Gem’s hearts lurched, and he devoured Rusty’s face with his many eyes, memorizing every angle so he would never forget this moment and how lovely Rusty looked in the starlight. Rusty’s eyes followed the path his thumb forged, and a purr rumbled to life in his throat.
In response, Gem’s fur vibrated, purring back, and Rusty smiled. He pulled his hand back, but Gem stopped his retreat, capturing his wrist gently. They stared at each other, something heavy and expectant trembling between them.
“Why do you do that?” Gem asked the question that had been burning inside his chest for weeks.
Rusty’s reply was weak and shaky. “I don’t know.”
Gem called his bluff. “Yes, you do.”
He read Rusty’s indecision, the desire to pull away, to flee. If he’d tried, Gem wouldn’t have stopped him. Because whatever this was brewing between them, it had to be Rusty’s choice too. Too much had been taken from him already, and Gem would never add to the tally.
But Gem didn’t want to run from this, and he hoped Rusty didn’t either. Sure, the universe was probably at stake, but at this point, he was willing to risk it. If it meant getting Rusty, Gem would let the world fucking burn.
When Rusty didn’t pull away, Gem guided his hand to his face, rough palm pressing to his cheek, and leaned in until their foreheads met. Rusty’s whiskers prickled Gem’s cheeks, and his soft fur tickled his brow.
Their exhales mingled in the minuscule space between them as Gem repeated, “Why do you it, Rusty?”
Staring into Gem’s eyes, Rusty released a shuddered breath. “Because you’re my gaiz.”
Gem didn’t recognize the Pyclese word. “What does that mean?”
Rusty’s eyes glossed over, and his chin trembled for a moment before he said, “I don’t think I know anymore.”
And oh, that cracked Gem right down the middle.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He pressed Rusty’s hand harder to his cheek. “Then I’ll help you remember that too.”
Chapter seventeen
The Night Rusty Touched Gem’s Ass
Gem
When it came toseduction, Gem had believed himself an expert. A connoisseur of the sexual arts, if he could be so bold. At least, that had been his experience up to this point. He never wanted for companionship, and if he needed a good dicking, all he had to do was send one sexy picture, and the men would come running.
Unfortunately, seducing Rusty was proving to be far more difficult. Either the Pyclon was very oblivious or he was purposefully being obtuse, and it was driving Gem up the fucking wall. He never realized how much he relied on his pretty features and fat ass to lock down a man until Rusty seemed entirely immune to both.
Over the last few weeks since their visit to Montana, Gem had not held back. He did his makeup every day and styled his hair to perfection. Hedressed extra slutty—going so far, in fact, that Quin reprimanded him for coming to work without a shirt.
He thought the sports bra counted. She did not. He had to wear one of the ugly purple aprons all day, which entirely defeated the point of showing off his body for Rusty to ogle. Not that Rusty even took the time to ogle. Honestly, it was getting offensive at this point, and Gem was running out of ideas.
They hung out all the time, and Rusty never pulled away when Gem took his hand or snuggled into his lap while watching anime. And Rusty’s pheromones were definitely giving interest. The seduction was working, while also never accomplishing anything. Because every time they got close, every time their noses brushed or Rusty’s gaze dropped to Gem’s mouth, pale eyes hungry and wanton, they’d freeze there.
The air would crackle, and the vibes would be immaculately expectant and sexy, but Rusty wouldn’t kiss him. Gem would wait on bated breath for him to close the final, minuscule space, but he never did. The moment would pass, and Rusty would turn away, flustered and uncomfortable.
Gem was at a loss. Sure, he could have straight-up told Rusty that he wanted to kiss his mouth off his face, but what he feared more than Rusty’s direct rejection was Rusty going along with it simply because it was what Gem wanted. Gem had a knack for steamrolling, and regardless of how stubborn Rusty could be, he was no match for Gem when it came to a battle of wills.
Plus, most of Rusty’s experience with these types of things, from what little Gem had gleaned, were from his old job. They didn’t talk often about Rusty’s time on Flesh Street, but it had left marks, whether Rusty would admit it or not. And if Rusty ever kissed him or fucked him out of some sort of ingrained response or obligation, it would break Gem’s hearts.
Gem wanted Rusty to want him back. He wanted Rusty to choose to want him back. So instead of ordering Rusty to finally “kiss me, godsdammit,” Gem dedicated himself to a seduction plan. It just sucked that he was, apparently, terrible at seducing stubborn, emotionally-stunted Pyclons!
On the very first open mic night at the cafe, Gem pulled out all the stops. He put on a pair of white nets under the shortest, tightest pair of shorts he owned, and knee-high boots with dangerous heels. Since he was attending as a patron, not an employee, he wore a white tube top that might as well have been a handkerchief or a doily. Since the weather had cooled, he did have to cover up the shirt—if it could even be called a shirt—with a hoodie, but he figured that would make the reveal all the more dramatic later.
He met Rusty at the train station, pride swelling in his chest when the Pyclon’s gaze dropped to the nets on his thighs, then the boots, and his tail puffed up. Gem slunk toward him, an exaggerated sway to his hips, and Rusty growled. Then he shook his head, as if to clear it, and swallowed the next growl fighting its way up his throat.
“Hey, Rus,” Gem crooned, and Rusty avoided looking at him completely.
“Uh, hi. Our train’s about to leave.”
