Danny reached out and tugged on his belt, pulling him close until they were groin-to-groin. Felix let out a whimper as he realized he and Danny had both gone half-hard under their zippers.
His entire body ached, and there wasn’t enough air in the world.
“If you’re sweet to me,” Danny said, leaning forward until their mouths almost touched, “I’ll give it back again.”
Felix wrapped his arms around Danny’s shoulders and hauled him in for a kiss, hard and hungry, more passion than he’d ever shown another partner, more desire than he knew existed in the world.
Danny’s hands slid beneath the waistband of Felix’s slacks, and Danny kneaded his ass, fearless and without mercy.
“Don’t want it back,” Felix gasped, shaking. He slid his hands up Danny’s cheeks and scraped his fingers through thick handfuls of curly chestnut hair. “It’s all yours. Take it.”
Danny kissed him again, the thread of the conversation lost. He whirled Felix around until his back was against the door and dropped to his knees, pulling Felix’s pants down as he went. Felix’s cock flopped forward gracelessly, and Felix could do nothing but stare as Danny opened his mouth and engulfed it without finesse.
Later they would learn to tease, to play, to edge, even. They’d learn the finer points of making love. But in this moment, Danny’s mouth on Felix’s cock was everything, and he couldn’t imagine improving on the moment in any possible way.
He cried out, cracking his head back against the door, and knotted his fingers in Danny’s hair, not so much to control Danny but to anchor himself. Danny grasped Felix’s hips and thrust forward, taking Felix’s cock to the back of his throat, and then slid backward, using his lips and tongue to make the journey excruciating. Forward and back, forward and back, and Felix’s body dropped away, along with his past history and the morals he’d thought he had, until all that was left was Danny’s touch, his breath, the way he’d dropped to his knees with generosity and abandon.
His mouth on Felix’s cock became the end and beginning of Felix’s world.
It seemed like forever—though it was probably minutes—before Felix convulsed and came, crying out as Danny swallowed all of him down. When his body was done, he slid down the back of the door and welcomed Danny’s kiss, the way Danny sprawled on top of him happily, as if this moment, Felix’s come dripping down his chin, was the best possible outcome he could have imagined for his day.
“You like that?” Danny asked, those Peter Pan eyes alight and glowing.
“Does anybody say no after that?” Felix mumbled, a little dazed.
“Not so far.” Danny’s grin cranked up a notch or two. “But your answer matters most.”
Felix smoothed Danny’s hair back from his face and kissed the corner of his mouth, licked off the come. “Why?”
That grin faded, but the eyes—their intensity—remained. “Because you know my name is Danny,” he said soberly. “Danny Michael Mitchell. Everyone else here thinks I’m Lightfingers. I made that name up. You know my name.”
Felix’s mouth parted in wonder. He still planned to ravish Daniel Michael Mitchell until he was made of spunk, but in that moment, with his name, with his honesty, Felix realized that while he’d given this boy everything, Danny really had given it back.
Danny had given him the world.
FELIX DRAINED his second glass of scotch and made a hurt sound as he looked at the tumbler. Julia took it gently from his fingertips and poured some more, taking a sip before handing it back.
“He’ll help you,” she said softly.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Because he’s here,” Danny said behind them. Felix’s heart stopped, but Julia laughed.
“The front door was locked,” she chided.
“Really?” Danny asked, ingenuousness dripping from his voice.
“The alarm was set,” she said.
“Imagine that.”
She hugged him fondly. “But some people you just can’t keep out,” she said and kissed his cheek. He hugged her back, and Felix grimaced. No, they hadn’t always gotten along—but in the end, Julia, Felix, and Danny had all wanted the same thing: what was best for Josh.
It had made them unlikely allies.
It might even have made them family.
But it didn’t make it any easier for Felix to face Danny now.
“Scotch?” he asked, because looking at the decanter and glasses would be easier than looking into those fox-light eyes.
“No,” Danny said. “Thank you.”
Felix’s eyes widened, and he actually saw Danny. Oh God, same guy. Same Peter Pan eyes, same chestnut curls and pointed chin. Some gray in the hair now, some wisdom lines around the eyes, but he still looked—Felix swallowed—so good.
“You used to love scotch,” he rasped.
Danny—Danny—turned his head and glanced away. “Well, I drank a lot of it ten years ago, and now I don’t drink anymore.”
Felix dropped his own tumbler onto the tray with a clatter, Macallan sloshing over the side. “I….” Danny. “I’m sorry.” So inadequate. Ten years ago… and that dreadful, dreadful fight.
“It was not your doing,” Danny said, with that abundance of kindness he’d always shown. “And definitely not why I’m here today.”
Felix ran his hand through his hair, reached for the half-full tumbler, then let his hand drop. “Why… why?”
“Drink the scotch, Fox,” Danny said gently. “I’d be falling off the wagon too, if I’d had the month you’ve had.” Oh, that nickname! Danny had given it to him, because in their grifting days, he’d said nobody evaded capture like Felix the Fox.
Felix tossed the scotch down, and the burn finally penetrated the numbness that had overtaken him during that terrible moment when Marnie had mussed her hair and screamed, “You’re a harasser and a bully, and I’ll make sure everyone knows it!” and Felix had guessed her endgame. He started to cough like a novice, and Danny’s hand thumping on his back was actually a comfort.
“Didn’t expect a con in an honest man’s business, did you?” Danny asked softly.
Felix closed his eyes, remembering how Marnie had played him, flattered him, told him that she owed her success all to him. Felix had remembered when he’d felt like leading this network into success had meant everything, and he’d bought her lies because he missed the days when he’d had that kind of confidence, the kind of chutzpah she’d exuded. But then, when he’d realized that she’d been posting stories in bad faith, she had turned on him on a dime.
“No,” he whispered. He turned and sank down on the bed, his knees not holding him anymore. An insidious voice whispered that it was weak to let Danny see him like this, that Danny had left him and Felix couldn’t trust him anymore.
The creak of the bedsprings next to him drowned out that little voice, and Danny’s arm around his shoulders was the solace he hadn’t dared ask for.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and while it wasn’t an apology for ten years ago—or the ten years before that—it didn’t seem to matter to Danny. He tightened that hold until Felix had no choice but to lay his head against Danny’s shoulder and cry.