“Never.” Parting his lips as he closed his eyes. Because he didn’t want to talk, he wanted to be loved, to get lost in his arms, under his hands and mouth. Crushed by his weight, that body he loved, he clung to Damian, breathing his breath. His hands dug into Damian’s ass.
Gabe opened his eyes to his smiling voice. “Not on the fucking floor?”
They laughed to push out that grief that had burst up at those words. Kissing to ease the pain.
Damian looked into his eyes. “Hey… still us.”
Gabe nodded, holding him tight. “I know.”
Next morning, Damian watched Gabe’s drawn face at breakfast. His phone pinged, tearing him out of his thoughts, so he picked it up. Message from Harold. Money wired. Signing this afternoon. Dress press compatible. Fuck. He checked his bank account, smiling.
“What’s up?”
He pushed the phone to Gabe. “Have a look. We’re rich.” He raised his hand at Gabe’s lips parting. “We’re rich. That’s it.” Watching him blanch, let his spoon go as he picked up the phone. Mouthing the amount.
Gabe looked up. “This… this is insane…”
Damian pulled a face. “Decent, I guess.” But he was amused, seeing that shock. He took his phone back. “So… I have plans for some of it, but you can pick some charities and associations to donate to. I can’t be bothered, but I know you and your marshmallow heart.”
Gabe leant back. “I… I need to digest this.”
“Your cereals?”
“Fuck you.” He grinned, though, floating a bit.
Damian helped Armando down when he’d finished. “Just make a list. I’ll have somebody at the bank deal with it. But first, the signing this afternoon…”
“I’m working.”
“Fuck…” His eyes darted to the boy playing on the rug, a smooth smile creeping to his face. “No matter. I’ll just take him with me.”
“What? But… are you sure?”
“He’s my son. And fuck everybody.”
“The results are not in…”
“They might be today. And they don’t matter. He’s not going anywhere. Not to a foster home, or back to that crazy abuela in her shit house.”
“Abuela is not crazy!” That little, defiant voice.
Damian just smiled, looking back at Gabe. At his miserable face. “What’s wrong?”
“Work… I am with Hugh again…”
“Ah… nice…” He toyed with his fork, a sudden idea in him. “Why not change your job?”
“I’m not stopping work.”
“I haven’t said anything about stopping. I said, change.”
“Like… what?”
“Become a pilot. This way, nobody will fuck with you.”
Gabe paled. “You’re joking… I’m too old, and…”
“You ever wanted to be one?”
