Serpentine Walls (12 page)

“Okay, he said he can come. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you changed the subject from your Mystery Man, by the way.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Angie opened the refrigerator and leaned in so that her face was hidden.

“Okay,” he said, letting it go for now. “I’m going to jump in the shower and then run out for more Coronas. Need anything else, now that it’s a party?”

“Nope. Oh, speaking of parties, Matthew and Parker are having a Halloween party. Cleo told me to let you know.”

“Cool. Is it a costume party?”

“Well, duh. Don’t worry,” Angie said when Pete made a face. “I’ll help you get a costume together.”

“Good.”

“Yeah,” said Angie, getting to work on the guacamole. “I’m going to have to help Brian with his too. He’s hopeless with costumes.”

Later, Pete sprawled on the living room floor next to Matthew, stomach pleasantly full of fajitas, guacamole, and chips, while Angie and Brian sat on the sofa. Plates and bowls of food and bottles of Corona crowded the coffee table.

“Thanks, Angie, those fajitas were superb.” Matthew leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his legs with a happy sigh.

“Superb?” Pete repeated in a British accent, eyeing Matthew’s long legs in a way he hoped wasn’t too obvious.

“Oh, stop,” Matthew said. “You sound like Professor R.”

“Not him.” Brian’s tone was uncharacteristically fierce as he glanced at Angie.

Angie laughed. “Let’s not start that argument again, Bri.” She picked up her Corona and took a sip.

“Yeah, Brian, Professor R is Angie’s favorite,” Pete teased, then noticed Brian’s thunderous expression and dropped it. “Eh, okay, Matthew, I think it’s time for us to go talk about my screenplay.”

“Okay, but let’s clear the table and do the dishes first, so Angie and Brian can study.”

“You don’t have to—” Angie began, but Matthew was already gathering plates and bowls.

“Oh, all right, Mom,” Pete whined. Matthew shoulder-checked him. “Ow! Okay, okay, coming!”

As he looked back into the living room to check for other dishes, he noticed Angie and Brian huddled close together on the sofa, talking in low voices. A dish towel hit him in the back of the head.

“What the…?” He turned to see Matthew standing at the sink, laughing.

“Get over here, Morgan, or your days are numbered.”

Pete walked into the kitchen and snapped at Matthew’s butt with the towel before taking a clean plate out of his hand to dry it.

“What’re you working on right now?” Matthew asked as they stood side by side at the sink.

“A paper for Film Aesthetics.”

“On what?”

“Well, I was going to do it on
Squid and the Whale
, but it was too depressing, so I’m doing it on Ingmar Bergman’s
Seventh Seal
instead.”

“And that’s less depressing? Wow, heavy duty.”

“Well, I thought I’d get all of the heavy, existential stuff out of the way first.”

“Don’t get too bleak now, son. I can’t have my fledgling filmmaker jumping off Beta Bridge. Not before your illustrious debut. You can jump afterward if you want.”

Pete laughed and flicked some soap bubbles at Matthew. “Your concern is touching, Layton.” He didn’t think depression was going to be an issue this year, as long as Matthew was around to tease him.

“S
O
WHERE
’
S
Angie at again?” Pete asked Brian. “Wasn’t she coming with you?”

Brian fingered the ruff around his neck and sighed. “I don’t know. We were almost here and she got a text, said she had to go and she’d meet us here later.” He appeared miserable in his Pierrot costume. The teardrop Angie had painted on his face was fitting, Pete thought.

Deciding for Brian’s sake not to make a snide remark about Angie’s Mystery Man, Pete tugged surreptitiously on the Roman tunic Angie had put him in. He thought it was supposed to be longer than midthigh, but she had insisted he show off his legs.

“Come on,” he said, adjusting the laurel wreath on his head, “let’s go get drunk.”

“Well, maybe one drink,” Brian murmured, following him.

They wove through Matthew’s living room, which was crammed full of people in fantastic costumes. John and Cleo joined them as they were perusing the alcohol selection. Pete blinked at John, who was almost unrecognizable in a fancy turban and shimmering brocade robe. Cleo looked stunning in a rose-colored sari, her eyes kohl rimmed and a red dot on her forehead.

“Wow, swami,” Pete said to John. “Lookin’ pretty regal, there.”

“Not swami, Maharajah,” Cleo corrected. “My baby’s an Indian prince.”

“Bow down,” John commanded.

“In your dreams, jackass.”

“So what’re you supposed to be?” John looked him over. “A gladiator? Oh, wait, you’re John Belushi in
Animal House
!”

“Fuck you. I’m wearing a tunic, not a toga.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Brian,” Cleo said, ignoring their banter, “that costume is exquisite, and your makeup’s to die for. Turn around, I want to see the back.”

“Glad someone’s enjoying it,” Brian muttered, turning dutifully.

“Did Angie put it together?” Cleo fished a camera out of the folds of her sari. “Look this way, Brian.” She aimed and shot a picture.

“Where
is
Angie?” John asked. “She loves costume parties.”

Pete and Brian exchanged a glance but were saved from having to answer when Matthew emerged through the beaded curtain and came to join them.

“Hey, guys, welcome. Wow. Excellent costumes, every one of you. I’m impressed.”

Pete’s mouth dropped open for a moment at the sight of Matthew in a sexy cowboy costume. His chest and arms were bare under the black vest and jaunty red scarf, and his leather chaps hugged a pair of skintight jeans. The opening of the chaps in the front only served to accentuate…
holy fuck
. Pete hadn’t realized Matthew was
that
well-endowed.

“Assless chaps?” Cleo clapped her hands. “Turn around.”

“The chaps are assless, but my ass is covered,” Matthew said in a prim voice as he performed a slow turn. Covered or not, his ass was tantalizing, as was the rest of him. Pete was thinking about how nice it would be to lick the freckles on his nicely toned shoulders when Matthew turned his eyes to him. “Nice tunic, Morgan,” he said, giving him a once-over. “Cute legs.”

“Lech,” Pete said.
If only.

“You know it.”

“You guys stop flirting and stand over there with Brian and John. I want to get a picture of four gorgeous men all dressed up.” Cleo waved her hand.

“Pushy, isn’t she?” Matthew smiled at John.

“That’s my lady.” John set his beer on the table. “Come along, gentlemen. Our fearless leader has spoken.”

Cleo nodded in agreement as Pete went over next to John, and Matthew stood on Pete’s other side. Cleo gestured for them to move closer together, and Pete could smell Matthew’s scent—clean with a hint of sandalwood—while being hyperaware of the way their bare shoulders and arms were touching.
Crap. Cleo needs to hurry up and take the picture
, he thought, praying his tunic was good at concealing a hard-on.

Just then, the beaded curtain parted and Aidan stumbled through, laughing loudly. He was dressed as a pirate: eyes outlined in kohl, white billowy-sleeved shirt unbuttoned to the waist, crimson sash around his hips, and tight black pants tucked into his boots. He caught Pete’s eye, waved, and started to make his way over to their group, swaying as he walked.

“Pete! Eyes on the camera,” Cleo ordered, and Pete turned his attention back to the picture taking with a start.

Cleo shot several pictures of the four of them as they struck funny poses, Aidan now next to her, making faces at them and egging them on. He was loose-limbed, his eyes unfocused, and he seemed completely shitfaced, which Pete found odd. It was the first time he’d seen Aidan drunk.

“Come on, Aidan.” Matthew extended the arm that wasn’t around Pete’s back. “Get your butt over here and get your picture taken.”

Aidan came to Matthew’s side and threw his arm around his shoulders, stretching out his hand to tickle Pete’s neck with his fingers, which made Pete shiver. After Cleo took a few more pictures, John put his hands up.

“That’s it, babe. I need more to drink. And when can I take this turban off?”

They stepped out of their picture formation, Cleo giving Brian the camera to take some of her and John, and Pete found himself standing with Aidan and Matthew.

“Jesus, Layton.” Aidan ogled Matthew. “You’re looking hot. Remind me again why we never got together?”

The color rose in Matthew’s cheeks. “Not sure I’d be able to recover from that, Emery. Thanks, though.” He turned to Pete. “What about Pete here? Showing off his legs and all.”

Embarrassed, Pete stopped himself from pulling down the hem of his tunic while Aidan and Matthew gazed at him.

Aidan gave a long glance up and down Pete’s body, lips curved in a small smile, before stating, “Pete looks delectable. As always.”

“That he does,” Matthew agreed in a soft voice.

Pete burst out, “Stop! Jeez, you guys. Have either of you looked in the mirror? You’re the hottest dudes in the room.” He paused, mortified, but Aidan and Matthew laughed and gave each other a playful high five. “Can we change the subject now?” he muttered. “I need a drink.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned his back on them and studied the drinks table.
Forget beer, I need hard liquor
, he decided and poured himself some whiskey.

“Hey.” Matthew’s voice in his ear made him glance over. Matthew was watching him, his eyes concerned. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Forget it, man. I’m just a dork sometimes.”

Matthew appeared about to say more, but someone called his name and he excused himself, giving Pete’s arm a squeeze before he left. Heaving a sigh, Pete was picking up his drink when he felt a hand on his neck. Aidan peered hazily down at him.

“I mean it, baby. You’re delish.” Aidan swayed toward him, and Pete steadied him with a hand on his chest.

“And you’re trashed.”

“What?” Aidan said in mock outrage and then chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, you’re right. What I need is another drink.” He picked up a bottle of vodka and sloshed some into a cup, baptizing the table with a liberal amount before Pete removed the bottle from his hand.

“Allow me, sir,” he said in his best butler voice, pouring a little more into Aidan’s cup and handing it to him.

Aidan glanced down at it, and then at Pete. “I know what you’re doing. You’re cutting me off. Is this even alcohol? Why, Pete? Why—”

“Shh.” Pete stopped him from saying more by putting his finger on his lips, but made an undignified sound when Aidan opened up and sucked it into his warm, wet mouth. He pulled his finger away to compose himself.

“Lez go out on the screen porch,” Aidan said, a slight slur to the words.

“Sure.” Aroused and anticipatory, Pete followed him through the kitchen and the pantry, but when Aidan opened the door to the screen porch, they found a crowd of people out there already, some smoking cigarettes, others sharing a joint.

Aidan backed up and shut the door, mumbling, “Too many people. This’ll do.” Setting his drink down, he crowded Pete up against the wall and attacked his mouth with none of his usual savoir faire.

Pete reached blindly back to put his glass on a shelf while Aidan kissed him like he was trying to suck his face off. It wouldn’t even have been sexy, except it was Aidan, with his lush lips and that alluring spicy smell. He tasted like liquor and something minty, and his mouth was as addictive as ever.

But as much as Pete relished finally making out with Aidan again, he’d rather it not be happening in this cramped pantry. Although the doors on each end were closed, anyone could barge in on them at any moment, and public sex wasn’t his kink. He pulled his mouth from Aidan’s, but Aidan didn’t miss a beat, moving on to suck at Pete’s neck while his hands roamed restlessly over his back.

“Aidan.” No response except for Aidan sucking harder. “Hey. Aidan?”

Aidan paused. “Hmm?” He moved his lips to nuzzle at Pete’s ear.

“Why don’t we take this somewhere more private?”
Like your bed.

“S’private,” Aidan mumbled. “God, baby, you taste so good, wanna eat you up.” He moved his hands down Pete’s back and grabbed his ass.

“Mm.” Pete tried to keep his mind on what he was saying. “What about going to your place?”

“Can’t.” Nibbling on his earlobe, Aidan pulled Pete’s body against his.

“Why not?” Pete asked, finding it hard to catch his breath.

“Just—shut up, baby. I wanna—” Aidan ran his hand up Pete’s bare leg and palmed his cock.

“Fuck.” Pete stopped worrying and pressed into Aidan’s hand, a groan escaping as Aidan stroked him.

Of course, the universe chose that moment to screw things up: the door to the kitchen opened and Matthew appeared. Matthew’s eyes locked with Pete’s for an agonizing moment, and Pete pushed Aidan away without even thinking, but Matthew had already retreated, shutting the door behind him. Aidan made a sound of protest at the loss of contact and moved in again. Pete put his hands on his chest to hold him off, face warm with mortification.

“Come on, baby. C’mere,” Aidan complained, covering Pete’s hands with his.

“Not here,” Pete hissed. “Matthew just walked in on us!”

“So? Shoulda asked him to join us. Three-ways’re hot.”

“Not really into that,” Pete said, still queasy about the expression on Matthew’s face when he had walked in on them.

“Oh.” Aidan dropped his hands and the seductive act at the same time. He paused. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m kinda being an asshole, aren’t I?” He slumped next to him against the wall and ran his hand over his face, muttering, “I’m fucked up tonight.”

“Why?” Pete somehow knew Aidan wasn’t talking about being drunk right now.

Another pause. “That’s a long story—a long and boring story.” A text tone sounded, and he pulled his phone out of his pants pocket. Whatever the text was caused him to say, “Charming, just charming,” and laugh mirthlessly. He raised his head. “I gotta go.”