by Lynn VanDorn
Two days. It's been two days. Get a fucking grip, Rosen.
Losing Ryan fifteen years ago had been like losing a limb. It had left a gaping wound in his psyche that he thought of as the not-Ryan, and over the years it had become almost an old friend, one he'd nurtured and let grow into unreasonable proportions. He’d coddled his rejection to the point where he’d started seeing a therapist again to try and deal with it. Soon the not-Ryan would be joined by a not-Tyler. He needed to nip this in the bud now, or by the time he left the not-Tyler would be enough to swallow him whole.
“You okay?” Tyler asked.
“Yeah,” Josh said, wishing it was the truth. “Why don't I do the dishes?” His life might be chaotic and messy, but he could at least get the kitchen under control.
Chapter 16
Tyler Takes Charge
Sunday, September 18th, 8:22 p.m.
An unnecessarily large rental house
Blue Lake, WI
Tyler: Oh holy crap.
Purvi: What now?
Tyler: I gave Dr McDreamy a facial.
Purvi: With semen?
Tyler: No, we just got back from a spa day.
Purvi: Really?
Tyler: No. FFS. Not that sort of facial. But now that you mention it, my face could use the other kind. Are there spas in Wisconsin?
Purvi: I'm sure Wisconsin has spas. Back to Dr McDreamy. You shot your load on his face?
Tyler: Yep. That I did.
Purvi: Well? Did he like it?
Tyler: I don't think he was a huge fan but he didn't punch me or anything. I'm not even totally sure why I did it, but it was super hot. I wonder if he'd let me do it again.
Purvi: You could, oh, I don't know, ASK HIM, maybe. Also, are you sure sex with this guy is wise?
Tyler: It was his idea. He thinks I'm fuckable.
Purvi: That's because you ARE fuckable. You make me wish I had a penis so I could fuck you. I mean, I've got the strap-on, but it's not the same.
Tyler: I can't decide if that's sweet or creepy. Either way, ew. Stop fantasizing about sex with me. Or Josh.
Purvi: Try and stop me. I'm doing it right now.
Tyler: Gross.
Tyler: By the way, I cooked him dinner.
Purvi: Wow, you must really like him.
Tyler: It was just curry.
Purvi: Uh huh. You keep telling yourself that.
Tyler: Anyway, he’s cleaning the kitchen now.
Purvi: I like him already. Can we keep him?
Tyler: He's a person, not a stray cat.
Purvi: So? What's your point?
Tyler: Go away and bother Kevin. I’m busy.
–—
Sunday, September 18th, 8:39 p.m.
The pristinely clean kitchen of an unnecessarily large rental house
Blue Lake, WI
Josh insisted on doing the dishes, something Tyler generally appreciated in a person. Josh, it seemed, was a bit of a cleaning dynamo, not only scrubbing every dish, pot, and utensil Tyler had used by hand, but he also pulled everything off the kitchen counters and cleaned the granite, wiped down all the cupboards, scrubbed the stove, scoured the sink, then swept the floor. Tyler sat in the kitchen and watched him, only lifting his arms when Josh came over to wipe down the table.
Josh kept up a steady stream of conversation while he cleaned, requiring only the occasional agreement or disagreement from him, which was just as well because Tyler was too busy studying Josh to pay close attention to what he was saying. The whole thing was starting to worry him. Not the cleaning so much as the desperate, overzealous way he went about it. This wasn't housework. This was a coping mechanism gone horribly wrong.
Both Josh and Rachel had told him that Josh cleaned when he was stressed, but this was beyond what Tyler had imagined. He'd pictured Josh in an excessively tidy and spare home, with nothing left out or out of place, free of dust and clutter and life. And maybe that was the case. What hadn't occurred to him was Josh cleaning a refrigerator that was already spotless, then pulling it out to clean underneath it. That was a level of crazy even Tyler didn't aspire to.
Tyler wanted to stop Josh but he felt like a big fat hypocrite after all the shit he'd given Josh for daring to suggest that Tyler’s little cutting habit needed fixing. Which, to be fair, it did. And which he would, one of these days. But hypocrite or not, Tyler thought he should intervene. He couldn't imagine Josh allowing him to cut himself open without trying to stop him, and this was almost the same thing.
“Josh, what’s bothering you?” he asked.
He paused in the act of moving the fridge back in place to scowl at Tyler.
“Who said anything’s bothering me?”
“Well, let's see, you just cleaned under a fridge in a rental property you don't own. That's not normal. Tell me what’s wrong.” Maybe he was having second thoughts. Maybe the idea of sex with Ryan’s baby brother was just too strange and it had all hit home after dinner. Or, rather, after his shower. Something had happened between the boathouse and Josh coming to eat dinner, because that was when this had started.
Josh looked at him but didn't say anything, then he finished moving the refrigerator back. “Why would you think anything’s wrong?” he asked, then started rummaging under the sink for God knew what.
This was going nowhere. “You said you clean when you're stressed. Rachael said you clean when you’re stressed. Clearly, you’re stressed. What's going on? Is it me? The arrangement? We can stop. The friends with benefits thing isn't necessary.” Only now that they'd agreed to it, the idea of no more sex with Josh felt like all kinds of awful. It was a much longed-for treat dangled in front of his eyes only to be snatched away.
Josh started cleaning the coffeemaker. “I'm fine. Don't worry about it. I just can't stand when things are dirty. It's nothing personal. If it bothers you, don't watch.”
Right. Like he was going to leave the room while whatever this was went down. “So, you still want to bone me.”
“Yes, Tyler, I still want to bone you.” Josh continued to go at the coffeemaker. “Just not right this second.”
Ouch. Nice to know that sex with him ranked underneath cleaning minor kitchen appliances. Tyler let Josh do his thing, wanting to step in but not particularly wishing to get slapped down again for his efforts. Then Josh got on his hands and knees to scrub the tiled floor with a scouring pad, and Tyler decided that enough was enough.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re done for the night.”
Josh looked up at him with a frown. “What?”
“You are done,” Tyler said. “The floor isn't dirty, and, Christ, look at your hands.”
Josh did, then let out a long sigh. His beautiful, elegant hands were red and chapped and looked irritated as hell. “Damn,” he said. “I forgot to put on gloves.” Josh slanted a look Tyler’s way that was both guilty and exasperated, twin spots of color high on his cheeks. “I… um… there’s cream in my room,” he said. This didn't surprise Tyler in the slightest.
“Do you want me to get it for you?” he asked.
“No.” Josh got to his feet and put the scouring pad by the sink. “I can get it.” He washed his hands, then walked out of the kitchen.
Tyler went out to the living room to wait for Josh. He sat on the couch and Oliver joined him, demanding to be petted. “We’re quite the pair, aren't we?”
Oliver mewed in response.
“I mean, I probably still win the most-fucked-up prize, but he's giving me a run for my money. Mom's right. This is going to end in disaster.”
“Merow?” Oliver asked.
“Oh, you know. Heartbreak and tragedy. What always happens.”
Oliver butted his head on Tyler’s chin.
“Except from you, Ollie. You’re my fuzzy love, aren't you?”
Oliver agreed.
“I should probably leave him alone. It's just that he’s just so…”
“Maow,” said Oliver.
“Yeah,” said Tyler and sighed.
Tyler sat with Oliver for a long time before realizing that Josh wasn’t coming out to join him. Which was fine. And totally his right. The deal they’d struck was for one fake boyfriend and the possibility of sex, not the guarantee of such. He should be content with Josh’s public performance today, which had been better than he'd had any right to hope for, especially considering how angry Josh had been when they'd left the house this morning. As for what went down in the boathouse this afternoon, that hadn't been a top ten best blow job, let alone a top three, but it had been pretty good. It would've been better, he suspected, if he hadn't been so perilously close to coming even before Josh had gotten his mouth on him.
Tyler didn't feel content, though. It had been well over two years since Tyler had contemplated anything beyond hand jobs, blow jobs, or using one of his favorite toys. Toward the end of their relationship, sex with Ethan had become much less fun and more of a chore, and therefore rather infrequent.
The problem, Tyler had decided after much grumpy vodka-fueled introspection and discussion with Purvi, was that physically he wanted to bottom and mentally he wanted to top, and God forbid he ever find a guy who liked both, was attractive, not a sociopath, unattached, and willing to put up with Tyler for more than five minutes at a time.
He tended to desire men who were overwhelming but who he couldn't trust himself with, and settled for men who were safe but ultimately not what he wanted. Ethan had been the latter, and David, who was before him, was the former, and both had ended badly. Ethan had left him feeling smothered and tired and in need of freedom. David made him feel unsure and anxious and in need of a restraining order. It was stupid, and he knew it, and it kept happening, so after Ethan he stopped dating. Relationships were too fraught with drama that he didn't have time or energy for. Picking up random guys for a no-strings quickie was a hell of a lot less stressful for everyone involved.
Then Josh had fallen into his lap. Josh, who might be neither too much of this nor too little of that. Like Goldilocks, Tyler was always hoping to find the one who was just right. He wanted some middle ground between safe/dull and scary/exciting, someone sexy, who made his heart beat a little bit faster, and who didn't either bore or frighten him. It shouldn't be so hard to find a man who didn't need to be constantly bolstered, or who didn't feel the need to put Tyler down to feel better about himself. Someone he could trust. Tyler was beginning to think Josh might possibly fit the bill, and for the first time in a very long time he wanted more. So much more.
And what then? Quit Hollywood and become his little house husband? Why bother trying to save my career, then? And what about Ryan? Do I really want to compete with my brother’s memory? No, thank you.
Tyler had no idea how to answer any of those questions, and he felt stupid for sitting around and mooning like a teenaged girl for a man who was hiding in his bedroom down the hall. It was like he’d been cast into some sort of unfunny gay farce. The kind that bills itself as being arty and you know going in that at least one of the leads was going to die before the end of the movie. Probably him, in a beautifully filmed scene with his blood flowing across a floor or down a drain or into bathwater. “Look at the pretty fag, dead because the pressure of life was too hard for him to bear. Boo hoo.” Well, fuck that.
Tyler moved Oliver from his lap and went to go take a shower then go to bed. It wasn't that late but he could probably use the sleep, or at the very least, rest.
Showering didn't help his mood any. Tyler felt overwhelmed with doubts and wanted, very much, to cut himself, probably because he'd been thinking about it earlier, fetishizing it in a way that he knew was dangerous. He could imagine the blood as it swirled out of him and down the drain—so red, so pretty—just like he was watching it on a movie screen. It would be nice if he could shut off his damn brain for a while and just be pain and blood. Nothing else. He could stop obsessing about Josh and get some sleep.
There was the other option, though. There was always the other option, and it was almost as exhilarating and dangerous as cutting, if not as straightforward. Could it be worse than staining the tile in this pretty bathroom? Probably not. Hopefully not. He let go of his mental razor blade and instead grabbed the very real soap and put it to good use.
After his shower, Tyler went to his room and pawed through his clothes. He couldn't go in there naked, no matter what his intended outcome, but getting fully dressed seemed counterproductive. In the end, he chose the pajama pants he'd worn the night before and nothing else. They were easy to remove if things got that far, and enough protection if things went south.
Lastly, he went through the plastic bag Josh had dropped then forgotten in the living room after they'd come back from lunch. He took what he needed, then went to beard the lion in his den.
Tyler knocked softly on Josh’s door but didn't get a response. He took a deep breath, then let it out. He hoped like hell the door wasn't locked. If this didn't work, Tyler would slink off to his own bed, but he had a sinking feeling that he'd end up looking in the house for something sharp, or going back to his house to plunder his secret stash. Maybe not tonight, but soon. It was inevitable.
Tyler turned the handle and it gave under his hand. Opening the door eased something inside him, and he felt better. Enough that he thought sex with Josh felt a lot less like something he needed and a lot more like something he wanted, and the Josh part of the equation might be more important than the sex part.
Tyler wasn't sure if that was better or worse.
Inside, the room was pitch black and Tyler had to rely on touch to tell him where everything was. He put the items he was holding onto the nearest bedside table and then climbed onto the bed.
Josh was either asleep or sulking with extreme determination. Tyler gave his eyes time to adjust to the dark and could just make out Josh huddled in on himself at the far edge of the bed, facing the wall. He reached out a hand and encountered the soft, worn fabric of Josh’s t-shirt stretched over warm, taut skin. Tyler’s hand slid under the shirt and stroked Josh’s back, learning the contours of it. He loved the strength evident in the muscles of his wide shoulders, the dip of his spine, and the elegant line that ran from chest to waist to hip.
The muscles moved under his hand, and then light flared in the room. Only a table lamp, but it seemed very bright after the darkness.
“Tyler?” Josh turned over and lay on his back. “Is everything okay? Did you need something?”
Tyler noticed that Josh’s hands were covered in white gloves. It made him look oddly formal, but also a bit like a cartoon character. It was a little surreal.
Everything isn't okay and I need you. Tyler leaned over to kiss Josh.
Josh’s eyes widened and he pulled back. “Tyler, I don't think this is a good idea.”
Tyler’s heart plummeted. “Why?” he asked, and Josh’s face closed down.
“I'm not in a good mood right now,” he said. “Also, my hands are covered in goop.”
“Is that a technical term, Dr. Rosen?
“It might be.”
“What if I asked very nicely?”
Josh smiled at him then, the skin around his eyes crinkling in a way that Tyler found charming. “I didn't know you did nice.”
Tyler pouted at him because it was expected. “I can do nice. It's a strain, naturally, but with the proper inspiration, I can be downright angelic.”
The smile fell from Josh’s face, leaving a wary expression in its wake. “Tyler, it's been a long day and I'm tired. Can we cut to the chase? What do you want from me?”
Josh’s tone was not encouraging, but there was something in his eyes that kept Tyler from stammering out an apology and leaving. Josh’s eyes wanted him to stay, Tyler was certain. Well, nearly certain. Certain enough for him to forge ahead.
“What I want,” Tyler said, “is my promised possibility of boning. You don't even have to exert yourself. You can lie there with your snazzy gloves on and just enjoy it.”
Josh frowned. “I don't t
hink…”
“Don't think. It's okay to shut that brain of yours down sometimes.” Tyler gave a lock of Josh’s hair a gentle tug. “Your hands. How messed up are they?”
“Not bad, just red and irritated. I shouldn't have gone into a cleaning frenzy without protecting them. I know better. Some dermatologist I am.”
Tyler shrugged. “We all have our moments. My most recent one involved a dock.” That brought a small smile back to Josh’s mouth. “Josh, I need this tonight, and maybe you do, too. So, please? This is me being nice, in case you weren't sure.”
Josh’s face showed both resignation and desire. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah. Sure. Why not? Go on, do your worst.”
“With that ringing endorsement…” Tyler straddled Josh’s waist, and a wave of relief washed over him. He hadn't wanted to slink out of Josh’s room and back to his own. The handsome man underneath him was all his for the taking, he thought with a combination of wonder and glee, then his conscience had to piss on the parade with the added, for now.
That was fine. For now, was good enough. More than good enough.
He tugged Josh’s shirt off and threw it on the floor, then he took Josh’s hands, still in their gloves, and placed them above his head. “Leave your hands here. Don't move them. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Tyler.” This was the correct answer, but Josh looked and sounded more tolerant than obedient. That was also good enough, though.
Tyler leaned forward to give Josh a light kiss of approval. “Such a good boy,” he said, kissing him again just because he could before sliding off him and the bed. He dragged the comforter onto the floor so it would be out of the way, then pulled Josh’s sleep pants off.
Underneath he wore a pair of forest green briefs with white edging that did very little to preserve any modesty. “These are amazing,” Tyler said, “and frankly unexpected, but they’ve got to go.” Then he pulled them slowly off of Josh. He wasn't fully erect yet, but they'd get there.