Bowie couldn’t help but roll over and kiss Javier’s lips, burying his face in his neck. “Shut up.”
Javier moved so quickly, Bowie barely had time to register it before they were lying side by side, legs tangled together, Javier catching Bowie’s lips in a soft kiss. “I’m serious. You got rhythm, angel.”
“Iama dancer.”
Javier grinned. “You’re a ballet dancer. But you got salsa hips.”
Bowie shook his head. He could feel how bright red his face was. “I am a professional ballet dancer, but I studied it all. Tap, jazz, hip-hop, ballroom, including salsa, merengue. Hell, I can even do a paso doble.”
“I don’t know what that is, but I believe it,” Javier said with a laugh.
Bowie’s smile faded. “Thank you.”
Javier frowned. “For what?”
Great question. What the hell did he even mean? “Everything, I guess. But specifically this. It was nice to feel normal again for a little while.”
Javier gave him that same wry smile from the day they met. The one that always made Bowie’s stomach dip like he was on a roller coaster. “It ain’t no thing, angel. You know that.”
Bowie shook his head. “But it is a thing. A big thing. To me.”
Javier’s expression grew soft, and he leaned in and kissed Bowie’s forehead. “Alright. Then you’re welcome.”
Bowie snuggled closer, burying his face before he could say something stupid like, ‘I love you.’”
He couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not unless Javier said it first. Did you even need to say it once somebody had killed for you?
“You good?”
“No,” Bowie lied. “I’m cold.”
Javier laughed, tangling their limbs together and tugging the comforter up over both of them. “There. All better,” he said before wrapping his arms around Bowie and dragging him even closer. And then, it really was better.
Javier woke to a knock on the door. He looked at the clock on the side table, which read six. Javier rubbed at his eyes and looked again. In the morning? That wasn’t right. It was still dark at six, but the sun was out. And Bowie wouldn’t be snuggled next to him. He’d be at work.
No.
It was still Sunday. He rolled over onto his back, the ache in his ass and the muscles of his thighs bringing a smile to his face as he stretched. Oh, yeah. Bowie had fucked the shit out of him and then passed out cold. Javier laughed softly, glancing over at Bowie. Boy had some serious swerve in those hips. He would be feeling it for a day or so, easy.
Bowie looked adorable, hair standing on end, out cold, mouth gaping as he snored softly, drooling on Javier’s pillow. He let his eyes float shut, more than willing to just go back to sleep and ignore whoever was knocking. Maybe Lawson would get it.
Another knock came again, louder and more aggressive this time. Javier slipped his hand into the gap between the palettes that made up his bed frame, pulling a gun free as Bowie sat up.
“What’s going on?”
Javier put a finger to his lips, listening.
A shout came from the other side of the door. “Police, open up.”
Goddamnit. Why did they always show up on a fucking Sunday?
Javier sighed heavily, sliding the gun back into place before climbing out of bed and shoving his legs into the jeans he’d left pooled on the floor earlier. He didn’t bother to button them or even put on a shirt. If they wanted to take him in, he was going just like this. When he hit the living room, he noted Lawson holding a bowl of cereal, spoon halfway to his mouth.
Javier shook his head. “Oh, no. Don’t get up. I got it,” he muttered.
Lawson just mouthed, ‘What the fuck?’
That was what Javier wanted to know. He yanked the door open just as an officer raised his hand to knock a third time, leaving the balding man standing with his arm raised awkwardly. “Mr. de la Fuente?”
