in.”
Danny’s voice came from the living room. “Whatever.”
Paul frowned, shouldering his bag as he walked into the living room to find Danny sitting on the couch, a row of beer bottles lined up on the floor at his feet. Barefoot and bare-chested, Danny looked sexy, belligerent and drunk as he lifted dark eyes to Paul.
“Having a party?” Paul asked, tossing his duffle bag onto the floor, deliberately knocking over the beer bottles.
“Hey!” Danny shouted, leaping off the couch fast enough to tell Paul he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he should be. He fell to his knees and worked at fixing his bottles, lining them back up, the labels all turned the same direction, a frown marring his forehead as he worked to make them perfectly even. “You fucked ’em all up.”
Paul watched Danny fix the bottles with concern. He did weird, quirky things like this sometimes. In elementary school it was pencils, in high school it was cigarettes all lined across a table, all turned so the labeling on the filters was perfectly aligned. He did it with other things too, anything he could get a hold of that matched.
The one constant was Danny only got obsessively irate about it when something was really bothering him, otherwise he was a bit more diligent in hiding what was obviously a compulsive habit.
“What’s wrong?” Paul asked, staring down at Danny who was still kneeling over the beer bottles, arranging them so the labels faced out once more. “Did you drink all those beers just to have enough bottles to arrange?”
“No,” Danny said defensively, glancing up at Paul for a second before he admitted, “I dumped six or seven down the drain.”
“Right, because dumping perfectly good beer down the drain for the bottles makes total sense.” Paul dropped down next to Danny, sitting crossed-legged on the floor. “You’re upset about last night.”
Danny was silent, his work on the bottles becoming fidgety, minute turning of them to make the alignment exact. “I’m not upset about last night,” Danny finally whispered. “Last night was incredible.”
“Then what is it?”
Danny turned to him, his dark eyes, usually jaded and angry, reflected only pain and a huge dose of something Paul didn’t want to admit looked about as close to love as he’d seen since Eve left.
Danny sighed. “I dunno if I can be the man you want, Paul Guy. I wanna be, but I don’t think I can.”
Paul laughed. “Yes you can.”
“No, I can’t,” Danny growled, his voice becoming low in defensiveness. “I think I know what I’m capable of.”
“Obviously not.”
“What makes you a fucking expert?”
Paul huffed. “Look, you’re gay, right?”
“I’m not gay—totally,” Danny said, giving him another look of hesitance. “I do enjoy fucking girls, that was never bullshit. I just enjoy fucking guys too. I’m an equal-opportunity lover.”
“Okay, well, you fuck guys,” Paul went on, giving Danny an indulgent smile. “How do you know when another guy is gay?”
“I dunno, you just do.” Danny shrugged, turning his attention back to his bottles. “Sorta missed the mark with you. Way off on that.”
“And how do you know if someone’s a bottom?” Paul asked, trying his hardest to keep the anticipation out of his voice. “I mean, there have to be guys you look at and know they want you on top of them fucking them hard and fast.”
Danny did a double take, his voice becoming low and suspicious. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m having a conversation,” Paul said with a false look of confusion.
Danny’s eyes narrowed, but he answered anyway. “Then I dunno, Paul Guy, I guess spotting a bottom from a distance is part of my gay superpowers.”
Paul snorted, unable to resist laughing as he reached over and found the one unempty beer bottle. He took a long drink of it before he turned back to Danny. “It’s the same thing with this. If you’re a masochist or a submissive or both, you can usually spot a
Danny’s voice came from the living room. “Whatever.”
Paul frowned, shouldering his bag as he walked into the living room to find Danny sitting on the couch, a row of beer bottles lined up on the floor at his feet. Barefoot and bare-chested, Danny looked sexy, belligerent and drunk as he lifted dark eyes to Paul.
“Having a party?” Paul asked, tossing his duffle bag onto the floor, deliberately knocking over the beer bottles.
“Hey!” Danny shouted, leaping off the couch fast enough to tell Paul he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he should be. He fell to his knees and worked at fixing his bottles, lining them back up, the labels all turned the same direction, a frown marring his forehead as he worked to make them perfectly even. “You fucked ’em all up.”
Paul watched Danny fix the bottles with concern. He did weird, quirky things like this sometimes. In elementary school it was pencils, in high school it was cigarettes all lined across a table, all turned so the labeling on the filters was perfectly aligned. He did it with other things too, anything he could get a hold of that matched.
The one constant was Danny only got obsessively irate about it when something was really bothering him, otherwise he was a bit more diligent in hiding what was obviously a compulsive habit.
“What’s wrong?” Paul asked, staring down at Danny who was still kneeling over the beer bottles, arranging them so the labels faced out once more. “Did you drink all those beers just to have enough bottles to arrange?”
“No,” Danny said defensively, glancing up at Paul for a second before he admitted, “I dumped six or seven down the drain.”
“Right, because dumping perfectly good beer down the drain for the bottles makes total sense.” Paul dropped down next to Danny, sitting crossed-legged on the floor. “You’re upset about last night.”
Danny was silent, his work on the bottles becoming fidgety, minute turning of them to make the alignment exact. “I’m not upset about last night,” Danny finally whispered. “Last night was incredible.”
“Then what is it?”
Danny turned to him, his dark eyes, usually jaded and angry, reflected only pain and a huge dose of something Paul didn’t want to admit looked about as close to love as he’d seen since Eve left.
Danny sighed. “I dunno if I can be the man you want, Paul Guy. I wanna be, but I don’t think I can.”
Paul laughed. “Yes you can.”
“No, I can’t,” Danny growled, his voice becoming low in defensiveness. “I think I know what I’m capable of.”
“Obviously not.”
“What makes you a fucking expert?”
Paul huffed. “Look, you’re gay, right?”
“I’m not gay—totally,” Danny said, giving him another look of hesitance. “I do enjoy fucking girls, that was never bullshit. I just enjoy fucking guys too. I’m an equal-opportunity lover.”
“Okay, well, you fuck guys,” Paul went on, giving Danny an indulgent smile. “How do you know when another guy is gay?”
“I dunno, you just do.” Danny shrugged, turning his attention back to his bottles. “Sorta missed the mark with you. Way off on that.”
“And how do you know if someone’s a bottom?” Paul asked, trying his hardest to keep the anticipation out of his voice. “I mean, there have to be guys you look at and know they want you on top of them fucking them hard and fast.”
Danny did a double take, his voice becoming low and suspicious. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m having a conversation,” Paul said with a false look of confusion.
Danny’s eyes narrowed, but he answered anyway. “Then I dunno, Paul Guy, I guess spotting a bottom from a distance is part of my gay superpowers.”
Paul snorted, unable to resist laughing as he reached over and found the one unempty beer bottle. He took a long drink of it before he turned back to Danny. “It’s the same thing with this. If you’re a masochist or a submissive or both, you can usually spot a
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