by Drew Hunt
“Thanks,” Brock said, taking one of the frosted glasses.
“Is everything going okay?”
“Yep, we’re a bit ahead of schedule I think.”
Brock had teamed up with Pedro, the latter laying the three-tab while he operated the nail gun. They’d change over after their short break. Juan and José emerged from the other side of the house, and Calvin offered them their own glasses.
“Gracias,” José said, smiling and nodding at Calvin.
Juan merely grunted before downing the tea in a couple of swallows.
“Thirsty work, especially in this heat,” Calvin observed.
“Si, señor,” José smiled and nodded again.
“I’ll leave the pitcher on the garden wall over there in the shade in case you need some more while I’m gone.”
“Gracias,” Pedro smiled.
“Thanks, darl…Calvin,” Brock said, hoping no one had noticed the slip.
“I’ll stop off at the garage while I’m out and ask Bill about your truck.”
“Okay, thanks.” Brock wanted to protest, but they had their agreement about not discussing it until Tuesday, and it wouldn’t look good arguing in front of the roofers.
“Shouldn’t be too long. I’ve left the door unlocked if you need the bathroom or anything.”
“Thanks.”
Brock smiled as he watched Calvin reverse KITT out of the garage and gave Brock a salute before turning right and heading down the driveway.
“¡Pinche puto!” Juan spat.
“¿Qué?” Brock whirled on him. “El paga tu sueldo.”
“Ni mi importa. ¡Sigue siendo un joto!”
Brock was instantly brought back to high school and all the times the kids used to call Calvin a fag. He’d stood back then, but he’d be damned if he would now. “¡Cállate la boca!”
“¿Por qué? ¿Eres un maricón también?” Juan smirked and pushed Brock, who immediately pushed him back.
Within seconds fists were flying, and José and Pedro were parting them.
“¡Lárgate de aquí!” Brock yelled at Juan and pointed at the street, which only a few minutes earlier Calvin had driven down.
“Sin problema.” Juan looked at the others and insisted that if he were made to go, they should leave, too.
Pedro shook his head, and José refused to meet Juan’s eyes.
Juan hawked up a mouthful of saliva and spat it at Brock’s feet. If it had touched him, Brock would have laid the guy out, but chose to let it go. Unfortunately for Juan he hadn’t been the one driving, and Pedro—who had the truck’s keys—refused to hand them over. Juan walked down the driveway, cursing with every step.
Only when he’d gone did Brock realize the area around his left eye was hurting. He raised his hand, it came away dry, but his face sure was tender.
“Juan’s very religious,” Pedro offered quietly.
Brock didn’t think God would have appreciated the foul language only some of which he’d been able to understand, and he thought he had a pretty good grasp of Spanish cuss words.
“Okay, back to work, guys. And thanks for staying.”
“No problem,” José said, climbing the ladder.
“You need some ice, Señor Brockwell,” Pedro said.
“Yeah, maybe later. We’ve got to work harder now Juan’s no longer here.”
Pedro shrugged. “More money for the rest of us.”
Brock smiled.
* * * *
During their next short break, sweat now rolling down Brock’s back, making him consider taking off his football jersey, Pedro tentatively asked about Calvin.
“Brother of my wife, he,” Pedro seemed to struggle for the English word, “homosexo.”
“Homosexual.” Brock supplied.
“Gracias.”
“And, you’re okay with that?” Brock knew many Latinos had a hard time understanding the idea that one man could love another.
Pedro shrugged. “So long you love someone, what it matter who they are?”
Brock nodded.
“You love Señor Calvin?”
Brock felt his face drain of color.
“Is okay. I not care.”
Swallowing, and taking a huge leap into the unknown, both in coming out to a relative stranger and also admitting his love for Calvin, Brock nodded.
“Si.” Pedro smiled. I see how you look at Señor Calvin, it like how I look at my Gabriela.”
“Thanks, bud.”
Brock was saved from any further embarrassment by Calvin coming back up the driveway.
“What’ve you done to your eye?” Calvin asked on opening the driver’s door.
“And good morning to you, too.”
Brock hustled Calvin and his purchases into the house; he hadn’t had a chance to warn Pedro that he hadn’t told Calvin how he felt about him.
Safely inside the air-conditioned kitchen, Brock wanted to kiss his man silly, but knew the men were still on their break and could look in at the window.
Calvin moved toward him. At first, Brock thought it was to kiss him, and so he stepped back.
“Not that again,” Calvin said. “I just wanted to get a closer look at your eye. What happened? Did a piece of shingle get you? I hope you gave as good as you got.”
Brock shook his head. He related some of what had happened, telling Calvin Juan had called Calvin a fag, how Brock had told him to shut up, and then, when Juan had asked if Brock too was gay, that was when things had gotten physical.
“But you are gay.”
“Yes, but he didn’t say it nicely.” Brock realized he sounded childish.
“Violence doesn’t solve anything.”
“He pushed me first.” Shit, that wasn’t much better.
Calvin got out a bag of frozen peas and made Brock hold it against his eye.
“I can’t sit in here while the others work, especially as we’re a man down.”
“Five minutes won’t make much difference. And I’ll come out and give you a hand.”
“What?” Brock took the icepack off his eye.
Calvin pushed it back. “I bet I’d look great in a hardhat and plaid shirt.”
Brock shook his head. “For one thing you’ve never shingled a roof before, for a second you’re not insured, and for a third you—”
“Okay, okay. I’ll just stay here in the kitchen and bake cookies or something.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Brock let out a breath. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. It’s a dirty, hot job. Trust me, you’re better off in here.”
“Baking cookies.”
“Only if they’re oatmeal raisin.”
“Goof.” Calvin lightly punched Brock’s left arm. “Sorry, was that your playing arm?”
“Nope.”
Calvin started to kiss Brock’s arm to make it better.
Brock pulled away. “I’m sweaty and dirty.”
“Yes you are.” Calvin resumed his kissing.
The noise of the nail gun started up above them. Brock felt guilty for being inside an air-conditioned house while the others were working in the hot sun.
Putting an arm’s distance between them, Brock asked, “What did Bill have to say about my truck?”
Calvin pouted at Brock’s retreat. He looked so fuckin’ sexy Brock couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing him.
“What was that for?” Calvin asked.
“Just because.”
“Hmm.” Calvin smiled.
“My truck?”
“Oh, yeah. Bill wondered which you’d prefer, burial or cremation.”
“Shit. That bad?”
Calvin shrugged. “I asked Bill to patch the truck up as best he could. He said he should be able to get most of the parts from the junkyard.”
Brock didn’t think that would cost too much.
Calvin’s mind must have been on the same wavelength, because he said, “Bill agreed to take a check when the work is done because he knows my daddy. At least there�
��s something good about these small towns.”
Brock chose to stay silent about how Calvin was paying for the repair, as well as his dislike of Parish Creek. Instead he asked about his hat.
“Jake said it’d be ready Tuesday.”
Thanks.” Brock gave him another kiss.
“Wow, if I’d known running errands for you would get me kissed, I’d have run them for you earlier in the week, too.”
That got Calvin another kiss. “I’ll always give you kisses, darlin’.”
“Thanks, beautiful. I picked up a few things from Grantley’s, too.”
“Including more beer, I see.” Brock kissed Calvin’s neck.
“Yeah, the old gal almost forced it on me.”
Brock raised an eyebrow, which Calvin couldn’t see as he was still nuzzling the man’s neck.
“It’s that imported stuff you were drinking earlier this week.”
Brock remembered. It was pretty good, much better than the beer he usually bought.
Calvin squirmed at Brock’s continued attentions to his neck. “No one else in town will buy it. I think it’s because they don’t have refined palates like me.”
Brock snorted. More like the locals wouldn’t pay more than they needed to for beer.
“I’ll let you have some later. Don’t want my beautiful construction worker falling off the roof because he’s intoxicated.”
Brock didn’t think one bottle of beer would render him incapable, but Calvin was right. He’d be better off waiting.
“And I hope that’s not the only thing I’ll be getting later.” Brock squeezed Calvin’s ass, making the man yelp in surprise. “Remember, you promised me some of this.” Brock bit Calvin’s ear.
“And I always deliver on my promises, big boy!” Calvin cupped Brock’s hard dick.
Shit, he’d have to go out there and face the guys with another fuckin’ hard on. Damn Calvin!
But before he could get to the door Calvin stopped him and laid a gentle kiss on his left eye. “For defending my honor you’re now the most beautiful man in,” Calvin had to think for a moment, “have we had North America yet?”
Brock laughed. Shaking his head, he said, “Nope, don’t think so.”
“Okay then, you’re the most beautiful man in North America.” Calvin picked up his sunglasses from the counter and slid them onto Brock’s face. “There, now no one will know you went ten rounds with Mike Tyson.”
* * * *
After Brock paid Pedro and José, Calvin handed a couple of twenties to each man, thanking them for their hard work.
“Gracias, Señor,” José told Calvin before getting into the truck.
Pedro shook Calvin’s hand, winked at Brock and then climbed in opposite José and started up the engine.
“He fancy you or something?” Calvin asked when the pickup was turning onto the street.
“Who, Pedro?”
“Yes, Pedro.”
Was Calvin jealous? “He’s got a wife and kids.” Brock wasn’t sure about the latter, but Pedro being a good Catholic, offspring was almost a certainty.
“Huh, that doesn’t prove anything. Look at you.”
“I’d rather look at you, and that sexy ass of yours.”
“Horndog.”
Brock chased Calvin back into the house, along the hallway and into the master bedroom.
“You stink. You’re taking a shower before I touch you.”
“I thought you liked my stink?”
“In moderation, but you still need a shower.”
Brock wondered if it would be better to shower at home. He kicked himself for not bringing a change of clothing with him.
* * * *
Back at his place, the message light was blinking on the answering machine. Brock pressed play.
“Dad, it’s me. Kyle’s mom said it’s okay for me to sleep over. She said for you to give her a call this afternoon.”
Brock felt his dick fill at the prospect of being able to spend the night loving his man. He smiled over at Calvin.
Junior continued, “You make sure to say ‘hi’ to Mr. Hamilton from me. And tell him he better treat you right, or I’ll have to have words with him.” Junior laughed and Brock blushed.
“Wow,” Calvin said.
Brock was embarrassed but at the same time kinda proud of his son.
A second message began. “Brockwell, this is Ralph.” Brock started to cringe at hearing from his landlord. “Now your rent is up-to-date I’ve agreed with your friend to begin the repairs you say you need.”
Brock shot a look at Calvin, who gazed steadily back at him.
Ralph’s message continued, Brock only half-listening to how the guy would come out on Wednesday morning to have a look at what needed to be done. The message ended, but Brock and Calvin’s gazes remained locked.
“You said you hadn’t paid him,” Brock said.
“That was true…at the time.”
Brock stared down at the answering machine.
“We agreed you’d let me help you,” Calvin said, putting a hand on Brock’s shoulder. “We also agreed we wouldn’t talk about it until Tuesday.” He rubbed the shoulder.
Brock sighed. Despite their agreement, he was still very uncomfortable with the idea of owing money to his friend…his lover. Turning away from Calvin, Brock trudged into the bathroom and began to strip.
A minute or so later Calvin came into the bathroom. “Thought you could use one of these.” He held up an open bottle of the imported beer. Brock hadn’t realized they’d brought any with them.
“Thanks.” Brock took a long swallow. Wiping his mouth, he saw Calvin close the toilet lid and sit. “I’m sorry.”
Calvin shook his head. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
Brock turned to the shower and got it going. Over his shoulder, he asked, “Want to join me?” he smiled, letting Calvin know he was okay.
Calvin returned the smile. The two hugged for a time, neither man saying anything, Brock content just to hold and be held by his man.
“I think the water should be hot enough now,” Calvin eventually said into Brock’s ear.
Brock disengaged, stepped into the tub, and held a hand out for Calvin to join him. Calvin undressed quickly and took his hand.
“Oh, wet, naked cowboy, my favorite kind.”
Brock bent and gave Calvin a kiss. The hot water had plastered Calvin’s brown hair to his scalp, making it look darker. His man didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, a fact made even more obvious by the water flowing down the taut smooth body. His muscles were just right, perfectly in proportion to his frame. As he continued to wash Calvin, Brock became more convinced his darlin’ was simply perfect.
Brock hated to hurry their shower, but he knew the limits of his water heater, so reluctantly sped up his soaping. Calvin, however, still seemed to want to take his time applying soapy lather to Brock’s various body parts.
They’d finished rinsing and had just resumed kissing when the water began to grow cool. Brock quickly turned the knob and the two of them stood dripping in the bathtub, Brock’s hands reaching out to cup Calvin’s face.
“Brock?” Calvin asked after they’d stood silent for about a minute.
“Just let me look at you,” Brock said.
“I’m nothing special.”
Brock disagreed. “I’ve decided on your new name.”
“Huh?”
Brock let his arms drop to his sides, and then realized he might as well get out and start drying off. He opened a towel and held it out for Calvin to step into.
Kissing the side of Calvin’s wet neck, Brock said, “Michael Knight.”
“What?”
“Your name. Michael Knight. You’ve got the car of course, but it’s more than that.” Brock reached for another towel and started to rub himself dry. Calvin stopped him and took over. “Remember what the motto of that show was? ‘One man can make a difference?’”
“Yeah?”
“Well, you’
ve made a difference to me.” Brock wanted to confess his love, but couldn’t. If he knew Calvin were staying in town he’d have fallen onto his knees and asked Calvin to move in, marry him, work with him, hell, anything. But Calvin would soon be going back to New York.
“I just did what any guy would do to help someone out.”
Brock shook his head. “You’ve done way more than anyone else ever has.”
Calvin shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t think I look like a Michael. And I certainly don’t look like David Hasselhoff.”
“And I don’t look like Gary Cooper.”
“You do, okay; the hair’s different, but—”
“If not Michael, what about Knighty?”
“Fuck off. You’re not naming me after ladies’ nightwear.”
Brock laughed; he hadn’t thought of it like that. “All right then, you can be ‘My knight.’ You already are,” he whispered.
“I suppose it’s better than ‘Schnucklekins.’”
Brock let out a bark of laughter.
Fists on hips, Calvin said, “But the first mention of shining armor and the name is toast, okay?”
Brock nodded, and then kissed Calvin. “Okay, My Knight has a deal.”
They were done drying each other, so Brock took the towels and hung them on the rail before leading Calvin to his bedroom.
“Though I still don’t know what’s wrong with ‘Calvin,’” Calvin said, getting onto the bed.
“Nothing is wrong with ‘Calvin,’” Brock replied, lying next to his lover. “Nothing at all.”
“You could call me ‘Cal’ if you want. Only one other person, Tim, my business partner, calls me that.”
“Nope, I want a name that’s just mine. I’m not sharing you. Not ever.” Brock immediately wished he hadn’t added that last. Images of the Manhattan skyline started to crowd his mind. Brock stared into Calvin’s face to banish the unwelcome visions.
“Make love to me,” Calvin said softly, causing Brock to shiver.
Although mostly a bottom, Brock knew he’d employ every skill he’d ever learned to bring Calvin pleasure. He started by kissing at Calvin’s neck, and slowly working his way down, detouring to Calvin’s nipples, spending quite some time licking, then softly biting them.
Calvin’s hands weren’t idle. As Brock slowly made his way down to the main prize of Calvin’s hard dick, its owner was stroking Brock’s right arm with feather-light caresses, causing Brock to break out in gooseflesh.