He turned his face up to this earnest policeman, this man who could topple the carefully built house of cards, assassins, and car mechanics who had all come to the desert to hide, and prayed for a kiss on the lips.
Brady didn’t disappoint. He bent down and took Eric’s mouth, fully, consciously, as if they were kissing for the first time.
Maybe, as far as Brady was concerned, theywere, because Brady had finally embraced the possibility of who he was with.
Brady pulled back from the kiss and murmured, “Thank you, by the way. I… I don’t know what will happen in the future, but thank you for risking yourself for me. If my department doesn’t give a shit who was there to stop the robbery, I certainly don’t care. The FBI doesn’t need to know. I….” He let out a breath. “Children, Eric. I saw pictures of children. And nobody’s talking about it. I don’t want to go after the people who saved my life, but Idowant to go after the people who are destroying theirs.”
Eric took in that earnest face, that square jaw, and smiled, some of his faith restored. “Okay, then,” he said softly. “That’s what we’ll work on tomorrow.”
Brady nodded. “What are we working on tonight?”
Eric turned his head toward the sunset and pulled Brady down to the bottom step while he scooted to the next one up. “That,” he said decisively.
Brady saw the sun dipping down. “I didn’t realize it was so late,” he said. “Why was lunch so late?”
“Ernie naps from about two to seven,” Eric said. “And then he stays up to make up for it. I think he put his nap off today, just for us.”
“Why does he do that?” Brady asked, but not with censure. “Does he work nights?”
Eric was quiet for a moment. “I think it has to do with the psychic thing,” he said thoughtfully. “I think… I mean, I’ve met a couple clairvoyants. And most of them were, well, a wreck. Some of them were scary as fuck—Silence of the LambsmeetsThe Witchingsort of scary as fuck. I think this is his way of notencountering too many brains. Fewer people are active at night. If he used to live in a bigger city, it might be a way he kept himself healthy.”
Brady cocked his head in that way he had, that way of assimilating new information, of putting it with pins into the world he thought he already knew.
“That’s… that’s probably it,” he said. “I never thought of it before. I guess seeing the world like that would do a number on your brain, you know?”
Erichmmed, wrapping his arms around Brady’s shoulders and drinking in his warmth, his nearness. They’d each showered that morning—the shower was big enough for a big man but not big enough for two—and Brady smelled like Eric’s shampoo and body wash.
It was sandalwood and citrus and…Brady.
Eric paid attention to all his senses; he’d once saved his own life by detecting cigarette smoke from a certain brand from a block away.
But he’d never stopped to think about how intoxicating a lover’s scent could be when the lover was leaning against him, full of trust, accepting Eric for who he was—even for the moment.
“Eric?” Brady asked, his voice just a little hesitant.
“Hm?”
“If I googled your name, what would I find?”
“A whole lot of people who aren’t me,” Eric answered.
“So if you and I go inside together, and we make love, can I… can I at least call you Charlie? I don’t know who he is either, but I know he’ll be touching me.”
“Ohh….” It came out like a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” Brady mumbled, pulling away. “I… it’s a liberty. An imposition. It’s—”
“It’s fine,” Eric blurted. “Just, you know. Private.”
The others had private names, Eric thought. Burton called Ernie “Club Boy” and Ernie called him “Crullers.” He knew for certain that Sonny, Ernie, and Jason’s boyfriend, Cotton, had all been born with different names. But that hadn’t even been his first reaction, the gut reaction that had made that sound straight from the pit of his soul.
His absolute first thought had been how wonderful, howmiraculous, it would be to have somebody in his bed who knew his real name.
He stood then and stepped into the camper, moving to give Brady room to haul himself in after him. Brady did, then closed and locked the door behind him, and when he turned back around, Eric was there to pull Brady into his arms and kiss him with a hunger in his soul he’d forgotten he could possess.
There was no filling it—every kiss fueled his hunger, every kiss added flames to his need. It was like the night before hadn’t happened, like their quiet, laughing moments in bed that morning had been a daydream. This here, Brady’s mouth on his with more surety, Eric’s hands on his body like he had a right—this was reality.
Brady groaned and thrust his hands under Eric’s shirt, running blunt nails along the skin of his back. Eric pulled away and let out a harsh breath, trying for words, but Brady’s hands were insistent, greedy, everything Eric needed.
