“Levi,” Stanton said, “are you even listening to me?”
Levi jerked his eyes up from his Old Fashioned to meet Stanton’s exasperated gaze. “Sorry, what?”
Stanton sighed. “You’ve been distracted all night. If you needed to keep working, you could have stayed at the substation.”
“I wasn’t going to cancel plans with you again,” Levi said. There was nothing more he could have done tonight, anyway. Narcotics had come through with leads on a couple of veterinary offices that had reported recent break-ins, but that had turned into a three-way turf war between Narcotics, Theft, and Homicide that was still being sorted out. And the pool of potential suspects based on criminal history grew longer by the hour. As much as he hated himself for thinking it, the most helpful thing that could happen now was a fresh crime scene.
When Stanton had picked him up for dinner, Levi had left without hesitation. But now, sitting in the classy, understated dining room of the Delmonico Steakhouse at the Venetian, he couldn’t keep his mind off the case.
“Ready to order, gentlemen?” their server asked as she returned to their table.
“Yes, thank you,” Stanton said. “We’ll start with the tuna and salmon tartare. Then I’ll have the rack of lamb, and he’ll have the Alaskan halibut.”
Levi stiffened, but he gritted his teeth and remained silent while the server jotted down the order and collected the menus. The moment she walked away, he said, “You know I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?” Stanton looked genuinely baffled, which only made Levi angrier.
“Order for me!” Levi said—too loudly, judging by the curious glance they received from the next table over. He lowered his voice. “For God’s sake, Stanton, we’ve talked about this before.”
“Did you want something else?” Stanton asked, already turning around to call the server back.
“No, I—” Levi stopped and took a deep breath. Stanton had ordered him exactly what he would have ordered for himself. However . . . “That’s not the point. I’m not a child; I can speak for myself.”
“I’m sorry.” Stanton reached across the table to take Levi’s hand. “You just seemed so preoccupied, I wasn’t sure if you’d even looked at the menu yet. I thought it would save time.”
Levi felt a sudden crushing sense of weariness. What did it say about their relationship that Stanton knew him well enough to pick out exactly which dish he was in the mood for—but not well enough to know that Levi would hate the presumption of him ordering it?
“I really am sorry,” Stanton said, squeezing his hand. “I won’t do it again.”
“That’s what you said last time,” Levi muttered. He pulled his hand away.
If this had been the first time Stanton had ordered for him, Levi could have let it go. Instead, it was something he’d addressed with Stanton on multiple occasions over the past three years, and he was getting sick and tired of having his objections ignored.
Stanton seemed like he might say something more, but after a moment, he just picked up his wine glass and took a sip. The gulf between them widened a little further.
The rest of the meal was stilted and awkward. They talked about work—Stanton’s work, anyway—and friends and summer plans, skirting around any topics that were likely to start an argument. These days, that was a longer list than ever before. Levi missed the easy, comfortable back-and-forth he and Stanton used to share, when their conversations were a pleasure instead of an experience comparable to picking his way through a minefield. When had things changed?
Afterward, when they were making the short trip home by car service, Stanton said, “You never told me how your session with Natasha went yesterday.”
“It was fine.”
“Just ‘fine’? That’s all?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m only trying to—”
“You had no right to talk to my parents about this,” Levi burst out. The thought had been gnawing at him since yesterday, festering under his skin because he’d been reluctant to bring it up. Even now, his stomach churned with the discomfort that personal, emotional confrontations always stirred in him.
“I needed their advice,” Stanton said, unabashed. “I feel like nothing I do or say reaches you.”
“So you went behind my back?”
Stanton made a face. “No, of course not. It wasn’t a secret. I’m worried about you, and I thought they could help.”
The car stopped in front of their building then, and Levi couldn’t get out fast enough. He strode past the startled doorman and across the lobby with Stanton lagging a few feet behind, though Stanton caught up at the elevator bank.
They both stayed silent until they got into the elevator alone. Levi crossed his arms and trained his eyes on the panel of buttons.
“You’re a private person,” said Stanton. “You’ve always liked to keep certain things to yourself, and I can respect that. But lately, it seems like you want to keep everything to yourself. Talking to you is like talking to a wall. You don’t tell me anything anymore.”
“Because I know you’ll judge everything I say.” Levi still didn’t look at him.
“What the hell does that mean?” Stanton snapped.
The elevator doors slid open. Levi exited first, keys in hand. “You hate my job,” he said as he unlocked the front door and stepped into the foyer.
“I hate what your job does to you, yes.” Stanton locked the door behind them. “Can you blame me?”
Levi threw his keys into the bowl by the door with unnecessary force. Stanton caught the bowl before it could fall off the table.
“I’m thinking about our future,” he said. “How are we supposed to move forward with our lives when you’re constantly tied up in knots over the horrible things you see every day? How are we going to give our kids a stable home life when you’re always in the line of fire?”
Levi pressed his lips together. Stanton spoke about getting married and having kids as if they were foregone conclusions, but Levi had never expressed a desire for any of those things. He certainly didn’t want them any time soon.
When Levi didn’t respond, Stanton stepped closer to him, a hopeful look on his face. “You could quit tomorrow. You could go to law school, like you always wanted—”
“My parents wanted that, not me,” Levi said flatly. “You— Goddamn it, Stanton, you know why I became a cop. You know why it’s so important to me.”
This was veering into dangerous territory, skirting too close to things Levi would do anything to avoid talking about. If Stanton pushed him any further . . .
Stanton’s shoulders sagged. “All I want is for you to be happy. And I know that you’re not.”
A sharp flare of anxiety made Levi turn aside. “I can’t have this conversation with you right now,” he said, and then walked away like the coward he was.
Stanton knew better than to stop him, but Levi heard his frustrated groan all the way across the foyer.
When Levi had moved into the penthouse, Stanton had converted one of the guest rooms into a small gym for him, complete with a treadmill, free weights, and most importantly, a heavy bag. Levi went there now, changed into a T-shirt and shorts from the supply he kept in the bathroom, and strapped on a pair of MMA gloves.
He got right on the bag to work his striking—jabs, crosses, elbows, and kicks from every angle, with as much force and aggression as he could pour into them. After the first twenty minutes or so, he tossed the gloves aside so he could drill palm heel strikes and hammerfists with more precision.
He pummeled the bag until his arms were burning and his hands were red and sore. Even then, he didn’t stop; he simply picked up a jump rope and fell into a quick rhythm, varying the patterns of his feet to keep himself light and mobile.
He pushed himself to the point where he was shaking and pouring sweat, only calling a halt when he felt he was going to throw up any moment. He dropped the rope and stripped out of his drenched shirt, toweling himself off before grabbing a recovery drink from the mini-fridge and collapsing onto the square wooden box he used for plyometrics.
Despite the onset of massive fatigue, he felt calmer now, more clear-headed. He wasn’t quite ready to patch things up with Stanton yet, though. Maybe tomorrow, after they’d both had some time to decompress.
Once he could move without falling down, he took his time stretching and foam-rolling his abused muscles, then indulged in a long, hot shower. He didn’t head for the master suite until he was sure Stanton would be asleep.
Their bedroom was dark, Stanton curled on his side in the large bed. Levi flopped down next to him and closed his eyes.
Sleep wouldn’t come.
As exhausted as he was, Levi couldn’t turn his brain off. For years, Stanton had been his rock, his refuge from the outside world, but over the past few months, they’d felt increasingly like strangers. They had both changed over the course of their relationship—which was normal, everybody did—yet Levi couldn’t help thinking that those changes were pushing them in two different directions. The idea that Stanton might be slowly slipping away from him was terrifying.
Levi rolled onto his side. At some point during all of Levi’s tossing and turning, Stanton had shifted onto his back, his face tilted in Levi’s direction. Levi had a perfect view of Stanton’s long lashes sweeping his skin, the gentle movement of his bare chest beneath the comforter.
Swallowing past the ache in his throat, Levi reached out to press his thumb into the cleft of Stanton’s chin, something which never failed to make Stanton smile when he was awake. He smoothed his hand along Stanton’s bristly jaw and leaned in to softly kiss his mouth.
Stanton stirred beneath him. Levi deepened the kiss, his lips sliding against Stanton’s, his hand trailing down Stanton’s chest to squeeze his hip just above the waistband of his boxers.
He felt the moment when Stanton woke—a sudden startled tension followed by immediate relaxation. Levi lifted his head to meet Stanton’s eyes. Stanton smiled, threaded a hand through Levi’s hair, and pulled him back down into another kiss.
Now that Stanton was awake, Levi didn’t hesitate to push his hand inside Stanton’s boxers to stroke his cock. Stanton responded quickly, swelling to hardness against Levi’s palm as he moaned into Levi’s mouth. Turning onto his side, he reached down to cup Levi’s cock with his free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
They squirmed out of their underwear and pressed up against each other, trading messy, urgent kisses under the covers in their darkened bedroom. Levi rocked his hips, dragging his cock against Stanton’s and grasping greedily at Stanton’s skin—as if he could keep their crumbling relationship together with his bare hands if he just held on tight enough.
Stanton took both their cocks in his fist and began jerking them off together. Panting, Levi broke the kiss and let his head fall back so Stanton could nip at his throat.
“I want you,” he said.
Stanton’s answering groan was low and eager. Levi gave him one more hard kiss, kicked the covers to the foot of the bed, and pulled away briefly to retrieve the lube from his nightstand. It had been so long since they’d used it that the tube had rolled all the way to the back of the drawer.
They made a mess of things in their enthusiasm, dripping lube all over each other and the bed. Levi draped his top leg over Stanton’s hip so Stanton could work two fingers into his hole. His body resisted the penetration, tighter than usual after going a few weeks without, but that only made the pleasure sharper. He bit the ball of Stanton’s shoulder and tugged on their lubed cocks while Stanton opened him up with smooth, clever strokes.
“Good?” Stanton asked, once Levi’s hole was slick and relaxed. He caressed Levi’s prostate and chuckled when Levi writhed against him.
Levi nodded, gently pulled Stanton’s hand away, and then pushed Stanton onto his back. He swung himself astride Stanton’s hips.
They’d stopped using condoms a couple of years ago, except on the infrequent occasions when they were concerned with easy clean-up. Tonight, Levi didn’t want anything coming between them. Bracing himself with one hand on the mattress, he held Stanton’s cock steady and sank onto it.
It took a few rolling thrusts for him to ease himself all the way down. When his ass met Stanton’s hips, he changed tack and just ground his hips in slow circles, savoring the familiar weight and shape of Stanton inside him. Stanton watched him with half-parted lips, both hands massaging the tight, wiry muscles of Levi’s thighs.
Levi folded forward so they could kiss while he rocked back and forth, working himself faster on Stanton’s cock. Stanton’s hands slid from Levi’s thighs to squeeze his ass, and his own hips bounced against the bed as he braced his feet and met Levi thrust for thrust. The bedframe creaked and shivered.
Levi had been missing this physical connection—not just the raw pleasure of getting fucked, but the feeling of Stanton’s hands on him, adoring even in the throes of passion. The sound of Stanton’s heavy breaths and quiet gasps, the lingering smell of his cologne at the crook of his neck when Levi buried his face there to muffle a sharp cry. They were all comfortable, familiar reminders of years spent building shared memories together. Levi wasn’t ready to let that go.
He rode Stanton’s cock as hard as he could, needing it deep and rough. Groaning, Stanton arched against the bed, his eyes falling shut for a moment before he reached between Levi’s legs to jerk him off.
Levi fisted the sheet on either side of Stanton’s shoulders. The slick stroke of Stanton’s hand on his cock and the vigorous fucking pushed him rapidly toward orgasm.
“I love you,” he said, his body shaking as he neared his peak. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Stanton swiped his thumb across the head of Levi’s cock.
Levi cried out as he came, spurting over Stanton’s fist and onto his chest. He kept fucking himself on Stanton’s cock, only slowing a bit as he shuddered through the last couple of pulses, then picked the pace right back up.
Pressing desperate kisses to Stanton’s jaw and neck, he whispered, “Come inside me. Come on. Let me feel it.”
“God,” Stanton said, moaning low in his throat. He slammed up into Levi several more times, catching his mouth in a bruising kiss as he pressed all the way inside, and came. Levi relished every overwhelmed quiver and jerky thrust of Stanton’s body beneath him.
Spent, Stanton relaxed into the mattress. Levi slumped atop him, resting his head on Stanton’s shoulder and humming contentedly when Stanton’s arms encircled his waist.
Levi kept Stanton inside of him for as long as possible; even when they separated, he didn’t immediately reach for the wet wipes the way he normally would. He snuggled up to Stanton with his back to Stanton’s chest and tangled their legs together. Draping an arm over Levi to pull him close, Stanton nuzzled his hair, his lips grazing the nape of Levi’s neck. Levi closed his eyes, soaking in the closeness.
They were just going through a rough patch. Everything would work itself out.
The next morning, Levi woke after Stanton again. He went in search of coffee and found Stanton in the breakfast nook reading the Las Vegas Review-Journal as usual.
“Morning,” he said with a smile, still feeling warm and relaxed from last night.
Stanton looked up, but he didn’t return Levi’s smile. His face was set in grim lines, his jaw tight.
Before Levi could ask what was wrong, Stanton folded the paper back up and laid it on the table, facing toward Levi so he could see the front-page headline.
SERIAL KILLER LOOSE IN LAS VEGAS
Three bodies confirmed victims of vigilante “Seven of Spades”