“I’m safe as long as I can throw Miki in front of me. He’s got a fucked-up knee. I can run faster,” Damie muttered. When Connor reached for a handful from the bag, Damien nodded at the phoenix tattoo on Connor’s upper arm. Spotting the banner the flaming bird held in its talons, Damien read it off slowly. “Oro en paz. Fierro en guerra. That’s from the city flag, right? What’s it mean? I probably skipped that day in class.”
“Gold in peace, iron in war,” Connor quoted. “Most of the guys in my SWAT unit get one when they make rank.”
“So you were what? Five?” Damien chuckled. “Did your mom have to sign a release form, or did you just walk in there picking scorpions out of your teeth?”
“Not that young,” he laughed. A dimple winked in Connor’s cheek as he chewed. “And it was centipedes, not scorpions.”
“You ever want to be anything other than a cop?” Damien held his arms out in front of him, pantomiming flying. “Caped crusader? Astronaut? Or is it like a cult you all belong to?”
“No, not a cult. If that were true, we’d have to kill Quinn and Brae. Jury’s out on Ryan.” The man tilted his bottle back, taking another sip. “Nope, just a cop. SWAT’s nice. I wanted to be breaking through doors. There are some shitty people in the world, and I grew up around people who took them down. I wanted to make a difference. So yeah, cop. You always wanted to be a musician?”
“No choice.” Damien shrugged. “It’s kind of there. Can’t chase it off.”
“Eh?” Connor looked at him, confusion marring his stormy blue eyes. “What?”
The only other person who’d ever understood what he lived in was Miki. He’d spent hours trying to explain it to Dave and Johnny, but they never truly got it. To the other two, music was something they could do. Not something they drowned in.
“Music. It’s kind of hard to get away from.” He picked up the other beer bottle and picked at the label instead of drinking from it. “Sounds… I can’t escape them. It blends in together. It’s like little bites of music everywhere, from the bass of you coming up the stairs to the sound of the bottles clinking. If you listen carefully enough, you can pick out entire songs.”
“Wouldn’t that make you nuts?” Connor stared over the roof’s edge, his attention focused somewhere off in the distance. “I’d think you’d want to not make music if that were the case.”
“Nah, making music means… focusing. It makes all the other shit go away.” Damien leaned forward, tapping his fingers on the bottle’s side. “When I’m writing a song or playing, the only song that lives is the one coming out of me. Or Miki. He writes stuff that catches me so all I hear are the words and how they flow. The resonance of his images, it’s like painting with sound. His music exists in two dimensions… two levels, I guess. The sound of the words and what he’s saying. He writes patterns I can see. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you.”
“Kind of,” the man murmured. “And Sionn? He understands this?”
“Yeah, I think so.” He finally took a sip of the brew and caught himself before he coughed out a mouthful of stout. “Shit, this is strong. And Sionn, damn, I love hearing him talk. I could listen to him breathe all night. He bleeds sound, and it’s sweet. Melodic. Even when he’s limping a bit ’cause he overdoes it, it gives him a different rhythm. Everyone’s got a song in how they live… in the noises they make.”
“Now if you’d explained it that way before, I would have gotten it,” Sionn said, coming up on them.
Damien could feel the goofy smile on his face, but his happy won out over looking cool. Struggling to get out of the beanbag, he handed the beer bottle to his lover and hooked his hands around the backs of Sionn’s thighs, using the man’s greater weight to climb up Sionn’s body. Locked in place, Sionn swayed slightly, his arms stretched out so Damie didn’t knock the bottle out of his hand. Barely able to hold still, Sionn doubled over when Damien’s fingers dug into his ribs.
“Oh no, Damie.” Sionn stepped back, waving his lover off with the open bottle. “No tickling. Or I’ll spill this.”
“Go ahead. It’s like sucking down fermented oatmeal.” Damien hooked his arms around Sionn’s waist, leaned in for a kiss, and murmured appreciatively at the taste of coffee on his lover’s tongue. “Much better.” Looking over his shoulder at Connor, Damien asked, “Us doing this… doesn’t bug you, does it?”
“Hey, I’d say you wouldn’t give a shit if it did,” Connor said through a mouthful of rinds. “But nope, don’t care. My da’s raised me better than that. Only asshole in the family is Ian, and Mum took care of his crap soon enough.”
“Speaking of your mum, she’s wanting you downstairs.” Sionn jerked his head toward the roof door.
“Are you saying that because she does or because you want a chance to mack off your boyfriend before it rains?” Connor easily avoided Sionn’s wild kick, his leg going askew to avoid hitting Damien.