Stranger Things Have Happened: New York Read online

  Rack nudges a tall, lanky guy with a shaved head forward. "Here, this is Richie. That's Sam, and this fat bastard here is Mike. Mates, this is my lover, Daniel." He elbows Mike, who looks like he could break Rack in two. "Go on, then, say hello."

  Mike waves cheerfully, which looks distinctly odd coming from a guy with arms the size of tree trunks. "Daniel, hey. So someone finally got Rack to settle down, huh?"

  He has an amazingly falsetto voice. Daniel tries to keep a straight face as he replies, honestly, "I don't think Rack is ever going to settle down."

  That's worth a laugh and another round of thumps on the back. Sam, who looks mostly normal except for the quarter-sized ear spools and bars through his eyebrows, leans up to give Daniel a manly, tattooed handshake. "Pleasure," he rumbles in a deep basso contralto. "And you got that right. This guy is spring-loaded."

  "Tell me about it."

  "Oh, go on about a fellow like he isn't even here," Rack protests. "Me an' Dan, here, this is our honeymoon." He holds up his left hand, the one with the tattooed ring on it. "We did a proper job an' all. Had a pagan priestess read some lovely fancy vows."

  Richie, Sam and Mike all look duly impressed. Richie, who still looks scary as fuck, volunteers, "This is our connecting flight. I'm from Florida, Sam's from Louisiana, and Mike is from North Carolina. We've been on the same plane since Ohio."

  "Ohio?" Rack makes a face. "We're headed to New York. What in fuck's wrong with a straight line?"

  The men make a face. "You gotta go around your ass to reach your elbow with the cheap flights," Mike says philosophically.

  "Speaking of which…" Daniel tries to point out politely, since Mike the Great Ox is completely blocking the aisle and all boarding passengers currently bottlenecked are starting to get pissed off. "We should get seated."

  "Oh! Right." Rack socks Mike in the impressive gut and scoots back forward to his and Daniel's row. "Catch you guys at the terminal, yeah? We'll have a beer or something in one of these kiosks before we head to the convention center."

  A hearty cheer goes up at the thought of sharing fermented grain, and, thank God, the tattoo artists go down in their seats. Daniel sinks into his own assigned cushion and breathes a sigh of thanks. God, he loves Rack -- the whole world, except for a few people in England, loves Rack -- but the guy does tend to forget about small things when he's in his element.

  Rack plops down, almost humming with excitement. "Richie, Sam, and Mike," he says gleefully to Daniel. "Haven't seen them since the last tour."

  This is news to Daniel. "You've been on tours before?"

  "Eh." Rack shrugs. "Just the one, when I was first starting out. Had to pay my own site fees and all. Almost starved, but it got my foot in the door a few places I wouldn't have otherwise, and people started knowing who I was." He thumbs his chest. "I've got a reputation now, I do."

  "You’ve earned it." And it's true -- Rack is pretty well known. He even gets customers from out of the country who've heard about how good he is.

  Feeling suddenly prouder than usual, Daniel leans in for a quick kiss. Rack surrenders gladly to Daniel's own gentle assault, making a small, appreciative noise and winding his arm around Daniel's neck. As the kiss goes on and tongues become involved, he hears a wolf-whistle from the direction of the artists and has to break off to laugh.

  Rack chuckles himself, and winks at Daniel. "They're good lads," he says, giving Daniel's hand a pat. "Fine bunch of inkslingers, too. Wait 'til you see us all in action."

  "There's so much I don't know." Daniel's being honest. He has no idea what to expect from a body art convention. If it's anything like the cons he's been to before, it'll be noisy and messy, with booths everywhere and a mind-boggling array of displays.

  "No worries there, pet. Rack'll see you’re taken care of." Rack rocks backward and forward in his seat. "Here, these don't move."

  Daniel frowns. "Well, no. They usually don't."

  "Bugger. There isn't enough room for my legs." He gives Daniel a disbelieving look. "And here you are taller than I am. Why haven't you said anything?"

  "Because we're flying coach, Rack. Coach is all about cramming too many people into too small of a space, drinking soda and eating pretzels."

  "I thought it was peanuts."

  "That was back in the day. And maybe you can stretch your legs out into the aisle -- once we've started moving."

  "I was looking forward to a nice bit of peanuts," Rack grumbles before Daniel shushes him, because the pilot's on the intercom now, greeting his passengers, and the flight attendants are standing up to do their usual song-and-dance.

  A thought occurs to him. "Rack, have you ever flown before?"

  "Well, no. I worked my way over from the UK on a ship. Hard work that is, but I got to do some nice ink on the sailors. Why?"

  Daniel sighs, fishes in his pockets, and hands Rack a pack of gum. "Here. Chew this."

  Rack looks mystified. "Whyever for?"

  "You'll see."

  Daniel has a bad, bad feeling about this.

  * * *

  It turns out he's right. Rack doesn't like to fly. Rack really, really doesn't like to fly. From the minute those 767 engines rev up, he's got his hands white-knuckled on the chair arms and his face is set in thin lines that spell out stark terror. Daniel, who's been all over the United States in his day, can only shake his head in wonder. A guy who enjoys shoving metal through his flesh is afraid of a little turbulence. How can that possibly be right?

  He tries to distract Rack by giving his hand a light squeeze and pointing to a group of young men sitting in front of them, chattering amongst themselves. Airplanes are usually quiet, but this one has a nice hum of conversation going on. "Who's the cutest?" he whispers. "The blond with the blue eyes, or the brunette with that chiseled jaw?"

  Rack shakes his head and keeps his mouth shut. This is a game they've played before, often at the tattoo parlor or out shopping, and Daniel knows that Rack enjoys it. He's okay with that, because Rack always comes back to him. Which he could deal with right now. Better out-and-out macking on one another than pale-lipped terror.

  "Me, I think the blond. But I've always had a thing for blonds." Daniel applies a little more pressure to Rack's hand. "Especially short ones who like to smoke."

  Ah-ha. Rack deals him a glare. "I'm not short," he says tersely. "Just not a giant like you. And smoke, God, what I wouldn't give for a smoke. You think they'd notice if I-- "

  Daniel aborts the movement of Rack's hand toward his hip pocket. "Yes," he says firmly, "they would. And they'd say something about it. Something very stern."

  "Aw, fuck." Rack looks as if he's a kid who's had his favorite toy taken away. Which, actually, is not so far from the truth… "I thought you could smoke on planes."

  "Same principle as peanuts, Rack. You can hardly smoke in restaurants anymore. No puffing on planes. It's a rule."

  "Bloody daft rule, if you ask me," Rack mutters. He glances at the group of young men and shakes his head. "The red one," he says. "Nice freckles and lovely fair skin. You reckon he's headed same place we are? I'd like to put a bit of ink on him."

  Daniel wrinkles his nose, because to be honest the redhead fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down, but he's relieved to see Rack unwinding a little bit despite his still-very-obvious nerves.

  This is probably another bad idea, but he volunteers, "You can have alcohol. Ask the flight attendant when they come around with drinks."

  "Oh, God, yes." Rack doesn't wait for the drinks cart, but pops up to hit his "call" button right away. When no one materializes out of thin air, he presses it again, and then again in rapid succession.

  The flight attendant that does eventually make her way to them looks rightfully annoyed. "Can I help you with anything?"

  "Booze," Rack says, giving her his most pitiful kicked-puppy look. "A lot of it would be right nice. Now, please."

  "We'll be serving beverages within fifteen minutes, sir. And I'm afraid that
we do have a limit on how many a passenger can have."

  Rack deflates a little. "A rule, is it?" he asks despondently.

  The attendant nods. "I could get you a blanket and a pillow," she volunteers.

  "Yeah, ta very much. Oh, wait!" Rack perks back up. Daniel watches, because it's kind of like a train wreck, but also because he's so relieved to see Rack acting more like his normal self. "You couldn’t do us a couple glasses of champagne when the cart comes 'round, could you?"

  This throws the attendant. "Champagne is generally served in first-class only."

  "Oh, be a love, will you?" The lip comes out. "It's our honeymoon, this one and me. We want something to celebrate with."

  Rack 2, Flight Attendant 0. Thrown again. She has a quick recovery time, though, so Daniel has to give her props for that. "Congratulations." She flashes them an expensive-looking smile. And, probably because few can withstand the Rack charm once he lays it on, pats his shoulder and whispers, "I'll see what I can do."

  Damned if Daniel knows how Rack does it, but he has a feeling that there'll be two glasses of bubbly coming their way. Which, he has to admit, will make flying coach a lot more bearable.

  He kisses Rack on the cheek, and gets a fond look in return. "What's that for, then?"

  "Because I love you," Daniel says, and it's nothing but the God's honest truth.

  * * *

  The blanket and pillow come around before the drinks do. Rack's loosened his grip on the chair arms by then and he's started to talk, in fits and spurts, about what he's hoping for at the first convention. He stops, though, at the sight of the blanket.

  "This is it?" He holds the thin square up by one corner. "Bloody hell, is this a blanket or a handkerchief? I don't know whether to try and sleep under it or blow my nose."

  Daniel chuckles. "They're not exactly meant to wrap yourself up in. It's just a light cover."

  "Eh." Rack regards the thing with disfavor, then sighs and drapes it across his lap. The pillow goes behind his head. Not a single one of the spikes in his hair is disarranged. Go Team Product, Daniel thinks in admiration. Rack spends more on hair-care than he does on clothes.

  It's getting close to night-fall, and the view from the plane's window is exquisite. Daniel savors it for a moment, and then has an idea. Rack's pretty relaxed, but now that it's getting dark and quiet inside the plane, he thinks he has an idea about how to get him to unwind completely.

  They'll have to be quiet, though...

  Daniel leans over and whispers in Rack's ear. Rack bursts into quiet laughter. "Are you fuckin' shitting me, love?"

  Daniel shakes his head.

  "Go on, then, if you've got the balls." Rack looks impressed that Daniel would even think of such a thing. Daniel gives himself some points on the mental chalkboard and slowly, carefully, sneaks his hand underneath the blanket. This, he thinks, is going to take some finesse. Which is fine. He can do finesse.

  Ever so slowly, one click at a time, Daniel opens Rack's zipper. The cock he finds inside, bristling with metal, is half-hard. "You never have any trouble getting it up at even the faintest hint of sex, do you?" Daniel murmurs in Rack's ear as he takes said dick into his hand. He gets a good grip and begins to move his wrist up and down beneath the blanket. "Do you want me to make with the dirty talk now?"

  Rack gives him a look that's half glare, half pleading. Daniel chuckles. "Okay, then. Picking up from our earlier conversation." It gives him an illicit thrill to be doing this on top of the thrill he's getting from jacking off his lover in the middle of a plane.

  "We're in the hotel room in New York. You've had a great first night. Everyone loves your portfolio. You're a star. And now you've coming into bed with me." Daniel moves a little faster, careful of the piercings, but with the ease of long practice. Rack grunts and pushes into his hand. "Shh, shh, shh. No noise or I'll stop," Daniel warns.

  The look this time is definitely pleading, but Daniel's firm. "Zip those lips or I take my hand away."

  Rack closes his mouth tight.

  "Okay, then." Daniel resumes his stroking, up and down, good and hard. "Picture this. I know you're good with the visuals. You're on your back in the middle of a huge, cushy bed. Your cock, this cock-- " he gives a squeeze as a reference " --is hard as stone, ready for a good fucking, standing up like an arrow."

  Rack licks his lips. "And where are you?"

  "I'm kneeling above you," Daniel whispers. "Slicking myself up. You're holding the bottle, but I'm the one getting ready to take you in. I'm fingering my hole, thinking about how good you're going to feel in there." He moves a little faster. "I'm poised right above you, ready to sink down and take every inch of you. Mmm, I can already feel the cock and metal. It's good. So good. I love looking at you when you're like this. Desperate to fuck. So ready for me that you're about to burst."

  Rack whimpers.

  "I said, shh. Okay, now I'm lining you up with my opening, stretched open for you to glide on in. I'm lowering myself slowly, one inch at a time. You can feel yourself being swallowed in tight, wet heat until I'm resting on your hips. And then I bear down, applying pressure around your cock, and-- "

  With the second squeeze, Rack gives a guttural moan, and comes like a fire hydrant. Dirty talk a plus, Daniel notes. It's not something he's tried a lot before, but apparently he's got a knack for it even if he doesn't have Rack's gutter mouth. "There," he says, nice and quiet. "Do you feel better now?"

  "Better? Try bloody well boneless." And Rack does loll there like a rag doll while Daniel uses the tissue-thin blanket to clean him up and wipe off his own hand. He tucks Rack's cock back in and zips him up, stuffing the come-soaked covering under the seat in front of them as the flight attendant starts making her way down the aisle. And he’ll be damned if she isn't carrying two sparkling flutes of liquid, too.

  Rack grins up at her with all of his charm and joie de vivre back in place as she arrives and hands him one of the glasses. She puts a finger over her lips and winks, handing Daniel the other tot of champagne.

  "Cheers, pet," Rack says, raising his drink to the attendant. She blushes, as most women do when confronted with the full force of Rack's attention, and makes a hasty retreat. Daniel is so glad Rack's gay -- he would hate to have to fight off the crowd if the man were straight. Because he'd want Rack anyway.

  Was there ever a time when he'd thought that Rack wasn't his type? He remembers thinking so once upon a time, and hey, technically he still isn't the kind of guy Daniel would go for, but he's head over heels for the mouthy punk.

  A champagne honeymoon. Daniel clinks his glass against Rack's. "Bottoms up," he says quietly, basking in Rack's sunny grin as he turns it on Daniel. "Welcome to the Mile High Club."

  The grin widens. "Love you, Dan." Rack takes a small sip. "Oh, it's good, this is."

  And it is. It really, truly is.

  All of it.

  Chapter Three

  Daniel ducks into Rack's booth, constructed only hours ago by his own two hands, and grabs his lover into a hard embrace. Rack, who was measuring out tiny caps of ink, laughs as he's swung around and pressed up against a counter. "What's all this, then?"

  "Rack, I cannot believe this place. Can not believe it." Daniel waves his arms in wild circles to indicate the convention center in its entirety. "I'm one of the least-tattooed people here! Look at me." He rolls up one sleeve. "See? Bare. We never put anything on my arms, to say nothing of my hands. And piercings? Whoa, momma. I've seen metal walking around here that I never even dreamed about."

  "Easy, easy, slow down there, I never said we were done inking you up-- "

  Daniel ignores him and plows right on. "I've been walking around, working on other booths, and man, there are things here maybe even you wouldn't believe. There's a guy on hooks. Actual metal barbs through his skin, and he's just dangling from them like he doesn't have a care in the world."

  "Lord. They got someone to put on that kind of a show?" Rack raises an eyebrow. "The goal there is endorphins,
love. Bit like bungee-jumping. I've heard some call the lot an endurance test. Daft, but there you have it."

  Daniel keeps going. "I never heard of this stuff. Scarification, branding-- "

  "I said, slow down." Rack grips Daniel by the forearms, still laughing a little. "A bit like your first time in the big candy store, is it?"

  Daniel nods eagerly, up and down, hoping his wide eyes and parted lips say it all for him. The guy with the forked tongue... the woman who was completely covered in ink from head to toe except for a couple of modestly shielded bits... the guy with earlobes down to his shoulders...