4
the apartment
Arden took me back to his apartment. On our walk there I apologized again for my friends’ behavior—Liam’s specifically—and Arden waved it off. It was similar to when I’d apologized for my clumsiness when we’d first met, and he’d dismissed it as if the slight were of no consequence to him.
“I liked having you in my corner,” I said honestly. “Your opinion matters to me.”
He smiled. “Your work is good, Michael, and Liam was being rude.”
“We have a competitive thing going on between us. We have since undergrad.”
“He should confront his jealousy instead of belittling you. It’s really not a good look for him.”
“Probably not, but I’m guilty of it too.”
Liam was my second roommate in college. After Franco and my relationship crashed and burned the first time, Franco moved out and Liam moved in. He was a year younger, but because of his academic achievements, Liam began his undergrad in the upper-level classes. He was a gifted poet on the brink of something great. If only he could get past some of his hang-ups.
Arden stopped in front of an old brick building on Newell Street that appeared to have been recently renovated. We entered through the lobby where I noticed a door to a small workout room and an area for lounging.
“Do you mind if we take the stairs?” Arden asked.
I wondered if that was a relic from his upbringing—a distrust of mechanical contraptions. I hoped he was vaccinated. Should I ask?
“Must be hard to avoid elevators in New York City,” I said when we reached the stairwell.
Arden shrugged. “There’s a reason my ass is so tight.”
The air left my lungs, and I could only stare at the ass in question. Was that an invitation?
“You do have a nice ass,” I said once I’d recovered. “And well-fitting pants.”
He flashed me a smile over his shoulder. “And my face isn’t bad either.”
“And those abs.” I didn’t want to objectify him, but he seemed to like the attention. “You probably hear that a lot.”
“It never gets old. Self-absorbed, remember?”
He wasn’t even breathing heavily. Meanwhile, my lungs were aching. I had to pause and catch my breath at the top of our last flight.
“Here we are,” Arden said and unlocked the door.
The inside was pristine, like a model home. There was a couch and a coffee table with clean lines, a few magazines meticulously arranged, and a neatly folded blanket. His kitchen counters were empty of everything except for a bowl of fruit and a vase of fresh flowers. There were no magnets or notices on his refrigerator, no knick-knacks or artwork on the walls. It was almost clinical in its austerity, and it reminded me of his social media. Did he really live here?
“Not much of a collector, are you?” I asked.
“I hoard like a dragon. All my favorite things are in my bedroom. Come look.”
He was right about that. His bed was made but along two of the walls were hundreds of books, some in milk crates, some simply stacked in tall, precarious towers. They were mostly trade paperback—mystery, sci-fi, and horror—but there were classics and hardbacks as well. Another wall was lined with freestanding racks of clothing, like what a bellboy might use to transport luggage.
“It’s like my nonna’s storage unit,” I said.
“We can go out to the living room if you’re feeling claustrophobic.”
“No, it’s… interesting.” I fingered the material of one of his fancy dress shirts before realizing how presumptuous it was. “May I?” Arden nodded, still looking a little embarrassed. “Do you wear all of these?” I pointed to a brightly colored tunic with a tribal pattern.
“I have at one time or another. Most were given to me after a shoot. I’m not really a fashionista, but they’re so nice to look at. I used to sew a bit, and I love fabric.”
My eyes landed on a pink, cable-knit sweater, one that I recognized. “Will you wear this?” I asked.
He grinned shyly. “Right now?”
I nodded. I’d looked at that particular photo too many times to miss the opportunity.
Arden unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it over a wicker hamper. I handed him the soft sweater, and he shrugged into it. He looked even better than in the picture. His face was flushed, perhaps from the climb, and his freckles were more visible too. I could imagine him as an adolescent, bony and angular, still growing into his height with sunburnt cheeks and hair bleached by the sun.
“Pink’s your color,” I said.
“All the colors of the rainbow belong to me,” he said and hugged himself campily.
Another compliment was on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t want to overdo it. He’d invited me into his bedroom—his sanctuary—but I was still working up the nerve to make a move.
“What’s your memoir about?” I asked, buying myself some time.
“It’s about my father.”
“The pirate,” I said. Arden nodded. “How long did you live on the boat?”
“Nine years, off and on.”
“That’s a long time. Where did you go?”
“The Bahamas, Turks and Caicos, Dominican Republic, some other, lesser known islands. Never Cuba, though. My dad always avoided it.”
“What about your schooling?”
Arden shrugged. “I read a lot of books. During high school we only took trips during the summer, so I was able to enroll in the public school. I was behind, though. I’m still terrible at math. And money. Kind of ironic.”
“How so?”
He shot me a furtive glance, as though he’d revealed more than he intended. “No reason.” His eyes darted from me to our surroundings as if waiting for me to pass judgment.
“I like your place.”
Arden smiled. “You’re just saying that.”
“No, I do. It’s interesting, like you.”
“I’m not, though. I’m actually very simple. My life is more interesting than me.”
“How can you separate the two?”
Arden shrugged. “Adventure always seems to find me. I don’t go looking for it.”
It sounded as if he’d rather avoid it altogether. I took a step closer, so that I could grab one of his hands. His butterscotch eyes turned green.
“I like you,” I said.
“I like you too.”
“Are you in a relationship?”
He studied me for a moment. “It’s… complicated.”
“Are you dating a carbohydrate?” I teased, and he smiled.
“I’m not relationship material.”
“What makes you say that?”
He sighed. “I really didn’t want to do this yet.”
“What’s that?” I assumed he’d meant rebuffing me.
“Give you my life story.”
“I have the time, and I’d love to hear it.”
Arden appeared at odds with himself. I waited.
“Fine but take off your shoes and get comfortable.”
I kicked them off, and he did the same. He motioned for me to join him on his bed, then laid out beside me with his hands tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
“When my father got sick, I left school and went back home to take care of him. It was hard. He was stubborn about it. Took me forever to just get him to go to the doctor. He hated doctors—always had. I almost went deaf in one ear because he wouldn’t get my earache checked out.” Arden shook his head. “Anyway, we finally got his diagnosis, pancreatic cancer, but he wouldn’t do chemo or radiation. Because he didn’t think it would help, and he didn’t have the money. All he wanted to do was drink beer and listen to baseball games, and there was nothing I could do to change his mind.”
Arden closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I watched him get worse, day by day. We fought a lot. He was captain, and I was just the first mate. Any word against him was mutiny. He actually made me call him, ‘Captain.’ My whole life.” Arden turned
to register my disbelief.
“Sounds like a character.”
“He really was, and after my mom died, he was all I had. Then he passed, and I just kind of spiraled. I enrolled myself at the JC but ended up dropping out again. In the meantime, I’d racked up a lot of credit card debt and developed a drinking problem.”
I turned on my side so that I could look at him while he spoke.
“I was in a bad way when I got… I guess what you could call ‘discovered?’ My benefactor dried me out, flew me to New York, and let me stay with him for a while. He paid for my headshots and hooked me up with a modeling agency. We worked out a kind of payment plan until my career got going.”
I could guess at what he meant by a payment plan. I laid a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine being saddled with so much responsibility at such a young age.”
“Yeah, it sucked for a while, I’m not going to lie.”
“Why didn’t you declare bankruptcy?”
He shook his head. “The banks would have taken my dad’s boat. My boat. It was all he ever had. It was why he didn’t want the medical bills. He wanted me to have it.”
“And are you still… working off your debt?” I was trying to be delicate. If Arden didn’t want to say it, then I wouldn’t either.
“I am.”
“Do you have just one benefactor or are there more?” I probably shouldn’t have asked, but I couldn’t help myself.
“I only answer to him, but there are occasions when I see other clients.”
Clients, plural.
“But he’s not your romantic partner?”
“No. It’s a business arrangement.”
“Is your modeling career doing well?”
“Well enough, but I have bills that go beyond my day-to-day expenses. What I do… it’s easy money, and I’m good at it.”
I’d yet to see him slip into character, but I’d bet he was paid well for the fantasy. The mystique. Did it make a difference that the people he served were rich and powerful? It shouldn’t.
“So, that’s why I’m not relationship material,” he said. “I’m in enough of them already.” Arden gave a brittle laugh and glanced over at me with an open expression, waiting for my judgment. Expecting it.
I touched his collarbone where the sweater had pulled away. “I think you’re fascinating, and I’d like to get to know you better. We don’t have to put a name to it.”
He grinned without any mirth. “Aren’t you worried what your friends will think?”
Was I? Probably, but not enough to stop seeing him. “Franco’s boyfriend is a male entertainer, and I know a few people who are paying off their student loans with web accounts. Have you ever considered it?”
“My benefactor wouldn’t like it. I’m expected to be exclusive and discreet.”
That was an interesting way to put it.
“How long do you think this gig will last?”
“Until my debt is paid. Or until my hair falls out.” He gave a bitter chuckle.
I touched his hair. Soft, like feathers. “Liam knows just how to find your weaknesses and exploit them.”
“At least he didn’t call me fat.”
“Fuck that. You’re perfect.” I rested my chin in my hand and stared at Arden laid out beside me, relaxed except for the bulge straining against his tight pants. I was feeling it too. “So, where does that leave us?”
“I don’t know. I need something simple. My life’s too complicated already.”
Something simple. No judgment and no expectations.
“I like spending time with you.” I said it softly because I sensed that he was poised to run. “Do you like spending time with me?”
“I went to that awful dinner party, didn’t I?” he said with a rueful smile.
“I made the fish special for you. Liam’s probably still smelling it.”
“The food was good, Bitzy seemed nice, and Franco was kind to explain investing options to me. He’d probably be shocked to know most of my income isn’t taxable.”
I let that last bit go unaddressed. It was a careful dance we were embarking upon, and I was willing to do my part.
“He’s good at making money from money, especially when it comes to other people’s fortunes.”
“Your friends—you too—seem to really have it together.”
“Most of us have trust funds, given to us by our families. We did nothing to earn them. And we know how to keep up appearances.”
“Well, it’s good for me to surround myself with people like you. I need to think beyond today. Thrive, not just survive.”
I wondered if that was something else his therapist had told him.
“Franco would be happy to go over your finances with you, whatever you’re willing to share.”
“I’ll think about it.”
We lapsed into silence. His eyes roamed over my body, and a naughty smile lit up his face when he saw my tented pants. “I have some porn we can watch,” he said lowly, like it was a delicious secret.
“I like porn.”
Arden went out to the other room, his gait a little awkward due to his hard-on, and returned with his laptop. I propped myself up against some pillows and idly massaged my erection through my fly.
“Friends watch porn together,” he said as if he needed an excuse.
“Sure, they do.”
“I guess it’s not a lie if we both believe it,” he said, but I was having trouble being philosophical. I could use my brain or my cock but not both at the same time.
Arden set up the laptop and pulled up a clip of a threesome—two burly mascs with a slutty twink between them. It was some kind of house call—plumbers or cable guys. The twink’s boyfriend was at work, and these two were going to “fix ‘em right up.” (More like destroy his ass.) The twink was pretending to be afraid in that breathy, roleplay way.
Had Arden ever been afraid?
“You should take off your pants,” I said. I’d rather look at Arden than the porn. “And your underwear. Not the sweater though.”
“Keep the sweater?” he asked with a grin.
“Yeah. I like it on you.” It’s pretty, I almost said, but I didn’t want to emasculate him or focus too much on his looks.
Arden slid out of his pants and underwear while my own hand crawled into my open slacks. I stroked my cock while Arden undressed. He had long, muscled legs lightly dusted in fine, blond hair and a broad chest. Slim despite his frame. Maybe even a little underweight, judging by the prominent knobs of his hip bones. I was about to ask him if he’d been a swimmer when he turned to me.
“Ever had a threesome?” he asked, directing my gaze back toward the screen.
“No.” My experiences with my sexual partners had been fairly tame with the occasional bout of exhibitionism when we couldn’t get to a private place quick enough. I hadn’t even come out to my family until my second year of college.
“Would you want to?” he asked.
“Maybe. With you.”
A blush rose again in his cheeks, because of my directness or his heated arousal. He lifted his sweater to reveal a fine, russet trail leading to his groin, but everything else down there was shaved—maybe even waxed. Probably for all of those near-naked photo shoots. His cock was cut, and the rosy hue of his glans matched his flushed cheeks. The slit dewed with precum, so tempting I could practically taste it.
“I could suck you off,” I said, already salivating for it. “As a friendly gesture.”
“It’s the neighborly thing to do,” he agreed.
I switched places with the laptop, so I could see both the screen and Arden’s face. The twink was kneeling on all fours on a shag carpet and receiving some rough treatment. The one guy yanked his fair hair and choked him with his dick while the other one railed him from behind. Was that the sort of thing Arden was into?
Arden’s eyes looked drowsy as he tracked my approach. He reached into a wooden box on his bedside table and withdrew a condom, casually tore it op
en, and slid it over his handsome cock.
“Who named you?” I asked. I gripped the base in one hand and licked around the sheathed corona. Similar to our builds, he was longer than me, but I was thicker.
“My mother,” he said with a hitch in his breath. He liked it when I wrapped my lips around the rim of his glans and sucked hard, like a Blow-pop. “She loved Shakespeare.”
“I love Shakespeare,” I said emphatically, then took his shaft deep into my mouth and throat. One of my hands reached underneath him to grope his smooth ass cheek while the other pushed up the soft material of his sweater. Arden’s abdominals rippled as his hips canted upward. His inguinal lines were a work of art. I grabbed one of his hands and placed it at the back of my head to guide me.
“Shakespeare… had… daddy issues,” he panted.
Don’t we all? I would have said, except that my mouth was full of him. I wanted to taste his skin and caress its silky texture with my tongue, but I contented myself with the latex barrier. I took him to the root, my nose brushing against his smooth groin, then drew back until only his head was encased in my mouth. I milked his length with suction, tightening my throat around him, pinching the base of his cock with my thumb and forefinger so he wouldn’t spend too quickly. I enjoyed giving head, always had, and I liked to draw it out a little.
“Michael,” Arden said with such an aching need that my stomach tightened, and I groaned around him. His hands twisted in my hair, and I relaxed my jaw so that I could take him deeper. Arden rolled his hips with my every advance. His noises were pure and enthusiastic, a strange contrast to the over-the-top grunts and cries still emanating from the laptop.
When his cock started to pulse with an oncoming climax, I sat back and stripped off the condom. I shoved my pants down to my thighs and showed him my cock—thick with a wide, flared head and a dark thatch of hair at the root. With my build and body hair, I’d never been considered a twink. I spat on my hands and jacked us off simultaneously. I gave Arden my right hand—the more dexterous of the two—while my left took care of mine.
“Faster,” Arden urged. His pink cockhead peeked from between the circumference of my fist like a shy, spring bloom. His hands found my hips to steady himself while he helped me along by pumping into my hand. I could penetrate him like this. Arden on his back with his long legs bent, red-faced with a spill of golden-brown hair on his pillow. His hole was probably hairless too, pretty and smooth.
A Madness Most Discreet Page 4