His tone had backed down from full-on assholic surliness, since the chief of police had recognized Ru’s name, having just come from the AIDS Research benefit.
Ru nodded. “Of course. Sorry you had to go out of your way.”
“Couldn’t have you walking.” Officer Johns smiled, but it didn’t light up his eyes. “That’s how you got in trouble to begin with.”
Ru smiled back. The fiction the cops seemed to want to hang on to was that the robber was just a junkie who stumbled and fell when Ru blew on him with his pansy breath. Good. He’d just as soon keep that thought going. “I appreciate your help.”
“You may want to be careful.”
“Oh?” Ru raised an eyebrow.
“Things may be swinging your way politically, but there are still a lot of haters out there.”
“My way? I see. Doesn’t that suggest that you should arrest the haters rather than warning me to be careful in my own neighborhood?”
A crease popped out between his brows. “Maybe tone it down a little.”
“Just as a woman who wears a low-cut dress is asking for it?”
He shrugged. “Just sayin’.”
Ru laughed. “My business is fashion, Officer Johns. This is toned down. Have a good evening.” He turned toward the door and opened it.
“Spend much time in LA, Mr. Maitland?”
Ru froze. “Not much.” Take a breath. “I’m in fashion, so I do attend events there occasionally.” Shit, where did that come from? Johns had spent some time with the asshole he took in. What had the guy said?
“How long you lived in Laguna?”
“Quite a while. Thanks again for your help.” He slid out the door, slammed it, and headed toward his house. Don’t look back. Don’t hurry.
Mrs. O’Grady, complete with brilliant floral kimono and bright green hair, ran out of her house next door with her two giant poodles, Flopsy and Mopsy, bounding at her heels. “Ru, is everything okay?”
“Not a problem, Mrs. O. Some guy attacked me, and I had to go file a complaint.”
“Attacked? What the hell? Did he get away?”
“Nope.”
“The police caught him?”
“Uh, sort of. Anyway, he’s in jail.” He bent over and petted Flopsy and Mopsy.
“You don’t even look mussed, sweetie.”
“I’m fine.” If you don’t count overly inquisitive cops. Mopsy, the white poodle, stuck out her chin farther for scratching. “Hey girl, how’s tricks?” Flopsy, so named for his very prominent balls, butted him with his fuzzy black head. “Okay, here’s some loving for you too.” He scratched at the base of his tail, which relaxed him as much as the dog. Keep breathing. The dog got a look that should have been confined to porn videos. Though the pooch would have let him scratch all night, Ru stood. “Sorry, fur persons, I’m whipped. I have to call it a night.”
“You poor dear. You must be exhausted.”
“Yes. But the benefit went really well.”
“Glad to hear it, dear. I’m just happy you’re not hurt.”
“Me too.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then gathered up his somewhat bedraggled shopping bag and let himself in the house.
He sighed as he flipped on the lights. Home. A place he loved, full of all the things he wanted to define his life, and missing all the things—and people—he’d consciously rejected. Only Bernardo even knew where he was. The rest? Nada. He dropped the Roman shades, since Mrs. O was a great friend but a nosy one.
In his bedroom, he unwrapped the shirts and set them aside for fitting later, then stripped off his ankle boots and the suit. He stared at it. Would it always remind him of the asshole with the knife? Oh come on, dear, you can’t afford to be tossing out thousand-dollar suits. He dropped it in the hamper in his walk-in closet—a luxury he’d had to engineer out of a small bedroom in the old house—then yanked off his boxer briefs. In the bathroom across the hall—as close to an en suite as he’d been able to manage out of 1950s architecture—he took a quick shower, then wrapped himself in a pale gold chenille robe. He smiled. The cop should see him now. Fagginess confirmed. Wonder why he asked about LA? Should I call Bernardo? He shuddered. Shit, don’t panic.
In the living room, he flopped on the yellow couch. Yes, it was late, but he didn’t have to get up early tomorrow. He’d missed his movie. He needed a video reward.
With a quick click of the remote, he plunged into the middle of his saved video collection. Fortunately he lived alone, or any roommate would have had him locked up for obsession. He had every movie Gray Anson had made in his six-year career. It had taken Ru a few years to discover Gray, but then—crack city. He’d bought the movies like popcorn. Not enough to just download. He’d searched for DVDs. Unlike most actors, Gray didn’t have any small movies. His first performance had hit big, and every film since then qualified as blockbuster material. Ru’d seen most of them more than a dozen times—yes, thank you, he was nuts—so which one did he feel like jerking off to tonight? Oh yeah. Misty Madness.
He clicked the Play button and fast-forwarded through the few credits. This was Gray’s one “serious” movie, where the titles ran at the beginning and the first scene didn’t include an explosion or a car chase. The heroine was pretty but more androgynous than a lot of the action-film girls. Gray was good too, showing more vulnerability than in his action roles. There was a sweetness that slipped through.
But right now Ru didn’t need plot. Just a good jerk-off scene. As the film approached the sequence he liked best, he reached into the end table drawer and pulled out the lube. Under his couch throw he hid a towel he could use to keep the suede on the sectional clean. Yeah, there it is. On the screen, Gray lay in bed, obviously naked under the sheets, a half view of his perfect, hard-as-iron buttock dominating the foreground of the shot. I can definitely work it out to touch those buttcheeks while I measure him, I bet. Sweet Jesus, that got his cock going.
He slicked his hands with lube, used his forefinger to open the robe, and grabbed his Anson-freak penis with both hands. He settled his head back and started stroking as the very short-haired girl crept through Gray’s bedroom window. She carried a knife in her teeth. Stealthily she slipped across the floor and switched the knife to an offensive position, ready to strike. As she reached the bed, Gray grabbed her hand, making her drop the knife, twisted her in an arc so she rolled over his body, and pinned her to the mattress. Before she could scream, he kissed her. Ru’s hands pumped harder.
For seconds she fought him, until—yes, predictably—her arms wrapped around him and she kissed him back. Oh yes. Ru switched to one-handed jerking while he wet his other forefinger and slid it into his asshole. Here came his favorite part.
The girl pulled out of the clinch and slid down, taking the covers with her. Man, several inches of naked groin. Then she reared up on her knees, and her head started bobbing over Gray’s hips, her short, floppy hair playing right into Ru’s fantasy. There he was, sucking the juice out of Gray Anson, giving him a blowjob the likes of which he’d never had. The camera moved close to Gray, capturing the ecstasy all over his face, then back to the girl’s bobbing head. Ru shoved his finger farther up his hole and started pumping it in time to his cock jerks, letting the fire build, gritting his teeth to keep from coming until that moment of—oh shit! From tons of practice, he grabbed the towel just as his cock exploded in shot after shot of cum. Blinding white heat flashed through his balls, then blazed into his head like a bolt. His hips bounced on the couch, trying to contain the waves of pleasure. When the shock waves slowed, he let the edge of the towel touch his oversensitive dick to capture the last of his ejaculate.