Spice and Smoke Read Free

needed adornment. Every straight man wanted to fuck her, and most gay men he knew wanted to be her. He finally got the inclination, because being Trishna meant having Avinash in your bed, and having him anywhere else you wanted him, too…
    The scenario: 1998’s Kuch Kuch Hota Hai . The gazebo is silent but for the sound of the rain coming down, and the characters dance to the music in their hearts. The touch of their hands is enough to make them temporarily forget the outside world.
    Michael’s palms slide up Avi’s red shirt, popping buttons as they travel, and he doesn’t even care that he’s ruining expensive silk. All he cares about is this moment with this man, who has been the only one for him since the instant they met. Their breaths mingle in the heavy, humid air. They sway towards each other, nearly kissing, and Avi cups his cheek with one hand. The twinkle lights lining the gazebo catch the glint of his wedding band, and Michael feels the hesitation ripple through him even before it reaches his eyes.
    “ Dar gay ho? ” he wonders. Are you afraid?
    “ Nahin . Avinash Kumar is never afraid of anyone,” he assures Michael arrogantly.
    Good, Michael thinks with relief. Good . Then they stumble against one of the posts of the gazebo, hands fumbling and tearing at what’s left of their clothing. Avi’s fingers close around his cock, stroking in time to the pounding downpour. He grips Avi’s muscled ass, teasing the cleft with rainwater and clear intent. Kissing each other is practically the last step, but for him the most crucial. He closes the gap between them and takes Avi’s mouth. Something undeniable happens between them, then. Something he doesn’t even really understand.

Chapter Three
    The hand-shaking and sound-byte-giving portion of the event lasted so long Avinash felt like he’d aged a year and a day. He was restless, moving from investors to mob thugs (sometimes indistinguishable from one another) to members of the press. Trish was good at this shit…smiling and cooing and offering up perfect quotes in her perfectly modulated, private tuition English. She was born to command the spotlight.
    Avi had always preferred the shadows, slipping both literally and figuratively into someone else. Tonight, he wanted that someone else to be Michael Gill. It didn’t matter that he still smelled faintly of Trishna’s perfume and sex. The hunger was something that always lived inside him. That need to consume, to take, to make someone his. He’d used it to fuel his career, going from rocking out in the States to acting on this side of the ocean…exchanging the refuge of a drum kit for characters named Rahul and Ravi and Raj. Marrying Trish had been perfect for his career, and for his soul…she was everything he wasn’t, and everything he needed.
    Everything except one thing…which was currently across the room, nursing a G&T and talking about cricket with Harsh.
    Harsh…who was so beautiful Trish couldn’t take her eyes off him, and so straight that Avi would never get his hands on him. Fate was ice cold. No, it was tepid, like his bourbon. The rocks had long since melted, and the liquor tasted more like water than anything else. He downed the last swallow anyway, leaving it on a side table before crossing the veranda. Michael watched his approach, even though he seemed deep in discussion. Avi could always tell, sense it deep in his bones, and he knew even before he joined in on the idle chatter about Sri Lanka’s last test match that Michael was going to be leaving the room with him in the next ten minutes. Five if they were lucky.
    “Trishna looks great,” Harsh murmured offhandedly. It was a total non sequitur that had absolute fuck-all to do with cricket, and Avi felt indignation momentarily overtake the lust coursing through his system. He curled his fists protectively, zeroing in on the taller man with his most territorial scowl.
    “She always looks great. Like a goddess. Untouched and