This was my first try at Keen’s book. I knew Rafe wouldn’t work as narrator in the long run, but I needed a way in, and Rafe wanted to help. Sometimes that’s how it goes. I think I tried it twice in Luc’s POV too (“Angelo” became the governor’s name, his son, Keen’s friend, became “Luc”), before I realized I was starting to soon, and jumped about a year forward.
All of which means that though I love this bit, I can never use it. So here it is.
****
Keen was even more beautiful under the colored cels of a dance floor, Rafe had to admit. The tints and the whirling lights catching him in frame-by-frame animation, the redheaded martial artist even more graceful when lost in music–it was enough to make a guy sick.
A drink. He needed a drink. “I’m getting a drink!” he shouted to the younger man. “Want one?”
Purple shadows swayed around Keen’s face as he shook his head under a blue light. “Taro said–“
Rafe rolled his eyes and walked away, not waiting for the rest of the nag. Don’t talk, he reminded himself again. Ignore the lyrical and sexy accent, ignore politeness, and don’t talk. He and Keen got along just fine as long as they didn’t speak. And Keen was doing him a favor, coming at all. Rafe’s lover did not like clubs, and did not like Rafe going out alone, but Taro trusted his student to look after his love. Instead of suffering ego problems, Rafe ought to be happy Keen was enjoying himself. He might get to go out a little more often.
Well. A glance back confirmed the gorgeous dancer wasn’t enjoying himself so much anymore. Without a partner to add emphasis, even Keen’s “shrivel and die” glare wasn’t enough to scare his more serious admirers. Rafe smirked. Maybe when he got back and drove some of them off, Keen would admit he was actually good for something.
Not damn likely.
Keen was why Rafe had chosen a bent club, though he was quite certain the boy was straight. Because even if he was convinced, Keen wasn’t. Raised in a homosexual culture that had ignored/feared the existence of women for a thousand years or more, Keen was far more likely to give a man a chance. And in the meantime, his presence meant hardly anyone hit on Rafe. It was supposed to be because Rafe had a partner. But it turned out to be because they were too busy hitting on Keen. That hurt.
Taro really ought to train the boy in clubs, Rafe thought with a grin. He’d had more practice at defense tonight than in three of the bar-fights Taro liked to start. Not that a good grope wouldn’t do Keen a world of good, but it would take someone faster than had yet approached the boy.
Before Rafe had caught the bartender’s attention, Keen was beside him, leaning his elbows on the bar as he glared at the dance floor. No clue, Rafe told himself again. Keen hated the attention; if he had a clue how good he looked draped over the bar, showing off his lithe body and the long, lean line of his legs–Keen growled something, probably achtandel, meaning ‘outsiders,’ his favorite epithet for pushy, rude, perverted, or otherwise against-the-right-way people. Forgetting as usual that to 98% of the galaxy his beliefs were, if not anathema, at least damned odd.
“Hey, beautiful!” A gorgeous man reached for the abs on display. Keen caught the hand and twisted the man to his knees. Rafe rescued with his most dazzling grin and redirected the man, swearing, into the crowd. He shot a glare at Keen, who dumped a comet’s worth of ice in it before sending it back.
“He wasn’t attacking you,” Rafe pointed out again. Keen ignored him. Again. The bartender came, Rafe ordered for himself and Keen. A double for Keen. Of the good stuff. So what if he wasn’t legal? He needed to loosen up. Seriously.
“Now you boys,” said a man peering over tinted glasses, “look like you could use some real excitement.”
“Such as?” Rafe asked, out of curiosity. He wasn’t a drug dealer; they let clients come to them. He didn’t dress like a prostitute, and the way he was staring at Keen–of course–was predatory, but not exactly lustful. In fact, Rafe, who was rarely wrong, would swear the man was straight. So what–
“Go space yourself,” Keen growled, handing Rafe both drinks, and pushing him back towards the dance floor. Damn. Figured that would be his first three-word sentence in hours.
“Be ready,” Keen muttered, leaning close to Rafe’s ear.
“For what?”
Keen danced. Rafe looked from hand to hand, shrugged, and downed the shots. Put the glasses in his pocket, and danced.
This was not as much fun as he’d hoped. With Taro it would have been, but then he could have danced close to Taro and enjoyed it, and it would have been Taro running off Rafe’s admirers, and maybe he could have gotten Taro to loosen up enough that they could have gotten a little wild right there on the dance floor–
Ah well. At least he had a beautiful partner, if not the beauty he preferred. Pain in the ass, delight to the eyes, that was Keen. Sullen and lithe and graceful and unconscious of it all, with long red hair and incredible eyes under shaggy bangs, pale perfect skin glowing in the deep blue cropped sleeveless tunic–and matching gloves, thank you very much, Rafe knew how to build a clubbing outfit even for a man who’d be beautiful wrapped in a tarp. Add in the took-an-hour-to-wiggle-into vinyl pants, and–well, if Keen weren’t such a grouch, and Taro weren’t beautiful, the most wonderful man in the galaxy and the love of Rafe’s life besides…
Keen was glaring, Rafe gulped and hoped his thoughts hadn’t shown on his face.
“Stay close,” the bossy little shit growled, whirling away. Rafe sighed and followed. Someday he was going to get it through the boy’s head that Taro talked to Rafe like that. No one else got to. Well, Taro’s sister, but she talked to everyone like that. Come to think of it, so did Keen.
Everyone but Taro. The exception to everything, that was Taro. Rafe grinned at how his lover would enjoy that description.
Keen was up to something, Rafe realized belatedly. Leading them towards the back of the club, where the private rooms were, when Rafe knew damn well he had no intention of using one. Shit. Something was happening, and Rafe was right on the edge of being drunk.
“Stay back!” Keen snapped, and shoved Rafe against the wall. Flashes of light from the dance floor–still frame of Keen in a flying kick, after-image, then a red-tinted Keen blocking something shiny as he punched, after-image, blue-Keen chopping at a last man, sending him sliding down the wall.
That, Rafe told himself, topped even watching Taro and Keen train. It was like something from a tri-d, it was–
“Move!” Keen was back, dragging someone. “Go!”
Rafe didn’t ask where, Keen wouldn’t have answered. And wherever he chose, Keen wouldn’t be happy. Out the emergency door–as expected, Keen snarled behind him.
“Not there!”
For once Rafe did the ignoring. Now, there should be–yes, transports, even this early there were transports waiting. Thanks to Taro, Rafe had experience with the aftermath of rescues. A quick getaway was always a good idea. He helped Keen shove the rescuee inside, and hit one of the pre-programmed destinations on the control board. And turned the lights up. The rescuee hadn’t been walking very well.
“Oh, shit,” said person moaned. “I’m gonna puke.”
Keen growled disgust. Rafe snatched a bag from the supplies under the control board and handed it to the–boy? Yes, from his vantage of twenty-three years, Rafe could get away with that. Another under-age clubber, spiked black hair, a bit skinny, expensive and extravagant clothes unmarked by blood–maybe he was just drunk. A handsome face, pretty grey eyes seen for an instant before the young man bent over the bag and retched… Keen sat as far away as he could, crossing his legs and arms with that controlled grace that made women walk into walls while staring at him. He really was just too good to look at. And it was a very good thing Rafe was done drinking, if he was noticing Keen every other thought. He found any kind of beauty damned hard to ignore, it was his strength and his weakness. And another reason he went out with Keen. If he did get drunk, on alcohol or beauty, Keen would break Rafe’s arm before Rafe managed anything that would hurt Taro.
“Drunk,” Keen muttered. Great. From two-word sentences to one. Could this night get better? When had Keen gotten so surly? He’d never been friendly, but he used to say whole sentences. Sometimes two or even three in a row.
“Not!” his rescuee snapped, wiping his mouth with more supplies Rafe handed him. “Bastard…sprayed me…sumthin’…”
“You followed.” Oh, good, back to two words.
“Didn’t ask to be gassed!” The boy threw his head back to glare at Keen. Mistake, Rafe could have told him. There might be ten people in the galaxy who could maintain a glare-off with Keen, and odds were this boy wasn’t one of them. Then the boy made another mistake, as his glare faded into stunned admiration. Rafe didn’t grin. Life would be more peaceful if Rafe didn’t point out that Keen had made yet another conquest.
“Are your eyes purple?” the boy asked, giving it away on his own. Except maybe not, Keen only rolled those astounding eyes and looked away without growling one of his “die in flames” responses. The boy took the opportunity to stare at everything else beautiful about Keen. Drunk or drugged, his eyes said he wasn’t all right. Rafe cleared his throat.
“I’m Rafe.” He nodded at his companion. “He’s Keen. And you are–?”
“Angelo.” The boy tore–Rafe could almost hear the sound effect–tore his eyes off Keen to offer a disinfected hand to Rafe. “Angelo Caprice.” His voice got clearer, as if he said it a lot. “My father is the governor of Be-eff-ar. He’ll be very grateful for your help tonight.”
Rafe shrugged. “I didn’t do anything.” Angelo’s gaze wandered back to Keen, the redhead’s eyes flicked to him in yet another glare. Angelo had fallen hard, he didn’t flinch. He gasped.
“Me too. I mean, I’m grateful too. You’re beautiful.”
Keen rolled his eyes away. Rafe cleared his throat again. “Where can we take you, Angelo?” He was starting to feel un-appreciated, Angelo didn’t even glance at him as he answered.
“Ellerson Suites, on th’ strip.”
“Nice.” And it was, the strip held the finest hotels in Roma. Which was saying something, as Roma was the biggest city on Goodfella, and Goodfella was the party-planet of choice for half the galaxy at least. Rafe entered the directive on the board. “I’ve never heard of Be-afar.”
“Be-eff-ar.” Angelo grinned. “Big Fucking Rock. Because the first surveys said it was nothing special. Why my family got hold of it. My grandfather founded the colony.”
“You’re a frontier planet?” Rafe asked. Taro needed a frontier planet, he needed space to move, and he’d love the name–
“Not on th’ frontier. But we are new, only fifty planet-years.” He raised his eyebrows, and his gaze slipped back to Keen, still glaring out the front viewport. “Always looking for good colonists. ‘Specially families.”
“My lover might be interested,” Rafe answered without glancing at Keen. The field is open, he meant. If you’re that crazy.
“You should talk to my dad.”
“Tomorrow,” Keen snapped as the transport floated to a gentle halt. “Goodbye.”
Bastard. Angelo looked stricken. Rafe smiled. He couldn’t help it, he was a romantic. Who was he to turn his back when love–or even plain old lust–needed a hand? “Keen, you should walk him in. You haven’t checked once to see if we were followed, what if his friends catch up?”
“It was that guy,” Keen muttered, obviously begrudging the need for more words. “Promising excitement.” Those lovely but icy eyes found Angelo. “Trawling for idiots.” Angelo flushed.
“Still–”
“It’s okay.” Angelo stood, and fell, almost landing in Keen’s lap. The redhead’s reflexes, though, deposited the boy on the floor with a bare minimum of contact. Rafe fought a snicker at Angelo’s surprised hurt. Watching this would be more than worth the effort of prolonging Keen’s difficulties.
“Walk him in,” he said. “Or he’ll never make it, and what was the point of all this?”
“You carry,” Keen growled, stepping over the boy’s legs. Well, that was hard to argue. Angelo was taller than Keen, and Rafe wasn’t a fighter. If this were really about getting Angelo quickly and safely inside, it made sense. Damn Keen’s cold heart. Getting laid would do him good, and even without being a planetary governor’s son, Angelo wasn’t a bad catch. Rafe picked the boy off the floor, and smiled at his silent plea.
“Stagger lots,” he muttered as Keen stepped out of the transport. He and Angelo almost fell, as the boy applied himself with enthusiasm. It worked, Keen grabbed them. Angelo would be really hurt if he knew it was probably because Keen had promised to look after Rafe. Angelo alone he’d have let hit the pavement.
Unaware of Rafe’s cooperation, though, Keen gave Angelo what he was angling for, and slipped the boy’s other arm over his shoulders, muttering in his too-beautiful-to-sound-like-swearing other language. Rafe fought a snicker as the boy released him to sag into Keen’s arms with a brilliant smile. Keen growled and ducked his shoulder, lifting the boy in a rescue-carry. Hardly romantic, but probably a great view of Keen’s shiny-clad ass. God, Rafe hoped Angelo wasn’t stupid enough to try to get a handful…
“Beautiful and strong,” Angelo muttered. “Ow.”
“Don’t bounce him,” Rafe warned. “He’ll throw up again.” Keen ought to know that. Of course, if Keen knew anything much about being drunk, he’d have realized how much Angelo was playing it.
Keen slipped the boy off his shoulder, Angelo beamed as he ended up between them again. This time he left one arm over Rafe, though all his weight was on Keen. “Fift’ floor,” he muttered. “Meet my daddy…”
The lobby was suitably opulent; the elevator had a couch. Keen dumped Angelo on it. Angelo managed to trip Keen on top of him. Rafe turned to the doors, pretending not to notice the action or Keen’s retribution. The sooner Angelo figured out Keen was violent, the better off he’d be. If he hadn’t already noticed, and decided Keen’s looks were worth the pain. Rafe could understand that. Taro tended to violence, though he’d only hit Rafe once before deciding he liked Rafe’s touches.
Liked. Rafe grinned. Yeah, Taro liked his–the doors opened. Rafe turned to Angelo, who really needed assistance now. Keen still helped. He’d probably decided enduring the boy was the quickest way to get this over with. Some of his glare spilled to Rafe, though, making him wonder how he’d forgotten Keen would get vengeance on him as well. He could have helped Keen out of the many arms of Angelo.
Well. If he was going to pay, Rafe hoped Angelo had at least managed to feel Keen up. Even that was more sex than the boy had ever had, and at nearly seventeen, that was a damned shame.
“520,” Angelo muttered, when he could suck air past whatever Keen had done. “Don’ hail.”
Keen snarled. Angelo answered with a grin.
“Key card. Back pocket,” he said, twisting his hips toward Keen. Who growled and told him to get it himself. Rafe sighed. As much as he’d love to see who was more stubborn–he was betting Keen, but Angelo certainly was determined–Taro was expecting him home at some point tonight.
“I’ll get it,” Rafe said, earning a pout from Angelo and another glare from Keen. Damn it, didn’t he appreciate anything? Rafe dipped two fingers into the indicated pocket and opened the door.
“Master Caprice!” an older man sitting just inside the door bounced to his feet. “You’re hurt?”
“Naw,” Angelo waved the man off with the arm that had been around Rafe. “‘M okay. Dad up?”
“Right here.” Rafe’s first thought was Angelo’s father reminded him of Doctor Ben. His second was that Angelo was a lucky young man. Governor Caprice folded his arms. “Didn’t I ask you not to go out alone?”
Angelo waved the dismissing hand again. “Yell later, Dad. This is Keen. Isn’t he beautiful?” He found himself dumped on the floor, Keen a full meter away, arms crossed and glaring the other way. The governor chuckled.
“Lovely,” he answered, and Keen headed for the door, “but not very friendly.” Rafe thought for an instant about blocking this incredible rudeness, but remembered in time Taro wasn’t around to keep Keen from knocking him on his ass.
“Angelo should be checked by a doctor,” he told the governor as the door opened. “He was drugged–“
”Daddy!” Angelo wailed, “he’s getting away!”
“Be quiet!” his father snapped as the door shut. The other man set Angelo in the chair and checked him over with practiced competence. “Young man–“
”Rafe,” supplied the ignored one, with a grin. “I have to go, he really will leave me. Your son can explain. Angelo–“ he caught the young man’s eye, “–Aruba Lakes Resort. Send flowers care of Keen Faolan, employee.”
Angelo’s eyes lit up. The governor chuckled again. Rafe left.