“You got any plans for tonight?” Link asks, eyes twinkling.
“Oh, um. No? Not yet,” Ashton replies, semi-stumbling over his words and resisting the urge to tell Link that like all nights, heplannedto return home and sit in his apartment quietly. Luckily, his ungraceful answer has Link looking positively delighted. Jacket shrugged on, he rounds the table and boldly hooks an arm through Ashton’s right, steering them both onto the convention floor without a moment’s hesitation.
“Not yet, huh? Alright, then what would you say to a tour of Soul Survivor’s home base? We call ’er the Soul-arium, and she’s my pride and joy. It’s a pretty cool place, worth the field trip, though I’m definitely biased. Either way, it’s a safe place to kick back, talk shop, have a couple of beers, get to know each other better. And then, you know, we’ll decide together if I’m the right person to fix whatever that British douchebag fucked all to hell on your skin.”
Link's presence at his side is intoxicating, but his last sentence brings Ashton to a dead stop, nearly tripping over his feet as he freezes in the middle of the aisle between parallel rows of booths. He stares warily up the few inches that Link has on him and frowns.
“How did you know that it was Whit?” Ashton asks softly, holding his book that much tighter while simultaneously doing his best to suppress the tremor threatening to destabilize his voice. “I never… ”
The smile on Link's face turns a little sad, and his grip tightens around Ashton’s arm. For whatever reason, it feels comforting. “Well, like you said, rumors travel fast in our world, but mostly? Call it a hunch, from a guy who’s been there.” Link's silent for a moment, waiting as Ashton scans his face, finding only sincerity and perhaps a hint of regret in his expression. It’s all genuine enough that before he can second-guess himself, Ashton is nodding and allowing Link to lead him on.
“For what it’s worth,” Link adds conversationally, as they stroll together, “I never liked that snotty bastard. You and me? Probably would’ve been friends a long time ago if he wasn’t tangled up in your life like plastic wrap in water.”
Ashton snorts, but the smile starts melting off of his face when he notices that they’re quickly approaching Sainted Angels’ booth and the familiar, frosted tips of Whitaker’s obnoxiously gelled hair come into view. He looks like he’s taking fashion advice from a nineties boy band.
Privately, Ashton wonders if he can perhaps just shrink behind Link and—
“Boy, he really messed you up,” Link remarks, and Ashton isn’t entirely sure if he loves or hates how incredibly blunt Link is about—apparently—everything. By way of a reply, Ashton scowls and attempts to take them on a detour between stalls, but Link stops him. His gaze is focused on Sainted Angels’ booth and he chews his lip, humming thoughtfully.
“Stop me if I’m out of line,” he says, scooping an arm around Ashton’s waist and tugging him in before there’s time to fully process what’s happening. It’s intimate, likethey’reintimate, like they’vebeen intimateand this is just natural for them. The gesture forces Ashton into Link's side, has him instinctively fitting an arm around Link's narrow waist, the other reaching to touch his solid, firm chest for balance, andoh.
It’s very pleasant.
Link raises a questioning eyebrow frommuchcloser this time, and Ashton gives him a half-smile, squeezing his torso—he’s willing to see where this leads.
They fall into step far too easily, the lines of Link's body firm but welcoming, and he’s warm, easy to sink into. When Ashton sniffs experimentally—he’s basically crushed into the guy’s ribcage, it’s only natural—he finds that Link smells like a woodsy sort of cologne, spicy and musky, and with just the faintest hint of sweat from working.
In truth, Ashton has to basically choke back a groan, because this man is tickingallof his private fantasy boxes. While it’s been an incredibly long time and he’d love to indulge, Ashton reminds himself that there’s too much at stake to play fast and loose. He focuses instead on not tripping over Link's feet and subtly checking him out while he can’t be caught doing so.
Something that catches his attention is the charm Link wears around his neck—now that it’s right in front of his face, Ashton realizes that it’s not justanyold piece of jewelry. Of all people, Ashton would recognize that particular amulet anywhere, and at first, it’s hard to believe his eyes. He glances covertly at the cover of the book in his hand for visual confirmation that isn’t needed—his instincts are correct. That isthenecklace that Michael Shield’s main character, Dean, wears in every single book.
Upon even closer inspection, Ashton discovers that Link isn’t actually wearing a necklace at all—it’s atattoo.An incredible tattoo, hyperrealistic, with a metallic copper finish to the amulet and a black cord that Ashton feels like he could absolutely reach out and wrap around his fingertips.The art has been inked with a magical component causing it to swing and sway with the movements of Link’s body, just like a real piece of jewelry would. In awe, Ashton makes a mental note to ask about everything he’s discovered later.
This, at least, explains Link's reaction to Ashton and the book. He must be ahugefan himself if he’s willing to tattoo something so specific from the series onto his skin.
Fascinating.
Ashton is so caught up in those revelations, in the mounting excitement over Link and his potential interest in something he holds near and dear to his own heart—not to mention, the way Link is quite literally holdinghimas if he matters at all—Ashton forgets to be anxious, even as they eliminate the remaining distance between them and Whitaker’s booth.
He snaps back to reality less than a second before they pass, in time to see Whitaker himself look up and register Ashton and Link, tucked into each other’s arms. Making unflinching eye contact, Link releases Ashton’s shoulder in order to extend his arm and raise his middle finger boldly in Whitaker’s direction. Almost manic laughter bubbles in Ashton’s throat at the vexed expression on Whitaker’s face, and he lets it fly, feeling reckless and wild as Link grins down at him and leads them confidently out the front door.
?
Chapter 2
As far into the outskirts of the city as Link's shop is located, Ashton doesn’t have much choice other than to drive himself, trailing behind Link's car in his own beat-up truck. It’s the obvious and smart decision; after all, he’ll need to return home at some point and it seems rude to create a situation where Link will feel obligated to drive him there. Also: technical stranger, taking him to a semi-obscure location in the middle of nowhere—seems prudent to have his own exit.
Just in case.
At the same time, Ashton would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed, having passed on the opportunity to take a ride in Link's sleek, perfectly-maintained, classic muscle car. That, or perhaps he’s simply reluctant to leave Link's side—the man ismagnetic. Whatever the winning reason, Ashton nearly takes Link up on his offer anyway, even if the end result would be him traipsing towards town at midnight, wandering down pitch-black, unfamiliar, and undeveloped roads for miles before ultimately having to hitchhike back to his own apartment.
As he navigates carefully in the wake of Link's tail lights, Ashton takes a moment to give thanks that theEnchantedconvention was held locally for both of them. There’s no telling how this meet-cute might have gone had one or both of them been visiting from out of town, or if they were traveling for the experience. Honestly, Ashton doubts that he would have bothered engaging with Link at all in either scenario—the fact that hecouldrun home with his tail between his legs if things didn’t go smoothly was the defining push totry.
So, perhaps it’s a moot point.
In that same vein, though, Ashton finds himself reflecting on what Link said about the two of them potentially becoming friends “a long time ago,” had it not been for Whitaker. He supposes that’s not such a strange thing to say. Since their split, Ashton has learned that Whitaker’s unsavory reputation preceded him, much more than he was aware. Perhaps thereallystrange thing where Link is concerned involves the two of them living in the same city, working in the same industry, moving in the same circles, and never once crossing paths until Ashton took fate into his own hands.
Shortly after exiting the highway that runs out of the city proper, Link leads their tiny caravan off the main drag, turning onto a frontage road that Ashton never would’ve seen on his own. It’s pitted, rough, barely paved, and not particularly well-maintained. The trees create a tunnel of sorts above their heads, and his junky ride isn’t thrilled about traversing the bumpy path. The sun’s gone down early tonight thanks to the time of year, and in the gloom, Ashton feels relieved that he never tried to make the trek to Link's studio alone.
