by Lanyon, Josh
I shrugged noncommittally and buried my head in my arms again. “It was lonely here too,” I told the sheets.
“Yeah?” I felt him relax. He stroked my flank lazily. I loosened up, rested there, trying to ignore the pounding in my head, just enjoying the feel of his hand on my skin. I wondered if it would be possible to ever get tired of being touched and petted. I wondered how I’d managed to go years without it. Wondered how I would survive if I had to go back to it.
Dan’s hand stilled. He shifted around on the mattress, nudging my legs apart. I didn’t have time to do more than register this when, to my shock, I felt him spread my cheeks and lick the tender flesh like you’d taste a peach. I bucked, and he gave a low laugh.
“Jeeeeesus,” I whispered.
He licked my balls, then behind my balls, working his way back up. I couldn’t believe it—this rude kiss. He was such a fastidious and careful guy—and with the papers to prove it. I could not believe this was Dan nuzzling my ass. Maybe I was delusional.
It took all my willpower to lie still as his tongue did those shattering things: delicate, wicked, teasing tracery as he worked the sensitive skin around my hole.
Rim job. That’s what they called this. Ugly phrase for something that felt so…ravishing. Now there was a good old-fashioned word—a Biblical word—and this obviously was not Dan’s first time at ravishing someone, and if he kept this up I was most definitely going to come—
Slippery heat slowly pressed in.
I whimpered, squirmed, humped. He caught my hips, holding me fast. He kept pressing, pressing.
“D-Danny…” I wondered if I would simply dissolve; my insides felt like hot liquid. My mind felt gray and blank and shaken like the magic screen on an Etch A Sketch.
Dan’s tongue circled and then pushed right in. Deep. I could hear myself mewling, inarticulate and helpless, as his hot slick tongue thrust in and out of my clenched-tight hole. And, right on cue, I began to come.
And all those words flitting around in my brain flew away and left me spiraling into some sweet and silent space where the only thing real was Dan’s strong arms holding me close.
Chapter Four
When I woke the next time it was hours later and I had the vague memory of hearing the front door close. I rolled over and checked the clock on the other side of the bed. Nearly one o’clock.
I sat up cautiously. I felt a hell of a lot better than I had that morning, that was for sure. I rubbed my eyes, listened to the sound of the sea a few yards away and the wind whispering at the window casements. Beyond that…silence. A safe silence. The security system would be on. Dan was meticulous about that.
My ring glinted on the nightstand. I didn’t remember pulling it off, but I must have when I’d come in last night. That had been childish. I picked up the chain and fastened it around my neck.
The floorboard in the doorway creaked and I glanced around. Dan stood there filling the doorway, and I felt the hair at the nape of my neck prickle. He was so quiet. I was sure he’d gone out.
“Did I wake you? I just stepped out to check the mail,” he said.
The mail.
Not easy to speak around the knot in my throat.
What would today’s postcard read? I’m on the first step…
Before I could form the question, Dan said, “There was nothing for you.”
“There…wasn’t?”
He shook his head.
The wave of relief was so fierce it caught me off-balance; I had to look away so that he didn’t see the effort it took to control my face. I leaned forward, pretended to feel under the bed—like, what was I looking for? My dignity?
The mattress sank. I stiffened as he sat down next to me on the edge of the bed. Then he put his arm around me, and I surrendered to the desire to be held, to be comforted, turning to him, resting my face against his throat. I could feel the warmth of his skin against my mouth and eyes, feel the pulse beating at the base of his neck, slow and steady and calm. His words vibrated against my face. “Did you have a good sleep?”
I nodded. Raised my head. Pretended I was wiping sleep out of my eyes. “Yeah. I did.”
“Your cheeks are pink.” He brushed his knuckles against the bristle on my jaw. “What were you dreaming?”
I thought of what had preceded that deep, deep sleep and felt my face warm. I had dreamed about him but in the dream we had been arguing. I was glad that it had only been a dream, that we were okay again.
“I don’t remember. Remind me not to drink that much on an empty stomach.”
“You want me to fix you something to eat?”
Spareribs or eggs Benedict? I shuddered.
“I think I’m going to work out.”
He smoothed his hand over my back. “Okay, chief. If you’re going for a swim or a run, give me a shout. I need the exercise.”
* * * * *
I was staring out the window watching the surfers when the phone rang.
“I can guess who that is,” Dan commented. He closed the dishwasher and turned the dial. Maria only came in on weekdays and Dan couldn’t tolerate clutter for more than a few hours. My eyes lingered on the broad shoulders beneath the plain white undershirt, lean hips and long legs encased in faded blue Levi’s. All this and housework, too.
“Dude!” called the answering machine over the rumble of the dishwasher.
I gave Dan an apologetic look and picked up the phone.
“Hey.”
“So…” Steve asked cautiously. “Any more special deliveries?”
“No.”
“No?” He sounded as surprised as I had.
“Nothing since Friday.” I glanced Dan’s way. His back was to me, but I knew he was listening. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling.
Next to my ear, Steve said, “Wow. Maybe…maybe it was just that Hammond’s last few cards got delayed somehow.”
That startled me. “What do you mean? Why would you say that?”
“Dude, chill. I mean cards he sent before he died were delayed by the mail. Not that he’s still out there picking picture postcards. And try saying that three times fast.”
“Oh. Right.” I tried to inject a smile in my voice, but I must not have been successful.
“You okay?” Steve asked. “You sound…off.”
“Fine.”
“No more panic attacks, right?”
I flicked a look Dan’s way. He was watching me openly now. “Nope.”
I wanted to ask Steve if he’d had a chance to talk to anyone at LAPD about the recovery of Hammond’s body, but I couldn’t do it with Dan standing there. I knew that would not go over well.
“Well, groovy. Nothing to worry about, because it’s all over, right? Hey, listen, I’ve got some good news.”
“About The Charioteer?”
“Huh? Oh. No. Have you finished reading the screenplay?”
“Yes. I want to do it.”
He sighed. “All right. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, what do you think about doing a voice-over for the new StarCatz series?”
“What the hell is StarCatz?”
“A very hot kids’ show that NBC plans to use as a mid-season replacement. The creator and producer, Dick Dexa, saw you in Winchester 2010 and he’s expressed an interest in you for Captain Starbuckle’s teenage son Jason.”
“I hope you’re kidding.” Sometimes it seemed like I’d gotten more damn attention from a bit part as a smart-ass strung-out hired gun in a big-budget action adventure flick, than I’d received in my entire film career.
“I’m not kidding you. NBC anticipates a mega hit with this show.”
“With a cartoon show?”
“I know. Unbelievable, huh? Even more unbelievable, they want you.”
“But…there’s nothing distinctive about my voice.”
“What can I say? Dick Dexa thinks you sound like a spunky space cadet.”
“Spunky? Funny.”
“I thought you’d like that.” He grew seriou
s. “Sean, listen for a sec. I know this isn’t really your kind of thing, but it’s an easy gig and…we need it. The artsy-fartsy stuff is fine and it wins awards, but you’ve got to balance it with something that pays. If it wasn’t for your Uncle Sean’s trust fund you’d be living on pasta salad and oatmeal these days instead of whatever it is you and The Rock eat for supper.”
I said, “I understand. Twenty percent of zero is still zero.”
“Since you put it like that, yes. The decisions you make affect my income too—or lack thereof. I don’t have any rich dead relatives.”
He had a point, but…cartoon voice-overs?
I hated to disappoint him. I could hear how keen he was on this project. And I did have a responsibility to take jobs that would be good for both of us. I said reluctantly, “The thing is, what happens when the word gets around that a gay man is playing a teenage boy on a children’s show?”
“Who cares if there’s some kind of lunatic right-wing fundie boycott! All publicity is good publicity.”
“Tell it to Pee Wee Herman. You think I was anxious before, wait till I’ve been the victim of a blacklisting campaign.”
He laughed. “Hey, come on. You don’t want Lenny Norman to hear you talking like that. He’ll think you’re not Proud and Out.”
Now that bothered me. “It’s Out and Proud, and I don’t have to prove anything to Lenny Norman. He should be casting roles based on talent and ability.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not a perfect world,” Steve said with unexpected bitterness. “So are you willing to read for the StarCatz pilot?”
“I’m not comfortable with it, Steve. I’ll have to think about it.”
Silence. At last he said, “Okay, dude, it’s your life.”
I replaced the phone and went to join Dan, who had gone out on the deck. He lay on one of the wooden lounges, reading the paper, which he put aside as I hopped onto the railing, staring up at the cloudless blue sky. It was a truly beautiful day. The most beautiful day I’d seen in a long time.
“You’re sure old Steve doesn’t still have a thing for you?” His smile was quizzical.
“I’m sure. It’s just business.”
“What is?”
“The fact that he calls all the time. He’s my manager. And, unofficially, my agent. We have to stay in touch.”
“Out of curiosity, are you his only client?”
“I’m his main client.”
He nodded as though this confirmed something.
“Do you not…like him?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think about Steve. I respect your relationship.”
I realized that was the truth. I didn’t have to defend or explain—and the fact that Dan didn’t demand it somehow made it easy to talk about it.
“The romantic thing only lasted about a year. We really didn’t have a lot in common besides my career. I think I got on his nerves and—”
“He got on yours?”
“Not exactly. His insecurity makes him unkind sometimes. His humor, I mean. He makes these little digs; they’re supposed to be funny, but there’s an edge. It was…tiring. Distancing.”
“That is one hell of an observation, chief.”
I grinned at his obvious surprise. “Crazy like a fox,” I said, and tapped the side of my head. “But he’s been a good friend and a great manager. He’s gone to bat for me again and again. Personally and professionally. The fact that the other thing didn’t work out…well, that was probably just as well.”
“I think so.” He held out an arm and I slid off the railing and went to join him on the lounge.
“We survived our first argument.”
“You sound surprised. Did you think we wouldn’t?” Dan speared one of the shrimps out of the salad I had made for his lunch, chewed, his blue eyes thoughtful on mine.
“It’s still a milestone.” I selected a cherry tomato from his plate and popped it in my mouth. A little burst of sweet tangy juice on my tongue.
“I guess it is.”
“Have you ever done this before? Lived with someone?”
“No.”
“Why?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe I have a few trust issues of my own.”
I frowned. “You think I have trust issues?”
His smile was quizzical; he didn’t actually answer me. I remembered the subject was supposed to be him.
“So what kind of trust issues do you have?”
“Maybe that’s not the right term. It’s probably a cop thing. People can get a little weird when they find out you’re a cop.”
“But it’s probably a turn on for a lot of guys, right?”
He seemed to be looking inward at some unpleasant memory. “Sometimes. A lot of times, the opposite.” He impaled another shrimp, chewed, swallowed. “There’s a reason cops have a high divorce rate. The hours are brutal, it’s a high-stress job, and you can’t talk about it most of the time.”
I opened my mouth, and he said, “I mean it’s the kind of stuff you don’t want to bring into your own home, not that someone wouldn’t be willing to listen.” There was something in his eyes that made me feel young and naïve.
I said slowly, “And I guess it takes a toll being afraid the person won’t come home.”
He didn’t say anything, just looked at me. I felt my breathing go funny like I was about to have one of my famous panic attacks. He said, “I’m careful, Sean. There are no guarantees in life, but I’ll do my best to come home to you.”
I nodded.
He hadn’t really explained the trust thing. Or had he? I guess he was saying that he needed to be trusted as much as he needed to be able to trust. Which was pretty much the same way I defined trust.
I opened my mouth to make another brilliant comment, but Mrs. Wilgi’s four-footed feather duster came hurtling across the sands toward us, barking hysterically.
“Jail break,” Dan remarked.
“I keep hoping he’s going to run away.”
“He has. To you.”
The dog planted itself at the foot of the stairs to the deck, yapping thinly.
“I was hoping for something further from home. Like Mars.”
“I told you not to feed him.”
“What happens if you shoot him? You have to fill out a lot of paperwork?”
“Yep.”
“It’s your lucky day,” I informed Binky. He barked all the harder.
It was my lucky day, too. Dan and I had survived our first real argument and somehow come out of it a little stronger than we had been. We walked on the beach and talked, cuddled on the couch and talked some more. Casual talk. Nothing life or death—no mention of loony stalkers, dead or alive—no reflection on where we stood as a couple. Just…talk. Like real couples do.
Late in the afternoon Dan went out to rent a couple of DVDs and bring back my favorite guilty-pleasure food—Taco Bell. I think my Friday night culinary binge had unnerved him. Or maybe he was just getting tired of my cooking. We settled on the sofa with bags of tacos and burritos to watch Cool Hand Luke, one of Dan’s favorite flicks—and one I’d never seen.
We’d just got to the famous, “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate,” line when the phone rang.
I stopped crunching. Dan sighed and hit the pause button.
“It might not be Steve,” I pointed out. “I do know other people.”
“None of them seem to have this number.”
“True.” The beach house was my getaway. I liked the fact that when I was there I was basically inaccessible—or had been before Paul Hammond had somehow found out about this place.
The phone rang the third time, the machine picked up, and Steve called, “Dude! Are you there?”
“I’ll make it quick,” I promised.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He smacked my butt as I crawled over him and off the couch.
I picked the phone up in the middle of Steve’s imperious, “Sean? Are you there?”
“I’m here
.”
“Dick Dexa called again. Have you thought about the StarCatz role?”
“How is this going to work if I land The Charioteer? When would they need me in the studio?”
An awkward pause.
“Look, Sean, Lenny Norman hasn’t returned my calls. I don’t think you’re going to get The Charioteer.”
My Taco Supremes began to churn. “Can I try calling him?”
“No, you can’t try calling him!”
“I just mean—”
“I know what you mean. Do you trust me to handle your career or not?”
“Of course I trust you—barring the sudden passion for cartoon cats.”
I was teasing, but he said shortly, “Do you want the part of Jason or not?”
“Doesn’t Dexa want me to read first?”
“Sean, it’s a fucking cartoon, not Ibsen. Dexa wants you. Can I tell him you’ll take the role?”
My pulse sped up. I hated arguing, especially with Steve.
I said haltingly, “No. I’m not comfortable with it.”
“Okay! Shit. Was it that hard to give me a straight answer?”
“No. I just know you think I should take the part.”
“Yes, I do. I think you need to start working pretty soon. I was right about Winchester 2010, wasn’t I? But whatever. If you’re not comfortable, that’s cool. We’ll find something else.”
I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, he added, “And, yes, I will try Lenny Norman one more time.”
“Thanks, Steve.”
I hung up and returned to the couch, climbed back over Dan’s legs. He caught my hand and pulled me down half on top of him scattering taco wrappers and shredded cheese and lettuce.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.” I shifted onto my side and stretched out beside him, resting my head against his chest. He smelled like suntan oil and tacos and himself. Heady stuff. He put his arm around me and started the film again. I thought that maybe this was the best part of being a couple—just relaxing together, spending time with someone you could be yourself with. To my surprise I realized that I was starting to be myself with Dan. Little by little I was letting my guard down and worrying less about who he might want me to be versus who I was—I thought something in his easy acceptance of my…vulnerabilities made that possible. Of course, he hadn’t had to put up with my ticks—quirks—for very long. He hadn’t had more than a taste of life in the fish bowl, and we hadn’t had to deal with my irregular hours or my being away for weeks on end.