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Chapter Text

The phonebooth didn’t close all the way, leaving half an inch of cold winter air to bother Grofield. He could feel the wind down his back, under the mackinaw, and he decided he hated the phonebooth. New York winter wasn’t like the Canadian wilderness but it wasn’t great either; having mistakenly run hot in the crowded subway, Grofield had left his jacket open and his gloves in its pockets. The turtleneck Marba had bought him felt thin, suddenly insufficient.

When the woman on the other end said, “New Electric Diner,” Grofield jumped about a foot into the air. He’d gotten distracted.

“Handy McKay, please,” he said, cradling the phone between ear and shoulder and taking the moment to button himself back up.

“Just a minute.”

It must’ve been a waitress, Handy had no lady loves that Grofield knew of.

“McKay here.”

“Handy!” It was a relief, Grofield could’ve wept. He’d spent so long a stranger in a strange land, he’d forgotten how badly he craved familiarity. “This is Alan Grofield.”

“I recognized your voice, Alan,” Handy said. Grofield grinned, unseen. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you know if Parker’s in New York?”

“He’s around.” Handy sounded like he was thinking about it. “He might be at Claire’s house, up in Jersey. I can call and ask?”

Grofield felt his stomach do a flip, like he was still in the rickety little airplane flying back to Quebec, but that meant nothing. He’d had a long day. “Would you? I’m in the city, I’d love to see him.”

“You got it. Where can I call you back?”

“I’ll just wait here.”

He read out the number printed on the phone, and hung up.

Coming from Newark Airport, Grofield had changed cabs twice and spent about three hours wandering the subway, getting on and off at random until he’d been certain that Ken and his buddies really had called it a day and there were no company men on his trail. He’d made it to Brooklyn by pure chance and having emerged face to face with this phonebooth, he’d thought the planets had aligned. That was, if Parker wasn’t with Claire. If Parker was around at all. Grofield had made no plans beyond this call, and he didn’t much miss the Mead Grove Theater just yet – with no heating, and the place all boarded up in the off-season.

He picked up the phone on the first ring.

“Alan?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s in the city, I can give you the name of the hotel.”

“You know what, Handy?” And maybe Grofield did have a plan. The beginnings of a plan, the alluring curves of one. “Can you call him and tell him to meet me in the Met by Monet’s Water Lilies?”

Handy laughed, it was a good hard laugh like he’d needed it a while. “I’m not sure he’ll be able to find you,” he finally said, “but sure, I will. You’re a funny guy, Alan.”

“Yeah? Well, thank you.” He was raring to get back to the subway, anywhere with doors that closed. “Say, you know how I can get to the Met from here?”

“Probably. Where are you?”

Grofield told him.

- - -

Grofield followed the sign reading 19th and Early 20th Century European Paintings and Sculptures, and walked straight into Monet’s lilies. They were something to behold, which was good because he’d gotten turned around a number of times on the way here. He’d found the cafe easily enough, and after two overpriced cups of coffee and a pastry, he’d considered himself good and ready for the actual museum but there was plenty to see and Grofield eager to loiter after a week of nothing but blinding snow. By Sunday night, even Vivian’s green ski pants had seemed lackluster, and what was underneath them only slightly less so.

Monet was just the thing.

But so was the man in front of the Water Lilies. Grofield smiled, Parker had his back to him but he’d know the shape of him anywhere – big and lean with boxy shoulders, sharp angles leading down to a narrow waist, his big hands holding onto one of the little gallery maps Grofield had foregone because he’d thought himself too much of a free spirit for it. Standing there with his head tilted, Parker was dwarfed by the sheer size of the painting though. Grofield felt it shouldn’t have been possible, like they’d gotten that thing straight out of Alice in Wonderland.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” he whispered.

It was the work of seconds. When Grofield stepped in close and gently touched his hand to Parker’s elbow, Parker turned to look and something in his dark eyes softened, the line of his shoulders eased.

“Grofield,” he said, all quiet.

“Hi.”

The last time he’d seen Parker, they’d been skidding down an icy road in Ohio and Grofield hadn’t even gotten a good look at him in the backseat before the car had started doing somersaults and Grofield’s world had faded to black. For two weeks, that had been it.

And suddenly, here was Parker, real again.

“Let’s go home,” Grofield said. He didn’t think about it, he just said it. His hand was still on Parker’s arm.

“I thought you wanted to see the paintings.”

“I’d rather look at you, Parker.”

Parker’s smile was a rare treat, and Grofield smiled back, knowing he’d meant it and feeling nothing except relief with it. He kept on smiling when Parker grabbed the suitcase he’d been lugging around all day.

They took the subway back to Parker’s hotel, their knees pressed together on the ride over and neither said a word. A year ago, they’d gone see a musical on Broadway and Grofield remembered some of the stops, he thought it might have been the same hotel. It had surprised him then, that a guy like Parker would humor him like that, but somewhere in the back of his mind Grofield had known for years that there were no guys like Parker. He existed in the singular.

It wasn’t the same hotel at all.

Parker was staying in a rundown little motel way out of the way, neat but showing its age – the same went for the double room on the second floor, though it was warm and comfortable inside and Grofield figured they couldn’t all be Chateau Frontenac. He knew the places Parker liked though, and he wondered where all the money had gone.

“I don’t have your share,” Parker said, like he’d read his mind. “I had to stash the money in Marooned!”

Grofield stared.

He liked the little note of excitement added to Parker’s usual monotone voice, though he didn’t understand it.

When Parker sat next to him, Grofield stared some more.

“It’s a ride in Fun Island, the amusement park in Tyler.”

“Oh.” Grofield remembered that. “Yeah.”

“It went sour,” Parker explained, “two dirty cops saw me go in, and local Outfit man called in an army to get the money from the armored car job. It was a box with one way out, so it took a while but I hid the score in Marooned! and we can go back for it in the spring.”

He said it like that every time, an invisible exclamation mark. Grofield was amazed.

“But you’re okay?” he asked.

Grofield was running low on funds but then again, he always was. He’d survived it before, and so had the theater, so money didn’t strike him as the immediate concern – though that was a big slice he’d lost out on. Maybe they really would get it back by spring, he’d never known Parker to let money go.

“I’m tired,” Parker said, and he ran him through some of the highlights of Fun Island, stilted and short and trying hard. His big hand was on Grofield’s knee, warmth seeping through his white slacks. “I thought you were in prison.”

“Narrowly avoided, dear heart,” Grofield laughed, “very narrowly.”

He leaned against Parker, the two of them sitting there on the edge of the bed, and he told him all about Ken and Charlie and the offer he couldn’t refuse. Grofield knew what Parker meant. He’d done a lot of sleeping but he’d done a lot of freezing, too. His body was tired.

“I don’t think it was as bad as your icy river though,” he finished, shivering at the thought. “I need a hot shower. I had to wake up so early for my flight, Parker, it was awful. I’ve been out in the cold all day!”

Grofield sat up, undressing as he went, but when he saw Parker wasn’t following, he stopped so abruptly he tripped over his pants. It was only then that Parker stood too, and he offered Grofield a hand as he gingerly stepped out of the slacks pooled around his ankles. Down to his shorts, Grofield thought he might have been misunderstood.

“You’ll have to show me how to work the shower,” he said, getting in close and unbuttoning Parker’s shirt as he spoke. “Is it really complicated?”

“No.”

He grinned, done playing coy. “You better show me anyway.”

- - -

Grofield sighed in contentment when the spray of hot water hit his back. It was a bodily sort of animal pleasure, like the first taste of cold beef stew straight from the can when he’d been starving in the snow. He stood there smiling at Parker, who was looking better naked than anyone had the right to look. He had an athlete’s body, broad and lightly muscled and built for endurance. Grofield couldn’t remember not wanting him.

“Aren’t you cold, angel?” he asked, opening his arms to receive Parker.

When he crowded him up against the wall, Grofield giggled. They were about the same height, big men under steam and water in the small shower. Parker’s hands landed on his hips, Grofield knew he was softer there – softer all over, and it was a long time now that he’d been meaning to exercise off the spare tire at his waist and hadn’t done it – but he was inclined to think Parker liked it, what with the way he grasped at him, big hands sliding down until they were resting on Grofield’s ass.

Grofield kissed him, closing the scant gap between their bodies.

It was only a press of the lips at first, like they were relearning how they fit together. Then Parker opened his mouth, and Grofield licked into it, and the wild jolt of arousal that went through him was electric. Parker always kissed like he needed it.

“I missed you,” Grofield said, quiet against his lips.

They weren’t doing a lot of showering but that was fine, Grofield was happy with the body against his, both of them getting interested by degrees. He’d missed getting his hands on a man and he’d missed a man’s quiet strength and a man’s low moans in his ear, but he’d missed the hard planes of Parker most of all.

“Me too,” Parker said, and he kissed him again.

It was big drama, the kind of kissing Grofield liked; tongue and teeth, and hands all over with the air heady between them and the water still running. Every time they parted, Grofield couldn’t take his eyes off Parker – his red lips, flushed cheeks. He cupped Parker’s face, one hand brushing wet hair off his forehead, and then their lips were meeting again. The moment went on slow, endless, but then Parker was pulling him closer with those big hands on his ass and Grofield gasped when they really rubbed against one another, the friction sudden and delicious.

Grofield wanted it, but he wanted it horizontal.

He pulled back and reached for the little hotel soap. “We’ve got a perfectly nice bed waiting for us,” he said, and winked.

- - -

Warm and clean, Grofield slid under the covers and watched Parker towel himself dry. It was a gorgeous sight, he enjoyed it greatly.

“I was in the hospital for three days, you know,” he said, laying there wearing nothing but a smile. “After the car crash, I mean.”

Parker looked at him then, startled.

“I just mean– it’s been a long time since I saw a friendly face, Parker.” He patted the spot next to him. “C’mon, I wanna cuddle you like a teddy.”

Grofield laughed, always amusing himself, but he stopped halfway, perplexed by the fabric his hand had stumbled onto while patting the bed. It was one of his turtlenecks, and not the recently purchased one that’d been residing on the floor for the past half hour. He pulled it out from under a pillow and took a long hard look at it, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Friend of yours?”

“It was in the car, the one we’d switch to after the job.”

Parker took it and put it over the back of a chair.

“You can keep it, you know.” Grofield cleared his throat. “If you want to.”

Parker smiled, and then he was crawling into bed and pressing himself close up against Grofield’s side, nosing at his neck until he settled there; that big body laying halfway across him, a leg thrown over his, and Grofield could feel him still hard against his hip – the two of them touching everywhere it mattered. Grofield stroked the length of his back.

“Can I tell you about my week?” Grofield asked, and he wasn’t sure why he’d done it. They’d already covered the broad strokes of it, he knew for certain Parker would tell him no more about his time in Fun Island unless he deemed it necessary to their eventual return.

He felt Parker nod against him, the arm he had across Grofield’s chest tightened briefly around him in half an embrace. That was good enough to get him talking. It was always pleasant with Parker, and what an odd thing that was. Grofield knew he was a great place to visit, but Parker always seemed to want to stay. He was telling him about his 3PM breakfast burger – an awful greasy thing that had upset his constitution even worse than the paralytic drug that had followed it – when Parker shifted where they were pressed close together, and exhaled softly against Grofield’s neck. He could feel him, and Grofield wasn’t far behind, but the thought delighted him. How Parker was always cool and sure and composed, but needy and frantic here.

“Are you listening, kitty?” Grofield said. He really had missed this.

That was another secret pleasure, all the pet names Parker never objected to. He didn’t know if anybody else got to see this side of Parker, it wasn’t at all like Grofield had imagined him before he’d known him. He didn’t like to think of the women that might have seen it, if they had.

Parker nodded again. He was listening.

But Grofield had something else in mind now, a nagging curiosity.

“Things with you and Claire getting serious?”

He should have let it go. He thought of what Handy had said about the house in Jersey though, and he clung. Grofield had never seen Claire, the name conjured up nothing. Her place in Parker’s life confused him.

Parker looked up at that, and that was a very unimpressed look on his face – as if to say his hard cock was pressing up against Grofield’s hip, not Claire’s. “No,” he said. He sounded out of breath. It was thrilling, two sides of Parker colliding. He looked like the kind of man he was just then, cold and tough.

But he was still in Grofield’s arms.

“You don’t live there?”

“No.”

He knew Parker meant it. The way he said it, he meant it. Grofeld cupped his cheek and leaned in to kiss him, and it was like in the shower again: all the pieces fitting like they were supposed to.

They kissed slow and lingering, licking into each other’s mouths. Parker hitched up his leg so he could grind on Grofield like that, and they both moaned at the wet slide of him.

“Just how long have you been ready, honey?” Grofield laughed, and he liked the sound Parker made – the punched-out gasp, as though it was a little too good. His hand brushed over Parker’s ass, lean like the rest of him, and then further down. He pressed a finger against him, a hint of pressure.

“There’s lube in the nightstand behind you,” Parker said. His voice was pitched low, a rumble in his chest. “I need you, Grofield.”

He knew he meant that, too.

Grofield reached for the nightstand, he couldn’t seem to stop smiling. When he laid back down, he pulled Parker on top of him; the two of them rubbing together, sharing a breath. It was easier, Parker straddling him like that. It was better. By the time Grofield had two fingers in him, he was moaning like he’d already pushed inside. It was intoxicating, feeling Parker relax, rocking back and forth between Grofield’s fingers and his cock. Grofield’s face felt hot, he must have been as flushed as Parker was.

“I need you,” Parker said again, nuzzling against Grofield.

“Yeah.” Grofield heard the breathlessness in his own voice. “Be good for me and roll over? I wanna see you.”

And there was the whole of Parker spread out next to him. His eyes were half-lidded, he looked like he really did need it. Grofield leaned down and put his mouth on his chest – enjoying that dusting of hair, the groan that left Parker’s lips. He lifted his head and kissed him again; then he was holding one of Parker’s legs up, spreading him open, and the head of his cock was rubbing at his hole.

“Please,” Parker gasped.

That was all it took.

Grofield held him like that, and pushed in. They both moaned with it. Parker was hot and tight around him, and Grofield was whining for it like he was the one being fucked. “I really needed this, kitty,” he was saying, “you always take me so well.”

“Grofield,” said Parker. It was a heated whisper, like it’d been pulled out of him by force.

“Like you were made for me, Parker,” Grofield moaned.

He kept on moaning, thrusting into Parker – marveling at how flexible he was, how good he felt. Parker met him halfway, propped up on one elbow, his cock leaking right next to Grofield’s hand but neither making a move to touch it. Parker could come like this, Grofield knew it. He certainly sounded like he could.

Grofield wanted it to last, he couldn’t get enough of it. He’d stay here a week. Two. When Parker gasped baby, Grofield had already made up his mind.

“You’re so good,” he said, and he felt the way Parker shuddered at it.

Then they were kissing; a slow rub of their open mouths against each other, of their cheeks, their whole faces as though they couldn’t stand not touching. Sometimes, back in Indiana, Grofield lived on the memory of it for months.

“C’mon, kitty,” Grofield said, sounding wrecked and running his hand up the length of Parker’s thigh, still holding him open like that, “you can do it for me– you feel so good, ah, Parker–”

It didn’t take long at all, and Grofield wondered about the strain on Parker’s leg and he wondered whether he should’ve asked where he wanted it and then he didn’t wonder about anything at all because Parker spilled over his own stomach with a whine. A long, drawn-out thing – his mouth on Grofield’s, his hands clutching at anything in reach. Grofield followed him, loud with increasing desperation and tense until he wasn’t.

They laid there a minute or two, nothing but their soft panting filling up the hotel room. Grofield was sweating, and a little stiff from the position he’d been in. He smiled when Parker kissed his cheek. Pulling out and easing Parker’s leg back down, Grofield cuddled up close to him.

“God, Parker,” he said.

It was all awe.

“Yeah.”

Parker was smiling, looking content. When Grofield ran a finger across the mess on his stomach and licked it off real slow, he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

“You wanna taste?” Grofield asked. He felt like a tightrope walker, suddenly conscious of a balance to be maintained.

But there was no taking it too far with Parker. He nodded eagerly, the blush back in his cheeks, and he sucked on Grofield’s finger when he swiped it through his come again and brought it up to his lips. They looked at each other, and Grofield felt it like the twist of a knife low in his gut. He wouldn’t be able to get it up again just now but he enjoyed the heat of it, the hazy pleasure in Parker’s eyes. He did it over and over, putting his fingers in Parker’s mouth until he’d cleaned him right up.

It was like nothing he’d ever done.

“You’re a wonder,” he said.

They stayed trading kisses, Grofield liked the taste. He liked all of it.

“We should go again,” Parker said after a while, blunt like he always was. “Later.”

It startled a laugh out of Grofield. What he was thinking, he wouldn’t dream of saying. “You bet,” he agreed, all smiles. “Hey, is your leg sore?”

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” Grofield absentmindedly traced a line through the coarse hair on Parker’s thigh with the tip of a finger. “You’re in great shape, you know that?”

Parker never seemed quite sure what to make of Grofield’s compliments. He kept quiet, but that was fine. Grofield enjoyed the easy, amicable silence between them. “I’ve never had a friend like you, Parker,” he said.

That one was worth the trouble, Parker acknowledged it.

“Me neither,” he agreed.

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