought, how she felt.
The welling tears fell, but she smiled through them. She was relieved?
She threw herself at him, hugging him, and he hugged her back, a bit of his defensive shell melting away. He hoped saying this would never be so scary again.
Drawing back, she kissed his forehead, then settled back in her chair, retaining one of his hands in hers.
"Oh, baby. I was afraid you were going to tell me you were sick or something awful."
"This isn't awful?" Kurt couldn't stop whispering.
"No, honey, no. I love you. I want you to be happy, and you haven't been. Not for a long time."
Her eyes flared, and she stared intently at him. "Baby. I was right, though, wasn't I? You were in love." She pushed his shirtsleeve up and touched his scar. "What happened?"
Oh, God. His eyes were burning. He devoutly hoped it was the emotional turmoil of coming out putting tears so close to the surface and not some sort of requirement for being gay. Because this was horrible.
"I was---am---in love. But he doesn't want me." He'd told the whole story once, and he didn't want to do it again. But even when he'd told Simon, he never actually said... hadn't admitted to himself... he'd fallen in love. He knew why so many people both lamented and praised their first love. It was more beautiful than a sunrise, and more painful than being consumed by the fires of hell.
He got another hug.
"Well, if he can't see what he's passing up, he's not good enough for you. Unless he's married. Then he should be shot." His mother was truly indignant on his behalf, and his heart lightened somewhat.
"No, he's not married. It was mostly my fault. I wasn't honest with myself or him. I was trying to hide."
"And now that you've decided not to hide?"
"I don't know. It's complicated." The anniversary of Ben's death was a mere two weeks away. He hoped Jon, or even Andrew, would be there for Davy, because he didn't want Davy to go through that alone. Even though he wanted to be there, wanted to tell Davy he was opening up to people, he also knew he couldn't let himself tie his coming out to his need for Davy. Coming out had to be for him, not Davy. Davy---and Simon---had made him see he had to be true to himself first or he could never be true to a lover.
"Do I know this young man? What's his name?"
"His name's Davy. I'll tell you about him one day. What about the rest of the family?"
She shrugged. "You need to tell them. Everyone's been worried about you. It doesn't have to be tonight. Except for your father. He's so quiet most of the time, but he sees so much. He's been as worried as I have, except he thought you were maybe on drugs."
"Drugs? Why on earth would he think that?" It was a little too close to the truth, though. His parents might have more children than most, but they didn't neglect any of them, and never had. They saw each of their kids as individuals, and were never too busy to notice when their kids were upset or hurt.
"As he said, you've got a very stressful job. It's not uncommon for people under stress to turn to chemical assistance."
Kurt's cheeks heated. No fucking wonder he'd never been able to get away with anything when he was a kid. He'd been avoiding them for months, and they were still one step ahead.
The butterflies came back with a vengeance. "Will he hate me?"
"Kurt Patrick O'Donnell. Your father is a good man, and he loves you," she scolded. "I'm sending him in, and then we're having birthday cake." The quick squeeze of his hand told him his mother knew how terrified he was.
He waited in the break room, alarmed by how similar the situation was to all those times in his childhood where he had been banished to his room for one of his many misdeeds, waiting for his father to pronounce punishment. Usually it was something awful, like cleaning the bathrooms at the restaurant. He wished he hadn't drawn parallels between the two situations, because it was hard to see how this could end well.
The figure of his dad filled the doorway, nothing more than a dark silhouette at first. But he wasn't a kid anymore, trying to hide his transgressions. He was a man, and he had nothing to be ashamed of, even if he feared his dad's reaction.
His father took another step, the light fully illuminating his face, questions in his eyes.
"Hi, Dad."
"Kurt." His dad settled in the chair his mom had just vacated. His dad was still a vigorous, healthy man, but worry---for him---was etched on his face. Maybe he did have something to be ashamed about, because he'd hurt his parents. Still... this was maybe the hardest thing he'd ever had to say to his dad.
They sat there in silence. Although his dad didn't talk much, he also had no patience for dithering. "Spit it out, son. Like ripping off a bandage."
Right. Bandage. "I'm gay."
His dad sucked in a breath, but didn't speak.
Kurt tried to wait, but he couldn't stand the silence. "I'm sorry."
Sean shook his head. "For what, son? Worrying your mother? Yes, you should be sorry about that."
"But, what about...."
"Being gay?" Kurt almost expected his dad's lips to twist in distaste, but they didn't.
"Yes."
"Son, if that's how God made you, then you've got nothing to be sorry about. It just took me a minute. I... thought you might have...."
"It's okay. Mom told me. I, uh, might have been drinking a lot recently."
Oh, there was that stern disapproval he'd been expecting. "And now?"
"I'm...." Kurt thought about it. Yes, he'd been too busy lately to wallow in his misery, but he truly didn't need the alcohol. And now he had four people who were solid support. He wasn't looking forward to everyone else he had to tell, but an enormous black weight lifted off his soul.
He let out his fear in a long exhale.
"You'll need to tell the rest of the family. No more avoiding them, you hear? But your mom and I will let you tell them in your own time."
They both stood, and Sean cocked his head to one side, looking at Kurt. "Oh, boyo, this was eating you up, wasn't it?"
Kurt bit his lip and nodded. His dad pulled him into a strong hug, the kind that said he was safe at home. Kurt hugged him back, and when they parted, his dad's eyes were a wee bit shinier than they were before.
"Go on out there and get some cake before your mother has both our hides. Or your sisters start screaming. Lord, I've never seen pregnant women crave sweets like those two."
When Kurt returned to the party room, he was amazed at how different he felt. Happier. He missed Davy, almost like he was missing a limb, but there was an unbelievable freedom in the truth.
The family coaxed him into the traditional birthday picture by his cake, but Kurt was sure he'd never want to look at that picture. The reminder of happy times with Davy, at his birthday party, sent a shockwave of pain through him, and he could only imagine what sort of grimace he'd conjured up for the camera.
His mom gave him a sad smile as he cut his birthday cake. She had to know his wish this year was for Davy to return to his life.
Simon caught his eye across the room and raised a brow. Kurt lifted his beer like he was making a toast and gave him a big smile. He smiled back and bent down to say something to Jen, who popped up on her toes to wave at him.
Kurt drained his beer, and decided to grab a bottle of water instead of another beer. Ian sidled up to him at the bar. "So, how much trouble are you in?"
"Trouble?"
"The units dragged you into the break room at your own party. Clearly they wanted to give you shit about something."
"Nope, they didn't. Everything is fine." And for the first time in months, those words weren't a lie. He laughed.
"Okay, then. You've let the voracious preggers have their cake, made the rounds, let's go to the strip club."
"No, Ian, I'm not going."
"Why the hell not?"
This was a good a time as any. "I'm gay."
Ian narrowed his eyes. "What did you say?"
"I'm gay. That's what I was talking to mom and dad about."
Ian paled, dark hair and brows an even greater contrast than normal. "I... I...."
"Hey, man, I know it's a bit of a shock."
Ian spun around and almost ran out of the room, his reaction like a fist to the gut, smashing Kurt's previous good mood to the ground. Out of anyone in his family, he thought Ian would actually be the most understanding, since they'd always been so close.
Both Simon and Mikey saw, and they both headed toward Kurt, reaching him at the same time.
"Squirt, what'd you say to Ian?"
Kurt glanced at Simon, who gave him a tiny nod and a shrug of the shoulders. Yeah, he might as well pull the bandage off with everyone. "I told him I'm gay."
Mike glanced quickly at Simon, as though he thought Kurt might be playing a joke on him. Then he got the same thoughtful look their dad had given Kurt earlier. "Huh. And he was upset by that?"
Okay, c'mon. Wasn't he at least going to get any expressions of shock? What the hell? Surely no one had actually guessed he was gay when he'd gotten to this age without even suspecting it himself?
"Seemed to be."
"He'll come around, squirt. This mean you're finally going to bring someone to these functions? Mom hates that you haven't settled down, you know."
A tiny intake of breath from Simon told Kurt he knew how much that question hurt, even though it wasn't Mike's intention.
"Maybe. Someday."
By the end of the night, his whole family knew, and his sisters at least, had been shocked, but not upset. Ian hadn't returned or called anyone, but Kurt couldn't worry about that now. If Ian was going to be like that, Kurt was going to have to learn to live without him. Because he had more than enough to occupy his mind and thoughts without trying to make his brother not hate him for the code written in his genes. He wasn't exactly happy, but the disturbing and atypical emotional yaws had evened out. Content? Almost.
The longer days of summer only seemed to mean longer workdays. The task force sucked up a lot of extra time as they geared up for a sting. There weren't a lot of expectations for him and Simon---they were mostly included as backup. Afterwards, they could go back to being just overworked, instead of fucking overworked.
"We need to turn here." Kurt looked up from his text to direct Simon. His partner was getting a lot better navigating the city, but they'd save about ten minutes taking back streets at this time of day. He hit send and slipped his phone back in his pocket.
"Thanks. That this week's Davy text?"
Kurt sighed. "Yes." Giving up his last connection to the man he loved wasn't yet possible, even though they hadn't spoken in almost half a year. He sent an extra one on the anniversary of Ben's death, but even that hadn't gotten any response. For all he knew, Davy no longer had the same number. Sure, he could find out easily enough, but he didn't want to give up the self-deception, imagining Davy at least smiling as he read Kurt's weekly texts.
"How's it going?"
Kurt shrugged. "Still nothing." Pathetic, and he knew it. He was sure guys who just came out of the closet had a lot more sex than he did. But Kurt was still a little out to sea. He'd never been great at dating women, but he'd had a number of years to assimilate the rules and customs. Maybe he'd see if Ivan wanted to act as his mentor.
"You coming to our party on Saturday?"
"Sure thing." He preferred their quiet dinners to parties---if he wanted to be surrounded by a bunch of people he didn't know and drink, he could go to Finn's---but Jen would be hurt if he didn't show.
They got out of the car at the crime scene. One of the beat cops sniggered and muttered "fag" under his breath. Both he and Simon growled, and the guy scuttled away.
Kurt rolled his eyes. It sucked---the loss of respect he endured with some of his coworkers, just because of his sexual preference. Considering he was practically celibate, it was a bit of a joke. But most of the guys who made comments were guys he'd never wanted to hang out with anyways. Aside from the occasional chest-beating, Kurt ignored them. But he might have to see if Ivan wanted to go for a beer. Not as a hookup, but as a sounding board, a resource... maybe even a gay friend.
"What have we got?" And it was business as usual again. Kurt was getting used to missing Davy.
"Kurt! I'm glad you made it." Jen hugged him and drew him into the house. Kurt tilted his head to the side. Jen usually hugged him, but she was rarely quite this enthusiastic in greeting him. But since this was a party instead of their usual dinner, perhaps Jen had already been into the wine.
He followed her into the living room. He recognized a few of the people there, including Tiffany. Who smiled at him and wiggled her fingers at him, without any hint of malice or contempt.
"Does she know?"
Jen followed his gaze to Tiffany. "About you? Yeah, I told her. She was stressing about your uh... date. I hope you don't mind."
Did he? Kurt turned that thought over in his head for a moment. "No, actually I don't." He had no intention of wearing a billboard or taking out an advertisement, but he didn't mind people knowing, whether or not he was the one who told them.
"Never mind her." Jen was practically bouncing. Dread trickled through his gut, and he slowed.
Jen peered around and then grabbed his wrist, pulling him into the dining room, and halting before a slim, brown-haired man, a few inches shorter than he was. The trickle became a stream.
"Justin?"
The man turned from his contemplation of the snack table. "Hey, Jen." His pale-blue eyes scanned Kurt from head to toe.
"Justin, this is our friend Kurt. Kurt, this is Justin. He's our neighbor from down the street."
"Nice to meet you, Kurt."
Oh shit. This was a set up. It couldn't be anything else, not when Jen gave him a little smirk and disappeared immediately. She'd done the same thing with Tiffany. Justin was more immediately and more viscerally appealing, but he still didn't know what the fuck he was doing.
"So, Jen tells me you're a detective, like Simon." Justin handed him a plate and made room for him by the table.
"Yes, I am. I have to say, I'm at a bit of a disadvantage." God. He sounded like his great-aunt Martha. And the ninja butterflies made the thought of eating impossible, although he still took the plate.
"Oh, well, not much of one. That's pretty much all I know."
Kurt grinned. "Okay, then."
Justin grinned back. "I'm in marketing. Entirely desk bound, and it's probably nowhere near as interesting as your work."
"There's a lot of waiting. A lot of slogging through papers, databases, Internet searches, stuff like that. It's not all chasing down suspects and gun fights."
He wasn't able to tell if Justin was a cop groupie or not. He'd come across a number of women who'd fuck any cop just because they were cops. Presumably there were gay guys who were the same. And he saw Justin with new, considering eyes at the mental combination of this lithe man and the word "fuck."
They talked a bit more, moving out to the patio, where the summer night wasn't quite as humid as the past few days had been. They talked long enough that Kurt wondered if he was being rude by monopolizing Justin. And he couldn't tell if Justin was attracted to him or just felt sorry for him.
"Look, can I be honest with you?" Since his birthday party, he'd been more inclined to be straightforward.
"Uh, sure." Justin pulled back a little, wary.
"I'm kind of new at... this." Kurt gestured to the two of them.
"New at?" Justin's brows drew together, and he leaned forward into Kurt's space. "Wait. You're just out?"
Kurt nodded.
"How long?"
How long? This was the first real break he'd had since his birthday---the days had started to merge into one big blur. "Six weeks?"
"Oh my God. You're practically a virgin!"
Kurt's face flamed, which he hoped wasn't visible in the gloom. It wasn't dark enough to miss Justin adjusting a bulge in his pants, which, in turn, constricted his own pants even more.
Justin glanced around. "Want to talk somewhere a little more private?"
No mistaking that invitation. Kurt's cock swelled even further. "Sure."
They walked into the shadows beside the house, keeping a careful distance between them. The sounds of the party were subdued, like they couldn't penetrate the darkness. It created a sense of isolation, like he and Justin were the only ones around. Despite his smaller size, Justin crowded him against the rough brick wall and leaned up to kiss him.
Kurt opened his mouth, letting Justin's tongue inside. He clutched Justin's slim hips, pressing their groins together, as he explored Justin's mouth with his tongue. Justin undulated against him, rocking his erection against Kurt's hard cock.
The sensations of kissing a man were as right as they were the first time he'd done this, but thoughts of Davy pulled him out of the sensual fog surrounding him. He put Davy out of his mind, and dived deeper into Justin's mouth, trying to devour him. Justin moaned and wormed a hand between them, rubbing at Kurt's groin. It had been so long since he'd been turned on... so long since Davy... and so much better with a man than it had ever been with a woman.
Justin made quick work of his zipper, drawing his dick out into the night air. The sense of vulnerability, the sense that someone could see, might catch them, made his cock throb and weep. For the first time he understood why people took the risk of getting arrested for public indecency. As a cop he should know better, but his brain was no longer in charge. The thick column of flesh Justin jacked was making all the decisions.
"Undo my pants," Justin whispered.
Right. He should be returning the favor. Fingers slightly unsteady, and working awkwardly around the hand at his groin, Kurt managed to unzip and free Justin's erection. His own pleasure took a back seat as he wrapped his hand around someone else's dick. It was hard and soft at the same time, familiar and foreign. He pulled at it, stroked it like he would his own, and if he imagined it was Davy's dick, well, no one had to know. Something sharp and painful cracked open in his chest as he lamented he'd never actually gotten to touch Davy. His fingers slid around the head, dragging through the precome he found there. He never got to taste Davy, either. In the lonely days since, he'd tasted his own spunk... always imagining it was Davy's.
Justin maneuvered them together, grasping both dicks in his hand, leaving Kurt free to just feel as Justin stroked faster and faster. Kurt's breath sped up in tandem, and his orgasm broke over him, Justin's hand sliding more freely as his cock jerked and spit.
With a shudder and a groan, Justin found his own release, and the sultry smell of sex permeated the summer humidity around them.
Justin let go, and squatted to wipe his hand on the grass before standing and tucking himself away. Kurt followed suit, but slower. He'd had an orgasm, and not alone. Which should have been great. But it wasn't. The crack inside widened, leaving him empty and hollow.
Leaning back against the wall, he wondered if his sex life, his love life, was ever going to get easier. Whether he'd ever have the comfort his friends and family had found in relationships.
"That was great, Kurt." Justin pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Can I see you again?"
Kurt thought about it. Justin seemed like a nice guy. They'd talked for a long time, and he was attracted to him. But Justin wasn't Davy, and until Kurt made peace with that, it wasn't fair. His mother would kick his ass if he treated one woman as a substitute for another, and she wouldn't be any happier if he did it to a man. But the most convincing reason against it was that he wouldn't be happy doing it. He became a cop because he believed in doing the right thing. This wasn't it.
"I'm sorry Justin. I'm...." He sucked in a deep breath. The sudden resurgence of male musk in his nostrils made him question, for a fraction of a second, his decision. "I'm in love with someone else, and until I get over that, I don't think I'm ready."
"In love? Oh. Right, well, I like you Kurt. How come you're not with this guy?"
"It's a long story, but he doesn't want anything to do with me, and I'm trying to come to grips with that. He's the reason I came out."
"And what, he kicked you to the curb when you did? Why the hell wouldn't he snatch up a guy like you? I know we just met, but I have an instinct. You're a good guy, and you're hot as hell."
The darkness hid Kurt's embarrassment. "You're a good guy too. Actually, he doesn't know I've come out. He thought I wanted to keep him a secret, so he dumped me. And I came out because he was right. It wasn't a secret I should have been keeping."
"So, why aren't you... holy shit, Kurt. Does he even know you came out?"
"No, I.... Shit."
"Oh, Kurt." Justin gave him another, longer kiss before he stepped back. "Tell him. And if it still doesn't work out, give me a call. Pass on my thanks to Simon and Jen for a great party, but I think I'm going home now."
Justin left him there in the dark, as his worldview shifted and reformed beneath his feet. He wasn't going to text Davy about this. For all he knew, Davy wasn't even reading his texts. Seeing Davy in person, making him listen, that was what he had to do.
Kurt grew up fighting for the independence to make his own decisions, not to let his family coddle him. He'd fought his way up the rank and file to detective. He struggled through his self-revelation, admitting to himself he was gay. He'd even found the courage to tell his family something that could have ripped him from their regard. But it never occurred to him that he might have to fight Davy for the chance to make them both happy. He'd wallowed long enough. As soon as this damned operation was over, he was going to.
The sounds of the party got louder, or at least, he became more aware of them. Glancing down, he determined his appearance wouldn't show anything untoward, like he'd gotten a hand job in the dark. He laughed. Just like a high school party, hooking up like the hormone-riddled sex fiends they were. How... embarrassing now that he was an adult.
He walked back around to the yard, where it appeared most of the party had moved out to the patio. Tiki torches cast welcoming yellow light, and Kurt stepped out of the shadows, hoping no one would wonder where he'd been.
No such luck. Simon bent over a cooler, grabbed a beer, and headed straight over.
"So... where's Justin?" Thankfully, Simon kept his voice low.
"He went home. He said thanks for inviting him."
"Uh-huh. Went home, eh? I noticed you two were missing for a bit. You seeing him again?"
Oh God. Maybe there is something to be said for a friend who didn't want to know about your personal life. Still, he was grateful he met Justin. If nothing else, it gave him further confirmation he was gay, despite not knowing all the rules for gay dating or hookups. Orgasm aside, the interlude went a lot smoother than any of his recent dates with women.
"No. I don't think so."
Simon's eyes widened. He hadn't expected Kurt's response.
"Nope. I'm... gonna talk to Davy. In person. Try to clear the air. See if we can get past this."
"Good for you. I was wondering when you were going to figure that out. I hate seeing you text him every damned week."
"Yeah. I don't know if it will change anything, but I need to either shit or get off the pot. This half-life is kind of stupid."
Simon elbowed him. "I'm glad you said it was stupid. When are you going to do it?"
"Honestly, I'm afraid he's not going to change his mind. With this operation coming up, I'd rather wait until after. If it doesn't go well, I might have trouble keeping my head in the game." But if it didn't work out, if Davy truly was done with him, at least he knew he'd be able to go on. When he recovered from the blow, he'd jump back into dating---men, this time.
They both sipped at their beer.
"Hey, did you end up getting anything to eat?"
"No." Kurt's stomach chose that minute to chime in.
"C'mon, I think there's a few burgers left."
By the barbeque, Simon quickly slapped a grilled patty on a hamburger bun and handed the plate to Kurt. "Basics are here---ketchup, mustard, relish. Everything else is inside."
Kurt set his beer on the table and reached past the Dijon mustard for the plastic yellow bottle behind it. Squeezy bottle in hand, he froze. Mustard. Oh, God. He remembered the discussions with Davy about mustard. He remembered the first time he'd had burgers at Davy's house, with no mustard. Burgers at Lettie's, where Davy handed him the mustard without asking if he wanted it. Mustard arriving with Davy's homemade Greek burgers... mustard that Davy had bought and kept in his house just for Kurt, even though Davy hated the stuff. And that was only one of several instances where Davy had shown he cared what Kurt liked, cared about his preferences.
The mustard was one of the little things he'd envied about the relationships his friends and family had. The silent dance couples did, communication, inside jokes, meaningful looks. Kurt had had all that with Davy, but hadn't realized it. He'd thought it was only the best friendship he'd ever had, but he'd been in a relationship and didn't know it. Davy maybe didn't know it, either, which was probably why the introduction of their aggressive sex had thrown them both off stride. Neither of them had been ready to acknowledge the sudden shift in their comfort zone from friends to lovers. Hell, Davy probably hadn't known until that night that Kurt was wavering in his sexuality, which maybe explained their vicious fight.
Hope, true hope, filled the dark emptiness inside. Maybe his chance at happiness wasn't so improbable after all.
Simon looked at him, saw the huge grin stretching muscles Kurt hadn't used in quite a while.
"What?"
"I just remembered something. Something that means maybe Davy cared about me too."
He got a snort in reply. "Hell, I knew he cared about you the night Jen and I met him. I just didn't know you cared the same way. Jen did, though."
Surprise wiped his smile away. "Jen did?"
"I didn't really believe her, not until I heard it from you. Although I recognized how comfortable you were with him. And Jen said she's started wondering after the Tiffany incident." Simon lowered his voice and glanced around before he said the name Tiffany, in case she was within earshot.
Huh. Strangely, that made him appreciate his friendship with Simon, and Jen, even more. Because they never questioned, never treated him differently, and Jen had even saved him from that woman at Mike's birthday. Hell, women were friends with gay men all the time, or so TV seemed to say. She might have suspected long before he did. Made trying to hide himself from people who cared about him even more stupid.
Two weeks. Two weeks and he'd talk to Davy. Maybe he'd get the chance to bring Davy over here or double date with Simon and Jen. Take Davy to one of his family's raucous birthday celebrations.
If things didn't work, it would wreck him, but he couldn't squelch the hope rising, and wasn't sure he wanted to. Reminding himself of the mustard would get him through the next several days.
Flashing red lights strobed in Kurt's eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen. The stretcher rattled as it hit the back of the ambulance, drawing a hiss from him. He wanted to shout, to cry, but the pain was so intense he barely had the air to breathe.
"Careful with him," Simon barked at the EMTs.
Moisture leaked from his eyes.
Simon climbed in beside him, and Kurt stared up at him from the gurney. His partner was the milky color of a cartoon ghost, splashes of blood stark against his blue shirt. A coppery scent warred with the antiseptic fumes in the back of the ambulance.
"Hang in there, Kurt."
He tried to force a reply out, but his lungs, his throat failed to function. A pinch where the IV was inserted surprised him, mostly because he didn't think he'd ever be able to feel anything but the gunshot wound. He didn't want to die, but it felt like a cannonball had punched through his chest.
"You're going to be just fine," the female EMT said. Probably meant to soothe him, but Kurt didn't believe her. This wasn't fine. He might never be fine. He was slowly suffocating in an ocean of pain.
"Sssss...." Fuck.
The vehicle went over a bump in the road, and he cried out.
"Jesus, give him something for the pain!" Simon was pissed and scared. Which scared the fuck out of him. He reached out and tugged at Simon's sleeve.
Simon's head swiveled down. "It's okay, man, it's okay."
Kurt opened his mouth and tugged the sleeve again.
"Don't try to talk."
He breathed out again, as best he could.
"I've called your parents. They're going to meet us at the hospital."
Kurt tried to shake his head, pulling on Simon. If only he could fucking say something.
Simon leaned down. "What, man, what?"
"Davy," he breathed out. He wanted to see Davy, one last time.
"Davy. I'll call him, I promise. You worry about getting better, okay. You gotta be okay." The hand Simon laid on his was as hot as a brand. But then, Kurt was freezing. Chills shook his frame, and Simon squeezed his fingers. Was this what bleeding out felt like?
Then, as though he were looking through the wrong end of a telescope, Simon got very far away, before blackness fell.
Kurt blinked, his eyes gritty and sore. He brought up a hand to rub at them, noticing the IV in his arm. Again. This was a habit he wasn't fond of. A dim memory of the agony of getting shot returned. He blinked again. His breath came easily and there wasn't any pain. If it weren't for the IV and boring-ass hospital ceiling tiles, he'd have thought he was dead. He was amazed he wasn't, actually.
When the bullet hit, no one had realized there was anyone left in the gang that hadn't fled or been arrested. And he'd been wearing his vest. Simon hadn't even realized at first he'd been wounded. Kurt would find out soon enough what went wrong.
A muted conversation was occurring to his right, and he shifted to see. And hissed. Fuck, there was the pain. This time, he only rolled his head, and even that caused an uncomfortable tug in his chest.
His mom, dad, and Simon stood in a huddle. This was a really large room just for him---someone must have remembered his family from last time. He wondered where the rest of them were.
Simon glanced over and nudged his mom.
"Oh, baby. You gave us such a scare. Again. How are you feeling? Do you need me to get a doctor?" She pulled up a chair beside him and stroked his cheek.
"I'll go tell them he's awake again," Simon said. The ill-fitting T-shirt he wore, with a hospital logo, prompted a memory of blood spattering while Simon worked frantically to stem the bleeding. He mustn't have gone home yet.
His mom kissed his cheek, and his dad patted his arm gently. "Glad to see you awake, boyo."
"What time is it? What day is it?" His voice was rusty, but at least it worked. God, he didn't think he'd ever been so scared as he'd been in that ambulance.
"It's ten in the morning. Wednesday. We sent the kids home last night, but Simon, your mother, and I stayed," his dad replied.
Only one day. Unless he'd been unconscious for a week, but Simon would have gone home to change, if that were the case. Tuesdays were turning into bad luck days for him, injury-wise.
"Oh, baby." His mom started crying, and buried her face in his neck. "You were in surgery for hours. They almost lost you in the ambulance. Baby, you can't let this happen again; my heart can't take it."
Tears wet the hair at his nape, and as much as he wanted to hug her, he was afraid to move, afraid to spur that spike of pain back to life.
"Deirdre, love, you're soaking the poor boy." His dad seated himself beside his mom, and he placed a comforting hand on both of them.
Simon came back into the room. "The nurse said someone would be in shortly. Damn, it's good to see you, Kurt." He walked to the end of the bed.
"What happened?" Simon would tell him what he needed to know. Because they'd been there for backup. In fact, there had been surprisingly little for them to do, even when the bullets started flying.
"Are you sure you want to hear this now?"
"Yes, please." He was going to end up recuperating at his parents' again. Goddamn.
"What do you remember?"
Kurt thought about it. "Aside from bits and pieces in the ambulance, I remember the sting going pretty much according to plan. They'd rounded everyone up, we were getting ready to leave. Then, I'm on my back, gasping for air." The sky had been so blue and clear.
"Right, well, they missed one. Most of the gang was in handcuffs, but two of the guys cornered the last gang member, and he shot at them. He got taken down, but not before a stray bullet caught you at a bad angle, entered your chest by the straps." Simon swallowed heavily and looked up at the ceiling. "God. I turned around and you were on the ground, blood everywhere. Your lung collapsed in the ambulance. I thought... I thought that was it."
Someone gasped in the doorway. Everyone turned to look, and Kurt thought he was hallucinating.
Davy. Skinnier than the last time Kurt had seen him, and pale. Eyelids swollen around bloodshot eyes. And below the fear was a tender expression Kurt had only dreamed of seeing.
"You said to call him." Kurt didn't remember that, and he didn't know why Simon wasn't happy. If being shot meant Davy would come, he was almost grateful for the pain.
"Davy. Glad you were able to finally make it." Oh, Simon was pissed. He almost never took that sarcastic tone with anyone. His mom and dad stood, and Kurt saw them wondering if they needed to do something, like kick this stranger out.
Davy smiled tremulously, but his gaze never left Kurt. "I was in Pickle Lake with my sister and her family. It's an eight-hour drive into Thunder Bay. And by the time I got there, I'd already missed the last flight out yesterday."
"Pickle Lake? Oh, yeah, actually you made good time. Sorry. Just, you said you'd be right in...."
"Well, I panicked." Davy stepped further into the room, edging closer to the bed, clearly unsure of his reception.
Kurt lifted his hand toward Davy, who came closer, but not close enough. "Mom, can Davy sit there for a minute?"
She stared at Kurt, long and hard, before she turned to Davy. "Come sit, Davy, was it? We're going to wait outside for the rest of my brood. When they get here, they'll keep Kurt company while we have a little chat."
"Mom! Leave him alone."
"He's the one, isn't he? He's the one that...."
Davy followed their interaction like he was watching a tennis game.
"Mom, stop, please."
"Well, I think I have a right to know the man my baby's in love with."
Everyone gasped this time. Trust his mom to figure out how to embarrass the fuck out of him. He hadn't intended to pressure Davy; he just wanted to bask in his presence. Davy stood frozen, and Kurt was half-afraid he'd run out before they had a chance to talk.
"Out, Deirdre. Let the boys talk." His dad ushered his mom out of the room, and Simon followed, but turned back.
"If you need anything, Kurt, just holler."
"I'll be fine," Kurt answered. Unless of course, Davy did run. He'd have Simon run after him and drag him back.
The door closed behind them, and like a spell had been broken, Davy rushed to Kurt's side and grabbed his hand.
"I... I...." Tears fell from those reddened eyes, wetting his hand. "I'm so sorry, Kurt."
"I'm sorry too."
Davy fidgeted, patting the sheets, his arm, stroking his fingers.
"Sit, please."
Davy sat, and threaded his fingers through Kurt's. "I guess we need to talk, but this probably isn't the time."
An echo of that scary, breathless, helplessness he'd experienced in the ambulance returned. Having to talk was never a good thing. Suddenly he wondered what Simon had said to Davy to get him to come. Was Davy here only because Kurt had asked for him on what felt like his deathbed? A fulfillment of a dying man's request? How fucking awful. Because when he'd seen Davy in the door, he'd thought it was all going to work out. But Davy hadn't even mentioned his mom's big revelation. Maybe he didn't care.
"Please. Just say it. I don't want to wait. If you want out of my life for good, just say it. Make it a clean break." Kurt stared at Davy's ear, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes.
The monitor beside his bed blipped just a bit faster, and Davy glanced at it before looking closely at Kurt.
"We still need to talk. Later, not less than twenty-four hours after you got shot. But I don't want out of your life. I want... to be more in it."
Kurt took a chance and shifted his gaze. He hadn't imagined the tenderness he'd seen in Davy's eyes earlier. "Really?"
"If you want it, too, that is."
Kurt nodded. "Please."
Davy leaned over and kissed him, lips as sweet and soft as he remembered, returning the missing piece of Kurt's soul.
Davy lifted his head.
"More," Kurt said.
Laughing through fresh tears, Davy shook his head. "Call it incentive to get better."
Kurt's eyelids started drooping.
"You need your rest. I'm going to talk to your mom, I guess. I can't... I can't believe you told her about me."
"Well, I didn't tell her everything."
"Oh, good."
"Simon, though...."
Davy turned horrified eyes on him. Kurt nodded, and wanted to laugh, but knew it would hurt like fuck.
"I can't believe... wait... you told him everything? You came out to him too?"
Yeah, Davy was right. They did need to talk, but he was too fucking tired to do it now.
"Um... I'm going to let you sleep now, but, did she mean it? I mean... do you...."
Kurt didn't hear the end of the question.
When he next woke, Davy was seated beside him again---or still---and asleep, his dark head tucked in and sharing a corner of Kurt's flat-ass pancake pillow. The scent of lemongrass overcame the hospital antiseptic, and he smiled. Thai food was on the agenda in the near future. As much as he liked Thai, he hadn't been able to eat it since Davy had left. He shifted experimentally, and while the tug in his chest was still there, it didn't seem quite as painful as before. His movements alerted Davy, who lifted his head and smiled sweetly at Kurt. Those dimples were so dear, and so utterly lickable. Soon, he'd give in to that urge.
"How are you feeling?"
"A little better." Maybe more than a little. His mind wasn't as foggy, although that might change as soon as he was given more drugs. "How was your talk with my mom?"
"Good, actually. Short, though. She sent me home to get some sleep, and by the time I got back here, everyone had gone home for the night."
"Did my brothers give you a hard time?"
"Didn't see them. They must have come between my visits."
Kurt was assuming they came, although he sure as hell hadn't been awake for any of it.
"What time is it?"
Davy twisted his wrist to look at his watch. "Almost midnight."
Midnight? The lighting never seemed to change in the hospital. Bright as high noon, all the time. "Not that I'm not glad you're here, but how come they let you stay?"
Cheeks coloring a little, Davy looked down. "Your mom told them I was family."
Kurt didn't quite know why Davy looked almost ashamed. Or guilty. Maybe....
"Did you want to talk now? I doubt we'll be interrupted by my well-meaning family."
"Can I kiss you first?"
Oh. He felt a little throb in his groin. It was too soon for him to be even thinking about sex, but it was nice to know everything worked.
"Yes, please." Kurt couldn't wait until they could do more than kiss. It felt like he'd been waiting a lifetime for Davy. "Oh, wait... it's been, like, three days since I brushed my teeth."
Davy gave him a funny little smile. "We're in a hospital. We're not playing tonsil hockey." Davy nibbled at his jaw before moving those soft lips to his and nibbling there.
Kurt returned the kiss, perversely upset Davy wasn't trying for a more intense kiss.
"If I move over, will you lie down next to me?"
"I don't want to hurt you."
"Please."
After a few painful seconds, Kurt carved out a Davy-sized spot on the narrow, uncomfortable bed. Davy placed his arms gently around Kurt, and he was able to relax.
"So, talk," Kurt invited.
"Where to begin? I went to a counselor, like you suggested. I wasn't going to. I was actually quite pissed at you. Jon finally convinced me it was a good idea. I... uh... may have told Jon everything too."
Oh. That should be interesting next time he was in Jon's presence. "Go on."
"Well, I learned a lot about myself and my relationship with Ben. I also learned that I ended up blaming you for a lot of things Ben did; a type of transference, I guess. Also, you helped me through some bad times, and it was a little emasculating even as I was beginning to care for you. I felt like I was betraying Ben, I felt stupid for wanting a straight guy---a straight guy who'd seen me at my worst---and I was afraid I didn't know how to function on my own. Until that night at my house, I didn't know you were attracted to me. But then, my attraction got mixed up with anger... and I was simply awful to you. I hope you can forgive me."
Snuggling a little closer to Davy's warm, thin body, Kurt sighed. "I'd already come to the conclusion neither of us were ready for our encounter. I, well, I'd never been attracted to a guy until I met you. I wasn't even sure if what I was feeling was true sexual attraction. I struggled with what I felt for you, until that night, when Andrew made me so fucking mad. But it happened, and although I regret what came after, it was the best sex of my life. Partly because I was already in love with you, although I sure as hell hadn't admitted that to myself."
As Kurt spoke, Davy propped up on one arm to look incredulously at him.
"Oh, my God. I feel terrible. You'd never been attracted to a guy before? You'd never had sex with one before? Holy shit. I thought you were so deeply in the closet that, because of all the shit I was going through, I hadn't noticed. Made me so mad." Davy closed his eyes. "Oh, Kurt. I can't believe it. I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Kurt snorted. "Did you not hear me? Best. Sex. Ever. I could have done without the big dramatic fight and you not returning my calls."
Davy flushed fire-engine red. "I'm sorry."
"And, the day I got your test results... let's just say I've had better days. It never occurred to me to use a condom."
"I'm sorry about that too. I was so ashamed when I realized I hadn't used a condom. Ben and I had been monogamous, hadn't used a condom in years. But I should have protected you."
Those words should have sent Kurt's hackles up, but he was starting to realize a relationship meant protecting each other, because you couldn't bear for your partner to hurt.
"Honestly, until I opened that envelope, my only thought had been that I couldn't get pregnant. Maybe I should have sent you mine too?" The etiquette of that still escaped him.
Davy shook his head. "You get departmental testing, right? I wasn't worried about you. And I didn't want you to worry about me. I should have called or wrote a note, but I was scared. I thought you'd have gone home and realized you hated me... or the sex...."
"I love you, remember? Even my mom knows. I couldn't have asked for a better initiation. Except that I never got to touch you. Suck your cock." Something poked at Kurt's side and Davy squirmed. He grinned. It was getting easier to read these signals. Just needed to use the cock as a barometer. But then, he remembered his transgressions, and his own cheeks heated.
"So, uh, I think the whole point of this discussion is that we want to be together, right?"
Davy nodded.
"Well, uh, I should probably tell you a few things too. Before we make any decisions."
Kurt kept nothing back, not the drinking, not the erratic behavior, not his coming out, not Ian's reaction, and not his interlude with Justin. When he was done, he searched Davy's face, wondering what he thought.
"Let me get this straight. You came out, because of me. You texted me every week to let me know you were thinking of me, even though I never returned any of your messages. You left me that beautiful rose, which I dried and still have. Knowing you were out there and still thinking of me helped me---more than I can ever tell you---work through my issues. You thought I never wanted to see you again. You don't hate me because I let you go through that all alone. And yet you think a hand job from a stranger will make me think twice about loving you?"
"Uh." Kurt wasn't quite able to process anything other than Davy saying he loved him.
"Oh, Kurt. Most guys in your situation would have fucked anything and anyone that spread for them. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful you didn't. But I don't blame you for Justin."
The words were finally filtering in. This was really happening. The pain in his chest was absolutely nothing compared to his overwhelming need to be kissing Davy. He wrapped a hand around Davy's neck and pulled him down, meeting his lips in a hungry kiss.
Davy moaned, and forgot about his "no tonsil hockey in the hospital" edict. Kurt sighed into the kiss before sending his tongue to duel with Davy's.
They were both panting when Davy lifted his head. "God, I want you."
"Not here, though, eh?" Regret laced his tone.
Smiling down at him, Davy trailed his fingers over his forehead, smoothing into his hair. "No, not here. At home, later."
"Home?"
"I know we have still have some things to work out, and dating... well, the more I think about it, the more I realize we were dating, but neither of us were aware of it. So, I want you to live with me. I want to take care of you, help you recover. I want to be there for you when you get home from a long day."
Live with Davy. He'd hated his apartment for months, and he could admit it now---because it didn't have Davy. He'd always felt comfortable in Davy's place, felt at home. The thought of being there all the time filled him with joy.
"Are you sure? My hours are weird, and often long. I might have to cancel plans last minute." Being a cop was hard on a relationship.
Davy snorted and kissed his forehead. "Uh, yes, Kurt, I know that."
Oh, yeah, of course he did. He'd lived with a cop for ten years.
"But about that, I'm not sure... no, never mind."
"What?" He sure as hell wasn't going to make this kind of commitment if he didn't address Davy's reservations, first.
"Maybe we should wait to discuss this." Davy buried his face in Kurt's neck.
"No. I'm awake, you're awake, and I want to know what you're concerned about."
Davy stayed in that position so long, he began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep again.
"I'm scared. You've been injured twice now, and we both know that you could have been killed," Davy mumbled against his neck.
He twisted his head, ignoring the stretch of muscles that went down into his chest, and managed to kiss the top of Davy's head while he sorted through his thoughts. "I know it's hard. The waiting, the worry of seeing a cop at the door. It's why there's such a huge divorce rate. And you have to know I'm not a fan of getting injured. I do what I can to avoid it. Probably I should just refuse these damned task forces. Homicide isn't usually quite as dangerous."
"Wait. You got hurt on a task force?" Davy propped himself up again and stared down.
"Yep. This time." His injuries had been more coincidental than anything, and last time, well, no one had been out for revenge on him.
"No more. Please. I think... I think I can handle it, if you don't do that."
"Okay. I'll talk to my boss." There would be time to discuss the future of his career later. Kurt loved his job and was good at it, but he didn't want to be one of those sad divorce statistics. He already knew what it was like to live without Davy, and it was fucking ugly---they both deserved some happiness, and he wasn't going to lose it for anything. If Davy truly couldn't handle his work, they'd find something else for him to do.
"Then yes, I'll do it. I'll move in." And he wasn't even scared. It was right, it was good, and even the pain of losing Ian's friendship and respect would be easier to bear with Davy's love.
Dimples blazing, Davy kissed him, gently at first, then morphing into something wild and hot. Davy's hand snuck below the thin blanket and smoothed a palm up Kurt's bare leg, underneath Kurt's oh-so-attractive hospital gown. But Kurt couldn't argue with the easy access. Injudiciously, he reached for Davy's groin and groaned... in pain, before he fell back. Davy released him instantly and broke their kiss.
"Oh, Kurt, I'm so sorry."
Sweat popped out on his forehead and sadly, his cock deflated.
"Nope, don't be sorry. But I am going to need a bit more recovery time, I think."
Davy snuggled back against him, pressing light kisses against his shoulder, thin chest heaving as he let his arousal fade away. Davy's breathing evened out, and he slipped into sleep.
Warmer and more content than he'd been in months, Kurt let himself sleep too.
"Hey, squirt, wake up."
Kurt's eyes flew open. "What the fuck, Mike?" Who woke the guy recovering from a GSW?
"I'm guessing that's the boyfriend, eh, squirt?"
Davy was still warm and asleep beside him. Did Mike lie about not caring, now that he was confronted with visual proof his baby brother was gay? Kurt thrust his chin out at his brother. "Yeah, so what?"
"Jeez, who pissed in your cereal this morning?" Kurt's stomach growled. "Oh, I see. You're grouchy when you're hungry. Anyway. Mom's on her way up. I'm guessing she won't consider this conducive to your recovery." Mike's finger waved between him and Davy. "And the rest of the family is with her."
Sudden tension thrummed through Davy, and he knew Davy was awake and aware. Through the open door, Kurt heard his family's voices. Davy did, too, but he didn't leap out of bed in time. His hair stuck up all over. He looked guilty and terrified and stunned. Kurt just wanted him to cuddle back up beside him---his side was all cold now---but he refused to release Davy's hand, and after a few seconds, Davy stopped trying to pull away.
Mike looked him up and down. "What's your name, boyfriend?" he asked as Dylan and his sisters trooped into the room ahead of his parents. And halted, all of them staring at Davy and their twined fingers.
"Davy," he whispered.
"Mike, lay off."
Mike turned his icy gaze on Kurt. "Squirt, he hurt you. He wasn't there for you."
"I know, big bro. There's... things you don't know, and I hurt him too. But we've worked it out. We love each other. I'm moving in with him."
There was a collective gasp from the women.
Mike's glance flickered over Davy and back to Kurt. Kurt looked up for Davy's reaction, stunned by the sweet, warm smile Davy directed at him.
Erin pushed past Mike, giving him a swat on the back of the head. "Stop pretending to be dad. Hi, I'm Erin... Davy, mom said?"
She hugged him, Davy looking terrified and gratified all at once.
By the time the nurse came in to kick out his excess visitors, Davy had grown a lot more comfortable with his loud, rambunctious, and affectionate family. In fact, Kurt had a suspicion Davy was looking forward to being part of a large family. Although he might change his mind once he ended up in a room with all the significant others, nieces, and nephews. His immediate family could be overwhelming, never mind the additions they'd made over the years.
He just wished Ian could see his way clear to come visit, and he said as much to his mom.
"He'll come around. He was here, when you were in surgery. Worried about you. I don't know what's got into that boy, but he'll come around."
"I don't know, Mom. Is he avoiding you too?"
"I never see you younger boys as much as I'd like. Too busy with your partying and dating and work."
Work. Yep, that was certainly his issue. Not partying or dating.
"I guess that will change, at least once Dylan is married."
His mother gave him a long look. "I'll be expecting you and Davy to be making regular appearances too. And of course, we'll all help get you moved in and settled. After all, you won't be able to lift anything for a while."
"Thanks, Mom."
"Baby, you just worry about getting better."
Davy came back to his side after his family left to grab some lunch. "I like your family."
"They like you too."
"All except Ian."
Kurt's nostrils flared. "My mom says he'll come around."
"But you don't believe that."
Did he? He couldn't believe Ian would throw away their kinship over this, but he'd heard a lot worse stories. "I don't know. I don't think so."
"I'm sorry. I feel like it's all my fault."
"No. Don't be sorry for what we found. I'm not. I love you."
"I love you too. You're getting tired. I'm going to let you sleep, go back to the house, get it ready for you." Davy gave him a swift kiss and broke off with a mock glare when Kurt tried to deepen it. "Sleep, you."
"Or what?" Kurt asked suggestively.
Heat filled Davy's gaze. "I'll think of something. But whatever I come up with, you won't get a chance to enjoy unless you get better, got it?"
Kurt never knew he'd like having someone take charge sexually the way Davy did, nor would he have expected it of his boyfriend... lover... partner... before he'd experienced it. But he loved it. Loved Davy. Smiling, he kept his gaze glued to the admirable curve of the ass he couldn't wait to touch, until it disappeared from view.
A year ago, Kurt had been lower than he'd ever been, but if it weren't for that shitty, shitty time, he'd never have this elation, this love.
Simon stretched, fingertips almost touching the ceiling. He only had a few splotches of paint on him, whereas Jon, Rick, and Davy all had multicolored streaks. "I'm going to go out and pick up some pizzas. I'll be back in a few."
"Wuss." Kurt shifted his position on the sofa as Simon raised a brow.
"You're just lucky you're still recuperating. Otherwise you'd be doing all this painting yourself." Simon threw a water-soaked rag at Kurt's head, which hit with a wet slap.
Davy laughed and sank down beside Kurt. "I think it's time for a little break. We've all been working hard."
"Me too. Supervising is hard work." Kurt grinned at his lover. He moved in right after he got out of the hospital, and it had been a couple of weeks, but they'd slipped back into their easy comfort with each other, like they'd never been apart, like they'd always lived together. Some things were new---Kurt now accompanied Davy on his bimonthly visits to Ben's mom, he canceled his gym membership, and Sandra started telling Oliver about his Uncle Kurt.
Even better, though, was the reintroduction of blowjobs in his life. God. Blowjobs had never been so good. He'd quickly found he liked giving them as much, maybe even more than receiving. Davy in the throes of orgasm was more gorgeous and gratifying than anything he'd ever seen.
Which was why he was looking forward to getting rid of their friends as soon as humanly possible. Kurt's doctor okayed the more energetic stuff yesterday---it had been killing them both to wait---but Kurt had wanted to keep it a surprise, and Davy got stuck late at work. He couldn't cancel the painting party, but man, every time Davy moved, Kurt's cock responded. He could not wait to get his man alone.
"But you do such a great job of it." Davy stroked a hand over his thigh, and Kurt sucked in a breath. Between Davy's touch and the memories of sucking him off last night, Kurt was fucking glad he was sitting down. He had to stop thinking about sex while their friends were there.
"Oh, stop flaunting it, Davy." Rick pouted.
"Flaunting?"
"We all know you got the big strong cop at your beck and call. Turned the straight boy. We get it. Quit touching him and making us all jealous."
"I'm not jealous." Simon grinned.
"So you say," Rick teased.
"Right, on that note, I'll be back." Simon grabbed his keys and left.
"Seriously, though, the place is turning out great." He'd wanted to redecorate, not to exactly erase Ben, because there wasn't a lot of personality imprinted on the house to begin with, but to make the house theirs, not a relic of Ben and Davy's relationship. Davy hit the earth and jewel tones at the home improvement store with an unexpected enthusiasm. Soon, the whole house would be full of color, not just this room. Their bedroom was the only one staying white, but Davy had picked out a bunch of watercolor prints to hang. With every brush stroke, Davy bloomed, and he loved every second of it. He pulled Davy into a kiss, which ended up with Davy on his lap, Jon and Rick groaning.
Kurt never had exhibitionist tendencies, but he found it amusing to taunt Davy's friends. Probably he should regret that, but for now, it was too much fun.
The doorbell rang.
"No, really, don't get up, guys. I'll get it," Jon teased. Davy climbed off Kurt's lap, and Rick flicked a glance over Kurt's groin and pouted again.
"Stop staring at my man, Rick." Davy glared.
"I didn't know your brother was coming to help," Jon said from the hall.
Kurt shared a puzzled look with Davy. Huh. Mike's business trip must have been canceled because there was no way Dylan was getting untangled from wedding plans to spend a whole Saturday painting.
Ian trailed Jon into the living room, eyes beseeching Kurt, but for what, he didn't know. Ian hadn't said a word to him in months, and although his mom told him Ian had visited him in the hospital, told him Ian would come around, Kurt hadn't believed her. He still didn't.
"What are you doing here?" Kurt stood and took a couple steps toward Ian.
He sensed Davy moving to his side, presenting a unified, supportive front. They hadn't mentioned Ian's defection to the other guys, although Simon knew all about it. The other guys hadn't met any of Kurt's brothers---yet. Erin's birthday party was coming up, and Kurt was going to invite them to it.
"Oh, my God, Kurt! He's one of your brothers?" Rick's voice dropped to the timbre Kurt had started calling his I want you to fuck me voice. "Please, tell me he's gay too."
"He's straight," he and Davy said at the same time.
"I'm not," Ian said.
Kurt was dimly aware of Rick squealing in giddy happiness, but for the moment, all Kurt saw was his brother.
He couldn't speak, but he grabbed Ian's arm and led him down into the basement. They needed privacy to talk, and he wasn't letting Ian into his and Davy's bedroom---their sanctuary. Especially if this discussion didn't go well.
"Oh my God, Kurt." Ian turned around, taking in the enormous workout room Davy had in the basement. "This is incredible."
Yes. Kurt loved this room too. He'd had dreams, wet ones, about working out with Davy and then moving on to another type of workout using the various machines.
"Quit stalling. What the fuck is going on?"
Ian stared at him, but didn't speak.
"Seriously, Ian, what did you mean up there?" Kurt had never been tempted to hit one of his brothers with intent to injure, but the urge was rising inside. Ian had hurt him. Badly.
Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Ian began to pace.
"I... I'm gay too."
Kurt frowned. He knew he should be as supportive as the rest of the family had been toward him, but shit. Was Ian putting him on?
"What about all those girls? Those strippers?"
"I could ask you the same thing. You had girlfriends." Ian threw his accusing tone right back, with a glare added to the mix.
"So, you're just figuring this out?"
Ian dropped his gaze. "No. I had it figured out for a while. Years. The women were just cover."
"Years? Are you fucking serious? What the hell?"
"I was afraid. I thought I'd lose everyone. So I hid it. When you told me, all... smug and confident. I thought you'd figured it out and were mocking me. Then, I realized you were telling the truth, and everyone accepted it without any problems.... I was mad at you." Ian's gaze dropped to his feet, and his shoulders rounded in defeat.
Kurt's anger melted away. He remembered how horrible those months were, agonizing over his sexuality. If it hadn't been for Davy... wanting Davy... he might have done the same thing as Ian. Years. Dear God, years.
"Come here." Kurt opened his arms. Ian swallowed a sob and hugged him. Kurt hugged him back, feeling his life was suddenly and finally complete.
They sat on one of the vinyl-covered benches.
"Are you going to tell everyone?" He didn't want to push, but Ian had to realize that he could be open. If he wanted.
"Yeah. It was killing me, pretending. I can't believe you had the guts to just say it at your own birthday party."
"Well, I had some incentive. Did you see my boyfriend?" Kurt wanted to inject a bit of levity.
Ian smiled, and wiped at wet eyes. "The cute little blond?"
Rick? Really? "You got a boyfriend of your own?"
"No, just a lot of one-night stands."
"Well, come on upstairs. Let me introduce you to Rick."
"Rick?"
"The cute blond. My Davy is the tall, dark-haired...." God. The word "hottie" almost popped out of his mouth. He'd never used the word in his life. Rick was clearly a bad influence.
"Let's go. I'm going to stay and help, if that's okay."
Kurt made the introductions, and sat back on the couch with Davy to eat the pizza Simon had brought back. The three of them and Jon just watched as Ian and Rick circled each other like, well, Kurt didn't have any apt comparisons. It was a mating dance that was a cross between showing off plumage and locking horns for dominance. Somehow in the face of all that testosterone, the painting got done, but Ian and Rick slipped away without telling them.
The sun was setting, plain white drop cloths covered all the furniture---except in the bedroom---they were finally alone, and Kurt was a little nervous.
"I'm going to grab a shower." Davy kissed his temple. "Want to come with?" Showering together had been another sensual pleasure he'd discovered with Davy. But if they showered together, would they still have energy for what Kurt hoped would happen? He'd be a fool to give up a wet, slippery Davy, no matter what.
Kurt held out his hand, and Davy led him into the bathroom.
The water was warm, but Davy's hands soaping him gently were fucking hot. Davy tugged him into a kiss, water sluicing over their heads, sliding down around their fused mouths. Davy's tongue explored deep into Kurt's mouth, mimicking what Kurt hoped he'd be doing with his cock later. When Davy shifted his lips to suck water from Kurt's neck and shoulders, Kurt ran soapy hands over his lover's smooth skin, touching everywhere, lingering nowhere, teasing, learning. Once he thought Davy was as clean as he could be, Kurt's hand drifted to Davy's long, slender cock. He loved the feel of it in his palm, almost as much as he loved the way Davy slid it into his mouth, but he was pretty sure his favorite was when Davy pounded his ass so good.
Tonight, he'd find out for sure.
Davy returned the favor, but focused on Kurt's groin right from the start. Stroking his cock, playing with his wet pubes, rolling his balls gently. Fingers from one hand pressed underneath his balls and fingers from the other dove into his crack, heading toward his pucker from above. Kurt humped, letting his dick slide on Davy's skin.
Moving his own hands to Davy's waist, he slid his fingers along the firm curves of Davy's butt, loving the texture of the fine sprinkle of hair under his fingers. So different from a woman and so perfect.
"That's it. My sexy, sexy man. I love making you so crazy. Gonna suck me down, suck me dry?"
Kurt didn't know where Davy found the breath for those filthy, sexy things he said, but once they got going, those sweet soft lips let loose a string of obscenity that had Kurt's cock dripping and flexing.
Still, if the night was going to have the ending he hoped, Kurt was going to have to find breath---and courage---to say something.
"I want you to fuck me."
Davy stilled, finger poised over his hole. "What?"
"Doc cleared me for, uh, more vigorous activity."
A breathy groan escaped Davy, and his hips jerked. "Jesus, Kurt. I almost came. You sure you want that?" His hands moved to squeeze Kurt's ass.
Kurt pulled back, cupped Davy's face in his hands, and looked deeply into Davy's lust-dilated eyes. "I've been dreaming of it."
Davy's mouth dropped open, and he stared at him for a moment before he recovered his equilibrium.
"Then you better get your ass in the bedroom." Davy punctuated the order with a sharp smack on his ass, which echoed in their shower.
"Fuuuck." Kurt groaned. The slight sting made his knees weak.
Kurt reached behind Davy and turned off the water. They'd barely toweled off before Davy chased him into the bedroom. Kurt threw himself on the bed with only a slight twinge in his shoulder. Davy crawled up over him, and ground his mouth savagely over Kurt's, his tongue doing nothing but thrusting in and out in a sensual parody of what was to come.
He moaned, loving the way Davy took over. Davy pushed his hands up beside his head, clamping over Kurt's wrists. He shifted his groin and slid his cock between Kurt's cheeks, the plump head teasing his hole.
Kurt moaned again and spread his legs wider, trying to encourage Davy to sink into him. Davy fed a growl into his mouth along with his tongue. Davy ripped his head away and scrabbled in the bedside table for the lube.
Bottle in hand, Davy paused. "Condom?"
Kurt panted, "You fuck anyone else since me?"
"Of course not."
"Then do it. Now."
Slicking up his fingers, Davy plunged two into Kurt right away. Kurt's back arched up off the sheets. The burn was intense---he didn't have much experience with this yet. Burn aside, it was so fucking good, especially when Davy pressed the pad of his finger over Kurt's prostate.
"Oh, fuck yeah."
"So hot inside," Davy whispered. "Tight. So fucking tight." He bent his head and sucked a nut into his mouth. Kurt yelled and clutched at Davy's damp hair.
Another finger slid in. "Mmmm. Open for me. Show me how you love it."
Davy's voice, dropping in timbre, vibrated in his balls, pushing him closer to orgasm.
"Hurry, please."
Licking his lips, Davy slowly withdrew his fingers. Kurt's hole clenched, trying to keep those magical fingers inside, even as he knew Davy's cock would feel even better. Davy slicked his cock with a fresh squeeze of lube, showing off for Kurt.
Looming over him, Davy grabbed his wrists again, giving Kurt the illusion of being held down, even though there was no doubt in either of their minds Kurt could stop this if he wanted to. But he truly never wanted it to end. He could look up at Davy's face, with its diabolically sensual expression, for the rest of his life.
The blunt head of Davy's cock pushed at him. Kurt thrust toward it, but Davy grinned and held himself back, that tantalizing flesh just out of reach. Kurt whined and writhed.
"Oh yeah, desperate for it."
"For you." Kurt only ever uttered words in that breathy voice once before---the last time Davy fucked him.
Davy lowered his head and sucked Kurt's nipple into his mouth even as his cock slid into Kurt's unresisting body. The dual sensations had Kurt clutching the sheets and bowing his back off the bed.
A slow withdrawal, and Kurt swore he could feel every ridge and vein of Davy's cock inside him. Another deliberate thrust had the head of Davy's cock bumping against Kurt's prostate. He yelled again.
Davy shifted to the other nipple, but Kurt could barely focus on anything but the slow drag and thrust in his tunnel. More, he needed more.
"Davy, oh, Davy."
"I love the way you beg, just using my name." Davy released his wrists, but before he could reach down and grab his cock, give it the pressure he was craving, Davy shoved his knees closer to his chest. "Hold 'em."
Kurt obeyed, and as soon as Davy had shifted his weight, he began pummeling Kurt's ass, faster, harder.
"Davy, please." He needed to come, needed Davy to fill him up.
One hand wrapped around Kurt's swollen, aching cock and stroked hard.
A long, low sound rooted in his soul tore out of his throat as spunk sprayed across his belly.
Davy grimaced as he fucked Kurt through his orgasm, holding on until the last shudder left Kurt, then he ground his dick inside as far as it would go. A wash of pink colored the pale, sweat-slicked skin of Davy's chest and neck, and Davy jerked, coming without a sound. The gush of thick fluid inside made Kurt's spent cock twitch.
Kurt pulled Davy down onto his chest, Davy still lodged within his body. This was one of the best parts of being in this relationship---falling asleep with Davy in his arms.
"Love you." Kurt kissed Davy.
Davy lifted his wrist, kissing one end of the white scar, then kissed the shiny pink scar on his chest. "Love you too."
Yeah, the marks on his body were milestones of their relationship, as permanent as a tattoo. Kurt found the completion of his soul out of pain, despair, and sorrow. And if the end result was Davy in his life, it was all worth it.
About the Author
KC Burn has been writing for as long as she can remember and is a sucker for happy endings (of all kinds). After moving from Toronto to Florida for her husband to take a dream job, she discovered a love of gay romance and fulfilled a dream of her own---getting published. By day she edits web content, and at night she neglects her supportive, understanding hubby and needy cat to write stories about men loving men in the past, present and future. Writing is always fun and rewarding, but writing about her guys is the most fun she's had in a long time, and she hopes you'll enjoy them as much as she does.
Visit KC at her website: http://www.kcburn.com or on Twitter: http://twitter.com/authorkcburn.
Suspense Romance from Dreamspinner Press
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Romance from Dreamspinner Press
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Table of Contents
Suspense Romance from Dreamspinner Press

