by Dan Wingreen
Tim moved closer, his eyes drawn to Spencer’s lips. As sweet as his smiles were, Tim wanted to kiss this one right off his face. “Yeah,” he said, the word little more than a breath. Spencer glanced up at him, and whatever he saw in Tim’s expression brought a light flush to his cheeks even as he tilted his head up, inviting another kiss.
“You’ve a good one there, my friend!” The cabbie’s voice, thick with an Eastern European accent, boomed through the cab, making both Tim and Spencer jump in their seats. After a moment Spencer froze, then, very carefully, turned to the front of the cab.
“Thanks…?” he said.
Which was apparently all the permission the cabbie needed to burst into a loud, gesture-heavy monologue in semi-broken English about how happy it made him to see “young love” blossoming in the city, and he didn’t even mind that it was “the homosexual love,” not like his “bastard cousin Yuri,” who, along with a whole load of faults the cabbie was all too eager to list off, was apparently a “massive homophobia.”
Thankfully, it wasn’t too long before they reached their destination. When they stopped, Tim pulled out some cash and paid, but before they could get out, the cabbie glanced over his shoulder and gave him a wink and a big, enthusiastic thumbs-up. He couldn’t quite decide if it was sweet or weird, but he gave the man a slightly strained smile anyway before Spencer dragged him out of the cab. They both stood on the street corner and watched as the cabbie pulled away and disappeared into traffic.
“So,” Spencer said after a minute of silence, “assuming cousin Yuri doesn’t leave his ‘paid whore wife’ passed out at his ‘garbage slum house’ to come out and stab us to death for being the ‘best of young, homosexual passion,’ where are we headed?”
Tim let out a short laugh and took a moment to enjoy the relaxed, unconcerned way Spencer was holding his hand in the middle of the crowded street.
Guess cousin Yuri is good for a distraction, at least.
“Turn around,” Tim said, pushing away his disappointment at not getting to kiss Spencer again. He really, really wanted to though, and he hoped he wasn’t about to crash and burn before their night could even get started.
Spencer glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then turned to study the building behind them. It was on the small side, only two stories tall and just narrow enough to make it seem like it was slightly squashed between the bigger structures surrounding it, but what the building lacked in size it more than made up for in sheer neon gaudiness.
“Madam Sarkisian’s Wax Museum?” Spencer asked, reading the brightly lit sign on the awning that covered half the sidewalk. He seemed honestly curious, not annoyed or insulted, and Tim’s nervousness dialed back a few notches.
“Well, there’s no food,” Tim said, earning a snort from Spencer. “And there’s a special exhibit going on now that I thought you’d like.”
“Yeah?” Spencer asked with a small, playful smile. “What kind of exhibit?”
Tim couldn’t hold back a grin at how well Spencer was taking this.
“It’s called Differences in Interpretation,” he said. “What they do is they pick well-known books that got turned into movies or TV shows and they make different statues, some of how the main characters looked in the adaptations, and some that are made based on how the characters are described in the book. They have little write-ups too about why certain changes were made and stuff like that.” Tim let out a quick laugh. “You’ve complained enough about the Harry Potter movies mangling the books, so when I heard about this, I thought of you and…” He shrugged, starting to feel a little awkward with the way Spencer kept staring at him. “Yeah.”
Tim tried not to squirm as he waited for Spencer’s reaction. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long at all.
“That,” Spencer said, “sounds like the coolest fucking thing ever.”
“Yeah?” Tim asked.
Spencer nodded rapidly. “Fuck yeah.” He hesitated, flushed, then stood up on his toes and gave Tim a quick kiss. It was nothing near what he’d been imagining back in the cab, but the fact that Spencer initiated it, and in public no less, sent a bolt of heat straight through his stomach. “Way better than dinner and a movie.”
Once again Spencer’s timid boldness gave Tim the best possible kind of whiplash, and without thinking, he leaned down to give Spencer a kiss of his own. His lips were much softer than they’d been the other night, tasting of vanilla lip balm and mint toothpaste. He’d only meant to return the quick peck, but once their lips were touching, he couldn’t help himself. He pulled Spencer close, deepening the kiss and feeling himself flush when Spencer let out a surprised squeak that turned into a brief, throaty moan.
“We’re kissing in the middle of the street,” Spencer muttered against Tim’s lips a minute later.
“Does it bother you?”
“Yes.”
As soon as the word left his mouth, his lips were back on Tim’s. Tim grinned into the kiss.
For the first time in a long while, he felt like he’d finally done something right.
Chapter Thirteen
Wax museums were fucking awesome.
Okay, so maybe Spencer’s sample size was a little less than scientific, what with this being the first wax museum he’d ever been to and all, but if any of the other wax museums around the country were half as cool as this one, he’d happily stand by his statement. The level of detail in the statues was amazing, and to someone like Spencer, who could be a bit of a snob when it came to realistic computer graphics, seeing a pile of wax shaped into a photo-realistic statue of an actual person was incredibly satisfying. Even better were the statues based off the book descriptions, because they were all, without fail, utterly perfect. Thin, knobby-kneed Harry Potter. Twelve-year-old Jonas from The Giver, who stood as a sharp and much-welcomed contrast to the aged-up abomination from the movie. Beautiful elves and hairy-footed hobbits. They even had an entire wall filled with various Mr. Darcys, including one that was blood spattered and fighting off zombies.
But the best part of the night, by far, had been Tim.
In the brief snippets of time between worrying about when the 210 drama would start and obsessing over all the ways tonight could go wrong, Spencer had come to the conclusion that the best he could hope for was a date that wasn’t too awkward and didn’t ruin their friendship. Tim tolerated him, so Spencer didn’t have to worry about hiding too many of his flaws, but that was all it was—tolerance. All Spencer’s life people had put up with him or dealt with him; no one had ever really wanted him.
But Tim did. He made his desire obvious with every soft smile and eager touch.
More than that, he made their date fun. He didn’t just take Spencer to a cool exhibit and let him amuse himself, even if Spencer totally would have been okay with that. He dragged Spencer around to things he wanted to see; he started heated debates about which books or movies were better that somehow never crossed the line into actual fights; he took about a million pictures on his phone, pushing a blushing Spencer in front of the camera and making him pose with all the wax characters.
He held Spencer’s hand calmly, never flinching or turning away no matter how many people side-eyed them. He didn’t put up a single complaint when Spencer got lost in his excitement and started dragging him around. He smiled with genuine pleasure when Spencer finally took out his phone and demanded pictures of his own. He guided Spencer with gentle touches on the back or the shoulder, sat next to him on benches when they wanted to take a break, and leaned close whenever they stopped to talk in a way no one could mistake for anything other than intimate. It seemed so natural to Tim, this going out with another man and making it obvious they were there together thing. So natural that, throughout the night, Spencer started to relax inch by inch, until he finally felt comfortable enough to not just lose himself in the moment like he had in front of the museum, but to let that moment stretch on; to let one moment become two moments, then four, then eight, until without even realizin
g it Spencer was resting his head against Tim’s shoulder and cuddling his arm as they stared up at a giant John Travolta dressed as Terl from Battlefield Earth.
Turns out, there were things in the world that were way more embarrassing than holding hands with another guy.
They spent just over two hours in the museum, and by the time they were done, Spencer was beyond starving. Still, he had enough social graces to make sure Tim didn’t have anything else planned before hailing another cab and giving the cabbie the address for one of his favorite restaurants. In a sudden bout of glorious payback, he refused to tell Tim where they were going. Tim pouted, which was so unfair, his all-American, boy-next-door face melting through Spencer’s willpower like a welding torch. Luckily, the ride didn’t take long, and the cab stopped before Spencer could cave.
It was totally worth it to see the dumbfounded expression on Tim’s face.
“A restaurant?”
Spencer burst out laughing. “Jesus, you look like I took you to an open grave.”
Tim blinked, but recovered quickly. “I’m the one with fifty texts telling me not to take you out to eat anywhere.”
“It wasn’t fifty.” At least I hope not. “And all I said was I didn’t want you picking anyplace to eat. I love eating out. It’s just I eat like, five different things, and I’m really picky about how I like them made.” He shrugged, trying to hold down his self-consciousness as much as he could. “Taking me out for dinner is pretty much a surefire way to have me ruin a date.”
“You did give me a list.”
Spencer groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Tim grinned and took his hand again. “It was a very cute list.”
“I feel like my manly pride should make me hate being called cute.”
“But you don’t hate it.”
“But I don’t hate it,” Spencer said with a sigh.
“Good.” Tim leaned in so close Spencer thought he was going to be kissed again. “Because you’re completely adorable.”
Spencer flushed. “Shut up. How the hell are you smooth? It’s not fair. At all.”
Tim looked pleased. “You still think I’m smooth?”
“Oh, please. Like you don’t know how fucking—” He flapped his hand wildly at the entirety of Tim.”—smooth you are.”
Tim glanced down bashfully, making himself seem more like a puppy than any guy his size should be able to pull off. Spencer had to clench his free hand to keep from petting him. “Thank you.”
The way he spoke sounded slightly off, almost like he was surprised that Spencer said something nice about him. Spencer frowned. Am I really that bad at this dating thing that he thinks I’m not totally into him?
This was something he’d definitely have to fix.
“Really, I mean it. You’re as smooth as sharkskin. It’s kind of…” Say hot. You wanna say hot, so just say it. “Cool.”
You fucking loser.
Tim laughed, but instead of being mocking—which Spencer totally would have deserved after that terrible attempt at flirting—his laughter sounded fond.
“You know sharkskin is actually very rough, right?”
Spencer blinked. “No, it’s not.”
“It is.”
“It can’t be. I’ve touched sharks before, and they were really smooth.”
“You touched a smooth shark?”
“Well…okay, maybe it was a manta ray, but they look like they have the same kinda skin, you know? And the ray was really smooth, so…”
Tim burst out laughing again.
“Jesus Christ,” Spencer muttered. “Next time I’ll get a fucking marine biology degree before going on a date with you.”
“No, you won’t,” Tim said, tugging him closer. “I’m not waiting four years for another date.”
Spencer’s eyes widened.
“What?” Tim asked softly. “Did you really think I wouldn’t want to go out with you again? Even though I told you I wanted more than one date in the cab?”
“I have no idea what you’re thinking,” Spencer said, perhaps a bit more honestly than he’d meant to.
“Is that a problem?”
Spencer snorted. “Give me enough time and I can turn it into one.”
“Let’s not do that, then.”
He leaned down and kissed Spencer. Holy shit. This kiss was nothing like the kiss he still wasn’t sure how he’d found the balls to initiate in front of Madam Sarkisian’s. That kiss had been sweet and tender, a reassurance and a promise that Spencer would do his best to be better. It wasn’t even like their hot-yet-slightly-embarrassing make-out session on Halloween. This kiss was an assault on the senses: a battering ram, complete with an army for storming the castle in the form of a wet, impossibly smooth tongue. Spencer had no idea if he was kissing back—fuck, he had no idea if he even knew how to kiss back, and not just because it had been forever and a day since he’d done anything like this.
Jesus fucking Christ, Tim could kiss.
“So, is it a problem yet?” Tim asked when he pulled back from the kiss—and Spencer was going to need to call whatever that was something new because whatever Tim just did to him was orders of magnitude higher than any kiss he’d ever had before. It was a good thing Tim’s other arm had snaked around his waist while they were better-than-kissing, because Spencer’s knees were weak, and who knew that was even a thing that really happened?
“Um.” Spencer licked his lips. Tim hadn’t tasted any different than the inside of Spencer’s own mouth, but Spencer still imagined he could lick off the faint aftertaste of the other man. “I don’t think I know what words mean right now.”
Tim’s grin held more than a hint of smugness. “Good.”
He better-than-kissed Spencer again. Spencer moaned and closed his eyes.
I could do this forever.
It was a strange thought. Aside from a healthy relationship with his right hand and a few sporadically used toys, he’d never been a very carnal person, and he’d definitely never had a kiss affect him like this. Even on the few occasions when he’d had sex, Spencer hadn’t felt half the way Tim’s mostly innocent advances made him feel. Of course, that could just be because Spencer’s only real sexual experiences were with another teenage college freshman who had been just as much a virgin as Spencer at the time, but something deep inside told him different. That even if Spencer had a different guy every day for the past ten years, none of them would have come close to setting him on fire the way Tim could.
Any other guy would have been a mile marker on the highway; Tim was the destination.
It scared the hell out of him. He hadn’t felt this much this fast for anyone since the first day he’d held Connor in his arms, and this was completely different. It was so easy to lose himself in Tim, to forget everything but how it felt to be touched and kissed. Spencer really wished he hadn’t written so many essays trashing classic literary romance as unrealistic because it might have been a little less embarrassing to find out he was completely wrong all these years if there weren’t so much documented evidence…
When Tim finally pulled away again, Spencer’s swirling thoughts—and stomach—stilled. He glanced up into Tim’s face, so open and honest and practically glowing with affection, and said the first thing that popped into his head.
“Are you sure sharks aren’t smooth?”
Tim threw back his head and laughed. “Come on,” he said, squeezing Spencer’s hand. “Let’s go eat.”
Thankfully the restaurant wasn’t anything fancy, and even though it was dinner time on the weekend, they only had to wait about ten minutes for a table. Spencer was still half lost back in their kiss and all the feelings that kept exploding in his chest, which turned out to be a lucky break because he was too distracted to be nervous about the dreaded First Date Dinner Conversation. Talk flowed easily between them, a lot like it had during Crystal Skull, except with a slightly different tint to what they talked about. By silent agreement they hadn’t really spoken about anything
too meaningful on Halloween. That night had been about spending time together and seeing if they could fit themselves into the new shape their relationship was twisting into. Tonight was a date, and dates needed to go a little further.
“Why did you become a teacher?”
Which was…fair, Spencer grudgingly admitted. He chewed his lip for a moment, trying to decide between total honesty and toning himself down so “first date” didn’t become “last date” too. The food came before he could decide, and while they were thanking the waiter and getting their napkins and knives and shit in order, he decided to throw caution to the wind and go with honesty. He’d already slipped a bunch of times tonight anyway, and Tim hadn’t batted an eyelash. He was either really good at hiding his disdain, or he actually liked Spencer’s Spencerness.
He took a bite, moaned quietly—it was only baked chicken, but goddammit it was fucking delicious baked chicken—then swallowed and answered.
“Because journalism is fucking bullshit.”
Tim choked on the soda he’d been drinking. Luckily, it didn’t dribble down his chin or get all over his shirt, and he recovered quickly.
“Sorry,” Spencer said. “I didn’t think you’d find that funny.”
Tim shook his head. “No, it’s okay. It was just unexpected.” A moment passed. “So, journalism is bullshit?”
“Yeah.” Spencer took a sip of his water. “I took journalism courses my whole first semester of college, mostly because all the assholes I went to school with were always held up as these like paragons of what a person is supposed to be. You know, all ‘he’s such a good boy’ and ‘oh that Kevin, what a trip he is’ while he’s interrupting class with his stupid jokes, shit like that. I hated it so much, and I always had these fantasies about exposing them to all the teachers who thought they were so fucking perfect. Like ‘yeah, Kevin’s such a little jokester, isn’t he? Here’s a video of him shoving me into a dirty urinal and calling me a fag. What a scamp.’”
Tim reached across the table and touched his hand. “Spencer…”