Hush

by Tal Bauer

  Mike dressed in his wrinkled suit. They’d left it on the ground in a heap last night. Mike shrugged, grinning, and Tom laughed as he slid a pair of old boxers and a t-shirt on. Etta Mae ignored them both, still snoring.

  Tom made coffee and toast, and they drank a cup together, sharing kisses and bites.

  “Come back tonight?” Tom’s stomach clenched as he asked. Mike had left once, and he’d thought that was the end. That wouldn’t happen again. They’d crossed a line together, and now they were, well, together. Right?

  Mike smiled, his face lighting up. He had his tie draped around his neck and his button-down was undone, and he looked like an old frat boy after a wild evening. “I’d love to come back tonight.”

  “Bring a bag for the weekend?” Tom would push his luck as far as it would go.

  Mike’s smile grew even larger. He nodded. “I have a volleyball game Friday. Want to come?”

  “Of course. They’ll be surprised now, I’m sure. From not-gay to dating in one week?”

  “You want to be open about this? Us?”

  “I’m… not ready for the front page of the newspapers. I’m not ready for a public declaration, or to be the eleventh openly gay federal judge. Yet. But, with your friends?” He took a deep breath. “I want to be with you. And you’re out. I want to be out, too, eventually. I will get to where you are. I promise.”

  “I’d like that. I haven’t dated someone in the closet in a long, long time.”

  “Didn’t like it?”

  Mike looked contrite. “It was different than your situation. But it was tough. I’m not going to lie.”

  “I’ll get there. I promise. I want to start being open in front of your friends.” He exhaled slowly. “One step at a time.”

  “Together.” Mike leaned over and kissed Tom’s cheek. “When you’re ready. We’ll do it together, okay?”

  “Okay.” He cupped Mike’s face and kissed him again, slower.

  Eventually, Mike pulled back, groaning. “If I don’t leave now, I won’t make it home to shower and change and get back to work on time.”

  “That’s a problem? What if you just call in today? We can work on more of those condoms.”

  “Mmm. You bring up a tempting offer. But I work for this really ball-busting judge. I can’t let him down. He likes to torture me.”

  “Torture you?”

  “Yes. He is so damn sexy, his smiles make my heart pound, his laugh turns me into a teenage girl, and I’m trying to impress him all the time—”

  “Okay! Okay!” Tom shoved at Mike’s shoulders, his face flushed and burning. He couldn’t look at Mike.

  “I really mean that, Tom.”

  Silence. Tom still couldn’t look at him.

  “Tom. I do.” Mike ducked and found Tom’s gaze. “All those times you said you weren’t my type?” He shook his head. “You are definitely my type.”

  “I’m nothing like your ex. I’m… two decades older than him, in fact.”

  “It’s not about age. Or looks. My ex wasn’t a good person. I want to be with someone who is a great man. Who is kind and wonderful and has integrity. Someone really special. Someone… like you.” He bit his lip. “I never thought I’d be able to attract you. I didn’t think I was who someone like you wanted. I’m just a bruiser with a badge and a gun. You should be with a lawyer, or a doctor, or some millionaire who will take you to California and Paris for the weekend. Someone way better than me. I can’t do that, so I stopped trying to compete with the guys who could. And then, the younger guys, the vapid, catty ones, they came flocking.” He shrugged and scrunched up his face. “I got used to it. It was easy. They wanted a meathead, and that’s what I am. But that doesn’t mean that’s what I really wanted. Which… I realized every time I wanted more and they flamed out.”

  “You’re not a meathead. And you’re not a bruiser with a badge and a gun.”

  “Well, I play volleyball, too.”

  “You’re a good guy, Mike. You’re who I want. All of you.” Silence. Then, “Is this what you meant about being reflective?”

  Mike nodded. “Kris and I have been talking a lot. Or, Kris has been beating advice into me, and I’ve been taking it. And then thinking things through when he’s not around to gloat. I give myself a lot of headaches.” Mike hesitated. “I really, really, really like you, Tom. I’m… not kidding when I say I want this to go all the way. And I need to be upfront with you now, because if you’re not feeling it, I need you to cut me loose early. Please. It’ll hurt less.”

  Slowly, Tom smiled. “Do you have a spare team shirt?”

  “Yeah.” Mike frowned.

  “Bring it over. I want to wear it Friday night to the game.”

  They were an insufferable pair all day Thursday.

  Mike showed up with a glow, the bags under his eyes gone, his stubble shaved away, his suit fresh and pressed to perfection. He looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine ad, sandy hair swept back in a soft pompadour, blue eyes sparkling when he looked at Tom. Tom had a spring to his step, and Peggy twice asked him what had happened that made him smile so widely all day long. Danny, his law clerk, seemed suspicious and kept looking skeptically at him.

  He kept his office door open, and every time Mike passed by, they shared a face-splitting smile. Tom’s stomach somersaulted at the sight of Mike, and his ass squeezed, a dull ache at the base of his spine. That was Mike, physical proof of Mike inside his body, hard evidence of what they had become. Him and Mike, together. Unbelievable.

  They slipped out for lunch, going to a Vietnamese place farther away than where most of the judicial plaza employees traveled. There, they sat side by side in a corner booth, sharing food and holding hands under the table like they were fourteen-years-old. They kissed in the bathroom after, and almost went a whole lot further, but got spooked when it sounded like they were about to be interrupted.

  “Tonight,” Mike breathed into his ear.

  “Every night,” Tom whispered back, kissing him slowly.

  They took the Metro to Tom’s place together, sitting apart until the transfer at Metro Center. Then, they sat side by side, touching from their shoulders to their ankles as they talked over the roar and grind of the subway. Mike had a duffel between his feet and a garment bag in his lap, filled with suits. Tom felt struck by lightning, like he was gripping the electric rail of the subway and somehow surviving.

  At home, Etta Mae was overjoyed to see them both, and Mike took her outside while Tom carried Mike’s duffel and garment bag to his bedroom. He hung Mike’s suits in his closet and dumped one of his dresser drawers, mixing his socks and his undershirts together to create an empty drawer for Mike. He debated, but left the drawer pulled out and Mike’s duffel beneath it. Mike could decide if he wanted to use the drawer or not, but the offer was open. Was it too much, too soon? Hell, he’d invited Mike over for the rest of the weekend, four days and five nights, if the multiple suits in the garment bag meant anything. One for Friday and one for Monday, at the least. And Mike had been the one to reiterate, that morning, that he was in this for the long haul. That he wanted everything.

  Tom could hear Mike and Etta Mae in the backyard and see them through the window, Mike laughing and play growling at her as he played chase and keep away. Etta Mae bounded after him, her long ears flopping, barking as she tried to nip at his shoelaces. She would slobber his wingtips and they’d have to clean them later, but Mike didn’t seem to mind.

  Quickly, Tom changed, throwing on shorts and t-shirt—a tight t-shirt; he still wanted to look good for Mike, entice him—and thundered downstairs and out to the yard. Etta Mae ran for him, leaping up, both front paws reaching for his belly. Her eyes were bright and her tongue hung out, and he imagined he heard her thoughts. You brought me a playmate! Can I keep him? Can I? Can I?

  Mike kissed him on the deck before he headed inside to change. Tom said nothing about the drawer. Mike would see it, and he would choose to use it or not. While Mike was upstairs, Tom star
ted dinner, a simple chicken and vegetables dish. He lit the candles on the table, though, and used his nicer dishes. Everything was ready when Mike padded downstairs, a warm smile on his face.

  “Thank you.” Mike wrapped his arms around Tom’s waist and kissed the back of his neck as Tom set down glasses of iced tea beside their plates. “I unpacked.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Mike pulled out Tom’s chair for him.

  They held hands during dinner, sharing their day and smiling. There was still so much they had to learn about each other: did Mike hang up his towels or throw them on the floor? Did he like to make the bed, or leave his toothpaste cap off? Did he talk during movies? What was his favorite color? When was his birthday? What was his family like? Where did he see himself in five, ten, twenty years? They’d get there, but for right now, this was enough.

  Mike wanted to do the dishes, but Tom banished him, and instead, Mike sat on the kitchen floor and played with Etta Mae, leaning back against the pantry while Tom washed his pots and pans and loaded the dishwasher. After, it was time for Etta Mae’s evening walk.

  They took her on a long, long circuit, winding into Georgetown and down through Foggy Bottom, getting home just as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. She was exhausted, and she drank like a camel before crawling onto the couch and passing out.

  Tom took Mike’s hand and led him upstairs.

  This night was slower, more relaxed. They explored each other, spent time lingering on bodies with lips and soft breaths. Mike kissed Tom’s tattoo and traced the arch of the rainbow with his tongue. Tom squirmed, and then squirmed some more when Mike dipped lower. Tom pressed a condom and their lube against his arm, urging him on as he arched beneath Mike’s touch.

  Mike started on top, rolling into Tom, but then Tom straddled his lap and rode Mike with slow, deep strokes. Mike sat up, wrapping his arms around Tom, and they held each other close until Mike tipped Tom back and sped up his thrusts. He held Tom’s ankles wide, and Tom gasped, panted, and moaned as his back arched and his eyes closed and his orgasm ripped through him. He shouted, shaking all around Mike. Mike thrust, cursed, and curled over Tom, wrapping his arms around Tom’s shoulders, grabbing his biceps, the back of his neck.

  They cuddled, Tom again lying on Mike’s chest as Mike stroked his back. They talked about everything and nothing. Tom’s favorite food, his favorite color. Mike’s blond hair and last name—“My great-grandparents were northern Italian, and Lucciano men have always loved blonds. Except me.”—and how he liked DC. Tom had lived in the DC area for his entire life, but Mike had only been there for the past four years. Mike was a foodie, and liked to explore out of the way restaurants. He’d hit up the major museums, but not all of them. Tom said he’d take Mike to Dumbarton Oaks in Georgetown and the National Museum of Health, where the bullet that killed President Lincoln was on display, together with his skull and other macabre oddities. Mike wanted to take Tom to the Spy Museum and wander with him and Etta Mae on Teddy Roosevelt Island. “This weekend. Let’s go. Start checking things off our list.”

  “You think we’re getting out of bed this weekend.” Tom grinned. “Cute.”

  Mike rolled him over, pressed him into the mattress, and kissed him until his toes curled.

  It seemed like a crime to get up and go to the gym when Mike was in his bed, so Tom scooted down and woke Mike the fun way. Mike shivered awake, his hands sliding into Tom’s hair.

  Tom smiled up at him. “Forget the gym today. Let’s cross-train.”

  “Cross-train. Yeah.” Mike blinked, his hands still buried in Tom’s dark hair. “Anything you say.”

  They showered on jelly legs, smiling ear to ear. Mike washed Tom’s hair and back, kissing his shoulder after the soap was washed away, and Tom reciprocated. Mike had his toothbrush, razor, and deodorant already out on Tom’s counter by the second sink, and the sight—along with Mike tying his tie beside him in the mirror—made his heart swell until his chest ached.

  They rode together on the Metro the whole way to Judicial Station, not separating. Mike bought them both coffee and ducked into Tom’s chamber to give him a quick kiss before scooting down to Winters’s office for the morning brief.

  Friday rolled along, a slow end to a slow week at the courthouse. Next week was trial again—civil, not criminal—for Tom, and a three-day high-risk trial with Chief Judge Fink for Mike. But that was all days away, and Friday afternoon, just after four, they both skated out of the courthouse.

  “Take you to dinner before the game?” Mike walked backward, smiling at Tom as they headed uptown for the next Metro stop. There was less chance of running into someone they knew at the next stop.

  “I’m in the mood for Italian. Will that work before the game?”

  “Big carb load up? Of course. Lemme take you to Sal’s. Little hole-in-the-wall off Dupont.”

  “How is it you know more places to go out in this city than I do? I have decades on you in this town.”

  “Because I didn’t live in the courthouse when I got here. I have it on good authority that you actually used to sleep in your office when you were a prosecutor.”

  Tom grinned. “Nasty rumors. You shouldn’t believe them.”

  “You totally did, didn’t you?”

  “It was before Etta Mae. She helped me be more balanced.”

  “I bet you know all the takeout places by the courthouse. Know which ones deliver on time.”

  “Of course. How do you think I fed myself when I worked late?”

  Mike laughed at him, and then they disappeared into the Metro. Sal’s was a tiny place with red and white checked vinyl tablecloths and white plastic plates. The food smelled divine. Mike got both lasagna and a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, and Tom ordered chicken piccata and linguine. They made it home in time to change and walk Etta Mae, tiring her out before they left again.

  Kris looked like the cat that caught the canary when they walked up to the volleyball court. His head bobbed and weaved, chin jerking back and forth, and he wrapped one slender arm around Mike’s neck and dragged him away, talking fast and low as Mike grinned, blushed, and nodded. Tom waited, laughing, and waved to the few people he remembered from last week.

  “Sorry about that.” Kris appeared by his side, smoothing one eyebrow. He smiled wickedly, eyeing Tom up and down. “So. You two finally figured it all out?”

  “I think so.”

  “He’s not too exhausted to play, is he? You haven’t been riding him too hard?”

  Tom barked out a laugh and felt his cheeks warm. “I think he’s okay—”

  “What? Why is he okay? Why aren’t you sexing him unconscious? Jesus, Tom, you’re not doing it right.”

  “There’s no correct answer, is there?” He was still laughing.

  “Take him home after we go out and throw it on him. Sex him up until he blacks out. I want him texting me in disbelief, complaining his dick is about to fall off from all the lovin’ you’re giving him. I want him icing his nuts. I want him—”

  At some point, Tom was sure he was going to spontaneously combust, burst into flames and turn to ash. He’d die of sheer embarrassment, thanks to Kris.

  “What are you doing to my man, Kris?” Mike, thank God, saved him, sliding up alongside Tom and throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Why does he look like a tomato?”

  Kris shrugged, holding both hands up by his face. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Mike winked at Tom.

  They were up first tonight, and Kris and Mike started stretching and warming up as the ref set up the game. Twenty minutes later, everything was ready to go.

  They unzipped their hoodies together, and both watched Kris watching them. They saw his eyes go wide, practically fall out of his skull as he took in Tom wearing Mike’s spare team shirt. Multiple Scoregasms, in brilliant rainbow. Kris cursed, a breathless breeze of Spanish they couldn’t hear completely, and pointed his finger at them.

  “Knock ‘em dead, babe.” T
om blew Mike a kiss as he jogged backward onto the sand.

  The other team howled, catcalls that lasted well into the first set. He was called “daddy” again, but instead of knocking Mike off his game, he seemed more energized. By the end of the first match, he and Kris were well in the lead, and only had one more game to clinch their victory.

  “You’re amazing.” Tom passed him his water bottle. “You guys both are killing it.”

  “Whatever, you’re not even looking at me.” Kris smirked behind Mike’s back.

  Mike shed his shirt, wiping down his sweat, and Tom didn’t hide how he checked Mike’s chest out, his muscles coated in sweat, and his wet fur. Mike stared back, and they eyeball fucked each other for the rest of the time-out, letting the game and the courts fade away.

  During the final game, Mike was an animal, hurling the volleyball over the net, slamming spikes into the sand, and setting up brutal takedowns for Kris. They won handily, and Kris leaped into Mike’s arms after the last score, throwing his hands over his head and cheering. They both jogged to Tom, sandy, sweaty, and grinning.

  “We’re going to the finals.” Mike high-fived Kris. “That was the eliminator.”

  “Congrats!” Tom debated, wrestling with himself for a good minute, but, after Mike wiped his sweaty face and beamed at him, he took the plunge. Leaning in, Tom pressed his lips to Mike’s, a chaste, simple kiss.

  The court went wild, cheering suddenly, no longer pretending they weren’t all spying on Mike and his new man. Mike tried to block them, tried to cover his and Tom’s faces with his hands, but it was no use. Tom broke away, blushing and laughing, and Mike wrapped him up, holding him close.

  “You’re drenched.” Tom tried to peel away from Mike.

  “No I’m not.” Mike playfully wrapped him up again, rubbing the side of his once-again very sweaty face against Tom’s cheek.

  Kris saved him, defending Tom from Mike the sweat monster, and then they all sat to watch the next game and the other teams play. Tom held Mike’s hand in his lap, and Mike wrapped one arm around Tom’s waist.