“Believe it, pal.” Tony’s smile turned dark and malicious, his petulance forgotten. “Your pretty boy’s into some seriously fucked-up shit. He was real popular on his knees, licking some nice, smooth pussy and—”
“Shut up,” Danny growled, reaching to the dresser and grabbing Tony’s gun. He cocked it without thinking and pointed it at him. “If I find out you’re fucking spreading rumors about him, you worthless—”
Tony laughed, a bone-chillingly manic sound as he leaned into Danny, forcing his forehead against the gun. “Do it, Carlow, I dare you. Kill me for spreading rumors about your one and only.”
“Fucked-up piece of shit.” Danny pulled the gun back, having the off-thought that he shouldn’t put his prints on a gun Tony was carrying around. Who knew what sort of crime he could end up framed for? He locked the safety and tucked the gun into the back of his jeans. “I’m taking this.”
“It’s all yours,” Tony said nonchalantly, not the least bit unnerved by Danny’s outburst. “I really did see your boyfriend at Arty’s party. That wasn’t bullshit.”
Danny was good at reading people. He could hear the ring of truth in Tony’s voice. “You just thought you saw him. Paul’s not wearing dog collars and crawling around like the freaks at Arty’s parties. There is no way.”
Tony gave him a look that said he firmly believed Paul was doing both of those things. Obviously bored with the subject of Paul, his attention span short as always, he walked back to the bed and crawled onto it, rolling over and spreading his legs invitingly. He stroked himself, giving Danny a lecherous smile. “You sure you wanna leave?”
“Pretty sure,” Danny said, watching Tony despite his disgust with him at the moment. He tilted his head, enjoying the novelty of being a voyeur. “What the fuck were you doing at Arty’s party?”
“Looking for you.” His smile broadened. “I fuck you, so I gotta be twisted. Don’t look so surprised.”
“You wearing dog collars for some asshole, Ton?” Danny grinned at the notion. “Are you someone’s bitch?”
“I’ll be your bitch,” he taunted. “You want me to be your bitch?”
Danny laughed, unimpressed. “Been there, done that. I told you, I got shit to do.”
“You suck,” Tony said, suddenly sounding like the twenty-year-old he was.
Danny smirked as he turned to leave. “Sometimes.”
*
“Touchdown!”
Danny leaned against the fence, watching Paul run across the field behind the recreation center. He waved his hands around like an idiot while a whole pack of seven-and eight-year-old boys laughed and squealed after him. These were underprivileged kids. They needed programs like Pee Wee football to keep them off the streets and safe from assholes like Tony. It took a special breed of guy to make himself look that stupid in public just to amuse a few lonely kids.
Danny knew he chose well in having Paul be the voice of his conscience. He just needed to turn up the volume a little and stop doing jobs for bastards like Tony. What started as a casual hook-up in the dark corner of a gay club was the beginning of a downward spiral into organized crime that had been painfully easy to fall into. Danny was obviously too good of a lay for his own good, because Tony started hounding him for a second and third meeting. He was a decent-looking, enthusiastic bottom and Danny wasn’t overly concerned with the legalities of his lovers’ day jobs, considering he had never been exactly law-abiding himself.
The problems started when Danny’s lack of funds coincided with Tony’s need for someone to do his dirty work. Tony was crazy, but he wasn’t a fighter, and unfortunately Danny was. There was a reason Tony kept bugging him to work full-time and it wasn’t for Danny’s big cock. He was depressingly good at kicking the shit out of drug dealers.
While leaning there sulking over his life, Danny saw Paul spot him. Paul ran toward the fence, grinning like a fool, his face flushed and glimmering with sweat under the dying afternoon sunlight. Stopping in front of Danny, Paul took a spectacular dive into the grass when the kids caught up to him, going down hard enough to make Danny flinch from the sound of the thump. Grass wasn’t that soft.
“Say hi to Mr. Danny,” Paul said with a muffled umph when two of the boys jumped on his back.
“Let’s not,” Danny said with a look of distaste, admiring Paul for working with children, but being very glad he didn’t personally have to do it. “I thought you were done at seven.”
“Is it seven?” Paul asked, lifting his head to look at Danny. “Already?”