The Brotherhood 8 Under Hill and Over the Bar Read online

  “Demon rum, demon alcohol ...” Laurence twirled a tiny parasol by its toothpick handle. Rocco hadn’t insulted him by adding either the original cherry or the umbrella to his booze. Both had been left by a customer who must have taken off right before Laurence himself stumbled in. Rocco had appeared all too glad to get the business.

  Funny that no one else was around. You’d think there’d be a lot of thirsty guys wandering in from the dance floor, right? Guys and, well, dolls, too. Laurence eyed the unknown patron’s abandoned glass and its flaming red lipstick prints. “You get some colorful clientele in here, huh?” he ventured.

  “I have my share.” Rocco shrugged again and lifted the drink off the counter, dumping out the obnoxiously cheerful blue slush inside into a sink, washing it out, then upending the glass on a clean white towel all by itself, every move invested with the grace of a really big man who’s learned how to handle himself in small spaces. “This one, with the frou-frou booze? Not so interesting as some.”

  “Bet you’re the one with a ton of good stories. And good beer!” Laurence toasted him.

  “Na’am Thuul, man. Must be one of those guys with crazy hair and a homebrew setup in his basement. They’re the ones who turn out the really good shit. And I have a few stories, sure, but I like hearing what my customers have to talk about. Which reminds me, you were saying?”

  Laurence inclined his head. He’d started the story, so he had to finish it up. “Yeah. This woman was crazy, right? Crazy like the mother of a kid you had to flunk because he never did his homework even though he swore to her, on a stack of Bibles, that he did. Just tossed that kitten right down the flight of steps. I had about a split second to see that fur-bearing missile coming straight at my face, all four sets of claws whipping around like razor blades.” He took a much-needed drink. “Not that I’m surprised, though, right? She and her boyfriend fought about everything, so why not the cat?”

  “So what did you do then?” Rocco leaned forward, for all the world as if he really cared. Laurence tilted his head at the big man and silently gave Amour Magique props for hiring a really good class of bartenders. He’d have bet that even if the place were full, Rocco would have a light and a listening ear for everyone who wanted one.

  Laurence gave an embarrassed shrug. “I’d like to say I caught the poor little scrap, but really, it caught me. All four sets of claws, remember? Hung on tight, too. So I took it inside long enough to find a box, and five minutes later we were off to the vet to see if anything had broken.” He took another deep chug on his beer and stifled a small burp. “I named him Panther, and he still sticks to me like white on rice from the minute I set foot inside my house. So, yeah. There you have it. The sad story of a gay man who, stereotypically as you please, would like to avoid the free sex show out there and just wants to go home to his newspaper and his faithful kitty cat. Would you believe my friend made me bring a new condom along just in case I got lucky? Man, the nerve of some people.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Nutty little guy called Liam.” Laurence looked back out at the throng beyond Rocco’s cool sanctuary. “I have no idea where he’s gotten to.”

  “Liam. Huh.” Rocco took Laurence’s glass and once more topped the beer off without being asked. “So, what, you think this is a bad thing, having something to take care of and love? Hell, man, that’s what most of these sorry partygoers are looking for, whether they’ll admit it or not.”

  Laurence snorted and accepted the beer.

  “Only the truth, my man. You gotta have somebody to love. And if you don’t have a body, then you might as well have a thing, right?”

  “You’re a wise man, Rocco,” Laurence said solemnly, lifting his drink. Rocco chuckled and moved further down the bar, whipping out a towel to polish the already gleaming surface just that little bit brighter.

  Laurence laughed himself, then settled down into his drink. He’d lost track of how many he’d had. Four, if you counted the cherry bomb, three if you didn’t, or two and one half if you wanted to be technical, since he was only halfway down the new arrival. Enough, though, that certain parts of him were beginning to protest a little too much liquid in the system.

  He waved at Rocco. “Hey -- bathroom?”

  Rocco grinned as he polished away. “Sorry, friend, I don’t do casual hookups in the stalls.”

  Laurence blushed. “Er, sorry. Flying solo tonight.”

  “Nothing for the customers, sorry. There’s one outside close to the main floor, though, if you really gotta go.”

  Cringe. “I’ll wait, thanks.” Laurence rearranged himself on his surprisingly really comfortable barstool and took another drink of his beer. Mmm. “All hail Na’am Thuul,” he said before taking another reverential swallow. “So am I going to be the only one in here all night long? How many more drinks before you take pity and let me use the staff urinal?”

  Rocco cracked up. “House management would have my head, pal, and not the big one either.”

  “Ah, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

  “They know everything that goes on in here.” Rocco’s face went flat, and he gave his towel a snap. “Trust me, man. I don’t know much about Amour Magique, but I know enough to follow the rules. You can either sit there until your back teeth are floating, or you can use the public stalls.”

  Laurence sighed. “Damn. Are they within line of sight from here?” He had the oddest feeling that if he left the bar, he wouldn’t be able to find his way back.

  “Yeah, just a little ways down.” Rocco pointed. “No worries, man. I’ll keep your beer cold for you.”

  A new voice interrupted. “Cold beer? Who in their right mind drinks beer cold? Rocco, do you serve it this way on purpose? That’s a blasphemy against good alcohol, and you should be ashamed.”

  “Jesus!” Laurence all but jumped off his stool as the voice came from behind him. He whipped around to face the speaker, and immediately froze like a mouse that Panther had cornered. Why? Because this man, this man was the icing on every cake ever made. You couldn’t help but want to lick him off your fingers.

  He was dark-haired, with a truly dark shade nearing black that Laurence had rarely seen in nature. Most Goth kids tried to ape the color, but ended up with a dull, sooty mess. They tried going after the same alabaster hue of this man’s skin, too, and made themselves look like zombies.

  Laurence did not think of a zombie or a Goth when he looked at the stranger. He imagined himself appearing like the wolf in old cartoons, the ones where the canine’s tongue unfurled like an old window blind and hearts began pounding in place of his eyes. Laurence thought about the wicked things someone could do in the dark with a willing partner. He thought about being one half of that equation.

  From black hair to radiant skin to slate-gray eyes, the man’s coloring alone would be enough to give any sane gay guy palpitations. But the face ... oh, the face. Laurence had never seen anything like this newcomer before in his life, and he wondered if everyone wouldn’t pale in comparison afterward. There were men you’d call handsome, and some who trod the thin line between prettiness and androgyny. Yes, men of all flavors in between, but no one looked like a marble statue come to life, a fallen angel, a devil in disguise -- at least not all at once.

  No, no one could be that handsome, even dressed in a doe-colored suede leather vest with no shirt underneath, old jeans that looked to have been painted on, and well-fitted boots with a low heel. Marlboro Man, take me away. Have mercy! Laurence thought he should go to one knee, as if the man were some sort of royalty -- then realized he might really have had too much beer.

  He gave himself a mental shake. What are you, five? This man isn’t a prince of anything, and this is America, pal. You are a red-blooded male, and you do not kneel to anything unless there’s a cock presenting itself to be sucked. This is another bar-hopping club boy, and while he might be gorgeous, you don’t clean up too bad yourself. Stay put, boy. Ten to one he’s out that door in under fi
ve.

  As the man settled down on the barstool next to his, Laurence reflected that it was just as well he wasn’t a betting man. The dark angel gave him a playful elbow, as if they already were buddies and, when Laurence turned to him, gave him a cheerful grin.

  “Cold beer, I ask you.” He acted as if the idea were a big joke at Rocco’s expense. “Might as well serve it in a bottle and finish off the insult to hops everywhere.”

  “Keelan,” Rocco grunted, flipping his ever-present towel over one shoulder. “Been a while since one of you came in here. I’ve seen plenty of your cousins, but one of your true blood kin? You’re few and far between these days.”

  The man -- Keelan -- lifted his shoulders easily. “There are fewer of us with the freedom to choose our own lifestyles.” His voice revealed nothing more than casual camaraderie. “You know how family is.”

  “No,” Rocco said, “I don’t. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Oh, anytime.” Keelan gave Rocco a lazy grin, and right about then was when Laurence decided that, handsome or not, he didn’t like Keelan. Time to go investigate the bathrooms down the hall, then pick a different seat when he came back. Well, that was the plan.

  In reality, Keelan slipped an arm around Laurence’s waist and gave him a squeeze. That handsome face, turned to Laurence, held an edge of cruelty even under his friendly expression. Laurence stiffened.

  “Want to move your hand?” he asked politely. “Actually, let me rephrase that. Move your hand, or I’ll move it for you.”

  Keelan laughed. Damn him, the man even had a fine-sounding chuckle, like rich bronze bells chiming. He squeezed Laurence tighter. “And what will you do if I don’t budge an inch?” he breathed, pushing way more sex into those few syllables than should have been possible.

  Laurence’s shoulders stiffened -- but, incredibly, so did other parts of him. Down, boy! Damn thing didn’t listen to him. Then again, had it ever?

  “I think you’d like it if I stay right ... here.” Keelan slid his hand over one of Laurence’s ass cheeks, then applied some pressure.

  Laurence flinched. The touch of the man’s hand where no one had boldly ventured in a long time, in public no less, sent a definite message to points south. However, his momma hadn’t raised any fools.

  “Hands. Off,” he said with deliberate emphasis. “In case you made a mistake, I’m a man, not a tomato. Squeeze me one more time and you’re going to end up with beer in your lap.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you’d throw your drink on me.” Grip. “I think you might throw yourself at me, though.” To Laurence’s surprise, Keelan leaned in and bit at the fleshy part of his earlobe, the sudden hot sharpness sending bolts of excitement fizzing down below his waist. “Come on, now. Let’s you and me find a quiet corner somewhere, hmm?”

  Laurence found himself in two minds about the situation. One scenario involved him exclaiming things like, “God, yes!” and “Hallelujah!” While the other still ended with Keelan getting a beer bath.

  “Come on,” Keelan coaxed, kneading Laurence’s ass. “Are you in the closet? I don’t mind. Amour Magique is full of men like you. They’re all one big happy family on the dance floor, but for those of us who like a little privacy, there’s a thousand and one nooks where we can be alone. No one will ever see, and no one will ever know.” He bit Laurence’s ear a second time, then trailed the point of his tongue up the ridge of cartilage.

  Despite himself, Laurence gave a shuddering sigh.

  “You like the idea. I know you do.” Turning a little in his seat, Keelan brought his other hand around to rest atop the bulge in Laurence’s jeans. He pressed lightly, probably just enough to feel what was there springing back, eager to leap out in his hand, then he nuzzled Laurence’s temple. “What’s your name? Why don’t you tell me, strawberry? What kind of name fits a man who’s all red and white, like berries and --” He flickered his tongue over his lips. “-- cream?

  Rocco rumbled. “Keelan, you leave him alone. Laurence, you don’t have to do a damn thing he says.”

  “Oh, but I think he does,” Keelan crooned, pushing down again. Laurence heard a small moan and was embarrassed to realize he’d made the sound. “He wants to. Don’t you? Laurence.” Keelan raised his hand from Laurence’s aching groin and tickled his chin with one finger, pressing it into the cleft there as sensually as if he were stroking between the cleft of his ass. “Come and fall with me. It’s easy.”

  Laurence found that his throat had gone dry. He cleared it in an effort to speak. “No, uh, Alexander. Call me Alex.”

  The sparkle in Keelan’s eyes told him the other man knew he’d lied, but didn’t care. “What do you say, Alex?” He lowered his hand again, rubbing softly and heavily as a lion’s velvet paw over Laurence’s thigh. “I know a place where we can go.”

  Rocco loomed over the two of them, and Laurence had to admit, their bartender had loom down to an art form. “I said, you leave him alone. I know what kind of games you like to play, Keelan, and I don’t want Laurence having any part of them.”

  “Laurence, eh?” Keelan gave Laurence a sideways look, then assumed an air of innocence. “I thought it was Alex.”

  Laurence narrowed his eyes. Rocco had the grace to look embarrassed, then folded his arms across his chest. “Okay, I screwed up just then. But, Laurence, you don’t have to go anywhere with this guy.”

  Laurence hesitated, torn between half a dozen things -- the feeling of Keelan’s hands on his leg, the awareness of how handsome the man was, the sure certainty that if Rocco warned you off someone he should be warned off, more than a little indignation that Keelan seemed to think Laurence was his property to paw over and play with, and his body’s own veto overriding common sense. He licked his lips. “I’ll be all right. Give us part of an hour and I’ll be back. More beer and stories, right?”

  “Laurence ...” Rocco warned.

  Keelan made a small, satisfied noise, the sound of a cat who’d just caught his prey. To add to the illusion, he made a purring noise in the back of his throat. “Not quite an hour? You’re underestimating me.”

  Laurence turned to look this fallen Adonis straight in the eye. “Look, I’m not stupid, okay? You’re a hunk, you’re bored, and this is a way to pass the time. We have each other’s names, but I know that a quick fuck won’t mean we’ll want to pick out curtains with each other. Let’s not make this more than what it is, okay? Thirty minutes in a closet, a nook, whatever. Then we never see each other again.”

  Keelan frowned. “Now I think you underestimate yourself.”

  “Not really. This is a hookup, right? I’ve been here, done this. It’s all about sex, nothing more, and don’t try to tell me different.” Laurence shot out his hand and squeezed Keelan’s own erection through his tissue-soft jeans. “In an hour, you’ll have forgotten all about me.”

  Keelan’s eyes flared with something dark. “Somehow, I doubt that very much.”

  “You think I can give you something to remember?”

  “I know it for a fact. And you ... you’ll never forget me.”

  A pulse of electric energy passed between them, startling Laurence’s heart into beating faster. He swallowed. In the closet, out of it, thirty minutes with Keelan would make the whole trip to Amour Magique worthwhile. “Shall we go?”

  “Laurence, this is the last time I’m warning you.” Rocco leaned forward, interrupting the flow between the two men. “Don’t you go off with Keelan. He’s not a good man. Hell, he’s not a --”

  “That’ll do, Rocco.” Keelan raised a hand. Rocco’s mouth shut mid-word, but his eyes blazed. With a snort of outrage, he turned his back on them and set to washing the single dirty glass he had waiting for him. Laurence saw, however, that Rocco was watching them both in the mirror behind the bar.

  If he’d been thinking anything beyond sex, good, now, please, he might have taken a warning from the big man’s face. Rocco had been nothing but generous to Laurence, and a negative from him should have gone a long
way. However, Rocco’s displeasure paled by comparison in the face of Keelan’s breathtaking male beauty and the chance to have that promisingly large bulge unwrapped and shoved inside him.

  With his last coherent thought, Laurence figured it didn’t matter if he liked Keelan or not. Like had nothing to do with sex. They’d just be two bodies getting one another off. Thirty minutes in a closet. Thirty minutes to leave him sore and aching in all the best ways in all the best places.

  He slid off his bar stool and held a hand out to Keelan. “Let’s go,” he said roughly, ignoring all his better judgment.

  He thought he saw a silver gleam in Keelan’s eyes as the man looked down for a brief moment. Then those tempting lips were back at his ear. “There’s a place we can go,” he whispered. “Follow me. I’ll take you straight to heaven.”

  Chapter Three

  As Keelan led the mortal -- Laurence -- back toward the portal at the other end of the bar, he noticed two things: one, the man had good hands. Very good hands. Dry and strong, with long fingers that curled around Keelan’s in a solid grip. Secondly, he was aware of Rocco’s severe disapproval, but he shrugged that off as easily as rain from a sealskin cloak. What mattered the opinion of another human?

  Keelan couldn’t have cared less about the bartender’s censure and chose instead to focus on how the man seemed to approve of Laurence to the point of being protective. Aside from that, though, Rocco’s opinions were irrelevant. The man was not paid to say yea or nay to one of the Fey when he chose a night’s diversion from those who frequented Amour Magique. Keelan might have been one of the few elves who had a taste for his own sex, but there were plenty of brownies, jacks-in-iron, pixies, and boggarts who liked a bit of play.

  Rocco’s bar, “The Other End,” had been designed with the Fair Folk in mind, and if Keelan chose to amuse himself, it was well within his rights to select a toy. Thus, he didn’t bother to conceal his actions as he cast a touch of glamour over Laurence, feeding his new pet mortal a belief that they were walking out instead of further in.