Page 7 of Something Unprofessional

Gabe worked his pants off his hips and flicked to another profile. This young man listed Shibari and exhibitionism as his main interests. That was more up Max’s alley than Gabe’s. Though he could appreciate the beauty of intricate rope work, he didn’t always have the patience for it. Still, the profile pictures were stunning, with a variety of colorful ropes setting off the sub’s flawless brown skin.

The next profile sent a pulse of desire through him. The image was of a boy on his knees, nude, and leaning against the leg of a man dressed in suit pants and nothing else. It was the profile of a couple looking for play partners, not something Gabe wanted at the moment, but the images were excellent fantasy fodder.

He took himself in hand with a groan, his eyes falling shut as he imagined that sweet boy looking up at him. In Gabe’s mind, all he could see were green eyes that deepened in color when they caught the light and full lips that wrapped around his cock so perfectly, the labret piercing making him want to rub his thumb along the lower one.

Gabe huffed a laugh that turned into a groan when he tightened his grip and sped up his strokes. No surprise that his thoughts had drifted to the stunning boy he hadn’t gotten enough of on New Year’s Eve. It was always the ones who got away, wasn’t it? He’d been eye-catching in his tuxedo pants and vest, his bare arms adorned with intricate black and gray tattoos that ended just before his wrists. And when Gabe had discovered the nipple piercings, he’d wanted to lay the boy outon a table right there in the club and see just how long he could play before the boy was begging to be allowed to come. Pleasure coiled tighter at the memory of that tight little ass opening up for his cock, the heat of him through the condom, the breathy little pleas leaving his parted lips.Daddy.Gabe cursed as his orgasm snuck up and shuddered through him, leaving him panting.

He let his head fall back against the leather of the sofa while he caught his breath and ignored the mess dripping over his fingers. Fuck, he wanted that boy again. Damn unlucky that he’d escaped the way he had. Gabe let out a breathless chuckle. Jack was right when he’d called him Twinkerella. And Gabe didn’t even have a fucking slipper to track him down with. He was going to have to keep an eye out and hope that one of his friends who was at the club much more often than Gabe himself would remember and give him a heads-up the next time they saw the boy.

In the meantime, Gabe would carry on as usual. There was no point in waiting around for something that might never happen. Even if Jack or one of the others ran into Gabe’s boy again, Gabe had no guarantee he’d be interested in a repeat. Gabe knew better than to assume his continued interest was mutual.

Ev

A blast of warmair hit Ev as he jogged down the steps to the 28th Street platform. He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder. A woman in a knee-length puffer coat, stockings, and gym shoes was in front of him, gripping the oversized bag that probably held her stilettos in one hand and her cell phone in the other. At the bottom of the stairs, a group of tourists were blocking traffic. They pointed at their phones and spoke rapidly in a language Ev didn’t recognize. He let the woman elbow her way past them, then took advantage of the opening she made.

The rumble of engines and blare of car horns faded as Ev left the street behind, but they were replaced by the graceful notes of a piano. Ev tugged the hood of his coat up, his feet slowing. It was one of those promotional installations where anyone could stop to play. A “play-NYC” hashtag was printed across the fallboard, placed so anyone videoingcould see it.

The pianist was good. Ev bit his lower lip and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, clenching them until his fingers ached. He shouldn’t. He had a train to catch. But as the older man at the keys finished and wandered off, Ev found himself sliding into place on the bench, his legs having moved without his permission. He ran his fingers along the keys, forming shapes from memory but not pressing down.

No one was paying any attention to him, their footsteps hurried as another blast of warm air from a passing train flooded the tunnel. With his hood up, he couldn’t see more than the piano in front of him and two strips of white subway tiles in his peripheral. And more importantly, no one could see him. He licked his lips and let his fingers have their way.

Within seconds, he was swept up in the music, the tunnel and the rush of commuters disappearing. He should have chosen something mundane, if only to help him fade into the background, but he’d never been very good at that. Instead, he let his fingers dance over the keys in the rapid and recognizable theme song to one of his favorite movies, visions of oceans, black sails, and half-zombified pirates floating behind his closed eyes.

He grinned as the song swelled like a ship carrying him away on the high seas to become the world’s most unlikely pirate. His parents would have been horrified at the stories in his head. If they’d only known. Ev shoved those thoughts aside and concentrated on the music, on enjoying this stolen moment in the tunnel. When he hit the last note, he startled at the applause. Crap. Well, what had he expected?

He slid off the bench and kept his head down as he sketched a bow. Luckily, now that the entertainment was over, people cleared out quickly. No one was going to stand around when they had somewhere else to be. Ev ducked into the flow and through the gate just as his train pulled into the station. He raced down to one of the cars at the end, far enough that no one who had seen him would be able to follow. He dropped into an empty seat and hugged his backpack to his chest, resting his forehead on it as he tried to slow his breathing and calm the electricity buzzing under his skin. It had probably been a mistake, but it had been worth it.

Still, he was going to walk to a different stop tomorrow, just to avoid the temptation. The last thing he needed was someone recognizing him.

“Get up. Get up.Get up.”

“Go away, Ev.”

Ev bounced harder on the end of Owen’s bed, jostling the lump of blankets masquerading as his roommate. “Get up. I’m done letting you lie here and rot.” He grabbed the blankets and pulled on them.

A growl came from the pile as Owen struggled to stay buried. “Fuck off.”

Ev gave a last heave, then went staggering back when Owen lost his grip. “Hah!” he cried in triumph, doing a little dance as Owen shoved himself upright and glared.

Owen’s hair was three days past bed-head, and his eyes were puffy-red from crying. “Why are you like this?” he whined as Ev held the blankets out of reach.

“Because I’m your friend,” Ev said, dropping the blankets on the floor and planting his hands on his hips. “Now, get your butt up and get in the shower. You’re starting to smell like my uncle’s sweaty old socks.”

Owen pulled a face, but he swung his legs out of bed and shoved a hand through his messy blond hair, wincing when it caught on the tangles. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered into his palms as he scrubbed them over his face.

Ev heard him anyway. “What’s your point?” He grabbed Owen by the wrists and pulled until he gave in and stood. “Look. I know you dated a while, but Scott was a dickwad. He doesn’t deserve your energy.” Ev paused. “Unless it’s to plot revenge.” He clapped his hands. “Ohh, can we plot revenge on Dickwad?”

“Don’t call him that,” Owen said, the protest weaker than the last ten times Ev had done it.

Ev wrinkled his nose. Owen was much too nice, even when it came to a guy who’d done…whatever it was Dickwad had done—Owen still wouldn’t explain their fight. Ev pushed Owen toward the tiny bathroom tucked into the corner of their one-bedroom apartment. He wasn’t lying when he said Owenneeded a shower. He gave him a last shove, then smacked his ass for good measure, making him jump and yelp.

“Everett Bailey!” he snarled. “I’m gonna—”

“Full-name me?” Ev gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest and staggering back. “When I’m only trying to help?”

Owen just gave him a furious look that was weakened by his bed head, red eyes, and splotchy cheeks and slammed the bathroom door. A moment later, the shower came on with a clunk, the old pipes rattling in the wall as they fought to bring hot water from the basement to the sixth floor. Ev let out a relieved breath.

He hadn’t known Owen all that long. Maybe six months. They’d met by chance on Exchange, and when Ev had decided to take the job in New York around the same time Owen was looking for a roommate, the rest was history. Well, recent history, but it seemed to be going well, barring Owen’s breakup. At least getting over a shitty Daddy was something Ev had plenty of experience with. Though it was looking like Owen’s version of getting over his ex was a little different from Ev’s more vengeful recovery methods.

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