by Harper Logan
“Why am I here, Sergio?”
“Serge.”
“Okay. Serge. Why am I here? Is this where we have another conversation about the drama between you and Madeleine? Because if it is, I—”
“No! Oh, please, no. No more of that. It’s driving me crazy. I hope you don’t hate me for all that.”
“It’s exhausting. I have never had to manage one of Madeleine’s feuds before. Do you know what she had me do on Monday? I had to order flowers and chocolates for every independent bookstore in a 50-mile radius. Thanks to your interference, everybody thinks she is plotting to destroy them, so now we’ve got to butter everyone up.”
“I wasn’t trying to get her books removed from the local stores. I was just out meeting people, and the topic of the feud came up.”
“Well, she clearly sees it as an attack. So expect something new to happen to you.”
“What, she’ll get the bookstores to stop carrying my stuff?”
Cam shrugged. “Can’t say.”
Serge groaned, then nodded to the server who brought their drinks. He hadn’t come here to discuss the feud. Why couldn’t they get past it? Every word he said seemed to bend back towards Madeleine.
“Is this always how it is going to be?” he asked Cam. “Every conversation we have is basically about the same thing.”
“I don’t know what you called me here to discuss. Is it something other than work? Because, seriously, I would love to discuss anything else. Just give me a topic, Serge.”
Serge looked at his water. “There hasn’t been anything else on my mind lately. My new book—”
“No!”
“What?”
“Please don’t tell me anything about your new book. Madeleine will smell the knowledge on me. She’ll never leave me alone about it.”
Serge laughed. “Why are you with her again?”
“I know. I know. But she isn’t always like this. In a lot of ways she’s the best boss I’ve ever had. I mean, most of my other jobs were at the mall during high school. So it’s a small sample size. But when she’s not feeling threatened, she’s actually pretty normal. But here we are again, talking about her. Why did you call me, Serge?”
He started to say something, then realized they were being watched. The couple from earlier, the one having the affair. They were staring at Serge and Cam, leaning in, whispering.
That old familiar fear crept over Serge.
He watched as they laughed.
What were they saying?
It must be something about him and Cam. There was no other logical reason for them to be looking over here. He felt petrified. Here it was. The thing that would bring him down. A whisper campaign, as deadly as if Madeleine herself had started it. Isn’t it funny, we haven’t seen Sergio Faletti out with girls, but we see him with this boy Cam all the time!
“I have to go,” he said.
“Go? What’s wrong?” asked Cam.
“I’m sorry. I really am. This was…I’m sorry.”
He was out the door before Cam caught up with him. “What’s the matter?” Cam asked.
“I can’t do this,” Serge said, walking briskly. “I keep thinking I can do it, but I can’t.”
“Do what? Have dinner with me? Because this is the second time we’ve tried, and I think I would starve to death if I had to rely on my dinners with you for nutrition.”
“Those people were looking at us.”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“They’d caught me eavesdropping before. It doesn’t matter. They saw us together, they started talking about us—”
“So?”
He stopped on the sidewalk. “What do you mean, so? Do you understand what gossip can do to a person?”
Cam scowled and slipped his hands into his jacket pockets. “Look, even assuming the people in there were looking at us because we were two handsome guys out for a romantic dinner—”
“I didn’t say it was romantic—”
“Even if they were, so what? This is a pretty liberal town, Serge, but yeah, occasionally you get looked at, if you’re on a big man-date. It happens. It’s not ideal, but it’s a lot better than the reaction you get some other places.”
“You don’t understand.”
“The thing I don’t understand is why you care so much. You say you’re straight. Fine. Go out with a girl! There are thousands in this town who would love to date you. You’re big and handsome and a writer, and you’ve got those eyes… I mean, come on. Quit sneaking around going on abortive dinners with me if you want the world to see you as straight.”
“Okay. Point taken. I’m not helping my own case, I guess.”
“But why did you ask me out? We’re not friends, Serge. Neither of us wants to discuss work for one more minute. I don’t understand why you want to see me.”
In a hoarse whisper Serge said, “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. This isn’t who I am. Or maybe I don’t know who I am.” He looked around. “But I just can’t talk about this out in public anymore.”
“Fine. Come to my house.”
“I can’t.”
“Listen, if you can’t talk to me about this, then you’ve got to stop talking to me at all. We’ll get it all out in the open, you can put your foot down about being straight, and we’ll just declare ourselves bitter enemies in absolute privacy, okay? Come on.”
They were back in the little blue living room. The lamps were on, and their light made the room look smaller, cozier, less formal. While Cam walked into the kitchen to start coffee, Serge noticed something familiar on the table. It was the hardback of Pistols in Pisa. He picked it up.
“You’re kidding me,” he said.
Cam set the kettle on the stove. Only the kitchen counter separated them. “It was really sad.”
“You read the whole thing?”
“I missed it when it first came out. Actually, that’s not true. I avoided it when it came out.”
Serge looked at the back, at the rave reviews. What had happened to him? Why hadn’t he made this into a career the way he’d expected? “Everybody told me how excellent it was,” he said. “So deep. So passionate. So smart.”
“I hated so many of the people who liked it,” said Cam. “For a while, it was my personal barometer of whether I could be around someone. If there was a straight guy who talked about the artistic violence in it, I stayed far away. And then I read it, and it felt like nobody had read the same book I did. I don’t think I’ve read anything so lonely in a long time. Did you ever read Good Morning, Midnight? By Jean Rhys?”
“I don’t know that one.”
“That’s what your book reminded me of. It’s about this woman, she’s broke, in Paris, trying to find some kind of connection. Nobody wants to be around her. She drinks, she’s popping pills…she’s absolutely alone. That’s how I felt about Detective Valentino.”
Serge stared at the cover of his book a long, long time.
“I don’t know how to be,” he said quietly. He heard the click of the stove being turned off, but couldn’t look at Cam. “Sometimes I feel like there’s not even a me inside. Like, maybe that’s why I can’t write. I’m so stuck. Maybe I’m stuck because there’s nothing inside me at all. Maybe this book was it. Everybody thought it was so great, but it wasn’t great. It was just me, talking about how penned in I feel by what people expect of me.”
“That came through really clearly for me.”
“But for nobody else in the world, apparently.”
“Who does your heart say you are, Serge?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have to listen.”
He shook his head. “There are so many voices. My parents. My agent. The fans. My best friend. Everybody’s competing to tell me who I am. It’s so dangerous, though.”
“I don’t understand,” said Cam. “Maybe it’s just different for me.”
Serge traced his finger over the embossed letters of the cover. “This is going to sound like
a big excuse. But all through school, people were brutal to me. Everybody assumed I was gay. I got bullied. I got in fights. They would even attack my friends, saying that we were dating. Didn't you go through any of that?"
"School was rough for me, but not like that."
Serge set the book down. "It would be one thing if I had said to myself, okay, I like guys, and now the world is turning against me for it. But I never even got to say that to myself. Even now, if I try to think about it, I get nervous. And then I feel ridiculous, because who carries around wounds from fucking high school? In college, I hung out with straight guys pretty much exclusively. Whatever aura I'd given off in high school must have worn off. But I was so nervous still. Like I was going to be found out. Exposed."
"Are you scared of them? Or are you scared of what you'll find out about yourself, if you try to pin yourself down?"
“Do I have to pick a side? Can’t I just be myself?”
Cam was beside him. He hadn’t even heard him come back into the room.
“You can be yourself,” said Cam. “But that means being honest about what you want. You don’t have to name what you are. But eventually you have to name what you want.”
“Can I want you, just a little bit? Is that okay?”
Cam’s hands were sliding up under his shirt. “You can want me a little. I want you. A little.”
He shuddered at the feeling of Cam’s lips against his throat. “I have to tell you.”
The words were cut off by their kiss. Cam’s fingers roamed upward, finding his nipples, rubbing them gently as they hardened.
He had to allow his own hands to touch Cam. It was so scary. He put a hand to the back of Cam’s neck, feeling the weight, the pressure, as they kissed. “I have to tell you,” he murmured against Cam’s lips. “I’ve never done this before.”
“You did some of it the other day,” Cam whispered. His eyes were half-closed.
“But the rest of it. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Quit worrying.”
Cam led him over to the nearest couch, and pushed him down onto it, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. He put his thumbs against Serge’s brow, and smoothed it down. “I’m serious. Quit worrying.”
“What if—”
“See, when someone tells you to quit worrying, you don’t counter with ‘what if.’” He ground his ass against Serge’s crotch.
Serge was already hard, feeling constricted and tight. Questions swirled in his head. He ignored them. He unbuttoned Cam’s shirt, moving the checked fabric out of the way. The view of Cam’s chest, so trim and muscular and tight, filled him with a longing and urgency that could not be fought. Cam hummed as Serge’s lips brushed against his nipples, his tongue drawing rough lines over Cam’s skin.
The grinding was getting to be too much; Serge didn’t want to come in his pants. “Slow, slow,” he whispered. Cam’s fingers were down there, unbuckling him. He heard his zipper being pulled down, felt the warmth of Cam’s hand as it reached inside.
“Oh,” said Cam, a sleepy smile on his face. He gave Serge’s cock a squeeze. “You didn’t tell me about this.”
Cam got off his lap, moving beside him, and drew Serge’s cock out, letting his hand lazily stroke down its length. “What is this thing?”
His nerves wouldn’t let him respond verbally, but he closed his eyes at the sensation of Cam’s fingers on him and groaned.
“I don’t even know if I can get my mouth around it,” said Cam. He kissed Serge’s cock at its base, where it met his tight sack.
Serge felt Cam’s hot tongue bathing him, stroking up and down his shaft with his tongue flattened and rough. With a hesitant hand, he caressed the back of Cam’s head, gently guiding Cam’s mouth as he took in Serge’s cock. Serge lifted his hips to meet Cam’s sucking, listening to the wet sounds of lips and tongue against the head of his cock.
As he felt himself approach his climax, though, Cam seemed to sense it too, and began to slow down, began to use a lighter touch, before lifting his mouth off of Serge entirely. He looked up, his lips wet, and said, “Fuck me.”
And now his fear had words. “I…I don’t know how.”
“You never…?”
“Never. Not in my whole life, with a guy.”
A concerned, sympathetic look from Cam. He got up from the couch, his open shirt revealing his hard abdomen and the beginning of a trail of hair that disappeared down into his pants. He held out his hands, and led Serge to stand up. “Come to my bedroom,” Cam said to him.
15
Serge
They undressed one another. “There’s plenty we could do with clothes on,” said Cam, “but I am dying to see you.” The dim light coming in through the window wasn’t enough for him apparently. He turned on the lamp. Serge was so nervous he almost felt like covering himself with his hands.
How was this possible? He spent so much time in the gym. People, men and women both, saw him wearing very little, his muscles pumping, skin sweating. But now, bare in front of Cam, he was so scared.
“Move your hands!” laughed Cam. “C’mon, show me that wingspan!” His hands explored and tickled Serge’s flanks, rolling over the serratus, the mounds and ridges of his abs, the line of his hip where it expanded into muscular thigh.
And Cam? Cam was just beautiful. His lines were softer than Serge’s, but seemed more natural. His body was athletic, but not obsessively so. He moved with a natural confidence that Serge had practiced hard to mimic, an energy born of optimism and wiry strength.
He pressed himself against Cam, feeling the heat of his torso, his cock, his thighs. “I want inside you,” he whispered, trying to hide the tremulousness in his voice.
“You don’t have to be scared,” whispered Cam into his ear.
“But what do I do?”
“Tell you what. This time, why don’t you let me do the work?”
Serge, flat on the bed, his hands behind his head, looked down at Cam. He wanted to help, but Cam had slapped his hands away with a smile. Cam had a pack of condoms in his nightstand. He checked the expiration date. “It’s been a while,” he said. There was also a bottle of fluid that Serge thought was hand sanitizer until he realized it was lube. He laughed at himself. He really was a novice at this.
The rubber rolled down his shaft beneath Cam’s fingers. Then cold, cold lube poured down, coating him. Cam worked his hand down Serge’s cock, making sure the lube covered every inch. The feeling made Serge gasp.
Now Cam was climbing his body, perching above him, reaching behind to take Serge’s cock in hand.
Serge said, “Do I need to—”
“No. Just lie there.”
He felt his cock slide between Cam’s cheeks, felt himself guided expertly by Cam’s hand.
He was still scared. Was he supposed to push upwards at all? Was he at the right angle? Did he—
When Cam pressed down on him the feeling was so intense he thought he might pass out. It was slow, but it was so, so tight. Cam’s front teeth were pressed against his upper lip as he slid in slow motion down Serge’s cock. Serge watched him close his eyes, watched him consciously relax, and felt himself enter Cam entirely.
Without meaning to, he pressed upwards. “Mm, stop,” whispered Cam. “Just hold still. Stay there a second.”
His eyes still closed, Cam settled just a little further down, and began to shift his hips, lifting himself so little, just the tiniest amount up, letting himself drop slowly the tiniest bit down.
Serge’s mouth was open. He stared at Cam. He licked his lips. Cam’s body made him so hungry. He wanted to shove upwards, but he restrained himself, just watching, as Cam found a slow-motion rhythm that suited him.
“God, it’s so thick, I don’t know if I can stand it,” whispered Cam.
“I’m sorry, I’ll—”
“Shut up. That was a compliment. This is sex. We say things like that to one another.”
Serge tried it. “You feel so tight. It’s like you�
�re the virgin, instead of me.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like this to be the first time for both of us.”
“Yeah.”
Cam nodded, his eyes still closed. “Me too. Oh, I don’t even know what to do with this thing. I feel like I can hardly move.”
Serge reached a tentative hand forward. Cam’s cock was hard, bobbing softly as Cam moved, and it looked lonely, with nobody paying attention to it. He rubbed its underside with his thumb.
“Oh…oh, I’m coming down, hold on,” said Cam, putting his hands on Serge’s shoulders. He lowered himself. There was hardly any room for Serge’s hand between them, grasping Cam’s cock, squeezing it as Cam moved.
Cam was going faster now, thrusting himself down onto Serge. His fingers dug into the muscles of Serge’s shoulders. “Fuck, you’re so massive,” he said through clenched teeth. In the lamplight Serge saw a film of sweat over Cam’s chest.
Serge couldn’t last. Cam’s ass was so tight, his thrusts so deep, that Serge soon felt his balls drawing back up, getting ready to come. His hand on Cam’s cock began to stroke faster, pressed between them.
It hit him with such force that his hips jerked up, slamming him into Cam, whose eyes went wide when he felt the first pulse of Serge’s cock inside him. Serge felt Cam’s cock jump in his hand, and then felt the hot splash of come pour over his belly. His hand left Cam’s shaft and grabbed his hips, pulling him down as hard as he could.
They gasped and thrust together, their orgasms gradually fading as Cam lay atop him, their sweat mingling.
“I’ve never…” Serge breathed. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
Cam kissed him. “You’re not done yet. Get in the shower.”
16
Cam
Madeleine looked up from her mail. She demonstrated that her index finger had a bandage on. “I have injured myself during your absence,” she said. “Sharp-edged envelopes are half the reason I hire an assistant.”
Cam rubbed his eyes. “Sorry about that. I would have called, but then I thought it’d be faster if I just got here and explained later.”