Javier smiled and his eyes flicked to the bed. There was no time like the present. He’d been offered enough opportunities; Holberton’s intentions were clear. “Maybe later.”
Javier took his wrist and tugged gently. They were closer to eye level, that way. Up close, most men looked older. Liver spots, lack of sleep, waistlines gaining ground as hairlines lost it. But Holberton looked younger. His eyes – Amy’s eyes – still held some wonder in them. They were searching Javier, now, flicking back and forth, as though there were a story printed on his skin. And then he was kissing him. It was a solid kiss, firm and warm and tight as a good handshake. Holberton even squeezed Javier’s hands as he did it.
When he pulled away, he said: “I love how direct you people all are. You’re so honest. So free of bullshit.”
Javier grinned. “You have no idea.”
Javier had simulated exactly how this would go. Holberton likely had more than the usual number of sexual tripwires to watch out for; growing up Jonah LeMarque’s son would have ensured that. Javier was prepared to be gentle with him, or rough, or tender, or impersonal, to say filthy things or nothing at all, to speak only in Spanish (it was surprising, the number of English speakers who asked for that), to undress him piece by piece or pop off all his buttons, to get down on his knees immediately or wait to be asked. He could do it all, within the failsafe’s parameters, provided he received the request.
But rather than request anything, Holberton just undressed him and peeled back the furry coverlet from the giant circular bed. “I’m exhausted,” he explained, as he wriggled in beside Javier.
Javier wriggled in turn. “Doesn’t seem like it, to me.”
Holberton chuckled. “You’re too kind.” He inhaled deeply. “You smell good.”
Like waffles, probably. That's what Jack had said. “It’s the carbon.”
Holberton’s hand drifted across Javier’s chest.
“Are you sure you’re OK?” Holberton asked.
Javier turned around. He looked Holberton in the eye. His hand trailed south. “Would you like me to show you how OK I am?”
Holberton’s breath caught in his throat. His stomach jumped under Javier’s fingers. Then he was in Javier’s hand, and the whites of his eyes rolled up a little. Javier slid down under the covers.
“So it’s true what they say.”
“What’s that?” Holberton asked.
“If there’s smoke in the chimney, there’s fire in the hearth.”
Holberton was laughing when Javier’s mouth closed over him. And then most of what he had to say involved curse words and invocations to God. If Javier was going to con Holberton, he could at least make sure the mark enjoyed it.
It was calming, in a way. It was calming in the way that doing something he’d done a bunch of times was calming. Like jumping from tree to tree, or counting his sons’ fingers and toes. He was sure other people felt this way about cutting cold butter into pie crust, or knitting scarves, or editing photos, or brushing curls of cedar away from a piece of whittling. A simple process, easily repeated, with an obvious outcome and built-in sense of achievement. Something almost everyone could do, or learn to do, but which one could excel at if given ample opportunity. He knew who he was, when he was doing this.
“You know why humans have to hold onto your head, like that?” Holberton asked, when it was over.
Javier knew how this joke ended, already. He’d heard it before. But he asked why, anyway.
“It’s to keep from applauding,” Holberton answered, clapping his hands together. He checked the time. “Wow. Do you know how late it is? Of course you do. You have an internal clock.”
“That’s not even my best time,” Javier said.
“Your best time?”
“My record.”
“You have a record?”
He did. In both senses of the term. But Holberton didn’t need to know about the other one. “Two hours, forty-two minutes.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“I may be full of smoke, but I am not full of shit.” Javier rested his hand on his palm. “Seriously. The other guy fell asleep.”
“He fell asleep?” Holberton blinked. “How is that even possible? Was he numb?”
“Drunk.”
“Wow. Unbelievable.” He frowned. “And you were good for that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t need to breathe, and my jaw never starts to hurt.” He rubbed his chin. “There were some issues with chafing, though.”
Holberton flopped over onto his back. “Do you do this often?”
Javier army-crawled up to him. “Do you?”
“Not often enough. My cock feels like it should be waving a white flag.” Holberton looked him over. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you need looking after?”