The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
2
The Subtle Build of Perfection
By
L.M. Turner
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to
be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Subtle Build of Perfection
Copyright© 2010 L.M. Turner
ISBN: 978‐1‐60088‐522‐8
Cover Artist: Dan Skinner
Editor: Lana Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced
electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of
brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Cobblestone Press, LLC
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
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Dedication
For Erica.
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
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“You suck,” said Boyd.
Connor threw popcorn at him. “You suck.” Because he was nothing
if not mature. The popcorn landed squarely in the centre of Boyd’s gaping
hole of a mouth. Connor smirked.
“You were saying?”
“Whatever,” Boyd said, chewing. “One shot in ten doesn’t make
you any good.”
“Maybe if you quit moving...” Connor lined up another shot.
Boyd stayed still, mouth open. The popcorn hit his ear. “Yeah,” he
drawled. “It’s totally my fault.”
Someone to the left cleared their throat. Connor startled,
unprepared for an actual customer to appear. He turned, polite smile
pasted on.
Which died immediately. Because, um. Hello, green eyes and
perfect bone structure.
“Am I interrupting something?” asked Green Eyes, one eyebrow
cocked.
“Yeah,” said Boyd, because he was a douche who didn’t
understand how life worked. “Me wiping the floor with this moron.”
Green Eyes’ other eyebrow went up to join the first. “Ah. The noble
challenge of popcorn throwing.” He nodded, as though he was really
fucking serious, and took a half step back. “I’ll just wait here.”
With Green Eyes watching and Boyd waiting with his mouth
hanging open, Connor was under the kind of pressure only known by
brain surgeons. If he didn’t make this next shot, he would die until he was
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totally dead.
“Come on,” said Boyd. “Humiliate yourself.”
The popcorn went so wide, Connor might as well have aimed for
the pot plant halfway across the floor.
Green Eyes smiled, which was all kinds of not fair, and Connor
tried to pretend his own face wasn’t burning itself off.
“You know,” said Green Eyes. “You kinda suck.”
“He even swallows,” said Boyd, because really. He was just that
kinda guy. “Anyway, man, what can we do for you?”
Green Eyes looked away from Connor, turned his smile on Boyd,
and placed a stack of three DVDs on the counter. “Just returning these.”
“Finding Nemo,” said Boyd, nosy as ever. “Shrek and...Cars. Let me
guess. You were babysitting this weekend?”
Green Eyes looked startled for a moment, like everyone did when
they realised Boyd had an insane gift for figuring out people based on
their movie preferences. “What makes you think I didn’t get them for my
own kid?”
“You’re not a father,” Boyd said, snorting. “A real dad already
owns this shit.” He handed the DVDs to Connor, who set about scanning
them to give himself something busy to do, rather than hovering around
like the lame speechless guy who couldn’t even pop a piece of popcorn
into Boyd’s big mouth.
Green Eyes looked mildly impressed. “You got me. I was watching
my niece.”
“Your nephew, dude. Don’t try and catch me out. I’m too good.”
“Right,” said Green Eyes. He gave Boyd a long look. “You’re
weird.”
Connor saw his opening. “It’s a condition. We’re trying to get him
help but the doctors can’t work it out.”
Green Eyes smiled at him again. “One for the medical books?”
“Dicks,” said Boyd, mildly. He took the DVDs from Connor’s hand
and wandered out back.
“Sorry about him,” Connor said. “He never got the hang of talking
to people. But he’s kind of a genius, so.” He didn’t know why that was
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relevant. It seemed to be the standard response when apologising for
Boyd. “Boyd’s such a dick.”—”Yeah, but he’s a genius, so it’s okay.” Like if
they refused to acknowledge Boyd’s douchbaggery, when the time came
to save the world from an apocalypse, Boyd would take pity on the
morons around him and find the right formula.
“He is?” Green Eyes wore a dubious expression. Connor couldn’t
blame him.
“Supposedly. Anyway,” he said, trying for his Professional Grin.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Um,” said Green Eyes, staring at Connor’s grin and looking totally
blindsided. Connor wondered if he had something stuck in his teeth. “Uh,
yeah.” Green Eyes looked away, cleared his throat, retrieved a scrap of
paper from his pocket. “I’ve been ordered to pick up these movies.”
Connor took the paper. Moulin Rouge, Twilight and Step Up. His grin
changed from professional to real in an instant. “You’re supplying a girl’s
night in,” he said. “Your girlfriend not feeling too good?”
Green Eyes blinked. “Close,” he said. “But you’re not as good as
Weird Guy over there.”
Boyd hollered, “Connor’s my bitch!” from out back, and it hung
between them for a moment, like one of Boyd’s bad smells.
“Actually,” Green Eyes continued, shaking off the odd moment.
“My roommate’s got her friends coming over to celebrate her breakup
from this dick who used her for sex and treated her like shit and I have no
idea why I’m telling you this,” he finished, colouring slightly.
Connor smiled. “Because I’m the kind of guy who gives off ‘tell me
your secrets’ vibes?”
“You’re something,” Green Eyes muttered, and Connor’s stomach
lurched. “Um. Can you help me find these, then?”
“Yeah, bitch,” said Boyd, returning. “Go do some work. I’m not
paying you to flirt.”
In an effort to pretend he wasn’t embarrassed, and to avoid looking
at Green Eyes for his reaction—because luck hated Connor and would
make Green Eyes straight, just for a laugh—Connor said, “You’re not my
boss, dude. You earn less than me.”
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Boyd waved a hand. “I’m the genius here, and the genius says earn
your fucking keep.”
With that, Connor did as he was told. “Um. Follow me.”
Green Eyes trailed Connor as he picked out the movies, not
speaking (which was weird), just watching (which was even weirder),
until Connor rounded on him near the candy and popcorn stand and said,
“You should probably get chocolate. It’s not a girls’ night without
chocolate.”
“You’re an authority on girls’ nights, are you?” But he reached for
the chocolate anyway, quirking a shy smile, green eyes twinkling.
“Hey,” said Connor, watching him. “What’s your name? I can’t
keep thinking of you as ‘Green Eyes’.”
Green Eyes faltered. “You call me Green Eyes?” At Connor’s nod,
he said, “Why?”
“Because you have green eyes...?”
“No,” said Green Eyes. “I mean. Why are you even noticing my
eyes?”
“Well...” Was Boyd’s inability to speak appropriately to humans
rubbing off? “They’re kind of on your face. Sorry. Didn’t know they were
a secret.”
“They’re not. I just.” He looked all kinds of endearingly flustered,
cheeks staining with pink and eyes looking at everything but Connor.
Then he took a breath, looked up, and said, “Dane. My name’s Dane.”
Connor kinda needed a moment alone. “Okay, Dane. Well if you
wanna take these up to the counter, Boyd’ll sort you out.”
Green Eyes—Dane—nodded, looked at Connor’s mouth before
meeting his eyes, then flushed darker. “I’ll return them tomorrow.”
“I’ll be here.” Connor didn’t know why he said that. It seemed
important.
“Okay,” said Dane, staring. Then he gave an odd sort of
self‐deprecating laugh, raised the DVDs in his hand, and muttered, “Uh,
thanks for these.”
“No problem,” said Connor. “It’s my job.”
Then he spent the rest of the night thinking about him.
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* * * * *
The store was stupidly busy the following night, so busy Boyd
didn’t even have time to freak out anyone. So when Dane made it to the
front of the queue with the DVDs he wanted to return, plus two more he
wanted to take home, Connor didn’t get much time to do anything other
than feel his heart flip over and offer a smile.
“Hey. Girls’ night a success?”
“Yeah,” said Dane. He rubbed the back of his neck, that pale pink
splashing across his cheeks again, opened his mouth to say something,
closed it, took a deep breath with an embarrassed sort of smile and said,
“Screw it.” He stepped closer to the counter. “Listen, I was wondering
if—”
Then someone jostled him from behind, shoving a beefy arm past
him to dump DVDs on the counter and grumbling, “Don’t have all day...”
Connor smiled his apology to Dane. “Sorry, man. Kinda insane in
here today.”
“It’s fine,” Dane said. He shook his head and turned his eyes
downcast, looking for all the world like a guy who hated himself a little
bit in that moment.
Connor blinked, confused. “Um, if you wanna hang around for a
bit, finish what you were gonna—”
“Come on,” said Grumpy Impatient Guy.
“No,” said Dane. “No, it’s cool. I’ll, um. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Dane vanished so quickly, Connor didn’t get chance to tell him it
was his night off tomorrow.
* * * * *
“So your boy was in tonight,” Boyd said, dropping his tub of spicy
chicken on the kitchen table.
“Why is he my boy?” It occurred to Connor he probably should
have played dumb, pretended he didn’t know who Boyd was talking
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about. Dammit.
Boyd raised an eyebrow. “Wanted to know where you were.”
Connor shrugged, ignored the somersaulting circus people in his
stomach. “He wanted to ask me something; didn’t get a chance.”
“You’re totally gonna bone this guy by the end of the week,” Boyd
said, smirking.
Connor choked on the nonexistent something in his throat. “No I’m
not. He’s probably straight.”
“He’s gay,” said Boyd. “Listen to me, I’m a genius.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “You know, I’ve never actually seen you do
anything smart. Starting to think you’re making it up.”
“A real genius stays in disguise,” Boyd said, using his Oh Wise One
voice.
“Yeah. That’s why you remind us all every five minutes.”
“Gotta keep the little people in their place...”
Connor dumped the tub of chicken over Boyd’s weird hedgehog
hair.
* * * * *
“You came back,” Connor said on a grin.
“Had to,” said Dane. He put his DVDs on the counter. “Had to
return these.”
Connor’s grin vanished. “Oh. Right.”
“No,” said Dane, giving Connor the kind of look that tingled. “I
mean. I would’ve come back. Even if.”
“Yeah,” said Connor, warming. “You need to finish asking me that
thing.”
Dane gave a little laugh, rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. About
that—”
“Excuse me,” said the tiniest and oldest woman Connor had ever
seen in real life. The top of her head only reached the counter, and Connor
thought he could probably put her in his pocket. He fell in love with her, a
little bit.
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“Hey,” he said, leaning over the counter to speak to her. “Can I
help you, ma’am?”
“Yes,” she squeaked. Her frail little hand hefted up a Sex and the
City boxset. “I’d like this, please.”
“Of course,” he said, smiling down at her. Dane gave him a fond
sort of look.
“Dude,” said Boyd, appearing from nowhere. He tapped Dane’s
arm. “Let me help you find the DVDs you want.”
Dane blinked at him. “I’m not getting any movies today.”
“Sure you are. Come on.” Then he dragged Dane off to the other
end of the store.
After Connor finished helping Little Old Lady out to her little old
car, he returned to find Boyd scanning two new DVDs for Dane.
Dane was blushing, Boyd was smirking, and neither of them would
meet his eye.
“Um,” said Dane, taking the DVDs from Boyd. “Thanks. See you,
Connor,” he muttered, before rushing out the door.
Connor rounded on Boyd. “Tell me you didn’t blow him before I
could.”
Boyd snorted. “Dude. I’m straight.”
“You’d do it just to get one‐up on me,” Connor said, scowling.
“Whatever, dude. It’s not my fault you’re so hideously ugly, you
embarrass everyone who comes near you.”
Which wasn’t really any kind of reassurance at all.
* * * * *
“Any news on your boy?” Boyd asked over a breakfast of cold
pizza.
Connor narrowed his eyes. “What d’you mean?”
“Nothing,” said Boyd, and started whistling.
* * * * *
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“You watch a lot of movies, dude,” Connor said, when Dane
emerged from the shelves with another two DVDs.
Boyd had vanished to leave Connor to deal with Fat Sweaty Guy
over thirty minutes ago, and hadn’t returned. Connor was at least a little
bit pleased. If Boyd were here, he’d probably drag Dane off for a sneaky
rimjob and then blame it on Connor’s poor looks.
“Heh,” said Dane. He scratched his jaw. “Is that weird?”
“No.” He glowered down at the DVDs he was scanning. “Kinda
obvious, though.”
Dane froze. His skin, while so prone to flushing, went pale.
“Obvious?”
“Yeah.” Connor gave a humourless laugh. “Your thing for Boyd.
He’s not here, by the way.”
Dane stared at him, and when he spoke, he did so very slowly, as
though Connor were a bit dim. “You think I have a thing for Boyd.”
“You don’t have to deny it. I’m not stupid.”
“Um,” said Dane. “We talking about the Boyd who works here?
Weird Boyd?”
“Yeah.” Connor handed Dane his DVDs, tried to keep his
expression polite. “The guy you sneaked off with the other night.”
“Oh,” said Dane. “You mean in those two minutes you were absent
from the store?”
“Yep.”
“Right,” said Dane, eyebrows drawing together. “And what,
exactly, do you think Boyd and I got up to in those two minutes?”
“Dude. I don’t need the details.”
“Connor,” said Dane, amusement in his tone.
Connor felt a little bit like blushing himself. “Yeah?”
“Is Boyd even gay?”
“You tell me,” Connor muttered. He offered Dane his card back.
“Enjoy your movies.”
Dane grabbed the card and Connor’s fingers. “Apparently,” he said,
looking right into Connor’s eyes, “I’m not being obvious enough.”
Connor blinked.
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“Speak to you later, Connor.”
“Um,” said Connor, but Dane was already through the door.
* * * * *
Connor was lounging on the bed later that evening watching
America’s Next Top Model when his phone beeped with a text. He didn’t
recognise the number.
‘boyd dragged me away to give me your number, you idiot.’
Connor grinned, then hollered, “Boyd!”
“What?” came Boyd’s response, from the direction of the bathroom.
“You’re a fucking genius!”
“Dude, I know!”
Feeling a foreign sort of fondness for his weird friend currently
(probably) jerking off in the bathroom, Connor turned his attention back
to the text, pulled up the number and hit dial.
Dane answered on the first half‐ring, and Connor didn’t give him
time to speak.
“And it’s taken you this long to use it?”
Dane chuckled, warm and nervous. “Hello to you, too.”
“Hey,” said Connor, and then, bolstered by the confidence in
knowing Dane contacted him, he said, “So let’s say—hypothetically—I
was to ask you out. What would—what would your answer be? You can
estimate,” he added, just in case.
“Estimate. Huh. Can I make a pie chart?”
“Um,” said Connor.
“How about a pro and con list?”
“You—uh. Okay. What are the cons?”
“Well,” said Dane. “It’s hypothetical. No one really enjoys a date
that doesn’t exist.”
“Right.” Connor chewed on a nail, stared at his blank TV, listened
to Boyd moan in the bathroom. “And—and a pro?”
Dane didn’t answer for a long time. So long, in fact, Connor kind of
worried he’d fallen asleep or suddenly died. Then he said, in a quiet, soft
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voice, “I’m maybe a little bit crazy about you,” and Connor grinned.
“Oh. That’s—”
“You know, what I know of you. Not like—not crazy like, you
know...feelings.”
Connor could practically feel his blush through the phone. “I get
it,” he said, and listened to Dane release a tiny breath. “So, um.”
“Tomorrow?”
Connor bit his lip. “I can’t. I’m working. Wednesday?”
“Tonight?” Dane said after a moment of audible hesitation.
Connor’s stomach lurched. “Okay.”
“I’ll pick you up in an hour,” Dane said. “Boyd gave me your
address.”
Of course he did. He was, after all, a brilliant genius.
* * * * *
Connor took a deep breath before opening the door, which was a
good thing, because Dane sucked a little bit out of him by simply standing
there and looking gorgeous all in black.
“Hi.”
Dane smiled. “Hey.”
“Do you, um. Do you wanna come in?”
Which was when Boyd chose to wander past the door, entirely
naked, a bowl of cereal in hand. He nodded at Dane, belched, and
disappeared around the corner.
Dane stared after him. “I think...we should just go?”
“Yeah,” said Connor, because there really wasn’t anything else he
could say, apart from “sorry”, maybe, but he couldn’t apologise for Boyd
all the time. He wouldn’t have time for anything else. “Let me just get my
jacket and stuff. I’ll meet you at the car?”
“Okay,” said Dane, then gave another one of those smiles that
made Connor’s heart leap. He could be in trouble here, if he wasn’t
careful. First dates weren’t really the most opportune times for marriage
proposals.
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Once he’d gathered his jacket and keys and had a brief but intense
insult‐exchange with Boyd, Connor went outside to find Dane waiting
beside the passenger door of his car, holding it open.
“Dude,” said Connor. “I’m not a girl.”
Dane rolled his eyes, which wasn’t the best start. “Are you one of
those fierce anti‐stereotype gay guys who won’t let another guy do
anything for them because it makes them feel like the girl in the
relationship?”
“Um,” said Connor. “No?”
“Good.” Dane smiled, all warm and pretty. The moonlight splashed
across his green eyes, lit up his cheekbones, and Connor maybe lost a little
more breath. “Then get in.”
Connor grinned as he passed him, slid into his seat, and Dane said,
“What?”
“Little early to be calling this a relationship, don’t you think?”
Dane groaned, laced it with amusement. “Shut up,” he said, and
closed the door on Connor’s grin.
“So,” said Connor, after Dane got in the car and started fiddling
with the radio. “You like me, huh?”
Dane looked at him, lips pursed against the smile trying to break
through. “What gave me away?” he asked, deadpan.
“See, you say that. But you weren’t exactly in a rush to ask me out.”
Dane found the station he was looking for—with Kings of Leon’s
‘Sex on Fire’ playing, which was all kinds of awkward—then reached for
his seatbelt. “I tried,” he said, “but your customers had a vendetta against
me. Besides,” he added, pulling out into the street, “I wasn’t exactly
confident about it.”
Connor stared at him. “Wouldn’t think a guy like you had
problems with confidence.”
“A guy like me?”
“Yeah. You know, all...” Smoking hot. “Gorgeous and stuff.”
And there was the faint blush Connor was coming to love. “And
stuff?”
“Shut up,” Connor said. “You know what I mean.”
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They were silent for a second or two, and Connor had a snapshot of
time to wonder how someone could look that good even when lit by the
harsh glare of streetlights.
“You weren’t giving me anything,” Dane said. “Didn’t even know
you were gay until Weird Boyd pulled me aside and told me to quit being
a pussy.”
“Huh. Next time I’ll write it in big neon letters on the wall.”
Dane quirked an eyebrow. “You’re planning to hit on someone else
already? I’m crushed.”
“Aw, baby,” said Connor, grinning. “You know you’re my
forever.”
Dane’s laugh seemed to take even him by surprise.
* * * * *
“Social worker,” Dane answered, “for CPS.” He turned the page of
his menu and didn’t appear to notice the way Connor sat gaping at him.
When he looked up, he blinked. “What?”
“Social worker,” Connor echoed. “Helping kids.”
Dane nodded, forehead scrunched in confusion.
Connor gave a dry, strained laugh. “Dude. I work in a video store.”
“Yeah,” said Dane, looking no less confused. “I noticed. What’s the
matter?”
“Shouldn’t you be dating a doctor or a teacher or a—a librarian, or
something? Someone with a real job.”
Dane looked back down at his menu. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not,” said Connor. “But it’s just. You’re slumming.”
“Oh my god.” Dane put down his menu, fixed Connor with a flat
stare. “You’re really gonna write me off because of my job?”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” said Dane. “Do you have low self‐esteem, or
something?”
“No...” But the comment niggled at him, a little.
“Look.” Dane reached across the table and placed his hand atop
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Connor’s. Connor tried not to get too warm. “I’m on a date with you—a
guy who works at a video store—because it’s exactly where I want to be.
Now, just...quit judging and enjoy yourself.” He pulled his hand back,
picked up his menu. “I’m thinking carbonara,” he said, glancing up with
something like a question in his eyes.
Connor smiled, let it go. “Yeah, me too.”
Dane’s eyes twinkled, and it was really the only kind of reassurance
Connor needed.
They didn’t go for wine—Dane was driving, and it wasn’t Connor’s
kind of thing—so they ordered a Coke each and smiled at each other
across the table while they waited for their food.
“Have you ever been to Italy?” Dane asked, glancing at the walls
covered with tacky Italian memorabilia and framed posters of Italian
cinema.
“Yeah, once. When I was kid. Don’t really remember it.”
“Last year I went to a tiny little fishing village in the South East,”
Dane said. “My friend’s got a holiday home there.”
Connor felt a jolt of His friends have holiday homes in Europe; my
friends have porn site subscriptions and the occasional STI, but he pushed
it aside. “Bet that was peaceful.”
Dane nodded. “Like you wouldn’t believe. For about four hours
every afternoon, everything shuts down and the whole village goes to
sleep. It’s...unreal, and really what I needed.” His eyes adopted a faraway
look, gazing off into the distance as though seeing calm waters and
mountains. Then he looked back at Connor, the whimsical gleam dying.
“My job really takes it out of me sometimes.”
“I bet. Couldn’t imagine dealing with the kind of stuff you have
to.”
Dane shrugged, but there was an edge to it. “Most the time it’s just
paperwork and helping families sort out their shit. But sometimes it really
is what you see in the news, and...” He stopped, visibly forced himself to
brighten. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
Dane shrugged. “What do you want to do? I mean...are you happy
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18
at the store?” He looked embarrassed to ask such a question, but it wasn’t
something Connor didn’t ask himself on a regular basis.
“I didn’t go to college,” he said. “And I kinda regret it now. Think
I’d like to give that a try, maybe.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Connor smiled, but it was mirthless. “Don’t really think I’m the
academic type.”
“You’d be surprised what you are, if you applied yourself.”
“You sound like my dad.”
“Sorry,” said Dane, but he didn’t sound it.
Once the food arrived, they lapsed into a conversation about where
they grew up and horror stories about their families. Connor couldn’t
believe how easily things flowed, how simple it was talking to Dane, how
the awkward silences came few and far between until the point where if
there was a silence, it wasn’t awkward, just time spent smiling at each
other.
Neither of them wanted anything off the dessert menu—which was
weird, because Connor would usually eat anything put in front of him,
even if the ingredients were somewhat dubious. But he felt full and happy
and relaxed, and when there was nothing left to do but pay the bill and
call it a night, he felt a little sad, didn’t want to end the date just yet.
Fortunately, Dane seemed to be on his wavelength. “Do you wanna
do something else?” he said, glancing at the bill. He looked up, caution in
his eyes. “Unless you want me to just take you home...?”
Connor tried to hide his grin. He didn’t think he was too successful.
“No, I want to stay out. What d’you have in mind?” Dane took a credit
card from his wallet, and Connor put his hand on the bill before Dane
could lay the card on it. “Dude,” he said. “No. You’re not paying for
everything.”
Dane rolled his eyes. “I chose the restaurant, so it’s my bill. If it
makes you feel better,” he added, when Connor offered nothing but a
stubborn stare, “I intend to let you pay for whatever we do next.”
“Oh.” Connor drew his hand back. “Okay, then.”
Dane smirked. When the waitress whisked his card away, he said,
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19
“So I was thinking we could go catch a late movie? Or...not? Bet you get
enough of them, considering.”
“You’d be surprised how many movies I don’t see now that I deal
with them for a living.” He smiled. “The movies sounds great. We can
walk down there—I’m sure there’s something starting at ten. If you’re
lucky,” he added, “I might even buy you an ice cream on the way.”
“Wow,” said Dane, his tone flat and amused. “Don’t go making me
fall for you already.”
“Yeah.” Connor couldn’t stop grinning. “That would be kinda
pathetic.”
Dane’s knee found his beneath the table and bumped against it. It
took them both a second or two to notice the waitress clearing her throat
beside them.
* * * * *
True to his word, Connor bought two ice creams from the vendor
on the boardwalk on their way to the movies. Connor went for plain, not
wanting to clash too much with the creamy pasta tastes still lingering in
his mouth. He regretted it a minute later when he watched Dane take a
long lick of his multicoloured monstrosity. Aside from the act itself being
ridiculously hot (and seriously, when did Connor turn into a teenager?),
Dane looked as though multicoloured ice cream was pretty much the best
thing he’d ever tasted, and Connor was kinda jealous, looking down at his
own with disappointment.
“Dude,” said Dane, laughing. “Do you wanna swap?”
“No,” Connor grumped. And he didn’t. He wouldn’t want to
deprive Dane of something that obviously tasted like sex in a cone.
Dane offered the cone anyway. “At least try some, so you can stop
looking like you’re gonna cry.”
“Not gonna cry,” Connor muttered, but he dipped his head down
for a taste anyway. There was a wild moment of oh my god, Dane’s tongue’s
been all over this; it’ll be like kissing him! And then he licked a long line all
the way around the side of it, catching red and blue and green on his
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20
tongue, tasting a million things and thinking of nothing but how Dane’s
saliva was now mingled with his.
When he straightened up, smiling in triumph, Dane’s lips were
parted slightly and his eyes were fixed on Connor’s mouth.
So apparently Connor wasn’t the only teenager in attendance.
“Hey,” said Connor, licking his bottom lip just for the thrill of
watching Dane suck in a tiny breath. “Stop fantasising about my mouth.”
Dane looked up, startled, cheeks staining pink. Connor was coming
to associate that blush with nothing but good things.
“Dick,” Dane muttered, embarrassed.
Connor smirked. “And that.”
Dane looked for a moment like he was gonna die, which of course
made Connor laugh. “Relax,” he said, finding Dane’s fingers and tugging
on them in a reassuring gesture. “I’m kidding. And anyway,” he said,
going warm all over when Dane didn’t move his hand away, “it’s nothing
I haven’t already thought about.”
Dane blinked at him. “You have?”
“Well, duh.” Feeling bold, he shifted his hand to link his fingers
with Dane’s, braced himself for the rejection. When Dane did nothing but
give a brief squeeze and hold on, Connor thought maybe he would die of
excitement. “You are ridiculously hot.”
Dane nodded. “That’s true,” he said, the embarrassment fading.
Connor laughed again, waited for Dane to join in, bumped their
shoulders together and walked, hand‐in‐hand, along the moonlit
boardwalk, up to the cinema.
* * * * *
The only movie on offer at that time was the new Julia Roberts one,
which they went with. Connor didn’t care. He’d sit through two hours of
someone reading the Bible at him on the big screen if it meant he could
stay out longer with Dane.
There was an awkward moment inside when faced with seating
options. Connor thought if he directed them to the back rows, then that
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
21
kinda implied something, and he didn’t want to be too forward. But if he
didn’t, then maybe it would look as though he had no interest in making
out, and he really, really did.
In
the
end,
Dane—apparently
oblivious
to
the
awkwardness—nudged Connor towards an empty row closer to the
middle than the back, but definitely nowhere near the front. It was an
ambiguous row, serving no certain purpose, and Connor eyed it with
caution.
“Come on,” Dane muttered, carrying the large Coke Connor had
bought them to share. “It’s gonna start in a minute.”
Connor edged down the row, the limited space not liking his knees,
and took a seat behind a young couple who sat nuzzling and whispering
and generally turning the kind‐of‐middle‐rows into a back row venue.
The air in the room was stuffy, a little too warm, and it didn’t change
much when Connor pulled off his jacket. So he rolled up his sleeves to his
elbows, did his best to stretch his legs out, and caught Dane staring at his
arms, his eyes flashing dark.
“Oh,” Connor whispered, feeling the absurd urge to hide his skin.
“Yeah. I’ve got tattoos.”
Dane swallowed. “How many?”
“Um.” Connor shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “I lost count a
while back.”
“Christ,” said Dane, eyes darting away.
Amusement and intrigue bubbled in Connor’s chest. “Do you have
a tattoo kink, Dane?”
“No,” said Dane, but even in the darkness of the room, Connor was
willing to bet he was blushing.
Maybe it was best he leave it alone. For now.
They got thirty minutes into the film before Connor could no longer
ignore his desire to have some kind of contact with Dane. He was
moments away from stealthily spreading his arm out along the rest, flush
with Dane’s, when the couple in front began making out in earnest. The
slurping and muffled moaning rose above Julia Roberts pretending to be a
CIA agent on the screen, and it effectively doused Connor in cold water.
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
22
He didn’t want to seem as though he was in some kind of
competition with them.
He glanced at Dane, but he didn’t appear to have noticed the
soft‐core porn going on in front of them, his eyes glued to the screen. And
Connor spent the next hour not taking advantage of the darkness at all,
feeling like a bit of a tool.
“Good film,” Dane said, when the lights came on.
The couple in front unglued themselves, their hairstyles distinctly
less coiffed, and Connor shot them a glare. “I guess.”
Dane gave him a funny look. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He tried for a smile. “Just tired,” he lied.
“Oh.” Dane’s face fell—the tiniest change in expression that Connor
probably shouldn’t have noticed. “Okay, come on. I’ll take you home.”
Connor didn’t know why he was so down about the whole thing,
only that he’d wasted his chance to try something on with Dane in the
dark, because of a random couple in front showing them how it really
should be done. And now the date was over, and he was acting like a
teenager.
He made a good deal of effort to brighten up, nodded, and
followed Dane out of the cinema. “You’re right, by the way,” he said on
the walk back across the boardwalk. He wanted to hold Dane’s hand
again, didn’t know if he should. “It was a good film.”
The discussion of the film took them to the car and halfway home,
then it switched to Julia Roberts’ past efforts, where they both admitted to
guiltily loving Pretty Woman and Notting Hill, although they agreed the
main appeal was more to do with the men in both of those films.
Once parked outside Connor’s house, Dane turned to Connor and
said, with a raised eyebrow, “Can I walk you to your door? Or will you
get all offended?”
Connor rolled his eyes, trying not to smile. “I think I could just
about stand it.”
Dane met him at the other side of the car, took his hand, and kept
hold of it all the way up to the door. Then he turned to Connor, the
moonlight highlighting every gorgeous thing about his face, and suddenly
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23
they were in every clichéd teenage romance movie Connor had ever seen.
Not that he cared. He felt too warm and excited to care.
“So I had a good time,” Connor said, wincing at his own triteness.
Dane nodded, a soft expression on his face. “Me too.”
“Um.” Connor’s heart picked up speed. “Do you want to come in?
Boyd’s probably passed out...”
Smiling, Dane took a step closer, looked up into Connor’s eyes and
murmured, “Are you saying you put out on the first date?”
Connor swallowed. “Maybe.”
Something hot and exciting flashed in Dane’s eyes for a bare
instant, gone before it could do anything but leave Connor breathless.
“Well, I don’t,” Dane said, looking at Connor’s mouth. “But I’m
going to kiss you now.”
“Okay,” Connor breathed, in the moment before Dane’s lips met
his.
The kiss was gentle, tentative—more like a question than a promise.
Connor kept one hand tangled with Dane’s, used his other to hold the side
of Dane’s neck, felt Dane touch his shoulder and sweep down his side,
resting at his hip, stepping closer to deepen the kiss and taste Connor’s
tongue with his own.
They got, perhaps, thirty seconds out of it, before the door swung
open and presented Boyd—dressed, fortunately, but still unwelcome. He
looked between the two of them pressed snug together, gave a disgusted
noise, and said, “Will you stop it? You’re embarrassing me.” Then he
vanished back inside.
Dane laughed, short and awkward, while Connor tried to make a
deal with god: Take Boyd, and I’ll stop watching porn. Promise.
“So,” said Dane, stepping away. Connor had to stop himself from
reaching out and dragging him back. “Not the best way to end things.”
“No,” said Connor, smiling despite himself. “Sorry about him.”
Dane shook his head as if to say ‘It’s fine’, then pulled his bottom
lip between his teeth. “You’ll call me?”
It kind of amazed Connor how Dane could go from, like, the
world’s best kisser one minute, to a shy virginal teenager the next.
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
24
Endearing, and all kinds of hot. “Yeah. I will.”
Dane nodded, made to turn away, then stopped. “Um. I have my
phone on silent when I’m in meetings, so if it goes to voicemail...”
“I’ll know you’re not ignoring me on purpose,” Connor said.
“Right,” said Dane, his face all warm and open. “Um. Goodnight.”
“Dane?”
“Yeah?”
Connor swept forward and pressed a brief but somewhat more
intense kiss to Dane’s lips, cupping both sides of Dane’s face and pressing
close until he could feel Dane’s heart stutter against his chest. “G’night,”
he murmured against Dane’s mouth, and with a final brush of lips, he
stepped away for good. “Drive safe.”
“Uh, yeah,” said Dane, looking a touch dazed. “Bye, Connor...”
It wasn’t until Dane had vanished around the corner that Connor
did his happy dance, right there in the open.
* * * * *
Connor wanted to call at lunchtime the next day, then after dinner,
and then when he was standing around doing not a lot at work. But he
didn’t want to seem needy and desperate and all those other bad words
associated with guys you really don’t want to date, so he didn’t.
In the end, when Connor was locking up the store with Boyd
hovering by his side, Dane called him. Connor grinned at the phone, then
at Boyd, then told Boyd to go on without him—which Boyd did, without
much verbal complaint, but with plenty of eye‐rolling.
“Dane, hi,” he said, answering on the fourth ring, trying and failing
to keep the grin out of his voice.
“Hey. How are you?”
Connor leaned back against the door, stuffed his free hand into his
pocket. “I’m good. Just finished work.”
“So you’re still there?”
“Yeah. About to head home.”
“Uh,” said Dane, the nervousness evident in his tone. “I know it’s
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
25
late, but that bar down the street from your store will still be open. I mean.
If you’re not too tired or busy or...”
Connor’s heart twanged. “Miss me already, huh?”
“Shut up,” Dane grumbled, and now Connor could hear the smile
in his voice. “We going or not?”
Connor pushed away from the wall. “Already on my way. How
long will you be?”
“Um... about fifteen minutes?”
“No longer,” said Connor. “Who knows how many guys’ll hit on
me in that time.”
“We both know you’d be completely clueless if they did.”
Connor laughed. “I’ll have you know I’m awesome at picking up
signals.”
“Really,” said Dane, his tone flat. “Dude, you thought I had a thing
for Boyd when I was pretty much trying to throw myself at you.”
Connor went warm all over. “Yeah, well, that’s different.”
“How?”
“Because,” said Connor. “Didn’t think a guy like you—you know.
I’m just a scruffy video store guy, and you’re, like—a Calvin Klein
model.”
“Clearly,” said Dane, his voice sounding a little tight, “you’ve not
seen many Calvin Klein models lately.”
“Whatever,” said Connor. “Are you gonna get off the damn phone
and come down here? I hate sitting in bars on my own.”
“Yeah,” said Dane. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
Connor sent a quick text to Boyd after he hung up on Dane, telling
him to take off without him, that he’d get a cab, then he set off down the
street towards the bar. A minute later, when Connor was dodging
late‐night drivers, Boyd’s reply came:
friends don’t let friends get STIs. i put a condom in your wallet
yesterday. it’s still there. sort your game out, dude.
A truck’s wheels came within inches of Connor’s toes when he
stopped dead, blinking at the screen. He cursed, stuffed his phone in his
pocket, and made it to the bar without losing a limb or a toe or, indeed, his
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
26
desire to punch Boyd in the head.
Connor leaned forward on the bar when he got there, told the
bartender he was waiting for someone, and examined their cocktail
menu—not that he’d ever in this lifetime order a cocktail, but he wanted
something busy to do so he wouldn’t look so lame and alone. The place
was quiet. Whatever hip modern music they usually played had wound
down to something soft and easy, the remaining customers tucked away
in corner tables, talking softly to each other. Connor figured they only had
time for one drink before the bar would close, but that was okay. Half an
hour with Dane was better than no time at all, especially considering it
was Dane who asked to see him. The thought sent a tingle down his spine
and he smiled to himself in the instant before a warm hand appeared on
the small of his back, and there was Dane next to him, smiling.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” said Connor, taking a moment to look. Dane wore
a dark red shirt today, hanging loose over black jeans. And he was
wearing glasses. “Jesus.”
Dane blinked. “What?”
Connor suddenly became conscious of his own faded T‐shirt and
frayed jeans. “I’m a mess, and you look...”
“You look great,” Dane said, eyes travelling over the artwork
covering Connor’s bare arms and the T‐shirt that strained across his chest.
He swallowed. “Believe me.”
“You wear glasses,” Connor pointed out—in case, you know, Dane
wasn’t aware.
“Oh,” said Dane, reaching up to adjust them, flashing a nervous
sort of smile. “Yeah, my contacts were driving me crazy today so I
switched. You don’t, um—you don’t mind?”
Connor heard the unspoken question there: Do you still find me
attractive in them? He beamed. “Why would I mind? They suit you. Only
problem is they make you look way too intelligent for me.”
“Nah. Don’t need the glasses for that.”
“Fuck you,” Connor muttered, bumping their hips together.
Dane’s hand on his back smoothed upwards until it came to a stop
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
27
between his shoulder blades, and he stepped closer to crowd into
Connor’s space and peer at the menu in his hand. “Cocktails? Seriously?”
“No.” Connor pushed the menu aside, cheeks warming. “I was just
killing time. You want a beer?” At Dane’s nod, he ordered two beers, paid
without a single protest from Dane, and led them over to a table in the
corner.
The soft lighting and gentle music set a romantic atmosphere
whether they liked it or not, and when Dane took the seat next to Connor
rather than opposite, Connor’s tummy did a slow, lazy flip. Dane
half‐turned in his seat and draped his arm over the back of Connor’s chair,
thumb playing at Connor’s T‐shirt sleeve, and it hit Connor then, in that
intimate moment: He was dating Dane. It might have been only one date
so far, but he was dating him, not just hanging out with a friend, and soon,
if he didn’t fuck up, he might even become Dane’s boyfriend. He liked that
idea a lot.
“So how was work?” Dane asked, in that easy way people in a
relationship enquired about each other’s day.
“Boring,” said Connor. He took a sip of beer. “I wanted to call you,
but.” He shrugged, smiled. “Didn’t want to be too forward.”
Dane raised his eyebrows. “Does that mean I’m forward, because I
called you?”
“You didn’t just call me, dude. You wanted to see me. That’s totally
forward. But it’s okay,” he said, poking Dane’s thigh, “I know it’s only
because you want me so bad.”
Dane’s lips twisted in amusement. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. I mean, I am irresistible.”
“Well,” said Dane, voice lowering, “if that’s true, then you can’t
blame me for doing this.” Then he leaned forward, closed the short space
between them, and pressed an unsure kiss to Connor’s mouth. He made to
lean away a second or two later, but Connor hooked his finger into the
front of his shirt and kept him there, parted his lips to deepen the kiss,
chased Dane’s tongue into his mouth.
Dane made an ‘hmm’ noise when he pulled away, lips shiny and
curved into a soft smile. “I probably shoulda waited to do that.”
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
28
“Glad you didn’t.” Connor gave Dane a quick peck and sat back to
drink his beer. “So what about you?” he said, in an effort to keep the vibe
as normal and easy‐going as possible, so that Dane didn’t always think
kissing Connor was a big thing—so that he would, in fact, do it a lot more,
without caution. “How was work? Save any kids today?”
Dane shook his head. “Stuck in the office for most of it, writing
reports and making about eighteen‐million phone calls.” He dipped his
finger behind his glasses to rub his eye. “I swear, the boring stuff tires me
out more than the kinda stuff I actually signed up for.” He sighed, reached
for his beer. “But we got a call in tonight for something I might be asked
to follow up on tomorrow, so the week might look up.”
“Guess that means you’ll be pretty busy.” Connor tried to keep the
disappointment out of his voice. After all, these were kids in trouble they
were discussing, albeit in an abstract way. But still. A busy Dane meant
not a lot of time together, and their...dating thing...was still really new and
unsure, not anything worth making time for in a busy schedule. And
Connor liked Dane a bit too much to be happy about that. He smiled it off,
though, and said, “Hey, at least you won’t be bored.”
“Hopefully,” Dane said, speaking just as the music died. He raised
his eyebrows. “Guess they’re kicking us out.”
“I’m sure we’ve still got five minutes.”
Dane smiled. “Quickest date ever.”
“Shouldn’t have too much of a good thing,” Connor said, but it
lacked the proper humour. It was dawning on him in stages: With Dane
working long days and Connor working most nights, how the hell were
they going to have a chance at building on this tentative but (apparently)
mutual attraction? Maybe the whole thing was dead on arrival. “Listen,
do you think—I know it’s way too early to be talking about this, but. I
don’t wanna get in the way of your work, man, and I work most nights,
so. I mean.”
“Hey,” said Dane, giving Connor’s knee a bracing squeeze, “I’d be
happy sitting in your store, keeping you company while you worked. It
doesn’t always have to be bars and restaurants.” He smiled. “I’m a pretty
easy‐going guy. And, well.” The smile shifted, became something shy and
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
29
careful and beautiful. “I kinda like you.”
Connor breathed through the rush of heat in his blood. “Okay.”
“Okay,” said Dane. He hadn’t moved his hand. “So I’ll stop by
tomorrow night?”
Connor blinked. “You wanna see me three nights in a row?”
“Looks like it,” said Dane, shrugging. “I’m not really the type of
guy who follows the conventional rules of dating. I mean, if I wanna see
you, then I’ll try and see you. Why hang around?”
“I like the way you think,” Connor said. “Come on, we better get
out of here.”
“Can I give you a ride?” Dane asked, once they were out on the
street. “Or do you have your car?”
“I was just gonna get a cab, but...”
“Come on.” Dane offered his hand, and Connor took it without
hesitance. “My car’s this way.”
They strolled up to the side‐street where Dane parked his car,
Connor jabbering on about the crazy customers he’d dealt with that
evening. Dane smiled and laughed in all the right places, kept his fingers
clasped loosely with Connor’s, thumb rubbing on occasion across the back
of his hand. Once they reached Dane’s car and got in, Dane closed his
door, turned in his seat, took Connor’s face in his hand and kissed him,
really kissed him.
Connor gave an embarrassing squeak of surprise before he melted
into it, reached across to hold Dane’s waist and leaned forward a bit so
Dane wasn’t bent at such an awkward angle. It was their most intense kiss
yet, all tongue and teeth and quiet little moans of pleasure, and Connor
wanted to touch him, to slide his hands beneath clothing and feel hot skin
and smooth, hard muscle. But he didn’t dare, didn’t want to push it. Once
or twice Dane’s glasses jabbed him in the eye or cut across the bridge of
his nose, but it wasn’t enough discomfort to make him pull away—just
made him more determined to find the perfect angle, to make Dane moan
a bit more into his mouth.
He had to stop himself from voicing his frustration when Dane
eventually broke the kiss, moving back just enough to swipe his thumb
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
30
over Connor’s bottom lip.
“The night doesn’t have to end here,” Connor said, his breathing
short and stuttered. Boyd’s text flashed through his mind. “We can...”
Dane sighed, then closed his eyes as though he were in pain. “I’d
like to,” he murmured, “but it’s just.” He opened his eyes again, looked at
Connor, traced his fingers down Connor’s jaw. “I don’t want to rush
things.” He gave a wobbly little smile. “Is that—is that okay? I mean, I’d
understand if you didn’t want to wait, but—”
“Yeah, Dane,” Connor said, dipping his head down to give him
another brief kiss. “It’s fine.”
“‘m sorry,” Dane mumbled against his lips.
Connor pressed forward to kiss the guilt away from him.
After about twenty minutes of necking like teenagers, they finally
got their shit together enough for Dane to drive them away. Connor kept
his hand on Dane’s thigh for the whole journey, low enough to be
considered respectful, stroking small circles with his thumb.
“No need to walk me to my door this time,” he said as they idled
outside his house. “Unless you wanna come in for coffee or something?”
The corner of Dane’s mouth upturned. “Better not. But I’ll see you
tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, come by whenever. But, uh. Boyd will be there.” He
grimaced, hoped that conveyed his apology well enough.
“I’m sure I’ll cope.”
“Okay. Um.” He gave Dane a kiss, kept it short and sweet for fear
of it collapsing into another session. “‘Night.”
Dane didn’t pull away until Connor had closed his front door
behind himself.
* * * * *
The first thing Connor did at ten the following morning was roll
over, grab his phone, and dared to be bold.
‘morning. x’
Then grinned when the reply came back almost immediately:
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
31
‘you call this morning? it’s nearly lunchtime’
‘not when you work my hours’
‘lucky for some. xx’
Connor got so many happy songs stuck in his head that day, he
was pretty sure Boyd was ready to throttle him by the time they left for
work.
* * * * *
“Come on, dude,” said Boyd, offering the bag of popcorn to Dane.
“Show this pathetic excuse of a man how it’s done.”
Dane, perched on a stool to the left of the counter, looked at
Connor, his eyes glittering. “I don’t want to embarrass him.”
Connor scowled at the DVDs he was ticking off the delivery form.
“Whatever,” he muttered, the word ending in a grunt when Dane grabbed
him by the belt loops and tugged until he fell into the space between
Dane’s legs. He put his hands on Dane’s shoulders to steady himself and
smiled into the kiss Dane pressed to his mouth. “What was that for?” he
asked, rubbing his thumb against Dane’s neck and ignoring Boyd’s
audible disgust behind him.
Dane smirked. “Softening you up, so you won’t be too angry with
me when I totally humiliate you.”
“Hell, yeah,” said Boyd. “Let’s do this.”
Dane poked Connor in his side to get him to move, while Connor
attempted to glare. A minute later Connor stood, sulking, after having
watched Dane land ten pieces of popcorn square in Boyd’s mouth, so
swiftly Boyd barely had time to swallow one before the next one came.
“And that,” said Dane, raising his arms, “is how it’s done.”
Boyd gazed at him in something like rapture. “Where have you
been all my life? Connor,” he said, pointing a finger at him without
having the decency to look at him, “I’m trading you up. This is the guy
I’m supposed to be best friends with.”
“Hah,” said Connor, brightening. He grinned at Dane. “Sucks to be
you.”
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32
Dane looked as though he thought he should be smiling, but didn’t
know how.
“I would be offended,” said Boyd, shooting Connor a dark look,
“but clearly you don’t understand our bond. Teamwork like this,” he
added, waving a hand between himself and Dane, “is a rare and beautiful
thing. We’re connected.”
“You hear that, Dane? You and Boyd are connected.”
“Oh my god,” said Dane.
Boyd gripped his shoulder. “You need time. But you’ll feel it soon.”
“I’d rather not.”
Boyd wandered out back soon after, taking Dane’s terror to mean
he didn’t understand their epic gay love or whatever, and Dane turned
relieved eyes on Connor. “Is he really a genius? Because, I gotta say, I’ve
had goldfish that radiated more intelligence than that guy.”
“He’s got a crazy‐high IQ, but I don’t think he knows how to use it.
I always forget about it until he solves all the puzzles in the newspaper in,
like, ten seconds or adds up all his debt quicker than I can open the next
bill. He’s really switched on...he just hides it well.”
“Really well,” said Dane. “But whatever. He’s not what I want to
talk about right now.”
Connor smiled. “Hmm,” he murmured, sauntering towards him.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dane said, pulling Connor into the vee of his
thighs and smoothing his hands down to rest on the swell of his ass.
“Maybe about how much I like being able to kiss you whenever I like?”
Then he leaned forward to demonstrate his point.
They were interrupted barely ten seconds later by the bell dinging
over the door. Connor sighed, pressed his forehead to Dane’s, then broke
away wearing his Professional Grin.
Customers came in one after the other for the next hour, giving
Connor no time to do anything other than give Dane’s fingers the
occasional squeeze and exchange light and uninvolved banter. Dane left
eventually, complaining of an early start, dropping a chaste kiss to
Connor’s temple while he was busy trying to find a DVD in Boyd’s
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33
system.
Connor tried to get him to stay, but he could see it was pointless. A
busy video store wasn’t exactly the ideal venue for a date, and in the end
Connor was left with nothing but the feeling of how much this whole
arrangement sucked.
* * * * *
Regardless of Connor’s misgivings, Dane stopped by for a couple of
hours the following two nights, exchanging insults with Boyd and kissing
Connor whenever time permitted. They were falling into a familiarity
with each other, which was nice, but Connor thought they could certainly
benefit from a little alone time. So it was with great relief he checked the
schedule and discovered he had the next night off. He told Dane, and was
rewarded with a brilliant grin.
“So you want to go out?”
“Of course I want to go out,” Connor said, sweeping his hand
through Dane’s hair. “We can do whatever you want. Just you and me.”
“Okay, I’ll have to think about it.” He hopped off his stool, dropped
the movie magazine he’d been reading on the counter, and leaned up to
steal a kiss. “I need to get home to bed. But I’ll pick you up tomorrow?
Around eight?”
“Seven,” Connor said, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could
around Dane’s waist without suffocating him and licking a line up his
neck, feeling Dane gasp against him. He was getting bolder lately, making
his kisses dirtier, deeper, moving to nip at Dane’s jaw and neck, hands
wandering to feel Dane’s ass and thighs, a thumb across his nipple over
his T‐shirt. And he was making Dane warmer, needier, moans and gasps
and his name spilling out on a whisper. It wouldn’t be long now, he
hoped. God, he hoped.
“Seven...okay...” Dane breathed, when Connor found his pulse
point and sucked. “Stop that. I really need to go.”
It was another ten minutes before he actually left.
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
34
* * * * *
Connor spent much of the following day in a state of heightened
anticipation; he was so excited he actually wasted time contemplating his
outfit for the date, like a freakin’ girl.
“Dude,” said Boyd, when he walked in on Connor trying to tame
his hair a whole three hours before Dane would even get there. “Could
you be any more desperate?”
No, he couldn’t. And while he respected Dane’s decision, surely
they were at the stage where mutual handjobs would not be considered
rushing things? He just wanted to touch some of that skin, maybe elicit a
few broken moans. He wanted to know what Dane looked like beneath all
those well‐fitting clothes.
“Shut up,” he muttered,” and help me out. I can’t get the back to
stay down...”
Surprisingly, Boyd did, but not without grumbling about how
Connor was just gonna mess it up again once he and Dane started going at
it in the back seat. Connor wished.
“Hey,” Boyd said, smoothing Connor’s hair down around the back
of his neck. “You want me to clear out tonight? I could go to Mike’s.”
Connor looked at him in the mirror, surprised and oddly touched.
“Really?”
Boyd shrugged. “Gotta do what I can to help get you laid. Call it
my good deed.”
“That would be—yeah, thanks, man.”
“Don’t fuck on my bed,” Boyd said, absently. “Or don’t come on my
bed. Try and catch it, or something...”
“Um,” said Connor, blinking. “I’ll bear that in my mind.” He
reached for his phone, dashed off a quick text.
‘boyd’s out tonight, so we can stay in if you want. get take‐out, spend
some time alone... :)’
The reply didn’t come until nearly an hour later, and when Connor
read it, he felt his heart drop all the way down to his toes.
‘shit, i’m sorry. can’t make it. something’s come up at work and i won’t
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35
get away until late. sorry.’
Connor tried to swallow away his crushing disappointment.
‘it’s ok. we’ll do it another time. x’
He dropped his phone on the nightstand with more force than he’d
intended, watched it bounce and slide right off and tumble down the back
with a series of clatters. Ten minutes later, with a sigh, he fished it out and
blew off the dust bunnies, turned it back on. Sat on the bed, stared at the
wall, waited and waited—but Dane’s reply never came.
* * * * *
Two days later, with still no word from Dane, Connor face‐planted
on the store’s counter and said to the wood, “It’s over. It’s over before it
even had a chance.”
“I know,” said Boyd, flipping through a magazine. “No way it’s
gonna get a second season.”
Connor blinked, sat up. “What?”
Boyd pointed to an article. “The new Melrose Place.”
“You think I’m in an advanced stage of depression because of a TV
show?”
“I dunno, man,” said Boyd. “You’re kinda gay. And I still
remember your face when they pulled Veronica Mars.”
“That,” said Connor, “is something I still don’t want to talk about.
Can you let me moan about my thing with Dane for a minute?”
“Can I pretend to listen?”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Connor thought for a moment, considered where to begin, then
collapsed against the counter. “He hasn’t called! I mean, I know
something big’s going on at his work and he’s crazy busy and—you
know, I get it. But he hasn’t had two minutes to himself? No time to even
drop a text? Come on. He’s totally freezing me out.”
“Hmm,” said Boyd, flipping a page. “Have you tried calling him?”
Connor huffed a sigh. “No. I don’t want to get in the way. Besides,”
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36
he said, scowling at the pot plant in the corner, “if he wanted to talk to me,
he would’ve just called.”
“Maybe he’s thinking the same thing.”
“Maybe you need to stop sounding so sensible. It’s killing your
image.”
“Whatever,” said Boyd, closing the magazine. “How about this?
We go out and get wasted tonight, drown your sorrows. Get laid.”
Connor groaned. “That’s the last thing I need.”
But he went anyway. It was either that or sit at home, staring at his
phone, eating and drinking all the alcohol‐based products in the house in
a pathetic attempt to be that guy who conveniently became an alcoholic
whenever life treated him bad.
He had a good time, all things considered, even managed to smile
and laugh and forget Dane for a little while. No interest in getting laid, of
course, but then Boyd did take him to the straightest bar in a
hundred‐mile radius, so it was a moot point.
He went home a little drunk and a little less miserable and woke up
the following morning resigned to having lost Dane, and pretending he
didn’t dream of him at all.
* * * * *
“My mom’s a bitch,” Connor announced, flopping back on the
couch.
Boyd raised an eyebrow. “I’m totally telling her you said that.”
“It’s Sunday! She’s supposed to call. I was looking forward to
telling her, in detail, how terrible my life is these days. But she’s too busy
having a bake sale or blowing Dad or whatever to pick up the phone.
Asshole.”
“Sometimes,” Boyd said, “I wonder why people call me the
disgusting freak in this relationship.”
“Dude. We’re not in a relationship.”
“Whatever. We totally are.”
“Why isn’t anyone calling me?” Connor groaned, staring up at the
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37
ceiling. “No one likes me anymore.”
“Because you suck,” Boyd said. “Still no word on your boy?”
“Nothing. It’s been three days.”
“Let’s go out.”
“Again? Dude, it’s not even been twenty‐four hours since you last
got me drunk.”
“Yeah,” said Boyd, “but there’s this band playing tonight. Jenna
told me they’re good; we should check them out.”
“I dunno, man.”
“You can stick to orange juice if you want. Pussy.”
Connor sighed. “All right. But if they blow, I’m coming home.”
“If they blow,” said Boyd, “you’ll be first in line.”
Connor wrinkled his nose. “You’re so disgusting.”
“Says the guy who thinks about his mom sucking his dad’s dick.
Speaking of,” he said, as his phone rang and he glanced at the screen. He
raised an eyebrow at Connor and answered. “Hey, Mrs Morgan.”
“What?” said Connor, mildly outraged. “She’d rather call you than
me? Fuck my life, man.”
“Sure thing, ma’am,” said Boyd, and handed the phone over.
Connor blinked, put the phone to his ear. “Mom?”
“Connor, honey, can you switch your phone on? I don’t like calling
Boyd’s. I feel like I might catch something.”
Connor dug his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. “It’s
on.”
“It’s not. It just goes to voicemail.”
Feeling as if slowly but surely his stomach was twisting itself into a
big knot, Connor said, “Mom, I’ll call you back.” He hung up on her
before she could respond and flipped through Boyd’s phonebook until he
found his own number, called it. His phone didn’t light up or ring, and he
heard his own voicemail message in his ear. “Fuck,” he said, trying again.
“Fuck. My phone’s broken.”
“Oh,” said Boyd, realisation dawning on his face. “Oh.”
“You know,” said Connor, “for a genius, you’re pretty useless.”
“Fuck you. This isn’t my fault.”
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38
“It totally is. Fuck,” he said again, knocking his phone against his
forehead. “How fucking stupid can I get? I dropped it the other night,
didn’t think much of it because it didn’t look like anything was wrong
with it, but no one’s called me since and I couldn’t put two and two
together? Jesus Christ.”
“To be fair,” said Boyd, who was rarely fair about anything,
“you’ve been kinda distracted, what with your epic man‐pain and all.”
“Dick,” said Connor, without feeling. All he could think about was
Dane trying to call him, getting nothing but voicemail every time. What he
must have been thinking. Had he tried texting? Connor tested it, flipped
open Boyd’s phone and typed ‘i hate you, phone’, sent it to himself. Waited
for a minute while ignoring Boyd’s grumblings of, “Sure, keep spending
my money,” but nothing came.
“So I guess we’re going out to get you a new cell in the morning,”
Boyd said, losing interest in Connor’s dilemma. He had the remote in
hand, flipping through the music channels. “And you should probably
call your boy.”
“Yeah,” said Connor. “Yeah.” He got up. “I’m gonna borrow your
phone, okay?”
Boyd rolled his eyes and Connor left him to the delights of
Shakira’s hips, went into his bedroom and shut the door. He found Dane’s
number in his phonebook and dialed it into Boyd’s phone, his heart
hammering against his ribs. Dane answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” said Connor. He could hear a lot of commotion around
Dane, a steady roar of voices.
Dane raised his voice when he spoke, and Connor could imagine
him sticking his finger in his other ear to hear better. “Connor? Is that
you? Whose number is this?”
“Boyd’s. My phone’s busted. Listen, want me to call you back later?
Things sound kinda...busy there.”
“No, hold on.”
Connor spent a few seconds listening to Dane breathe into the
phone as the noise faded away in the background, and when Dane next
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39
spoke, his voice held a light echo, as though he were in a large empty
room. “Hey. Um. Thanks for calling me back.”
“So you have been trying to call me.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s been days of voicemail so I just figured...”
“No,” said Connor. “No. God, no. My phone’s not been receiving
any calls or texts since the night I was supposed to see you.”
“Right.” Dane sighed, something quiet and disappointed. “Guess
you didn’t think to call me?”
“I—I didn’t want to get in the way. Last time we spoke you were
really busy and I didn’t—didn’t want to interrupt.” He knew, now, how
lame that sounded. He and Dane were seeing each other—albeit
briefly—and he had a right to call and ask how he was, had an obligation.
And he hadn’t. Some misplaced insecurity preventing him from even
trying. “I’m sorry, I just...”
“Okay. It’s fine.” He sounded as if it was anything but. “So is this
that call?”
“What call?”
“You know, the ‘let me down gently’ call.”
“What? Are you—” Connor was halfway off the bed before he
realised Dane wasn’t in the room to see him get worked up. “Are you
crazy?” he asked, flopping back down. “I thought you lost interest and
I’ve been—actually, I’ve been pathetically miserable, considering how
we’d only been seeing each for, like, a week. But.” He sighed, scrubbed a
hand over his brow. “I really like you, man. And I’m sorry my phone’s so
evil and I was too hung‐up on my own insecurity to try calling you, but
I—I’d really like to try this out, see where it goes. If you—if you’re still
interested.”
There was an extended stretch of time where Dane said nothing,
where Connor’s heart tried to beat itself out of his chest, where the walls
felt as though they were closing in and he waited and waited for Dane to
say, “I’m sorry, but no.”
Eventually Dane spoke, and he chose to let Connor suffer a while
longer by not giving a fucking answer. “You know what I thought it was?”
Connor swallowed. “What?”
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40
“I thought it was because I wasn’t putting out. I saw you, what?
Five, six times? And all you ever got from me was a kiss.”
“It’s fine,” Connor said in a rush. “I don’t mind, honestly. I can
wait.”
“Really? Could you wait for, say, a month?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“You don’t even know if I’m worth it,” Dane said, an odd edge to
his tone.
“I’ll take the risk.”
Dane was silent for a moment. “What about six months?”
“What?” said Connor, before he could stop himself. He cleared his
throat. “Um. I mean. Yeah, if that’s what it takes. I could try...” Even he
could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and he grimaced. “You know
what? I want to wait. We’re waiting.”
“Really?” said Dane. “That’s a shame, because I was kinda hoping
we could forget the whole waiting bullshit and you’d let me suck your
cock next time I saw you.”
Connor drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. It wasn’t even a
particularly sexy thing to say, but it was the last thing he expected to hear,
and it took him completely by surprise. “Christ. Don’t tell me that.”
“Look,” said Dane. “I wanted to wait because I was tired of having
these relationships that start with sex and end with sex and don’t have
much in between. I just. I wanted to see what you were like first. As a
person. I didn’t want to rush.”
“No, I understand, I get it,” said Connor, gripping Boyd’s phone so
tight he feared for its health. “I really, really get it.”
“But, god,” continued Dane, as though he hadn’t heard Connor
speak. “You were willing to wait six fucking months for me? A guy you
barely know? I mean, okay, it never would’ve lasted, but. You had the
intention.”
“I like you,” Connor said, simply, hoping it explained everything.
“There’s something about you. About us.”
“Yeah,” said Dane. “Yeah, there is.” He sounded pensive, and
Connor hoped his thoughts led to something good. He wasn’t
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41
disappointed. “So, okay, no more waiting. Let’s not say anything else
about it, because I don’t want to have, you know, organised sex. But...no
more waiting.”
“Okay,” said Connor, and then, fearing he might be jumping the
gun but not really caring: “You wanna come over? Or I could come to
you.”
Dane heaved a sigh. “I can’t.”
“Oh,” said Connor, deflating.
“I’d like to, believe me. But I’m not even in town.”
Connor blinked. “What? Where are you?”
“Miles and miles away, at this stupid conference they make me go
to every year.”
“When d’you get back?”
“A week?” Connor could hear the wince in his tone. “I know it’s
bad timing, but I tried calling to tell you...”
“Yeah, my phone’s evil. Um. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t you come over? When you couldn’t get me on the
phone, I mean.”
“What, and be that guy? The lovesick stalker guy? You froze me
out, man. I wasn’t gonna come running.”
“I would’ve,” Connor said. “If I knew where you lived.”
“Dude. You couldn’t even call me.”
Connor laughed, more at his own lameness and the situation than
because anything was funny. “Right. So, um. A week...”
“Yeah. Will you wait for me?”
“I think,” said Connor, smiling, “that’s been proven.”
* * * * *
“What’re you doing?” Dane asked, voice all sleepy‐rough and low.
Connor shifted his weight on the bed, tried to find the right button
on the remote in the dark. “Just seeing what’s on TV.”
He’d been out that morning to get a new phone, texted Dane
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42
immediately to let him know they didn’t have to communicate through
Boyd’s phone anymore, and then at ten o’clock that evening, half an hour
ago, Dane had called. They talked of nothing at all, filling the silence, and
Connor couldn’t imagine ever being so relaxed.
“Hmm,” said Dane. “I’ve found some stupid film with Jennifer
Lopez.”
“Oh
yeah,”
Connor
said,
finding
the
same
channel.
“Monster‐in‐Law. I love this film.”
“You do?” Dane sounded amused.
“Yeah. Two fabulous divas tearing chunks out of each other.
What’s not to love?”
“You’re very gay, you know.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I should be embarrassed by you,” Dane said around a long yawn.
“But, strangely, I’m not.”
“I have the body of a Greek god. It makes up for the immense
gayness.”
“Really?” said Dane, perking up. “Greek god, huh?”
“Yeah. Well, so people tell me.”
“Apparently people tell you a lot of things.”
Connor smiled. “You’ll just have to judge for yourself.”
“You should send me a picture.”
“Uh, how about no? You’ll have to wait and see.”
“I’ll send you one in return,” Dane wheedled. “Anything you
like...”
Connor squeezed his eyes shut. “As tempting as that is—and it
really, really is—I say we wait for the real thing.”
Dane sighed. “Six days, man.” Then he yawned again, so
powerfully Connor thought he heard his jaw click.
“Hey, I should let you go. You need to sleep.”
“Yeah,” said Dane. “But no. Let’s see how this movie ends.”
“I know how it ends.”
“Well, I don’t. Any film where J‐Lo’s getting her face smacked into
a cake has to be worth seeing through, right?”
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43
“And you need me to watch it with you?”
“...I get the free minutes.”
“Okay,” said Connor, burrowing down under the blanket. “I’ll
stay.”
“Good,” said Dane, and Connor smiled.
Dane fell asleep before the film ended, but Connor didn’t mind. His
own eyes slipped shut to the sound of Dane breathing softly and
peacefully into his ear.
* * * * *
“I added you on Facebook,” Connor said the following night. “Now
you have to join my Mafia.”
“You don’t bother with that shit, do you?”
“Hell yeah, I do. Don Morgan owns, like, half of Facebook.”
“Wow,” said Dane. “That’s some achievement.”
“Join my mafia,” Connor said. “Do it.”
“Will you have me killed if I don’t?”
“Yes,” said Connor. “Fish food.”
“You fail at intimidation.”
“Have you seen the size of me? I could squash you with my little
finger.”
“Or with your ego.”
“Hey!”
“Mafia Wars does funny things to you,” Dane said.
Connor sighed. “I know. I go crazy on the power.”
“Hmm,” said Dane. “That might be fun. You know, for future
reference.”
Connor sat up straighter on the bed, instantly a million times more
alert. “What d’you mean?”
“Well, I’m a pretty big guy myself, you know. Never been with a
guy who could...take control. In bed.”
“Do you like that?” Connor asked, heat spreading across his chest.
“The idea of some guy holding you down?”
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44
“Not some guy, Connor. You.” Dane’s easy way of saying it made
Connor’s heart flip. “And I dunno. Maybe. Every now and then.”
“Yeah,” said Connor, drawing one leg up against the swell in his
jeans. “Definitely something to consider.”
“Let’s not talk about this,” Dane said, his voice tight.
“Yeah.”
“Five days...”
“I know.”
* * * * *
“So I had trouble sleeping last night,” Dane said, after they’d
exhausted the topic of what they’d both been up to that day.
“Really? Why?” Connor yawned, stretched out on the bed. The
clock ticked over past midnight and he had the TV on low, a documentary
about whales he’d lost immediate interest in.
“Well,” said Dane, the hesitation audible in his tone. “There’s this
guy.”
Connor smiled. It probably made him arrogant, assuming Dane
couldn’t be talking about anyone but him, but really. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I can’t get him out of my head.”
“Hmm,” said Connor, pitching his voice low. “That’s a problem.”
“Yeah.” And now Dane’s voiced had dropped lower, fuller. “I keep
having these dreams about him, all the things I want him to do to me...”
“Sounds terrible,” Connor said, a hot tingle traveling the length of
his spine. “How can I help you rectify this situation?”
“Connor...” Dane murmured, and he sounded breathy, like he was
getting real relaxed and comfortable. Then, “Fuck,” and his voice was
back to its normal octave. “No. God.”
Connor blinked through his confusion. “What?”
“Don’t start this shit. We’re not having phone‐sex.”
“What? Why?” He heard the whine in his voice, didn’t care. “And
you started it, dude.”
“I know. Just. I want to be there with you when I hear you come for
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45
the first time.”
Connor’s breath caught in his throat. “Whereas I want to hear you
come now, so let me just—”
“No.”
“Okay,” said Connor. “How about we get really close and then I
hang up right before I come?”
“No, Connor.”
“Dane.” He sighed. “You’re no fun.”
“You won’t be saying that in...four days.”
“So you’re definitely planning on having sex in four days? I
thought you weren’t into organised sex.”
“Yeah, well, I think we’re past the point of pretending neither of us
know we’ll be fucking each other’s brains out the minute I arrive at your
door.”
“Fuck,” said Connor, Dane’s words going straight to his dick, the
images Dane’s words created. “Christ, Dane, you’re like the world’s
biggest tease.”
“Call me back in a half hour,” said Dane.
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Just—”
“You’re gonna jerk off, aren’t you?” Connor’s indignation turned to
mischief in a heartbeat and he pitched his voice as deep and smooth as it
would go, smirked into the empty room. “You’ve got it in your head
now,” he said, the hint of embarrassment not preventing him from
steamrolling on, “me fucking you.” He swallowed past the dryness at the
back of his tongue. “My cock sliding in your ass all easy and tight,
pushing in deep and hard and making you moan, my big hand wrapped
hard around your—no, wait,” he said, a different image coming to mind,
“me sucking your dick, letting you hold my head still so you can fuck my
mouth until you come all over my—”
“Christ, Connor. Shut the fuck up.”
Connor grinned, shifted his weight, bit back a hiss as his cock
caught on the material of his boxers. “You sure you don’t want to have
phone‐sex?”
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46
Dane drew in two pronounced breaths before he spoke. “I’m sure.”
“I bet I could make you come without you touching yourself. I
could talk you into it—you just need to listen to what I say, hear all things
you make me think about...”
“Connor...do you need me to beg you to shut up? Because I will.
I’m not above it.”
Connor laughed, low and comfortable, felt a warmth pool in his gut
that had nothing to do with arousal. “I’ll let you get some sleep. I know
you’ve got an early start in the morning.”
“Yeah.” Dane yawned. “I guess. God, I hate these things. I’d much
rather be home in bed.”
“With me,” Connor prompted.
“With you,” said Dane, the smile warm in his voice. “Call me
tomorrow?”
“‘Course. Night.”
“Night, ba—Connor.”
“Whoa,” said Connor, entirely unable to let that go. “You were
gonna call me ‘baby’ then.”
Dane cleared his throat. “No I wasn’t.”
“Yes you were! I heard it. You were totally gonna say it.”
“Do I look like the kinda guy who calls people ‘baby’?” said Dane,
but he lacked the proper conviction.
“I didn’t think so, no. But apparently you are.”
“I’m not. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, what?”
“Goodnight, Connor.”
“Come on,” said Connor. “Say it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s kinda sweet. And it tells me you like me.”
“I do like you,” said Dane. “You know I do.”
“Yeah. But I still want you to say it.”
“Connor...”
“Go on,” Connor crooned. “For me?”
Dane sighed, long and deep and completely put‐upon. It made
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47
Connor smile.
“Goodnight,” Dane said. There was a loaded pause. “Baby.”
Connor’s smile turned into a monstrous grin. “Goodnight,
honeybun.”
“Oh, fuck you,” said Dane, but he was laughing.
* * * * *
“I saw a three‐legged dog today,” Connor said, mouth full of pizza.
“That’s fascinating.”
“No, right, listen. It was with this other dog that had four legs, and
they were like trotting down the street together. But the dog with three
legs had this kind of swagger about it, the way it walked, like this Snoop
Dogg thing, looking like it owned the whole street.” He took another bite
of pizza, wiped a napkin across his mouth. “So I was thinking, right, why
do dogs even need four legs? They’re so much cooler with just three.”
There was a pause, and then Dane said, “I can’t believe I’m hearing
this.”
“I’m not saying I want to go around chopping off dogs’ legs—”
“Sure you’re not. Boyd, is that you?”
“Shut up,” Connor said, laughing. “You know it makes sense.”
“I know it makes me want to make sure you never have a dog.”
“Come on! I love dogs. I want twenty of them running around me.
And I want them healthy with all their limbs and everything. All I’m
saying is this dog owned its disability—he was working it, you know?
And that’s cool.”
“I think,” said Dane, with a cracking and fizzing sound in the
background, “we should move on.”
“Did you just open a beer?”
“Yeah.”
“Naughty. Don’t you have that talk to give tomorrow?”
“I’m only having one, Connor. I’m not gonna get drunk. And fuck,
don’t remind me.”
“Nervous?”
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48
“Kinda. Spent the evening preparing it with that creep Edward.”
“Why’s he a creep?”
Dane sighed. “‘Come to my room, Dane. Let me give you a neck
massage, Dane. Let’s go for a drink, Dane, get nice and relaxed.’ It’s just,
you know, dude—I’m not interested. Quit hitting on me.”
“Why aren’t you interested?” Connor asked delicately, keeping his
tone neutral.
“Did you miss the part where I called him a creep? He makes my
skin crawl. Besides,” he said, voice turning smoother, more playful, “I
don’t cheat.”
Connor grinned, wide and warm. “So this is a thing? You and me?”
“It’s a thing,” said Dane. “At least on my end it is. I’d be kinda
pissed if you went and fucked someone else.” He paused, then spoke with
a tiny hitch in his voice. “You haven’t, right?”
“Nope. Waiting for you.”
“Not even in those days when we—?”
“Not even then.”
“Oh,” said Dane. “Good. That’s good.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Connor dug out the
remote from beneath his blankets and switched the TV on and searched
for something vaguely interesting to watch. He found a re‐run of
America’s Next Top Model and settled in, the phone tucked between his
shoulder and ear, half‐listening to Dane potter around his hotel room,
muttering curses to himself.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Connor asked, when Dane’s curses
grew louder.
“Trying to find all my shit so I can pack. Fuck knows how it
manages to spread out all over the room...”
“Little early to pack,” Connor observed, kind of absorbed in the
way the girls were trying to contort themselves in and around a metal
cage for their high‐drama, yet entirely pointless, photo shoot.
“Yeah,” said Dane. “About that. Um.” Connor heard the muffled
sounds of the bed giving in beneath Dane’s weight. “After I give that talk
tomorrow there’s really not any reason I need to stick around...so I was
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49
thinking maybe I should get the late flight home tomorrow?” He ended it
on an unsure note, as though Connor’s reaction was the deciding factor in
his plans to cut things short.
Connor, therefore, nearly broke his face smiling. “Really?”
“Yeah...and it’ll mean I’ll still have two days before I have to go
back to work.”
“I like this plan,” Connor said.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Um. Will you still be up when I get back tomorrow night?”
“What time will you be back?” asked Connor, and then, “You know
what? It doesn’t matter. I’ll wait up.”
Dane laughed. “That desperate to get laid, huh?”
“Totally,” said Connor, rolling his eyes. “Going outta my mind
here. Or, you know—apparently you just find it hard to believe that I
really wanna see you?”
“So you don’t want to get laid?”
“I didn’t say that...”
* * * * *
“Oh my god,” said Connor, by way of greeting. “How’d it go? I’ve
been going insane waiting for you to call.”
“Good,” said Dane. He sounded kinda dazed. “I think. Can’t
believe I got through it without passing out or throwing up.”
“Did you get a standing ovation?”
“It was a talk, Connor, not a performance.”
“Did you?”
“...maybe.”
“Hah,” said Connor. “That’s amazing.”
“I’m just glad it’s over—until next year, anyway.”
“You’re still coming home tonight?”
“Yeah, got my flight booked. I should be back around midnight.”
“I’ll be up. But, um, don’t worry about coming straight over if
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50
you’re too tired. We can do something tomorrow.”
“I’ll see how I feel when I get in.”
“Okay,” said Connor, deflating somewhat. He’d only said it to be
polite, dammit. “At least call me when you land, so I know your plane
didn’t go up in flames.”
“Positive thinking,” said Dane. “I like it.”
* * * * *
“You know what this means,” Boyd said, munching on his nightly
bowl of cereal, “if he comes straight here from the airport?”
Connor checked his watch for the thousandth time. Ten past
midnight. Dammit. “What?”
“That he looooves you.”
Connor shot him a glare. “Don’t be so fucking ridiculous. It’s only
been two weeks and I didn’t even see him for half of that.”
“People fall in love and get married in less time. They call it a
‘whirlwind romance’.”
“They call it ‘annulment seventy‐two hours later’, actually, and
stop talking out your ass.”
Boyd raised an eyebrow. “He’s been up since 5 AM, you said?”
“Yeah.”
“After going to bed late the night before?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s been on his feet all day?”
“You going somewhere with this?”
“Then catching a late flight?”
“I’m gonna beat the point out of you in a minute.”
“Then driving an hour from the airport...” Boyd finished, smirking.
“A guy with any sense would wanna do nothing more than go home and
crash after all that.”
“Which is probably what he’s doing,” Connor said, checking his
watch again.
“So that’s not his car, then?” Boyd said, pointing at the window, his
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
51
eyes alight with humour.
“What?” said Connor, whipping around to look outside. “Holy shit,
he actually came here.” He could see Dane sitting in the car, fiddling with
the radio and his seatbelt and whatever else. A second later the lights on
the car went out, and Dane opened the door.
“Yeah,” said Boyd. “He doesn’t care about you at all.”
Connor jumped to his feet, his heart throwing a wild party behind
his ribs. “Go to bed,” he ordered, taking the bowl from Boyd’s hand and
putting it on the table. “And don’t come out until the morning.”
“Dude. Are you sexiling me?”
“Yes. No! Just—” Dane knocked on the door, and Connor’s
stomach leaped. “Please, just go away.”
Boyd huffed, got to his feet. “You’re lucky I love you a little bit.”
“I’ll buy you breakfast,” Connor said, feeling a touch of guilt.
“Whatever.”
With Boyd safely out of the way, Connor took a deep breath,
smoothed his hair, and opened the door. Dane, dressed in faded blue jeans
and a loose T‐shirt, attempted a smile in greeting, his eyes warm and dark.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” said Connor, not bothering to smile back. Dane was pale,
dark shadows beneath his eyes, and he held himself in a slight slouch.
“Jesus, you look exhausted.”
“Um,” said Dane, reaching up to scratch his jaw. “Thanks?”
“God, Dane. You didn’t have to come here. You need rest.”
“I could, uh,” said Dane, his cheeks heating up beneath the pale. He
pointed his thumb back at his car. “I could go, if you want?”
“No,” said Connor, reaching out for him. He took his hand and
tugged gently. “No, come on. Let’s get you to bed.” Dane raised an
eyebrow, the corner of his mouth turning up, and Connor huffed out a
nervous laugh. “Not for that.” He pulled Dane into the house and shut the
door behind him. “Don’t think you being half‐dead is the best way to
begin our sex life. Come on, let’s get some sleep.”
Holding Dane’s hand loosely, Connor made to lead him to his
bedroom, but Dane gave a light tug and murmured, “Hey.”
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
52
Connor turned to look at him, took in the soft expression on his face
and his warm, open eyes. He felt his heart stutter when Dane stepped
forward into his space, pressed himself snug against Connor’s chest,
buried his face in his neck and wrapped his arms tight around him.
Dane didn’t speak, probably didn’t even know what to say, and
Connor got the impression that he wouldn’t be acting so in need of
comfort if he wasn’t sleep‐deprived. Connor, on the other hand, loved a
good cuddle. He took advantage of Dane’s vulnerability while he
could—gathered Dane in his arms, tucked him into his warmth, and held
on.
“Sorry,” Dane mumbled against his neck. “I just. It’s good to see
you.” He dropped a light kiss there, a ghost of lips, then traced the tip of
his nose over the same spot.
Connor smiled, moved one hand up to thread through Dane’s hair.
“It’s fine,” he murmured, and loathe as he was to break the embrace, he
could feel Dane sag ever so slightly against him. “Come on. You need to
sleep.” He pulled away and set about switching off the TV and lights, then
took Dane’s hand and pulled him towards his bedroom.
Dane dragged his feet as he walked, hiding a jaw‐breaking yawn
behind his hand. It wasn’t until they were inside with the door shut that
Connor remembered Dane had never been in his bedroom before, and his
skin warmed. Dane didn’t appear to be having the same thoughts—his
eyes, half‐lidded, were focusing on nothing but his belt as he tiredly tried
to negotiate it open, and Connor’s warm flush turned into a hot hot heat,
but he pushed it aside.
“You want something to wear?”
Dane shook his head, said nothing, smothered another yawn. He
stepped out of his shoes, socks and jeans, kept his T‐shirt and boxers on,
didn’t offer anything resembling an apology as he slid into Connor’s bed
and pulled the covers over himself, like he felt entirely at home. Connor
smiled.
“I sleep on the right,” Connor said, unbuckling his own belt. “Scoot
over.”
Dane snorted. “If you were any kind of gentleman,” he said, voice
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
53
weak, eyes slipping shut, “you’d offer to take the couch.”
Connor faltered mid‐way through pushing his jeans down over his
hips. “Uh. Yeah, I could—”
“I’m kidding. And I’m staying on the right. Now quit with the slow
striptease and get in the bed before I decide I’m not tired at all.”
“That’s supposed to be a threat?”
“I’d be lying to myself,” Dane muttered. “I’d fall asleep in the
middle of it and your ego would be crushed forever.”
Connor draped his jeans over the back of his chair and started on
the buttons of his shirt. “I’m pretty sure I could keep you awake for three
days without you even thinking about wanting to sleep.”
Dane’s eyes snapped open, the whites shot through with red.
“Three days, huh?”
“What can I say?” Connor said, shrugging and trying to conceal a
smirk. “I’ve got a lot of moves.”
Dane blinked at him, nodded at the T‐shirt Connor left on after he
removed his shirt. “You gonna take that off?”
“Wasn’t planning on it. Why?”
“You, uh,” said Dane, licking his top lip. “You’ve got most of your
tattoos under there, right?”
Connor grinned, slow and easy, moving forward to crawl onto the
bed. “You so have a tattoo kink. I mean,” he said, flopping down beside
Dane and pulling the covers over himself, “could I be any more of your
ideal guy?”
“Shut up,” Dane grumbled, cheeks darkening.
“Did you miss me?” Connor asked, directing the full wattage of his
grin at Dane.
“Shut up,” Dane said again, but his fingers found the back of
Connor’s hand beneath the blanket and stroked.
Connor didn’t push things, didn’t roll over to Dane, didn’t kiss him
or touch him or anything else he desperately wanted to do. He stayed on
his side of the bed—the wrong side—and listened to Dane breathe. Less
than a minute later, Dane fell asleep, and Connor turned onto his side,
placed his hand on Dane’s arm just below his shoulder, and watched
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
54
Dane’s face smooth into peace.
* * * * *
Connor liked the idea of waking up with a warm body pressed
against his own, but apparently Dane didn’t move in his sleep. He was
still on his back, fast asleep, head in the exact same position, as though
they’d gone to bed ten minutes ago rather than ten hours. He must’ve
been really exhausted, Connor thought, to become such dead weight
overnight.
It wasn’t until Connor tried to slip soundlessly out of bed that Dane
stirred, eyes peeking open to squint at Connor for a long moment before
falling shut again. “Time is it?” he said as he rolled onto his side, scooting
over so the edge of Connor’s pillow tickled his nose.
“Shh,” said Connor. “Go back to sleep.” He tucked the blanket over
Dane’s shoulder and pulled the curtains tighter against the morning light,
then tiptoed out of the room.
Boyd was already up when Connor made it into the kitchen after
washing and brushing his teeth. He put a cup of coffee in front of Connor
without being asked and said, “Sleeping Beauty still out?”
Connor yawned. “Yeah. Didn’t wanna wake him.”
Boyd tutted. “You’re such an embarrassment. You had a hot guy in
your bed all night and you didn’t even score.”
“How d’you know?” Connor asked against the rim of his cup.
“I was listening.” At Connor’s look, Boyd waved a hand and said,
“Whatever. Don’t judge. Point is, you fail at life.”
“He was tired,” Connor said defensively. “Practically dead on his
feet.”
“Hmm.” Boyd raised an eyebrow. “Yet he still came straight here.”
Connor felt his cheeks warm. “Shut up.”
“You shut up. You’re supposed to be buying me breakfast,
remember?”
“Oh. Um.” He offered an apologetic smile. “How about I just give
you the money? I can’t really leave Dane alone here.”
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
55
“Fuck, you’re pathetic,” Boyd said mildly. He grabbed a paper bag
off the counter and dumped it on the table in front of Connor. “Bagels.
And the paper. I went out this morning.”
Connor blinked. “You bought breakfast?”
“I bought you and loverboy breakfast, because I’m an awesome
guy. I’m heading out,” he said, reaching for his keys. “Mike’s challenged
me to an all‐day chess tournament and the bitch is going down.”
“Wait,” said Connor, as Boyd headed towards the door. Boyd
turned, and Connor smiled at him. “Thanks, man. You’ve been—”
“Yeah, yeah. See you at work.”
Connor smiled at the door long after Boyd left, something warm
and fond coiling in his gut.
* * * * *
Dane was in the process of waking up when Connor went back to
the bedroom with a tray full of bagels, coffee and the paper. He rubbed at
his eyes, shuffled back against the pillows in an attempt to sit up, and
smiled softly at Connor.
“Morning,” Connor said, putting the tray on the bed and climbing
in.
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘afternoon’.”
And, fuck, Dane had the kind of voice filled with gravel when he
first woke up, something Connor was sure would give him instant
erections for the rest of time. He cleared his throat and reached for the
paper, punching the pillows behind his back for a better position. “When
was the last time you got to sleep in?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Then quit complaining.”
Dane gave him a funny look, then rubbed his eyes again. “I’ve
really gotta get these contacts out. Shouldn’t have slept in them.”
“Bathroom’s just down the hall. There’s a spare toothbrush in the
cabinet.”
“It’s all right,” Dane said, slipping out of bed and stretching his
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
56
back. “I’ll run out to the car and get my own. Grab my glasses while I’m
there.”
“Um,” said Connor, staring at the wide expanse of Dane’s back.
“You’re going out there like that?”
Dane looked over his shoulder, quirked an eyebrow. “Do your
neighbours offend easily?”
“No.”
“Then yeah, I’m going out like this.”
Connor tried to read the paper while Dane was gone, but grew
bored within minutes and instead switched on the TV. He found a
Spongebob marathon and settled in to watch, sipping on his coffee,
listening to the quiet sounds of Dane letting himself back into the house
and moving around in the bathroom. Dane came back to the bedroom
looking deliciously refreshed, glasses perched on his nose, T‐shirt
wrinkled and not quite long enough to meet the boxers riding low on his
hips. A thin slither of skin was visible, a light dusting of hair, drawing
Connor’s eyes to it even as he tried to say, “Your coffee’s getting cold.”
“Thanks,” said Dane, climbing back into the bed. He reached for
the second cup. “Did you put sugar in it?”
“No. Played it safe.”
“Good.”
“Have a bagel.”
“Yes, dear.”
Connor smiled. He couldn’t help it.
“Didn’t see Boyd around,” Dane said, after he took a bite and made
an appreciative noise that went straight to Connor’s dick.
“No. He, uh. He’ll be out all day.”
Dane looked at him, eyebrows raised above his glasses, pressed his
cup against his bottom lip. “Really.”
They lapsed into a silence, watching Spongebob and laughing
occasionally. It was nice, peaceful and comfortable, giving Connor a soft
sort of happiness in his gut he’d like to hold onto for a while. After about
twenty minutes, when Dane finished the last bagel and put down his
empty cup, Connor put the tray on the floor and shuffled closer until he
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
57
could feel the heat of Dane’s body in the air between them. Dane’s
shoulder was only two or three inches away, and Connor could lean to the
side and touch it against his own, had no idea why he couldn’t gather the
courage. They’d slept in the same bed, for fuck’s sake—they were
supposed to be together, to a certain extent. Connor should feel like he
could touch Dane whenever he wanted to. But he didn’t. It was as though
there was some kind of invisible barrier between them they’d yet to cross.
“So,” said Dane, not looking at him. “I’ve been here for twelve
hours—in your bed, even—and not kissed you yet.”
Connor swallowed against the fluttering in his chest. “No. You
haven’t.”
“You haven’t kissed me either.”
Connor waved a hand vaguely. “You were tired...”
“I split my pants!” said Spongebob, followed by a burst of laughter
from his friends. Neither Connor nor Dane gave any reaction to what was
probably supposed to be the funniest bit of the whole episode.
Dane sucked in a tiny breath. “Why is this so weird?”
Connor looked at him. Dane turned his head and looked right back,
tongue snaking out to touch his lower lip.
“Probably because neither of us wants to make the first move,”
Connor murmured, watching Dane’s mouth. “You know, after
everything.”
“Well,” said Dane, shifting his weight slightly and leaning in. “I’m
gonna fix that.”
“Good,” whispered Connor, heart leaping into his throat at the first
brush of Dane’s lips against his own.
Then Dane’s phone rang.
“Fuck,” they said together, and Connor gave a pained little laugh as
Dane leaned away from him.
“Sorry. I have to—”
“It’s fine.”
Dane swung his legs over the bed, sat on the edge as he rummaged
in his discarded jeans’ pocket for his cell. “Hello?” he said, answering.
“Hey. Yeah, got back last night.”
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
58
And Connor thought, fuck it, pushed his fear and ridiculous
nervousness aside, crawled over the bed and settled behind Dane, knees
braced on either side of Dane’s hips. Dane tensed even before Connor’s
lips touched the back of his neck, a soft sigh escaping him as Connor
flicked his tongue to taste the skin there.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Dane continued on the phone, voice tight. He
tilted his head forward, gave Connor more room.
Connor pulled the back of Dane’s T‐shirt to the side and swept his
mouth down the back of his neck, around the side and the edge of his
shoulder, scraped his teeth against the ridge of muscle and bone. “I got
back pretty late and—”
Connor put a hand on Dane’s hip, down his thigh, hesitated for a
moment then dragged his hand up the inside of Dane’s thigh, stopping
just short of where he really wanted to be, tongue licking a line up the side
of Dane’s neck to his ear. Dane shuddered against him, a tiny shiver, legs
falling open as though he didn’t know what he was doing—but Connor
was going to take full advantage of his distraction.
“Yeah, it went. Uh. It went well, I think. I, uh—Christ,” he said, as
Connor became seized with a burst of courage and moved his hand up to
cup Dane through his boxers. He grinned against Dane’s neck. “No, sorry,
uh—just spilled some coffee.” Dane’s dick was hot and hard against
Connor’s hand, twitching to get closer to the touch, and Connor stroked
up the full length of it before dipping beneath Dane’s boxers and touching
his fingers to the head, smearing the first drop of pre‐cum against the
smooth heat, thumb swiping across the slit. “Yeah, got a couple days off,
just gonna—gonna—” He was fighting to control his breathing, Connor
realised, and it made him smile again, teeth against Dane’s neck, hand
moving to grip Dane’s dick. Dane pushed back against him, spare hand
moving to hold Connor’s wrist and press down, encouraging. “Gonna
relax,” he finished, words ending on a hitch as Connor started stroking,
thumb swiping across the head on every other upstroke, other hand
reaching around and down to palm Dane’s balls as Dane spread his legs
even wider, leaning his full weight on Connor’s chest.
Connor picked up speed as whoever Dane was speaking to
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59
jabbered in his ear, and a glance at his face revealed flushed cheeks, eyes
closed, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tried to keep his
breathing even. Connor’s own dick tented his boxers, nudged against
Dane’s back as he pressed tighter against him; he breathed into Dane’s
other ear, caught the lobe between his teeth as he worked his hand faster,
Dane’s pre‐cum‐slicked cock sliding in the circle of his fist as he used his
other hand to work Dane’s balls, pressing against the skin behind them.
Then Dane let out a stifled groan, said, “Sorry, Mom, gotta go,” and threw
his phone on the bed.
Connor laughed in his ear, flushing all over. “Your mom? Sorry,
man.”
“Fuck, don’t stop,” Dane said in response, tipping his head back
against Connor’s shoulder and arching his back. He burned scorching heat
through Connor, his hands flying back to grip Connor’s thighs, his chest
rising and falling in rapid, laboured breaths and Connor worked harder,
faster, his fist a blur in the darkness of Dane’s boxers. “Fuck,” he said
again, sounding pained, lost in pleasure.
“That’s it, come on,” Connor muttered, the cool arm of Dane’s
glasses against his cheek, whole body tight and strung‐out against his
chest. “Yeah,” he said, as Dane released a low keening noise from
somewhere deep in his chest and dug his fingers into Connor’s thighs.
Connor pushed his other hand further back, finger dipping into the heat
of Dane’s ass, found the tight ring of muscle, circled it, and Dane fell
apart.
“Oh god, Connor, I—”
“Yeah,” said Connor. “Fuck, yeah, like that.”
Dane came in a dozen full‐body jolts, breath held until the last
moment when he let out a broken, stuttered moan, the movements of his
body rubbing against Connor’s throbbing dick and making him groan and
thrust against the small of Dane’s back. He waited for the cum to spill
over his hand before gathering some on his fingers and pressing back
against Dane’s hole, pushing his middle finger inside, in and out in quick
little jabs, felt Dane shudder as he kept rubbing his cock against Dane’s
back, a frenzied thrusting that built his orgasm from nowhere and had
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
60
him breathing a hurried apology into Dane’s ear.
Dane muttered something back at him, tilted his ass slightly off the
bed to give Connor better access, gave a breathy moan as Connor added a
second finger and buried them deep in Dane’s hole as he rutted faster
against his back, hair falling into his eyes as his gut and the bottom of his
spine burned white‐hot and stars exploded in his vision.
He might have shouted something, he couldn’t be sure, and he
came to several seconds later with his hand wrapped loose around Dane’s
half‐hard dick and the fingers of his other hand buried in the heat of his
ass. Dane was heavy against him, a sated weight tight against his chest
“Sorry,” Connor muttered, pulling both his hands free and leaning
back, feeling his boxers stick to his cock as he moved. He grimaced.
“Don’t,” said Dane, moving to support his own weight. He still
sounded breathless, wrung‐out. He turned to his side in the bracket of
Connor’s legs, gave him a shy look, cheeks flushed red. “Don’t apologise.”
“I’m not apologising for what I did for you. I mean—” He gestured
at his own crotch, vaguely indicating Dane’s back and how he’d come just
by rubbing against it, embarrassment burning through his veins. Then he
sighed. “Guess we should go get cleaned up.”
Dane turned fully, tipped up onto his knees and shuffled forward
until he straddled Connor’s thighs. Connor, surprised, stayed completely
still, stared into the hot openness of Dane’s eyes and held his breath. Then
Dane took off his glasses and kissed him, soft and gentle, hands on
Connor’s shoulders, chest snug and heart beating against his own. Connor
looped one arm around Dane’s waist and pulled him closer, placed his
other hand on the back of Dane’s neck, tilted his head for a better angle
and kissed the life out of him.
It went on for god knew how long, alternating between the whisper
of spit‐slick lips against lips and deep, breath‐stealing tastes,
open‐mouthed and hungry. Connor grew an instant fascination with
Dane’s full bottom lip, kept taking it between his lips and swiping his
tongue across it, nipping and scraping his teeth against it before sweeping
back in to steal Dane’s tongue back into his own mouth. It occurred to him
at some point—when Dane shifted to wrap his arms as tightly around
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
61
Connor as he could, pressing in for a deeper kiss that made them both
moan—that it had been a long time since he’d made out with someone
like this. Sure, he’d kissed a lot of people, even made out with a few of
them, but nothing like this—this relaxed, languid, entirely all‐consuming
exploration of lips and tongue and teeth, of hands that didn’t stray to turn
it into filth but rather pulled and gripped and pressed for a stronger
connection, to get closer and warmer and full—and Connor was so full,
could feel Dane in his mind and in his chest and in his gut, under his skin
and down his spine, under his hands and in his mouth and everywhere, all
over and around him. It felt like nothing he’d ever known, like everything
he’d ever craved, like something he needed but never knew, never
realised until he had it.
It felt like love.
And it was that last thought that made him break the kiss, because
that was ridiculous, that was insane. He was a rational guy, for fuck’s sake,
logical and mature and whatever the fuck else. People didn’t fall in love in
two weeks. They just didn’t. All the intimate making out gave him a drunk
man’s thoughts and he had to pull himself together before he did
something stupid, said something stupid.
He pulled away in stages: loosened his arms around Dane, slowed
the kiss until it resembled nothing more than a teasing of lips, stroked his
thumb against Dane’s cheekbone and broke the connection, his lips
tingling as the air hit them. Opened his eyes in time to catch the
blissed‐out expression on Dane’s face, his eyes half‐lidded, mouth red and
swollen, cheeks stained pink and a soft smile dawning. Felt his heart twist
into a knot deep in his chest.
“Hey,” Dane said, his voice like sandpaper over silk: smooth and
soft; rough and hoarse and broken.
“Hey, yourself,” Connor replied, brushing his fingertips down
Dane’s jaw and watching with his knotted heart in his throat as Dane
leaned into the touch. He smiled, felt it down to the bone. “So apparently
we morphed into a couple of teenagers over night.”
Dane laughed, breathy and quiet. “Think we were making up for
the week without it.” He pressed his lips against Connor’s again, brief and
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
62
teasing, like he couldn’t help himself. “But we really do need to clean up,”
he said when he pulled back, sweeping Connor’s hair out of his eyes and
stroking his thumb over his eyebrow. “And maybe go out?”
“You wanna go get some lunch?”
“I would love to get some lunch,” Dane said, as though he hadn’t
eaten half his weight in bagels a couple of hours ago. “Then we need to
stop by my place. I should check my mail, drop my suitcase in. Make sure
my roommate’s still alive.”
Connor raised an eyebrow. “Stop by your place? As in, not
dropping you off?”
“Well, no. Thought I could come to work with you and then, I
dunno, go for a drink or something.” He coloured then, gave an
embarrassed sort of smile. “Tell me if I’m coming on too strong.”
Connor swallowed. “Too strong?”
“Yeah, I mean.” Dane sighed, maintained eye‐contact despite his
obvious embarrassment. “Trying to get you to spend too much time with
me. It’s just I don’t get much time off work and I haven’t seen you for a
week, so if I had my way I’d spend every—”
Connor kissed him. He couldn’t think of a more perfect response.
* * * * *
They took separate showers. Connor got the feeling they were both
open to the idea of sharing, but neither of them mentioned it, and it wasn’t
until they were both damp and clean and dressed that they touched again.
Just a kiss, an embrace, but as Connor pottered around the house in an
attempt to clean up a little before heading out, it became quite clear they
had no more qualms about touching each other—they had, in fact,
developed a mild but exciting problem of not being able to keep their
hands to themselves.
“We should go,” Dane said, back against the wall and gasping after
another whirlwind of a kiss. “I’m starving.”
Connor nuzzled Dane’s neck, bit and licked and inhaled his scent,
mumbled against his skin. “Yeah. Okay. Just—” He rolled the full length
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
63
of his body against Dane’s, pushed his shoulders and chest and hips and
thighs forward, felt Dane harden, skin hot and moans breathy.
“Connor,” Dane whispered, voice feverish and tight. “Connor, god,
I’m so crazy about you. I can’t even—”
“I know,” Connor said, and god, he did. Felt it so deep he knew it
didn’t have to make sense. He kissed Dane, hard and deep, forgot about
food, about what being hungry even felt like. Broke the kiss, scraped his
teeth over Dane’s bottom lip. “Can we—?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Fuck.” Dane scrabbled at his shirt, tugged and pulled,
cheeks flushed and hands shaken. “Come on, gotta see these tattoos.”
“Knew it. Fucking knew it.”
Dane kissed Connor’s smug grin away, spent the day tracing every
line of Connor’s ink with his tongue, and it had been a couple of weeks,
hardly any time at all, but fuck it—it was enough. Enough to love.
Boyd had been right. He was, after all, a genius.
The End
The Subtle Build of Perfection by L.M. Turner
64
Author Bio
L.M. Turner hails from Hertfordshire, England. After a three‐year
stint in Italy, she now spends her days living above a book shop in
Southern Ireland with her partner, son, and assorted other family
members who move in and out of her spare room whenever the mood
strikes. When she’s not writing about the naughty things gorgeous men
get up to with each other, she reads every book that crosses her path,
fiddles with a novel she plans to complete some time this decade, and
spends far too much money in shoe shops. Visit her at
www.lmturner.weebly.com/
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