by John Inman
Voiceless with emotion, I held his trembling body next to mine.
When I thought words would finally come, I offered him only one.
“Always,” I said. “Always.”
LATER THAT night, lying in bed with our heartbeats galloping down to a normal cadence, Dario lifted his face from my stomach and gazed up at me from among the moonlit shadows beaming through my bedroom window.
“We have to do something for Bucky,” he said. “What’s about to happen is all because of him. I mean, with us moving in together and all. With us admitting our love for each other. It’s because of Bucky, Robert. We have to save him.”
I smiled down at Dario gazing up at me. My cock lay soft and moist against his cheek while his breath stirred my pubic hair, cooling my heated skin.
I closed my eyes at the sensation of his hands sliding through the perspiration on my chest.
“We’ll get him into rehab,” I said. “We’ll get him off drugs. Even if it kills him.”
Dario’s teeth shone white in the muted light. I could hear the faint, gentle sound of Clutch purring somewhere in the living room. Dreaming of mice, maybe. Dreaming of tuna.
“I knew my baby would know what to do,” Dario crooned, his lips to my stomach.
And slowly, oh so slowly, we drifted into sleep, never changing our positions.
Hours later, I awoke to find him feeding from me again. I trembled in the darkness and gave him everything he pleaded for.
Still later, as night was ending, I fed from him. When he came, he cried out my name.
I relived that moment in my mind until sleep at last carried me into morning.
Chapter Thirteen
TWO WEEKS later, with the school year ended, Dario moved in.
On a Friday morning in June, I answered my door to find him standing on my doorstep with his belongings scattered around him in shopping bags. Clothes, books, his laptop—the whole shebang.
He looked so hopeful and cute standing there in a puddle of everything he owned in the world that I almost melted on the spot.
“I thought you were going to let me pick you up at the dorm at eleven? What did you do? Take a cab?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t wait. And I didn’t want to be an interruption. You’re working on a new book.”
I puffed up my chest like a gorilla. “That I am. Thanks to you, I’m a writer at work. And you’ll never be an interruption. You’re my lover now. Lovers don’t interrupt. They enhance.”
“I like hearing you say that. Just so you know, I won’t settle for anything less than a bestseller.”
“Oh, God, the pressure. But I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good.”
“Did you get the results back from that final exam you were worried about?”
Dario tried not to look smug and failed miserably. “Biology. Aced the fucker.”
My heart swelled. “Then I guess I’ll let you move in.”
A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. “So you haven’t changed your mind.”
“Are you nuts?”
The soft smile that twisted his lips made me want to kiss it, so I did. I tiptoed through the mess of paper bags on the floor and scooped him into my arms, laying my mouth gently over his in greeting.
Two minutes later, each of us sporting hard-ons, we carted his belongings inside and started stuffing them all into closets and drawers.
When we were finished, I said, “My baby’s home. Let’s have sex.”
He giggled and, ignoring my suggestion, took my hand and led me onto the balcony, where we stood at the railing and gazed out over the city. Clutch purred at our feet until he went off to pester a bumblebee buzzing around my best pot of geraniums, which would probably be shredded to confetti in about thirty seconds.
Dario watched the crazy cat for a minute. Then he trained his eyes on me and said quietly, “Thank you for this.”
“I have a selfish motive,” I said.
His dimples flashed. “And what selfish motive might that be?”
“You,” I said. “You’re my selfish motive.”
He reached up and tousled my hair. “You need a haircut.”
“Nagging already and you haven’t been here five minutes. Let’s have sex.”
He smirked and gave me an exaggerated eye roll. “Have you seen Bucky?”
I sighed. “Yes. He hates rehab even more than he hated the hospital. He’s only staying there because some flunky from Medicaid and a team of doctors from Mercy told him he’d be dead in six months if he didn’t. He wasn’t crazy about the idea, to say the least. Rehab, I mean, not death. He still seems to think meth is a food group. But he promised me he’d give it a try. He’s still too weak to take up his old life on the street anyway. He said to tell you hello. Which was right after he called me an interfering peckerhead. I think he was kidding.”
“Oh, I doubt it,” Dario grinned. “You really are an interfering peckerhead.”
“Thanks.”
He checked his wristwatch. “Now that I’m here, I have to leave.”
I frowned. Actually it was more of a bratty pout. I was pretty sure my dick was pouting too. It was prone to doing that when it didn’t get its way. I dimpled my chin and gave him puppy eyes. “I had plans that involved us getting naked and swapping body fluids.”
He slipped his hand over the bulge in my jeans and gave me a friendly squeeze. “It’ll have to wait, I’m afraid. I’m late already. I have to work the afternoon shift at the restaurant, filling in for one of the guys who’s having a root canal. But since I’m working today, I’ll get off early tonight. Maybe we can swap body fluids then.”
My pout intensified. It was all for show, of course. Or maybe not. “If I have to wait that long, I’ll explode.”
“You most certainly will. I’ll see to it.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Just a quick blowjob?”
He laughed. “Go write. I’ll call later and let you know what time I’ll be home. Don’t get horny and go out and cheat on me with the first homeless meth addict you find on the street.”
“Never.”
“And don’t beat off.”
“I’m too old to beat off.”
“Yeah, right. I’m pretty sure there are old dudes in their nineties beating off in nursing homes even as we speak.”
“Eww.”
He stepped close and wrapped me in his strong arms. His voice sobered. His dark eyes grew as big as eight-balls when he gazed up at me. Laying a hand to my cheek, he closed those incredible eyes and, far too briefly, rose up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to my mouth.
“I love you,” he said again.
“Ditto. Do you have the key I gave you?”
“It’s in my pocket. And the next time you say ditto when I tell you I love you, I’ll break your arm.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll come by the restaurant later and have dinner. Just to see you.”
“I’d like that.” He wiggled out of my arms. “Now let me get dressed for work.”
“Need help?”
“No. You and I both know that would be a big mistake. But I might need help undressing later.”
“It’s a deal.”
I forced myself to let him go. Dario hummed to himself as he ducked into the bedroom to don his work drag, including the reasonably unruined tennis shoes I had bought for him at Foot Locker a couple of weeks earlier.
By the time I sat at the computer and called up the manuscript I was working on, I was humming too. Dario flew off to work with a quick peck to the nape of my neck and the gentle tweak of a nipple as he slid his hand inside my shirt and caressed my chest. Before I could reciprocate, he laughingly pranced out of reach and headed for the door. I smiled, watching him go. It was as if we had been together forever.
Clutch crawled into my lap to fill the void left in Dario’s absence. Or maybe he wanted my heat. He kneaded my nuts until he was comfortable, damn him—it’s
much more enjoyable when Dario does it—then finally settled down and purred himself to sleep while I lost myself in the new manuscript.
The hours sped by as they always do when I am writing well. (When I’m writing poorly, the hours either crawl or stop dead in their tracks.) Dario called from the restaurant as the street lights were blinking to life below on the boulevard and the stars were starting to twinkle over the city’s twilit skyline. Clutch hissed at me when I nudged him out of my lap so I could reach across the desk to answer the phone.
Simply hearing Dario on the other end of the line made me vibrate with contentment. There was something about the gentle timbre of his voice that set my heart racing every time I heard it.
“Baby, I’ve got a surprise for you,” he crooned.
To be a jerk, I gave him the voice I reserved for telemarketers. Cold, snippy, inhospitable. I can be quite an ass when I set my mind to it. It’s a gift of mine. “If it doesn’t involve you undressed with your naked butt in my face or your dick down my throat, then I’m not sure I want it. Who’s calling, by the way? Do we know each other?”
“Very funny. You’ll never guess who I ran into at the restaurant.”
“Jimmy Hoffa?”
“Who?”
Youth. “Never mind. So who is it?”
“An old friend. Here, I’ll put him on.”
“No, wait!” But I was too late.
I heard the rustle of Dario’s cell phone changing hands, a couple of clicks, a bang as if the phone had been dropped on a tabletop, then a gentle query.
“Hello?”
The voice was instantly familiar, of course. I’d known the man for a decade, after all. I even had to admit that recently I had begun to miss the creep.
I let out a sigh, still not sure how I felt about this impromptu reunion.
“Hello, Chaz,” I said.
OUR MEETING was less awkward than I had assumed it would be. For a time.
We sat at Sombreros’ bar and ordered margaritas while Dario finished up his shift in the dining room, at which time we would all sit down for dinner together. At least that was the plan. Chaz seemed relaxed and genuinely happy for the two of us.
Since I knew Chaz, I didn’t trust those vibes he was putting out for a minute. Plus, he was sucking up margaritas as quickly as the bartender could plop them down in front of him. Chaz always could outdrink me. The biggest drawback to Chaz drinking too much was, he occasionally hailed back to his drag queen days and became a big fucking diva when he did it.
Tonight proved to be no exception. Once he was properly fueled by alcohol, his snark gene presented itself.
Chaz sat there with his back to me, his elbow on the bar, studying every move Dario made as he flew from one table to another in the dining room, waiting and bussing and schmoozing the customers. Periodically, Dario would look up and smile in our direction. He seemed to know he was the center of attention.
“He’s a little charmer, isn’t he?” Chaz commented through lips sparkling with margarita salt.
I couldn’t believe Chaz was being sarcastic yet, so I accepted what he said as the god’s honest gospel, which is exactly what it was.
“He certainly is,” I said. “He’s a very sweet guy, Chaz. If you give him a chance, I know you’ll fall in love with him as quickly as I did.”
Chaz spun on his stool, clunked his half-empty margarita glass down on the bar, and shifted his eyes back to me. “I’ll pass. I think there’s enough love for the lad in the room already.”
A twinge of unease settled into me. “Chaz—”
“Don’t get me wrong, Robert. I’m jealous as hell. It’s not every thirty-year-old gay guy who gets to bang a cute young Mexican boy every night of the week. Sex must be pretty hot, huh?”
“Shut up, Chaz. And he’s a man, not a boy.”
Now that I knew which way the wind blew, I began to get mad. I threw back my margarita and waved for the bartender to set me up with another. I would have stormed out, but I wasn’t about to leave Chaz in the same building as Dario without me there to protect him. Dario didn’t know what a bitch Chaz could be. I did.
Chaz was smirking now, hunched over the bar, drink in hand. His eyes were wide with feigned innocence, but behind all that they were mean and cold. “Jesus, Robert. A busboy? You gonna put that in your bio on the dust jacket of your next book. I could be wrong, but it seems to me your readers might expect a little more from your love life than that.”
“My readers have no reason to expect anything from my love life. It’s none of their business. It’s none of yours either, Chaz. You might try to remember that.”
Our voices were rising, and I could see the bartender casting suspicious glances in our direction. When Chaz waved for another drink, the bartender didn’t appear too thrilled about the idea of giving him one.
He came to stand in front of us, his hands on the bar. The guy was a mountain. He had shoulders like the fenders on a ’53 Nash. “I don’t want any trouble in here, guys. I’ll set you up with one more, but that’s it.”
I tried to console the man by making a joke. “We’re having dinner soon anyway. That’ll sober us up.”
“See that it does,” the bartender growled and picked up Chaz’s empty glass.
He reached for mine, but I held my hand over it. I said, “No more for me, thanks,” and the bartender looked relieved to hear it. He stalked off grudgingly to replace Chaz’s drink.
I took the opportunity to hiss in Chaz’s direction. “And Dario’s not just a busboy. He’s going to San Diego State on a scholarship. He’s premed to be a veterinarian, for Christ’s sake. You might show him a little respect for that if nothing else. I don’t recall either one of us going to college on a scholarship. You flounced around in drag to pay the bills, and I worked in every shithole I could find to cover my tuition.”
Chaz’s eyes got even meaner. He hated being reminded of his drag days. “No doubt your boy slipped in under Affirmative Action. They needed a sprinkling of blacks, a couple of Asians, and apparently a certain number of nelly Mexicans to fill their quota. That sort of thing.”
I narrowed my eyes as the blood rushed into my cheeks. My ears felt like they were about to catch fire. I hate getting mad. I always got so damned red when I did. “He slipped in, as you so stupidly put it, because he had a GPA of 4.3 by the time he graduated from high school. He was valedictorian of his class, Chaz. He had letters of commendation from every one of his teachers when he applied for college. He’s only working as a busboy to pay some living expenses. The scholarship that he damned well earned is taking care of everything else. Books, dorm room, everything!”
“How gratifying for him.”
I obeyed a sudden urge to twist an imaginary knife in Chaz’s ego. “Now that he’s living with me, he won’t even need to keep this busboy job if he doesn’t want. I’m more than willing to finance him through his remaining years at school. He’s my lover, after all. It’s the least I can do. There won’t be much financing to it anyway. A little spending money now and then. Maybe a few clothes. I think Dario’s worth that much, don’t you?”
“You’ve really got it bad, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I snapped. “If you’re talking about being in love, this is about as bad as I’ve ever had it. Dario even has me writing again. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. You might want to keep that in mind before you start badmouthing him.”
A flash of pain crossed his face. “So I never meant anything to you.”
I threw my hands in the air. “You’re my friend, dammit! I’m sorry it couldn’t be more, but being friends is better than nothing, isn’t it? We’ve known each other forever. You have to let me love who I want to love. It’s not a matter of choice, Chaz. You can’t plan it out like a budget. It’s not a stock option. Love happens. It just is!”
He snatched his wallet out of his back pocket and slapped a credit card on the bar. His hands were shaking. The bartender swooped in and snatched up the card. H
e looked like he was more than happy to collect and get the two of us out of his hair.
Less than sixty seconds later, the bartender returned with the receipt and Chaz’s credit card. Chaz signed the slip while hissing in my direction, “Drinks are on me.” He grabbed the final receipt from the bartender’s hand, then whirled on me, rigid with anger. His mouth was a cruel slash across his face. “You think I don’t know what love is? Is that what you think?”
I laid my hand on his arm. “No, Chaz, of course n—”
He jerked his arm away. “Don’t touch me!” He stood up so quickly his barstool toppled over behind him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bartender heading in our direction.
Chaz had just enough time to lean over me and snarl in my ear, “He’ll break your fucking heart, Robert. And when he does, you won’t have me to pick up the pieces.” He stood trembling at my side, as if trying to pull himself together. Then he leaned in for one last jab. “Good-bye, Robert. Have a nice life with your little trick.”
I pushed him away. “Fuck you!” I growled. Not original, I know, but the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.
Before I knew he was approaching, Dario was standing behind us, trying to intercede.
“Robert, what’s wrong?” he asked, and to Chaz he said softly, placatingly, “You’re making a scene. Sit down and behave yourself.”
Dario’s eyes and mouth flew wide open in shock when Chaz placed both hands on his chest and shoved him backward. Dario tumbled into a booth behind him, tipping over a candle and startling an old lady dining alone on the other side of the booth.
The next thing I knew, the bartender had Chaz by the nape of his neck like a mother cat and was dragging him toward the front door. Chaz had to do a little tap-dancing to keep up.
Dario clawed his way out of the booth, replaced the extinguished candle on the table, and apologized to the old lady, who still had a glass of iced tea in her hand and a tortilla chip protruding from the corner of her gaping mouth. He apologized to the woman once more, then came to me and put an arm around my shoulder. “You okay?”