Thug's Night Off

*****

The basement was a studio apartment. Kitchen and bathroom closest to the outside door. The bed was next to the stairway leading into the house. Everything was beige or white. Very nonthreatening. Very clean. Vinny had cleared all the pizza boxes and beer cans off the counter the day before. There was a picture on the wall. A tall artsy kind of poster with bold print words, saying “Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference- Winston Churchill”, and bright red and yellow slashes. The boss’s girlfriend had given it to him at Christmas. Vinny was a WWII aficionado and it was the best gift he’d ever gotten.

Vinny saw Tristan take off his backpack, tossing the yoga mat to the floor. He held the bag a moment, fishing around for something in a front pocket as he investigated the room. Vinny waited for Tristan to remark on the painting. He was nervous about the plainness of the room, but he had planned several things to say about the painting.

Tristan’s eyes finally drifted over the painting. “Sheryl bought that from me last Christmas. I thought it was for her boyfriend.”
“Yeah,” Vinny admitted. “Mr. G. didn’t like it so she gave it to me.” Vinny admitted.
Tristan smirked, playing with the strap of his helmet and took it off. “Looks nice here.”

“She gave it to me because I’m a WWII aficionado.” Vinny said. He regretted it at once. He sounded so forced, so lost when he tried to talk about anything.
Tristan laughed again, then he sauntered towards the bed. He ran a hand along the nightstand, over the drawer where Vinny kept the condoms. He couldn’t know they were there, but Vinny did and it made him a little hard.
“Do you want to talk about WWII?” Tristan asked. He tugged at the zipper of his biking jacket and started to open it. “Or do something else?”
“Do something else,” Vinny answered honestly.

Tristan smiled and pulled his jacket open. The way he had to peel it, Vinny thought Tristan would be naked underneath, instead a soft brown tee-shirt hugged Tristan’s body. It was less stiff than the jacket, stretching with him, embracing his muscles. It had a hand print on his chest and said ‘touch the earth gently’. Vinny’s first thought seeing that shirt would normally be ‘oh a hippy’ but at the moment, it was ‘damn, that shirt is hot’.
Tristan stepped out of his sneakers. “Maybe sometime we’ll have a real date. Then we can talk about WWII.”

“Okay,” Vinny agreed. He stood where he was, watching Tristan take off his clothing. Watched him slide his fingers into the tight shorts and push them down. The fabric clung to his ass and his thighs as long as it could then feathered out and fell to the floor. Vinny smiled at the pale skin of his legs, the light brown hair curling pleasantly between his legs, the flaccid cock swinging in the air as Tristan yanked off his socks. Vinny knew that prick well by now and he knew it would get long and thin when it got hard. His own cock thickened at the memory.
“Well?” Tristan stood next to his bed, naked except for the hippy shirt. “Are you gonna take off your clothes or what?”

“Yeah, sure,” Vinny said and quickly set about stripping. He crouched to untie his shoes, and while he was crouching barefoot, he tugged his shirt off his back and unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans. When he stood up again, he left his shirt and pants on the floor and stepped out of his shoes. He’d forgotten socks that morning. Out of a strange modesty, Vinny kept on his boxers. He resisted covering the tent reaching out towards Tristan.
Tristan noticed. “That all for me?”

Vinny admitted. “I was following you for a while. Saw you teaching your class.”

Tristan put one knee on the bed and remembered his shirt and yanked that off unceremoniously. He climbed the rest of the way into the bed and said, “you should have joined us.”
Vinny felt embarrassed by the idea, but he’d taken classes before with the boss’s girlfriend. He enjoyed them. He could have said so, but he was too distracted by the sight of Tristan’s naked torso, the red pebbles of his nipple unprotected by any hair. “Maybe.”
Tristan crawled to the end of the bed and reached out towards Vinny. “Come over here, Vincent. I can’t do anything for you over there.”

Vinny shivered to hear his full name. It was something only Tristan did. He stepped up to the edge of the bed. Tristan took the hem of Vinny’s boxers in his fingers. Vinny shuffled nearer, until his legs were touching the bed.
“That’s better,” Tristan said. He pressed close, running his hands through Vinny’s thick chest hair, rubbing his thighs and belly against Vinny.

The lust rocked through Vinny the way it always did whenever Tristan touched him. He wasn’t convinced it was love or some shit like that, but he liked the way Tristan touched him. So many of his past lovers were afraid. Either because he was a stranger or because his strength was a real threat. Maybe they were afraid for the same reasons he was, the Catholic fear of hell and damnation. If there was a hell he was already on his way there, so he might as well fuck who he wanted. Still. He’d never gotten over the fear of wanting other men.
Tristan was fearless.

He stroked and caressed, kissed and licked, treated Vinny’s body like it was the well-deserved lollipop at a doctor’s office, like a birthday cake he could gorge on and never regret it later, like a drug that would kill him eventually, but not tonight. And Tristan’s worship, the unabashed lust became a mirror, so that Tristan’s lovers became just as unafraid, just as passionate. Or at least Vinny did.

Vinny echoed Tristan’s touches, groping at his ass, sliding his hands over Tristan’s back and shoulders, holding his head when Tristan sucked at his nipple and groaned from the pleasure of it. He ran his hands through Tristan’s hair and bowed his head, pressing his lips to the man’s forehead, then pulled his face up and kissed him full on the mouth.

This wasn’t really Vinny’s style. Vinny was a fuck and go guy. He was used to sudden hook ups, anonymity, a lack of caress. He had fucked more than he had kissed and he never realized it more than when he was kissing Tristan. Tristan knew what to do with his mouth, with his tongue, with his lips and Vinny felt like he was just learning.

But this freedom to touch, to grope at Tristan’s ass, to hold the other man’s cock in his hand and feel it swell and harden, the freedom to be unashamedly passionate aroused Vinny past all reason. He had been waiting all day for this. Thinking about it when he was doing his laundry, imagining Tristan when he drove by the yoga studio, masturbating in the grocery store’s bathroom because he knew that tonight he was going to see Tristan, going to kiss Tristan, going to fuck Tristan.
Vinny groaned from lust and gave Tristan a push toward the bed. “I need this now, baby.”

Tristan grinned, pleased to be needed and slipped away from Vinny to lie down on the bed. He moved like it was a dance. Vinny felt so clumsy following him. He was probably rushing things. It was this lack of foreplay that would make Tristan tire of him. He should try to be a better lover, less selfish.

Still Tristan sprawled out on the bed, like he was opening up his body. Vinny moved over him, kissing his neck and feeling the lean muscles of Tristan’s naked body rising up to rub against him.
Vinny loved the smell of this man. Tristan carried the scent of incense in his skin, an earthy herbal scent that was not feminine but was also not American. Still it belonged to Tristan, to this incredibly sexy man moaning like a woman under Vinny’s mouth. Tristan’s hands rubbed over Vinny’s back clinging to the blocks of his muscles and sliding away because of the fine sheen of sweat on Vinny’s back. Tristan was so soft, so passive; he would let Vinny do just about anything to him as long as Vinny used enough lube. They’d run out last time.
The reminder prompted Vinny to say, “I got a fresh thing of lube, baby.”

“Me too.” Tristan leaned over to the nightstand grabbed a tube of lotion. Vinny realized he’d set it down earlier. Tristan’s lotion was the kind bought in a holistic store, bright yellow and purple, promising warmth and pleasure.
Vinny thought of the tub of Vaseline in his drawer and said, “Wanna use yours? It’s, um… fancier.”

Tristan already opened the tube and poured some into his hands. He wrapped his fingers around Vinny’s cock. Vinny felt the slick heat of the lubricant and the warming sensation. If he had used that himself he probably would have panicked, but he trusted Tristan’s skilled hands and sexual knowledge and he enjoyed the feeling of warmth on his cock. Tristan’s fingers moved slickly around the shaft and Vinny looked between their bodies to watch Tristan play with his cock. He loved the sight of his cock in another man’s hands, to watch the head appear between Tristan’s fingers, the way his shaft would extend past their fists.

When Tristan moved, Vinny knew he was going to finger his ass, spread himself wider. Vinny took the lube away from him and asked. “Let me?”

Tristan smiled, surprised and pleased. He leaned so that he was laying directly under Vinny’s bulky torso and arms and spread his legs wide. His knees rested on either side of Vinny’s barrel chest.
Looking down, Vinny could see the head of Tristan’s prick dangling near his belly and the dark tight pucker that seemed to be the center of Vinny’s desires. Vinny resisted the urge to slam his cock into Tristan’s ass right then. Any one else, any faceless man he met in a dark bar, Vinny would not have hesitated. But with Tristan he poured the fancy lubricant onto his hands.

“Be generous.” Tristan begged.

Vinny smirked. He liked the reminder that he had a big cock and he liked hearing it from Tristan. He rubbed the wet sticky stuff in between Tristan’s hairless legs. He slipped his smallest finger, coated with the oil, inside. When Tristan’s entrance gave easily, he switched to just his index finger. He moved it in and out slowly, gently pumping his ass and spreading him wider.

Tristan sighed and rolled his hips. Vinny loved the way Tristan thrilled at the contact. He cooed and lifted his pelvis, opening his body, pushing Vinny’s finger deeper and faster. The bed creaked with the rhythm.
That was when Vinny heard someone walking down the stairs. He was not a bright man, but he had good hearing and better instincts. It was a heavy foot-fall, not a heavy man, but a man who had never once in his life given consideration to being quiet, the footfall of a spoiled prick who couldn’t respect a man’s privacy on his one night off.

“Shit,” Vinny took his hand away from Tristan and looked to the door.
“What’s-”
Vinny put his hand over Tristan’s mouth to silence him and pressed him down under the covers. “Stay still and don’t let him know you’re here.”

Tristan nodded and curled into a tight ball and Vinny sat up in the bed, bending his knees to create a tent under the covers and hide his lover. He looked at the empty floor between the bed and the doorway to the first story and he hoped Mr. G. didn’t walk too far into the room. If he stayed on he stairway, he would not be able to see their shucked off clothes or the suspicious lump of Tristan’s body. Vinny reached for the T.V. remote and was cycling through the channels when the door opened.

Mr. G. walked into the room without so much as knocking . He stood on the first stair and surveyed the room without seeing it. He was an average guy, tried to look stronger than he was, usually scowling. “Jesus, H. Christ, Vinny, what the hell are you doing in bed already? It’s only like, what eight o’clock?”
“About nine, Mr. G.,” Vinny said and turned off the T.V. “What do you need?”
Mr. G. shrugged noncommittally. “Dunno. I just been thinking…”

Vinny wondered if Mr. G. could tell he was naked under the sheet, wondered if Mr. G. noticed the smell of sex in the air, wondered how long it would be before Mr. G. noticed the extra clothing piled on the floor. Mr. G. was a smart one, a dangerous mind. Vinny was normally content to let Mr. G. think of all the problems and just tell him what to do. One of the problems with that was when the boss started depending on you to think out his problems.

Before Vinny could even take a breath to ask him what he’s been thinking about, Mr. G. spouted what was on his mind. “That fag is making me nervous.”
He meant Tristan, and Vinny could feel Tristan uncurl a little, probably about to reveal himself out of politeness. Vinny leaned back on his arms, putting his hand on Tristan’s head to hold him down. “Which fag, boss?”
“Which fag?” Mr. G. scoffed and stepped down into the room to begin pacing. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? How many fags do you know, Vinny?”

Vinny thought about it for a moment, imagining them as a parade of cocks and asses. “Well...”
“Right, I forget you’re queer. That fag who owns the front.”
“The cafe’?”
“The cafe’? Fucking hell, do you know how stupid you sound when you say that, Vinny?” Mr. G. didn’t notice, that Vinny didn’t respond. “Very stupid. You sound incredibly fucking stupid. Fucking fag and his fucking cafe.”
“Mr. G., shouldn’t you be talking to Tony about this. I mean it’s my night off.”
“What do you think this is? A fucking union?” Mr. G. scoffed. “Falcone talks to much. And you’re not doing anything. Just watching t.v.”

Vinny shifted uncomfortably, and resisted the urge to tell Mr. G. exactly what he was doing. Exactly who. He was unpleasantly hot and unbearably aroused, but he didn’t let on. “What’s bothering you about him, boss?”
Mr. G. was quiet a moment, which was not like him and worried Vinny. A cold fear crept in as he wondered what Mr. G. would do if he found Tristan. Probably nothing. There was no harm in it. Tristan wasn’t a player, not dangerous at all. Vinny suggested to fill the silence. “Ain’t he running the front right? Did he steal from us?”
“Vinny, if I thought he stole from us, you’d have put a bullet through his eyeball by now.”

Tristan tensed up beside him from fear, and Vinny put his hand on Tristan’s back reassuringly. Not that he had any doubts he would have put a bullet in his eyeball if Mr. G. told him to. He’d feel really bad about it. “What’s the problem then, boss?”
Mr. G. stared at him a moment as if he felt Vinny should instinctively know what the problem was, as if Vinny was slow for not being able to follow. And maybe he was. Maybe it was incredibly obvious and Vinny was too distracted by the man curled up hiding under the covers to notice. He didn’t feel distracted. Didn’t even feel mildly concerned. Mr. G. wouldn’t really care if he was fucking the fag, he’d yell and throw a fit, but he didn’t care. He’d just call Vinny stupid for hiding it.

“Fuck it!” Mr. G. announced and suddenly disappeared up the stairs, slamming the door shut behind him. “You’re useless, Vinny. Go to sleep.”
“Okay, boss. Good night, boss.” Vinny waited for the door upstairs to slam shut before he uncovered Tristan. “I’m sorry about that, baby.”
Tristan continued to lay on his side and looked up at Vinny with an expression that was half confused and half analytical. “Would you really shoot me?”
Vinny sighed, because he was not smart enough to lie, and it depressed him that he was not going to get laid tonight. “Yeah… if I had to.”

Tristan sat up and looked around the room, then back at Vinny. Vinny didn’t make a move to touch him, and it occurred to him that normally Tristan would - in Mr. G.’s words- be “throwing a bitchy-hissy” right now. Vinny grinned because he realized Tristan was in the same boat he was. He didn’t want to sleep with someone who would shoot him, but he really wanted to get laid tonight.
“Good thing I’m not a thief.” Tristan shrugged. “Now… where were we?”

“Doing something else,” Vinny said and reached out toward Tristan’s body, rubbing along his arms and and kissing his lips, starting over again. He moved his hands slowly, tenderly down Tristan’s chest and stomach and then gently pushed his index finger back into his ass. Tristan cooed when Vinny slipped back in and Vinny continued kissing him, massaging him, spreading him.

But he could feel that Tristan was distracted. Tristan shifted his head and Vinny began to kiss his neck and in an effort to keep him happy and stop him from thinking, Vinny wrapped his hands around Tristan’s thin prick and gave it a few tender strokes.
“Vincent.” It did not succeed. “What do you suppose his problem with me is?”

“Fuck if I know,” Vinny answered. He squeezed a little harder than he normally would, hoping it would be arousing and Tristan would slip back into sex and away from business.
“No, come on, really,” Tristan pushed on his chest. “What’s his problem?”

When Tristan sat up and crossed his legs, Vinny gave him room. He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a power thing? The other front guys aren’t as… savvy as you. Most of ‘em don’t even speak English, you know. Maybe it has something to do with Sheryl taking your yoga class and spending so much time in the shop. Maybe she said something. I don’t know, none of this shit would keep Mr. G. up at night.”

He caught himself squirming uncomfortably. He felt like a rat, like he was saying something he shouldn’t. He plaintively asked, “Can we not talk about Mr. G. I’m kinda…”
He gestured to his cock. “You know… going a little soft thinking about shooting people and figuring out what Mr. G. is thinking and-”
“I can fix that,” Tristan assured. He leaned forward, even cross-legged as he was and bowed his head into Vinny’s lap.