Legal Bindings

18. Evan

Evan woke earlierthan he’d have liked, his thighs burning from the pleasant sensation of overwork. It had been too long since he’d fucked someone, and Phillip had been just the ticket—a sleek otter of a man who had a good five inches on Evan and went down easy. And sure, maybe Phillip had reminded Evan of Nick in a chiseled, handsome, mannered way, but the key difference was that Phillip liked himself and sex in equal measure, while Nick couldn’t mask his self-loathing long enough to get through the day.

Yawning, Evan stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck before swinging his legs out of bed. He donned a robe then headed downstairs to find Nick sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, a bowl of cereal, and the paper.

“Morning,” Evan said, scratching his stomach over the silky fabric and glancing at the half-full coffeepot. “Mind if I have some?”

Nick sniffed, turning a page and shaking out the business section to hide his face. “Actually, I do mind. I’m taking the rest of it with me.”

He raised a brow. Someone was in a mood. But then, that was Nick—Evan never knew which side of him he’d get. “I’ll make a fresh pot.”

Another rustle of paper and a grunt. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

As Evan crossed the kitchen, Nick piped up. “By the way, I’d appreciate it if you could either keep your conquests quiet or limit your extracurriculars to the weekend.”

Shit. Evan winced. He had tried to keep things quiet, but there was only so much one could do to muffle a spanking. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to Nick, who’d folded the paper down, glaring at him with pursed lips. “I didn’t realize we were so loud.”

“Well, you were. Honestly, I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t call and complain.”

That was a bit much. Evan frowned. “I said I was sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Yes, well, I barely slept, and I have an inter—a meeting this morning.”

“Okay, so do youhave a job?” Evan cocked his head, as confused as ever about Nick’s whole situation. “Because Sydney said—”

“We’re not talking about me right now! We’re talking about you bringing a stranger into this house to tie you up and spank you and—”

“Excuse me?” Evan could handle Nick’s temper, but he wouldn’t stand for slander, and he held up a hand. “What makes you think I’m the one getting spanked?”

A blush stained Nick’s cheeks, and Evan could see sweat beading on his forehead. “Because you… you…”

Evan, who didn’t often brim with righteous indignation, felt like a pot coming to a boil. “What? Because I’m not some big, burly bear in leather chaps and a harness, I couldn’t possibly be the dom?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what you meant.” Evan folded his arms, his heart beating double time. “Sorry I’m not as self-hating as you are, but I don’t buy into bullshit about what people are supposed to look like.”

Nick’s inhalation was sharp as a knife. His eyes narrowed. “I’m not self-hating.”

“Oh yes, you are. You think I don’t see the way you wince every time I walk out of here in something you don’t deem appropriate? I’m sick of it.”

Though Evan and Nick had been civil with one another the past week, Nick had still stared at him all the time, eyes roving up and down his body, judging what Evan chose to wear as if he were the arbiter of appropriate attire.

“That’s not true,” Nick said, the protest weak.

“Yeah, it is.” Evan took two steps forward and pointed a finger in Nick’s direction. “I’m sorry you’re so desperate for straight people to see you as someone respectable that you can’t appreciate everything the queer community has to offer.”

“Oh please.” Nick pushed back from the table, one corner of the paper falling into his nearly empty coffee cup. “I’ve never been ashamed of who I am. I just don’t feel the need to flaunt it.”

“How is that not shame?” Evan’s voice rose to a pitch that he hated because it made him sound shrill and hysterical.

“Just because I don’t wear fucking eyeliner doesn’t mean I don’t—”

“When was the last time you went to Pride?”

“Pride’s a corporate shit fest,” he said, preternaturally calm as if Evan’s agitation had turned him to stone. “For the record, Evan, you don’t know anything about me. You say I judge you, but you judge me too. If you want me to be such a ‘good gay’”—he made air quotes—“then why not put your money where your mouth is and ask me about my coming-out story?”

“I never said you had to be a ‘good gay’!” Evan mirrored the finger quotes and rolled his eyes. “But the way you act…”

“I was married, you know. One of the first people in this state to exercise my newly legal rights, just to make a point. Sorry I’m not as flashy as you are about it, but we all have our shit.”

That shut Evan’s mouth. He’d forgotten that Nick had been married once upon a time, and it made him feel guilty to remember that Nick had no idea Evan knew Max and Ben quite well.

“You’re right, though,” Nick continued, coming around the table. “It does make me nervous when I see you in a dress or heels, but it’s not because I’m embarrassed for you—it’s because I’m terrified that someone’s going to see you and hurt you for it.”

Nick’s voice shook on the last few words, and Evan understood what he wasn’t saying—someone, or several someones, had hurt him for his sexuality, which was why he didn’t flaunt it and did everything he could to stay on the proverbial straight and narrow.

“Nick…” Evan gestured at himself then shook his head. “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about—”

Evan never got to finish the sentence, because suddenly, Nick’s mouth was on his, crowding him back against the wall, the kiss frantic and heated and pretty damn good, considering. It took a moment for Evan’s brain to catch up, and once it did, he kissed back, the intensity of their fight fueling a hard, frantic embrace, his arms around Nick’s waist as Nick put his hands on the wall either side of Evan’s head. Evan fought for the upper hand, digging his fingers into the dip of Nick’s back and pressing their bodies together before nipping at his lower lip hard enough to make him pull back and turn his head away

“It’s not about judging you,” Nick mumbled after a moment. “It’s… wanting you.”

“It’s what?” Evan managed, his eyes widening.

“Fuck.” Nick shook his head, releasing his grip and pulling away. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Wait a second.”

“I’m sorry. That was… I have to go,” Nick said, his voice strained as he rushed toward the table where his wallet and keys were waiting.

“You can’t just say that and leave.” Evan grabbed his arm, only to be rebuffed when Nick twisted away. “Hey!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I really do have to go,” he said with genuine contrition. “I wasn’t kidding about the meeting, but we can talk when I get back. I promise.”

It wasn’t an outright rejection, so Evan nodded. “Later, then.”

Nick left, and though Evan tried to catch his eye, he avoided looking back even once. Moments later, Evan heard his car in the drive.

There was nothing for it—Evan needed to process what had transpired, so he headed for the attic and started working on the Nick painting again. Only this time, he began layering in a second figure as he dealt with the fact that Nick—uptight, oddball, self-righteous Nick—had kissed him. And Evan had liked it, especially the way that he’d had to fight to dominate and how Nick had acquiesced with a whimper before pulling away.

Evan wanted a second chance at that kiss. Wanted to put Nick on his knees. Wanted to take him down and break him open, watching him slip into subspace under Evan’s hands. He got the sense that Nick needed it, and if that was using his knowledge of Nick’s ex-husband’s kinky proclivities to his advantage, well, so be it.

When the doorbell wheezed a sad little greeting sometime later, Evan jumped then checked his watch. Fuck. It had been hours, and he’d forgotten that Kelly was coming over to check out his work.

He sprinted down the stairs and opened the front door with a grin, hoping he looked more artfully disheveled than full-on crazy. “Kelly, hi.”

“Hi. Great house. It’s—” She shut her mouth upon seeing the state of the wallpaper in the foyer. “Oh wow.”

“Fabulous, right? My roommate’s big on restoration.”

“Fabulous is… not the word I’d choose. But it has good bones.”

“That it does. Come on—let me show you the work.”

He took her to the studio, where she studied his pieces with a furrowed brow. Evan stood at a distance, his hands held behind his back, wishing he could see her face. When she turned, though, she was smiling, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Fantastic. Even better in person. What are you calling the series?”

A word popped into his head that fit so perfectly he knew it was correct. “Homogeneity.”

“Homo—” She grinned. “I love it.”

“The one I’m working on now is going to be the showcase,” he said, promising something he hoped he could deliver within just a few weeks. “I think so, anyway.”

Kelly glanced around, then raised a brow when she saw the unfinished canvas. “That’s huge—you’re going to have to take the roof off this place to get it out of here.”

That was a fair point—the piece was gigantic—but no other size had felt right for the scale of what he was processing about Nick and normalcy. “I’ll figure it out.”

“God willing. You really think it’ll be done?”

“I, uh… ninety percent?”

Kelly pursed her lips. “If I reserve space for it, I need a backup plan. Do you still have the triptych from your first show?”

Evan wrinkled his nose. He didn’t much care for the triptych. It was a college piece—a study of the classics—and while technically proficient, it wasn’t indicative of his style, then or now. So he’d just have to finish the Nick painting, even if that meant sacrificing sleep, sex, and sanity.

Maybe not sex, though, supplied the Nick-occupied voice in his brain.

“I’ve got it somewhere, but don’t worry—the new one will be done,” he said, ignoring her skeptical expression and forging on. “When do you need everything by?”

“At least a week out—I’ll send people to pick things up—but I’ll want a few pieces before then so I can get photography done and start advertising.”

“You can take those three today.” He indicated the farthest-away paintings, which were as finished as they could be. Unframed, but Kelly would handle that.

“Great. I’ll start doing some pricing too. Best guess, those could go for five or six thousand apiece, but I want to make sure Reed Barton—”

“I’m sorry, what?” Evan was sure he’d misheard. “Five or six thousand?” The last time he’d exhibited with Kelly, his top price had been in the high triple digits, and even that had felt like pushing it.

Kelly smiled then leaned in. “Evan, you have no idea how many people are buzzing about you right now. As far as the scene is concerned, you’re an underground talent buried right beneath our noses, waiting to spring free. Everyone wants a piece of you, and they want it before you’re so expensive as to be unattainable.”

Evan scoffed. “Where were all those people five years ago?”

“Listening to Reed Barton and his cronies crow over some other wunderkind, probably. People are lemmings—they don’t know what they want until someone they respect tells them they need it.”

Evan sighed. “You know that whole thing isn’t true, right? The filmmakers wanted to prove a hypothesis about lemmings, so they threw them off the cliff just to get the shot, and people ate it up.”

“Doesn’t that just prove my point?” Kelly shrugged. “People believe what you tell them, and I’m about to tell them you’re worth a fortune.”