Steamy Dorm

by Kristine Robinson

  Chapter Twelve

  Ryan:

  The hard, plastic chairs at the police station are not conducive to sleeping. I can’t sleep anyway and spend most of the night pacing the hallway thinking about William and Dean and what a mess I’ve made of my life. Okay, mostly I’m just thinking about Dean. Though my body keeps moving, my thoughts remain suspended above the moment outside the bar when we almost kissed. It felt like Velcro between us, everything in the universe urging us together. He wanted me to kiss him and I wanted to. Our bodies were leaning towards each other. His breathing was a little ragged like his heart was beating fast. I know mine was. I could have gone home with him tonight, could have tipped him back on the bed and feasted on his beautiful body all night long. We could have been tangled in his sheets right now. Instead, I’m at the prison.

  To make matters worse, we parted badly and it was entirely my fault. I ignored him once I realized that Will was in trouble. I realize, now, that I shouldn’t have done that and that he had been trying to get my attention on the way over here but I was too focused on Will’s situation. And then, when he tried to help, I responded with anger. I’ll be lucky if he even wants to speak to me after this, never mind climb into bed with me.

  I’m cursing myself and my rotten lot in life, wishing I could be a normal, young, single guy, wishing I could go back to that moment and take Dean in my arms the way I wanted to. But I’m not a normal guy. I’m a pseudo-parent to my younger brother. And he’s in prison. Which means I’ve failed.

  In the morning, when William is finally released, I’m so relieved to see him that I go to embrace him. I think that, subconsciously, I’m reaching for tangible evidence that he’s okay. He shrugs me off and saunters nonchalantly out to the car as though nothing has happened. After the worried, sleepless night I’ve had because of his actions, his behavior strikes me as unacceptably childish and hurtful. I defended him! I’ve always defended him…And for what?

  “Did you have a good time in jail, Will? I’m guessing you’ll be spending a lot of time there in the future, so I hope you like it.”

  I let my anger seep through the words. I want him to know that I’m not going to protect him forever. I can see his sullen profile out of the corner of my eye. Like always, he has no interest in dealing with his problems. Bypassing the inconvenient fact of his first arrest, he announces that he’s hungry. He wants me to pick up breakfast on the way home. I’m so mad, I could throttle him.

  “This doesn’t go away just because you don’t talk about it, Will. What were you thinking? A bar fight? Over what?”

  “Just shut up about it! It happens. Whatever. It’s over.”

  Our anger at each other had been building for a long, long time. Now we’re getting into it and it’s escalating. I am pissed. I cuff him lightly on the back of the head and he flips out. At a red light, he punches me in the eye and gets out of the car. I let him go, watching his ratty coat disappear around a corner. I take my shock, outrage, pain, and sadness to the only person I know I can lean on: Dean.

  Dean opens the door without a word and leads me back to sit with him on the very couch where our story began. He leaves the room momentarily and I can hear him rummaging through his freezer. He returns with a bag of frozen peas which he presses firmly but gently against my eye. It’s a good thing he eats his vegetables, I think ruefully.

  Without consciously deciding to, I start telling him about William’s accident. How, as children, we would meet after school to walk home together. I’m 3 years older than Will and it was my job to look out for him. But on this one day, some of my friends invited me to hang out and I forgot about Will. He wandered the neighborhood for most of the evening. When I got home, my parents were freaking out, of course. We all went out looking for Will. We finally found him about 5 blocks from school in a stranger’s empty dog house. Despite all the counseling, he just never was the same after that.

  “I mean, he was a little kid, just 9 or 10. It really messed him up and it was all my fault.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dean:

  I listen quietly as Ryan explains why he feels so responsible for William. Ryan relates his history as though it were a confession and I’m beginning to see the extent to which this one childish mistake has dominated the landscape of his development as an adult. We’re sitting close together on the couch. I have my arm across his shoulders and, as he speaks, Ryan watches my face for a reaction and I’m careful to keep my expression neutral. I now understand how sensitive this topic is and that I need to tread lightly. My heart aches for both boys, William being lost, confused, and demoralized and Ryan too. I imagine him a gangly adolescent, responsible even then, protective of his little brother. I can picture the scene: his return home, his parents upset and letting him believe that the rippling consequences of a 12-year-old’s mistake are his to bear for the rest of his life. I feel a stab of anger towards Ryan’s parents for their negligence with both boys.

  Ryan resembles that little boy now, he looks so small and vulnerable. His shoulders are drooping and his head hangs; when he searches my face, only his eyes tilt upward from his downcast face. I rub his back in slow half circles and wait for my swirling thoughts to settle before responding.

  “It’s a terrible thing that happened to William…It’s also a terrible thing that happened to you. William was not the only child in this story. You were also a child. You were not Will’s father. You were a child. You can’t punish yourself forever for one little mistake. And it was a ‘little mistake.’ I don’t know a parent who hasn’t forgotten to pick up their kid from school or from soccer practice or from something. It happens all the time. The only difference is that usually the kids are scared but unharmed. I’m not disappointed in you. I’m disappointed in the adults around you who let you take on the guilt and responsibility of being a parent when you were 12 years old!”

  It’s apparent that Ryan has never thought of it this way before. He doesn’t argue with me so I decide to push my luck.

  “Look, I know you feel guilty about what happened but you’ve more than done your duty by him. It’s time to let him grow up and you’ve gotta stop treating him like a child if you ever want him to grow up.”

  Ryan does not get angry like he did the last time I brought up this idea. He looks troubled and uncertain but finally ready to consider the possibility. I make us some sandwiches and we spend the afternoon together. It’s amazing that we don’t run out of things to talk about, but it’s like he’s the friend I always needed to talk to.

  We end up talking late into the night. At one point, seeing the dark shiner swelling around his eye, I reach out to trace it with a finger, wincing in sympathy and asking if it hurts. He captures my hand, as he did at the bar, but this time brings my fingers to his lips. He kisses my fingertips. I can’t help responding to his touch but it’s very late and we’re exhausted. We end up falling asleep on the couch, my arm still around him and his head on my shoulder. But in my dreams his lips don’t stop at my fingertips.

  My dreams are laced with delightful images of Ryan’s mouth on my body. He takes one of my fingers into his mouth, gently sucking and nibbling the tip, all the while keeping his eyes locked on mine. Watching desire bloom across my face and body turns him on and he continues his onslaught with more gusto before moving down my arm, sliding clothing out of the way as though my body were his to do with as he likes.

  He’s supremely confident and deliberate in his seduction. His warm breath on my bare skin lifts the hairs on my arm and sends goose bumps down my spine. He presses his lean, hard body up against mine so that I can feel his erection while he works my body up and down with his sensuous mouth, pausing only to expertly remove my clothing, one article at a time. Before unzipping my pants, he presses his hand against my erection as thought to gauge my readiness. I’m ready. He sets me free and bends to meet me with a hunger that matches my own.

  Early the next morning I wake to a flood of memories from the night before. And
that’s not the only flood. I slip out of Ryan’s sleeping embrace to clean myself off before he can wake up and discover me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ryan:

  It’s early morning and I wake to Dean’s anxious face inches from mine. He’s shaking my arm and glancing at the door. I’m confused for a moment but then I hear it: the scratch and rattle of someone picking the lock. Without hesitation, I grab a lamp from the end table and approach the door. Finally, the rattling stops, there’s a click, and the door swings open. I raise my arm to strike but stop suddenly, startled. It’s William. How is it he can’t figure out how to ride the bus but he can pick locks without any trouble at all?

  I’m relieved that he’s okay but a little irritated at his interruption and casual breaking-and-entering. I stalk back to the living room and tell Dean not to worry, it’s just Will. We share a glance, comprehension dawning on our faces; this must be how Will got into Dean’s apartment in the first place. We exchange tired smiles and Dean gets up to make us some coffee.

  William is impatient for me to drive him home, but I insist on finishing my coffee first, partly because I don’t want to leave and partly because I’ve had two long nights in a row and I am exhausted. Instead of leaving, I wish I could sneak upstairs with Dean and crawl into bed. We could get some more sleep…eventually.

  I sit with Dean in the cozy kitchen while Will pulls books off the shelf in the living room. We can hear Will carelessly rummaging around. I wince, apologize on Will’s behalf, and promise to pay for anything broken. Then we both try to tune him out.

  Dean is subdued. He’s trying to hide it, but every so often a forlorn expression crosses his face. I know it has nothing to do with my destructive little brother.

  “What is it?” I ask gently.

  “Nothing, it’s just…my apartment never felt empty before with just me in it but, I can’t help thinking that, when you guys leave, it’ll be just that: empty and kinda lonely.”

  I know that Dean has lived alone for a few years, since his parents died. His little apartment is functional, bright and clean. I look around, feeling comfortable here by the kitchen window with morning sunlight streaming into our steaming mugs. It’s a friendly space with good company and I’m also sad at the thought of leaving.

  Dean finds my eyes and says, “You know, I really admire the way you take care of people. I’ve never known anyone who does that.”

  “You’ve given me hope,” he adds with a shy smile. “Maybe someday I’ll find my knight in shining armor, someone who could love me enough to go to any means to protect and care for me.”

  The compliment embarrasses me in a good way. I’m flattered and pleased that he sees these virtues in me but strangely disquieted at the thought of him shopping around for someone else to love and care for him. I didn’t exactly apply for the job, or anything, but I’m starting to feel a little possessive of Dean.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dean:

  I’m nervous about my date tonight. Blind dates are always dicey, but I’m motivated to find someone special so I decided to put myself out there. When Ryan calls, I feel unaccountably guilty, like I’m doing something wrong. I’m not sure why, but I find myself hoping I don’t have to mention my upcoming date. But Ryan asks me out for a drink so I’m forced to explain why I can’t go.

  He sounds a little out of it and I’m wondering if he’s coming down with a cold. I feel even more guilty when he tells me that he just retook the bar exam. That explains it! He’s brain dead from focusing intensely all afternoon. I know how much it means to him to pass the bar, he’s been working so hard! Now, I’m wishing that I didn’t have a date; I’d rather catch up with Ryan and I’m dying to hear how the exam went. But cancelling last minute is too disrespectful and lying to Ryan is out of the question. So, I tell him.

  “Hey, I would love to get that drink with you, but I have a date tonight.”

  “Oh, cool, no problem,” he answers too quickly, “next time, then.”

  I can tell that I hurt his feelings. I want to apologize, but putting it into words would make it more awkward so I ask him how William is doing and how he thought he did on the exam. We chat for another minute but it’s strained.

  The conversation lags and, with forced cheerfulness, he says, “hey, I hope your date goes well. You’ll have to fill me in later.”

  We hang up and I jump in the shower. Rinsing off, I think about our conversation; there’s no mistaking it, Ryan is jealous. But he’s never asked me if I had a boyfriend. Of course, he’s never asked me if I’m gay, either; some things you just know without asking. Letting the hot water stipple the back of my neck, sluice off my shoulders, and course in rivulets down my soapy body, I relax and close my eyes. I’m immediately flooded with images of Ryan from my dreams the other night. I can practically feel his embrace behind the curtain of steam. It’s all too easy to imagine him here beside me, his hands encircling my waist, his delicious baritone voice in my ear. I’m immediately aroused and have to spend a few extra minutes in the shower recovering from my own treacherous thoughts.

  Afterwards, I step out of the shower and grab a threadbare blue towel. Vigorously toweling off, as though punishing myself for my weakness and lack of self-discipline, I vow to avoid thinking about Ryan and his jealousy, whether real or imagined. Sure, we have wonderful sexual chemistry but his priority is clearly not me; it’s his brother. I can easily imagine William barging in while we’re having sex and Ryan, albeit apologetically, excusing himself to go drive his brother into town. Plus, Ryan hasn’t exactly said he wants to be with me.

  I focus on my date instead, which involves dinner at a bistro downtown with live music to follow. How bad could it be? I shave and dress sharp before heading over to the restaurant. When I arrive at the restaurant, I see a man matching the description of my date and I approach him, tentatively smiling.

  Too late, I notice the cigarette dangling from his hand. I can’t avoid him, he’s already seen me. He introduces himself and embraces me as though we already know each other. I wince as the acrid smoke transfers from his shirt to mine. The date unravels from there. He looked cute in his picture but the picture must have been taken several years earlier. This guy looks like the asthmatic older brother of the guy in the picture. To top it off, he laughs at his own jokes, which aren’t funny. Halfway through, I make my excuses and duck out.

  I slink home, discouraged by this cruel reminder of why I had stopped dating in the first place. Moments after getting home, my phone rings. It’s Ryan! He’s surprised to find me home and I wonder why he had called, knowing I was supposed to be out on a date tonight. But I’m happy he did, so I don’t point out the illogic.

  I admit that my date turned out to be a disaster. He tries to play it cool, but I can tell that he’s pleased. We decide to go out for that drink after all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ryan:

  When I get to the bar, Dean’s already settled into a booth with a gin and tonic. I rarely drink gin. As we exchange greetings, I watch him take a slow sip and can’t help thinking that it looks good going down. This feels like a night for expansion. I order the same and slide in across from him.

  I’m feeling elated now that it’s been a few hours since finishing the bar exam. All I have to do now is wait. The exam was long and difficult, of course, but I think I did well. When I share this impression with Dean, his face lights up. I smile back, pleased to see how much he cares, and ask him to tell me about his date.

  “It was terrible,” he confided in a pained voice. “Why didn’t he just tell me that he was a smoker before meeting? That’s just common courtesy! And when we actually sat down, we had nothing to say to each other. So awkward, you know?”

  “So, if you don’t mind my asking…” I trailed off, feeling shy all of a sudden.

  “Why did I go?” he prompted.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s just, after you left the other morning, the apartment felt so empty. I guess
I was just lonely,” Dean admitted sheepishly. “But now I remember why I stopped dating in the first place,” he rolled his eyes.

  “Because dating sucks?” I suggested

  “Exactly!”

  We swap anecdotes; the worst experiences make the best stories and, soon, we’re both laughing at the absurdity of looking for that needle in a haystack. We order another round. He shares his frustration with how small the dating pool is for gays in the city.

  I nod sympathetically, “I know. Almost anyone you meet is either an ex, a friend’s ex, or a pariah.”

  This leads us to more anecdotes as we reminisce about finding that perfect someone only to realize that he’s the douchebag who broke your best friend’s heart or he’s the guy that your last boyfriend cheated on you with. Things get complicated very quickly.

  We’ve both had more than a few drinks when Dean accidentally knocks his over. He gets out of the way just in time to spare his slacks but the boozy fizz pours off the table onto his seat. We sop it up with napkins as best we can but his seat is wet. He scoots in next to me. We pick up the conversation, but now our shoulders and thighs are pressed together. There’s heat where our bodies touch. I say something to him, just to get him to turn his face towards me. When he does, I lean forward and gently press my lips against his. He smells like soap and gin and his eyes are closed. I can feel the soft bristles on his cheek; he must have shaved for his date tonight. He’s kissing me back.

  It feels so good to finally touch my lips to his, after longing for it for weeks, that we stay like that for a full minute just savoring it. His full lips meet mine and are open slightly. I press my advantage and begin to tentatively explore his mouth with my tongue. He groans involuntarily low in his throat, like a thirsty man tasting sweet sweet water and places a possessive hand against the back of my neck. He clings to me in the booth with one hand behind my head and the other sliding up my torso, underneath my shirt. I gasp at the heat where his hand touches my bare skin and kiss him more aggressively. I can’t help it; I want to devour him. When we break apart, I search out his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, and find in them the answer to my question. Any further doubt I have dissolves in the next moment when he asks, hoarsely, “do you want to come back to my place?”