i 7faa2455551cb7b9 (4 page)

"Ahh, torture chamber for fish," Marcy corrected.

"Scrappy thought so," Cal said with a lopsided grin.

Ian was pretty sure he was the only one who saw the manager roll her eyes. He took offense

before Cal got the chance. No one rolled their eyes at Cal except for Ian.

He stepped between Cal and the counter, his back to the fish Nazi, and addressed Marcy, one

hand going protectively to Cal's hip without even thinking about it. "Uh, what he means is, since

we're here, we were thinking of upgrading to something bigger. We'd love for you to show us

what you have." He cleared his throat, jerking his hand away from Cal's hip as a blush burned up

his throat. "So long as the offer stands for the free fish."

Marcy's face brightened enough that Ian could tell she was not only wearing mascara but lip

gloss, too. Her lips were almost as shiny as her teeth for the split second before the fish Nazi

stepped out from behind the counter, suddenly eager to be at their service. "That's what we're

here for," the manager said, all smiles and twinkling eyes. "We have a full line of..."

"I want Marcy to show us," Ian said. He bent down and turned his back on the woman behind the

counter so he could address Marcy. "You get commission on this stuff?" She nodded. "Yup," he said out loud, "she's the girl for us." To the manager he added, "You gotta ring everything up by hand here, right?" He seemed to remember Marcy commenting about her fingers getting

cramped up the day before.

"Yeah," the woman said, confused.

"Well, good," he said. "Marcy here is gonna make sure we find everything we need, and you, my dear, can ring us up. " He leaned over the counter, suddenly aware that Cal hadn't stepped back

an inch even as Ian's ass bumped into him. "Just, uh, do some finger warm-ups or something. I

Go Fish - 17

wouldn't want you to strain yourself." Then, because he felt himself channeling his inner Kit

DeLuca, he fogged up the counter glass with his mouth. He resisted drawing a heart in it, but

only because he was going to be hard enough to draw with his dick if he didn't straighten up

pretty soon. Gay or not, Ian would dare any man to stand with Cal Jerome pressed against his ass

and not... respond.

He had no idea why he was thinking with dramatic pauses now. He just was.

At any rate, the look on the old bat's face was enough to make Ian feel more than a little

generous. They walked out of the store, or rather, pushed, pulled, and dragged out of the store,

with a fifty-gallon tank -- more than enough for three fish according Marcy, who had the brains

to back up her charming geek exterior. That was the biggest tank they could take out of the store

and set up themselves. Anything bigger came with delivery and setup, for which they'd have to

wait until the next weekend. They were impatient.

Besides, they were two big, strong guys. They could handle setting up a fish tank. How hard

could it be?

So, they got the aquarium, aquarium stand, ten bags of glass marbles and gravel, air pump,

external filter, filter cartridges with activated charcoal (not the kind they already had for the

barbecue grill), water purifying drops, siphon hoses, and one each of every single gaudy

aquarium ornament on the shelf. Just because they could. And because that made about a

hundred separate items for Attila the Fish Monger to add up without the aid of a scanner. From

the way she glared at him, Ian thought it might just be the push she needed to step into the

twenty-first century.

For good measure, he got a gift card for ten, no twenty, no fifty… seventy-five… one hundred

dollars' worth of fish. And yes, he changed his mind that many times --
after
it'd already been punched in. He might even have winked at Marcy when he did it. But the icing was when Attila

asked if they needed help carrying everything out to the car, which she was required by store

policy to do, and Cal said he was under doctor's orders not to lift anything.

Oh, yeah, this was a hobby Ian could definitely get into.

***

the stand first, because that was the logical thing to do. It came out of the box looking like a few

mismatched pieces of wood, or some sort of wood substitute that was supposed to be stronger

because it was laminated, a few plastic baggies full of screws, and twenty pages of instructions

that read like organic synthesis reactions. Don't ask how Ian knew about organic synthesis

reactions. It had something to do with a hot tutor who'd thought he had... potential.

"Dude," Cal said with a huff. "These instructions are all in French."

"It's okay, boy. Let me shake that brain fart loose for ya there." Ian picked up the booklet, turned
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it upside down, then flipped it right to left and plopped it back down on the floor between them.

"Voila!" he said, which was pretty much the only French world he actually knew, and roughed

up Cal's hair like he was petting one of the dogs.

Cal was entirely too passive, sitting with his eyes half-lidded in an expression of, 'I'm so glad

you're amused at my expense.'

And Ian? Well, he wasn't so much amused as aroused, because Cal's hair was kind of soft, and

Cal's lips were all pouty right then, and Cal's eyes were fucking... Suddenly self-conscious, Ian

did a half-assed job of smoothing Cal's hair back into place and cleared his throat. "So, you

wanna screw?"

"What?" No mistaking the classic deer-in-headlights expression.

"Sorry, I meant, do you want to
install
the screws. With the, uh, the electric screwdriver."

Cal's jaw stayed slack, his mouth formed around a silent 'oh' for longer than a standard script

beat, as if they needed a reminder that real life isn't scripted. He somehow managed to swallow,

his Adam's apple bouncing up and down, without closing his mouth, and that wasn't helping

matters. "Oh. Yeah, sure. I've been..." He snatched the drill off the dresser and the first random screw out of the bag, then started driving the screw through a pre-drilled hole without lining it up

with anything. "Been dying to try this thing out. Eighteen volts, you know? Biggest one they had

in the store."

"You have some sort of fixation on always getting the biggest and the best," Ian said, not really thinking since he was too preoccupied watching Cal screw the side of the aquarium stand into the

hardwood floor.

Cal flushed bright red, dropped the drill with a clunk, and started tugging at the board, his

fingernails white as he bit his lower lip. "Well, I..." he grunted, tugged harder, "I don't like to settle."

Ian reached over, hit the reverse switch on the drill, raised it up so Cal could see him flip the

switch back and forth, and turned it on. He laughed as Cal's eyes went crossed, trying to focus on

the bit head. "Then it's a good thing I'm here," Ian smirked. "'Cause I'm the best of the best."

Cal snatched the drill and lowered it to the offending screw like he was ready to go to town on

some rusty screw ass, but paused before turning it on. "Yeah, you are."

It was so quiet, Ian wasn't sure he'd heard it right. That didn't stop him grinning like a loon. With

all four cheeks.

***

pieces of wood together and they came out actually looking like the caveman sketches in the

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instruction manual was downright distracting. Three separate times, Cal asked him to turn the

page and ended up turning it himself, huffing at Ian in that way that made his bangs flop in front

of his eyes. Ian didn't even have a good excuse. It wasn't like he could say, "Sorry, man, I was

too busy looking at your dimples and wondering what they feel like on the inside. Mind if I stick

my tongue in your mouth and find out for myself?"

Of course, that was just a hypothetical excuse. He wasn't actually thinking that. Not with his

upstairs brain, anyway.

The last few steps in the assembly process required at least three arms to complete, or so said

Cal, even though the instructions clearly said it was a one-man job. That was how they ended up

with Ian holding two pieces of wood together, just like the C-clamp in the picture, the one they

didn't have in their toolbox, because, well, they didn't have a toolbox. Cal was right behind him,

his arms grappling with the slippery screw and the drill, which would have been a lot easier if the

drill weren't so big and clunky. Twelve volts was probably way more than they needed for this

project, but Ian was not about to interrupt Cal's Tim Taylor impersonation. Not so long as Cal

kept bracing himself against Ian's back and leaning his chin on Ian's shoulder.

It took Ian a second after feeling a bump against each of his elbows to realize Cal's knees were

doing the bumping. All the oxygen was sucked from the room pulling Ian's skin tight over his

skeleton. Holy fuck, he was between Cal's legs, actually
between
them, like, in the space where Cal kept his... other leg.

And shit if he wasn't thinking with dramatic pauses again.

It was actually a pretty well known fact, well known even to Ian himself, that when Ian got

nervous or anxious in any way, he started talking out of his ass. Of course, knowing he had the

problem didn't do a damned thing to help him get a handle on it. Since Cal was totally the one

who had put him in that situation to begin with, he was completely to blame for what happened

next.

"Wow, it's our first reach-around."

That's when Cal drilled him.

The drill slipped off the half-threaded screw and into the heel of Ian's hand. Ian jerked back,

knocking Cal off balance, and Cal tightened his knees around Ian's rib cage to compensate. Ian

was strung tighter than the cat gut in a tennis racket, and the pressure against Ian's sides was like

the metal barrel of a rocket launcher. Ian stiffened with a squeak, board-straight between Cal's

arms, and they both toppled onto the floor.

Cal must've thought Ian was having a seizure or something, because he wrapped his arms around

Ian's whole chest and kicked one leg around Ian's thigh, pinning Ian to the floor.

"Ian! Ian, oh, God, I'm sorry! Lemme see..."

Go Fish - 20

And the thing was, Ian's hand didn't hurt at all. But he was seriously going to bust
something
, or you know, die of asphyxiation --'cause that blue balls thing was totally a myth -- if Cal didn't

stop being fucking everywhere all at once.

That noise Ian was making? Totally a squeal. It was the love child of a dolphin and a sea

monkey. And yes, Ian knew sea monkeys didn't make noise, but he couldn't figure out how a

dolphin would get on land and mate with a regular monkey, and therefore, it had to have been a

sea monkey. "Eeaagggaaghheee!" That was not a sound human vocal cords evolved to create.

And he couldn't manage anything more coherent. Squirming like a worm on hot blacktop was the

kind of base reflex that overrode all higher functions.

His ass bumped into Cal's groin, and Cal groaned with a loud, extended exhale into Ian's neck.

His grip on Ian's wrist tightened enough to be painful. They both froze where they were. Ian,

because he was being prodded in the back, and Cal, Ian imagined, because Ian had discovered

Cal l wanted to drill more than Ian's hand.

Just like that, they launched in separate directions. Cal ended up pressed against the dresser, the

nearest bag of aquarium rocks in his lap, and Ian leaned against the bed, cradling his hand to his

chest.

Catching his breath, Ian chuckled. "You drilled me."

Cal slumped a little. "I'm sorry. Man, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Ian waved him off. "It's just a bruise."

Cal drew his knees up to his chest, avoiding Ian's eyes as the bag of rocks plunked to the floor. "I guess you're a little ticklish," he ventured, peeking out from under his bangs.

"You, too," Ian said, the memory of Cal's third leg in the small of his back still fresh and...

aching.

When Cal blushed and ducked his eyes again, Ian couldn't stand it anymore. He scooched along

the floor, dragging himself with his unbruised hand until he was leaning against Cal the way he

had been leaning against the bed. He brushed the hair away from Cal's eyes with his bruised

hand, held it out so Cal could see the little purple mark, and whispered, "This is where you kiss it and make it better."

Cal's head jerked up, apparently expecting there to be a punch line, possibly something like a

cuff to the back of the head, but he met Ian's eyes, held the gaze for a second or two, then

relaxed.

Ian was caught up in the moment, forgetting for a second that he was the one who'd taken the

step to move things forward. He froze, nothing moving between them but breath.

He didn't feel his hand change positions until he actually saw it between them, the swollen flesh

Go Fish - 21

pressed to Cal's lips. Ian shivered at the soft touch and his fingers tightened, threading along

Cal's jaw. When Ian's thumb drifted up over Cal's mouth, and Cal didn't draw back, Ian pulled

the lower lip down and leaned forward, tipping Cal's head with the slightest pressure so they

lined up as though they'd done this a hundred times before.

They hadn't, but God, one touch of Cal's mouth to his and Ian wished they had. He couldn't