Cut and Run 7 - Touch and Geaux

winked at you the year before?” Ty asked, incredulous and almost offended by Zane’s story. They were sprawled sideways in the king-size bed, feet hanging off the edge.
    Zane draped his knee over Ty’s thighs, his fingers idly running through the fuzz on Ty’s chest. “You have your type, I have mine.”
    “My type is dark hair!”
    Zane barked a laugh. “Your type is a gun.”
    “Whatever, Zane.” Ty slid his arm under Zane’s neck and stretched, then pulled Zane closer to rest his head on Ty’s shoulder.
    Zane grinned, running his finger down the center of Ty’s chest. “You remind me of him too.”
    “Who, the escort?”
    “No. Well, yeah. A little. But I mean you kind of remind me of the guy in the bowler hat. Just about every guy I’ve ever been with has reminded me of him in some way.”
    Ty propped himself on his elbow and looked down at Zane, eyes narrowed. He seemed concerned. “Did you fuck me the first time because I reminded you of some random in a bar?”
    “Sort of,” Zane muttered. He reached to drag his hand up Ty’s arm, appreciating the slide of his muscles. Ty frowned harder. “Do you think you knew him?”
    Ty jerked. “What?”
    “Is that why you’re obsessing?”
    “I’m not obsessing.”
    “You are a little bit. You know who it was, don’t you?”
    “No,” Ty claimed as he pushed up.
    Zane grabbed for him, laughing. “Okay, fine, no need to get defensive. Did you fuck me the first time because I had a gun?”
    “Yes.” Ty leaned over and kissed him, then slid his leg between Zane’s, shifting his weight just enough to be on top of Zane again. “You had a gun. And knives. That’s a better reason than yours.”
    “Not really.” Zane pulled his knee up to knock it against Ty’s hip. “Because mostly it was that you were hard and wet and begging me to.”
    Ty grunted in protest, but Zane grabbed him and pulled him closer before he could turn away. He rolled him, pinning Ty beneath him to look down into his changeable eyes. “My type is you.”
    “Well,” Ty finally said with a small smile. “I guess I owe the dude from New Orleans a thank-you if he was the one that convinced you to like dick.”
    “I knew you’d see it my way.”
    Ty rolled his hips and pulled his knee up higher, pushing his hard body against Zane’s. They’d already used up what little energy they had left tonight, though, and no matter how Ty moved, he wasn’t going to convince Zane’s cock to join the party.
    Neither of them cared. They’d settled into a level of comfort with each other where simply curling up together and enjoying the warmth and familiarity was pleasurable.
    Zane rested his body on Ty’s. He could feel Ty relaxing under him, feel his attention wavering. He propped himself on his elbows and gazed down into Ty’s eyes with a small smile.
    “As soon as we’re done here, you’re going to go sit out on the balcony and smoke a cigar, aren’t you?”
    Ty blinked at him. “How’d you know that?”
    Zane lowered himself and cupped Ty’s cheek. “Because it’s how you mourn,” he whispered. “And I have a feeling that tonight you need to mourn.”
    Ty blinked rapidly and seemed to be fighting to swallow past a lump in his throat. “I never did say good-bye to him.”
    “I know.” Zane gave him a chaste kiss and then rolled off him. “I’m going to have a smoke with you. Then I’ll leave you to it.”
    Ty nodded, but he reached out to grab Zane’s arm and stop him. He pushed up onto his elbow. “Zane.” His voice was hushed and pensive. “Sometimes I’m not capable of expressing how grateful I am for you.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Ty put a hand to his own chest, visibly struggling to find the right words. “For your . . . So few people have ever understood the way I work. In here.” He tapped his chest. “Thank you for . . . your insight.”
    The words were sincere, but so unlike anything Ty usually said. Zane was struck dumb by the notion. He could only nod.
    Ty rolled out of bed, breaking the spell of the moment. Zane lay stunned for another few seconds as Ty pulled on a pair of sweatpants. Then he sat on the end of the bed, watching Ty, letting his words settle somewhere deep. His fingers rested on the pile of fresh towels, and his eyes were drawn to one of them. He didn’t know why it bothered him, but they were folded wrong, different from the others in the bathroom.
    “Jesus,” he whispered. Ty’s OCD was starting to rub off on