Fall through Spring

by Amy Lane

  “Ditto,” Clay said.

  Then, as though knowing Clay really needed his space, Dane backed away. “Now go change. I’ll get our movie tickets while I wait. By the way, when you move in with me, can we burn the couch?”

  “I’m moving in with you?” Clay asked, befuddled.

  “Yes, eventually.” Dane said it with such confidence that Clay figured he must be kidding, and then walked out of the bathroom, leaving Clay to wander into his bedroom to get dressed.

  When he got there, he discovered that the “thing” Dane had needed to grab from his car was really a shopping bag full of new clothes.

  “When did you have time to get these?” he asked in pure astonishment, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Jeans in his current size, button-down shirts in his current size, everything with just a hint of stretch in it, just in case Clay lost his mind and went back to Oreos as a staple. There had to be a week’s worth of clothing spread out on his bed, with some sci-fi themed T-shirts and pajama bottoms thrown in for good measure, as well as a ten-pack of boxer briefs that weren’t full of holes and wouldn’t hang off his currently leaner ass.

  “See this handy little computer in my hand?” Dane asked. “It has Wi-Fi, and I know all the Twitters. Now try some of it on so we can go.”

  Clay flailed his hand, realizing his other hand was cramping from holding on to the towel for so long.

  “But… but Dane—”

  “But what? Jesus, Clay, they’re clothes. Put them on. We’re burning the others with the couch, just so you know.”

  “But what if I get fat again? Er. What if I get fatter again?”

  Dane shrugged. “Then we buy more new clothes. I don’t see a down side. Now say ‘Thank you’ and get dressed.”

  “Thank you,” Clay said automatically. “But—”

  “I’ll be in the living room. You have ten minutes or my feelings are going to be hurt.” Dane smiled coquettishly. “Also, I figured we’d go to Rubio’s for lunch. You could have a salad or a California bowl or whatever, and then we could share some candy at the movie theater. Do whatever you have to do in your phone to make that right, but get a move on!”

  “No candy during the movie,” Carpenter said, a little desperate for control. As Dane turned around with his mouth wide open to complain, he finished the thought. “There’s this dessert place that puts ice cream between donut halves. I figured we could split one.” He bit his lip shyly. “I, uh, figured it out on my app and everything.”

  “Nice.” Dane gave him an approving smile, and Carpenter’s panic at seeing himself cared for eased a little.

  “Thanks for the clothes,” he said softly. “It’s… nice.”

  Dane’s smile went sly. “Oh, honey, you know I’m motivated by self-interest. I want the world to see who’s holding my hands at the movies.”

  He sauntered out, and Clay picked a lightweight collared shirt in a pretty sage green and a pair of cargo shorts that would not go past his knees and hoped for the best. He was dressed in five minutes and spent the next five putting the rest of his clothes away so his bed was clear.

  He resolutely didn’t think about why it would be a good idea if his bed was cleared off.

  “So help me—” Dane muttered, coming into the room as he hung the last of the shirts. “Oh! Okay. You’re dressed. Good choice. I like green on you.”

  “It looks good on Mason too,” Clay told him. “You’re gonna be surrounded by plants.”

  “Green things are good. Now let me take a look.” Dane turned Clay forward, then stood dutifully back, looking him up and down. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Lift your arm.”

  Clay raised his arm obediently and Dane yanked on the sleeve. They both heard the popping of the tag, and Clay grimaced. “Sorry,” he said. The one on the shorts had been chafing into his waist and easier to spot.

  “Nope, no sorry.” Dane wrapped his arms around Clay’s shoulders from behind and nuzzled his jaw, and Clay relaxed happily into the hug and made a realization.

  “If we’re gonna do this, this is gonna be us,” he said, thinking about Dane’s warmth, his happiness, the way they always seemed to entertain each other, even when things sucked and they were barely holding on.

  “What is?” Dane asked, seemingly fascinated by his earlobe. He played with it for a moment, until Clay let out an unconscious moan.

  “You’re killing me. I’m going to die from a permanent erection, and people are gonna go, well, he may have been a fat guy, but at least he had a chubby.” Dane nipped his earlobe, and he gasped this time, not wanting to lose contact. “All the touching. You like to touch. You will be touching me all the time.” He remembered being a kid, when hugs were doled out like carob, as a reward.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Dane purred, and Clay turned around so they were in each other’s arms.

  “No,” he said, and this time he initiated the kiss, capturing Dane’s somewhat pouty mouth and shoving his tongue inside, liking the way Dane melted against him, as if he was helpless, and let Clay take over.

  Dane made Clay feel like he had control, over the touching, over the kissing, over his life. Clay loved the control, but he wanted to use it to make Dane happy, so there was a lovely, blissful little feedback loop going on there, much like this kiss. Clay pushed forward, Dane accepted, Dane pushed back, Clay opened his mouth and let Dane in.

  Long and deep, passionate and wet, their hands just holding, soothing, roaming but not intruding, until Dane pulled back and rested his forehead against Clay’s.

  “We have a plan,” he panted.

  “It’s a good plan,” Clay agreed.

  “Healthy lunch.”

  “I like this plan.”

  “Movie.”

  “Great plan.”

  “Dessert.”

  “Still good.” Clay took a deep breath through his nose because everything in his body was trembling and trying to tell him to fuck the plan, fuck the date, and fuck—

  Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

  “We’ve got to go,” Dane murmured, taking a step back.

  “I want you.” It was a revelation, in its way. He’d known it back in February, when he’d kissed Dane that one night. But then, as Dane had spiraled into not-Dane, the angry, pissed-off, bitter dark version of himself that tried to hurt people and drive them away, he’d stomped on it.

  “I’ve wanted you since we met,” Dane said, the strain of making that light obvious in his voice. “We can wait through an actual date to make out on the couch.”

  Clay blinked and swallowed, then reached for the end table where he’d left his wallet, phone, and keys. “Since we met?” he said, pausing before he turned around.

  “You said you weren’t gay,” Dane told him. “And my heart sort of disintegrated. And then you said, ‘But Skipper and Richie didn’t know until a couple of weeks ago,’ so I hoped.”

  Clay swallowed. “I’m so scared,” he admitted.

  Dane’s hard breath told him he took this seriously, even as his hand on Clay’s urged him on. “I’m terrified. Let’s go watch a superhero movie.”

  Clay nodded and followed him out.

  We Can Be Heroes

  DANE SAT in the movie theater with his head on Carpenter’s shoulder and watched the screen dreamily. He had no idea what was happening in the movie, but his body was humming in excitement. He had to check his pill calendar three times to make sure he was up on his meds—this physical reaction to his endorphins was beyond his experience.

  The memory of Carpenter, mostly naked, staring at him with those enormous eyes and letting Dane render him bare and vulnerable had been possibly the most erotic thing Dane had seen in his long and distinguished list of sexual encounters.

  That wasn’t just sex—although Dane couldn’t keep his hand away from Carpenter’s thigh as they watched the movie, because he wanted to glut his palms on Clay’s skin—but trust.

  This man had seen him at his absolute worst—so
bad that Dane couldn’t remember most of it.

  And he’d somehow seen Dane as he wanted to be, instead. They shared the same snark brain, and Dane wanted to learn from his kindness. They shared the same loyalty for Clay’s friends and Dane’s brother. They shared the same belief that being happy was the best form of success.

  And they seemed to share a deep and abiding hunger to feel the other one naked.

  Dane wasn’t sure what the other shoe would look like, but he knew it was coming. He wanted to get Carpenter naked first. He hadn’t had many—any!—truly successful relationships, but he knew that if it was a relationship, sex made it harder for both parties to walk away.

  That was partly bad. That last real relationship—the one that had led to his boyfriend’s destroyed apartment and a dorm deposit his parents would never get back—had seemed so much more entangled because they’d been having sex. The sex had been seductive, and Dane tended to be hypersexual when he was on an upswing, anyway. The itch had been ever-present, the need all-consuming, and whatever Anthony had asked for, Dane would give, as long as he’d “do me baby one more time.”

  But in this case, with Clay, Dane knew it would be different.

  For one thing, Clay wouldn’t hurt him—not on purpose.

  For another, the few hints Clay’d dropped about his sex life—or his ex of about two years before—said that he took sex seriously. Well, of course. Letting someone see him naked—or without a shirt, even—was an act of trust. He just wouldn’t trust someone to get that close. And why not? His parents doled out approval like starvation rations. Carpenter wasn’t going to trust that someone he cared about would unconditionally accept him with all his little quirks.

  Sex was important—to both of them. Which was why they had both insisted on the date, probably. Dates were… formal. This right here, Dane’s head on Clay Carpenter’s shoulder, their fingers twining as their hands rested on Clay’s meaty thigh, that was a public announcement right there. Clay wasn’t going to deny their relationship and Dane wasn’t going to just wander off with some other guy.

  Amid the banter and the crosstalk and the hipster snark, this relationship had been serious from the get-go, because they’d started out as friends, and then they’d become important friends, and then they’d let each other see the places inside where not even friends were allowed.

  Confidence by confidence, emotional support strut by securing rope, they’d become naked in each other’s hearts long before this moment, when all Dane wanted was to touch Clay’s naked body with his own.

  Ten years ago, he would have grabbed Carpenter’s hand and blown him in the bathroom—he wasn’t even ashamed of that. Ten years ago, his bipolar had gone untreated, and his body had craved, and his self-awareness had been nil, and he hadn’t really had anyone in his life he wanted to keep badly enough to make it important.

  But this was special. They weren’t having candy so they could have dessert afterward. Clay was wearing new clothes that looked damned good on him, just for Dane. Clay had cleaned his apartment—really, really well—and bought a new sheet and comforter set, one in muted blue and beige, that Dane really liked.

  Things were special because they mattered, and in Dane’s whole life, nobody had mattered this much besides family.

  So Dane, who was known for being restless as fuck during movies, didn’t even twitch. He just soaked in the presence of the nicest guy he’d ever known and enjoyed the explosions. Eventually, he even settled in and figured out the plot.

  THE DONUT ice cream place really was as good as Clay had advertised, and they cut the donuts in half so they each got a super-decadent ice cream sandwich with salted caramel ice cream and almond slices and chocolate chips.

  “God,” Dane said, licking the last of the ice cream from his fingers. “That was stunning! How come nobody knows about this place?”

  “They had a line to get in—somebody knows about this place!” Clay had finished his half off as well, but then, he’d saved up for it.

  “Okay. How come I didn’t know about this place?”

  Clay’s smile deepened—and yes, his dimple popped when he did that. “Because we’ve never been on a date before.”

  Dane gave him a smile that was all teeth. “You ready for the date to continue?” Outside, the sun was getting ready to set, and Clay nodded.

  “Do you want to go watch the sunset first?” he asked. “I mean, there’s a park near my place, or the river—”

  “We can stop at the park on the way back,” Dane allowed. “Maybe tomorrow, we can go to Sailor Bar after we help Terry move in and see it by the river.”

  But he’d said the magic words—Terry move—and even as Carpenter stood up and pulled Dane’s chair out in an unconscious moment of chivalry, Dane became aware of the savage melancholy of tomorrow’s approaching move… and of his worry for his brother.

  “You really think Terry’s going to bolt?” Dane asked, hating the quaver in his own voice.

  Clay grimaced and grabbed Dane’s hand to pull him out of the ice cream shop. “Yeah, baby. I’m sorry. I think he has to. He hasn’t really been living, you know? For all he knows, grown-ups don’t get a Mason in their lives.”

  “It’s stupid,” Dane muttered. “Mason was with his ex-douchebag for four years. Four years! But Ira was… well….”

  “A douchebag,” Carpenter supplied. “Yeah. Anybody who would cheat on your brother and make him feel bad about himself is the biggest douchebag around.”

  “But you know what? As much as I hated Ira, I wasn’t as… as….” Again, his hands did that flailing thing. “As hurt by their breakup as I am thinking about Terry bolting like a scared Yorkie.”

  Carpenter sputtered. “That’s what he looks like—my God. I’ve been trying to figure out where I’ve seen those eyes before, but you’re totally right. But yeah, I get it. I mean, we like Terry. And we get him. He’s not going to hurt your brother out of a lack of respect or because he thinks he can do better. He’s just trying to figure himself out, and he hasn’t had a chance to do that until now. I mean… it sucks, because it’s Mason, and we love him, but it’s not like we can slash Terry’s tires over it or anything.”

  “Would you slash Ira’s tires?” Dane asked, completely serious. “Asking for a friend.”

  “I’d have no idea how to slash someone’s tires. You’d have to ask Richie. But I’m down for the road trip alone. Where’s this Ira jerkoff live?”

  Dane grinned at him, feeling all sunshiny inside. “You’re the best,” he said in complete sincerity. “I’d marry you.”

  Carpenter let out a low chuckle, and Dane leaned into him as they walked through the parking lot. “But first…,” Clay said, dropping a kiss on the top of Dane’s head.

  “First,” Dane supplied, “we have to have a first night of kisses.”

  “Is that what it is?” Carpenter murmured. “I like how that sounds. By the way, when am I getting you home?”

  Dane almost stopped, which would have been disastrous because that would have made Clay fall. “You’re getting me home?”

  “Well, uh….” Clay frowned. “This is a date? Did you bring moving clothes and meds for tomorrow?”

  Dane scowled. “Goddammit,” he muttered. “Apparently you’re bringing me home around one in the morning, but only if you pack your own clothes so we can drive your SUV.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with your car?”

  “You wouldn’t be in it. Damned meds. I brought tonight’s dose but not tomorrow morning’s. Shit. It’s a good thing I brought rubbers and lube or I’d have to kick my own ass.”

  He pretty much heard Carpenter’s eyes click to their widest setting.

  “You brought, uh….”

  Dane looked sideways just to see him blush. “Yeah, Clay. I brought rubbers and lubricant. Although I’m pretty sure if we both compared health screenings, the rubbers might be unnecessary.”

  “I haven’t had sex in two years,” Clay said ruefully. “My last employe
e physical ran the test and my screen was clear.”

  Dane had suspected as much. “I haven’t had sex in almost a year,” he said, because he’d banged pretty much all comers when he’d been working at the restaurant. “I used condoms faithfully, and the PrEP protocol is part of my medication.” He paused and swallowed. “I’ve been absolutely on target for my meds all month.”

  “I know that,” Carpenter said, and Dane knew he did.

  “And my health screening was clear in March when they were testing my med levels.”

  “Oh,” Carpenter said, like that had just occurred to him. “So, uh, we don’t really, uh—”

  “No, Clay,” Dane said softly as they drew near the SUV. “We don’t.”

  “Why are you on PrEP?”

  Dane blew out a breath. “Because sometimes hypersexuality is among the symptoms of bipolar disorder. I was not particularly careful before my diagnosis, and let’s just say that when I’m lucid, I remember how lucky I got. I went on PrEP in case I ever got sloppy again.”

  Clay let out a breath. “You are so… so strong,” he said after a moment. “You’ll, uh, let me know, right? If, uh—”

  Dane felt the flush of embarrassment creep up his neck—not from his sexual history, but from his medication past. “I promise,” he said softly. “If I’m ever out of my mind enough to cheat on you, you’ll know. I want to be well—I want to stay well—so I can be the sort of man you can count on. And if my meds stop working again, I promise that me cheating will be the rock-bottom of the spiral, okay? You’ll be in the loop a long time before it gets that bad. You were last time, right?”

  Clay nodded, turning his head toward the freeway, where they could both see the sky turning pink. “I trust you,” he said, his eyes distant. He turned back to face Dane, and Dane caught his breath. He really did look serene. “I just need you to not run away after tonight, you understand?”

  Dane nodded. “Yeah. I get that. I’ve got nowhere better to be.”