Serenading Stanley (23 page)

He placed the pizzas on the kitchen table, pulled up a chair, and waited again for the all-important tap on his door.

At five o’clock he heard footsteps in the hall. A moment later, there was a gentle rapping on his door. Heart galloping a mile a minute, Stanley hurried to the door on trembling legs and pulled it open. Before he could say a word, Roger stepped across the threshold and gathered him into those strong, fuzzy arms Stanley loved so much.

With Roger’s breath in his ear, he heard the words: “Hi, baby.”

And Stanley melted.

He snuggled closer to Roger’s chest and felt a rush of desire sweep through him that almost knocked him off his feet. “Hi.”

Roger pressed his lips to Stanley’s forehead. “You’ve gone limp, kiddo.”

“Not all of me,” Stanley said. “The blood is moving to my extremities.”

“Uh-oh,” Roger grinned. “Which extremities?”

“You’ll know in a minute.”

“I know already. I can feel it.”

“I can feel yours too,” Stanley all but moaned, pressing his hips to Roger’s, feeling the hardness of their two cocks grinding together beneath the fabric of Stanley’s cargo shorts and Roger’s scrubs. Jesus. It hadn’t taken twenty seconds to get in that condition. Stanley was amazed. Well, maybe not. He’d been obsessing over the guy for weeks. Maybe his dick was tired of simply obsessing and had decided a little action was in order, dragging Stanley along in its wake. Not that Stanley minded. No sir. He had been following his dick around for years. He was just glad it was finally showing some common sense in who it nuzzled up to.

Roger cleared his throat. “Um, before we get beyond the point of no return, I have to sit down before I fall down. Then I need to go home and shower. I just had to see you first.”

“Why?”

“Just to see you.”

Stanley liked the sound of that. He burrowed deeper into Roger’s arms and rested his forehead on Roger’s chin. “Shower here,” he pleaded.

Roger grinned. “If that’s what you want. But my clothes are downstairs.”

“I have a robe you can wear.”

Roger considered that. “Hmm. Comfortable. Roomy. One size fits all. Easily discarded.”

“I thought of that,” Stanley said.

“I’ll bet you did.” Roger lifted Stanley’s chin with a fingertip and kissed his nose. “All right. I’ll shower here.”

“Do you want to eat first? We’ve got pizza.”

“Maybe later. That okay? I just want to spend some time with you. I’ve been waiting a long time for this night to happen. I’m not going to let it get derailed by sausage and mushrooms.”

“Pepperoni.”

“Whatever.”

Stanley grasped Roger’s hand and led him to the sofa. “Sit and relax. You really do look worn out. Rough day?”

“Yes.”

Roger all but collapsed onto the couch. He closed his eyes for a second, just trying to wind down, then he wiggled his ass around and said, “This sofa sucks. You’ve got lumps.”

“I know.” Stanley sat on the coffee table with his knees pressed to Roger’s. Without asking permission, and rather astounded by his own bravery, he lifted Roger’s feet into his lap. He untied Roger’s tennies and slipped them off one by one. Then he tugged off Roger’s socks. When he started massaging Roger’s toes, Roger tried to stop him.

“Oh God, Stanley. Don’t do that. My feet must smell like a couple of dead skunks.”

Stanley laughed. “Like I care. They’re beautiful.”

Roger tugged Stanley off the coffee table and parked him on the sofa at his side. Easing him down onto his back, Roger stretched out beside him, laying his head on Stanley’s chest as they wrapped their arms around each other. They both gave a sigh of contentment.

“I never thought we’d get here,” Roger said. “I never thought you’d let me in.” He tapped Stanley’s chest. “In here, I mean. In your heart. But now that I am in, please don’t ever let me out.”

Stanley stroked the short, short hair on Roger’s scalp. He loved the way it felt. And he loved Roger’s weight pinning him down. And Roger’s powerful arms holding him close. Hell, he loved it all.

“Never,” Stanley said. It was amazing, he thought. They felt like an old married couple, and they hadn’t even slept together yet. The moment Stanley thought that, his insecurity kicked in. Would Roger be disappointed? Would Roger still love him when there were no more secrets? No more mystery? Stanley Sternbaum wasn’t exactly Xochipilli, after all, the handsome Aztec god of homosexual love. Stanley wasn’t any kind of god at all. Stanley was just Stanley. Unlike Roger, who was—who was—
perfect.

Roger gave him a little shake. “Stop thinking, Little Mouse. I can feel you tensing up. It’ll be all right. Whatever it is you’re worrying about, it’ll be just fine. I promise.”

Stanley sought out the green in Roger’s eyes. Felt himself grow lost in their depths. “Do you?”

“Yes. Please trust me.”

“I—I do.”

“Then smile for me.”

Stanley smiled.

“Smile more.”

Stanley widened his smile by a quarter of an inch.

Roger gave a grunt of disgust. “Christ, Stanley. I want a
big
smile.”

Stanley bared his teeth like a pit bull and growled.

“Whoa!” Roger railed. “Too much! Too much!” He buried his face in Stanley’s chest and giggled.

Stanley pressed his lips to Roger’s hair and giggled with him. He was hard again. So was Roger. Stanley waited to see what would happen this time. While Stanley wanted nothing more than to be naked with Roger, he was still scared to death. When the first move toward sex was made, Stanley was pretty damn sure it wouldn’t be made by Mr. Sternbaum.

Stanley didn’t know it yet, but he would prove himself wrong in about two minutes.

Roger lifted his face from Stanley’s shirtfront and smiled at him. “I’ll make you happy, Stanley. I swear I will.” Roger squirmed up to where he could press his lips to Stanley’s mouth. Gently, eyes open, they kissed.

When Roger tenderly broke the kiss, he ran his hand through Stanley’s hair, and cooed, “Little Mouse. Little Mouse.” Gazing deep into Stanley’s eyes, he said it one more time, softly, like a prayer. “Little Mouse.”

With the speaking of those two silly words, Stanley felt his fear dissolve. Just like that. He was no longer afraid.

When he spoke, his words were husky with desire. “Go shower,” he said. “Please.”

Roger stroked Stanley’s cheek, savoring the warmth, the softness. He ran a fingertip over Stanley’s lips, and when Stanley kissed it, he smiled. Then he heaved himself to a sitting position and pulled Stanley up beside him. “Okay, boss,” he said. Ruffling Stanley’s hair, he groaned his way to his feet.

Stanley looked up with wide, hungry eyes from the couch as Roger stood directly before him. The outline of Roger’s cock was clearly delineated beneath the cotton scrubs. Without thinking too much about it, Stanley reached out and laid his hand over it.

Roger drew in a breath and stepped closer between Stanley’s bare legs.

Stanley leaned in and pressed his lips to the bulge. He could feel a tremor tear through Roger’s body at the intimacy of the touch. Staying exactly where he was, Stanley stared up into Roger’s face. The man was watching him. Watching him like a hawk. Like a red-tailed hawk.

Slipping his hand under the shirt of Roger’s scrubs, Stanley rested it on Roger’s firm, hairy stomach. Again Roger’s body thrummed like a tuning fork as he sucked in a breath of air, startled and thrilled by Stanley’s touch. He cupped Stanley’s head in his broad hands and backed away just enough to bend down and give Stanley a kiss. He played his hands along the blond hair on Stanley’s thighs, tanned from the sun, strong and lean and beautiful. His fingertips lingered there. Longing to do more.

Roger tilted Stanley’s face to look into his eyes. Stanley’s hand was moving now, gently stroking the warm flesh of Roger’s abdomen, then moving higher to brush the thicker pelt of hair across Roger’s chest. At the feel of Roger’s nipple against his palm, Stanley shuddered.

“Wait for me in the bed, Stanley. I won’t be long. I swear to holy Christ, I won’t be long at all.”

Stanley grinned. “I may have to beat off while I’m waiting.”

Roger crumpled a handful of Stanley’s shirt into his fist and dragged Stanley closer. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Stanley batted innocent eyes. “Well, if you feel that strongly about it.”

Even a fool could see there was nothing innocent about the look Stanley was giving him. And Roger was no fool. He cupped the rock hard bulge in the crotch of Stanley’s cargo shorts and both their eyelids almost closed, the touch was so electric.

Stanley grabbed Roger’s hips and once again pressed his face to Roger’s hard-on. He couldn’t stand it another minute. He slid his fingers under the elastic of Roger’s pants and was just about to strip them away when Roger laughed and stepped back out of reach.

“You little shit,” he laughed. “Go to bed. Take off your clothes and go to bed. I’ll join you in a couple of minutes. I don’t want to be worrying about smelling like a mountain goat during our first round of sex, so I’m going to go shower now. Wash away the ER. And borrow your toothbrush. And everything else I can find in there that will make me smell like a peach and make you want me.”

“I want you now.”

“Well, good. That’ll make the job easier.”

“And don’t shave,” Stanley said. “I like the scruffy look. It’s really—”

“It’s really what?”

Stanley blushed. “—sexy.”

Roger smiled a sweet, sweet smile. “Fine, baby. Just for you I won’t shave.”

“And don’t dillydally.”

“Fine. I won’t dillydally either. Good grief! Any more orders?”

“No. That’s about it.”

Roger chucked Stanley lightly on the chin and took off for the bathroom, shaking his head in wonder because he was so damned turned on he could barely concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other without plowing into a wall.

Stanley watched him go, his heart thudding away like a jackhammer. It was pounding so hard he wondered if he was about to self-immolate. Or simply explode. Did people ever do that?

Jesus God, Roger Jane was sexy.

And oddly enough, Stanley suddenly realized even
he
felt sexy. More sexy than he had ever felt in his life. He was even maybe beginning to accept the fact that Roger thought so too.

And wasn’t that a mind-boggling realization for a little mouse to come to!

T
HE
eight and a half minutes Stanley lay naked and alone in his bed waiting for Roger to join him were the longest three weeks he ever spent in his life. His dick was so hard, it was starting to hurt. Jesus, that couldn’t be good, could it?

During those eight and a half minutes, he watched the day turn to twilight outside his bedroom window. The shadows deepened in the apartment, and the hawks outside the window grew silent. Perhaps they were gone now, sailing low over Broadway, dodging cars in tandem, seeking a pigeon to snag from the sky for dinner. Poor pigeons.

Stanley was starting to wonder if he should turn on a light or two, for ambience if nothing else, when he heard the bathroom door open. He quickly peeled off his glasses and laid them on the nightstand out of the way as a sliver of golden light slashed across the bedroom floor. The light just as quickly went out as Roger flicked the bathroom switch, leaving Stanley again in the gathering shadows. As the room had darkened, it had cooled off a little too. That was a welcome relief, although it hadn’t done much to lower Stanley’s temperature.

He lay under a sheet, covered to his belly button. His tan legs poked out from the bottom of the sheet, and one arm was tucked behind his head. He was trying to look nonchalant, but he was about to levitate off the bed he was so fucking excited.

Roger crossed the room in Stanley’s white terry robe. The paleness of the robe accentuated the dark hair on Roger’s muscular legs and chest and made him about the most desirable thing Stanley had ever seen.

Roger stopped to stand before him at the foot of the bed, and Stanley sat up to see him better.

“You’re beautiful,” they said in unison, each to the other. Then they laughed.

Roger reached down and fingered Stanley’s toes, all the while staring into Stanley’s face, into Stanley’s eyes. Roger’s voice was raw with desire. “I was nuts about you the first time I saw you. Did you know that? I’ve wanted to see you exactly where you are right now ever since that day. That minute. I’ve never fallen for anybody so quickly before. I didn’t quite know what to make of it. Hell, I still don’t.”

Stanley could feel his cheeks burn even before he opened his mouth. He swore to himself he would never ask this question. But still, here it came. He couldn’t stop it.

“So this isn’t a—a—”

And before he could speak the words, Roger said them for him. “A pity fuck?” Roger sputtered, obviously stunned by the question. “Is that what you’re thinking this is?” He stared down at Stanley with an astonished pout on his face. “My God, you are.” Roger’s eyes burned into Stanley’s as he rubbed his hand across his scalp, just like he always did when confused. Or deeply hurt. This time his eyes flashed with anger, too, if only for a moment.

 Stanley had never seen anger in those perfect green eyes before, not real anger, and it broke his heart to think he was the one who put it there.

“If there’s any pity fucking going on here, Stanley, then you’re the one doing it, not me. Since I seem to be the one who’s doing most of the loving, then I am sure as hell the one who should be getting most of the pity. I want you so bad I can’t see straight, you prick. Why can’t you accept that?”

Stanley scooted to the foot of the bed and wrapped his arms around Roger’s waist. “I do accept it. I’m sorry. That was just a residual spurt of paranoia squirting out. Insane people do shit like that. Please forgive me. And I don’t think it. I really don’t. And you’re not the one doing all the loving. I love you so much I can’t see straight either. I’ll never think it again. I swear I won’t.”

“Good,” Roger said, snaking his arms around Stanley to pull him closer. “Because I love you, Stanley. I shouldn’t have to explain myself every time I want to express it.”