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roof of the car. “I don't believe this.
    You're acting like a—”
    “Like a what?” Taylor kept his voice even, but now he was getting mad all over again.
    Will had the smarts to correct quickly, although he was still blunt. “You're acting jealous and insecure and irrational.”
    Taylor weighed his words, but he had gone this far, he might as well shoot his wad. Will apparently thought he was acting like a queen as it was. He said, “That's because I've got more invested in this relationship than you. We both know the bottom line is I care more for you than you do for me.”
    Will's profile could have been cut from stone. “I'm not even going to answer that.” He jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared into life.

    * * * *
It was okay once they were back at Taylor's. Taylor, apparently realizing he had gone too far, was low-key and nonconfrontational. They took turns in the shower, took turns squirting each other with disinfectant and taping on Band-Aids on. Taking care of each other, that's what it was about.

    Dangerous Ground: Old Poison
    29

    Will's shirt was torn, so he borrowed one of Taylor's. It was too tight, which suited the general atmosphere pretty well.
    Not that it was that different from usual. They generally worked on the house or watched a game on TV and had a few beers, fucked, napped, caught up on the newspapers, maybe rented a movie. They would have talked or not as they felt like it. Their weekdays were action-packed enough; on the weekends they liked to unwind and rest. There was no one Will wanted to unwind and rest with more than Taylor.
    This was not turning out to be the most restful weekend they'd spent, but it wasn't bad.
    They worked at sanding the built-in shelves and counters, the fireplace, the tapered columns that divided the living room from the dining room. It was slow going, because Taylor liked everything to be perfect, but one day it was going to be a very valuable property with the gleaming resanded hardwood floors and funky art tiles and big stone fireplace—all in walking distance of the beach. As they worked they recovered some of their usual harmony.
    When they finished in the front room, uncovering what appeared to be genuine oak beneath layers of navy, green, and finally white paint, they showered again and then ate their leftovers from the night before.
    A framed Japanese print of a samurai on horseback had been propped in the doorway for safekeeping while they worked in the front room. Looking at it, and seeking a neutral subject for dinnertime discourse, Will asked, “What was it like, being in Tokyo? You never talk about it.”
    Taylor, whose own attention had been on the bottle of Asian snake wine sitting on the kitchen counter, gave him a blank look. He raised a shoulder. “Nothing to tell.”
    Now that was odd. Taylor always had something to say. About everything. How could he possibly have spent two years in Japan and not have anything to recount. Nothing?
    “Did you like it?”
    “I liked the country, yeah.”
    He hadn't liked the assignment. Interesting.
    “Well, I know you like the food. Is it true they have octopus pizza?”
    Taylor snorted, expertly wielded his chopsticks to take a bite of rice-crusted duck. Will considered the chopsticks. Taylor was…prone to enthusiasms.

    30
    Josh Lanyon

    He had liked Japan. He collected Japanese weapons, watched Japanese movies, had a couple of Japanese art books and a couple of Japanese prints on the walls. Japan had been important to Taylor. But he never talked about it.
    Never.
    “Are there really over fifteen hundred earthquakes a year?”
    “They have a lot of earthquakes. A lot of volcanoes too.”
    “Is the sun really red?”
    Taylor smiled faintly. “They paint it that way.”
    “What about the gay samurai? Is that true?”
    Taylor's face changed. He scowled, selecting another bite of duck. “What's with all the questions, Brandt?”
    “I'm just making…just curious. It's