Fault Lines Box Set

By A.F. Henley

The fault lines that flaw the surface of our lives will sometimes break away the hard, unserviceable parts of us, revealing strengths that lead to a better existence. Occasionally, it can even lead to new love. This collection combines all six stories in A.F. Henley's best-selling MM romance series, Fault Lines, into one box set. Contains the stories: Coloring Outside the Lines: After moving to a small town, Rory has regrets. As his partner gets more distant, Rory feels time, happiness, and his career slipping away. After another argument, Rory ends up in a bar where he meets a beautiful, young local, Danny Weber. As their friendship grows, so do Rory's feelings, even though he's more than aware he's going to have to make a decision. A New Finish Line: When Gabe Devries loses his partner, he's not sure how to cope. Once again, he's destroyed a good thing. Jeff Rideau is an old friend, but he's also a psychologist, known Gabe since they were kids, and won't tolerate Gabe's posturing. If anyone can get Gabe and his ex back together, it's Jeff. Yet the longer Jeff tries, the more Gabe realizes that might not be what either of them want or need.

Straddling the Line: Scott Riley spent his childhood waiting for the day he could leave town, but that was until Sid's Tavern came up for sale. With a bit of money, a lot of hard work, and some help, Scott is confident he can make it successful. Lee Warner has a dark, but he's sober, hungry, and willing to try anything to change his life. Scott may be just the thing he needs. Too bad Scott's straight.

Crossed Lines: Aaron Fielde has no idea what love is, even though he's managed to fake it his entire life. A car accident leads him to Dante Hyako, heir to the Hyako hotel fortune, and while Dante is classy, sexy, and elicits feelings in Aaron that Aaron didn't think he was capable of, Aaron can't shake the feeling that something isn't right.

Realignment: Finally clean and out of jail, Blake is ready to find his ex and start over. Instead, he finds Lee with a new man. Connor is hoping that Blake's surprise arrival might provide the help he needs on his farm. As their unexpected attraction grows, Scott can only wonder what's going to happen when Connor's son Scott finds out he's the man Scott believes ruined his lover's life.

Waiting in Line: As Dante's assistant, Tristan isn't surprised when Dante asks him to travel along to a country wedding reception. Or that Gavin, Dante's security officer and Tristan's archenemy, is coming as well. Gavin is sexy and smart, but he drives Tristan crazy. However, as they start to learn a bit more about each other, Tristan isn't sure if the disgust he's been feeling for Gavin is really hate at all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Oct 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9781685508579

A.F. Henley

A.F. Henley is a Canadian author specializing in romance, universal intervention, and spiritual connection, who gets most of their ideas while jumping from site to site on the Internet. Comments, kudos, and special requests are all happily received at their website at afhenley.com.

Book preview

Coloring Outside the Lines

Chapter 1

Rory had been driving for a long time. Too long. Long enough that he was going to have to stop and fill up the tank again. Which pissed him off even more than he already was. Not only was he going to have to try and find the gas station in this godforsaken countryside--as his cell phone was long dead and, did he bring his charger? No, of course he didn't, that would have required forethought and planning--but he was also going to have to stand out in the rain, for the second time that evening. It also meant that he'd already blown through the last tank of gas with nothing to show for it but worn tires and a slightly lighter wallet.

The windshield wipers swiped at the rain in an endless battle for clarity against distorted vision and wobbly perception. Yet as dreary as the night beyond the window was, Rory had no intentions of heading home. Not yet. Maybe never. Because if he had to listen to Gabe go on for even one single second longer about the goddamn dent in the goddamn car, his head was going to explode. There were times when it got too hard to shut out Gabe's incessant nagging, especially those times when it was the nine hundredth thing that day that Gabe had found to bitch about. Besides, what right did Gabe have to go off about it anyway? The car belonged to him, not Gabe. Rory had bought it, and Rory had paid for it. Just like he'd paid for eighty percent of the things they owned--including the house that he was currently not able to enjoy because Gabe was in there acting like a Big Fucking Man.

Rory tried to shake off the rant gathering inside his head. He took a deep breath. He pulled together his negative thoughts and told them they were banished behind the paywall of consciousness. When his internal monologue was starting to sound like the very rant he'd left behind, it was time for some thought-control. It wasn't Gabe's fault that their income levels weren't even. A little appreciation would be nice, though. A little gratitude. Anything, really, other than the distinct pleasure of listening to a forty-five-minute speech about how he wasn't grateful for anything Gabe did. About how he had no respect for property--and how Gabe gave and gave and gave and all he ever did was take. If Rory had thought for a moment that he could best the man, Rory would have considered drilling Gabe in the jaw.

And that's enough of that, Rory whispered, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as if it was the car putting the thoughts into his mind and it needed to be punished. But gently, of course. God forbid he cause any more damage. He shook his head. I said, 'be gone,' thought devil. Get thee back from whence thou came.

If he dwelled on it, which he did--far too often and in too much depth--Rory wasn't surprised by the ways things were turning out. Not really. It had been Gabe's outrageous demeanor and irreverent attitude that drew Rory's attention in the first place. At one time, that ignorant mouth of Gabe's had been funny. Gabe's insolent outlook had seemed bold and strong and exciting. The way Gabe considered himself to be on the same level as everyone--superiors, authority figures, especially people that were better off than he was--had been so different to anything Rory had known growing up, that Gabe had seemed like an anarchist superhero. Being with Gabe had made Rory feel whole, as if Gabe had given Rory back that slice of personality that school, religion, and parents had strangled out of him. Gabe had made Rory believe they could take on the world.

At one time.

Rory shook his head again, harder this time, and sighed dramatically as he turned onto Main Street, toward the gas station. The tiny canal town seemed blanketed in silence. People slept, they watched their TV sets, they fucked. Not him, though. Sleep was a luxury for the peaceful minded. Instead, he was about to go out into the rain and get soaked to the skin, just so he could keep driving and sulking.

It wasn't until Rory was already out of the car, shivering stoically in the wet night, brow bent into a frown of distaste and hand poised to grasp the handle, that he realized the lights on the pump were out. He looked up at the little building that boasted gasoline, dew worms, and lottery tickets, and clicked his tongue in annoyance. Really? At nine o'clock? How could an establishment that sold gasoline--the only place within literal miles, in fact--be closed already?

With a growl more feral than the situation called for, Rory got back into the car and slammed the door behind him. Great. Just fucking great. He had enough gas to get home fine, but that meant the end of driving for the night. He'd expected to ride out the hours, sneaking in well after Gabe had gone to bed, and now what? Now he had to go back?

He stared through his windshield in defeat while Main Street sparkled through the glass. Buildings, roadway, and sidewalks twisted and streaked through the onslaught of rain. He tried to imagine Fred Astaire gleefully dancing. He conjured up mental images of happy little toads in bright yellow raincoats. And none of it worked to elevate his mood. His lip remained curled. He had no doubt that his gaze was as dark as the starless sky above him. Good God, but he hated this dead little town. Sunridge, population 5,428. And they all went to bed at eight P.M., apparently.

The only light Rory could see, save for the streetlights and occasional flicker from the apartments above the darkened shops, was a convenience store down the road and a tavern. The tavern sat on the corner where Main Street intersected with the only other major road in town. He'd seen it before--slightly seedy, worn-out wooden siding and ancient stained-glass windows, handwritten signs and a bulletin board with community events on it--and never once been inspired to go in. Tonight, though, the lights called to him, offering warmth, people, food. The word, though merely thought, made Rory's stomach grumble. Dinner hadn't yet been a consideration when Gabe had started the argument. While the convenience store would offer sustenance, the tavern would offer something better than three-day-old egg salad or air-hardened donuts. It would have hot food. And it would have alcohol. Lots of it. It would be just as easy to pull off a couple of hours pondering the scratched surface of a bar as it would be driving.

Rory pulled back out onto the road and found a spot directly in front of the building. Parking was not at a premium on the sleepy street, but even without a full house, the neon signs still beckoned through the front window and the place looked relatively functional. Sid's Tavern, as the sign so casually boasted, would do the job.

He expected country music, so he was mildly surprised to be met with the muted sounds of classic rock. A football game played soundlessly on a screen above the bar, a jukebox piped the music, and he only got a single scowl when he walked in. It was, however, accompanied by an approach.

Evening. A heavy set, watery-eyed man flicked the toothpick in his mouth and nodded at Rory. You got some ID on you?

Rory frowned. Yes, he looked young, he'd give the cranky cowboy that, but he didn't look young enough to be asked for ID. He knew what the man was really asking: you from around here? He fished out his license, as it was easier than arguing, and handed it to the wanna-be-bouncer, doing his best not to appear too annoyed and at the same time, internally reciting the mantra he thought every time he had to hand over identification--please, please don't know me. Not that he imagined this good-old-boy would. He wasn't really the type most often seen in Rory's group of fans. Still, that was the last thing in the world Rory needed at that moment. All he was interested in was anonymity and peace.

You buy the old Marshall place?

The man's question didn't register right away because Rory had been scanning the room. It was a habit of his that was part instinct, part lesson learned. Know your space, know where the exits are, and know who's around you. Years of living in the city had taught Rory more than he needed to know about people. More than that, though, Rory saw stories in everybody he saw and more often than not those people and those stories ended up tucked between the pages of something along the way. One never knew where one's next hero might come from.

In this setting, an older woman sat at the end of the bar, her plump buttocks enfolding the stool on which she perched as she attended pleasantly to the drunk beside her. The drunk, perhaps her date, watched the game on the television with a sloppy yet still somehow impatient expression. A young couple sat in a booth at the back of the room with their hands locked, gazes only for one another. A bartender wiped glasses exactly as one might expect a bartender to do in such an establishment, his meticulous care a little overdone in the venue. Two tall men discussed the game of pool laid out on the felt in front of them and Rory took a longer look to assess the pair...no, definitely straight. Definitely.

Hey, buddy. You still with me?

Rory forced his mind back to the man and the man's fistful of his ID. Yeah. Rory confirmed, keeping his words slow and his tone deadpan, just like good ol' wanna-be's. The old Marshall place on Burke. Nice spot. Glad we moved. Love the country. What was a lie between friends, after all?

The man nodded. Yup. Nice place. Good spot there. Dry and sturdy. You and your wife'll be happier than a tornado in a trailer park.

A familiar prickle ran up Rory's spine at the audacity of the man's assumption--that backwoods mentality that said we automatically meant he and she. But now was not the place to soapbox, not with nowhere else to go, and it was definitely not the time. Not with those two dudes keeping a steady eye on the two of them as they held their sturdy-looking pool cues ever so expertly in their strong, rugged fingers. Rory smiled coldly and brushed by. Yep, I suppose we will.

Hey, you--Rory!

He jumped at his name and turned back.

Don't forget your license.

Rory palmed the card and picked a spot at the bar as far away as possible from the rest of the patrons. He considered ordering a shot of rye, frowned at the choices lined up in front of the mirror, and then debated on the thickly dusted bottle of cognac. Sure, alcohol and age, but dust mites? Spiders? He winced and ordered a beer.

He took a second glance around the bar, using the mirror behind the liquor bottles, and that was when he noticed the pretty black-haired kid tucked into a small table beside the jukebox. He had his chair propped back against the wall, one leg bent with his foot on the seat, the other against the leg of the table for balance, defying gravity and suggesting that slippery floors could go ahead and make his day. He appeared to be asleep, eyes closed, not moving, but as if the kid heard Rory's assumption and wanted to clarify, he suddenly shot straight up, dropping the front legs of the chair to the floor with a bang, and stood. He slipped around the jukebox in a move so fluid it could have been a dance step and grinned at the approaching pool player. At the same time, the kid dropped another series of coins into the machine before the other customer could get there. The kid was obviously not in the mood for country.

The bartender followed Rory's line of sight and scowled at the boy punching in his selections. Sorry 'bout the tunes, friend.

Rory chuckled. Me? No, no worries. I don't mind rock. Rory watched the bartender stare down at the kid, who was turned away from both of them and seemed to not even feel the daggers being glared into his back. I take it you do?

The bartender shrugged, dragging the towel off his shoulder to wipe the surface of the bar. His gaze never left the young man's back. Rory would have loved to indulge in the same liberty. It was a nice back--slim but square, with small but shapely muscles inside a shirt as tight as a second skin. Dark hair hung to the middle of the kid's spine, and it swayed like a length of silk every time the kid moved. Rory did his best not to acknowledge the ass that looked like it belonged in a Levi's promo, or the long legs beneath it. Youth came with its blessings, most certainly. He just didn't need the entire bar to know that he considered such an ass to be a blessing.

Nah, it's not the music that makes me sour, the bartender growled as he reached for the cash Rory dropped. I can't like his kind.

Rory frowned and tilted his head. Sorry?

The bartender snorted and lifted his hand, effeminately dangling his fingers. "You know...his kind."

Rory picked up his beer and took a long pull, trying to wash down the words threatening to bubble out of his throat. He set the bottle back down on the bar. He swallowed hard. He almost thought he'd controlled it, too, until the bartender grinned conspiratorially, as if the two of them were sharing a secret joke. Nope. He wasn't going to be able to do it. Well, I don't think you need to worry too much, darling. I'm pretty sure he's not interested in you.

The bartender's smile faded, and Rory nodded as the man spun and walked away. Under his breath, Rory added, Dick.

He turned his attention to his license, flipping it back to front as he reached for his wallet. Not a totally shitty picture, but then he usually took a half decent one. Thirty-three years old and, on a good day, he was still mistaken for mid-twenties. He kept his face clean shaven, like most of his body, and tried to keep himself in shape. Gabe would say that's because Rory had way too much time on his hands, but Rory knew it was because he actually gave a damn about trying to keep his partner happy. Conceited, Gabe would say. Proud, Rory would say back. Self-important, Gabe would counter. Self-appreciative, Rory would snap.

Rory winced at their imagined disagreement. The fact that it would happen just like that said so much about their differences that it wasn't even funny. No matter what Rory did, no matter how hard he tried, Gabe could always find a way to make it seem wrong--as though Rory had an ulterior motive for everything he ever did.

The green eyes on the plastic permit stared back at him, emotionless. Who are you, Rory Finch, he asked it silently. What are you? Not what everybody thinks, that's for damn sure. Do you even know anymore? Do you remember?

He breathed out a heavy sigh and tossed the license on the bar.

Whoa, spoke a voice that was surprisingly close. Am I invited to your pity party?

Rory looked up and blinked into a set of eyes that were as blue as...well, the last time he'd seen something that blue had been when he was a child. His family had been vacationing out on the west coast. A storm had been brewing, and though the sky had been dark and angry, the sea below it had been the coolest, most exotic, sapphire blue Rory had ever seen. He'd been so moved by it that he'd written a long poem bestowing the sight when he got back home; he'd won a prize for it even. His very first writing commendation.

The young man from the jukebox pulled over a barstool and sat beside him. I do love a good party. You like to party, Rory?

Rory bristled at the familiarity, instantly on guard, and the kid laughed. He motioned to the man beside the door who was talking amicably with a new customer. The two at the door could have been twins, right down to their heavy rubber boots and flannel jackets. Stan called you Rory earlier.

Oh, yeah. That's me. Rory drained his beer, using every bit of willpower he had not to let his gaze flick back to the pretty kid while said kid slumped over the bar. Instead, Rory motioned for the bartender to grab him another bottle.

The two of them waited in silence for the bartender to set down the beer, Rory's jaw tightening when it was placed just a little harder than it needed to be. The kid smirked at the small spew of foam that bubbled up through the opening and slid down the bottle and a butterfly took flight in Rory's belly. Blushing, for reasons he could not explain, Rory used his thumb to wipe the froth from the bottle and took a drink.

Oh, Sid, the young man chirped. I'll take one of those, too, please.

When the kid began to fumble through his pockets, Rory thrust a twenty towards the glowering bartender. Here. For both.

Rory ignored the raised eyebrow and look of distaste Sid shot at him, and he also chose to ignore the fact that his change for the bill never came. He couldn't help but think he should've picked a spot closer to the television set. It would have given him someplace to put his attention other than the mirror across the bar, because try as he might to keep his gaze elsewhere, it kept trailing back to the reflection of the young man whose own attention never stopped wandering. One minute the kid was watching the ever-changing colors radiating from the jukebox, the next he was grinning, obviously amused with the older couple at the end of the bar who were now arguing. Seconds later he was staring in bored resignation at the TV screen.

Pretty, Rory decided. Pretty like twink-in-a-porn-vid pretty, like Japanese manga pretty, like hopefully-not-so-young-as-to-get-ones-self-arrested-for-buying-him-alcohol pretty. The expression in the mirror had broken into a grin, a grin that widened when Rory realized he was staring and quickly looked away.

So, the kid said, drumming his fingertips on the bar. You like football?

Rory shrugged. It's all right, I guess. He lifted his beer again and the kid followed his lead. They sat in awkward silence until Rory felt uncomfortable. How about you?

Nah. I hate it.

Okay, I'll bite then. Why are you watching if you hate it?

The kid lowered his voice and leaned in. He wiggled his eyebrows. I love the way the players asses look in their uniforms.

Rory shook his head and looked away so quickly, he thought his neck would snap. Had that been flirting? Was the kid flirting? What had he started? What was he even doing buying a kid a beer in a bar, anyway? Or starting up a chit-chat? Being stupid, that's what he was doing.

You okay?

No, Rory was not okay. He was a creepy pervert that had been checking out a young man in a bar who had to be what, half his age? Give or take a year or two? When he had a partner sitting back at home? He was going to hell and hell was not okay.

Rory said none of that. Instead, Why? Should I not be okay?

The boy shrugged and made a sound that could have been an I don't know and stuck out his hand. I'm Danny, by the way. Danny Weber. Thanks for the beer.

He wasn't going to reach for it, but he couldn't very well leave the kid hanging there with his hand out. That would be rude. Besides, it was just a handshake. It wasn't like they were trading spit. He reached out and shook Danny's hand. Nice to meet you. By the way, since I did in fact buy the beer, I should probably ask, are you even old enough to drink?

Danny flourished at the bartender. They served me, didn't they?

Yeah, maybe they don't know.

Dude. Danny rolled his eyes. Everybody knows everyone and everything in this town. He reached into his pants pocket and slapped a worn wallet on the bar.

Hunh. That was a much faster finding-of-the-wallet than it was five minutes ago.

Danny flipped open the wallet and slid it towards him. Of course. You've already paid for the beer. He tapped the plastic window with the ID behind it. See? Just as pretty in picture as real life. He immediately picked up his wallet and peered at it. Damn. Why am I not on TikTok? I could make a fortune with thirst traps. So, what do you think of the place?

Rory shook his head. What? Which? The app, the bar, or Sunridge itself?

Danny shrugged. Whichever.

Rory studied the young man's face for a minute. I'm not on it. The bar sucks. Sunridge isn't much better.

Danny's grin deepened. Dude, I hear you.

For some reason, that seemed to inspire Danny into conversation. And not just casual what-do-you-think-of-this-weather talk, but full on chatter as though they were old friends recently reunited. Danny cheerfully filled Rory in on the sordid details of everyone in the bar: the couple at the bar, third marriage-recovery attempt after affairs on both sides; the cowboys at the pool table, caught poaching last year on the wild game reserve forty minutes out of town; Stan, the man who'd stopped Rory at the door, was on his second DUI charge and known to be a little heavy-handed; and Sid, who managed to keep the doors of the bar open throughout the pandemic using nothing more than sheer willpower and glass-polishing but ending up way too close to broke for comfort.

Interesting bunch of people you got here, Rory remarked and motioned for the bartender again. That second beer had gone down quite nicely, though Danny's sat in front of him, mostly untouched. Danny seemed far more content to chat than drink.

Sid stepped up, shaking his head at Rory's request. We're closing up, boys.

Rory glanced at his watch. You're closing at ten?

Game's done, so we are, too. Not enough business to keep the lights on tonight.

Rory rolled his eyes at Danny. My list of things to dislike about this town continues to grow. He sighed and slid off the stool. See you around, Danny. Thanks for the conversation.

Rory tugged on his jacket, still damp from the rain, and dug for his keys. He watched in amusement as Danny stood and deftly slipped the almost-full beer inside his hoodie. Danny smirked at Rory and gave him a wink. I'll walk out with you.

Out on the sidewalk, the rain had slowed but a cold wind had rolled in, putting a bite in the air that hadn't been there before. Rory tucked up his collar and stared through the dampness at his waiting car. The car with the dent. The dent that had caused the argument. The argument with the boyfriend back home...and he clicked his tongue in annoyance. He really didn't want to go home yet. The two beers had not brought a strong enough buzz to fall into a soundless sleep and ignore the blah, blah, blah that was waiting, and no way was it late enough for Gabe to be in bed yet.

Danny slapped Rory's shoulder. What's wrong? You look like you've swallowed a mouthful of cat piss.

What? No, that's...no. Just a bad night.

Danny's expression brightened. Hey! I've got an idea! Why don't you come up to my place? I don't have beer, but I've got some weed.

Rory laughed. Good God, how long had it been since he'd smoked weed? Years. It had been years. I don't think so. Do I look like a teenager to you?

Uh, no offence, Rory, but no, you sure don't. However, not only teenagers indulge, my friend. After all, as already noted, I am twenty-one and still choose to enjoy Nature's herbal temperament manager.

Ooh, Rory exaggerated, right! Twenty-one! I almost forgot. You're practically an old man!

Danny narrowed his eyes. Not as old as you, old man. Come on, it'll be fun. You look like you could use some fun.

Rory paused and took a hard look at the young man beside him. Goddamn, if it had been two years ago, it would have never crossed Rory's mind not to go. He would have jumped at the chance. So much had changed, and not necessarily for the better.

I heard what you said in the bar.

The drop of Danny's voice and the press of body as Danny moved closer, inspired all kinds of dirty thoughts in Rory's mind. He had to clear his throat before he responded. What exactly did you think you heard?

You know, what you said to Sid. About me not being interested in him. He paused, seemingly gauging Rory closely. I thought...maybe...you might be.

What? Interested in Sid?

Danny laughed, dropping his seductive expression for a lighter, brighter one. Yeah, sure. Totally. I know he puts me in the mood every damn time. He paused, still smiling, then continued, Come up. Whatever chased you outside on a night like this, whatever has you so pissy, it's not missing you right now.

No, Rory supposed Gabe was certainly not missing him at the moment, and Rory had to admit that he wasn't exactly missing Gabe either. But that was just now. The light of tomorrow would change all that back. They would eventually get over the bickering. They had to. Nobody wanted to live a life in constant chaos. It was just stress. I...well, I actually live with someone. Thank you for the offer, though.

So? I didn't ask you to marry me. I asked you to come up and burn one with me. Danny shrugged when Rory frowned at him. I get it. You're not interested. That's cool. But that doesn't mean you need to run off. Bar's closed. Nothing else is open. Come up and relax. Again, Danny paused. Again, he seemed to assess. Or go home and deal with your thing. It's your choice.

Rory watched Danny move away, but he didn't go far. The door to what Rory assumed was Danny's apartment was less than six feet from the bar's entrance. Rory looked at his car, then into the night sky. He cursed the thought that had him rooted to the sidewalk instead of walking away--the one that told him he'd probably be pretty damn comfortable sitting in Danny's apartment instead of driving through the rain. It was that same thought that was telling him it was okay to go up because it's not like he was planning on doing anything. He was a grown man, in control of his body and his emotions, and there was not a damn thing wrong with sitting in another man's home and watching TV.

Yeah, right.

As if to add fuel to that fire, his stomach growled angrily. The beer had been too inviting, the conversation too amusing, and he'd forgotten all about ordering food.

Danny looked back and grinned. I have frozen pizza.

Rory sighed at the smirking man leaning against the door. Fine, then. But only because you have pizza.

* * * *

Chapter 2

The apartment was exactly what Rory would have expected from a twenty-one-year-old man living on his own. Posters, in a genre-bending mishmash that encompassed everything from old punk to glam rock, were the only art that adorned the walls, but they were literally everywhere. In the bathroom while he peed, Rory even had the pleasure of staring at the cigarette-dangling image of Slash. Interesting choice for a young gay man, he told it, though it was hard to argue with the image's sex appeal.

The space wasn't entirely disgusting. It had an aura of attempted tidiness, but it was tidiness that masked a lot of grunge. Dust bunnies gathered copiously in corners, a couple of days' worth of dishes sat hardening in the kitchen sink, and the space had a lived-in scent that could not be considered pleasant. It was, however, quickly replaced by the aroma of cheese and pepperoni once the pizza went in the oven. A small television mumbled through the dialog of an unknown program, too quiet to hear what it was about.

Danny set the barely touched beer he'd filched from the bar on the coffee table. Here. You can have this. I'm not much of a drinker.

Rory pushed away the bottle. That's all right, you go ahead and finish. He offered Danny a smile and a quirked eyebrow. I have no idea where your mouth has been.

Your choice. Danny pulled a baggie out of his side table and began the process of rolling. So, tell me something. What moved you out here? If you hate the town so much?

Rory instantly regretted passing on the bottle; he would have liked to have something to fiddle with. I don't know. I thought it would be a good spot to work, I guess. He paused, waiting for the oh really, what do you do, and when it didn't come, he wasn't sure if he was relieved or offended. How about you? Have you lived here for long?

Danny lifted the paper and began to form a narrow tube. Yep. Forever. And I literally mean forever, all the way back to the start. My grandfather's grandfather's grandfather, that kind of thing. He brought the joint to his mouth and dragged his tongue across the length of it.

The action inspired Rory to drop his eyes so he could squash the butterfly waking in his stomach again and force away the new and unreasonable desire to morph into a joint. You like it here?

It's all right. I know everybody. They know me. Danny dropped the joint on the coffee table and stood, raising his voice as he walked to the kitchen. Nobody hassles me too much.

Metal tins clattered and an oven door slammed. Cupboard doors opened and closed with a bang each time. The smell of pizza intensified as Danny returned with a beaten-up pizza tray and roll of paper towel. Angrily, Rory's stomach reminded him that he was starving, yet as he went for the pan, it was yanked out of his reach. Hey!

Weed first. Pizza after.

Rory shook his head. No. I can't. Seriously, you go ahead.

Nuh-uh, that wasn't the deal. Danny picked up the joint and placed it between his lips, then tried fruitlessly to fish his lighter out of the front pocket of his too-tight jeans. He finally had to resort to straightening his back and lifting his hips so he could slide his hands in.

Rory found himself settling into the corner of the couch, almost without conscious thought. Danny was so slim that his hips rose like blades beneath the denim. His T-shirt slipped up and displayed skin so pale, it probably glowed in the dark, which was a sharp contrast to the thin trail of dark hair that began below his belly button and snaked out of sight below the jeans. Rory couldn't help but imagine his own hand sliding into the jeans as well. Much higher than pocket level, of course, up by that tightly curled belly button, between skin and fabric, reaching past the trail of dark hair, and sinking deeper...

Shaking his head, Rory shifted on the couch and forced his eyes back to the television and his mind out of the gutter. As an afterthought, he reached for the beer. Fuck it. No matter where the kid's mouth may or may not have been, Rory needed to wet his throat.

Ah-ha! Danny gleefully held up his lighter, sliding back into a seated position. He flicked it and held the flame against the end of the paper.

Rory would have sworn that he was going to stick to his plan and decline the joint when it was offered. He didn't, though. The moment Danny passed it, Rory accepted it. If nothing else, it gave him something to focus on other than thoughts of lithe young bodies and men who weren't Gabe. While the pizza had made the room smell amazing, the combined smell of the weed and the pizza was like stepping back in time, and with the lack of airflow in the apartment, the air was thick with it. Even if Rory hadn't taken tentative sips on the joint, the haze that surrounded them would have been enough for a lightweight like him.

The pizza sat on the table in front of them, all but forgotten. With his head back, Rory watched the overly bright cartoon characters flash and mumble on the television. Danny turned towards him, giving him a slow, small smile. Danny's eyelids were heavy, his eyes glassy. Feel better?

Rory attempted a shrug that didn't really happen, but it was his best attempt at an answer. He wasn't sure how he felt. Tired, weighted, disconnected--but in a warm, comfortable kind of way.

So, did you quit? Danny asked, holding Rory's gaze.

Rory frowned, confused. Quit? Smoking? Eating? What...?

Working. Writing. Are you done for good or what?

Rory's foggy mind tried to grasp what Danny was saying. While his muscles felt listless and his thoughts were registering at the speed of a snail, his heart was suddenly racing.

The silence lingered while Rory tried to form words, then Danny inched closer. His voice was soft when he spoke. I know you.

Rory felt his already quickened heartbeat speed up. He thought of heart attacks and strokes, and tried to control the panic he could feel surfacing.

Danny nodded at Rory's lack of reply. I have all six, you know. I even bought the last one.

Even if he had known it was coming, Rory wouldn't have been able to control his response. He flinched, pulling back, already hating where the conversation was going. It was time to leave--if he could make his legs work.

I'm right, aren't I? R. Finch? Danny leaned back, no doubt giving the retreating Rory space, but Rory could still feel the weight of his gaze. You look younger in person than in your pictures. I guess that's a good thing. Not that I take issues with older looking men. Old guys are hot.

Rory's mind prodded him to respond, to stand up, to do something, but his body chose to ignore the prompts.

Have you become one of those recluses or something? Or have you given up altogether? Is it because of the last one? Or is it something else? I mean, I guess it could be the boyfriend. And you're new around here, so it could have been the move, too. But four years is a long time for you. Danny's face was inquisitive, but kind. Kinder than his next comment. And that last book was pretty bad.

Rory groaned and turned his head, then had to wait for his eyes to catch up with the movement. Fuck you, kid, it wasn't pretty bad, Rory wanted to say. It had sold well enough. Not as good as his earlier ones, no, but not every book could be a bestseller. Not every book had to be the next great American novel.

Fuck this. Rory wasn't sure if he said it out loud or not, but if he hadn't, he meant to. He sat up, then had to grab the coffee table to steady himself.

Wait! Danny squeaked. Don't leave! I didn't mean it. Danny paused, then chuckled as if he couldn't help himself. Actually, I did. Seriously, man, and only because I'm a true fan. It was bad.

Rory sent Danny the most withering look he could manage, but he remained seated and silent. He refused to validate the kid's pontification--the smug little shit.

Okay, okay. I'll stop. Sorry. So, you are working on something, then? Can you tell me what it's about? Maybe even read some?

Rory clicked his tongue and shook his head, and that seemed to get his voice working again. His speech was slow, but at least it was coming out. You know...you're ballsy. But do explain...please do...why you would ever think I'd start gabbing about plots or characters with someone who just told me my work is shit? Obviously, my talent doesn't...measure up to your oh, so high and mighty requirements. His voice sounded more wounded than he had hoped it would; it sounded downright pouty.

Danny set his hand on Rory's thigh. He slowly ran it up and down, soothing Rory like a child. Or a dog. "Not true. I am literally your biggest fan."

Rory raised his eyebrow. "Lucky me. My biggest fan is my harshest critic who has the sudden need to tell me, now that I'm drugged in his apartment. Are you sure your name isn't Annie Wilkes?"

Danny tilted his head, seemingly processing the statement. Uh, yeah, no. I don't know what that means. But haven't you heard that you always hate the one you love? Or, is it love the one you hate? I can never remember which way that saying goes. He tugged Rory's pant leg and leaned closer. Don't take offense. It's nothing you haven't heard before. I know, I read the reviews, too. So...please?

Rory snorted. He shrugged half-heartedly. Begging won't make any difference. And I'm not about to start sharing story ideas with some stranger. That would be all kinds of stupid on my part. He wasn't sure when Danny had stopped petting his leg and slipped the hand up to his shoulder, but he was very aware that Danny was now pressed against him. A pleasant, cozy sensation was doing its best to rise over the annoyance and it was only partially inspired by the weed. It had been too long since someone had shown any interest in him, let alone his work. God knew Gabe couldn't care less about it.

The thought of Gabe brought a small smirk to Rory's face. If Gabe could see him now, legs stretched out under the coffee table, head back against the couch, with an undeniably attractive young fan pushed up against him, Gabe would lose his damn mind. Surprisingly, that thought didn't scare him in the least. Instead, it sent a thrill through his core and a rant through his mind: Fuck you, Gabe. Fuck you and your ignorant, self-important bullshit.

Rory closed his eyes and chuckled at how easy it was to say all that internally. Amusement quickly became startled when he opened his eyes, though. Danny's face was far too close, and before Rory could react, Danny's lips were pressed against his own. He could taste the flavored rolling paper on Danny's lips and the smoke on Danny's breath. The kiss was soft, Danny's lips were smooth, and Rory had to fight off the urge to press his tongue between Danny's lips. Instead, he groaned, and pulled away. Fortunately, Rory didn't try that hard and Danny merely responded with more pressure, sliding his hand to the back of Rory's neck. Danny's fingers seemed charged with electricity. They drew trills of sensations that started in Rory's neck but ended south of Rory's belly. No calluses roughened the pads of Danny's fingertips, and he brushed his fingertips back and forth slowly and gently. Rory could feel himself responding even as he pushed Danny back, with effort this time. I can't, I told you. I live with someone. We don't...we have...like rules and stuff. This would be a no-no.

Oh, yeah? Danny brushed his lips against Rory's chin. Where's he at then? He rested his lips against Rory's jaw. While you're hiding in the rain? While you're up here?

Rory considered making something up. It would be easy enough to do--out with friends, out of town, family emergency--but he couldn't come up with the effort to try. Besides, it was getting increasingly difficult to manage thought. The way that Danny was kissing him, the way Danny's smooth face kept brushing against his own, even the way Danny's breath had quickened and was streaming against Rory's skin, was the world's greatest distraction. Those remarkable sensations, coupled with the weed, had Rory light-headed and blissfully high.

Danny slid close again and this time pressed his lips against Rory's neck. When Danny pushed his hand up Rory's shirt, Rory didn't stop him. In a move that was contrary to everything Rory's mind was trying to scream at him, Rory put his arms around Danny. As if Danny had been waiting for that move, Danny swung his leg and straddled Rory's lap. Danny's weight, resting on top of Rory, was almost too much to fight against.

Rory trailed his hands up Danny's spine, then slid the curtain of dark hair from Danny's back so that it fell over Danny's shoulder. He kissed Danny's neck, then his jaw, his cheekbone and his ear, until their mouths came back together again. This was how Rory remembered sex in the years before Gabe: long moments of slow, easy touch and the sweet, ticklish sensation of mouth and hands. Gabe wasn't really into that kind of thing. Gabe was hard and fast and furious. It was nice to slow down and feel again. It was an erotic connection that went well beyond dick in hole, this thrill of touching and being touched, that Rory hadn't even realized until now that he missed.

And it had to stop. It had to stop right then and there. It was already too close to being too late. Okay, hold on, Rory whispered. We need to slow down. Yet even as the words came out of his mouth, Rory's hands dropped, the rebels that they were, falling to Danny's hips and pulling Danny closer.

Danny groaned and arched his back. "What we need is to stop thinking so much." He crossed his arms in front of him, grasped the hem of his shirt, and pulled it over his head.

It had been a while since Rory had seen skin that perfect and he caught his breath. Gabe had beautiful muscles, wide shoulders, and a pelt of hair on his chest that one couldn't help but dig their fingers into. But where Gabe was earth and autumn tones, Danny was winter--carved ice, smooth alabaster, unblemished marble. The few dark hairs that circled Danny's nipples served only to make the skin underneath them seem that much fairer. Rory couldn't stop himself from touching, and it was as though Danny's skin provided the electrical charge that woke Rory up. Once woken, Rory's body refused to let him disengage from it, drawing from Danny's skin the vitality he'd been starving for. Rory touched everything: chest, nipples, belly, mapping it all while Danny watched, offering Rory full access to every inch of his half naked body.

The flow of sensation skipped to a stop, though, when Danny pulled at the hem of Rory's shirt. He knew that if he allowed Danny to remove his shirt, if he let skin meet skin, there would be no way to turn back. He caught Danny's hand. Bad idea.

Danny reached for Rory's face and stroked his thumb over Rory's jaw. You're over-thinking, Danny chided. You know, they say it makes for bad writing.

Rory narrowed his eyes. Oh, well, thanks for the insight, professor. He caught Danny's lower lip between his own, gently securing it. His voice was a low, sarcastic growl against delicate skin. How did I ever manage up until now without your input? He let go, then pulled away. He slid Danny off his lap. But we're done with this.

Wait, I--

No. Rory stood. I'll be right back.

I didn't mean to offend you!

You didn't. I promise. I'm just not...we're not...this can't happen.

Rory walked to the bathroom. He stood over the toilet, peed, and stared at Slash's reflection. He shook his head at Slash's silent rebuke. It was just some fooling around, he told it. Just a little bit of fun, nothing happened.

As expected, the poster didn't respond, but Rory felt the weight of judgment anyway. He washed his hands, and stared at his reflection while he rinsed. It really was fine. Everything was super fine. He hadn't done anything that could get himself in trouble. No, he shouldn't go around kissing and touching people, but it's not like they had sex. They didn't even suck each other's dicks. Hell, there wasn't even any dick involved. And yeah, he probably wasn't going to run home and tell Gabe all about it, but that didn't mean anything. He was just a bit stoned. Danny was super cute. He just had to keep his hands to himself.

And his lips.

He shifted his gaze back to the poster and nodded at it. See? I'm good. As an afterthought, he blew the poster a kiss on his way out. Put that where you want it.

Danny was perched at the end of the couch, both legs up, with a slice of pizza in his hand. His chest was still bare. Who you talking to?

Your poster.

Danny nodded appreciatively, Excellent taste.

Rory watched in fascination as Danny pushed nine-tenths of a pizza slice into his mouth. Hungry?

Starving! You?

As a matter of fact, yes, Rory said. He sat down, leaving the entire length of the couch between them. If you'll recall, that's what I came up here for.

Danny rolled his eyes and motioned to the pizza tray. Okay, if you say so.

* * * *

Chapter 3

The car was cold. The rain had returned with a fury, leaving everything miserable and soaked. The wipers barely cleared the windshield before Rory was struggling to see through it again. He jabbed at the button to speed up the swipe, but they were already working at full speed.

It was one-thirty in the morning. He was pretty sure that had given him plenty of time to ensure Gabe was sleeping. Still, it annoyed him that he had to slow down to a crawl when he got close to the driveway because Gabe hadn't had the consideration to flip on their exterior lights. The lack of streetlights coupled with bad weather made it almost impossible to see. While that was great for sleeping, it was terrible for driving. It was no wonder the car ended up with dents in it.

Frowning, mumbling, Rory pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. Then he paused for a long while, staring at the garage and what could be seen of the yard. Nothing had changed since he'd been gone. Of course. Same place. Same problems. He was thirty-three years old, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all over for him--that he only had two options. He could sit and deal with the fact this was just how it was going to be, or he could find a nice length of rope and stop thinking altogether.

He sighed as he got out of the car and slammed the door.

* * * *

Rory stared at the carton of eggs that lay on the ground in various degrees of destruction. Really, he said and glared at Gabe, "that's your solution to these keep slipping?"

Gabe glared right back. They're traitors. Fuck them.

They're eggs! Rory had to check his voice, struggling to lower it when he got a sideways glance from an older lady hurrying past with her buggy. They can neither trait nor be trait upon!

Gabe paused for a second, tilting his head and Rory raised an eyebrow. He knew it wasn't the right word, but it had sounded good. And Gabe wouldn't question his use of language. Gabe hadn't exactly been student of the year.

Frustrated, Gabe began to throw bags of groceries into the back of the car. Well, it's your own damn fault! Two guys don't need three hundred dollars' worth of groceries! Why can't you just get a few things every couple of days instead of doing this shit? He held up a box of instant oatmeal that had slipped out of the over-packed bag. And this? Why do we need this? Nobody needs instant fucking oatmeal, Rory! Nobody!

We do this shit, Rory hissed, "because we live in the middle of goddamn nowhere and the grocery store is thirty-five minutes away from the house! And we need instant oatmeal because I fucking like it! Is that all right with you?"

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Rory spun quickly, embarrassed. Holy shit...Rory felt heat rise into his neck and a panicked flutter settled into his gut.

Danny looked down at the broken eggs. Could you gentlemen use a hand? Danny's hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. It gave his features an almost feminine look, lifting his already high cheekbones, slimming an already sleek neck, even his eyes were rimmed with eyeliner. He managed to make the way-too-big grocery store jacket look good, even if it was filthy. Even if the tag on the pocket with the stitched Manager hung at the top left corner like a dog's ear.

Rory's panic subsided when he put two and two together and realized that Danny had to work there. Uh, we're...just...uh...no. Thanks. Rory cleared his throat. Just a bit of an accident.

Danny nodded and flashed a grin, first to Rory, then to Gabe. Looks like it. Let me help you get that cleaned up. I think one of them got on your car a bit there.

Gabe's gaze appreciatively roamed over Danny. When he spoke, he did it with the low growl that he used when he was trying to impress someone. You want to do something helpful, then why don't you get someone out here to clean up these fucking shopping carts? There's like, a hundred out here.

Danny lifted his eyebrows. Oh?

"Yeah, oh. Maybe if it wasn't such a goddamn obstacle course out here, people would be able to get around without dumping half their stuff on the pavement."

Rory groaned inwardly, but Danny merely nodded. Yep, you're right, He swung his gaze between them. Listen, if one of you would like to come in with me, I'll make sure you get a replacement. He turned back to Gabe. Just to say sorry for the inconvenience.

That's not necessary-- Rory began but he was cut-off by a glower from Gabe.

Damn straight. Gabe tilted his chin towards the store while staring at Rory, not-so-subtly telling him to Go!

Danny stretched out his arm. After you, sir.

With the heat in his face growing warmer, Rory walked to the sliding doors. Danny caught up with him a couple of strides later, and they walked into the bright interior together. The second that the doors slid closed behind them, Danny turned to Rory. Wow, Danny said, with exaggerated enthusiasm, "he's awesome!"

Rory passed Danny a sideways glance. He has his good qualities and his bad.

Oh, yeah? He must keep all his good qualities hidden in his pants then.

Rory couldn't stop himself from snorting a chuckle. Some of them.

They walked through the aisles together until they reached the refrigerated shelves at the back of the store. Danny grabbed a dozen eggs and handed them over. Here you go.

You don't have to do this. I can pay for eggs. Rory was embarrassed--about the eggs, about Gabe, but more than anything he was embarrassed about seeing Danny again. Why that was, Rory wasn't sure. After all, they hadn't really done anything except fool around. Still...

Danny grinned. It's not like it's coming out of my pocket, Rory. Eggs break all the time. Take them.

God, just look at him, Rory thought, doing his best to keep his attention on the eggs and not get lost in Danny's expression. The smile, the hair, those perfect eyes; the kid was so hot it made him grit his teeth. Even as he took the carton being handed to him, Rory wanted Danny to reach out and stroke his arm like Danny had done the night they met. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, making sure the way was clear, then looked back at Danny. Listen, he said, lowering his voice. I hope everything's okay between us...

Danny curled his lip in mock disgust. Ewww.

Rory frowned. Ew, what?

Ewww, Danny repeated, as in, ew, you're not going to be that guy, are you?

Which guy? Rory tried unsuccessfully not to sound offended. You mean the guy who apologizes for skulking out in the middle of the night?

Yep. That's the one.

I guess I am.

Well don't. I get it, really. You said you had a partner. I believe you said it a few times, in fact. It's all right. We're cool. Danny paused. But, you know, I understand why now.

Rory frowned. You understand why what?

Danny shrugged as if what he was about to say was the most obvious thing in the world. Why you can't write.

There was a long pause while Rory looked at the floor. Overhead fluorescent lights shone on worn tile and Rory was sure it was the glare that was causing his eyes to twitch.

Danny tapped the eggs. You better go. Before big, bad, and muscley gets miserable.

Rory walked out of the store with the eggs held almost reverently in his hands. It was the smallest gesture in the world, but to him, it felt like one of the kindest. It was certainly one of the kindest he'd seen in a while. That feeling, coupled with the kid's obvious refusal to make a scene or breathe a word of what had happened, confused him. People weren't nice for no reason.

Were they?

Took you long enough, Gabe huffed as Rory climbed into the passenger seat of the car.

Sorry. There was a million things Rory could have said. But he wasn't in the mood to keep arguing.

Hey. Gabe waited until Rory looked over, then wiggled his eyebrows. What did you think of the twink? Kind of hot, eh?

Rory shook his head, eyes fixed through the windshield. That's kind of disrespectful, don't you think? I mean, you don't even know him. Gabe rolled his eyes and started the car. Besides, Rory continued, I'm sure he has no interest in old men like us.

Ha! Gabe laughed, pulling out of the parking space. "Maybe not you. He stopped the car to turn Rory's face towards him. He pressed a kiss against Rory's forehead, then smirked. But have you seen me?"

* * * *

Chapter 4

Rory told himself that he wasn't going to dwell on the fact that he probably