Gunpowder (Gunpowder #1)

10. GREEN

10

GREEN

In recent years, green had overtaken the colorless grunge of the brick walls of College Point, moving from alley to alley like a cancer. It was just as aggressive, just as hard to eradicate once it began to spread. Green began to crawl down from the walls, into the phones, lighting up screens with the interface for the Phantom app. Once it entered the bloodstream of the internet, there was no stopping it. The green reached the heart of the city in no time.

Julian shook the can and sprayed another layer where the original green graffiti still showed through the Incindious flames now adorning the wall. The black duffle bag at his feet had carried dozens of cans when they arrived. Most of them were empty at this point, their contents covering the marks Phantom had left before them, a war cry of paint and aerosol.

Marie’s hand stopped halfway through reaching out to take Blair’s empty can. “They’re coming.”

“I can’t believe it took them this long,” Blair said.

A few seconds after the sound reached Marie’s keen ears, Blair heard heavy footsteps rounding the corner into the alley. They weren’t quite running but they were definitely in a hurry. It was just dark enough for the streetlamps to have come on and let Blair count a half dozen men as they flooded into the narrow space.

“I don’t think we should fight them,” Julian said.

Marie placed a small hand on Blair’s elbow. “They have the advantage here, we wouldn’t get these guys down before more showed up.”

“Don’t worry.” He gave her a reassuring grin. “We just came to make them mad. Go get the car, I’ll keep ‘em busy”

“Don’t get carried away!” Julian called over his shoulder as he ran with Marie for the other end of the alley.

Blair drew his gun as they retreated, and he cocked it as soon as he could no longer hear them. He turned to the men that had finally reached him and fanned out to block his path. One of them was holding a switchblade but Blair would wager that some if not most of them were armed with more than that.

“Incindious must have a death wish,” snarked a tall man with a distinct absence of hair.

The one next to him laughed, and Blair recognized him as the asshole with the brass knuckles that was waiting outside the elevator after all hell broke loose at the cage fight. “Felix must be losing his touch to be sending kids out to do his dirty work.”

Blair shrugged one shoulder. “How about you try me then.”

As soon as he heard the scuff of a shoe moving forward on the pavement, he fired. One, two. Inhale. One, two as he exhaled. Inhale. The last two as he exhaled. The men staggered back after having a shot neatly fired between each of their feet.

“That’s your only warning,” Blair said as the last shell casing hit the ground. “Take another step and I’ll add your blood to the rest of the nice red on this wall.”

The bald one spit on the ground. “You’re all fucking crazy.”

A car horn blared at the other end of the alley and Blair backed up with his gun still trained on the men spread out in front of him. They had clustered closer together after the warning shots, but he didn’t take his eyes off of them until he was close enough to hear the engine rumbling behind him.

“If you think I’m crazy, be glad the boss wasn’t here.” He opened the door to the Lexus and raised his gun, letting the streetlamp illuminate the Incindious insignia on the grip. “Tell Isaac we said hi.”

He was still closing the door when he heard gunshots ring out over the squall of Julian spinning tires, but none of their shots seemed to connect. He grinned and settled back against the passenger’s seat. In the rearview mirror he saw Marie with her hands folded in her lap, looking as peaceful as ever in the middle of the chaos.

“I can’t believe Spencer let you drive his car,” he said as Julian whipped around someone that slowed down to take a turn.

“’Let me’ might be the wrong way to put it.” Julian grinned sheepishly. “He got tired of me hotwiring it and finally gave me a key.”

Blair chuckled and ran a hand over his forearm. It throbbed slightly from the recoil of six consecutive shots and it felt something like an accomplishment. Since Adrian had shot him, Blair broke out in a cold sweat every time he saw a gun that wasn’t his own, or when he was in a situation where a gun might get pulled on him. He couldn’t afford to freeze when the fighting started. Part of him had wavered when he pulled his gun in the alleyway, wondering if his aim had been affected as badly as his mind.

Every bullet hit its mark, though, and with each round he fired he could feel a little more of that doubt bleeding out of him.

It felt good to send a message to Phantom, but god it was nice to see his apartment. Blair locked the door and leaned back against it. With everything that had gone on since he was shot, it was easy to forget how short a time it had been until his leg politely reminded him. He looked over at the kitchen, at the couple of bowls in the sink, and the haphazard pile of unopened mail on the counter. Fuck it, he could clean up later. He wanted a shower, but he could take that later, too. Right now nothing looked more inviting than his bed.

He threw his t-shirt off the side of the stairs and took his shoes off at the edge of the bed. Taking his pants off sounded like more effort than it was worth, so he settled for popping the button to loosen them, letting them hang off his hips. He pulled the chain to turn the ceiling fan on and dropped down on the bed hard enough for it to creak in protest, but it had survived this long so he wasn’t concerned. The only spring coming through was at the end and easy to avoid with his feet. With a few undignified movements, he toed his socks off and pushed them off the side of the bed. Much better.

Blair dropped his head on the pillows and closed his eyes. It wasn’t even that late, but the fatigue of the past couple weeks was catching up to him. His body was a big, aching ball of stress. He reached down the front of his pants to trace the healing bullet hole. It still felt weird for the stitches not to be there, for the skin to be held together on its own. He traced the uneven edges, careful to avoid the scabbing wound itself. He hated to admit it but he probably would have accidentally opened it up trying to take the stitches out himself if Wren hadn’t done it for him. If he concentrated, let his own fingers go still, he could imagine Wren’s touch ghosting over his skin.

He hadn’t kissed many people, but he’d done it enough times to know kissing Wren felt completely different. It made Blair feel less like there was something wrong with him. Most of the intimacy he’d experienced had been out of curiosity, but he hadn’t understood that driving need that everyone seemed to have except for him. Sex was less of an urge for him and more of just an idea that he found interesting. The closest he’d come to truly wanting it was with the girlfriend he had in junior year, and even that had taken months of being together.

It was different with Wren. Sometime between Wren showing up on his doorstep to ask about a lizard and watching Wren save Adam’s life, something started stirring in Blair’s chest and along with it, a curiosity for how Wren’s hands would feel on his body. Wren being sexy as hell didn’t help but Blair had seen a lot of attractive people and none of them made him feel like this.

This being the aching erection straining against his boxers just from the thought of Wren kissing him.

Blair wanted to do more than kiss him. He wanted Wren to make good on the promises his hands made when they pulled Blair closer. Blair dug his fingers a little harder into his thigh. The ceiling fan was no longer helping the flush of heat from creeping down his body. He moved his hand up to press it down against his cock, as if he could get rid of his erection by force.

His earlier fatigue was being steadily erased, drowned out by something hot and urgent. “Shit,” Blair said under his breath, sliding his hand into his underwear. He wrapped his fingers around himself and imagined Wren’s long, dexterous fingers instead. Wren probably wouldn’t start stroking right away, like Blair was doing. No, he’d probably be a damn tease, but Blair was too desperate for relief. He gripped the pillow above his head, breath falling out of rhythm as pleasure sparked through his body.

Blair wondered how Wren looked under his clothes, if there would be hard planes of muscle or soft flesh that gave way under Blair’s touch. He didn’t know which thought turned him on more. He didn’t think it mattered, as long as it was Wren, with his cobalt eyes and raspy voice—god, that voice . Blair didn’t think he’d ever had a kink for anything in particular before but he was starting to think he had one for Wren’s voice. God save him if Wren ever found out.

“Fuck,” he breathed, precome welling under his fingers at the thought of Wren talking him through it, lips dragging over Blair’s ears as he pushed him to the edge with hands that were as well suited to offering respite as they were ruin.

“ You like that, don’t you Blair?” he could hear Wren whisper into his ear.

He did. He wanted, he craved more of that fire that flared up inside him when they touched.

“ Then take it. Why are you holding back if it’s what you want?”

It was a damn good question. There was no real reason to deny what they both wanted, except that childish fear of venturing into the unknown. He always felt out of control when Wren was involved and he was as terrified of it as he was addicted. His stomach tightened, imagining the weight of Wren’s tall body on top of him. He sped up the movements of his hand, spreading his precome down the length of his cock. He didn’t even need the lube in the nightstand drawer that he usually used for the rare instances when he got himself off.

A shrill sound next to him startled him out of his thoughts, and almost startled his heart out of his fucking chest. His eyes flew open to see his phone lit up on the nightstand. He swore if it was Spencer he was finally going to break his self-imposed laws of respect and go off on him. However, his anger was doused and replaced with dread as soon as he looked at the caller ID. Oh, come on . No. Not now. Blair’s cock jumped at the sight of Wren’s name on the screen.

He probably (definitely) needed to ignore it and say he’d been in the shower or something, but Wren had taken time to call him even with his schedule being so packed. Blair couldn’t just ignore him because he felt like he’d been caught doing something wrong. He answered the call and put his phone on speaker on the nightstand, still breathing too heavily to trust having it right against his ear; Wren would have a field day if he realized what Blair was doing.

“Hey,” Blair said, hoping he sounded more composed than he felt.

“Hey.”

Blair almost cursed out loud, his hand tightening involuntarily around his cock. Fuck , this was a bad idea. “How was the hospital?”

“Torture. I think every patient I saw today made it their sole purpose in life to give me a migraine.”

“Doesn’t everyone give you a migraine?”

“Not… everyone,” Wren muttered, then added, “Did I wake you up?”

Blair’s hand had started moving again without his brain’s permission, but he didn’t really fight it, too focused on walking the tightrope between drowning in Wren’s voice and actually hearing what he was saying. “N-No, I’m just a little tired. Sorry if I sound out of it. Keep talking.” Please.

At least if Wren heard the strain in his voice, he was either too tired or uncharacteristically merciful enough not to mention it. “Do you have any formalwear?”

Blair was glad for the subject change, but he did have to scramble to give a coherent answer. “Um. I might have my suit from prom, but it probably doesn’t fit anymore.” His arms weren’t overly bulky, but he knew he’d put on too much muscle for that suit jacket from prom not to cut off circulation somewhere.

“I’ll get you something. If you don’t have plans then I’m picking you up for dinner tomorrow.”

God, he was so fucked. The thought of Wren in a suit made the coiling heat in his stomach wind even tighter. “Sounds good.” Blair was pretty sure he heard the rumble of a coffee maker in the background, so he could only hope the sound covered the slight cracking in his voice.

“Do you think you can manage wearing a shirt with buttons and spending more than an hour in a city where you can’t throw a rock and hit any Incindious graffiti?”

Blair sucked in a deep breath as he skirted dangerously close to the edge. “I think I can manage, smartass.”

“Tomorrow, then. I’ll be there around five.”

“Yeah.” Blair pressed his head back against the pillow, his hand losing its rhythm on his cock. “Great.”

“See you then, Blair.”

Dialtone rung out and for once Blair couldn’t be more relieved that Wren had no concept of saying goodbye at the end of a call, because he was done after hearing Wren say his name, his name that he used to hate but had started to love hearing Wren say, enough to make his hips snap up as he spilled over his fist. He groaned as his orgasm crashed over him in waves, each one taking him deeper than the last. His vision whited out and his mind was empty of everything except pleasure and Wren.

Once he came down, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling. His sense returned to him little by little, and with it came the realization of what he’d agreed to.

A fancy date. With Wren. And no idea where they were going.

“Fuck,” Blair said to the ceiling.

Above him, the fan blades continued their lazy rotation with no sympathy for his dilemma.

The next day, Wren knocked on his door at four fifty-eight. Blair cursed under his breath and gave up on trying to get his hair in order. He had expected Wren to just be waiting in his car when he got down there at five, but even before he got to the door, he had no doubt of who was waiting for him on the other side. Excitement and embarrassment surged up in equal parts as he opened the door.

“This is the most formal thing I had,” he blurted out.

The dressiest articles of clothing he owned happened to be a pair of jeans and a polo shirt by a designer brand that Julian bought him last Christmas. It had seemed sufficient when he put it on. Now, looking at Wren, his confidence in his outfit and his ability to form sentences withered and died together.

“I told you I was going to get you something to wear,” Wren said, and somehow Blair’s brain had failed to compute the garment bag in his hand until he held it up.

In Blair’s defense, Wren was dressed in black slacks and a matching blazer open across a white button down and skinny black tie, and it all fit like it was painted on him. Blair could appreciate the irony of having their roles reversed; the only other time Wren had come to his apartment, Wren had been the one staring shamelessly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Blair said, taking the garment bag.

Wren followed him into the apartment and Blair glanced over his shoulder to measure Wren’s reaction to the place. “It’s a good thing I did.”

“I never have a reason to dress up,” he said defensively.

“A polo does your body no justice at all.”

Blair could only make an incoherent sound in response to that; he hadn’t expected a compliment to be wrapped up in Wren’s disdain for his outfit. He stopped at the bathroom doorway, which still lacked a door from Wren’s last visit. It hadn’t closed right since getting kicked open, so he had given up and taken it off the hinges. He decided not to respond to Wren, too incapacitated by how good the man looked to deal with his flirting on top of it all. “I’m gonna change, just make yourself at home. There’s, uh, coffee in the kitchen if you want some.”

Even though Wren had seen him both shirtless and in his underwear on separate occasions, he felt exposed as he stripped in the bathroom without a door to close. He relaxed a little once he heard footsteps retreat toward the front of the apartment. Clad only in his boxers, he hooked the garment bag on the towel bar and pulled the zipper down. He hadn’t even seen the clothes yet but the shiny logo on the bag made Blair think they were most likely expensive, a foreign splash of luxury against a white body towel that was yellowed around the edges from age.

It turned out to be a pair of charcoal slacks and a silk shirt that was a deep, rich burgundy. He ran a hand down the sleeve. He had never touched genuine silk, and he had no doubt this stuff was real. It was even softer than he imagined. It left a pleasant tingle on his skin when he slid his arms into it, and settled just right around his shoulders after it was buttoned. The slacks fit just as well, if not a little tighter than he usually preferred his pants. Even the black undershirt seemed a cut above his usual tank tops. A quick check in the mirror told him that his gun wasn’t visible as long as he left the shirt untucked.

He realized when he walked back out into the living room that Wren didn’t understand the whole “make yourself at home” thing. He stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, staring rather blankly out the window. Sure, he did look out of place with his expensive suit against the backdrop of a ratty couch and particle board end table that was starting to bow in the middle, but he didn’t look like new places were his thing at all. Blair sighed. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact Wren was already in his fourth year of medical school, Blair would wonder if Wren had interacted with people at all before interning at the hospital.

“I’m ready,” Blair said, shifting awkwardly when Wren looked at him. “Thanks for… these.”

Wren made a low sound of approval. “My pleasure.”

Blair made a beeline past him for the door, warmth prickling on his nape from Wren’s tone. “By the way, how did you know my measurements?”

Wren’s arm snagged his waist before he could get past him and Blair might have stopped breathing when he felt Wren’s lips against his ear. “I spend enough time looking at your body, I thought I could make a decent guess.”

“Oh,” Blair said, his throat going dry.

He didn’t bother resisting when that arm pulled him back against Wren’s chest, his head tilting back onto the taller man’s shoulder. Wren’s breath tickled his ear again and he was sure Wren could feel him shudder. Blair was suddenly hyper-aware of how very alone they were in his apartment.

“The reservation is for six-thirty,” Wren said, “but we could stay here if you want.”

Somehow Blair didn’t think staying there would consist of making popcorn and watching movies.

It took more willpower than he cared to admit to step away from Wren. “Let’s go, we don’t wanna be late. I can’t let these fancy clothes go to waste.”

Wren had started tracing the lines of Blair’s abs through his shirts, but he released him without protest to follow him out.

Wren took a folded heap of leather out of his pocket on the way downstairs that, once he shook it out, Blair could see was a pair of black driving gloves. He watched appreciatively as Wren slid them on. He never would have pegged Wren as someone who cared much about his appearance, but damn he cleaned up nice. As soon as they pushed through the front doors of the building, he saw the Audi waiting at the curb. It was really unfair that the car was just as gorgeous as its owner.

A medical podcast was playing when Wren started the car. Ignoring Blair’s insistence that he didn’t mind, Wren tapped the screen and turned it off. Blair wouldn’t have minded some white noise. People got mad at him all the time for not allowing what they called comfortable silences but Blair just wasn’t compatible with silence.

He decided on a question he was genuinely curious about. “No studying tonight?”

“I took the exam I was studying for this morning.” They had already hit evening traffic and Wren drummed his fingers on his leg, something Blair had started to notice was a habit.

His observation came to a screeching halt when Wren’s words registered, though. “You did what ? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t have anything to do with you.”

Luckily, Blair had gotten used to Wren’s overly blunt way of speaking—enough to know the seemingly harsh words were just a statement of fact, and as such Blair wasn’t deterred from complaining. “Of course it did, you’ve been studying your ass off! I would have wished you luck, at least. Keep me in the loop about shit like that.”

“Okay.” Under his flat tone, Wren sounded almost confused.

Blair dragged his voice back down to a respectable level. “I’m sure you passed.”

“I did.”

The dreaded silence came after that. They spent a lot of time in traffic given the time of day, and while Wren’s gloves made no sound on his slacks—Blair would prefer it if they did—the drumming of his fingers in the corner of Blair’s eye was getting to him. It was weird. Wren wasn’t hyper or overactive (surprising, with him being such a damn caffeine junkie) but that was what it seemed like when he was driving. Blair heaved out a sigh when he started seeing signs for the Ed Koch bridge. If the hotel was in Manhattan then they were about halfway there.

He finally snapped and grabbed Wren’s hand. They were on the bridge and finally moving steadily enough that he probably wouldn’t need to shift gears for awhile. He felt more than saw Wren jerk in surprise at the contact and he just knew Wren was looking at him, but Blair kept staring ahead. He had grabbed Wren completely on impulse and now he could feel the heat creeping up his neck into his face.

Too late to back out now , he thought, and laced their fingers together on Wren’s leg. It was a one-sided effort, as Wren allowed his fingers to be manipulated but he wasn’t helping in the least. Blair dared a quick look at the driver’s side. Wren was glancing between the road and their hands like Blair had just dropped an alien species in his lap. He didn’t look like he minded, but it was the most perplexed Blair had ever seen him.

Blair broke the silence with another question. “Why do you tap your fingers like that when you drive?”

“My father taught me to drive and I tended to leave one hand on the gearshift. He told me that’s bad for it because you can put pressure on it unintentionally.” A look of displeasure flitted across Wren’s voice as he talked about his father, his hand twitching around Blair’s. “I stopped leaving my hand on it, but I guess I did it for so long that I still look for something to do with my hand when I’m not shifting.”

“Do this,” Blair blurted out.

Wren blinked. “What?”

“I mean, if I’m with you, or whatever. You can do this instead… if you want,” Blair said, lifting their joined hands by way of explanation, knowing his face was redder than the sunset over the river.

“Oh.”

A long silence followed that made Blair think he was going to die right then and there of mortification until Wren spoke again, softly, in such a way that Blair almost didn’t hear it over the engine.

“Okay.”