Edges

Chapter Three

“Ouch! What the hell is going on down there?”

Mick’s lover stopped what he was doing—some sort of spiral, knuckle-assault on his balls—and looked up at him. “What’s wrong? Men usually love that. I’ve never had any complaints.”

Pushing his hands away, Mick tugged the sheet up, sighing. “That’s because men are lying to you, Robert.”

This was the problem with hook ups, one night stands, whatever you called them. All those hot and willing singles out there, the ones you watched wistfully from across the room and coveted while they sipped their drinks and made eyes at you—only about a quarter of them were any good in the sack. Hell, he’d settle for someone who’d admit he didn’t know what he was doing in bed. Then at least they’d have something to work toward.

But around here, they all thought they were the Don Juan of Southern Vermont, the miracle of your sexually active life, and there was no telling them otherwise. There was only trying to figure out a polite way to get them out of your bed, and your house.

Like Robert here, who clearly thought his calculated, instruction-manual style fumbling made him the best lover in the world. He had a clear formula for what he thought he was supposed to do, which started with jabbing his tongue in and out of Mick’s mouth like a sewing needle.

Not like Shanti’s soft, yearning, kiss earlier. That was real. That was hot.

Stop. Don’t think about Shanti. You fucked that up.

After Robert’s jackhammer tongue assault on Mick’s mouth, he’d moved straight to nipple tweaking. Mick had never been a huge fan of nipple tweaking, but it could feel good if it was done right. Meaning pretty much the exact opposite of the way Robert had done it, like he was trying to twist the stubborn cap off a tube of toothpaste.

Robert was a cute guy, a skinny brunette with a sprinkle of boyish freckles across his nose, looking like something from a Normal Rockwell painting. They’d done it once before. Mick decided to give him a second chance, see if maybe he’d just had an off night last time. His own snobbery wasn’t lost on him, and he knew he had no right to judge others. He had, after all, picked Robert up at Stiffies, the only real gay bar in this part of the mountains, and the pickings were slim and questionable at best; mostly closeted ski bum tourists and a handful of grimy locals who’d had more pricks than a pin cushion.

“Uh oh,” Robert said, finally abandoning Mick’s junk and sitting up. “What’s the matter here?”

Mick didn’t have to look down to know he’d gone soft. This almost never happened; even if he found his partner irritating, he’d remain hard enough to finish the job. But he wasn’t into it tonight. “Sorry. Guess I’m just tired. You can go. I’ll walk you out.”

Mick got up and slipped into his pajama bottoms. He was suddenly desperate to get this guy out of his house. He just wanted to light a fire, pop a beer, and hang out alone with his dogs. After leaving Shanti’s place earlier, he was so pissed off, he’d thought the only remedy was getting laid, so he’d taken a shower and headed straight for Stiffies. But now that he’d done so, and had a conquest in his bed, he felt unsettled and strangely repulsed. He usually didn’t bring pickups back to his own place, but Robert whined about his roommates being home until he agreed.

And now Robert wasn’t making a move to get out of bed.

“Something wrong?” Mick asked as he tugged on his socks.

Robert pulled the sheet up under his armpits like an evening gown. He leaned back against the pillows, and gave Mick sympathetic brown eyes. “It happens to all guys sometimes,” he said. “It’s all right. I’m not mad. Just come on back to bed. I’ll get your equipment working again,” he said with a seductive wink. “Come on, I’ll give you the best blowjob of your life.”

Mick had to struggle not to wince. He didn’t want this kid twisting his balls again to try and jumpstart his motor. “Look, that’s very considerate of you, but I meant what I said. I’m tired, and I’d like to be alone. You drove your car here, so get dressed, and I’ll walk you to the door. Please.”

There. He said please. Polite. Not a dickhead at all.

Sighing, Robert tossed the sheet back and got out of bed. He sighed three more times while he got dressed, just in case Mick had somehow missed that he was hurt and bothered. Mick paced his bedroom impatiently. One of the dogs whined outside the door, hearing his owner up and about. He always left them out in the hall when he had a guest, because they were accustomed to sleeping on the bed with him, and had no qualms about jumping up to investigate while he was balls deep in some guy. They were used to being locked out now, and accepted the banishment with huffing impatience, but once he was up, they expected to be taken out or given a treat as reward for their noble sacrifice.

“This is a really nice house,” Robert said, looking up at the high beamed ceiling.

“Thanks.” Mick opened the bedroom door. The five dogs were on their feet, tails wagging, and charged into the room, sniffing Robert, jumping on and off the bed.

“Hey puppies!” Robert said. “Was Daddy ignoring you?”

Mick rolled his eyes as Robert attempted to pet and play with each one of them. Did he think being nice to the dogs would get him an overnight pass? If so, he was sadly mistaken.

“This way,” Mick said.

Robert looked up from where he knelt, rubbing Kes, the beige boxer’s ears, and gave Mick a dark scowl. “Didn’t know you were in such a hurry to get me out of here.”

Mick sighed. “I’ve got nothing to offer you tonight. Why would you want to stay?” Not bothering to wait for a response, he headed down the hall and downstairs. After a moment, he heard Robert following, the many paws of the dogs trundling behind him.

As they moved into the big living room, he saw Robert’s eyes taking the place in again, as he’d done when they arrived. He couldn’t blame him; it was a hell of a house, perfectly crafted, lodge style and comfortable, but sophisticated as well.

“How did you find this place out here in the middle of nowhere?” Robert asked, running a finger along the mantel over the huge stone fireplace. “It’s amazing.”

“I built it,” Mick said, growing increasingly impatient. Now please get the fuck out.

Robert picked his coat up off the chair, but didn’t put it on. Instead, he moved into the large kitchen, admiring the cabinet work. “I can’t believe you built this place. It’s huge. You live here alone?”

Mick took a deep breath, and followed him into the kitchen. “Just me and the dogs. But my brothers are here all the time, they help with the firewood.”

“You sell firewood? I saw the stacks of it when we came in.”

“Yep,” Mick said.

Next to his home, he’d built a barn with all the equipment to cut and store cords of wood. It was how he and his two brothers filled in the financial blanks in the winter, when the construction business dwindled due to bad weather. The barn was currently filled with bags of logs cut specifically for woodstoves, which was their biggest demand.

He told this all to Robert, placing specific emphasis on how often his brothers visited, not because he felt obliged to share his personal life, but because he didn’t want the guy to think the place was an easy target, if for some reason he was a thief. Robert had a slightly shady energy to him as he looked around. And how would Mick know? He’d picked him up at a bar twice, and they hadn’t exactly had deep meaningful conversations. Mick knew nothing about him.

And of course there were the dogs to stand guard, but they were a bunch of softies, and would probably lead a thief straight to the valuables with tails wagging, but he didn’t say this to Robert.

And speaking of Robert, he still hadn’t put his damn jacket on. He drifted over to the back deck and looked out at the forest beyond. “Wow. The view from my apartment is a crappy liquor store and an old train yard.”

“I remember.”

“I’d love to live out here.”

Well you ain’t gonna, so hit the road. “I have to take the dogs out,” Mick said. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

Robert sighed wistfully out at the snow-covered pines, then finally pulled on his jacket. Turning to Mick, he pouted. “We could have cuddled, you know. You don’t have to kick me out.”

Mick led the way to the door. “I don’t cuddle.”

As soon as he opened the front door, the dogs bolted out into the night. Across the way he saw the lights on in the barn, and his brother, Ben’s truck. He was likely loading wood for tomorrow’s deliveries. Mick moved more swiftly toward Robert’s compact car parked in the driveway, but the kid dragged his feet, sulking.

“You know, I heard you were a dick. People talk about you at Stiffies all the time,” Robert said. “But you talked so nice to me last time, I thought they were wrong.”

Mick crossed his arms over his chest. “Can’t stop people from talking, especially around here. They’re gonna say what they’re gonna say. Don’t much care.”

Robert glared up at him, brown eyes tight. That cute, Norman Rockwell boyish thing was gone suddenly, open hostility in its place. “I know your type. You use people.”

Mick held his hands up. “Look, you seem like a nice guy. But you did come home with a stranger you met at the bar. I don’t care what you heard, you don’t know me. You’re not the good guy, and I’m not the bad guy. Things just didn’t work out tonight, okay? I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

Robert opened his car door, but paused to glare at Mick again. “You can’t just kick someone out in the middle of the night because you couldn’t get it up.”

“Yeah,” Mick said. “Actually, I can.”

“You think you can do anything you want because you have some money and because of the way you look. Think you can always have your cake and ice cream too.”

“I think you mean have my cake and eat it too.”

Robert’s face scrunched in rage. “Screw you! You’re not better than me, you know.”

“Never thought I was better than you,” Mick said. “Just smarter.”

Eek. That one slipped out. It was no wonder the rickety wooden door in the Stiffies bathroom displayed the crudely carved words, ‘STAY AWAY FROM MICK THE DICK.’

Try not to be a dick, Mick. Try. But the frustration he’d been feeling since that afternoon was spilling over.

“You’re not smarter than me!” Robert shouted. “You’re no professor. Just a nasty queer with a nice house. And you’re old . What are you, thirty or something? If you weren’t so good looking, no one would go home with you anyway.”

Mick tensed up, hands clenching into fists. He thought of a thousand clever insults, a dozen scathing retorts. Don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick. He was trying. He was sincerely trying to be a nicer guy lately. He knew his nickname at the bar, ‘Mick the Dick’ wasn’t a reference to his ample package. He’d never admit it, but it actually did bother him that he had such a bad reputation, and that people thought he was a bastard. He wasn’t. At least he didn’t think so. He simply wanted to keep his personal life...simple. Why couldn’t anyone understand that? Why was everyone all over his shit these days?

He wasn’t thirty yet, but he was creeping up on it. But so what if he was getting older? Did that automatically mean he had to settle down? Take shit from kids like Robert and guys like Shanti?

His stomach lurched as he thought of the argument he’d had with the beautiful, sad shop owner earlier. Shanti. Stop thinking about him. Stop.

At that moment, his brother Ben’s large shadow appeared, then he stepped out of the barn with a wheelbarrow full of wood. Both Ben and Ricky were older than Mick, he was the little brother, but Ricky was a mellow, quiet guy who liked to focus on the business end of things. Ben was just the opposite: big, rough, and physical. He made an imposing figure as he set the wheelbarrow down and scowled over at Robert and Mick, seeming to sense something was wrong.

Robert gazed over at Ben. Ben was in his mid-thirties, had a receding hairline and an ample beer belly, but he also had a six-foot three frame and arms like tree trunks, which he curled at his sides menacingly as he glared at Robert.

Robert’s bravery seemed to falter, because he muttered a final, “Dickhead,” then got in his car and started it.

As Ben walked over, Robert sped out of the driveway, tires kicking up dirt as he took off down the road, either in fearful haste or in anger. Either way, he was gone. The only sounds now were the dogs yipping as they played in the field. Ben reached Mick and stood beside him, the two of them staring at the now empty driveway.

“Problem?”

Mick shook his head. “Harmless. Just stupid.”

Ben grinned at him. “I thought you liked them stupid?”

“Yeah. So did I.” He turned and headed back toward the house. “Wanna come in for a beer?”

“Nah,” Ben said. “Gonna load up and head home. Gonna take the kids skiing in the morning.”

“Okay, bro, have a good one.”

“You too. G’nite.”

Mick whistled for the dogs, and after a few protests and playful sprints off into the woods, they succumbed to his authority and gathered back inside the house. He went to the fridge and popped open a beer, then spotted the bag on the counter. “Hey guys,” he shouted, lifting it up and shaking the biscuits. “Got something for you!”

The five of them bounded into the kitchen and lined up before him. “That’s my good pups!” He smiled. Two boxers, two black labs, and a golden retriever, they were a force of nature, a pack of furry chaos. But when it was treat time, they were on their best behavior. He took all five biscuits out and unwrapped them on the counter, then went through his usual treat routine of making the dogs stay while he placed them on the floor in front of them. They remained still, though their tongues lapped at their snouts, eyes shifting down to the floor. “Okay,” he said, and they pounced on the biscuits, crunching and groaning with pleasure.

Mick examined the empty bag. Shanti Gifts . The scent of the shop wafted up from it. He brought the bag to his nose and inhaled. Sandalwood. A thrill shot through his gut, all the way to his groin. Sandalwood, like the scent of Shanti’s shop. Like the scent of Shanti’s hair when he got close enough to smell it. To touch it. To kiss him.

He moved to the table and sat in a chair, hunched and frowning as he turned the bag over and over in his big hands. He’d been rude to Shanti. Ridiculously rude. He’d treated him like one of the dumb kids he picked up at the bar.

Not that he’d gotten away with it. Shanti, an obviously intelligent guy, had called him out, and given it right back to him. He recalled the sight of him standing in the parking lot, dark blond hair blowing in the chilly breeze, pale brown eyes tight with anger, cheeks flushed from the kiss they’d just shared.

“You’re a grown man, how can you not date? Is that some kind of macho, lone wolf bullshit, or are you trying to come off as shady and mysterious?”

Mick dropped his head in his hands, groaning. “He’s right. I am a fucking tool.”

He finally took a shower, changed his sheets and fell into bed, three of the dogs joining him, the other two chewing toys down on the floor. But as exhausted as he was from a day of skiing, and fighting with not one, but two guys he just met, he couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning, he couldn’t get Shanti out of his mind. He’d been struck the moment he saw him at the top of Devil’s Peak, the way he frowned at the hill, with something more than fear in his eyes. He was beautiful, and Mick had been secretly admiring his fit, lean body, but that wasn’t what drew him, what made him toss and turn and imagine the scent of sandalwood until the early hours.

The frown of concentration on his pretty face as he’d stared down at the ski slope, it held something both determined and hopeless, almost like he was contemplating his own destruction. Mick knew it was probably tied up with his grief over losing his parents. Shanti hadn’t mentioned other family, and despite being on the slopes with friends, there was a loneliness in him; a deep and fragile sadness.

But there was also a feisty strength that intrigued Mick. The guy hadn’t taken an ounce of his shit.

His lips quirked in a smile as he turned his pillow over for the umpteenth time. He could go back to the shop tomorrow. Apologize to Shanti, and maybe...maybe what? He didn’t want a boyfriend. He didn’t need more. But Shanti obviously did, as he’d rejected his proposition for a quick, meaningless fuck. He’d suggested they see each other again . Go hiking together. But that was stupid. He was comfortable with being a gay man, he was confident in his sexuality. But sex could be a purely functional thing; it didn’t have to come with long walks in the woods.

But were those still his thoughts, or remnants of his brothers’ words?

His family had been open and accepting when he came out to them, even his father. “I don’t care what you do with your dilly, long as you’re safe and wrap it up. Same as your brothers.”

But unlike his mom and dad, his brothers, Ben and Ricky, had applied a subtle pressure that he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying around all these years. It didn’t matter that he was gay, Ben had said, whatever turned a guy on turned him on, and that was his business. Sex was sex.

But on more than one occasion, both Ben and Ricky had said things like, “Just don’t go bringing some guy around to Christmas dinner!” And Mick had agreed that such an idea was ridiculous, and would never happen.

Mick had always been fine with separating his sex life with his so-called real life. He loved his home, his dogs. Loved his family and friends. And he fucked who he wanted to fuck when he wanted to fuck. It wasn’t a macho thing, and he wasn’t trying to prove anything. It was simply the way he liked things.

But had he really never wanted a boyfriend, or was it that he’d never met anyone he could imagine actually dating? Until now.

He didn’t know how to date. He’d never even held a man’s hand, unless it was to lead it to his cock. He couldn’t imagine introducing a love interest to his brothers or parents. It made his heart speed up, and a cold, panicked sweat break out on his forehead just thinking about it. But at the same time, he couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing Shanti again, the sad blond stranger who couldn’t ski to save his life. He didn’t even know the guy, hadn’t slept with him, and yet he kept replaying their interactions in his mind, trying to picture his face.

As he finally drifted off to sleep, he knew that in the morning, he was heading into the village to see him again. And for once, he would try as hard as he could not to be Mick the Dick.