Will’s shirt was torn, so he borrowed one of Taylor’s. It was too tight, which suited the general atmosphere pretty well.
Not that it was that different from usual. They generally worked on the house or watched a game on TV and had a few beers, fucked, napped, caught up on the newspapers, maybe rented a movie. They would have talked or not as they felt like it. Their weekdays were action-packed enough; on the weekends they liked to unwind and rest. There was no one Will wanted to unwind and rest with more than Taylor.
This was not turning out to be the most restful weekend they’d spent, but it wasn’t bad. They worked at sanding the built-in shelves and counters, the fireplace, the tapered columns that divided the living room from the dining room. It was slow going, because Taylor liked everything to be perfect, but one day it was going to be a very valuable property with the gleaming resanded hardwood floors and funky art tiles and big stone fireplace — all in walking distance of the beach. As they worked they recovered some of their usual harmony.
When they finished in the front room, uncovering what appeared to be genuine oak beneath layers of navy, green, and finally white paint, they showered again and then ate their leftovers from the night before.
A framed Japanese print of a samurai on horseback had been propped in the doorway for safekeeping while they worked in the front room. Looking at it, and seeking a neutral subject for dinnertime discourse, Will asked, “What was it like, being in Tokyo? You never talk about it.”
Taylor, whose own attention had been on the bottle of Asian snake wine sitting on the kitchen counter, gave him a blank look. He raised a shoulder. “Nothing to tell.”
Now that was odd. Taylor always had something to say. About everything. How could he possibly have spent two years in Japan and not have anything to recount. Nothing?
“Did you like it?”
“I liked the country, yeah.”
He hadn’t liked the assignment. Interesting.
“Well, I know you like the food. Is it true they have octopus pizza?”
Taylor snorted, expertly wielded his chopsticks to take a bite of rice-crusted duck. Will considered the chopsticks. Taylor was…prone to enthusiasms.
He had liked Japan. He collected Japanese weapons, watched Japanese movies, had a couple of Japanese art books and a couple of Japanese prints on the walls. Japan had been important to Taylor. But he never talked about it.
Never.
“Are there really over fifteen hundred earthquakes a year?”
“They have a lot of earthquakes. A lot of volcanoes too.”
“Is the sun really red?”
Taylor smiled faintly. “They paint it that way.”
“What about the gay samurai? Is that true?”
Taylor’s face changed. He scowled, selecting another bite of duck. “What’s with all the questions, Brandt?”
“I’m just making…just curious. It’s a part of your life I don’t know anything about.”
“You don’t need to know anything about it.”
That took Will a second to absorb. “Okay,” he said evenly.
Taylor flicked him a look under his lashes. “Sorry.”
Will nodded coolly. He was used to Taylor’s ratty temper — and more curious than ever now.
Taylor sighed. “It wasn’t a great time for me, okay? I was twenty-four, it was my first overseas posting and I was homesick and lonely. Japan is…different.”
As opposed to Afghanistan? Or Haiti? Taylor didn’t mind discussing either of those postings.
He said slowly, “Sure.” It was weird thinking of Taylor as homesick and lonely. But he’d been in the DSS ten years; safe to say he hadn’t started out a worldly, all-knowing sonofabitch. Will had taken a different career path. College, then the marines, then the DSS. So far he’d had one overseas posting — Afghanistan, though years after Taylor had been there. When he’d returned to the States, he’d been partnered with Taylor.
He opened his mouth to ask, well, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to ask, but he never got the chance because Taylor rose abruptly, saying, “You feel like watching TV?”
Not waiting for Will’s reply, he took his plate in the den and turned on the news; they generally avoided the news on the weekends. They got enough bad news about the world in their day jobs. Will listened to the blast of international bad news from down the hall.
“What do you think?” Will asked Riley. Riley cocked his head, tongue lolling.
“Me too,” Will said.
* * * * *
In bed that night it was complicated. And quiet.
They were being too polite with each other, but better that than the alternative.
By now they were comfortable enough that they knew where the other wanted to go without having to read a road map. Will wanted to fuck Taylor, but he was afraid it would be a mistake to ask that tonight. He’d said a couple of things he regretted earlier that day, implying that Taylor was behaving like a jealous teenager. Taylor was always very generous in the bedroom, and Will didn’t want to be viewed as taking advantage of that tonight.
The fact was, he did enjoy topping more than bottoming. Not a big deal, just a personal preference. In particular he enjoyed topping Taylor. Having Taylor submit to him was the sweetest thing in the world because it was entirely voluntary. Taylor matched him strength for strength, so that willing capitulation seemed so tender, so generous, so loving.
He wanted — needed — Taylor to offer, but Taylor didn’t. Neither did he ask for a repeat of the night before. Instead, they settled for some energetic rubbing and stroking. Friction. It’s a good thing. And it was good; it was a very enjoyable substitute for the real thing. The other thing. Through the net of his eyelashes Will watched Taylor’s mobile, exquisitely pained face; it never ceased to thrill and amaze him that it was Taylor on the other end of this. Taylor. Beautiful and intense in sex as he was with everything.
Did Taylor honestly
