9. GUARDED
9
GUARDED
The ice seemed to melt from Wren as soon as their lips touched. His cold demeanor vanished, replaced by a hunger that made Blair’s head spin. Wren gripped the back of Blair’s shirt, his hand warm through the cold, wet fabric. Blair tentatively touched his tongue against Wren’s and Wren met it with a pleased sound. Then Wren’s tongue was moving against his, curling, stroking, consuming .
Blair practically hung from Wren’s neck, with how deeply he melted into the kiss.
Blair felt feverish, needy without even knowing what he needed. He tugged Wren’s hair loose from its ponytail to run his hand through it, and it glided between his fingers like silk. Wren pressed them together so tightly that Blair could feel the heave of Wren’s chest against his own. They pressed together lower, too, and something electric sparked through Blair’s body. A single brush of Wren’s leg against his crotch and Blair’s world was tilting on its axis.
Blair was hard. From kissing.
That was new.
He broke away with a gasped, “Fuck.”
Wren stared down at him and Blair realized all he had to do was say the word, and Wren would fuck him senseless.
“I should go home,” Blair said, still holding on to him.
“If that’s what you want,” Wren said without releasing his grip on the back of Blair’s head.
Blair wanted him . And he’d never felt anything like it before in his life. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” Wren let him go.
Blair left, and Wren let him. It was as simple as that. Except it wasn’t, Blair thought as he stepped onto the elevator. Because he already wanted to turn around and go back to him.
Felix sighed. “So, you lost him.”
Spencer held up a finger. “I’m saying that in lieu of capture, I obtained valuable information before the target was no longer accessible.”
“So you lost him,” Julian concluded.
Spencer poured himself a finger of scotch. Given the events of last night, no one questioned him for indulging at two in the afternoon. He had already decided the bar would be “closed for repairs” that day anyway, citing that he needed a break after his city-wide car chase the night before. More specifically, his car chasing a modified street bike that left his Lexus in a cloud of exhaust fumes. His knowledge of the city had let him keep up for longer than most would have managed, but the masked rider got away in the end.
Blair spun on his barstool, listening to the rain hammer against the windows on the other side of the heavy curtains. It had subsided for a little the night before, enough for him to get home from Wren’s apartment in a drizzle rather than a downpour, but it never stopped completely. He flushed at the memory of Wren’s lips against his, the feeling of Wren’s hand on his neck still so firmly present that he almost expected to find fingerprints there.
Julian got up to go to the bathroom with a mumbled comment about his friends being idiots. Blair half listened to Felix and Spencer talking, the rest of his attention sucked into the sound of the rain, his thoughts orbiting around a world of white skin and stormy eyes.
The muffled thunk of the lock catching the doorjamb as someone tried to open the door of the bar jolted Blair back to the present. He dropped off the barstool and onto his feet with a hand on his gun.
“Boss?” he asked, knowing Felix was the only one in the position to see through the small window in the front door.
Felix didn’t answer him, but the way his lips turned up didn’t seem to suggest danger. He uncoiled onto his feet with predatory grace and crossed the distance to the door in a few long strides. He disengaged the lock, flipped the deadbolt and opened the heavy wooden door.
“Come on in,” Felix said.
Blair heard a familiar baritone. “I don’t want to trouble you if—”
“Hey, I said I owed you a drink. Get your ass in here.”
Dr. Garrett didn’t refuse a second time. He followed Felix inside and stomped his boots on the mat in front of the door, rain dripping from his hair to run down the collar of his navy pea coat.
“Hey, Doc,” Blair greeted, more thankful than ever that his assumptions about his relationship with Wren had been corrected or man, would this have been awkward.
“Mr. Kennedy, you look well. I heard your stitches were removed without complications.”
Blair flushed. The pleasant smile on Dr. Garrett’s face gave him no hint as to whether or not he knew the rest of what happened after he got his stitches taken out. He wanted to know, but at the same time he was glad the doctor’s face betrayed so little. There was no telling how the boss would react to him messing around with the “punk kid” he met after Phantom tried to take out Adam. He was going to tell Felix—just not yet. He was working up to it.
Felix leaned against the bar. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“I was visiting an old classmate of mine at the Flushing Medical Center,” Dr. Garrett said, leaning next to Felix. “I was on my way back when the weather became rather unsuitable for travel.”
“Stay as long as you like. What’s your poison?” Spencer asked.
“It’s still early. Just a ginger ale, please.” Dr. Garrett looked over at Felix. “Tell me, Bane, what do you get up to when you aren’t troubling your friends here?”
“That’s his sole purpose in life,” Julian said, sticking a paper umbrella in his glass.
“I get people what they need,” Felix said.
Dr. Garrett chuckled. “I’m well aware of your profession. I was just curious if you had any hobbies besides selling weapons and lighting things on fire.”
A thunderclap drew Blair’s eyes to the covered windows again. He wondered where the masked rider from College Point was, what they were doing. Were they sitting around with the rest of Phantom like he was with his own gang? Were they shedding tears for a member that would never walk again? No, he told himself firmly. It doesn’t matter . Ace had tried to take Adam out—he deserved what he got. Blair closed his eyes like that would block out his own memory of panicked cries and the crunch of bone. He heard Doc and Julian laughing over something and wondered what the exchange would be like if Doc had been in that basement to see the cage fight.
No, he told himself again, forcing his eyes open. The point of this war isn’t to be better men than Phantom. It’s to win.
He couldn’t listen to the idle chatter around him anymore. He got down from the stool and threw a hand up. “I’m headed home, I’ll catch you guys later.”
Felix was too busy talking to Doc to notice he’d said anything, but Spencer waved him goodbye, and Julian sat his empty glass behind the bar before raising a hand as well. “I think I’m going to do the same. Wait up, Blair.”
Julian walked with him even though they lived in opposite directions. He wanted to catch up, but Julian’s idea of catching up was just heavily sugar-coated prying, so before Blair knew it he was fessing up to seeing someone and Julian was demanding to know who.
They stopped in front of a bakery for Julian to ogle a massive cake on display and Blair stared through the window without really seeing anything. All he could focus on was the hazy memory of some asshole taking his vitals after he woke up from being shot, sharpening into the image of the same man walking into the room when he took Tristan to the hospital for his fever. “It’s the med student who saved Adam.”
Julian’s face in their shared reflection on the glass went blank. “The one Felix almost punched?”
“The one a lot of people probably almost punch.”
They turned away from the pastry shop to continue walking, and Julian’s laughter rang out high and clear above the pattering rain and the buzz of conversations around them.
“You don’t think it’s a bad idea?”
Julian twirled the umbrella again. “Life’s too short for good ideas. I know you have your head in the game with Phantom, I don’t think I have to warn you about getting distracted. I’ll let someone boring like Spencer do that.” He smiled over at Blair. “When are you going to see him again?”
His darkened mood from the bar was starting to retreat under Julian’s sunny influence. His heart felt a little lighter as he answered, “I don’t know, I’ve got to leave him be for right now so he can study for exams.”
“Did he tell you to?”
“I mean, he said I wouldn’t hear from him much because of them. I’m sure he needs to concentrate.”
Julian gave him a look, and even once they parted ways and Julian’s colorful umbrella had melted into the distance, Blair was still thinking about what he’d said. Wren hadn’t told him to leave him alone, Blair had just assumed he would prefer it that way.
No, no . Blair was going to leave him be. Wren was a grown man, he didn’t need to be checked up on.
Blair made it a grand total twenty-four hours before he was exiting the coffee shop two buildings down from Wren’s apartment. He peered down at the cup in his hand as he took the elevator to the fourth floor. It had one of the little plastic sticky-things in the lid, it should stay hot until Wren came to get it. Blair hadn’t known what to get him, but he was sure that Wren had an abundance of whatever he liked in his coffee, so he ordered it black.
He sat the cup down in front of the door and typed out a quick text to Wren.
Theres a coffee outside your door if youre home. Thought you could use it. Happy studying
The reply came almost immediately.
Sunshine
Your texting is atrocious. Also, you could just come inside like a civilized person.
He glared at the door. Wren really didn’t deserve him being this nice to him. Blair was trying to be considerate and give him space to do his school shit, but fine . He picked the coffee back up and opened the door, surprised to find it unlocked. His heart skipped a couple beats as he crossed the threshold, recalling his last visit.
Well the sight of the apartment wasn’t going to call up any memories of the kiss, that was for sure. Blair couldn’t see shit. He blinked against the sudden darkness after the cool white light from the hallway’s streamlined fixtures. At first, the only illumination he noticed came from the expanse of glass that made up the far wall of the apartment. The vast window felt so big and cold in the dark.
His eyes adjusted and he realized the triple screens on the computer desk were on, and familiar, dexterous fingers skated across the keyboard backlit by LEDs. He could only make out the back of Wren’s head by the frame of an expensive looking headset, the volume controls and brand logo glowing blue.
“I would have left this outside,” Blair said, lifting the paper cup.
Wren turned in his desk chair and lowered his headset down around his neck. He leaned back and the chair whined in protest. “Bring it here.”
“Demanding,” Blair muttered, but he crossed the living room anyway.
It felt weird, handing Wren his coffee like it wasn’t just the second time it had been in his apartment. Like it had been more than a couple days since he stopped straddling the fence between wanting to strangle Wren and wanting Wren and finally acted on one of those desires.
“How are things with the other gang?” Wren asked.
Blair leaned on his desk, careful not to touch any of the computer equipment or carefully stacked papers. “They’re hiding like rats in the sewer right now. They come out long enough to start shit and then disappear again.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “We tailed one of them on a bike the other night—black with green smoke along the sides, from what Spencer told me. Phantom colors. It probably would have led us back to their hideout, but we were in their territory when Spencer lost them.”
“It sounds like a fairly distinctive bike and I imagine Incindious has plenty of contacts. Just search databases and traffic cameras and track it down.” Wren cracked his neck, briefly turning his head toward the computer monitors and revealing the dark circles under his eyes.
“I wish it was that easy but Phantom were hackers before they started this with us. If they don’t want anything traced back to their people then there’s not going to be a record of it. Vehicles, apartments, they’re all, well, phantoms. We found one of their top people’s apartment but hanging around there got Adam hit by a car.” He looked more closely at Wren, noting that his hair was in more disorder than usual and his fingers didn’t seem completely steady where they held his coffee. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just been busy studying,” Wren said in a carefree tone that Blair didn’t believe for a second.
“When’s the last time you slept?”
Wren looked away. “I don’t know, a couple days or so.”
“A couple days or so ? For fuck’s sake, Wren, are you trying to kill yourself?”
“You’re incredibly loud,” Wren said, rubbing his temples.
“Studying isn’t going to mean shit if you end up in the hospital before you graduate!”
“I won’t.”
Blair ignored him. “If you don’t remember the last time you slept then I don’t even want to think about your eating habits. Stay right here, I’m going to make you something to eat.”
“Blair—”
“I’m not going anywhere so don’t ask!” He took a deep breath, then lowered his voice. “I’ll go home as soon as you eat a hot meal and lay down. You of all people must know what you’re doing to your body.”
Remarkably, Wren didn’t seem to have a comeback for once. He spun his desk chair back toward the computer and pulled his headset back into place. Figuring that was the closest thing to permission he was going to get, Blair went into the kitchen and turned on the light above the stove. It wasn’t as bright as the overheads, not as harsh to adjust to in the pitch-dark apartment. He started opening cabinets in search of some actual food. He found stacks of ceramic dishes that might not have been touched since Wren moved in, a cabinet full of glasses and mugs that looked like it got a bit more use, and finally a door that wasn’t much smaller than the front door, that led to a walk-in pantry.
As soon as Blair saw the shelves, it was everything he could do not to go back out into the living room and start yelling again. All the damn money Wren seemed to have, and the massive pantry was stocked with nothing but granola bars, instant ramen, and fucking coffee. He walked out of the pantry and decided to try the fridge. Maybe there was at least some leftovers he could put in the microwave.
The rest of the kitchen was pristine and orderly without a personal touch in sight, save for some drinkware in the sink. There were no splashes of color, no cute, decorative items or anything else that made it look like a home. The double-door fridge was no exception; it was clean and smudge-free (an impressive feat with that stainless steel finish) save for a single sheet of paper held in place by a magnet. He squinted in the low light provided by the stove a few feet away. It was definitely a child’s drawing, but not bad by any means. It portrayed a dark haired man with glasses rendered in strokes of pen and markers. Blair could only guess the colorful shirt and pants were meant to be scrubs.
His eyes traveled further down to the scribble in the bottom left corner, and his heart climbed into his throat. In familiar black writing, it said Dr. Masters .
“Tristan,” Blair whispered. He distantly remembered Wren’s words the first night they went out together, “He asked for paper and markers and hasn’t bothered me since.”
Blair shook off the weird tingle the drawing stirred in his chest and set to collecting the best ingredients he could scrape up. It ended up being a couple packs of ramen, some teriyaki chicken that didn’t seem to have been in the fridge very long, and a few bottles of seasonings that still had the plastic seal around the lid. He pulled a pan down from the hooks above the stove and whistled. It was a nice straight-sided skillet with a heavy bottom. Hell, no more than Wren apparently cooked, he might just take it home with him. It certainly wasn’t getting any use there.
By the time he was done, it was a decent looking dish. He served it up on two plates and returned to the living room. Wren’s headset seemed to do its job of canceling outside noise well, since he didn’t move a muscle from his computer no matter how many times Blair called his name. Blair finally went over and popped one ear of the headset against the side of Wren’s head.
“Come here and eat.”
Wren apparently couldn’t be bothered to get up, wheeling his computer chair to the coffee table with his feet until he could reach the plate sitting there. At least he left the damn headset on the desk.
“This doesn’t look horrible,” Wren said, looking at the home cooked meal like he had never seen one in person.
Blair didn’t point out that they were eating by the overflow of already low light from the kitchen and the food didn’t look like much more than a pile of mysterious, darkly colored chunks and squiggly shadows of noodles. He sat cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table and picked up his own plate. “I’m not a bad cook, thank you very much. I help cook at the bar sometimes, too.”
Wren looked up from stabbing a piece of chicken to raise an eyebrow. “Well, thank goodness you’ve earned the favor of some gangsters and a bunch of piss-drunk patrons that are probably too far blitzed to know a chicken wing from a strip steak by the time you throw something on their plate.”
“You’re horrible, you know that?”
“Go home then.” There was no bite to his words, just an empty retort that made Blair roll his eyes.
“Not ’til I make sure you eat,” Blair said around a mouthful of noodles.
He couldn’t see much of Wren’s face, but he thought he almost saw a smile.
As much of a pain in the ass as he was, his second time having dinner with Wren wasn’t so bad. Once he started eating he didn’t stop until he had slowly but steadily cleaned the plate. He was obviously starving, but Blair guessed his pride wouldn’t let him scarf it down like his stomach wanted him to. Blair finished the last of his own food with a sigh. All Wren had done was needle and insult him from day one and now he was making the bastard dinner. He sat his empty plate on the weirdly modern looking glass coffee table after he found a gap between the numerous textbooks laying open on it and started maneuvering his way to his feet. Okay, so no more sitting on floors, he decided as his leg protested the strain of pushing his weight off the ground.
“Where’s your bathroom?” Blair asked.
Wren appeared in front of him, pulling him the rest of the way to his feet, his hands hovering at Blair’s sides until he saw that his leg wasn’t going to give out. “First door on the right.”
They were standing so close that Blair was overtaken with the urge to kiss him, but after last time, Blair didn’t trust himself. He didn’t know why it scared him so much to feel so out of control whenever Wren touched him, but he retreated down the short hallway to the bathroom rather than find out.
It was easy enough to find, though it took some fumbling for the lightswitch before he could see anything. His mouth fell open as a row of vanity lights and a larger overhead came on at the same time. Three people could get ready in front of the mirror with ease, and he could have fit a small child in the damn sink, nevermind the walk-in shower that was separate from the massive tub.
After one empty drawer and another that held only the essentials for shaving, Blair found the one he was looking for. He took the few utensils it held and returned to the living room. The other door off the hallway caught his interest but he had no business snooping around Wren’s bedroom. He stamped down his curiosity and focused on his original task for going to the bathroom in the first place.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he said when he found Wren back at the desk, about to pull his headphones back on. The plates were gone from the coffee table.
“Why?”
“Leave that off for a minute. Tilt your head back.”
Wren stared at him over his shoulder for a moment before reluctantly leaning back. He flinched when Blair gathered his hair and pulled it over the headrest, the black strands blending in against the leather. “I’m not gonna hurt you or anything, geez,” Blair said, laying the brush on the desk and starting with the comb. “Your hair is just a mess. Even more than usual.”
“My hair isn’t usually a mess.”
Blair chuckled at the defensive tone, working the teeth of the comb through a tangle. “It depends on how long it’s been since you put it up. It starts falling out of your ponytail after awhile.”
Wren fell silent at that. Blair didn’t know why, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t need Wren turning to give him any smart remarks and making Blair pull his hair. He worked his way from the ends up to the crown of Wren’s head. His hair was clean, just disheveled like he had washed it and then forgotten about it. Humming to himself, Blair ran his fingers through it a few more times than he absolutely had to.
He sat the comb down and picked up the brush. It had been a long time since he had done this. Years, it must have been, when Hope would put herself in tears trying to get a brush through her curls, before coming to Blair with frizzy hair and wet cheeks.
Wren was quiet as Blair reached around to brush his bangs into place. He didn’t say anything at all, even when the brush was no longer hitting any snags and Blair was just pulling it through his hair to let the soft locks fall over his fingers. Blair finally sat the brush down and stepped back.
“Alright, I’ll go home now. You can go back to your… whatever that is,” Blair said, gesturing to the medical gibberish on the screen. He waited for the click of Wren’s tongue or a dismissal, but he was only met with more silence. Blair moved to the side of the chair to look at him. “Hey. Wren.”
Wren’s chest rose and fell evenly under his black shirt, and his eyes were closed. Blair sighed as if the sight didn’t bring a pang of fondness to his chest.
“I guess I’ll just let you sleep here,” Blair said, mostly to himself. He didn’t want to risk waking Wren by moving him, so he pressed a quick kiss to Wren’s bangs and whispered, “Sleep tight, asshole.”