For Love and Forever (A Collection of Short Stories)

by Sloan Parker

  He let out a long breath, and that time the grin reached his eyes in an entirely new way. As if he couldn’t contain the emotion and needed something else to focus on, he glanced around the room and let out a nervous laugh. “I’m thinking we’ll need to move at some point, though. This isn’t exactly our room.”

  “Sure. But not yet.” I pulled him to me. “I’m not nearly done with you yet tonight.”

  That time the sex was slower, tender in a way I’d never been with anyone. And as we lay there afterward, catching our breaths, he said, “I have a new best sex story now.”

  I thought back on the way he’d described that weekend with his old friend. I turned and buried the smile in his shoulder, then kissed his bare skin. “Me too.”

  He wrapped his arms around me, and I settled into the embrace, comfortable with him in a way I’d never been before. He wasn’t just my roommate any longer. He was my friend, my lover, my everything.

  Swept Away

  “Motion denied.”

  I tried not to flinch, but the judge’s decision hit me hard. “Your Honor—”

  She gave me a stern look that said don’t push it, and I backed off. I’ve been told I’m a dominating presence in the courtroom. I wasn’t sure what it was about me. Maybe the tats across the back of my fingers didn’t convey I was a by-the-procedures kind of guy, although that’s exactly what I was.

  This was my first time in her courtroom, and I couldn’t afford to push my luck on a long shot. Not this early in the game. The Ohio LGBT Coalition for Equality needed this win and part of that was not pissing off the judge.

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” I took a seat in the solid wood chair, and I just knew my underwear would be stuck to my ass when I stood again. The courtroom wasn’t nearly as hot and humid as the heat wave outside, but with the air conditioning on the fritz it was unbearable, to say the least. I could feel the sweat streaming down my back, soaking a line down the dress shirt I had on under my jacket. My tie felt like it was trying to strangle me. I couldn’t wait to get home and strip down to nothing.

  I resisted the urge to rub my temples. Not like that would help anyway. Nothing eased the ache that had been pounding in my head on and off for months. Since the president of the Coalition had taken a seat in my office (back when five inches of snow had been on the ground) and had told me about the elderly gay couple who’d been forced into separate rooms when they’d moved from their senior community apartment to the on-site assisted living facility.

  This was the case I’d become a lawyer to win, and the stress was taking its toll.

  The judge spoke again as she dabbed at her upper lip with a tissue. She looked miserable. The heavy robe had to be worse than my suit and tie. The industrial fans they’d brought into the courtroom didn’t do much to help. They just blew the humid air and the scent of everyone’s sweat around the room. They also left me straining to hear the judge, which was doing nothing for my headache.

  “Very well,” she said. “If there’s nothing further, Counsel, I will see you both Wednesday morning at eight a.m.” She adjourned the court and was off like a shot for her private chambers. Maybe she had a secret window AC unit and was also going to strip down to nothing and stand in front of the window. Maybe I could hire some kid to climb the fire escape on the building next door and take pictures to blackmail a win in the case. I almost laughed at that, but I was too damn hot to muster the energy for even a half-ass chuckle.

  I slipped the paperwork for the filed motion into my backpack, said goodbye to the representative from the Coalition, and left the courtroom. I was dying to get home and into a cold shower. The hallway outside the courtroom was even worse than inside had been. Apparently circulated, rank, humid air was better than nothing. I picked up the pace and headed for the elevators. I wanted to get out of there before the press or anyone else could stop me. After the shower, I was parking my naked ass on the couch in front of a fan, kicking back with a cold beer and a mindless action flick or two, and I wasn’t moving until the morning.

  “Hey, Eddie. Wait up.”

  Damn. Ten feet from my escape route.

  I sighed and faced Tony. I’d known him for years, and it wasn’t his fault I was tired and in a shitty-ass mood. In fact, I always felt like I owed the guy something. Maybe that’s why we’d stayed friendly all these years. It had been his ass I’d been chasing when I conned my way into that private party in the normally-hetero sports bar fifteen years earlier. I hadn’t known then it had been Tony’s private party—with a few dozen of his closest gay friends in attendance—or that the tough bald guy named Mike working behind the bar would rock my world. I’d just been after a blow from the lawyer with the pretty lips.

  Tony was out of breath when he reached me. “Damn heat.” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “I heard about the judge’s ruling. Sorry it didn’t go as you’d hoped.”

  “Thanks. It was worth a shot.”

  “Definitely.” Tony knew about risks. He took them all the time. It was what made him one of the top civil rights attorneys in the state. A slew of high-profile clients paid him a shit-load of money to “fight the good fight” as he always called it. He could afford to host all the private gay orgies he wanted, while I took on neighborhood nuisance gigs, representing the little guy for a minor fee. Hell, if I didn’t win this case I might not even be doing that any longer. The president of the Ohio LGBT Coalition for Equality said they had hired me because they wanted someone hungry for a big win. She’d come to the right person, then. I was starving for it.

  Tony slapped me on the shoulder and let his hand linger a moment too long for a couple of colleagues standing in the hallway of the courthouse. He always did stuff like that. He was a big guy, but at several inches shy of six-foot, he liked to assert his strength and dominance as often as he could. Or maybe he just liked touching me. Mike had told me plenty of times over the years that Tony still had a thing for me. Maybe I should have let him blow me that night fifteen years ago. Maybe that would’ve gotten me out of his system. But ten minutes inside that bar, and I’d had my sights fixated on someone else. Little did I know the next day I’d be heading into my first long-term relationship—a monogamous relationship, at that.

  Not that I’d go back and do anything differently. Even if it meant Tony would stop groping me in the courthouse. From day one, Mike was it for me.

  Tony gave a last squeeze to my shoulder and asked, “You and Mike ready for tomorrow night?”

  “Yep. Fifteen years deserves something.” Not that we were planning anything special. We’d done the same thing every year, and I wasn’t all that excited about our usual plans this time around. I was proud of us for making it this far as a couple, though.

  “Hell yeah,” Tony said. “I’m looking forward to seeing the whole gang. I’ll catch you at the bar around ten.” He was backing down the hall the way he’d come.

  I nodded and took off for the elevators again. My head was pounding more than before talking to Tony. I just wanted to get my ass to my air conditioned car and then home.

  The elevator doors opened and a blast of warm air hit my face. Great. Maybe the city would get the AC working over the weekend and this would be my last ride in the elevator from hell.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out and checked the display as I stepped into the elevator. It was Mike. I hit the answer button and heard the roar of music and laughter from the bar before the phone was at my ear. Mike still owned the same place where we’d met. I called it his “other man.” His other love, to be more precise.

  “Hey. You busy already?” I asked. Apparently happy hour started early for some. Later for struggling civil rights attorneys. Or maybe never. It wasn’t like I would describe myself as happy these past few weeks, even with a few drinks in me. Stress is called a silent killer for a reason.

  “Eddie? I can barely hear you.” He was shouting into the phone, so I heard him just fine.

  “Go into the storeroom.” I
said the words louder than my elevator-ride-from-hell companions preferred if their looks were anything to go by. Apparently a heat wave this early in the summer pissed everyone off until we were all a bunch of grumps trudging through our days.

  Mike must have taken my advice, whether he heard me or not. The background sounds of the bar muffled in my ear. “That’s better,” he said. “How’d it go today?”

  “As I expected. The motion was denied. Opening statements on Wednesday.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not like I wasn’t prepared for it.”

  “Still sucks.” He paused for a moment, and I could picture the expression on his face going from that concentrated frown to his I-want-your-ass leer. Maybe I’d heard an exhale or something. Or maybe I just knew him so damn well I didn’t need to see his face to know what he was going to say next. “Tomorrow night I’ll help you forget all about it. Me, you, a little celebration.”

  And forty of our closest friends. Hell, a few strangers too.

  Every year on our anniversary Mike threw a private party at the bar to celebrate. A way to relive the night we’d met. The same bar and the same crowd of guys (looking a little older with each year), bringing along whatever guy they were into at the time.

  I’d wear my leather pants and vest with nothing underneath, just like the first time, showing off the tats that spanned the length of my arms. Mike was fairer skinned than I, and he loved my darker complexion and the look of my skin against the black leather. He also loved my art, but every year at our anniversary party he was downright obsessed with the tattoos. He’d trace them with his fingers, his lips, kiss and lick them all night long. Maybe he’d been staking his claim, showing all our friends, acquaintances, and those few strangers that I was his. Which made sense with how the rest of the night always went. Because at some point we ended up fucking. Not in his office or in the storeroom. Right out in the bar in front of everyone. Sometimes he’d bend me over a table in the corner. Sometimes he’d blow me on the dance floor. No matter where or when, everyone would stop what they were doing and watch us, cheer us on. We were the live show they’d been waiting for all night.

  It was hot as hell in the beginning. Like that first night. Once I’d gotten a look at him, I sat at the bar and had a few drinks, talking shit with him as he worked. Then he’d asked me to join him on the other side, and without another word, he’d spun me around and fucked me up against the bar while I faced the sea of men. I couldn’t even remember his name once his dick was inside me, but I knew I wanted to see him again.

  And every year after, we relived that moment. The bar. The booze. The crowd of men. The public fucking.

  God, I was sick of it. But I didn’t want to say anything to disappoint him on his favorite night of the year.

  We weren’t in the scene much anymore, and his bar was normally as hetero as the average population. That one night meant a lot to him, took him back to his younger days, to the leather bars, the excitement of casual, got-to-have-it now sex, the thrill of meeting me. He always said the best part was remembering the moment he first saw me, the moment he’d found something special he hadn’t even known he’d been aching for.

  “Eddie, you there?” he asked over the phone, bringing me back to our conversation.

  “Yeah.”

  The elevator doors opened, and I made my way through the courthouse lobby and outside. The humidity level rose with each step I took toward the parking garage. I didn’t bother ditching the suit jacket. What was the point now? My shirt had to be soaked underneath. I’d strip as soon as I got in the front door of our place, and maybe I’d just burn the damn suit when I was done with my shower.

  “God babe, I’ve missed you lately.” His voice had taken on that low rumble that matched the leer I’d been picturing. “I’m really looking forward to tomorrow night.”

  “Me too,” I said. That was partially true. I missed him something fierce. Missed the way we’d been six months earlier. Before I’d taken this case. Before he’d made the decision to expand the bar and add on a restaurant. Before we’d both started working all hours of the day and night.

  I was so damn tired I doubted I’d even get it up at the party. Nothing like forty guys staring at you, waiting for your dick to get hard. Once upon a time that had been a thrill. Now, I just wondered if they were all going to judge my technique, or lack thereof.

  I used to worship Mike’s cock through the longest blowjobs I’d ever given, teasing and sucking for all I was worth, easing off whenever he got close, until he was begging me to let him come. I hadn’t done that in a long time. It all just seemed like too much effort. Most days we were too exhausted to do more than get off quick and hit the sack. Hell, I hadn’t even blown him in two months. We were pretty much jerking off together in the shower or in bed before we’d both collapse for a few hours sleep.

  I wanted those jaw-exhausting blowjobs back. I wanted him to be so hot for me he couldn’t wait till I got undressed to have me, maybe even taking me up against his bar after closing. Just not with the live audience watching us.

  “Listen,” he said. “I gotta go. The contractor’s meeting me in a few. That was the other reason I called. Could you pick up Steven at the airport? I can’t get away from here for a couple more hours.”

  Steven. So much for spending the night naked on my couch with a cold beer. I could probably still go for the beer, but no way in hell was I sitting around with my balls hanging out while Steven—Mike’s ex—stared at me.

  They had remained friends from the day they’d broken up, even though Steven now lived in New York. He’d been at the bar the night I’d met Mike, and every year he flew back to attend our anniversary gig. Some traditions really needed to die a miserable death. Not that Steven was a bad guy, just one more reason in a long list why I was finding our usual thing tiresome.

  “What time?” I asked.

  “His plane lands in half an hour.”

  So much for getting out of the suit. And the cold shower. “All right. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Great. I told him I’d meet him at baggage claim.” The sexy voice was gone. He was in work mode again. “Thanks, Eddie. I owe you one.”

  * * *

  The double doors to the main terminal at the Toledo Express Airport slid open, and the cool air gave me a jolt, some kind of crazy-ass high that only people melting to their deaths must feel. I didn’t want to move a muscle. I’d had to park in the long-term lot and walk what felt like three miles in my suit jacket. I had taken the damn thing off for the ride over, but my shirt still wasn’t dry by the time I’d gotten to the airport. No way was I meeting Steven sopping wet from my own sweat. I might still stink in the jacket, but at least I wouldn’t give the impression I’d run to the airport while Steven strolled off the plane looking (and smelling) fantastic, as usual. Not like a guy who’d been marinating in his own stink all day. Hell, I doubted the man even sweated during sex.

  I headed for baggage claim and checked my phone. I was late. The crowd grabbing their luggage at the baggage carousels was pretty thin, but Steven was nowhere in sight. Ten minutes later I confirmed with the closest arrival board that his plane had landed on time. Still no Steven.

  At least the airport was air conditioned. I waited by a vending machine selling frozen yogurt push-up pops in the various flavors of the rainbow. If Steven didn’t hurry his ass up I was going to get naked and rub one of those yogurt pops all over my body. I really didn’t want to get arrested. The way my luck was going, by the time I got to the jail someone would’ve probably had the brilliant idea to transfer the AC unit from the jail to the courthouse, and I’d be left sweating all night, still wearing the damn suit. My head throbbed again.

  Maybe Steven had missed his flight. How very un-Steven-like of him.

  An elderly woman with a walker shuffled toward me. She stopped in front of the vending machine and stared up at me. “It doesn’t look like you’re having a good day.”
<
br />   I gave her a smile. “I guess I’m not.”

  “Eddie.” That voice. Definitely not Steven. I turned around.

  Mike was standing ten feet away holding two bags, one in each hand. He was a few inches shorter than I, but no one would argue the fact that he had an even more dominating presence. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, holding nothing back, his chest out, arms at his sides but not relaxed, ready to engage in whatever activity was necessary at any moment. He was in a T-shirt, shorts, and a pair of leather sandals. I’d never seen him wear sandals before, no matter how hot it’d gotten outside. Was Mike changing, and I wasn’t even noticing? That hurt too much to contemplate.

  I made my way to him. “I thought you wanted me to pick Steven up.” Dammit. I wasn’t in the mood for this.

  Mike didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there with a weird-ass smirk on his face until he finally said, “Here.” He handed me one of the bags. It looked a lot like my bag. “That’s yours,” he said and held up the other. “This one’s mine. Our flight leaves in an hour, so we better get checked in.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He smiled that sexy grin that had his eyes crinkling up and meant he was seriously enjoying himself. I hadn’t seen that look in a long time. “Can’t a guy surprise his man after fifteen years?”

  I looked at the bag in my hand, then the one in his. “We’re going somewhere?”

  He handed over the ticket.

  “Chicago?” I asked. Although it was a stupid question since I’d read the destination off the printed ticket with my own name.

  “Keep reading,” he said.

  Another flight. “Hawaii?”

  “A private resort on Lanai. We’ll get there after midnight their time. We’re staying on the beach. Ocean breezes. Fifteen degrees cooler than here. Should feel damn good.”

  I wanted to comment on how much a trip like that must have cost, but he was weird about money. His grandpa had left him a sum that would keep him more than comfortable, but he liked earning his own way. Besides, his family had stopped speaking to him when he’d come out in his early twenties. He got a kick out of keeping the money and not touching a dime of it. A private resort? On the beach? Sounds like he finally found a reason to dip into the funds. Which blew me away. I hadn’t thought there was a reason in the world why he’d spend that money. I said, “I have court on Wednesday.”