Essence of Time by Liz Crowe

of his skin. Berating himself, he let the guy do it and moved closer. He’d never in his life picked up a man, drunk or otherwise, in a public place like this. He was both embarrassed and horny as hell, all at once. This young man, so near him right now, exuded a sort of needy vibe that struck him hard between the eyes. Rob was not a caretaker; never had been. He was too much of a loner to be that in tune to what others needed from him. But an odd, almost woozy sensation of pure desire to help this kid washed over Rob. He needed to get him somewhere safe to sleep off the drunk and get past the hurt; it almost suffocated Rob with its urgency.
    The guy squinted up at him. “I’m Blake. And you…” he squeezed Rob’s leg, his face too close to Rob’s own for comfort. “You are…really tall.” He let go and lurched to his feet.  Rob followed him around the back of the tent, helped him up after he puked on the grass and guided him to a nearby waiting taxi.
    “Okay Blake. I’m Rob,” he crouched down on the sidewalk to be eye-to-eye marveling again at the deep green that met his gaze. “Where should I send you?”
    Blake gripped his arm, sending a shock wave of energy through Rob’s entire body. Blake felt it too, let him go fast, staring at his own hand then up at Rob. “Uh, dunno. Someone else did hotel stuff.  I’m…too…” Rob made a decision then; one he’d look back on and thank god for, but which made him doubt his sanity at the time.  He pushed Blake’s floppy form across the back seat and climbed in, giving the taxi driver his home address. Blake leaned into him, making Rob shiver. What are you doing Frietag? Picking up boys at the beer fest now? Nice.
    He shook his head, lifted his arm and put it around the young man’s shoulders, loving the perfect way he fit into his side. “Sorry.” Blake mumbled.
    When they arrived at his building, he jostled Blake out and into the elevator, hating himself for how much he loved holding him up, loved the sensation of the man’s strong body in his arms. God, you are just sick . He stared at the two of them in the elevator door’s reflection.
    “Thanks,” Blake mumbled, sounding more like “shlanks” before Rob lowered him to the large leather couch. Rob put a hand on Blake’s hair, touched his rough jaw, and acknowledged the loosening of the vise he’d had around his chest for the past year or two. Blake mumbled some more, rolled onto his side and started snoring. Rob pulled off his shoes and tried not to stare at the obvious physical perfection that hid under Blake’s faded jeans before covering him with a blanket.
    Cut the shit, you dirty old man. Let the kid sleep it off then point him wherever he needs to go. The end.
    But Rob sat longer than he realized, watching Blake sleep.

Part II:  Blake

Chapter One
     
    Two Years Earlier
    Blake bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, nervous energy coursing through him like a live wire. He tried hard to focus on the words coming from his new boss’ mouth, but all he heard was, “I did it. I did it. I did it,” like a mantra in his head. And he had.
    Despite his father’s intense disapproval, he’d ditched his math/science track at the University of Michigan, packed up his truck and headed to Portland, Oregon. Enrolled in their brewing science program he'd graduated in a record three years. He'd come back to Ann Arbor to run his own brewery for the first time. His. He gripped his hands behind him, unable to keep the no-doubt shit-eating grin from his face. Evan Adams, owner of Big House Brewing Company looked up at him at one point as they talked about particulars of the staffing issues Blake needed to handle along with the general day-to-day operations for one of the fastest growing micros in the state and finally had grinned back.
    Then he got serious again. “Listen, Blake, we are taking a bit of a risk with you. You’ve apprenticed for less than a year over at Jackson Brewing, you’re