by Anyta Sunday
"I'm sorry, too."
Paul breathed into his hair. "It just wasn't the right time to tell them. She was too upset about Charlie. It didn't seem fair to her, or honestly to me, to do it right then."
Karl patted his back. Sighed. "I know." He wished he could tell Paul about Timothy's visit, but it wasn't his place—Timothy said he'd do it that coming weekend. In the end, although it affected him, it wasn't his business. "They're back for the book fair, though."
He felt Paul stiffen. "Yes. Sue wanted to take Charlie out on Saturday. I said no."
Teeth cut into his lip as Karl bit down. Paul cocked his head, and said, "Thought you'd be glad I didn't let her get to me."
"Um . . . " A half hour before and Paul would've been right. He'd have been ecstatic. Now though . . . "She was out of line, Paul. I hated how she spoke to you."
"But?" Paul anticipated.
"But, I don't know . . . maybe she just needs to be reassured that she's important. That she's a good grandma, and that you trust her?"
Paul climbed off him. "Wow, I really can't say I expected that." He bunched up to the top of the bed, resting his back against the wall, his brows knitted together. For a few minutes they remained in silence. And then, "Do you think she should get more time with Charlie, too?"
"No. Yes, maybe. I mean, I don't know." Karl scrabbled to his knees and sat facing Paul. "It's your decision. Something you have to feel comfortable with. I don't have a say in this."
Paul's arm shot out, stealing Karl's own. Slowly, their fingers linked. "But I'm asking. What would you do?"
Karl shrugged. He really didn't know. It was still tempting to shake Sue, if he got the chance. Yet, here he was supporting her. "Two weekends every second month, and you finishing work earlier on Fridays."
Paul nodded and then smiled. Again, he sank into a contemplative state. But soon he was tugging Karl closer. He ran a thumb over his smooth cheeks. Searched his eyes. "You're amazing, you know that?"
Karl took the chance to lighten the mood. He looked at Paul through his lashes. "I try."
Laughter overwhelmed them, and Paul pulled Karl down on the bed so they lay next to each other. A lazy grin and deep dimple had Karl feeling pretty darn hot. But just before he moved to lick it, Paul's lips molded into a firm line. "Karl?"
What? And was that a hint of a smile there? "Yeah?"
The grin came back in full force, and he leaned over and whispered in Karl's ear.
Karl sucked in a breath. "We can do that. If you’re ready.”
Paul swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I am. I’ve been imagining it for a while. Undress for me?”
“It's hardly like you need to ask, they're your clothes.” Karl stripped of the T-shirt and used it to loop over Paul’s head and pull him in for a kiss.
“You have no idea how hot you are.”
Karl dropped the T-shirt and kissed him again. More deeply, just more fucking deep. He couldn’t wait for Paul to undress and he pulled at his shirt and fumbled at his pants making quick work of their clothes until they were naked. Hard, and naked, and thrusting against each other as they rolled on the bed kissing, touching, exploring.
“I need you in me, Karl.”
And wasn’t hearing that enough to almost send him over the edge? He grabbed the lube. “Turn over.”
Paul rolled onto his stomach and Karl straddled his warm thighs. His cock pulsed with want, watching Paul’s ass jut up seeking his touch. “Fuck me,” he said, giving himself a quick stroke before uncapping the lube.
“Actually,” Paul said, his words coming out muffled at the side of the pillow. “I was rather hoping you’d be doing that.”
Karl grinned and poured a generous amount of lube between Paul’s ass cheeks. It dribbled down, and Paul bucked back when Karl drew his finger over Paul’s entrance to his balls and back up again.
Keeping his finger at Paul’s ring, Karl bent forward and kissed him on the lower back. “I’m going to play with you a little bit. To get you ready.”
Paul lifted his ass a fraction in response. “I’m so turned on right now,” he said, “I could come onto the bedspread—”
Karl breeched him with his finger, pushing in and slowly out again. A satisfied moan drifted around him, and he did it again. Over and over, until he was adding two fingers and then the tip of a third—
“More. More!” Paul insisted, and Karl couldn’t hold back any longer either. He tore open the condom, rolled it on, and slid his cock into the groove of Paul’s ass, rubbing himself in the excess lube there.
Paul clamped his ass cheeks around him and sensation rocketed through Karl until he was growling at Paul’s ear and nipping it. “You’re going to feel me now, Paul.”
He lifted Paul at the hips, positioning them both, and then pressed his cock against Paul’s entrance.
A deep jagged breath escaped Karl as he inched his cock past the tight ring of muscle. Paul stiffened and Karl ran one hand up to the back of his neck and squeezed. “You okay?”
“Keep going.”
Slowly, he pressed in, filling Paul with his cock. With himself. Deeper and deeper until he was all the way in. Paul was warm and tight, and Karl’s cock was so hard, aching to move.
“So full,” Paul said. “I . . . I love that you’re in me, Karl. Please move.”
Sensation swallowed his cock, his whole damn body, and Karl gave into it, thrusting slow and steady into Paul, angling himself where he knew it would feel best for his man.
A deep groan came from Paul. “That! Yes, that. Again.”
And again, and again. Karl made sure that every stroke he touched that spot that electrified Paul and had him bucking back seeking more of the pleasure.
Karl was squeezed so tight, and Paul’s muscles were massaging his shaft—his body demanded, needed more of him. His thrusts increased in tempo as he plowed into his man. Karl felt for Paul’s cock and took him in hand to the same beat.
“You feel so good,” he said against Paul’s shoulder blade. He nipped the skin there and sucked him—
A spasm of sensation gripped his cock as Paul’s cock throbbed in his hand and he came hard. “Karl!”
He thrust once, twice more and Karl was coming too, his release shooting out of him with never-before felt intensity. He cried out as his body wracked with orgasm, and muffled the words against Paul’s skin. They both collapsed. Paul to the bed, and Karl over Paul. So satisfied. So wonderfully satisfied.
Paul had wanted him this close. Him. Karl.
This beautiful man trusted him.
Karl drew a line of kisses over Paul’s shoulder as his spent cock slid out and onto Paul’s inner thigh. There was the condom to take care of and a mess to sort out, but he wanted this moment with Paul breathing heavily under him to last longer. Karl shifted just enough to press his mouth at his man’s ear. But he had no words for how touched he was. So he gently nipped at his ear and kissed his neck again.
Paul turned his head toward him, gaze locking onto his. “That was . . . I definitely like it this way. Promise me, there’ll be more of that.”
“Promise.”
“Good.”
And Karl kissed him again. Because, yes, he wanted that too. But more because yes! They were forging something here that went deeper than he had with Paul just now. They were . . . they were forging a future.
* * *
Flicking his wrist, he lit the umpteenth match. This time, he cocooned the flame, although why he should need to do that inside, he didn't get. At last all twenty-eight candles were lit.
In the background, voices and laughter rumbled. A nice hint of music under it. Good choice, Tirone. He strained to hear Paul's voice among them but couldn't. Still, he had the sharp memory of Paul's shocked face, and then the deep, real laugh he let out as his friends and workmates shot up from behind the sofas yelling surprise.
Karl bit his lip on the even sharper memory of Paul's gaze cutting straight to him. The mouthed 'thank you.'
The wax of
the candles was already beginning to drip. He spun for a sharp knife, and lifted the zucchini and walnut cake with cream cheese frosting. Paul's favorite, apparently. One step out of the kitchen and he stopped.
"What are you doing?" he queried the man slinking out of the lounge, quietly shutting the door.
Paul twisted. First guilt crossed his face at being caught out. He looked at the cake, and it morphed into a cocky smile. "You make that for me?" He waltzed over, coming so close, Karl had to step back to avoid any of the flames catching Paul's shirt.
"Why are you sneaking out of your own party?"
"They're all entertained in there. Tirone has them captivated. I saw a chance. Took it."
"Chance for what?"
"To get you alone. To thank you, Karl, for organizing this." Paul’s eyes met his. Then, closing them, he blew out all the candles on the cake in one rather impressive sweep.
"I hope you made a wish," Karl said, "because I don't plan on lighting them again."
"Of course I made a wish." Paul took the cake and knife from him and placed them back on the counter. Dunked a finger into the frosting and licked it off. "Tastes good. Wanna know what my wish was?"
Hell yeah, but—"It won't come true if you tell me."
"What if I showed you?"
Gulp. Karl shifted, his hand already at his groin.
Paul tutted. "Someone's head is in the gutter." He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.
Karl itched to cross to him and kiss him senseless; he refrained. "Are you enjoying the party? Did we forget to invite anyone important?"
"No. Everyone I'd want is here." He turned to swipe at more of the frosting, and Karl found himself next to him, swatting his hand. "Aw, but I'm the birthday boy." A pout.
"You're twenty-eight, Paul. But I'll tell you what, let's get rid of these candles—you can eat the frosting of them, if you must."
Paul laughed. And proceeded to do just that.
Funny guy. Karl sighed inwardly as he watched. Paul's glowing expression had him light as a feather. This is what he wanted. Finally, Karl could make up for being a dick kid, and effectively ruining all Paul's parties. At least, it was a start.
"So, any clue what's up with Tirone and Gillian?" Paul asked. "They've hardly spoken a word the last hour . . . "
Karl shrugged. "Longer than that. When we were setting up they barely looked at each other. Well, they did, but only when they knew the other couldn't see."
"Hmmm. I did that, you know."
"What?"
"With us, I mean, in the beginning. When I knew you weren't looking or concentrated on Charlie or cooking."
Karl remembered the night, so many months ago, when Paul watching him had been reflected in the large windows. A shiver ran through him. "I know. I did the same."
Paul paused and hovered between coming closer to him and staying where he was, deciding in the end to concentrate on the cake and candles. "Maybe it's something like that for those two as well?"
"Something's going on, for sure."
Paul's eyes glazed over and a smile crept onto his face. Fighting not to grab Paul into a hug, Karl said, "Stay right there." He ducked out of the kitchen, grabbed the silver-wrapped gift from his room and returned.
He held out the gift, but drew it back in as Paul went to grab it.
"Hey!"
"Wash your hands, first."
Paul dipped them under running water and dried them on the dishtowel. Then beckoned for the gift.
Within seconds, shredded silver paper hit the floor. In his hands, Paul held a dark brown, moleskin notebook.
"Open it up," Karl instructed, coming closer. With gentle fingers, he pried open the clasp and opened.
"It's a book of hand-written recipes," Paul murmured smiling up at him. "Are you saying I need to cook more?"
Karl pinched his side. "Well, it wouldn't hurt, but that's not what this is about." He pointed to the names of the dishes, Paul's Favorite Zucchini and Walnut cake, Charlie's Special Sour Cream, The Only Chocolate Desert Gillian Couldn't Eat Two Servings Of, Apricot-Mango Frosting (Not for Kid's Birthday Parties), Crème Brûlée . . .
Paul had closed his eyes. "I remember the crème brûlée, also known as the The Night I First Kissed You."
His stomach lurched with giddy waves as he thought back on that night. The first real clue Paul was interested in him. Without realizing it, Karl was in front of Paul, arms sliding over his shoulders. Just one quick kiss. He desperately wanted Paul to know how good he felt about them.
He didn't notice the rumblings in the next room get louder as he lowered his head. Didn't hear the click of the door when their lips met. And the subsequent soft steps were lost in the tingles running through Karl as he smiled into the kiss.
The sharp intake of air at the same time a soft, curious voice spoke, he didn't fail to miss. "Papa? Why are you kissing Karly?"
Paul's eyes snapped open and he shoved Karl away at the same time Karl stepped back, causing him to stumble.
"Papa! Don't hurt Karl—"
Gillian, next to Charlie, moved out of her momentary shock and urged Charlie down the hall.
At the same time, Paul began to shake and stutter. He looked so scared and lost; Karl forced himself back to him, grabbing his arms and forcing the man to meet his gaze.
"Paul, no, don't drop your eyes. Look at me. Take a deep breath. It's going to be okay."
"Ok-kay? How is this okay? It's anything b-b-b-but okay, Karl. Charlie just . . . he wasn't supposed to find out like this. Neither was Gillian. I have to talk to them. I—"
"First, you need to calm down. Charlie won't understand what's going on if you talk to him this panicked. And Gill will be fine, she already knows."
The last words slipped out. He only meant to help Paul, to make things less stressful for him, but it had the opposite effect, and Karl knew it the second they'd left him.
Paul's gaze cut to his, confusion and hurt leaked from his expression. His voice remained steady, though. And hard. "She knows?" He pushed Karl away from him again. "How does she already know?"
"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure she's figured it out."
"And how do you know that?" His voice rose, the hurt deepening in his gaze. "No, better question: How long have you known she might know and"—His voice cracked—"not told me?"
"It wasn't like that—"
"How long?"
"A week, Paul. The night we drank whiskey. I—"
Paul let out a laugh of disbelief. "The night you told me about your tooth? The night I knew for sure that I lov—You opened up everything to me. Or so I thought! I believed in us. Believed that we'd always be honest with each other. But you kept this from me?" His face had grown paler with every word. "Didn't you think I had a right to know? It involves me, Karl. You know—knew how much I was struggling with this . . . And I felt so guilty each time I couldn't say something; you kept piling on the pressure, Karl. Sulking in your room, grabbing my hand at reception in front of Natasha earlier . . . and I didn't let myself get upset, because I understood what this meant for you, too. I wanted to make you feel secure, but I was shit scared myself . . . "
His mouth gaped open and he shook his head, like he was speechless. "And now I find out that one of the people I most agonized about telling probably already knows. How could you not tell me? Did you enjoy seeing me struggle or something?"
"Hey!" Karl interjected. "That's bullshit, Paul. And you know it. Come on, you know I hate how hard this is for you."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I wasn't totally sure, I didn't have proof or anything. They never outright said they think you're gay or in a relationship with me. They just hinted at it. But really, Paul, they’re your friends, your family. They need to be the ones to talk to you, not me. All I wanted was to get you to feel comfortable enough, so you could tell them and find out they're okay with it!"
Paul just stared at him, his jaw twitching. "They? Who's they?"
/> Karl's gut churned. He needed to clutch at something, bring them closer again. Reaching out, he wanted to say it wasn't like that—he just hadn't wanted to upset Paul. He'd never thought about it as breaking the trust between them. If he had, he would have said everything right away. But the words didn't form, and Paul leaned back. Away from him.
"Who's 'they', Karl?"
"Sue and Timothy, too."
Paul's eyes closed, and for the longest minute he just stood there taking deep breaths. When he next spoke, his voice came out cold, "You should have told me." In a lower voice, so he caught only the second half, added, " . . . shouldn't have found out like that."
Karl shook his head, anger rising in him. "Hey, you were always sneaking kisses here and there and copping feels when you thought you could get away with it. How did you expect them to find out any other way, if you didn't tell them about us? It's not my fault they found out like this."
"You still should have told me, let me decide whether they knew! Then I might have talked to them sooner, and this wouldn't have happened!"
Karl tried to meet Paul's gaze—to get this fight back under control, but the pain and anger there was too much, and he stared at the cake just behind him. "And what if I had told you, Paul, and I was wrong? And then the only reason you came out to them was because you thought they were fine with it. What if they weren't?"
Karl wished to say more, to say: Those types of assumptions can destroy things. Trust me, I know. Will thought he knew what I was thinking and acted accordingly, and it was so far off . . . Look, you have to want to tell your friends and family regardless of how they react.
But his words were lost to him as the cookbook dropped from Paul's hands to the floor with a smack.
Something started to crack in Karl at hearing it, and Paul completed it with the almost shouted words: "You should have been open with me—talked to me about this. Even if it was just a ‘Not sure, Paul, but I think your friends and family have clued on.’ How hard would that have been? Fuck!" He turned and kicked the bottom cupboard. Then he said, "Right now it really hurts to look at you. Maybe you should go. I just—I can't see you." Then he moved out of the kitchen without looking back.