Black Velvet (14) (Patreon)

(A/N: Also known as the chapter that reignited my excitement about Black Velvet.  I'm working on the next chapter of WICKED BOY.  It should be out no later than Sunday.  However, heard a few of my readers are having a rough day.  I hope this chapter makes their day a little better!  Love you all and I appreciate every single one of you.  There's always something to look forward to, even though it's hard to find exactly what those things are sometimes, please remember that!  Times are strange, but I care about you. Please keep your chin up as best as you're able to.  You'll get through this, too!)

Dawn is starting to break by the time we make into the neighborhood. It's a barely blue crisp of morning, the sound of crickets quieting and smell of grass lulling me further into a sleepy fog.

"Looks like we made it," I quip with an earnest smile. Tobias only glances at me before setting his gaze straight again. I let my line of sight fall awkwardly at my feet before letting it roam over the scenery and man beside me.

He licks his lips, and the blood on his face looks like the bruised petals of a dark rose. The fluorescent lighting of the police station had made it look much more severe — and now, it's strange to say that in the morning hues...

He looks serene.

I can't help the little sparks of lightening blooming in the bottom of my gut that grow stronger as our footsteps synchronize. My cloth tennis shoes look less than menacing next to the dark, steel-toed work boots that slap against the pavement.

His shoulders are less drawn in than they usually are, and his expression is softer, lighter.  Maybe it's from lack of sleep, but I can't help but wonder if what I'd learned from him only moments before was a glimpse into his personality — into that high-woven and angry wall that he's strung around himself.

"Do you still play baseball?" I ask him as we pass Myrtle Lake, the downward slope of the gravel road pushing us to walk faster than we were moments before. The baseball field is large, a few blocks over from the tiny little white-picketed neighborhood that we'd grown up in.

Toby looks exhausted, and I'm running near twenty-four hours on an unhealthy amount of caffeine and no sleep. He shakes his head slowly, watching where his boots crush the road beneath him.

"No, not since high school." The dark-haired man's voice is flippant like he'd never really enjoyed the sport at all, but I know he loved baseball.

"You don't sound too bothered by that."

He laughs to himself, running a hand over his eyes, "I don't have time," he shrugs, like the idea is waring to him, "there are more important things than baseball." He quiets at that, the harshness that clouds around him fading a bit with the topic.

His exhaustion seems to be taking a toll on his ordinarily prickly demeanor.

"You work a lot?" I rub my hands over my sides and then slip them under the hem of my shirt, trying to warm them against my skin.

"I did, yeah," Tobias nods his head a bit, eyes following the movement, "will be again soon, I'm sure."

I give him my best grimace of empathy, "Sometimes I miss out on my hobbies because work gets busy, but I always get really bummed if I do." My thumbs absently trace the goosebumps on my belly as I watch a neighborhood come into view.  "You've always got to leave time to do stuff you like."

"I'm saving."  Tobias says with bold assurance, eyes somewhere distant, "I can play ball later."

"What, for like college or something?" I agree with the sentiment for a moment but then wrinkle my nose,  "Wait, Nic got in on a scholarship — and Nic's just as good as you at ball.  Did you not get offered a scholarship?"

"I did."  He interrupts, and his voice is like my father's when he's leaving 'no room for discussion.' Unlike my father, Tobias probably doesn't know that it doesn't work on me.

"Are you not the college type?"

"Scholarships only pay for so much,"  He scuffs the sole of his shoe against the ground, knocking a pebble forward a few feet, "I'm going to save now, then later, me and my mom —" He cuts himself off, working his jaw like he's silently scolding himself, "Why haven't you gone to college?"

It sounds like an accusation, still angry with his slip.  I notice the derailment of conversation, switching the focus back to me.  I ignore it for his sake, figuring I'd probably pushed him far enough for one night.

"I don't know what I want to go for, so I'm taking all the basic courses online," I feel a blister rubbing on my heel and sigh,   "I don't want to make the commute or give up my hours at the bakery."

"Yeah? What about astronomy or physics?"  Tobias looks a little bemused, like he'd thought I'd had my mind made up since I was seven. I laugh to myself, twisting my shirttail between my fists,

"No,"   I shake my head,   "I don't know if I want to turn something I love into work — and the degree takes too long, I don't have that much money. I can't be up to my ears in loans, either.  I think a trade is best for Jameson — but, I'm not sure."

"You were valedictorian.  You probably have scholarships out the ass.  Giving up your talents for Jameson, huh?" Tobias picks at the band-aid above his brow.  I brush imaginary dirt from my knees, feeling like I had disappointed him somehow.

"It's home to me,"  I swallow, eyes traveling to find his averted towards the sky again.  "Ms. Hartgrove and her affinity for red apples and gossip, baseball games on Saturday, the science fairs and the lake by Edmund's memorial ground — I couldn't leave those things.  It's home, you know?"

He lets loose a chuckle, dry and grating.

"... I don't feel those things," his voice has grown a bit cold, "or have the same memories.  This doesn't feel like home — I wouldn't even know if it did."

—

My knees hurt, and I'm bent at a weird angle under the cabinets of my bathroom sink. Tobias is above me, washing darkened water off the porcelain from where he's scrubbed his face.

Without all the blood, he looks significantly less worse for wear.  I'm lucky my dog has taken a sort of fondness to the man over the years, or we would have woken the whole house up with his barking and whimpering.  Instead, he stays curled at the door, staring lazily up at Tobias like he can sense something is wrong.

"If you don't have anything, it's fine."  He grunts finally, grabbing the hand towel to pat himself dry.  I lurch up from the cabinets, face in awkward proximity to his groin.  "I washed the blood off; it's scabbing; besides— I don't like wearing bandaids."

"I found them," I declare, nearly at the same time, medicated gel in hand. I have a small bag of fabric band-aids as well, "they're non-latex, I don't know if you have an allergy.  Is that a thing?  What allergies do you have?"

"I don't."  He picks the bag from my hand and settles on to the seat of the toilet, fingertips brushing over where he'd removed the butterfly bandage on his forehead. "It doesn't need one.  It's not that deep."

"You should still put one on it; you don't want an infection." I wash my hands and grab the tube of antibacterial cream, squeezing a small portion onto my fingertip. I lean towards his hunched figure, "Here, I can —" I wave my finger at him in earnest, a sign of submission before I sweep it over his cut.

He barely flinches, a low hiss traveling from his mouth.

"Sorry," I whisper, reaching inside the bag at his hands and searching for a smaller band-aid.

"You don't — I can do it myself." He grunts, raising an eyebrow. I roll my eyes as his hand encircles my wrist, "I said I can do it." His voice is tight.

"— Sue me for being considerate." I huff, "bickering with you never gets old, no, really."

"Oliver, it's not about consideration.  You're almost in my fucking lap."  He points out, flatly as his other hand curls around the back of my thigh and tugs it.  I flush, and he gives me a steady look — one that borders interest. "... So, I'm saying I can do it myself."

His knee is in between my legs, a fact that I hadn't noticed until I looked down. It's not a huge deal, but for some reason — it feels like it is.  Maybe because suddenly I'm thinking of the accidental straddling incident in the front lawn, and that's not good.

"I — well— I'm not trying to be."  I squawk, reworking myself until I'm standing next to him and not in front of him.  I feel flushed.  The proximity suddenly feels like more — I'm hyper-aware, and the strange angle makes for a harder reach.  "I was just focused."

"Oh, really?" He snorts, giving a lazy look of disbelief.  I blush at that, his tease hot on the tips of my ears. "Could have fooled me."

"Oh, ha ha. Says the one who makes out with dudes." I mutter, peeling the paper off of the band-aid's back and leaning towards him to line it up with the small gash.  I intend the quip to be an under the breath sort of jab, but it must have come out louder than I expected — judging by the small pressure that reapplies to my wrist.

"... Are you fucking with me, or do you wanna know what it's like?"  Toby tilts his chin close enough to mine to cause an undignified startled noise.  I'm sure the expression on my face looks like that of a gaping fish out of water — and I hope to God it doesn't. I shake my head, once twice, and then barrel out of his space.  "'Cause I can't tell."

"Jesus Christ.  How many times are you going to awkwardly proposition me tonight?" I fling the cream and bag of bandages into his lap, "is that your new "screw off" mechanism?  I feel like you're trying to send all the blood into my face so maybe I'll pass out — die from asphyxiation so you can bury my body —"

Toby leans back against the seat, his chin tilting upwards as he smirks and reaches towards his forehead to apply the bandage.  His expression is amused, like he's gotten exactly what he's wanted from this conversation.

"... All that from a kiss?  This is quite the interesting monologue," he hums, sending me a lopsided grin, "go on."

"Just — No?"  I can't think of kissing Tobias.  I can't — it sounds like a one-way train for disaster that won't stop once it starts.  "No. You can shower if you want." I nod towards the bathtub in the far corner, "— and there are towels under the sink, like usual.  Nic won't mind if you sleep in his room."

Tobias nods, his steely eyes flickering from the showerhead and back to me. He doesn't say it, but he looks a bit pleased with how flustered I am.

"...Does he have an extra shirt?  Or is my life in danger if I take one?"

I forget our prior conversation and snigger to myself, both of us knowing Nic is strangely possessive over his blandly colored, plain Fruit of the Loot tees.

"He doesn't have to know."

--

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