The Gravedigger's Brawl (5 page)

Wyatt groaned and ran a hand through his hair. As he told Ash about his problems at the museum, the playful air faded from him and the worry lines seemed to grow deeper. Despite trying to make a joke of hiding under his desk that morning, Ash could see how deeply troubled Wyatt was by it all.

“So you see my dilemma, right?” Wyatt asked, motioning pleadingly with his hands. Ash was torn between watching those hands and watching Wyatt. “I mean, I'm lost. If I can't come up with something, I'll be fired.”

“Doesn't seem right. They should have known construction would hurt business and planned ahead.”

“Thank you!”

Ash couldn't help but laugh at Wyatt's sincerity, though he did feel sorry for him. He seemed so stressed now that he'd gotten on a roll speaking about it. Maybe that was why Wyatt had allowed Noah to drag him here when it was so obviously not his scene: he needed a release.

“So you're here researching a new exhibit?” Ash ventured. “Or is it stress relief?”

“Neither,” Wyatt said with the honesty of too much alcohol. He gulped down the last of his drink.

Ash cocked his head and bit his lip against a smile. “I could probably help you with one.”

Wyatt's blue eyes met his with intense interest, but then his expression softened and he leaned forward. “You already have,” he whispered, the sound conspiratorial. They both laughed as if it had been a joke, and continued talking and drinking as the night wound down around them.

Another hour and Ash realized that perhaps he'd made those drinks too strong. He could hold his liquor, but it had been a long week and he was exhausted on top of being drunk. Caleb agreed when Ash tried and failed several times to sit on one of the bar stools, and promptly took his keys from him.

“That's so unnecessary,” Ash grumbled as he leaned against the bar.

Noah and Wyatt were the only ones left, and Caleb had already locked the door and turned off the outside lights.

“I don't drive to work, Caleb. Remember?”

“Do I trust you to walk home by yourself when you're sober? No. Do I trust you to stumble home alone tonight? Hell no.”

“I could drive him,” Noah offered as he flicked his keys in his hands.

“I'm fine.”

“I can walk home with him,” Wyatt said, voice soft and gruff as he leaned against the bar.

Caleb glared. “You're more sloshed than he is!”

“But less likely to wind up sleeping in the street,” Wyatt countered with a goofy grin. Ash smiled at him. There wasn't a chance in hell he'd get through the night without falling into bed with this guy.

“Oh, Christ,” Caleb grumbled before ushering them all out of the bar, where they were no longer his problem.

Wyatt wrapped his coat around himself and they turned the corner, walking down the side of Gravedigger's and away from the heart of the Fan. “How far is it?”

“About six blocks. It's usually not such a bad walk when you're going in a, y'know, straight line.” Ash waved his hand in front of him, trying to illustrate said straight line without weaving.

Wyatt glanced at him and smiled. Ash was wearing a black pea coat and a lime green scarf, the only bit of color on him. He was hunched against the wind, head resolutely down to watch his footfalls. Wyatt reached out and slid his arm around Ash's waist. The contact sent a thrill through him.

“Two drunks are better than one,” he said to excuse the brazen move.

Ash snorted and slid his hand into Wyatt's coat pocket. Wyatt bit his lip to hold back a foolish grin. They were both unsteady on their feet, but leaning against each other did have its benefits. It kept them warm in more ways than one, stoking that hint of excitement that came from the touch of someone new.

And it kept them from falling over.

The walk to Ash's building on the very edge of the Fan wasn't a short one, but when they reached it, Wyatt found himself regretting that it hadn't been longer. He stood with Ash at the massive glass door to his building and searched for something even mildly appropriate to say. He wanted to come in with Ash, wanted to spend more time with him, wanted to see what sorts of things he held dear in the condo upstairs, ask if maybe he could see him again. But it had been so very long since Wyatt had even had a passing interest in someone else, he couldn't decide how best to vocalize any of those desires.

“You don't think I'm going to let you walk back to the museum alone, do you?” Ash asked as he slid his key into the lock, flicking his wrist and pushing in with practiced ease as he opened the door. He stepped into the foyer and reached for Wyatt, pulling him by the lapel of his coat. Wyatt glanced around the building distractedly, his nerves making it hard to meet Ash's eyes as the man helped him down the couple of steps into the building's foyer. The walls were exposed brick and the stair railing was ironwork that looked like it might have been original.

“Eighteen twenties?” he asked.

“Yeah, how'd you know?” Ash sounded breathless as he let the massive door fall closed behind them with a loud clank.

“Museum,” Wyatt grunted. He realized that Ash was taking much of his weight, and he straightened up and cleared his throat. He overcompensated and almost lost his balance.

Ash grabbed him, but he pushed at him instead of pulling, slamming him against the wall at the base of the stairs to keep him from falling. Wyatt couldn't tear his eyes from Ash's; their dark brown depths were nearly black in the low light. He could feel Ash's breath on his lips, the scent of beer and something more earthy, like sandalwood, assaulting him. Wyatt's entire body tingled.

Then they began to laugh. They tried to remain quiet so as not to disturb the neighbors, but it swiftly degenerated into the simultaneous snickering and snorting and hushing that always manifested when drunks tried to be quiet.

“Please tell me you can walk up the steps,” Ash said with a hushed giggle.

“How many floors?” Wyatt looked up the narrow, winding stairway.

“One little flight,” Ash whispered, his voice low and tantalizingly intimate. He slid his arm around Wyatt's waist again and pulled him away from the wall.

Wyatt turned into him and kissed him hard. Ash stumbled, and his back hit the wall as Wyatt pressed into him, his body thrumming as Ash returned the kiss.

The bang of a closing door several floors above them forced them apart to look up. They stood frozen, panting against each other's mouths as they waited. The door closed again and all was silent.

“Okay,” Ash whispered, nodding as if he were agreeing with something. “Okay.”

“Stairs,” Wyatt murmured against Ash's lips. Ash nodded once more before Wyatt kissed him again.

They climbed the stairs together, staggering and gripping the railing. As they neared the top where the stairs curved around, Ash bent over and began crawling. Wyatt leaned against the wall and laughed as Ash reached the landing and sprawled on his back in front of the first door, but his laughter died away as he let his eyes drift appraisingly over Ash's body.

“That your door?”

Ash managed to nod without lifting his head from the floor, and held up his keys as he lay on the landing, his legs still on the steps. Wyatt leaned over him, bracing his hand on the floor as he took the keys. He pressed his body down onto Ash's and kissed him.

Ash's arms wound around his neck and Wyatt growled low in his throat, rolling his hips against Ash's groin. He couldn't quite believe he was being so reckless, but the combination of the drinks and his intoxicating companion was too much for his inhibitions or common sense to combat.

With a great deal of effort, Wyatt pushed himself back up and stood, pulling Ash to his feet. Ash took the keys and hastily unlocked his door.

They said very little as they made their way across the living room. Ash shed his outer layer of clothing as he led Wyatt toward the bedroom, and Wyatt gave the condo a cursory glance as he followed. It was clean and neat, with large pieces of dark wood furniture that had the strange effect of making the small rooms look bigger.

The bed in Ash's bedroom was large, too, and unmade—an endearing quirk amidst an otherwise tidy home. Wyatt was sure he'd appreciate it later, when he didn't have more pressing things on his mind.

He reached for Ash's suspenders and used them to pull the man closer. Ash grinned as Wyatt looked him up and down.

“These things come in handy,” Wyatt said as he slid his fingers up the coarse material.

“They do have their uses,” Ash purred. He slid his thumbs under the suspenders and pulled them off his shoulders, backing away from Wyatt's grasp with a wicked twist to his lips.

Wyatt followed, entranced.

Ash flopped onto the end of the bed, pushing his trousers to the floor as he slid up into the middle of the bed and lay out on his back. Wyatt dropped his jacket and reached for his belt.

“Do you make this a habit, Dr. Wyatt?” Ash asked as he pushed his boxers down his hips.

Wyatt took a deep breath, enjoying the free show. “Not really.”

Ash smiled in the half-light that filtered through the blinds, his eyes shadowed and unreadable. “Me either.”

“Good to know.” Wyatt pushed his own pants to the ground, yanked his shirt over his head, and climbed onto the bed.

Ash reached for him. Wyatt settled between his spread legs as they kissed messily, and Ash pulled a knee up and slid his leg over Wyatt's hip. He grinned as Wyatt gasped against the kiss. “You like the tongue stud, right?”

Wyatt nodded.

Ash kissed him again, then whispered, “Kissing's not the only thing it makes more interesting.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Wyatt's cock jumped against Ash's thigh, stirring an intense desire deep in his gut.

Wyatt loved the way Ash writhed and whimpered when he stroked his fingers down his thigh, the way he curled around Wyatt in an impressive display of flexibility. He loved the way Ash's skin smelled of cigarette smoke, liquor, sweat, and sandalwood, a heady combination that evoked thoughts of taboos and forbidden territories. He loved the way Ash tasted like something new and unexplored, how Ash's tongue ring made each kiss something he'd never experienced.

Ash's hands dragged over Wyatt's skin, tugging at him, digging in as they rutted against each other, nails leaving burning trails as Wyatt kissed him. Finally, he pushed at Wyatt to make him sit back on his knees. Ash was stunning, spread out on the bed, legs wrapped around Wyatt's waist.

He was even more stunning when he had Wyatt's cock in his mouth a few moments later, lips sliding against skin, tongue doing unspeakable things that made Wyatt curl over him and grab a handful of his hair in warning.

When Ash pulled back and smirked up at him, Wyatt could hardly breathe. Ash made sure to lick him up and down one last time, leading the way with that piece of metal that seemed designed just for this sort of thing, before crawling across the bed to stretch for a nearby drawer.

Ash tossed a condom and lubricant to Wyatt and turned over to his hands and knees.

Wyatt rolled the condom on, his entire body thrumming for more intoxicating exploration. Ash moaned, long and loud, when Wyatt gripped his hips from behind and worked his cock into him.

Wyatt lowered his head and groaned, his entire body swamped by lust and alcohol and an unusual feeling of being in a different atmosphere. He promised himself he would analyze that feeling later, when he didn't have his cock buried in the most fascinating, alluring man he'd ever met.

When he began to move, he groaned again, louder this time. His thrusts were slow at first, to give Ash a chance to adjust, but Ash gasped and pushed back into him demandingly. Wyatt bit his lip and sped his movements, unable to close his eyes for the need to watch the way Ash's lithe body moved against his, the way his cock spread Ash apart and pushed inside him.

Ash reached up and grabbed the headboard of the old wrought-iron bed, preventing it from banging against the wall as Wyatt thrust into him harder and harder. As orgasm threatened, Wyatt bit his lip and stopped moving, gasping as he fought it. He pulled out of Ash with the greatest of care and crawled backward, yanking at Ash's hips. Ash rolled onto his side, and Wyatt slid off the bed, standing at the edge and holding Ash's hips, forcing himself to wait, letting the pressure in his gut die down as his cock throbbed.

“Come on.”

“Wait,” Wyatt gasped.

“I don't care, I just want you back in there,” Ash said as he arched his back and pushed up with his hips.

Wyatt slid his hand down the middle of Ash's back and pulled on his hip, pushing into him again. The mattress recommenced its creaking as Wyatt thrust into him, but the headboard didn't complain any longer. Wyatt grabbed Ash's shoulder, fingers digging into the skin as he held Ash still and pounded into him. Ash gasped desperately, threw his head back and arched, pushing into Wyatt's thrusts. Wyatt reached with his other hand and grabbed a handful of Ash's damp hair, panting as he rode him.