St-st-stuffed

by Anyta Sunday

  He met Paul’s gaze, ready to say ‘no’, but stopped. That same feeling that had hit when Paul asked to drive the Lamborghini flooded him. Something about Paul made it hard to refuse him. Within Karl, something pulled to please the guy. Before he was aware of it, he was nodding and murmuring a: “Sure.”

  Karl fumbled for two mugs in the cupboard, and poured some for them both. “It’s not that great, though. But . . . it’s warm.”

  Paul took a sip. Licked his soft, sweet lips. A shiver ran through Karl; a mixture of wanting to kiss him, and wondering if Paul tasted his tear. Karl internally shook himself, grabbed the pot and dumped it into the sink. Although he wasn’t looking, he could feel Paul’s gaze on him.

  “So,” Paul cleared his throat, “you want to talk about it?”

  “About what?”

  “Don’t play dumb. I know you want to quit.”

  Karl looked at him. “What?”

  “Natasha, she mentioned you running off to an interview this evening. That’s where you went, right?”

  “I don’t want to quit.” The truth—even before his rejection.

  “Is that just because you didn’t get the job?”

  “How did you know I didn’t get it?” His voice sounded flustered, even to him. Had Paul also thought him a terrible chef? Karl clamped down on a sudden wave of self-pity, clenching his teeth. He wasn’t that bad. It’d be okay. Hopefully. Surely.

  “It was a guess, Karl. I know you want to quit.” Against his right temple, Paul rubbed tiny circles with two fingers. “I mean, I guess I’d understand if you weren’t . . . happy here anymore.”

  The last words jolted Karl, making it impossible for him to respond. Anymore. He had been happy, though, hadn’t he? Despite the title, he honestly loved the job. Charlie was the biggest monkey he’d ever met, but . . . Karl’s thoughts drifted as uneasiness circled his gut. If he wasn’t good enough to cook, the thing he thought himself best at, just how bad was he managing with Charlie? Just this morning he’d made the kid cry, snapping at him not to jump on the sofa.

  Whipping up his mug, Karl bee-lined out of the kitchen to the lounge, aware Paul followed him. As he’d expected. He held the mug in both hands, fingers overlapping.

  Paul sat across from him on the other sofa, at the end closest to him. In fact, if he reached out, Karl could touch him. Something he seemed to be growing more and more obsessed with. Images of touching, kissing, fucking Paul crammed his thoughts. Even despite the disability blow.

  “I didn’t get the job, it’s true. But I do like working here. For the most part, in fact, I am happy here.”

  Paul’s lips lifted ever-so-slightly. “I’m that other part, aren’t I?” He sighed. After a moment, he asked, “Would you have taken the job if you’d gotten it?”

  Karl pondered. “Maybe. Yes, probably.” He met Paul’s eye. “It’s my dream, you know?”

  They sat quietly for a moment. Then Paul said in a soft voice, “I’m sorry you didn’t get it. Well, in a selfish way, I’m not—I really like you here, Karl, but . . . it’s a shame your talent isn’t recognized.”

  Karl sucked up the residual hurt at being rejected and pulled a smile. “Yeah, bananas. My ego is bruised.”

  “Bananas?” Paul laughed. “Being around Charlie is turning you into a goody-goody.”

  “Is not.” Karl feigned a scowl, while inside appreciating the change of focus. He glanced toward the hall and kept his voice low. “Fuck-fuck-fuckity-fuck, and don’t you forget it. I’m no goody-two-shoes.”

  The turn of phrase set Paul off, laughing in short bursts, his torso quivering with their force. The moment was infectious; a light, tingly feeling spread over him.

  Paul’s laughter died suddenly, replaced by a small groove between his brows. “But really, Karl,” He kept his voice level, but Karl heard in it a telltale quiver that said it was hard for him to do so. “You applied because of how I’ve been acting, right?”

  A short nod.

  Paul didn’t say anything for a while, then, “I don’t want to be the reason you leave.”

  Karl breathed deeply, held the air in his lungs. The sincerity in Paul’s voice had a warming effect on him. Now was the time to finally say something. Get the hurt off his chest. He breathed out the words: “Why is it a disability?”

  Paul’s eyes snapped up, meeting Karl’s gaze. “That. It wasn’t meant to be a judgment on you, or anything.” He ran a hand through his hair, and then plunged right into it. “I grew up, ignored or humiliated by my peers, because I couldn’t say a sentence without st—without messing it up. No one looked at me further than to see and judge me by the way I talked. Except for Shane at Treewok Elementary, most people”—Karl cringed; this was him Paul was talking about. Maybe not only, but in large part—“thought I was dumb, stupid, worthless. I was laughed at, I was spat on. Socially, I was bottom of the rung.”

  Karl picked himself up off the sofa, wishing there was something he could do as they talked. Anything. Something to fiddle with. A faux distraction to take some of the pressure off. What he wouldn’t do for a beer right now. He moved to the windows. Maybe the space would make this feel less awkward.

  “I hated not being accepted,” Paul continued. “For fourteen years, until Laura befriended me, I was alone and lonely. Even with her, I wasn’t really seen and accepted, until I surprised people by getting into a good college.” Paul touched his throat. “By finally overcoming my . . . disability.” He lowered his gaze. “I’m afraid to go through that again.”

  Karl leaned back against the windows. He didn’t want to, but he could understand where Paul was coming from. Being gay wasn’t always easy. There were stakes. He knew that all too well. He glanced at his tightly balled hands and forced himself to relax them.

  “But I’m sorry for being standoffish since then. I guess I’m just a bit messed up at the moment. That kiss . . . ” Paul rushed over the last word, “it confused me.”

  Karl approached the sofa, and perched himself on the arm, the opposite side from Paul. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. “I was frustrated. I’m sorry for springing that on you.”

  In a whisper Karl wasn’t entirely sure was meant for his ears, Paul said, “I’m glad you did.”

  “What?”

  Paul slumped forward, propping his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. “A part of me was glad. I-I never answered you, but I did. Like it. A lot.” He breathed out slowly. “To the point I’m thinking about it all the time.”

  A surprising amount of relief came at hearing that. More than Karl would have anticipated. He slid onto the couch, now within reaching distance of Paul. “Me too. It’s on my mind a lot.” He smiled. Thinking to lighten the conversation with humor, he spoke, “I mean heck, you’re a pretty fine kisser—comes from all that practice, eh?” but it had a more serious effect than he’d guessed.

  Paul flushed, his cheeks a hot red. “There hasn’t been all that much kissing, actually.” He stared at the coffee table like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “I hated people pitying me after Laura. I—I wanted it to look like I was moving on.”

  Oh. “So the dates are just—?”

  “Just dates. I don’t promise them anything more than dinner or a movie, very rarely a kiss.”

  Karl heard in Paul’s voice how difficult it was for him to admit this. The fact Paul was telling him despite that made him smile a little inside. Karl shuffled closer to him, wanting to reach out and squeeze the guy’s knee, but he didn’t want Paul to misunderstand its sentiment. Instead, he fastened a palm his shoulder. “It’s okay, you know, if you’re not ready to move on. Some things just take time.” Just like Karl was still grieving for losing his family. Shit, maybe neither of them would get over their losses.

  Karl slid his hand off Paul, but Paul stopped him, clasping his palm over his fingers.

  Paul twisted to meet his gaze. Karl’s breath caught at their closeness; barely an inch separated their noses. Karl co
uld have leaned back, but something curling in his gut demanded he stay there. Paul leaned forward a fraction, hesitancy playing over his face, before he sat back, widening the space between them again.

  “The thing is,” Paul’s voice shook, “since you’ve been here, I feel more like I want to move on. Only, I don’t know how. I really don’t want another disability. But . . . but honestly, I’m attracted to you.” Paul looked away, across the room as he said the last part, and let go of Karl’s fingers.

  Karl’s heart rate, already elevated at the simple touch, soared at that admittance. He followed Paul’s line of sight to the Culinary Heaven box. Still unpacked, next to the chest.

  “I never said thank you for that gift.” Where did that come from? He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms over the sofa.

  Paul glanced at the box. “Oh, that. Of course. Thank you for helping out with Charlie’s birthday.”

  Slowly, Karl placed a hand on Paul’s knee, like he’d imagined before. He waited for a jerk out of his grasp, in case he misunderstood Paul. It didn’t come. Neither did Paul acknowledge the move, but at least, so far, no rejection.

  Paul breathed deeply and slid his hand over his. It seemed like tongues of fire flicked over his skin, concentrating in his hand, but quickly sizzling all through him.

  Karl flipped his hand, so they were palm to palm, and clasped Paul’s tight.

  An excited but at the same time terrifying air settled around them. Paul looked at him, hovering like he was tossing up between rushing out of the room and jumping on him.

  Silently, he prayed for the latter. He wanted to pull Paul closer, but knew it was best for Paul to be sure of what he wanted.

  Then, dart-like, Paul closed the distance between them, and—nervously?—brought his lips to Karl’s. Karl closed his eyes at the slight wetness of Paul’s bottom lip. It tingled as it lingered, their skin only just touching.

  Paul gently pressed his lips against Karl’s. “Yeah. It feels good.”

  Karl managed an MmMmm, before slipping out his tongue, turning Paul’s hesitant kiss into a something a little more.

  Then a little more than that.

  And somehow Paul was on Karl’s chest, his legs on either side of him. Karl braced his waist, keeping him on his thighs. Paul grazed his freshly-shaven cheek over Karl’s. A tongue outlined his ear. Oh God, that felt good.

  Paul seemed to have lost his uncertainty and shyness with their growing arousal. “I’m so hot for you.” Karl shivered at the sex dripping from Paul’s voice. “And it’s all the time. I haven’t jerked off as much as I do with you living here, ever.”

  He gasped a reply, “You’re not the only one.” What a myriad of feelings had come over him today. The disappointment and sense of failure still loomed under the surface, but the fact that, right now, Paul was opening up to him despite his insecurities . . . It pushed those other things away for the moment. And, wow, Paul this close to him and engaging of his own accord this time—it was so damn hot.

  His erection strained against his jeans. He fished a hand to adjust himself, brushing over Paul’s own hardness. That was almost enough to make him come—or flip the guy, take advantage of the large sofa, and start some serious making out. It’d been some time since he’d been this turned-on.

  Instead, Karl nipped at Paul’s ear. He just needed to be clear on something. “So, what . . . is this?”

  His answer came as a deep sigh, and Paul climbing off him. He scrubbed his face, a blush creeping over it. “I don’t know, maybe . . . can we just see where this goes? Nice and slow?”

  Before he’d even thought about it, Karl heard himself saying, “Okay.”

  A smile, as much relieved as pleased, spread over Paul’s face. And Karl felt himself returning it.

  10

  Clutch!

  CHARLIE CONTINUED WAVING until he, Nathan, and Mrs. Biggs reached the lifts. Karl ducked out of the doorframe as Paul shut the door with a sigh.

  Karl couldn’t make out what the heavy breath was for, but brushed the thought away. He was probably relieved to have a bit of space. The guy had worked hard hours the last couple of weeks. “It’s nice Charlie and Nathan are such close buddies.”

  Paul smiled on his way to the sofa, but it looked, well, morose.

  “Don’t you think?” Karl added, lounging next to him.

  “Uh-huh.” Paul picked up the remote and switched on the TV.

  Karl’s frown deepened as the guy surfed channels, never staying on one long enough to get hooked. Stealing the remote, he turned the television off, jumped up, and tugged at Paul to do the same.

  “What’s this about?”

  “You, my friend, are in a funk of sorts. I don’t get it. But, seeing we have a few hours to ourselves, I think we ought to get you out of it.”

  Karl exited the room, Paul’s voice trailing behind him. “I’m not in a funk.” And then, more quietly. “Shit. I really am.”

  Karl had to smile at the sweetness of the self-admission. He grabbed his wallet, cell, and—the most important thing—his keys. He met Paul moping down the hall and chucked them to him. “Heads up.”

  Paul’s hands fumbled against his chest, awkwardly catching them. “What’s this for?” His voice held a certain amount of hope; Karl knew Paul already had an idea.

  “Wanna have the awesomest ride of your life, ever?”

  A sudden and brilliant grin spliced Paul’s face. “Oh, hell yeah.”

  In the driver’s seat of the Lamborghini, Paul radiated. Karl on the other hand, felt a little sick. Maybe more than a little. He wasn’t used to not being in control. He felt his foot press onto the floor as if it was the clutch and could change gears for them. Two stalls in the first fifteen minutes made it clear Paul wasn’t practiced with a stick. Each time, Karl had been on the brink of demanding the guy pull over to swap places. But the blush and small ‘sorry’ Paul gave each time worked like Charlie’s ‘she-sha’ magic. He just couldn’t do it.

  The gears grated as Paul tried to go from second to third. “Clutch!” Karl cried.

  “Shit. Sorry. Again.” Paul sighed, his previously excited face now with a disappointed shade to it.

  “Nah, it’s good.” Said just as much for himself as for Paul.

  Paul snorted. “Hardly. As soon as we can pull over, I’ll give it up.”

  Give it up. The words in combination with the drive hurled Karl into a flashback. A sad smile curled his lips at the memory. “No. Don’t give it up, Paul. You’ll keep going until I say otherwise. You are going to get the hang of her. Besides, you look damn hot driving. I haven’t had enough of watching you, yet.”

  Paul glanced at him, then back to the road, an undeniable smirk making his dimples appear. Yeah, that was even hotter.

  After a half hour, they came past a small park with a fountain in the center. Paul smoothed into a parking spot. He patted the wheel. “Once I got the hang of it, it was fun. Sorry for the bumpy beginning.” He clicked open his belt and twisted.

  Karl did the same, resting his shoulders against the passenger window. “Glad you liked it.”

  “What was the funk about?”—

  “Why didn’t you want me to give up?” they both asked at the same time, then simultaneously sighed. Meeting each other’s eye, they briefly laughed.

  Karl ran a hand over the leather seat. “You start.”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “I didn’t expect to.”

  “Right. But, okay, don’t get me wrong, I love that Charlie has a close friend. In fact, it makes me incredibly happy to see them go off together. And I know they’re going to have a good time.” He took a breath.

  “But?” Karl added the obvious conjunction.

  “But it reminded me of being a kid. It reminded me how not all have it so lucky. Okay, it reminded me of you bullying me, Karl. When you said you thought it was nice Nathan and Charlie were close buddies, I don’t know, I felt suddenly angry at you again. For denying me something that ever
y kid should have.”

  A lump hardened in Karl’s throat. They sat in silence; the longer it drew out, the more pronounced their breathing seemed. He should say something­—he needed to try to resolve Paul’s hurt, and his stupid past actions.

  His breathing hitched as he attempted to speak. “Paul.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell you that as often as you need to hear it, because I truly am. Only, I wish there was something I could say or do to really prove to you how sorry I am. But I don’t know that’s possible, short of the impossible: turning back time to never doing those things to you.”

  Karl studied the faded patch on Paul’s jeans. “You giving me this job . . . in some ways, it makes it worse. You’re so kind and forgiving. And, you know, you are the only one in this world who could have spat on me, and I wouldn’t have gotten mad, because I deserve it. But instead you give me a job when I most needed one. You treat me like an equal in your home—no, more than that, almost like a family member. I owe you both the biggest of apologies and the largest thanks.” Karl closed his eyes. Why did Paul do this for him? How could the guy like him at all, when, at this moment, he barely liked himself?

  Paul sighed, and the sound swirled around him, warm and sad at the same time. “Thank you, Karl.” His fingers began to drum on the wheel. “But, um, you make me sound like I’m perfect. I can’t claim all that. There’s more you don’t know; I don’t know I can admit it aloud yet.”

  Karl lifted his gaze to Paul’s ‘lost in thoughts’ one. “But,” Paul continued, “I don’t believe people do things without a reason. I guess . . . I guess amongst the pain and hurt, I’ve wondered why you did it. Especially now that you’re so changed. I—I want to understand what the hell you were thinking and how you ended up, well, this way.”

  Karl’s throat hurt as he swallowed for the umpteenth time. Refocusing on Paul’s hands, he tried to explain. “I was a stupid boy. I thought being strong meant being able to overpower others. I thought the way to get friends was to agree with them. I don’t know when or who first said something about you being dumb. They might not have meant it meanly, only as an opinion, but I snatched up on it, agreeing loudly, liking that others joined in. I felt older and bigger.”