by Anyta Sunday
Tirone looked at him like he'd lost his marbles. But then his gaze dropped to his glass and he slowly picked it up. His chest rose, and he nosed the liquid with a deep intake. "I don't know." He spun the napkin, middle finger on the last digit.
"When was the last date you went on?" Paul asked, sipping his whiskey.
"Way too long than I'd care to share, guys." Tirone raised his right hand. "I've taken it out on this one, though."
Paul grinned. Karl let the smoky liquid roll over his tongue before swallowing, and said, "That's the best."
"Well, I wouldn't say it's the best," Tirone drawled, "but it'll always be there when times get tough."
They all looked down at their hands at the same moment. Fuck, classic. They all laughed. "It's good whiskey," Karl said, still chuckling.
Tirone's smile split his face and he faced Paul. "Yeah, the winner also gets to choose what to drink."
Paul sighed, rolling his eyes. "Good thing the whiskey's not half bad where you're from. Anyway, enjoy it. Next year it'll be my choice again."
"In your dreams."
Four rounds—six or seven for Tirone and Paul—and Karl was feeling pretty damn fine. Paul's expression was just short of beaming, and it wasn't all the drink. Karl caught the little sideways glances when the guy thought he could get away with it. Tirone seemed entirely oblivious to anything.
Until Karl pinched his arm.
"Oww, what the . . .?"
Karl immediately raised his hands and leant back. "Gillian's orders, man."
Tirone rubbed his under arm, a conservative but warm smile to be seen. He dug in his pocket, pulled out a cell and started to text something. Paul and Karl looked at each other. The twinkle in the guy's eyes had Karl smirking behind his tumbler. He slid his foot forward a little, veering left of the middle stand to be sure he didn't kick Tirone.
As he pressed his foot against a shoe, Paul straightened suddenly and grabbed the neck of the whiskey bottle. With narrowed eyes, he focused on the text as if in deep concentration. Karl felt a slight pressure against his foot in response, then his ankle.
Paul stopped. Stood. "Gotta use bathroom."
Tirone looked up. "Breaking the seal already, man?
"Yep. It'll be every ten minutes here on out."
A look shot his way over Tirone's shoulder. Oh, Karl knew exactly what that look meant. He waited an impatient minute, drinking his whiskey much too fast. About to excuse himself, a thought crossed his mind and he remained seated. Oh, yes, how . . . evil. He chuckled aloud, eliciting a questioning brow from Tirone.
"What's on your mind?"
A helluva lot, actually. And it all had him hard as a rock under this table. "Um, just thinking of you guys racing down the slope today. Really hadn't been expecting the Jell-O." Jell-O. Hmmm, the things one could do with it.
"Yeah, Gill comes up with the weirdest variations. Each year I think it can't get any stranger, and every year it does." He went on to describe some of their previous relays.
Almost a whole ten minutes went by before Paul stalked back towards the table, scowling. Karl grinned up at him, causing Tirone to turn, and while he had the chance, he winked. Paul struggled to keep his face expressionless.
"Time for another round," Karl suggested, grabbing each of their glasses.
Tirone kept checking the cell he'd placed on the table, covering the number on the napkin. He pouted; his look, Karl guessed, was a why hasn't she texted back already look.
"Hmmm," Tirone sang, "Just gonna make a quick call. Be back in a sec." He disappeared out the front door.
"You think he's calling her?" Karl asked.
"Without a doubt." A firm hand landed on his knee. "And so you know, that little stint just now? You'll so pay for that later."
"Can't wait."
"You might, in fact, be waiting quite a while." Paul swiped his bottom lip with his tongue, long and slow. The shit. "Now, weren't we supposed to be fishing?" Paul said, pointing to the door Tirone had exited, a twinkle in his eye.
Karl downed the remainder of his whiskey and refreshed all their glasses. "Yeah, we're not doing such a great job on that."
"You're right there."
An idea came to Karl; he hummed over it . . . maybe it wouldn't get Tirone to admit anything, but it’d give them a few more clues? He leaned over to detail the plan to Paul, but Tirone was already on his way back.
"That was quick," he said half under his breath.
"She's not picking up."
"Maybe she has it on silent," Paul suggested.
"Maybe."
"She could be watching a movie, too," Karl added. "She's probably distracted."
"Right."
Paul slid a fresh drink over to him, and they all sipped.
Karl coughed, spluttering on a chuckle. All fabricated, of course. He awaited the curious looks thrown in his direction. "Sorry, was just thinking . . . when I was younger, man was I stupid. Groups of us would get together and, God, the drinking games!"
Paul and Tirone groaned.
"'Drink and Dare'. That forced me to drink some funky beer, guys," Tirone said, "but there was no way I was kissing Hickey-Heather over the hickies she already had."
"Fuzzy Duck," chimed Paul. "I hate that game. Duzzy Fuck, Fuzzy Duck—it's hard."
"No Holds Barred—shit," Tirone grinned. "Man I had fun with that one. William Adams, last year of college. Best insult duel I ever had." He shook his head. Then air quoted, "'When people see you, you slippery weasel, they clap—one hand over their eyes and the other over their ass, and they desperately try to block their ears from all your sweet talk, trying to pry one of those hands away. And we all know which one!' fuck—I almost pissed myself with that."
"I've Never," Karl added, once he'd caught his breath from laughing. "Jeez, that drinking game just ain't fair on people who aren't prudes."
"Right." Tirone agreed.
Paul looked on at the two of them, grinning and shaking his head.
"But the worst is 'who would you rather do'" Karl finally slipped in. "That can get just plain weird."
"Yeah," Tirone agreed, "had someone ask me if I'd rather do the bottle lady on the corner of Maple and High street—as is, no showers allowed—or the Queen of England."
"That's weird for sure, but weirder," Karl said, lowering his voice slightly and picking up his glass, "Is when asked about your friends. Like, how are you supposed to answer if I said, who'd you rather do: Gillian or—?" He left the next name blank, that didn't matter. Tirone's quick glance away did, however. "Weird, right?"
"Ah, yeah, um . . . really weird," Tirone murmured, before quickly pounding down his drink.
Paul subtly raised his brows, and Karl grinned.
"Oh, by the way, Paul," Tirone hurriedly said, "do you remember Katrina? Blonde girl, leggy, real social gal, she hinted at whether or not you're available. If you want, I can set you up for a date? It's been a while since you've been on one, right?"
Karl's hand jerked as he swirled his whiskey, almost causing it to topple. He tightened his grip on the glass, and flashed a glance at Paul. What would he say? Here was an opportunity . . .
"Oh, um, really . . . thanks. Ah, don't think I'm interested at the moment, though."
Not what Karl wanted to hear. He drank whiskey to quell an upcoming sigh, then glanced at his watch. Tirone caught the motion.
"You thinking of heading back soon?" He sounded entirely too eager. "Think I'll go with you guys. Pick up Gill. Maybe her phone's flat."
Karl doubted it. She was a little upset earlier—maybe she couldn't handle trying to be just friends with Tirone right then. Karl had brought up all those feelings in her. . . .
He looked to Paul, who shrugged and said to Tirone, "Sure, maybe."
They readied themselves to leave, and Paul grabbed the napkin still lying on the table. "Hey, did you want to take that?" His head quirked toward the bartender.
Tirone took the napkin and scrunched it up. "Nah. It was fun flirting,
but . . . let's just go."
* * *
Gillian met them at the door, her eyes red and puffy. Still, she worked a smile, only dropping it when she saw Tirone come up behind them. Karl followed Paul into the apartment. Paul thanked Gill for the favor, but it got cut off as Tirone wrapped his arms around her.
"Oh my God, are you okay?" He checked out her face again, his frown deepening. "Shit. You should've called me if you felt down," his voice lowered, "you know I would've come."
Paul and Karl slunk into the dining room to give them some space. There were a couple of murmurings, and then the front door shut and they were alone.
"Unrequited?" Paul asked.
"If it is, I don't know how she can stand him being so sweet to her. Really, I'd have punched the guy to back off already. Well, probably not. But I'd hate it. She's strong to keep up such a close friendship." The thought had Karl thinking of Will. Would they make it as friends? Or would it be too hard on him?
"What're you thinking?"
"Whether Will and I will ever be friends. Proper friends."
Paul stood up and pushed Karl's chair back so it rested on two legs. He gripped on to Paul's arm. "Whoa!"
"I just want to say this," Paul said, and then claimed him with his mouth, deep and intense. Karl was thrilled at the kiss, and nervous at his swaying chair. "Please don't ever be as close to Will," he said the guy's name with distaste, "as Tirone and Gill are to each other."
Another deep kiss. Yep, Karl liked it that Paul was jealous. "I already hate to think he knows things about you that I don't."
Paul rested the chair on all fours and softened his next kiss, his tongue outlined the chipped tooth. "It's my lucky charm," Karl explained. Wanted to share with him.
"Lucky?"
"It," he cleared his throat, "it saved me once, from killing myself. Well, it wasn't the tooth that saved me, but it represents it. My last attempt. I jumped off the roof of my house." Karl felt Paul's body, still near his, go rigid, and hands tightened around his upper arms.
Karl paused a moment, before continuing. The words seemed to stick in his throat; he'd never told this story to anyone.
"What . . . happened?" Paul asked, the concern palpable in his grip and tone. He pulled a chair close and sat down.
Letting out a breath, he met Paul's gaze and continued, "It wasn't high enough, though three stories up, it felt it to me. Anyway, I stepped over the gutter on one side, but I didn't think of the trellis. It lined the side and caught on my clothes, suspending me there. I wriggled to get free and then fell. Felt like a sledgehammer had totaled me, but all that broke was this part of my tooth."
Karl had tried to inject the story with a touch of humor, trying to make light of what happened, but it didn't curb any of Paul's worry. Not judging by the frown he wore. And Karl was glad for it. Because it really wasn't funny at all.
"It was after that," he went on, this time allowing his voice to remain serious, "that Pop stepped in and my life made an upward turn. I was just so, so lucky. That's why I chose not to get it fixed. I could have . . . but it didn't feel right. Now, when things look really dire or something, I just rub the chipped corner with my tongue, like it gives me luck or something."
He looked out the window again, unable to meet Paul's sympathetic gaze. "I've never told anyone that before. Now you can be sure you know more about me than Will does."
Paul pulled him off the chair and into his lap, hugging his waist tightly. "W-when was the last time you did that? Rubbing your tooth?" His voice shook, and Karl closed his eyes briefly.
"I think I do it every day."
Paul sat up straighter, alarm thickening in his expression. "Every day? Are things that . . . dire?"
"Sort of," Karl sighed. "Not dire, just . . . " He met Paul's eye and forced himself to share his feelings, like he'd resolved to do. Alcohol was helping. "I'm scared this," he motioned between them and down the hall towards Charlie's room, "will disappear. My first family disowned me, Paul; now I feel like I'm part of another, and I don't want to lose it. But I'm worried that maybe this is too much for you."
"Too much for me?"
"You haven't told your friends about us. Haven't told Charlie." His gut clenched and he lowered his forehead onto Paul's shoulder, hoping the pressure would somehow alleviate the disappointment.
Paul sighed, and the warm whiskey breath hit Karl's neck. "It's weak of me, I know." He stroked Karl's back as he spoke, "Sometimes I build up the motivation to tell them, then I chicken out."
"Yeah, I get that, Paul. It just, it makes me . . . well, insecure. Getting hurt again," Karl flashed through memories of his parents—the love he'd given them, the great disappointment at their rejection. "It's—I don't know I'd handle it so well."
He tried to lighten the conversation again, but his next words failed to do that miserably, "Especially since I don't have Pop to help me out anymore." Another thought bulleted into him: Or the Lamborghini that represented their relationship.
He looked at Paul. Sighed. "I miss him." He turned back to the lights speckling the city below. "Wish I had something of his, you know. Even if it was only a picture." Karl shook off the sudden thoughts. Focused on Paul—more important. "It would mean a lot to me if you told your friends and Charlie about us."
Paul nodded. "I hate that I'm such chicken shit. Hate it. I'm an adult, have a kid. I need to just grow a pair. Karl, you deserve so much more, and I don't want to lose you. I'm going to try harder. I've got to. Left this too long as it is." He drew in a determined breath, sucking in some of Karl's hair. He pressed his lips on the hairline at the back of his neck. "I promise to do more."
Karl leaned in and kissed him. Yes, that was exactly what he needed. Good change of topic. He added his tongue to the mix, and all the tension from the bar and earlier flooded into him. He twisted around so he straddled Paul's lap, only when he started to move against the man, two hands pushed his chest.
"Oh no-no. Not tonight. Charlie's home; besides, consider it a punishment for leaving me hanging in the bathroom."
"Come on. We can take it to my room and be quiet." Maybe. Probably not. "Besides, I couldn't have gone after you back there, it would've been sorta obvious, don't you think?"
Paul paused at that one, as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind. Then he pressed Karl into him and shoved his tongue down his throat. Oh hell yeah. But just as Karl started to respond, Paul pulled back with a grin. "Tomorrow."
* * *
Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. And, surprisingly, they both had very little hangover. Said something about quality whiskey.
Charlie skipped to the door to see the grandparents, and greeted them with big smooches on their cheeks. Karl glimpsed Sue's smile, so—happy. He didn't expect the wave of sympathy seeing it, but it made him pause.
Paul stiffly but politely wished them all a wonderful weekend. Once they'd left, he rested back against the door. "I feel a little guilty right now, but I'm glad Charlie's with Sue and Timothy this weekend."
Karl waltzed over to him. "Oh, yeah? Say, why is that?"
A raised brow. "Think you know the answer."
"Hmmm, and if I don't?"
Paul ducked around Karl and headed back to the lounge. "Then follow me."
Warm morning light stretched into the room. Paul stopped in the middle of the clear space near the windows, watching as Karl crossed over to him. Each step had him more excited until, finally, their lips met. He started pulling at his shirt.
"I don't think so," Paul said with a smirk. "Drop your hands."
Karl's cock twitched and he lowered his arms to his sides. Paul came forward, just enough to pinch Karl's lips together.
Karl hesitated, only for a moment—he was far too hot to debate this—he sank to the floor and reached out for Paul's belt buckle. God, he was trembling. He wanted—hell, needed at least his mouth fucked, and right now.
The belt snaked out of its loops and clunked to the floor. His hands flew to the zipper, but be
fore he could open, Paul leaned over to Karl's ear. "I love seeing you grin like that."
His voice croaked. "That does something for you?" He raised a brow as Paul measured his expression.
Taking Karl's hand, Paul pressed it to his crotch. Fuck he was hard. That made two of them. Karl had to bite down on the urge to tackle the man there and then and have them go right at it. He didn’t want it over too quickly.
"I want to undress you." Slowly, bit-by-bit, Paul shed Karl's clothes, giving him a light couple of tugs as he slipped his boxer-briefs down to his knees. Karl sucked in a breath, hissing it out. Then Paul nudged at his knees to lift, and scraping his fingers over Karl's calves, he pulled off the underwear. Another couple of gentle tugs. Too soon it was over. Paul practically jumped out of his own clothes, chucking his watch on top of the pile.
And then Paul was standing close. Just a little closer, please, and he could—fuck, he could just swallow him.
"Touch me, Karl."
"Kiss you?"
A nod.
Karl sucked Paul to the root. Loving the moan it elicited and the way Paul's head rolled back. The sunlight made him a golden angel, the coppery tones in his dark hair radiating, his skin almost shimmering. God, he was beautiful.
Then his head snapped back and his gaze ate at Karl. Paul moved away, snagging him up into a real kiss.
"I want you so bad."
“Bedroom!” Karl said, and Paul didn't need telling twice. The hallway seemed to stretch forever—he'd never been in such a hurry to reach the bedroom before. Ever.
The door clicked shut behind them.
"On the bed, I want to . . . " Here Paul's voice caught, and Karl knew that he was nervous.
Karl grabbed Paul into a quick and fierce kiss. Before Paul could say anything, he grabbed a condom packet and lube from the side-table drawer, chucked it onto the comforter nearest Paul, and slid onto his belly on the bed, fighting the urge to grind against it. “We start this way.”
The bed dipped slightly as Paul climbed on. Karl’s whole body tensed, anticipating contact. That first touch, two fingers strolling either side of his spine, sent shivers right through him. As if Paul knew the effect it had, he grabbed Karl's feet, curling his toes.