Page 14 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
Interesting.
Joe pressed it back on Percy. “And you? What’s the daily life of an art historian like?”
Surprisingly bloody. “Oh, you know. Fairly dull. Inspect this, certify that. The occasional lecture.”
“Aha. But people call you about urgent art matters at four o’clock in the morning?”
Percy shrugged. “Paris,” he reiterated.
With a hint of jealousy simmering low, “They can’t account for time zones in Paris?”
He laughed softly, also buying time. “These things slip through the cracks, I suppose. But where in Italy did you grow up?”
“Rome.”
Now that was an outright lie. Quickly delivered, practiced, automatic. And intriguing. Joe clearly hadn’t yet grasped just how familiar Percy was with his home country. And he could easily have pushed, narrowed it down to the exact area and shoved a pin in that map, but Percy was a born liar. He understood there must have been some deep-seated necessity for that kind of deception. And all it served to do was make him twiceas drawn to Joe. He let him have his secret, pretending he hadn’t noticed. “It’s a beautiful city. I’d like to go there with you someday.”
Joe sent across a slightly sharp look that Percy couldn’t quite categorise. He then offered a half smile before looking down. “‘No dates’ is probably on our list of things to avoid. I assume that includes international getaways. So maybe we should strike that.”
It surprised Percy to be checked like that. Thrown off the Roman trail, sure, but off the boyfriend trail too? It was a worrying turn.
Joe carried on, “I’m sorry about the boyfriend stuff, before. Asking about personal things. I think you’re right that it’s a good rule. To stay away from that.”
Very worrying…
But Joe kept talking. “Maybe, instead, I should have said something like…” His cheeks bloomed pink, yet he soldiered on with an enticing waver in his voice, and a fast glance at Percy. “‘Hey, Fuckboy, that was a pretty hot blowjob back there.’”
Percy laughed, and his cock certainly made itself known, yet he tried his best to ignore it, playing it off with a casual jest. “You should have said that. Do you think you could say it again?”
Joe’s head turned with a wide, shy smile. “‘Hey, Fuckboy. I’ve been gay my whole life and never touched a dick. Can you imagine what it’s like for me being here with you right now?’”
That same intimacy seeped back into the air.
Joe shifted towards Percy. “Percy?—”
“Fuckboy,” Percy corrected.
“Fuckboy,” Joe laughed, before calming his voice to a more earnest tenor, “we won’t talk about anything you don’t want to talk about. You make the line clear in the sand, and I won’t cross it. But remember, I was your friend first, before any ofthis. I can’t switch those feelings off, and I won’t. I like you. Every bit of you, no matter how dark you think it all is. Not just because you’re great at sucking dick. Now, please, could you take off your shirt?”
Treacherous ground, shifting beneath the pair of them. The smart thing to do would be to put an end to it right here. “You take it off.”
Joe’s wine was placed on the bedside table with Percy’s, the cheeseboard followed, and Percy watched each of Joe’s movements with a curiosity equal to his anticipation.
Joe, lying as a mirror to Percy, touched a hand to his chest. He ran it over the shirt, feeling across Percy’s collar bone, then down over his pectoral muscles, with an ardent study that made Percy thankful he’d kept up his exercise regime.
Joe’s fingers glided to the top button, and he pushed it through its hole. He concentrated hard on each one, working slowly. Percy let him explore, wondering what he was thinking, but refusing to interfere. How much of it was because it was his first time? How much of it was because it was Percy?
Another button came loose, then another, and Joe pulled back the open portion of his shirt, his eyes devouring the masculinity beneath. He dragged them up to meet Percy’s, then with his hand on Percy’s cheek, kissed him. Kissed him like he’d just been taught, only a thousand times better. With all the passion of one man who adored another, who wanted him badly, unrestrainedly, and whose desire took Percy with him.
He pushed Percy back, straddled him, and ripped what was left of his shirt free. Percy arched to let him ease it over his shoulders, then he sat up and took hold of Joe’s top and wrenched it over his head. Finally, their two naked chests pressed together, burning skin on burning skin, until Joe pushed him back down, staring at his body with the sort of aweone reserves for their first walk on the moon. His fingers gripped Percy at the waist. “You have scars.”
Percy had been stabbed, shot, slashed, all in the past, but most recently, he’d had a warding symbol carved into his chest to prevent another demon possession. And Joe’s chest, opposite, bore the exact same scar, melded into his skin by the same hand. But Joe, like Percy, had more scars still. A slash across his shoulder. Long, red marks that peeked around the side of his ribs from across his back.
Battle scars, just the same as Percy’s.
“Do they hurt?” Joe whispered.
“Sometimes.”
