Drawing Closer (4 page)

onto him for just long enough--

It should have been a single night, the briefest of brief encounters. He should have stumbled out

of Alan's hotel room the next morning, dazed and yearning, dazzled and delirious, and lived off

the memory for months until reality reasserted itself.

But he hadn't left the room for three days, and neither had Alan, and when they did, it was so

that Charles could pack a case and go to Paris for the weekend, trailing in Alan's wake, besotted

and adoring and lost to everything that wasn't connected with the hunger Alan awoke in him with

a smile that was just cruel enough to be promising.

And Charles had thought he was the only one, ever, to see the smile lose the cynicism, the

cornflower-blue eyes sparkle with affection.

Stupid
.

And he wasn't going to let Gray be stupid, too.

No matter how much he wanted him there beside him when he woke, body tense with a longing

his hand, tight and ruthless around his cock, couldn't quell.

Drawing Closer - 19

Gray let himself into his studio apartment and rolled his eyes when he saw who was lying on the

couch. Carl. Of course, it was. Who else would it be? He glanced around the dimly lit room,

pausing to sneer at the bottle of wine on the table -- God, if Carl was going to help himself, he

could at least have taken something good; that stuff was what Gray used to cook with.

"Carl? What the fuck are you doing here?"

Carl twisted his wrist and took a swift peek at his watch. "Right now? I'm doing nothing. In

thirty-three minutes, I'll be doing Debbie."

"Funny," Gray snapped. "Fuck her somewhere else. You've only got a key to this place for

emergencies or when I'm away -- God, I don't even know why you still have it now I'm back

from Europe. Hand it over."

He extended his hand and Carl sighed. "I've got it because we're friends, Gray. Good friends.

Close friends. Friends who understand that when other friends aren't using a king-size bed

because they're getting fucked through another mattress, it's up for grabs."

"Excuse me?" Gray felt his temper rise. "You've done this before? When I've been away

overnight?" Carl's gaze slid away and Gray picked up a cushion and threw it at him, hard. "You bastard. And I bet you didn't even change the sheets."

"I didn't, no. But I always made sure they did. And sometimes they wanted to straighten up, so

give them points for that, even if I told them no, because--"

"Because then I'd notice," Gray said grimly. "God, you think of everything, don't you?"

Carl reached down and picked up a red rose in a bud vase, placing it beside the wine bottle and

grinning. "Yeah."

"Fuck off." Gray collapsed into a chair and glared at him. "Seriously."

"He wouldn't go for it, huh?" Carl sighed. "I tried to tell you."

"You're not leaving. Why is that?"

Drawing Closer - 20

"Shut up." Carl dragged his cell out of his pocket and punched in a number. "Debbie? Debbie, it's me. Sweetheart, it's killing me to do this, it really is, but I've got to cancel."

Gray nodded. "Damn right you do," he muttered.

"Why? Honey, I won't lie to you. It's not my fault. Really. I've got a friend here with me -- no,

it's a he. Really. And he needs me." Carl's voice dropped low. "He's -- not looking good, Deb.

Bad break up. Really bad. Talking about how his life is ruined, how there's nothing left for him..."

"Oh, you fucking liar--" Gray launched himself out of his chair and threw himself at Carl,

wrestling the phone from him and pinning him to the couch. "Debbie? It's Gray here. Gray

Collins. Yeah... that crazy artist, that'd be me." Straddling Carl's hips, Gray settled down. "Carl's here at my place and he's so full of it, it isn't funny, but I think you'd better make other plans for

tonight because I'm going to--" Carl wriggled under him, trying to get free and Gray smiled down

at him and changed, 'beat the crap out of him' to something far worse. "--get to know him better.

Connect with him, you know? Emotionally. Spiritually. Physically." Carl's fist smacked into his

side and Gray leaned back, keeping the phone out of reach. "What? Oh, yeah, it'll involve him

naked, Debbie. You bet, it will. Naked and possibly oiled up... maybe with handcuffs, maybe

not. What? Noooo, I don't think he'd go for a threesome. He's not open to new experiences the

way I am -- the way
you
are. Sad, I know, but -- yeah, I'm kidding. But you're still not fucking on my bed. 'Night, Debbie."

He switched off the phone and tossed it aside. "She's pissed, but I'm not sure if it's at you, me, or both of us."

"I'm pissed, and I know just who -- Gray? Oh fuck, don't look like that. Come here--"

Carl struggled up and hugged him awkwardly.

"Don't." Gray got off Carl but didn't shrug off the arm over his shoulders because it felt good knowing that someone cared. "If you get touchy-feely on me, I'm going to think the world's

ending, you know."

"From the look on your face when you came in, I thought it had." Carl began rubbing Gray's back with a bit more force than was needed. "But you start crying, and I'm out of here, got it? I don't

do tears."

Gray turned his face into Carl's broad, solid chest -- Carl's days of playing football at college

were only a few years behind him and the man was built -- just for a moment. He breathed in the

familiar smell of his own soap and shampoo -- Carl really did have no shame -- and the

indefinable smell under that which registered in his brain as both arousing and off-limits at the

same time and then leaned back. "No tears," he agreed. "Now put that vinegar back in the kitchen and get us a beer or three, will you?"

Drawing Closer - 21

Carl gave him a final one-armed hug and stood up. "Sure. And then you tell me what you did."

"I do?" Gray looked up at Carl and sighed, seeing the determination on his face. "I will. Just...

let's get drunk first?"

"I'll drink to that."

Big surprise.

***

reclining against and took a sip of the vodka they'd moved on to when the beer had run out. "You

told him you've been thinking about him when you jerk off for months--"

"But it's always you I think of at the crucial moment, Carl," Gray said sweetly, avoiding the kick aimed at his ankle. The carpet wasn't all that soft but they'd ended up on the floor anyway,

because at one point the room had started to spin and it seemed safer somehow. He leaned back

against the couch, facing Carl, watching the lamplight deepen Carl's blond hair to gold, and

wondered why he'd never wanted to paint him, although he knew he could do a good job if he did.

Mistake to think about that when he'd tried over and over to do even a pencil sketch of Charles

and got nowhere.

"You better not think about me
ever
when your hand's anywhere near your dick," Carl

threatened. "Now shut the fuck up, I'm summarizing... you told him that. Told him he could kiss

your pretty little ass, or whatever it is you guys do to each other--"

"Save the blissfully ignorant routine for someone who buys it. You know damn well, and don't

you wish Debbie would let you do it to her."

Carl looked thoughtful. "She might. If she was going to come here and do us both, then--"

"I really don't think she was serious," Gray told him, putting his half-full glass on the coffee table. The vodka had taken the edge off his anger, but any more and he'd start to feel sorry for

himself. Sorrier.

"Really think she fucking was." Carl gave Gray a leer that just didn't work with his deceptively innocent blue eyes.

"Yeah? And just what would I be doing?" Gray shook his head and grinned at Carl. "Not you, so don't get your hopes up, and not her because--"

"You're gay. Got it." Carl shrugged, looking bored. "Maybe next week you'll have changed your mind again, because God knows last year we'd have been in there right now giving her the time of

Drawing Closer - 22

her life, and you know it."

"Drop it, Carl," Gray said wearily. "Just -- deal with it, okay? I'm not going to change my mind.

I've tried both; I like men best. Simple as that."

Carl sighed and picked at the label on one of the empty bottles of beer. "Fine. Limit your

options." He tapped his foot against Gray's. "Still want to know why he turned you down.

You've got a cute ass--"

Gray rolled over and wiggled it at him. "Yeah? Bite it!" He winced as Carl's hand slapped it

instead; the man didn't know his own strength.

"--and he's not going to get any better offers at his age--" Carl continued.

"Hey!"

"Fifteen years older than you!"

"Nine!"

"Whatever."

"It doesn't matter." Gray changed his mind and grabbed his glass, draining it in three gulps.

"Doesn't fucking matter, okay?" He stood up. "I'm going to bed."

"Right." Carl squinted up at him. "Mind if I stay? Don't feel like walking home."

For some reason, Carl was still living with his parents. Who spoiled him, had given him a token

job working at his father's car dealership as a salesman, and had turned part of their house into a

suite for him, with its own front door. Okay, that was a lot of good reasons to stay at home…

Even if Carl despised the job and wasn't exactly grateful for the roof over his head. He'd wanted

to become a pro football player, always had, but that was a crowded dream and for once, Carl

hadn't ended up with what he wanted. Good, really good -- just not good enough.

"Couch is right there. Help yourself."

"And a bed big enough for six is right there." Carl nodded at the open bedroom door.

"Anyone ever tell you straight guys would sooner sleep on tarantula-infested concrete than

share?"

Carl smiled, standing up and stretching out muscles stiff from sitting. "Fuck that. And fuck that

itty-bitty couch of yours. Besides, that's two straight guys. I
know
you're gay, so it's not a

Drawing Closer - 23

problem."

Gray stared at him. "You're weird," he decided. "I've known you for--" He tried to work it out, but third grade seemed impossibly distant in time. "Years. Yeah. Lots of them, and I've just

realized that you're certifiably weird."

"You always were a little slow on the uptake." Carl walked toward the bedroom and started to

strip, so that by the time he got there he was already down to his shorts, leaving a trail of

clothing behind him.

Gray followed him and watched Carl fall forward onto the bed that filled most of the room -- it

was a bedroom and as far as Gray was concerned, it was for sleeping in, so all it really needed

was a bed. The closets were built in and there were spotlights attached to the bed frame for when

he wanted to read in bed. The nightstand was only there because he'd gotten sick and tired of

putting his book on the floor next to a glass of water and spilling one and ruining the other when

he got up to pee in the dark and forgot that they were there.

"Get the pillow." Carl's voice was muffled and sleepy.

Right. The pillow. Gray picked up the long body pillow with a sneering Daffy Duck on it from

the floor and put it between them. Like it made a difference. He'd wake up with Carl wrapped

around him, the pillow kicked to the floor.

Always did.

***

his chest, and rolled over, burying his aching head in a pillow and feeling like shit. He'd slept -- or

passed out -- eventually, but it felt as if he'd been talking to himself all night somehow, replaying

his conversation with Charles in his head so that it ended with them together.

He'd woken up the day before so sure -- God, he'd been fucking stupid to think it'd be that easy;

that Charles would have spent the night thinking about that kiss as much as he had and regretted

sending Gray away.

He still couldn't figure out why Charles had done that.

His
student
? What kind of crap was that? The course was over, and even if it wasn't, so what? A

night class for fun, that was all it'd been -- it wasn't like Charles had been his teacher at school or

college. Gray could see how that would make a difference, although he wouldn't have cared

himself, if Charles had given him even a hint that he wanted him.

God, no.

Drawing Closer - 24

Gray rolled to his back, shoving his hand down inside his shorts and biting back a moan as his

cock hardened from just one touch because he was remembering the way Charles' hand had

curved around him, just for a second. Beside him, Carl was still sleeping, his breathing even and

soft.

And the age difference was nothing. Gray
liked
that Charles was older. Liked the idea of being

with someone who knew what they were doing -- oh, fuck. His hand began to move faster,

hampered by his shorts, and he took a moment to wriggle out of them.

Carl murmured and rolled over and Gray froze, feeling irritated rather than embarrassed. Carl's

eyes opened and blinked at him, hazy and unfocused, and then he muttered thickly, "Got to pee."

Gray rolled his eyes as Carl stumbled out of the room, moving as if his eyes were shut again, and

carried on with what he'd been doing, making it quick.

--
I
am
interested -- most, sometimes all, of my attention
--