Brazil by Day: Gay Romance

Brazil by Day: Gay Romance © 2016 by G.R. Richards

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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

Cover design © 2016 G.R. Richards

Originally published by Amber Quill Press.

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Brazil by Day

Gay Romance

By G.R. Richards

Chapter 1

Dude, wake up! She’s gone!

Ramon rolled toward the wall. He looked like an overgrown child in that twin-sized bed pushed into the corner of the room.

Close the door, he moaned at Tim. His voice was heavy with sleep, and he probably thought he was dreaming. He obviously had no idea how serious this was.

Tim didn’t usually set foot inside Ramon’s little room unless he was explicitly invited, but today there was an emergency. Dude, she’s gone!

Flipping onto his front, Ramon stuck his head underneath a pillow and grunted something indistinct. His back was broad, tanned, and naked underneath a threadbare sheet. Tim was a little afraid of touching that slick bare skin, but gave in and shook him. Hard.

You have to get up! Tim cried. He was tipping from incredulous to panic-stricken. Mrs. Bucket is gone. She’s not in her cage. She’s not anywhere!

Ramon rolled onto his back, nearly falling off the tiny bed. His morning wood tented the sheet, which was so thin Tim could make out the thick cushion of dark hair around that firm erection, but tried hard not to stare.

"What do you mean she’s gone? Ramon’s eyes were large as dinner plates now. Distress had shaken off sleep, and he scrambled out of bed, his upset obviously building as he fought with his twisted sheets. She’s gotta be somewhere. She’s not in the house?"

In all the years they’d lived together, Tim had never seen his research associate naked.

Never.

Not once.

He stared, dumbstruck, as Ramon picked up pyjama pants puddled on the carpet and punched his feet into the leg holes. Tim gulped as that hard dick disappeared from sight. He forced himself to look past Ramon’s chest and actually meet his gaze.

Tim felt flustered now, and unfocused though he knew something huge had happened.

Where have you looked? Ramon asked.

Tim stood in the middle of Ramon’s bedroom as his research partner and housemate pushed past him, rushing into the hallway.

Everywhere, Tim stammered. I’ve looked…everywhere…

* * *

Polly wasn’t a particularly creative name for a parrot, but in retrospect it would have been kinder than Mrs. Bucket.

Back in grad school, everything was a bit of a joke to them, so when the old bearded dude from the avian shelter offered up a Hyacinth Macaw, Tim just couldn’t resist. He’d seen a British TV show called Keeping Up Appearances when he’d gone to visit his grandfather in Cornwall, and the main character was this snobby woman named Hyacinth Bucket. She insisted everyone pronounce her name Bouquet because she had delusions of grandeur and Bucket just didn’t sound sophisticated enough. Now every time Tim heard the word Hyacinth, it associated to Bucket.

Ramon had pushed for Polly—they’d agreed beforehand that’s what they’d name their parrot, even if it was male—but Tim insisted on Mrs. Bucket for their Hyacinth Macaw.

For a big guy, Ramon was a pushover. Even in grad school Tim had known that, and grad school was, what, ten years ago?

Now that their bird had gone missing, Tim had his regrets about the name. Back when he’d chosen it, neither he nor Ramon had anticipated the affection (and soon enough the love) they would grow to feel for their pet.

There were a lot of things they didn’t anticipate.

And, really, pet was the wrong word. Mrs. Bucket wasn’t even a research subject, she was a partner to them, maybe even a friend. Nobody else understood. Some people claimed to understand, but they didn’t. Not really. Most people acknowledged outright that they thought he and Ramon were crazy for devoting their entire lives to a parrot. They couldn’t understand how what they were doing qualified as work, but work it sure as hell was.

So, you’re a biologist or something? some guy had asked Tim online. This was month ago—almost a year ago, in fact. You study animals?

He knew when these webcam guys were just making pointless conversation, grooming him, gearing up to take off his clothes. Even so, he’d wanted this random dude to get it right. Most of these guys didn’t even flinch at Mrs. Bucket’s bizarre name, or ask where it came from, which seemed nonsensical to Tim when she was so ridiculously, enormously, vitally important to him. This guy on the computer screen meant nothing, but he had to understand.

Actually, my research partner is the one with more of a biology bent. Tim kept talking even as the guy onscreen slipped out of his pants. Me, I’ve always been more interested in language acquisition and testing cognition versus mimicry. My background is strongly routed in linguistics and learning systems. I always wanted to be a teacher. Instead I’ve spent my entire adult life teaching a bird to identify shapes and colours and numbers. It’s like working with an eternal toddler. She’s got a very strong personality, Mrs. Bucket, and she’s always asking questions. She’s very curious.

Tim knew he was easily distracted by his bird. He should have been paying more attention to this nearly naked guy rubbing his bulge.

No wonder only newbies clicked on his link, these days. He just couldn’t help it. That’s how much he loved his research.

That day, for instance, they’d been concentrating yet again on conceptualization. There were people out there who were pissed off that he and Ramon received grant money to teach a parrot words. Of course, teaching Mrs. Bucket words was only a stepping stone to determining how far her comprehension extended. Ultimately they knew that, in order to appease their detractors, they had to design tests of their bird’s abilities that proved she was understanding concepts and not just mimicking.

After getting off in front of some random guy, Tim had crawled into his office chair and waved, feeling strangely juvenile. He could hear Mrs. Bucket babbling downstairs, and that made him smile. She was practicing. She did that. It was like homework, or like a toddler talking to herself, continuing the day’s learning on her own. What a funny bird.

He’d signed off in a daze, never expecting to see that guy’s face again.

And he never did.

And he couldn’t care less.

Everything important to him was already in this house.

Chapter 2

It wasn’t easy to carry on a conversation over the squeaks and squawks of all the birds in the university avian expert’s office, but Tim and Ramon