Cuddling

by Allan, S. H.

  As soon as he stepped into the house, though, he knew John wasn’t there. Spider, not being the most demonstrative of dogs, didn’t run to the door, barking his greeting, but he did lift his head from his spot on the couch and wag his tail. This seemed to exhaust the basset, who then put his head back down with a sigh.

  Dylan walked down the short hall to the bathroom, peeling off his shirt as he went. He dropped the garment into the hamper and then stood bare-chested before the mirror. He first checked his phone so see if John had texted him. Nothing. He placed the phone on the toilet tank and returned to the mirror. He ran a finger along his right bicep. Feeling a little foolish, he looked behind him to make sure no one could see him, even though he knew he was alone in the house. He then turned back to the mirror and flexed. Still too skinny, he mused, but getting there. I’m getting… muscular. Not bodybuilder muscular, but toned muscular. It’s starting to show.

  He was so engrossed in taking stock of his body that he didn’t even hear John come in. When John’s slumped body came to the bathroom doorway and Dylan saw his reflection, he nearly jumped out of his skin. “You startled me,” he said breathlessly.

  “Sorry,” John said softly. “I didn’t mean to.” He attempted a smile, but he was out of practice, and it was a feeble effort. “Were you flexing?”

  “No!” Dylan knew his cheeks were flushed a deep crimson.

  “That’s what it looked like.”

  “Well, it wasn’t.”

  John tried the smile again, with better results. He came up behind Dylan, wanting to wrap his arms around his lover. Doubt kept him from doing so. What if Dylan shrugged him off? Instead he felt his lover’s thin upper arm. “You’re getting a little bicep there. You been using my weights?”

  A little bicep? Dylan wanted to scream. It’s a monster bicep!

  At least they were talking, although the small room was charged with indecision and words unsaid. Dylan opened his mouth to speak, but John beat him to it.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan said. He felt shaky and a little ill. “We should.”

  “I just want to say—”

  At that moment Dylan’s phone rang. John, being closer to the toilet, picked it up. He handed the phone to Dylan after checking the caller ID. He knew he shouldn’t have looked, but he couldn’t help himself. “It’s Cody,” he said tonelessly.

  “Oh. It’s okay. I’ll talk to him later.”

  John’s whole manner changed. He’d been on the verge of spilling his guts, but now the gloom had returned, and he slunk out of the bathroom. “No, go ahead and talk to him. I need to go take a walk anyway.”

  Dylan tried to stop him, tried to speak, but he hesitated. By the time he said, “John, wait a minute!” his boyfriend was already out the front door.

  THE following day Dylan went to Rockford with Cody and was hitting the heavy bag with a defeatist attitude. Cody barked encouragement, but his words fell on deaf ears. After ten minutes of Dylan smacking the punching bag as if he was afraid he’d hurt it, Cody finally could take no more. “What’s the matter with you today?”

  Dylan lowered his hands. His head followed. “This isn’t working for me.”

  Inwardly, Cody breathed a sigh of relief. While he enjoyed spending time with Dylan, he couldn’t help but think the librarian was woefully out of place in a boxing gym. “Well,” he said, “since you’ve got the whole evening free, we can take in a movie, or—”

  “No, I mean hitting some stupid bag isn’t working for me. I want to box!” Dylan looked around the gym at the other occupants, most of whom were skipping rope, hitting bags of various sizes, or shadowboxing. “I want to hit someone! What about that guy over there? He’s about my size!”

  Cody’s eyes widened. “Him? You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “He’s smaller than I am!”

  Cody knew the young man in question, at least enough to say hi to. “That’s Pedro Machias. He’s pretty good, Dylan.”

  “He looks like a kid.”

  “That’s the trouble. He’s seventeen. He’s got boundless energy. You’re over thirty.”

  “And?”

  Cody sighed. “And you put books on a shelf really, really well.”

  Dylan was adamant. After the blowup with John the night before, he was full of pent-up frustration and anger and wanted—at least he was pretty sure he wanted—to fight. To actually use his fists and hit someone. And if he got hit in return, he was fine with that. He was pretty sure of it.

  Before his reason kicked in and he changed his mind, Dylan strode over to Pedro, who was skipping rope with an easy grace. “Excuse me.”

  Pedro, who had just started and hadn’t even broken a sweat, ceased the rope skipping. “Yes?”

  “This is going to sound insane,” Dylan said. And, now that he was actually standing next to the young man, the words really did sound like those of a lunatic. “But I’ve never actually boxed anyone. And I want to. Have an actual boxing match. And I was wondering….” Dylan trailed off. How did you ask someone if they’d put on gloves and hit you and possibly be hit in return?

  “You want to box me?” the kid said.

  Cody came up behind Dylan and took him by the shoulders, pulling him back a pace. “No, he doesn’t,” he told Pedro.

  “Yes, I do,” Dylan insisted.

  Pedro shrugged. “Sure.”

  Cody’s grip on Dylan tightened. “You just can’t decide you want to box someone. It’s not that easy. There’s a lot of preparation that has to be done, and—”

  Dylan had spotted the club’s owner, Bob Underwood, nearby, talking with another gym member. Bob, or so the rumor had it, had once been a boxer himself. If so, it was entirely possible he’d taken a few too many punches to the noggin, as his thought processes were slow. When you asked Bob a question, he first looked at you blankly, as if it took a moment to register that someone was speaking. Then you could see understanding dawning in his eyes, and finally the words would sink in, and he could formulate a reply.

  “Bob, can we use the ring for a boxing match?” Dylan asked.

  Bob stared at Dylan blankly. A muscle twitched in his cheek. This was a hard one. Finally the words sank in. “If anyone gets hurt, I’m not responsible.”

  “You got it.”

  Cody sighed. “This,” he muttered under his breath, “is going to be bad. Really, really bad.”

  JOHN, meanwhile, had been busy. He’d called into the shop and told Will he wouldn’t be in and was taking a day off. “But I need a favor,” he had added.

  Will, pleased that the boss was actually going to relax for a change, eagerly said he’d do anything John wanted.

  “I want to borrow your car for the day. I’ll leave you mine.”

  Will was perplexed but agreed. Shortly after the call, John showed up, and they exchanged keys. John then drove away in Will’s beat-up Chevy Nova like a man on a mission. Which, it must be admitted, he was. His mission was to follow the love of his life, Dylan, and find out, once and for all, just what was going on. No more guessing. No more listening to rumors. John was going to learn the truth, even if it broke his heart.

  If someone had asked John “How do you feel, spying on Dylan?” he would have been surprised by the question. It wasn’t spying. Spying was devious and secretive. This was just a mission to gain intel. True, he was doing so in a car that wouldn’t be recognized, and he was keeping back so Dylan wouldn’t see him, but that wasn’t spying.

  And when he saw Dylan pull up in front of Cody’s apartment building and go inside, John’s worst fears were, he thought, realized. But then he frowned as, minutes later, Cody and Dylan emerged and got into Dylan’s car, carrying gym bags. John then followed them as they headed north and eventually drove to a boxing gym in Rockford. As they got out of the car and went inside, John, who had pulled up a little too close to the entrance, had to slink down into his seat to avoid being seen. Not that he was spying, of course. He just had to know.

&
nbsp; And he’d been so sure he’d known what Dylan had been up to. Now, as he watched Dylan and Cody going into a gym, he wasn’t so sure. Cody, yes, but Dylan? In a boxing gym?

  John had to know. He got out of the car and followed the two inside.

  Although he hadn’t been to Underwood’s Boxing Gym for weeks—in fact, not since The Party, when Dylan had kissed Cody—John was well-known there. He hoped no one would spot him and shout out his name, as that would alert Dylan to his presence. As best he could, he slunk in, at first hiding behind a potted palm and then moving to a secluded spot behind one of the heavy bags. A young black man, working on a nearby bag, raised an eyebrow at the guy standing plastered to the wall wearing street clothes, but he didn’t give the game away.

  John peered around the bag. What was going on? He watched as Dylan and Cody disappeared into the locker room. His mind was whirling. Could he have been wrong all this time? No, he had walked into the room at The Party and caught Cody kissing Dylan. Dylan had tried to laugh it off as a sort of truth or dare game, but John knew better. More than that, he knew Cody. Nice guy. Good friend. But he’d fuck anything with a pulse.

  And after that, Cody and Dylan had begun hanging out all the time. True, John had been working a lot at the time and hadn’t had time for Dylan, and, if he was honest with himself, John had been stewing over The Kiss and hadn’t wanted to talk to Dylan, but… still. And then it all went downhill. Did he have himself to blame? Had he pushed Dylan away, into the waiting arms of Cody?

  John perked up as Dylan and Cody emerged from the locker room, now dressed in sweats. His eyes widened when Cody led Dylan over to a vacant heavy bag and Dylan—Dylan!—started punching away.

  Dylan? Dylan couldn’t even stomp on a spider. He liberated them, placing them outdoors when he found one in the house. Dylan didn’t hit things. Dylan was sweet, kind, and mild. No, this was Cody’s doing. Cody was trying to beef Dylan up, for….

  Well, John couldn’t think of a reason, but obviously Cody had some Machiavellian plot going.

  And what was going on now? They were moving over to the ring. Cody was putting boxing gloves onto Dylan’s wrapped hands. And Pedro Machias, whom John had seen in the ring before, seemed to be gloving up as well. Surely….

  Was Dylan climbing into the ring? John nearly rubbed his eyes in disbelief. This has got to be a dream, he told himself. No, a nightmare.

  John listened carefully. He could just make out Cody asking Dylan to put on some headgear. Dylan’s reply was easy to hear.

  “No, thanks.”

  John moved away from the wall, no longer caring if anyone saw him. His mouth gaped open as Cody helped put a mouthpiece past Dylan’s lips. “Sorry,” Cody said. “It’s mine, but there’s no way I’m letting you get your teeth bashed in. Literally.”

  “No problem,” Dylan replied. Actually, with the hunk of plastic in his mouth, it came out as “Nuh arblem,” but John got the idea.

  Most of the guys working out in the gym, only about seven or eight guys, saw some action was about to take place and stopped what they were doing and gathered at ringside. Bob Underwood, standing near the bell, looked up, first at Dylan and then at Pedro. “You guys sure about this?”

  Pedro shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  Dylan, who looked more than a little shaky, said, “Uh-huh.”

  And then Bob rang the bell.

  John, aghast, rushed forward. Although his feet were moving quickly, it seemed to John that things were going in slow motion. He’d never reach the ring in time. Even his shout of “What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing?” sounded like it was distorted, as if spoken underwater. John couldn’t feel his feet slapping against the floor. He realized someone had grabbed him by the arm, and he vaguely knew that person was Cody and that Cody was saying something to him, but John couldn’t be bothered by anything but stopping Dylan from getting the stuffing beat out of him.

  “He’s doing this for you, you imbecile.” Cody’s voice finally penetrated John’s skull.

  John brushed off Cody’s restraining arm. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been ignoring him. He has this stupid idea that he’s got to be He-Man for you. So he wants to box someone. I’ve been giving him lessons for the past few weeks.”

  He felt weak in the knees, but John still managed to glare at Cody. “And what else have you been doing to him?”

  “What?” It took Cody a moment to figure out John’s implied message. “You think that Dylan and I—”

  He would have gone on, but at that moment things exploded in the ring.

  IT WAS at least mercifully brief. Dylan, his heart pounding so much it seemed to echo against the walls, stepped to the center of the ring and touched gloves with Pedro. Pedro gave him a brief smile and then shot out a quick jab that connected with Dylan’s nose.

  Hey, Dylan thought. That hurt. A lot.

  And so did Pedro’s left to the side, which was followed by a right to Dylan’s jaw. Dylan stumbled backward, but Pedro pressed forward, hitting Dylan with a right-left combination to the stomach. The pain from those shots had barely registered in Dylan’s mind before he got clobbered by Pedro’s right hook, which felt like it had ripped Dylan’s chin right off his face. Dylan was only barely aware of his knees giving way and falling to the canvas.

  “CAREFUL!”

  John smiled and said, “Sorry.”

  He’d been trying to shower Dylan with kisses, which was hard when the whole lower half of Dylan’s face was a mass of pain.

  They were sitting in the front of John’s car, parked on Main Street just across from Mrs. Gardner’s salon. On their way back into town, John had coordinated the transfer of vehicles with Will, and they had agreed to meet just outside of The Tobacco Shop. Dylan’s car was still at Cody’s, but they could deal with that later. The sun had gone down, and, as was typical of a small town like Flemyng, with the disappearance of day, the streets were all but deserted. Ordinarily John wasn’t the type to kiss in public view, but as there was no public to view, being outside in a car didn’t really count.

  John leaned in again to attempt to kiss Dylan, gently, but was stopped when Dylan put a restraining finger to his chin. “You thought,” Dylan asked, with more than a touch of amazement, “that I was having an affair with Cody?”

  “Well, yeah.” John felt his cheeks flush. It wasn’t easy to admit he’d been wrong. So very, very wrong. “I mean, you guys kissed. I walked into the room, and there you were, lip-locked with my buddy!”

  “It was more a dare than anything else! I told you that!” Dylan rolled his eyes heavenward. “And besides, Cody is straight.”

  “He isn’t!”

  “He has a girlfriend!”

  John snorted. “That wouldn’t stop Cody. Cody will screw anything with a pulse.”

  “Well, he didn’t screw me. He never even made a move.” That puzzled Dylan. “I wonder why?”

  “And then you were spending all that time with him.”

  “Because you were ignoring me!”

  “Well… I was mad,” John said. “And then I kept getting madder the more you were with him.”

  “You were working all the time, and when you weren’t, you never talked!”

  “Okay, I was wrong! I admit it!” John took Dylan’s hands in his and gave them a loving squeeze. “But what the hell were you thinking, getting into the ring with Pedro? He could have killed you!”

  “You’re always with Cody and your old Marine buddies and guys who are into fighting and stuff. I figured that’s why you were… well, growing tired of me.”

  “So you thought you’d get the crap beat out of you to prove to me how tough you were. Makes perfect sense.” John’s sarcasm was gentle but pointed.

  “Hey! He was a little guy. I figured I had a chance.”

  “Good thing he took it easy on you.”

  “That was taking it easy?”

  John nodded. Smiling, he released Dylan’s hands and put his ow
n around Dylan’s neck. He pulled Dylan’s face to his, and they kissed. “Did that hurt?” John asked when they eventually broke off the kiss. Dylan’s lips were fairly swollen, and there was a dark bruise on his chin.

  “Terribly,” Dylan said. “Do it again.”

  John did. “Promise me you won’t do anything that stupid again.”

  “It wasn’t that stupid.”

  “It was,” John assured him.

  “Well, you were stupid for thinking I was sleeping with Cody.”

  “Okay, we both were stupid.”

  Another kiss followed, this one lasting what seemed an eternity and yet was over much too soon.

  “Let’s get home,” John said. “We’ll get your car tomorrow. We’ve got makeup sex to engage in. God, how long has it been since we—”

  He would have gone on, but Dylan’s lips were on his, making it hard to talk plainly. “Let’s just do it here,” Dylan said with a mischievous grin.

  John started to chuckle but then realized Dylan was serious. “Here? On Main Street?”

  “It’s dark. No one’s around. And I always keep lube and emergency condoms in my gym bag.” When John’s face began to darken, Dylan playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Not for that, you idiot! For us. Let’s face it, before I asked Cody to train me to box—something I’m thinking he didn’t do all that well at—the only time I used my gym bag was when you and I would go camping.”

  John looked around outside the car. True, there was no one around, but… making out right there just felt wrong. Strangely titillating, but wrong. “I don’t know. The hair salon is right across the street, and you know what a gossip Mrs. Gardner is.”

  “The shop is dark and closed, scaredy-cat.” Dylan shifted around, laughing lightly, pressing John back until Dylan was almost lying on top of him. “Come on, chicken. You won’t believe how horny I am.”

  “Oh,” John muttered, wrapping his arms around Dylan, “I think I can imagine.”