Love and Other Hot Beverages

by Laurie Loft

  “The truth is, the truth is . . .” and Todd paused to gather the truth to himself. “The truth is, that a friend of Sebastián’s was once hurt—” he heard Sebby’s indrawn breath and forged ahead “—by some men like the ones we encountered on the Fourth of July. And so he was frightened that the same thing might happen again. I was behaving irresponsibly, and he was afraid for me, and for you, Ryan, and for himself. It’s understandable that, given the circumstances, he slap—” and Todd sliced his hand through the air “—not hit!—the person who had frightened him so. It rather sobered me, as was his intention. Nevertheless, he is sorry, and let’s have an end of it!”

  It was quiet in the car. Sebby would not meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. Ryan turned away, leaning his arm against the window and his head on his arm. Christopher, regarding Sebby curiously, asked, “What happened to your friend?”

  There was more silence, and, in the mirror, Todd could see Sebby looking out the window, his face expressionless, his eyes darting as if following faces in the crowd. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Todd’s twenty-fourth birthday came and went. “I’m catching you up,” he said to Sebby. He tried not to think about how it widened the gap between himself and Vivian.

  One evening, Todd sprawled on Sebby’s sofa with a book of poetry and a large mug of coffee. He was alone in the house. Sebby had gone out to a horror flick with Barry and Lawrence. Right in the middle of a sonnet, the landline rang. Without taking his eyes from his poetry, Todd reached for the cordless extension, which was, after all, right next to him, and answered unthinkingly, “Todd here.”

  A noise answered him, something like, “Uhhhn,” before the caller hung up. Todd realized that the caller might have thought he had a wrong number. He had no business answering Sebby’s phone. When it rang again, he let it go to messaging.

  At the sound of a key in the lock, Todd marked his place and, noting the late hour with surprise, rose to greet a flushed and sparkly-eyed Sebastián, a Sebastián whose hair was mussed, a Sebastián who threw his arms around Todd and pressed kisses to his neck. “Mmm. You smell good.”

  Todd could not say the same; Sebby smelled of booze and smoke, and Todd wrinkled his nose. Sebby leaned into him, forcing Todd to support him, and Todd realized that the flush and the sparkle were alcohol induced. He let go a sigh. “Did you drive home?”

  “Nooo, Granny Todd, Barry was the whatzis driver tonight. Just a few drinks, anyway. After the movie. Um.” Sebby teetered, and Todd walked backward, guiding him to the sofa where the two of them collapsed in a sort of heap, and Sebby apparently found this very funny. He looped his arms around Todd’s neck and insinuated his leg in between Todd’s, pressing his thigh against Todd’s crotch.

  The phone rang.

  Todd said, “Oh . . . someone called earlier, twice. Maybe you want to answer that.”

  Sebby leaned over backward, wiggling his fingers in the general direction of the phone. Todd had to grab it for him and place it in his hand.

  “Hellooo? Oh, you.” Sebby sat up. “Fine. No, no, fine. Thank you. Wellll . . . no. I’m with someone now. In fact he lives with me, so, no. But thanks for calling. But don’t call back. Nope, really. Really. Whattaya mean? He’s right here.” Eyes shut, Sebby collapsed backward, lying down on the sofa, legs in Todd’s lap, and holding the phone away from himself. After a moment, Todd took it and put it to his ear.

  “Hello? Hello . . . They’ve hung up.” Todd replaced the phone in its dock.

  “I lied a little,” Sebby murmured. His eyes moved beneath his lids like a dreamer’s, and Todd, watching, placed his hand on Sebby’s head and smoothed back his damp hair.

  “Former boyfriend?” Todd guessed, and Sebby nodded.

  “I don’t want him to call anymore. I don’t want any old boyfriends to call. Except Ethan. He can call.” His eyes flew open. “Todd. I want to fuck.”

  “You dated Ethan? You never told me that!”

  “I did tell you.” He stretched, raising his arms over his head and arching his back. “He’s one of the older men whose heart I broke, that I told you.”

  “Ethan isn’t old.”

  “Not old. Olderrr. He’s thirty-four. I was twenty.” Before Todd could determine whether Sebby meant that Ethan was thirty-four now or then and calculate what age difference this constituted, Sebby reached for Todd, curling a hand behind his neck, and pulled him down.

  Todd resisted. “You are drunk.”

  “Sooo whaaat. Not too drunk to consent, and anyway, I’m yours, so consent is stupid.”

  Frowning, Todd removed Sebby’s hand from around his neck. “I cannot agree. Consent is at the heart of any healthy sexual relationship.”

  Closing his eyes, Sebby pressed himself against Todd. “Oh, tengo ganas. Ahora.”

  Todd gave him a brief kiss. Sebby tasted of ashes and whiskey, and Todd recoiled. “Have you been smoking?”

  “Maybe one.” Sebby’s hand reached to smooth Todd’s hair and then fell back as if his arm were just too heavy. “Every man there wanted me, but I came home to you, and now you don’t want me.” His tone was pure bewilderment.

  “Every man?” Todd traced one finger over Sebby’s lower lip, pulling it down to reveal the tender pink inside. “Drinking, smoking. What else?”

  “Nothing else.” Sebby squirmed and nearly fell off the sofa in an effort to maneuver himself into a more aggressive position. Todd fended off his advances and clamped his hands on Sebby’s upper arms. Sebby gasped and shivered, and his head lolled back, exposing his sleek throat. Todd found himself pressing his mouth to that throat, kissing and then biting. Sebby cried out and struggled before going boneless in Todd’s arms. He let out a long moan as Todd’s lips wandered down to the V-shaped indent where the collar bones met breastbone, and then farther down to where Sebby’s shirt hung open. Todd paused to ease Sebby down on the sofa and unbutton Sebby’s shirt. He mouthed his nipples, and relished the sound of sharply indrawn breath. Hands plucked at Todd’s shirt as Todd backed up and kissed his way down, laving Sebby’s stomach with his tongue, feeling the muscles quiver beneath his mouth. Todd inched the low-slung jeans lower till Sebby’s erection sprang free, and pressed his face there, nuzzling. Resting his cheek against Sebastián’s thigh, he curled his fingers around Sebby’s cock, swirling his thumb in the moisture on the mushroom-shaped head.

  Sebby twitched and clutched at Todd’s hair. All in a rush, as if he hadn’t breath to get the words out, Sebby cried, “Please, oh, por favor, querido, oh, don’t make me beg, please!” Todd refrained from pointing out that he was begging, and—feeling grateful that Sebby was there with him instead of out with God-knew-whom—he had only to roll his head to reach Sebby’s cock with his tongue. Sebby gasped, he writhed, he cried out in Spanish. Encouraged, Todd took Sebby’s cock into his mouth. The taste of pre-ejaculate was sweet. Fitting his lips just around the glans, he thought how perfectly formed it was, as if designed for just this purpose. The tip of his tongue poked into the tiny cleft—rather like his habitual treatment of Sebby’s dimple, he realized.

  Sebby’s breath came in bursts: a long pause of held breath followed by an exhalation and gasp, followed by another long pause and another exhalation. He held still, the trembling stillness of someone who feared that movement would bring an end to pleasure. Todd shifted and, positioning his tongue at the base of the glans where the sensitive bundle of nerves lived, began to hum.

  He had never tried the humming with Sebby, and the effect was immediate: Sebby arched and cried out, “Todd! Oh! Ah! Ah!”

  Todd was pleased to hear his name at this most delicate of junctures, and he continued his serenade a few more seconds until Sebby’s orgasm stopped him. Grimacing, he swallowed and sat up.

  Sebby’s hands slipped from Todd’s hair; his eyelids fluttered without opening, and he sighed, his body seeming to sink into the sofa cushions as the breath left him. Todd sipped his lukewarm coffee and watched Sebby’s face relax into sleep, saw how hi
s lips parted and curved as if to smile, how his tangled hair lay against his forehead. It seemed nigh onto sacrilege to disturb such angelic repose, and after a minute, he stood, fetched a throw, tucked it around Sebby, and settled himself into the corner of the sofa with his book.

  Early light sent knives through Sebby’s eyelids. His foot had fallen asleep, and he soon realized that this was due to Todd’s form slumped over Sebby’s legs. He needed to piss, but the pain in his head beat time to “My Sharona,” and he was afraid that if he moved, he’d puke. He shifted under the cover, pausing upon the realization that his jeans were sort of only halfway on. He remembered coming home last night, but trying to remember anything else made his head pound, and so he stopped. He could remember things later. He wiggled his legs out from under Todd, who muttered something and slumped further. Sebby eased himself into a sitting position and was able, with feeble kicks, to wake his foot up and also rid himself of his jeans. He rested, before standing and hobbling to the bathroom.

  After freshening up, he braced himself to face Todd, equipped with a towel full of ice. “Todd,” he croaked, and again, a bit more loudly, “Todd.” Wincing at the sound, he pressed the ice to his head. Todd stirred, groaned, sat up, and peered around as he adjusted his skewed eyeglasses. He stretched and flinched, probably cramped from his hunched sleeping position, but Sebby was preoccupied with his own aches and was unsympathetic.

  “Good morning!” Todd said with a glowing smile as his eyes traveled up and down, taking in Sebby’s attire, which, Sebby remembered, was an unbuttoned shirt and nothing else, and, mierda, Todd had better not be wanting to fuck, because no fucking way.

  Sebby could only nod, and it wasn’t even a nod—he just moved his chin a little.

  Todd’s face fell into lines of concern as he rose and oh-so-gently put his arms around him. “Poor sweetheart. How do you feel?”

  Terrible, Sebby wanted to say, but that was too many syllables. “Sick.” He rested his head on Todd’s shoulder for a moment, but Todd’s fingers in his hair irritated him. “Go home.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “I’ll help you to bed,” Todd said, and Sebby, baffled, allowed Todd to draw him to the stairs, where he balked and hung back. All those steps. Todd might as well just knock him in the head and get it over with.

  “I don’t need to go upstairs. I wanna lay on the couch.” Oh, it was too many words. Why couldn’t Todd leave him alone?

  “We slept there all night, cielito lindo. You’ll rest better in your bed.”

  He turned and glared at Todd with dark suspicion. “You mean you’ll rest better.”

  One eyebrow arched. “Who needs a bed? I could fuck you on the couch. You’re not so particular.”

  Sebby’s mouth fell open. A screech would have emerged if he wasn’t afraid of giving himself a brain hemorrhage.

  “I’ll help you to bed, and then I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

  “Coño,” Sebby whispered. “You’re mean. I can get up the stairs myself, if I want to, and I don’t. I wanna lay on the couch.” The towel slipped, spilling ice cubes. Sebby sniffled and blinked. Chingados, why did he always cry when he was hungover?

  Arms went around him, gentle but firm, and pulled him inexorably up the stairs, more under Todd’s power than his own. Todd talked quietly the while. “If you remain downstairs, you will sleep fitfully, you will awaken rumpled and unrefreshed, and I refuse to allow your binge to ruin our entire Saturday.”

  They reached the bedroom. Sebby shed his shirt and couldn’t help moaning as he crawled naked between the cold sheets, burying his face in his pillow and covering his head with the damp towel. He was conscious of Todd drawing the covers over him. “Fuck off. I don’t need you.”

  The covers froze in their movement and were dropped, covering Sebby only halfway, and he wriggled, annoyed. Todd’s footsteps receded and stopped, and Sebby peeked out, but his pained eyeballs couldn’t focus.

  “I need someone to need me,” Todd said, so quietly that the words were almost lost in the pounding of Sebby’s own head.

  Sebby growled. Dragging the towel aside to make sure that his words were clear, he said, “I’m not Vivian.”

  Then Todd was gone, closing the door behind him so carefully that Sebby couldn’t discern even the click of the mechanism.

  When Sebby awoke for the second time that day, it was to the uneasy feeling that he’d done something terrible. There was a sodden towel dampening his pillow. Pushing it away, he rolled over and frowned at the Todd-free space next to him. Unwelcome memories came slinking back through the hangover fog. ¡Puta! Pressing fingertips to his aching eyeballs, Sebby winced. “I’m not Vivian.” Oh, Dios mío, had he said that? He fished for his cell and then remembered it was downstairs and grabbed the cordless extension instead. Todd answered on the first ring.

  “Are you mad? Can you come over?” Sebby winced at the whine in his own voice.

  “Of course I’m not mad. I’ll be there directly.” In the next second there was a knock on his bedroom door, and Sebby started, his throat clamping shut, until he realized who it must be.

  “Oh, Todd. Come in?”

  The door opened. Phone to his ear, Todd stepped in, crisp and fresh in pressed khakis and a pale oxford shirt. “Good morning.”

  “Morning.” Sebby dropped the phone and pressed his fingers to his eyes, this time to push the tears back in. Todd must have stayed downstairs or in the spare room, just waiting.

  “Sweetheart, aren’t you feeling any better? You should drink this.”

  Sebby looked up, and Todd had produced from somewhere a tall glass of ice water, the sight of it so good and cold that Sebby’s tongue swelled.

  “You should eat something. Do you think you could eat?”

  Sebby spoke humbly. “Whatever you think best, Todd. But what I want is, I wish you would come over here and just hold me a little.”

  It must have been the right thing to say, because Todd’s expression warmed, and he glided across the room. Todd insisted that Sebby drink the water, and Sebby guzzled half the glass. Then Todd perched on the edge of the bed and gathered him up, so tenderly, as if Sebby were one of those eggshells without the egg inside. He pressed his face into Todd’s shoulder.

  “Lay down with me?” he begged. Todd hesitated but removed his glasses and crept carefully over the covers to lie down facing Sebby. He’s trying not to jostle me too much, Sebby realized, and felt even worse. He scooted close to Todd and hid his face in Todd’s chest so he wouldn’t have to look at him. “Todd, you are pitiful.” His voice broke. Todd’s arm went around him, he stroked Sebby’s bare back, and Sebby pressed closer yet.

  “I know,” Todd answered. He took a deep breath; Sebby felt Todd’s rib cage expand against his face. “I’ve done a lot of thinking this morning, and I vow to change. I won’t—”

  “No!” Sebby interrupted. He pulled at Todd’s collar, rolling it around his finger. “No, stay the same, stay pitiful; I’m a bitch.” He raised his head enough to press his mouth to Todd’s throat. He circled the Adam’s apple with his tongue.

  “Shhh. Don’t.” Todd didn’t move, but the gentle remonstrance was enough to stop Sebby. Todd wouldn’t want a guilt fuck, oh no, not he.

  “I know it’s not fair, I know it was wrong, but I thought you’d want to fuck, and I was so sick!”

  “You thought what?”

  “Did Vivian— Was he a bitch to you when he was sick?” Sebby held his breath. He knew what the answer had to be.

  Todd turned away. The lines of his throat flexed as he swallowed. “No. But you aren’t he.”

  Sebby bit his lip. He fingered Todd’s collar, trying to press it flat again and pushed his nose into the hollow of Todd’s throat, breathing the scent of soapy clean skin.

  “The first time ever I stayed with Viv when he was ill, he thought the same thing: that I was there to get laid. So . . . evidently, there is something about me that leads others to such a conclusion.”

  S
ebby huffed against Todd’s skin. “Yeah. Because you’re such a pushy man-whore,” he said sarcastically.

  “You said that I would not let anyone take care of me, but it’s you who won’t allow me to care for you and who informs me that you can take care of yourself, that you don’t need me.”

  Tears gathered again. Sebby squeezed words past the lump in his throat. “You take care of me lots.” He stretched to press his cheek against Todd’s. “It’s just, when I’m sick, I can’t have someone hovering. I can’t stand it.”

  “I know. It’s all right.”

  “I don’t know about need. You said, ‘I need someone to need me,’ not, ‘I need you to need me,’ like it doesn’t matter who, just anyone. And need is like you don’t have any choice about it, but I want you, I choose to be with you. Isn’t that better?”

  “No. I don’t know.” Todd pulled away, rolled to his back, cast his arm over his eyes. “I told you once before that I am too needy.”

  Sebby drew a breath. “Querido, I can’t talk about all this now. My head hurts.” He didn’t care if this was blatant manipulation; it was no lie: the ache in his head was surging, his eyes pulsed with unshed tears, and his throat swelled with thirst and anxiety. He whimpered. Surely, Vivian had never been so pathetic.

  Todd shifted; his broad, warm hand smoothed Sebby’s hair back. “Poor sweetheart.” Lips touched Sebby’s forehead, pressed silken kisses all along his hairline, making Sebby shiver, and Todd paused to pull the covers up over Sebby’s shoulders.

  “More?”

  Todd complied. His fingers worked through Sebby’s hair and massaged his scalp. The pain eased. He moaned; he couldn’t help it.

  Todd stopped. “Too much? Did that hurt?”

  “Nooo, don’t stop, no.” Sebby reached both arms around Todd’s neck, pulled him down, and kissed him.

  “Cease and desist, imp,” Todd chided. Taking hold of Sebby’s wrists, he drew them from around his neck and crossed them over Sebby’s own chest. He pulled the covers to Sebby’s chin, sat up, and resumed the scalp massage. Sebby went limp. He resolved to be fake-sick once in a while and let Todd take care of him. It was such a simple thing, and it made Todd happy. Maybe he should be afraid of spiders, if that would make Todd feel strong, to be the brave spider killer. He could pretend things were too heavy for him and let Todd do the carrying. He could—