“We’ve tried many times to reason with Remi, to get him to take a lower profile,” Migu Sun had explained at the most recent KAE board meeting Anden had attended, “but he won’t be reined in.”
Cory was beyond frustrated. “The Green Bones of every other city have cut off association with Remi and his Snakeheads gang. We’re cooperating with federal agencies, giving them any information that might help the police take him down. Maybe this is an awful thing to say,” Cory grumbled darkly, “but if he doesn’t get arrested soon, I hope he finally gets popped by one of the Crews.”
The problem in Espenia, Anden mused as he collected his baggage, was that there was no loyalty greater than money. In Kekon, there had always been two sources of power: gold and jade. No amount of money could make a man a jade warrior if he didn’t have the right blood and training. Even the wealthiest man could be killed. If he did not wear jade himself, he needed the friendship of those who did. So there was always a balancing force.
In the rest of the world, that was not true. The Kekonese Association of Espenia was not a clan with the power to enforce its wishes across the country. Anden had a sinking feeling that Jon Remi was the new template for how to succeed as a Green Bone in Espenia. As he rose in wealth and power, he would gather followers, others who would seek to be like him.
The taxi Anden took from the airport battled holiday season traffic all the way back to his apartment. During the long ride, Anden tried to put pessimistic thoughts out of his mind and return his attention to the present. He’d already done everything he could to help his friends in Port Massy and to advance No Peak’s agenda in that country. The rest of it was out of his control.
When he walked through the door of his apartment, he found Jirhuya sitting on the sofa in the living room, reviewing concept art. “Took you long enough,” Jirhu sighed, putting down his work and unfolding his graceful body from the cushions. He came to the door and gave Anden a kiss. Jirhu smelled like soap and aftershave—freshly showered and shaved, his coarse, curly hair still damp.
“The flight was late, and traffic was bad,” Anden explained.
“Sorry I wasn’t a good enough boyfriend to make dinner, miyan.” It was his pet name for Anden, an Abukei endearment meaning mine. “There wasn’t much in your fridge, and I didn’t have time to get groceries.”
“That’s okay. We can go out for dinner.” He was not really hungry yet; it was early in the morning Port Massy time. “Or we can order in from the Tuni place.”
“Let’s stay in.” Jirhu put one arm around Anden’s waist. With the other he took Anden’s hand and moved it to his ass. “It’s been a long ten days with you on the other side of the world.” He kissed Anden again, more deeply.
Anden felt his shoulders relaxing, the grogginess of travel nudged aside by the stirring between his legs. He dropped the bag he was still carrying and tilted Jirhu’s head back to kiss his jaw and neck, inhaling deeply, pressing his lips into the comforting hollow of the other man’s throat. Jirhu drew him toward the bedroom and he followed, though he could not help feeling a tiny flutter of reluctance. He was always more than willing to give Jirhu what he wanted, but he was also tired from the flight and tonight he would’ve preferred to receive rather than have to perform, or simply to enjoy each other’s bodies more relaxedly, with mouths and hands.
As if sensing the hint of reticence, Jirhu sat Anden down on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned his shirt, trailing fingertips down his chest and stomach, then crouched between Anden’s knees and undid his pants. “Just relax, I’ll do the work.”
Anden leaned his weight back on his arms and closed his eyes contentedly, feeling the last of the stress in his body melt away into desire as Jirhu skillfully brought him to full arousal. When the heat of his partner’s mouth drew away and he heard the snap-top sound of the lube bottle, Anden opened his eyes and climbed onto the bed. Jirhu was already on his hands and knees, ready and breathing hard with eagerness. He was a beautiful sight: his long tawny body and smooth back, the sweep of his shoulders down to his elegant arms, the firm globes of his ass. Long ago, Cory had taught Anden to take his time, to use his fingers and mouth first, to enter slowly and gently, thinking of the way he would want to be treated—but Jirhu was sometimes surprisingly impatient. He pushed back against Anden, engulfing him; he grabbed the headboard of the bed and angled his hips upward, thrusting and clenching rhythmically. Jirhu talked a lot—a shocking amount, in Anden’s opinion, though he found it intensely erotic. He ordered Anden to bite his shoulder, to grab his hips, to smack his ass, to stroke his cock. When he climaxed, it was with a string of moaning, ecstatic profanities. By then, Anden felt strapped helplessly into a rollercoaster seat. Jirhu moved against him fiercely and expertly, squeezing him, and Anden careened off the pinnacle, falling onto his boyfriend with a shudder.