Love and Other Hot Beverages

by Laurie Loft

  “We’re all friends here, and Barry and Lawrence, well . . . they’re kind of a special case.”

  “Yeah, I can see that!” Todd reached for a bottle of mineral water. He fiddled with the lid, unscrewing it and then screwing it tight again. “Sebby, did we or did we not have a conversation regarding exclusivity, wherein you gave me the clear impression that you did not want me sleeping with other boys? And wherein I thought I gave you likewise?”

  “That’s not exactly what I said.” Sebby rubbed Todd’s back and peered anxiously into his face. “Are you mad? Are we having a fight?”

  “Am I mad that you’re pimping me out to your friends?”

  Sebby set down his wineglass and put both arms around Todd. “Is that what it seems like to you? I’m sorry, it’s, um. It’s, um.” He rested his forehead against Todd’s shoulder. “Some of my boyfriends before—”

  “Sebbyyy, you’re monopolizing the new guy!” A tall, redheaded woman, perhaps in her late twenties, appeared and separated the two by hugging Sebby. “Mmmuh! Sorry I missed dinner.” She extended her hand to Todd, who shook it. “Hi, I’m Becca, and you’re Todd. Sebby told me how he totally stalked you down.” She grinned, displaying crooked teeth, and wrinkled her freckle-sprinkled nose. “Who do I have to fuck to get a drink?”

  “Not Todd.” Sebby’s remark was said under his breath, but Todd heard. Sebby looked over the wine selections and poured Becca a glass of burgundy.

  “There wasn’t a great deal of stalking to be done,” Todd said.

  “Yeah, ’cause you’re easy. He told me that too. Ooh, you know what I like.” Becca accepted the glass of burgundy and half drained it in one go.

  Ethan appeared at Becca’s side. Putting an arm around her waist, he plucked the wineglass from her hand despite her protesting groan. “Honey, you better watch that. Come sit with me awhile. Sebby, Wayne wants to meet Todd; would you mind taking him upstairs?”

  “Okay.” Sebby took Todd by the elbow and led him away. “Wayne doesn’t like being around people?” Sebby explained as they mounted the wide staircase. “I mean, a lot of people all at once? He doesn’t like it. He gets, like, claustrophobic. So, he’ll say he has work to do, but, it’s just that he doesn’t like so many people. All at once. Um, sorry?”

  “Sorry?” Todd slid one hand up and down the smooth, varnished railing.

  “You’re mad. ’M sorry.”

  “No, no. Not mad. I would say, confused. Overwhelmed?”

  Sebby turned, one step above Todd, which made him about two inches taller, their heights reversed. “You’re going to dump me.”

  “What? I most certainly am not.” His inner self said to reach out and take Sebby in his arms, but his outer self was angry and wanted to turn on his heel, stomp down the stairs, and call a cab.

  “You’re maaad. I don’t want you to be mad.”

  “Let’s just go see whozisfuckface.” Todd moved to the side and trotted up the stairs, leaving Sebby to trail behind him. Todd stopped at the head of the stairs. A long, slim table displayed a collection of porcelain figures alongside framed black-and-white photos of Ethan with another man. The landing led off in either direction.

  “This way,” Sebby said in a subdued voice. He gestured to the left. “All the way down at the end.”

  Moving at a quick march in the direction indicated, Todd reached the end of the hallway, took his best guess at one of the doors, and knocked.

  A startled voice answered: “What?”

  Sebby appeared at Todd’s side. “Wayne? It’s Sebby. Sorry to bother you, but I want you to meet Todd? Are you too busy?”

  “Oh. Sebby? Ummm, sure. Sure, come in.”

  Sebby opened the door, and Todd’s eyes were drawn to the only light in the room, which emanated from the several computer screens at the workstation, where a balding man sat, his eyeglasses opaquely blue in the light. He was turned toward them, hunched over, his clasped hands between his knees. “Hi.”

  “This is Todd. Todd, this is Wayne. He’s Ethan’s husband.”

  Wayne shrugged, scrunching his shoulders to his ears and dropping them. “Sorry I wasn’t downstairs. I have this deadline. Sebby talked about you a lot, though.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Todd said. He felt Sebby wince. “What sort of work do you do?

  “Web design. I just freelance. I used to have a real job, but Ethan saved me from that.” He smiled, an expression so quickly gone that Todd almost wondered if it had been there at all.

  “You’ve enough to keep you busy? These days when everyone gets free sites with templates? It seems that anyone can make a website with little to no experience. I’d think that has cut into your business.” Todd moved closer to get a view of the screens.

  “It hasn’t. The templates you’re talking about are more for personal use, and some small businesses try to use them, but they find out pretty quick how limiting they are. And SEO is quite difficult. Besides, if you want to look professional, you gotta hire a professional.”

  This agreed with Todd’s own philosophy. The same principle applied to businesses that created their own advertising: to an experienced eye, the difference was obvious. “I’ve done a little bit with web design. I’m not a designer myself, but I worked alongside web designers when I was in advertising.”

  Wayne nodded, bluish reflections glinting from his shiny scalp. “Advertising plays a big part in what I do.”

  The two were soon deep into a discussion of their respective professions and their intersections. Todd had limited technical ability but knew enough of the lingo to put Wayne at ease, and in no time Wayne was demonstrating his intricate setup and showing Todd his work. Todd directed him to some sites on which he had worked in the past, and Wayne was impressed. “I could put you in touch with some people, if you want. If you’re looking for work.”

  “Hey, Wayne. You found a playmate.” Ethan entered the room carrying a glass of wine. “I thought I’d bring you a drink and get you alone.”

  Wayne jumped as if he’d been caught with his hand down Todd’s pants. “No! Just—just talking shop. Todd, this is my husband, Ethan. Oh, you met him. Of course.”

  “I should go. Sebby’s probably bored.” Todd looked around, and it hit him with ice-down-the-back suddenness that Sebby was gone. “Where’s Sebby?”

  “Downstairs.” Ethan nodded toward the door. “There’s still a few people left, but not many, if you feel like coming down, Wayne.”

  “No, no, no, I got sidetracked, and I have to finish this.” Wayne turned his back and hunched over his keyboard.

  How long have I been in here? “Wayne, thanks for showing me your work. I hope we can speak again, and I’d be interested in learning more about the contacts you mentioned.” Wayne nodded without looking up. Todd left the two of them together and hurried down the stairs, where he was waylaid by a glazed-eyed and slurring Becca.

  “You’re nah gonna fuck BarrynLawrence? Why naaaah?”

  Todd took a step back from the drunken woman. He peered around for Sebby. Despite the crowd having thinned, his whereabouts were not apparent. “I don’t believe that to be any of your business.”

  “Buuuh, lookathem.” She waved an arm, and Todd’s gaze followed her gesture. Ping and Pong stood, arms entwined in a fluid pose reminiscent of the Three Graces, except that there were two of them. Todd noted their delicate bone structure and how they stood with dancers’ lissomeness. He had the feeling they had waited all evening for him to descend the stairs so they could strike a classic pose for his benefit.

  “Uh-oh, you smiled a’ them. Y’r in trouble now.” Becca weaved and clutched his arm.

  “Smiled? I?” Sure enough, Ping and Pong were approaching, their lips forming identical, pleased curves.

  “You were gone a long time,” said Ping.

  “Sebby was sad,” said Pong.

  “Will you go upstairs with us?”

  Todd tried to shake off Becca, then thought better of it because her presence on one arm prev
ented Ping and Pong from flanking him. “Where is Sebby?”

  “Asleep.” Outstretching his arm in a balletic move, Pong pointed, ending palm-up in invitation.

  “Passed out, mean. You mean,” Becca elaborated. Following Pong’s gesture, Todd spied Sebby, stretched out on a sofa, his hands under his cheek in an attitude of prayer, his head in the lap of an older man with salt-and-pepper hair whom Todd did not remember meeting.

  “Don’t bother him now.” Ping pressed himself against Todd’s arm.

  “He’s with Leo,” Pong said.

  “Come upstairs and everything’ll be okay,” said Ping. Pong pressed up against Todd’s back. Todd had not even realized that one of them had gotten behind him. Ping and Pong moved their bodies against his. Todd was not immune to such ministrations, though the presence of an inebriated Becca served as an offset to the eroticism of two pretty boys eager to get him between the sheets.

  Exasperation made him blunt. “I am not going upstairs with you. I want Sebastián, and he is all that I want, and I would be appreciative if this subject were never brought up again.”

  “But he’s asleep!” Ping remarked with great, wide eyes.

  Todd sputtered. “I don’t know what you mean to imply! I . . . How can I make you understand?” He threw his arms in the air, though neither arm moved, the one imprisoned in Becca’s drunken clinch and the other pinioned to his side by Ping’s body. Inspiration struck. “I’m from Minnesota.”

  “Ohhh.” The sighing exclamation came dually from the rouged lips of Ping and Pong.

  “It was lovely meeting you, ah, again. If you’ll excuse me, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern . . .” Todd made his feet move and was relieved when the two boys did not move with him. He walked Becca to a chair and eased her into it, leaving her with a bottle of Perrier before crossing the room to where Sebby lay. The man watched Todd approach, and Todd noted how the man’s fingers stroked Sebby’s hair. His own fingers remembered and longed for the feel of it.

  “He’s very drunk,” the man said without preamble. His deep voice seemed to reverberate so that Todd felt its echo in his own chest.

  “Oh.” Feeling at a loss, Todd tilted his head to better view Sebby’s face, slack in sleep, lips parted, long lashes dark against his cheeks.

  “I’m Leo. Leo Holtz.” He offered his hand, though the other hand continued its slow work through Sebby’s hair.

  “Todd, rhymes with God. I’m Sebby’s boyfriend.”

  They shook hands. Leo showed no sign of moving.

  “I think I ought to take him home?” Against his will, it came out as a question.

  “That could be difficult. It would be better, I think, to let him sleep it off here.”

  Here? Does he mean here in his lap? Todd crouched and touched Sebby’s face, feeling the heat rising from his skin, and Leo moved his own hand aside. Todd smoothed Sebby’s hair as if to erase Leo’s touch. “Erase erase erase,” he said softly. “Sebby? Sweetheart?”

  After a long moment, Sebby’s eyes fluttered open and struggled to focus. His tongue came out and wet his lips, but still it took several tries before sound emerged. “Whaaat?”

  “It’s late, sweetheart. Do you want me to take you home?”

  “Kayyy.” The eyes closed. Deep and even breathing resumed.

  “Let him sleep it off,” Leo said.

  “I must assume that you’re his friend,” Todd said, getting to his feet, “but I’m his . . . significant other, and I ask that you relinquish him to me. Sir,” he added before he could stop himself.

  Leo chuckled. “I’m not keeping him from you.” He started to shift Sebby from his lap, then stopped and raised his eyes to Todd’s. “You do realize he’s too drunk for sex.”

  Todd’s temper flared and loosed his tongue. “Jesus H. Christ, what sort of troglodytes did Sebby go with before me? And you think I’m one. You know what, fuck you, fuck all of you, I’m taking him home.”

  He sat Sebby up and drew Sebby’s arm around his shoulders, talking to him the while, hoping he’d wake enough to walk to the car. Sebby murmured. His eyes opened, and he stared glassily before his eyeballs rolled up. It was apparent to Todd, who had grown up with an alcoholic mother, that this would be awkward at best, impossible at worst. Leo watched. Todd hesitated. He did not relish the idea of a fireman carry; Sebby didn’t deserve to be so humiliated in front of his friends. He ground his teeth.

  “You’re right,” he said. “It is better to let him sleep it off here.” He met Leo’s eyes. “Please move.”

  Leo got up at once, and Todd was surprised at how tall and well-built he was. “There’s a guest room on this level. I’ll see if it’s free,” Leo said. “If no one’s taken it yet, I’ll help you put him to bed. If you’ll let me.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’d appreciate that.”

  Leo walked away, and Todd cradled the sleeping Sebby. Ping and Pong watched wide-eyed. Todd gave them a little wave, and they turned to whisper with each other. Becca appeared to have fallen asleep in the chair where Todd had left her. Few other guests remained, and Ethan moved about tidying up.

  Leo returned. “Good news. It’s unoccupied. Here, let me?”

  Todd nodded, and Leo scooped Sebby up in his arms and carried him like Rhett carrying Scarlett. Envious of Leo’s height and breadth, Todd followed behind. They went down a short hallway and through a door, into a cramped room that appeared to be stuffed with whatever furniture had been left over when two people moved in together and all belongings were merged. The bed, twin-sized, had been turned down, and here Leo placed Sebby—lovingly, Todd thought, as though Sebby were a cherished child.

  “There. I’ll let you take care of him, then.” Leo rested his hand on Todd’s head, a familiarity that Todd would have resented, but the hand was large and warm and reassuring, and sudden tears sprouted in Todd’s eyes. Mortified, he knocked Leo’s hand away and turned to remove Sebby’s shoes.

  “I’m sorry, Todd, for not trusting you. But Sebby has brought home some doozies in the past.”

  “’S all right. You don’t know me.”

  Leo hesitated in the doorway. “You know why he got drunk.”

  “N-o.” Todd resisted the temptation to look up at Leo. He started undoing Sebby’s trousers, stopped, then went on. Fuck Leo if he suspected him of base intentions.

  “He thought it might be easier for you to go with the boys if he was out of the picture for the night.”

  “God. Jesus God.” Todd reached for Sebby’s hair, brushed it away from his face, and stroked his thumb over Sebby’s forehead. “I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t say that I do, either. But the two of you can figure it out. So . . . you need anything?” Todd shook his head. “Good night.”

  Hearing the door close behind him, Todd slumped to the floor, resting his head against the mattress beside him. “Sebby, what the fuck. Seriously, what the fuck. Your friends are a motley, motley crew.” He heaved a sigh, found Sebby’s hand, pulled it to his mouth, kissed it, and put it atop his own head.

  Presently, he got up and finished removing Sebby’s trousers, rolled him to his side away from the wall in case he vomited, and clambered over him to take the side nearest the wall in the narrow bed. Putting an arm over Sebby, he scooted close and pressed his face to the back of his neck.

  “I love you,” he said into Sebby’s hair. If only he would wake. But Sebby remained limp as a drooping dandelion. “Sebastián, je t’aime. Te adoro.” He pressed his lips under Sebby’s ear to make certain his pulse was still throbbing. Loneliness descended, so crushing that Todd nearly went looking for Leo or for Barry and Lawrence, anyone to keep him company. Perhaps he would have, had not despair weighted his limbs to the point where moving to pull the covers over Sebby and himself was almost more than he could do. “Wake up, please wake up,” he whispered.

  Eventually, pressed tightly against Sebby’s back, he slept.

  Todd awoke to the sound of retching, and lurched to the attached bat
hroom, where Sebby was clutching the porcelain. Todd put his hand to Sebby’s hunched back. “Oh, Sebby, poor sweetheart, can I—”

  “Go away!” Sebby’s voice quavered. “Todd, get out!”

  Chagrined, Todd backed up, shut the door, and left him to puke in private.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked through the door.

  “Nooo.”

  Having slept in his clothes, Todd was stiff and rumpled and used up. He paced the room, which meant taking two steps to the huge dresser with a mirror, turning, and taking two steps back to the bed, all the while hearing retching noises followed by flushing and running water. Sebby emerged, pale and sweat-damp, his hair slicked back from his face. He brushed past Todd and, shivering, eased himself back into bed.

  “Sweetheart, you’ll be dehydrated. You need to drink something.”

  “I drank some water. Go away.” Sebby’s voice was wan as wax.

  “Where am I to go? I am a stranger in a strange land.”

  “Go talk to Wayne or something.”

  Todd put his hand on Sebby’s forehead. He stroked the damp hair. “You’re shivering. I’ll lie down with you?”

  “If I have to puke again, it’s easier if you’re not in the way.”

  “Well, but, what if you need something?”

  Sebby’s croaking, muffled voice said, “Dios mío, I’m hungover, not dying of cancer! Leave me alone.”

  Todd shut his eyes. He ground his teeth. “Right, then. I’ll check on you later.” There was no answer, and Todd exited, leaving the door open a crack. He went down the hall and followed the scent of bacon into the kitchen, where Wayne and Ethan sat at the table, used dishes indicating they’d eaten. Ethan was reading the paper. Wayne was hunched over his laptop.

  Todd stammered, “Ah . . . good morning, ah . . .” They looked up. “Sebby and I spent the night . . . You probably knew that . . . Ah . . . I’m afraid Sebby’s not quite up to taking his leave just yet.”

  Ethan smiled. “Leo told us. Don’t worry about it one bit. Sit yourself on down.” He stood and began clearing the table. “I’ll fix Sebby a hangover cure, huh? Becca can use one too, eh, honey?”