Loving Edits

by Mickie B. Ashling

  And then there was Paul. He would laugh at him and consider him an even bigger idiot for having feelings. After all, he’d been told repeatedly that what they were sharing was just sex, and he needed to see the difference. But was it? Weren’t there a few moments tonight when they were actually making love? That’s what it felt like―lovemaking, not mutual masturbation.

  Tono acknowledged that he’d lost control of the situation. Everything he’d believed about right and wrong had shifted drastically in the last few weeks, and this ambivalence not only confused him, it frightened him. All that he thought true about love and relationships was being tested, and to his way of thinking, rocking his moral fiber. Giving in to this desire was admitting defeat. He wasn’t that evolved, and setting up house with two other men would turn heads. If he himself couldn’t understand it, how would anyone else? His family would implode at the mere suggestion of something so deviant. How the hell were they going to explain their situation to Samuel, for instance, or even Baxter? Wouldn’t they look at them with something akin to horror? He remembered his self-righteous tirade when Samuel had suggested such a thing, and now he wished he’d never said anything. Was his anger directed at Samuel or at himself? Maybe he’d known that they were heading in this direction, and hearing it aloud had shocked him.

  And as he was beating himself up mentally, the object of his desire walked into the gym and zeroed in on him, causing his heart to flop around like a fish on one of his uncle’s boats. ¡Coño! How could his body betray him so easily? Paul had the ability to turn him into a needy bottom without even trying. He felt inadequate and stupid whenever he was around, and Tono wondered if it was love making him act like a hormonal teenager.

  “Hey.” Paul nodded. “He’s looking for you.”

  “I’ll be right up.”

  “Tono….”

  “Don’t say anything, Pol.”

  “I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate―”

  “Shut up,” Tono barked. “I don’t want your appreciation. What happened was for Mick. It had nothing to do with you. Remember what I told you months ago? You. Don’t. Count!”

  “You bastard!” Paul’s calm façade switched to combative and hostile immediately. He spun away from Tono and left the room without another word.

  Tono felt the sharp sting of tears, and he blinked them away rapidly, disgusted at himself. Despite his anger and self-loathing, he was on the verge of running after Paul to beg forgiveness for being such an ass. What they’d shared a few hours ago had been earth-shattering, for Tono, at least, and to push Paul away so coldly and tell him he didn’t count was cruel, but he refused to indulge in another moment of weakness. He was determined to overcome his feelings, despite whatever it was that he felt, because he knew it would never work. They were like oil and water, and the fusion would never happen. He bit his lower lip so hard he drew blood, a righteous pain that served as a reminder of what he needed to do.

  He would talk to Mick and tell him that he could use some time on his own to sort his thoughts. He was comfortable leaving Mick for a few weeks in Paul and Samuel’s capable hands. He needed to distance himself, go back to Spain, and try to find the man he’d left behind. The man who knew what was right and wrong, what was acceptable, and what was bizarre. This new person he was turning into wasn’t anywhere close to that individual.

  Chapter 28

  PAUL heard Mick before he actually saw him wheeling himself into the bedroom with Baxter trailing behind holding two mugs of coffee. The thudding on the front door had shocked him out of a sound sleep, and he sat up blinking at the sight of his distraught friend.

  “What time is it?” he managed to croak out.

  “Five-fifteen, sir,” Baxter replied, as he handed each man their individual mug before leaving them alone.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Paul, you need to get up,” Mick stressed in a loud voice. Not only was he dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, but somehow he’d managed to get himself into his chair and up to Paul’s apartment of his own volition. His hair was springing out in wild curls around his face, and his normally beautiful eyes were bloodshot, looking a little crazed, truth be told.

  “Why?” Paul reached for the coffee and took a few sips to get his brain functioning. He usually got by with about six hours of sleep, but this morning he was feeling an acute shortage since sleep had eluded him after Tono’s hateful words at the gym. He’d come back to his apartment rather than confront Mick and tell him his lover was an asshole. He ended up indulging in too many glasses of Scotch while staring into the comforting fire that Baxter had started for him in his study. He was surprised at his reaction to Tono’s antagonistic attitude; he truly felt they’d crossed over to another level in this complex relationship, but apparently not. He’d misread the entire incident. After taking several more sips of the coffee, he felt he could face whatever news Mick had to impart.

  “Where’s Tono?” Paul asked, when it finally dawned on him that Mick was by himself.

  “Read this.” Mick shoved a piece of paper at Paul.

  Paul sighed and reached for the note.

  “Please, sweetheart—hurry.”

  Paul frowned, annoyed at Tono for disrupting his morning. He took another sip of the coffee and began to read.

  Cariño, the note began, I’m going back to San Sebastian for a few weeks. I booked an early flight while you were asleep, and I’m taking the coward’s way out by leaving you a note instead of waking you up and telling you to your face. Please don’t be angry at me. This has nothing to do with my love for you, or maybe it has everything to do with it. I can’t seem to find any answers, especially when I’m around Paul. What you expect and what I can do are two different things, and I don’t know how to make this work. I’ll be back, amor, count on it. I just need some time on my own. Te quiero, Tono

  Paul put down the paper and stared at his best friend. Wasn’t that a bitch! What the hell was he going to do with the fucking Spaniard who refused to share? “Maybe we should just let him go,” Paul said out loud. “He’s obviously struggling with our situation and needs the distance.”

  “No,” Mick said emphatically. “If he goes, I’m afraid he’ll never come back.”

  “Why do you say that? He says it clearly in this note.”

  “Paul,” Mick stressed, “I know he’s starting to feel something for you, and it’s scaring him.”

  “Mick, what’s freaking him out is the entire concept of sharing you,” Paul said bitterly. “He’s not buying into your plan.”

  “I don’t think that’s it. Go after him, sweetheart. Tell him you want this as much as I do; you do, don’t you?” Mick asked, trying to get Paul to acknowledge his feelings. “Can you honestly say you don’t feel a thing for him, after everything we’ve shared?”

  Paul’s first thought was a resounding no! Instead, he admitted, “I’m conflicted, Mick, but I will not chase after the bastard and beg.”

  “Paul, you keep saying you owe me. If you really believe that, make this work, sweetheart. You are the key.”

  “Why am I the key?”

  “Because I know he’s come to mean more to you than you’re willing to admit. And I believe he feels the same way but doesn’t know how to deal with it. You care about him, Paul, and that’s how it should be; it’s what I want! Bring him back home, sweetheart, for both of us.” This last plea pushed Mick over the edge, and the tears began to flow, goading Paul into action.

  “Call down to the doorman and find out if Tono took a taxi or a limo. Try and get as much info as you can, Mick. I need to get dressed,” Paul said as he headed toward the bathroom. He was in and out in less than ten minutes, a record for him. Mick was at his desk writing something down.

  “What did you find out?” Paul asked, yanking open drawers and pulling on his boxers, blue jeans, and a gray sweater.

  “He called for a limo. They took him to JFK, the Iberia terminal.”

  “Good work, babe. I�
�ll have Baxter get a car and driver for me ASAP.”

  “It’s done, Paul. He’s already waiting at the curb.”

  “You’re the best,” Paul said, hugging Mick quickly.

  The ride to JFK at five-fifty-five in the morning went as smoothly as possible. Paul had another twelve ounces of coffee and was literally vibrating in place by the time the limo pulled up to the terminal. He was out the door and running before the car stopped completely. He glanced up at the boards to see the flights and gate numbers and found that two planes were leaving for Madrid within an hour of each other. One was boarding right now, and Paul sprinted toward security, pulling out his ID and praying they wouldn’t give him a hard time. Only passengers were allowed through at this point, and the fierce and unbending men were adamant. Paul cussed a blue streak but gave in and ran back to the United counter to buy a ticket to Miami just to get past the barriers.

  He continued running and didn’t stop until he got to Gate 6, where he watched the line of passengers boarding the flight which was taking off in approximately twenty minutes. He didn’t see Tono anywhere, and of course they wouldn’t tell him if he was on the list of passengers departing on this flight. He wanted to scream and pull a major tantrum, but he bit his tongue and curtailed his rage, deciding to go to Plan B―lie.

  He convinced the officials at the gate that Tono had to be informed that his partner had a medical crisis and was being taken to the hospital at this very moment. Paul tapped his feet and waited impatiently when they looked through the roster and calmly informed him that Antonio Garat was not on the flight. He rolled his eyes and sprinted off to Gate 12, and that’s when he saw him. He was sitting cross-legged, holding a Styrofoam cup in one hand and looking out the window at the departing flights. He was dressed in black pants, Paul noted, and a white button-down shirt with his leather jacket flung on his laptop beside him.

  “Tono,” Paul called out softly, not wanting to startle him.

  Tono turned quickly, shocked to see Paul. “Why are you here?” He frowned as he stood and moved forward.

  “To try and talk some sense into you. You can’t leave. It’ll kill him.”

  “I can’t stay, Pol.”

  “We need to discuss this, but not here,” Paul stressed. “Please, reconsider.”

  “My flight leaves in forty minutes. I’m not missing it.”

  “Look.” Paul held Tono’s arm. “I will gladly pay for another ticket or send you back to Spain on our company jet, but we have to discuss this first.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Tono said, worrying his lower lip. “I’ve got to get away from all of this, from you!”

  “That’s crap and you know it! He’s in love with you, Tono, as you are with him. I can’t believe you would walk away, especially now, when he needs you the most.”

  Tono huffed out a frustrated laugh. “Why? You did it once before―walked away when he needed you. Why can’t I?”

  Paul’s mouth practically dropped to the floor in shock. “Jesus Christ! That was years ago and far removed from this scenario; you have no right to bring it up.”

  “You have no right to stop me from leaving, Pol.”

  “It’s Pawwl,” he corrected, despite the tension.

  “¡Coño!”

  “Come on,” Paul cajoled, “be reasonable.”

  “I am always reasonable,” Tono bristled. “You are the one who wants everything your way. Well, not with me, Mr. Pawwwl Alcott,” Tono said, mimicking Paul’s accent. “I call the shots in my life.”

  “I know you do,” Paul said. He looked into the warm brown eyes, recognizing fear and anger, and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “I swear I will not try and run your life.”

  “You’ve been running it since we arrived,” Tono spat out. “I don’t feel like I know my place anymore. I was everything to Mick, and now I’m just part of a team. I don’t do teams, Pol. That’s why I play Jai alai.”

  “Don’t turn this into a sports analogy, ’cause I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes. All you know is how to edit and insult people.” Tono turned and went to pick up his jacket and laptop. He attempted to leave when Paul grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back.

  “Don’t walk away from me, you bastard. Do you have any idea what it’s costing me to beg? Paul Alcott does not beg!”

  “Pol Alcott can go fuck himself!”

  Paul shoved Tono and literally pushed him toward the men’s room. They stumbled their way into the surprisingly empty space, and Paul put his hands on Tono’s chest, propelling him toward a stall. He opened it and locked it behind him.

  “Now,” Paul said, with his face inches away from Tono’s. “What’s this really about?”

  Tono growled at Paul, and they stared at each other like two longhorns meeting in a bullring for the first time. If they could snort and stamp their hooves, now would have been a good time to do it. Instead, they huffed and puffed, sending off signals that soon switched from anger to desire, a common occurrence whenever they were within close proximity. “Why don’t we be honest, Tono, and admit what’s happening here,” Paul said as he lowered his voice and stepped closer. He could smell the desire releasing from every Spanish pore. “You want me as much as I want you, and you can’t deal with it.”

  “You are the bastard,” Tono whispered, seconds before he kissed Paul. They lit up the tiny space with their heat, and soon it was another contest of wills as they rubbed and smashed into each other, bruising their lips with scorching kisses.

  “I love you, you fucking stupid son of a bitch,” Paul said, clinging to Tono’s neck.

  Tono picked him up easily and held him in an iron vice as Paul wrapped his legs around Tono’s waist, never breaking the lip-lock. “Say the words, Tono,” Paul hissed, “tell me you want me.”

  “Pol,” Tono moaned as he struggled with his decision, “I do.”

  “What,” Paul pushed, holding Tono’s face between his two hands, pinning him down with steely blue eyes that needed an honest answer. “What do you want, big guy?”

  “You,” Tono hissed. “I want you.”

  Tono clutched at Paul’s ass and jerked him forward, grinding his cock against Paul’s matching boner, and they began to hump wildly, practically coming in their pants. “Tono, we’ve got to get out of here or we’ll be arrested. It would be a fucking scandal of the first order.”

  “Where can we go?”

  “There’s a hotel close by. Let’s get a room.”

  “I’ll miss my flight,” Tono said desperately.

  “Who gives a fuck!”

  “I don’t,” Tono said, putting Paul down. He cupped his face and kissed him gently. Hearing Paul tell him that he loved him changed everything. “I don’t want to leave yet; I just want to tear off your clothes.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Come on,” Tono said, turning and opening the door. They made their way out of the restroom and walked down the corridors, past security, and headed for the hotel. Tono forgot about his flight and the urgent need to escape, only thinking about it when he was asked for his ID and flight number at the hotel check-in. “Shit! I have to go back.”

  “Why?” Paul’s voice rose in alarm.

  “Never mind,” Tono said, changing his mind when he saw the panicked look on Paul’s face. He clearly wanted him to stay, and this convinced him that he was making the right decision. Paul reached for Tono’s hand after they registered and headed toward the elevators.

  The door had no sooner shut when Paul was enveloped in a warm embrace. “Tono,” Paul breathed softly, listening to the man’s heart thundering against his chest. He was trembling and seemed almost frightened, a far cry from the antagonistic and fierce rival he’d been dealing with for months. “It’s okay,” he reassured him, running his arms up and down Tono’s back, soothing him as if he were a wild stallion about to bolt.

  “Pol.” The word came out anguished. “Is this right?”


  “Yes,” Paul soothed the man he held in his arms. “This is what Mick wants. He knows what we’re feeling, and he’s more than okay with it.”

  “Did you mean what you said in the men’s room?”

  “That I love you?”

  Tono nodded, almost holding his breath.

  Paul pulled off his sweater. He looked at Tono for the longest time and watched the play of emotions on Tono’s face as he waited for his answer. His eyes were no longer fierce or sparking with anger. There was something vulnerable that touched Paul deeply. “I love you, you big ox. Despite my very best intentions not to care, I find that I care for you very much.”

  “How can you love me when you also love Mick?”

  “The same way he loves us both. I guess I’m lucky that way.”

  “I can’t say the words,” Tono stumbled. “I’m afraid that if I say―”

  “What? That if you say you care about me and I actually do count, you’ll turn into a pillar of salt?” Paul said softly.

  “That I’m betraying Mick.”

  “Oh, Tono,” Paul whispered. He pressed his forehead against Tono’s and said, “Mick has wanted this from the beginning.”

  “He wants me to care for you? To say I love you?”

  “You don’t have to say anything, Tono. Just let us both love you.”

  “Is it possible?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m afraid―”

  “Don’t, my beautiful man, don’t be afraid. Wallow in this feeling, because it doesn’t happen that often.”

  “Wallow?”

  Paul smiled. “Enjoy it, relish the moment, like a pig rolls around in mud and loves it.”

  “English is so strange.”