Hazard and Somerset

  HAZARD AND SOMERSET: OFF DUTY

  VOLUME 2

  SHORT STORIES FROM HAZARD AND SOMERSET: A UNION OF SWORDS

  GREGORY ASHE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2020 Gregory Ashe

  All Rights Reserved

  JOHN-HENRY SOMERSET: SOLD!

  This story takes place before The Rational Faculty.

  I

  OCTOBER 20

  SATURDAY

  7:17 PM

  EMERY HAZARD WAS SUSPICIOUS. The Pretty Pretty, Wahredua’s only gay bar, was crowded. Men—almost exclusively men, some dressed up, some dressed down, and some dressed very down—packed the club. Music pounded over the speakers, and men shouted to be heard. Neon lights traced patterns on the walls. Someone had given the smoke machine a head start, and it looked like a Marlboro convention. Leaning against the bar, a Guinness in one hand, Emery Hazard thought he might have been lured into a trap.

  “Am I busted?” Somers asked. Hazard’s boyfriend—goldenly blond and beautiful—wore a rumpled button-up and khakis, and a patch of hair near the back of his head stood straight up. He was drinking a club soda with lime, and he kept looking at the Bud Lites like a man dying of thirst.

  Hazard just looked at him.

  “Shit,” Somers said. “What gave it away?”

  Hazard kept his gaze steady.

  “Look, it’s not a big deal.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s not!”

  “Explain how it’s not a big deal.”

  “I didn’t even know he was going to be in it.”

  Inside the Pretty Pretty, with the words spoken in that tone, Somers could only mean one person. Hazard stretched up on tiptoes and scanned the top of the crowd. And there he was: Nico Flores, Hazard’s ex. Nico was tall and slender, loose-limbed, almost lanky with boyish proportions that had lingered into his twenties. His shaggy hair was artfully—and time-consumingly—shaggy. He wore a tank top patterned with ghosts and jack-o-lanterns, displaying the toned musculature of his upper body. He looked like fucking perfection.

  “No,” Somers said as Hazard dropped back down. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Explain how it’s not a big deal.”

  “I told you I didn’t know!”

  Hazard rolled a finger: keep going.

  “Look, Will asked me for a favor. He said it was a big deal. He said he knew we’d both support the local community.”

  Hazard narrowed his eyes. He was trying to keep up, trying to analyze, trying to conjecture without giving away that he had no idea what Somers was talking about. He still didn’t have enough data.

  “You’re telling me the owner of the Pretty Pretty called you and asked us to come tonight.”

  “Well, not you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh no. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Not me. Like it’s the most fucking unbelievable thing in the world that I’d want to support the community.”

  “Well, no. That’s not what I—” Somers’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. You don’t know what’s going on.”

  “I know enough.”

  “You don’t even know why we’re here.”

  “We’re here,” Hazard said, “because you made me switch weekends with you. It was my turn to pick, and I picked watching that documentary about women who combat opioid addiction with knitting.”

  “Needles for Needles,” Somers said with a colossal roll of his eyes.

  “And then you made me switch because you said you really wanted to go out and you promised you’d—” Hazard coughed, his face heating as he realized other people were close enough to listen. In fact, he noticed, many of the men were listening, even though they were trying to hide it.

  “Yes,” Somers said. A smile grew slowly on his face. “I did promise to—”

  “Ok.”

  “What? You’re not embarrassed, are you? What’s the big deal if everyone knows you like it when I—”

  “Ok, John. Jesus Christ.”

  “It’s not a big deal that you go wild every time I—”

  Hazard grabbed Somers’s upper arm, moving in against the blond man, crushing him against the bar, their bodies tangled together. Quietly, speaking directly into Somers’s ear, Hazard said, “That’s enough. Keep teasing me and I won’t do the thing you like.”

  “But you’re so easy to tease.”

  “Then keep it the fuck up, baby, and see what happens.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “Really?” Hazard bent and kissed him. Hard. With a lot of tongue. Then he forgot the whole point and kept kissing him, Somers sliding against him. Hoots and catcalls went up through the crowd, and Hazard’s face was on fire, again, when he extricated himself from the kiss.

  “Now,” Hazard said, trying to even out his voice. “What were you saying?”

  Somers just blinked.

  “John?”

  “Sorry.” More blinking. “Um. What?”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  The crowd continued to throw long, lingering looks at both Hazard and Somers. Hazard ignored them as best he could. Somers, on the other hand, smiled and waved and, once, blew a kiss.

  Hazard’s hand snapped out, catching the invisible kiss mid-air.

  “Aww,” Somers said.

  “Do it again,” Hazard growled, “and you won’t fucking sit down for a week.”

  “It was a platonic kiss.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Totally friendly.”

  “Right.”

  Somers laughed. “I’m serious. It was to Nico, anyway. Just messing with his head.”

  Hazard turned slowly until he was facing Somers directly. “Let’s start again. Why are you blowing kisses to my ex?”

  “To mess with his head.” Somers frowned. “Oh. Right. You still don’t know why we’re here.”

  “I know.”

  “They had a sign out front.”

  “I know why we’re here.”

  “They were giving out flyers at the door.”

  “I know, John. Drop it.”

  “For a detective, you’ve got some pretty lousy observational skills.”

  “That’s because when we got to the club, you started pulling my hair and you know what that does—” Hazard cut off again and pounded back a drink of Guinness. When he lowered the glass, Somers was smirking.

  “You asshole,” Hazard said. “You distracted me on purpose.”

  Somers batted his eyelashes. “Who? Me?”

  A roar went through the crowd. Someone must have found a fan because the air was circulating now, blowing away the thick bank of smoke. On the other side of the haze, Hazard could make out a platform that had been erected on the far side of the club, complete with a banner. He couldn’t read the words completely. Not yet. But—

  “No,” Hazard said.

  “Calm down.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I know. Don’t worry. I didn’t sign you up.”

  “I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you. My boyfriend. Mine.”

  Cool blue eyes flicked to him and then away, full of amusement. “Yours?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Ok, then.”

  Hazard let out a breath.

  “It’s totally settled,” Somers said.

  That was when Hazard knew something was wrong. He squinted at Somers.

  “You said it. I’m yours, right?
If you say I can’t, I can’t.”

  “I’m saying it right now: you can’t. I’m not going to allow it.”

  Somers nodded.

  Then the music cut off, and Will Perk’s voice boomed over the speakers.

  “Kings and queens,” he said in his dry, husky voice. “We’re about to begin our first annual bachelor auction. Would the bachelors make their way to the platform, please?”

  Somers slid off his stool.

  Hazard grabbed his arm. He said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re not a bachelor.”

  “No, sweetheart. I’m not. But Will was desperate, and it’s just for charity.” Somers leaned down, kissed Hazard’s cheek, and spoke just loud enough for Hazard to hear him over the crowd: “Tell me what I’m allowed to do one more time, and I will be.”

  II

  OCTOBER 20

  SATURDAY

  7:29 PM

  SOMERS GOT A THIRTY-SECOND head start through the crowd, and then Hazard charged after him. He was lucky; his size and his reputation made it easy to work his way through the room. Most of the guys melted away when they saw him coming. The few who didn’t, he circumnavigated easily. The odd twink who rushed him, trying to grab his hand or talk to him, bounced off like racquetball.

  By the time Hazard caught up to Somers at the stage, the blond man was in a fierce conversation with Bradley Sherill, the Pretty Pretty’s manager.

  “But Will didn’t tell me—”

  Bradley just shook his head. “Sorry, Somers. Out of time. Either you’re in or you’re out.”

  Somers glanced over his shoulder. When he saw Hazard, he turned and said, “Will didn’t tell me I’m supposed to have two outfits.”

  “Oops,” Hazard said. “Too bad. I guess you can’t do the auction.”

  “Ree!”

  Hazard could feel a growl building in his chest. “Maybe if you’d talked to your smart, capable, detail-oriented boyfriend—”

  “Handsome,” Somers said, grabbing Hazard by the arms. “You forgot handsome.”

  “—he would have helped you get ready. Instead, you dragged him here, lied to him—”

  “I never lied. I would never lie.”

  “Willfully deceived and manipulated.”

  “But I only did those things using my body, and I think that makes it ok.”

  “Maybe if you had talked to me—”

  “Ok. I get it. I’m an idiot. And an asshole. And a . . . a strumpet.”

  “That sounds right.”

  “Look, I messed up. I thought it would be kind of a fun surprise. And I know you . . . I know you can get a little jealous.” Now it was Somers’s turn to color. “I kind of . . . like that.”

  Suddenly Hazard remembered this conversation from months before—before they had even started dating, in fact. What had Somers said? Something about the hot kind of jealousy. Something about being the kind of guy who got off on it.

  Heat coiled in Hazard’s gut. He slid his hands onto Somers’s waist. “I am going to be very, very jealous.”

  Somers bit his lower lip and nodded.

  “I’m going to shout.”

  A tiny shiver ran through Somers.

  “I might even throw something.”

  “You’re going to be mad,” Somers said, a blush staining his golden cheeks. “Really mad. Crazy with it.”

  “And when I’m done showing you how angry I am, I’m going to throw you down on the bed and show you just exactly who you belong to.”

  “Oh,” Somers managed to say in a strangled voice.

  “Gentlemen, take your places,” Will announced over the speakers again.

  “You’re really going to do this?” Hazard said.

  “It’s for a trans kid,” Somers said, shrugging, although the blush still hadn’t left his cheeks. “She’s homeless.”

  “So we’re doing this for charity,” Hazard said.

  “I think it’s the least we can do.”

  “Right,” Hazard said. “We are only, exclusively, purely doing this for altruistic reasons.”

  “Of course,” Somers said, but he was right back to biting his lip again and looking like he was thinking about anything but selfless human kindness.

  “Then you’d better get on the fucking stage,” Hazard said, spinning Somers around and giving him a shove toward the steps.

  “But I—”

  “I know,” Hazard said, the heat coiling even more tightly in his gut. “I’ll get you the damn outfits.”

  III

  OCTOBER 20

  SATURDAY

  7:36 PM

  HAZARD DIDN’T HAVE TIME to drive home and pick up clothes for Somers. He had to figure out something here.

  He made his way back to the bar.

  The bartender, barely more than kid, was wearing a leather vest, dark blue jeans, and a rapt expression as he stared at the men on stage. Hazard guessed the kid hadn’t been out long, judging by the fact that the kid looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. He was supposed to be cutting limes, but the knife and cutting board sat in front of him forgotten.

  “Hey,” Hazard said.

  The kid actually, honest-to-God licked his lips.

  “Hey!”

  “Oh. What. I mean, hey.” The kid sidled down the bar, his gaze sliding back to the men on stage. “Yeah, um. What can I get you?”

  “Lost and found.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Hey, kid, before you get your pants all dirty: lost and found.”

  “Oh, yeah. Um, can it wait? They’re about to—”

  Hazard caught a handful of vest and pulled the kid halfway over the bar. When they were nose to nose, Hazard said, “Sure. I’ll wait.”

  “Um. Never mind. We can go look right now.”

  The kid took him to the end of the bar, bending to retrieve a box stashed out of sight. When he did, the bright orange elastic of his briefs slid into view. Hazard suppressed a snort.

  “What did you say you were looking—”

  “I didn’t,” Hazard said, pulling open the box and taking out items: a box of expired condoms, two joints, a lone Chuck with ratty canvas, a moth-eaten fur coat—maybe, Hazard thought, setting it to one side—a keyring with an Elmo figurine attached, a roll of duct tape, a box of mints, two bottles of what Hazard guessed were poppers, and fourteen white t-shirts with Pretty Pretty printed on the front in a Technicolor rainbow font.

  He flipped through the t-shirts, took one, and shoved everything else back into the box.

  “Bar gun,” Hazard said.

  “What? Oh no, man. We don’t have—”

  “The fucking soda gun, right there. Hand it to me.”

  The kid complied. Hazard bent over the bar, hanging the shirt over the sink, and sprayed it with water until it was soaking wet.

  “Our first contestant,” Will’s husky voice crackled on the speakers, “comes all the way from Buenos Aires, Argentina.”

  “Oh fuck,” Hazard muttered.

  “Oh fuck,” the kid whispered. “Nico. It’s going to be Nico.”

  Hazard rolled his eyes. He tugged on the kid’s vest again until the kid glanced at him.

  “Pants.”

  “What?”

  “Give me your pants.”

  “My—no way, man.”

  “How tall are you?”

  “Five-ten, but I’m not—”

  “Perfect. Take them off and give them to me.”

  “I—they’re my pants.”

  Hazard leaned back from the bar, studying the kid. “Stand up straight.”

  The kid did.

  “Push your hair to the side.”

  The kid did.”

  “Are you twenty-one?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I’m going to break something down for you. Are you ready?”

  Will’s voice blared: “Nico Flores.” An Argentine tango played over the speakers.

&nbs
p; Hazard tried to keep from throwing up.

  “Eyes here, kid. Thirty seconds and you can stare at him all you want.”

  The kid dragged his attention back to Hazard, but it looked like it cost him.

  “How many guys in here?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Fire code is five hundred. Let’s say we’re close. Let’s say it’s four-fifty. Does it look like four-fifty to you?”

  “Sure. Yeah. What are you—”

  “How many bachelors?”

  “I don’t—”

  “On the stage. How many bachelors in the auction?”

  “Ten.”

  “Nine,” Hazard said. “My boyfriend doesn’t count. Are you rich?”

  “I work at a bar, dude.”

  “So odds that you’re going to win an auction and take one of those guys home, small. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Behind him, Hazard heard shouts go up, catcalls, whoops of delight. He fought with himself and lost, glancing back to catch a glimpse of Nico strutting around the stage in the tank and shorts. His first outfit showed off coltish legs and the slender musculature of his arms and shoulders. Hazard would put money that his next outfit showed a lot more.

  When he looked back, the kid was entranced again.

  “Hey.”

  “Oh my God. What?”

  “You’re young. You’re hot. You’ve got a nice ass. And you’re wearing cute underwear.”

  “I thought you said you had a boyfriend.”

  “I’m telling you out of those four hundred and fifty guys in here? Nine are going home with a bachelor. And the other four hundred and forty-one are going to be frustrated and horny as hell. They turn around to get a drink, they see you slinging shots in nothing but that vest and your cute undies, and what do you think is going to happen?”

  The kid’s gaze leveled on Hazard. “Fifty bucks.”

  “Twenty.”

  “I can just take off my pants. The whole thing still works out my way.”

  “But you’re grateful. Twenty-five.”

  The kid slid out of the jeans and passed them over the bar. Hazard had been right: the undies were cute, and the kid did have a nice ass. The poor kid was blushing, but he looked proud of himself too.