Tuesday morning the mortuary called and said there'd been a conflict in scheduling and would we mind terribly if our loved one was interred at 4pm instead of 10am. We didn't mind, so I made a round of calls letting everyone know the time change. Ryan said that actually worked better for him since he needed to do some work over in our area on Thursday and had planned to stay the night anyway.
That evening while Vincent worked late, I wandered around the silent house, wondering how long it would be till I quit looking for Matt around every corner. When I'd called Adam's to tell them of the time change, Matt had been almost apologetic with me, promising he'd visit often and reminding me that he was only a few minutes away. And since Adam worked at the barn, I knew I'd see Matt frequently. I assured him everything was fine - a lie - and that I was overjoyed that he and Adam had finally come to an understanding - which was true.
But the house was so empty.
I stood in the doorway of the den for several minutes, gazing at the chair where Matt had spent so many evenings sketching, reading, and working on his laptop. He'd grown from a frightened child to a beautiful young man while he'd been with us, and I found some comfort in knowing that while we maybe hadn't literally saved his life, we had certainly given him the opportunity to explore the rich potential he'd had inside him.
Finally, I settled down at the island in the kitchen to write out what I wanted to say at Dylan's service tomorrow. I was lost in thought when Vincent came in from the garage, and jumped when the door clicked shut. He shrugged out of his jacket and poured himself a glass of wine as he glanced at me.
"You okay? You've been pretty quiet."
I nodded. "Yeah, I'm all right. I was just writing something down for ....."
He pulled out the stool next to me and sat down sideways so that I was between his knees. As he leaned forward to nuzzle my neck, I closed my eyes and let my head drop back with a sigh.
"God, I'll be glad when tomorrow's through."
"I know, baby," he whispered near my ear. "I know."
I rolled my head until I found his mouth. He kissed me softly - a kiss of comfort, not of passion - that went on and on. Alone in the quiet of our kitchen, we kissed like new lovers, exploring each other's mouths with curious tongues, eyes closed, breath soft on one another's faces. His hand slid up my thigh to cup my crotch loosely, an incredibly intimate gesture that nearly undid me, but I concentrated on his lips, firm and smooth against mine, and the moment passed.
We ate a simple supper of bread, cheese, and wine, and went up to bed early, both of us needing the solace that sometimes only physical closeness can bring. I lay on my back with one leg over his hip as he smoothed his hand up and down my body, pausing now and then to gently stub a nipple or fondle my balls. It was very relaxing and I awoke around midnight to the sound of Vincent snoring softly against my arm. I slid down the bed until I could suck his soft penis into my mouth.
After a moment, his breathing changed, and I knew he was awake, but he continued to lay very still, only his filling cock giving him away. When I began to work one hand between his legs, he rolled onto his back and bent his knees for me. I stayed there a long time, licking and kissing my way around his groin, lost in the smell of him and the contrasting textures of his hard cock and soft, velvety scrotum.
Finally, he pulled me up onto him, gripping my ass in both hands and thrusting slowly against my belly. The friction was perfect and I lowered my face to his, kissing him as we both neared orgasm. When we were breathing too hard to kiss, I wrapped my hands over his shoulders and pumped quickly as he slid a finger up and down the crevice of my ass. When I came, it was with an intensity I didn't expect, and I cried out as the first three spasms clenched my nuts. Vincent unloaded with a groan, and clutched me tightly to him until he was finished.
Suddenly he spoke, and his voice was harsh with emotion. "Don't you dare die on me, Sean. I couldn't bear it."
I froze in surprise. Was this part of his crying alone in the bathroom the other night? I pushed back to look at him in the dim light. He was staring at me, his eyes black as the far corners of the room.
"I won't," I assured him. "I won't, I promise."
He stared at me for a moment longer, then pulled me down and rolled us onto our sides. Moments later he was asleep.
Wednesday morning dawned clear and cool. I had been up since four-thirty, sitting in the kitchen, sipping coffee, and watching the rising sun lighten the back garden. Around six, Vincent wandered in, poured himself a cup, and joined me. He pulled his chair around next to mine, lay my hand flat on his thigh, put his snugly over it and just sat with me. We stayed there without saying a word until the sun crested the woods, flooding the kitchen with light.
I took the day off work and stayed around the house. A walk in the pasture with Zena and Chex trailing along behind me was a rare pleasure, something I hadn't done in far too long. The creek was quiet today, rippling over its rocks, gliding past on its way south. I sat on the bank as the horses grazed, listening to the snap and chomp of their teeth as they tore grass from its roots and chewed it up.
All too soon it was 2:30, so I walked back up to the house just as Vincent was opening the gate into the pasture. Zena spotted him and trotted on ahead of me, knowing he was usually good for a carrot or two. He hugged me for a long time with Chex snuffling at his back pockets, and then we went inside to get ready. After we showered, I dressed carefully, knowing that the clothes I wore today would be forever tainted with the memory of Dylan's death. Vincent straightened my tie as I put in cufflinks, and we went downstairs to the car.
The cemetery was brown grass and gray headstones, touched here and there with the incongruous colors of artificial flowers. As the minister said his piece, I glanced around for an unfamiliar face, but didn't see anyone I thought might be Ryan. When it was my turn, I stood up and faced Dylan's friends and family.
I glanced at the words I'd written the day before, but as I began to speak, I told them instead about the time Dylan and I caught a huge frog and put it in the makeshift shower in the back yard of the cabin at the lake. The ensuing shrieks when the girls rinsed off after a swim had been worth the switching we'd gotten from Dylan's pissed-off mother. She was smiling at me now through her tears, shaking her head at the memory.
After the service, as I was saying goodbye to Dylan's boss, I noticed a man in a dark topcoat wandering slowly down a row of tombstones about fifty yards away.
I made my way toward him, and when he noticed me, he stopped and waited. As I drew near, I took in the reddish hair, the slightly crooked nose, the thin mouth in the angular, unsmiling face. He was a couple inches taller than me, a few pounds heavier with wide shoulders over slender hips, and looked to be about thirty-five.
When I stopped a few feet away, he held out his hand. "Ryan McGregor."
"Ach, a bloody Scotsman, is it?" I said softly in the thickest Scottish brogue I could manage, although he had no accent of his own. I took his firm hand in mine.
One side of his mouth curled up in amusement. "Guilty."
His features were unremarkable except for his eyes. They were a clear grass green, and held my gaze as we took stock of each other. He wasn't conventionally handsome, but he was very appealing, and I returned his smile warmly.
"Thank you for coming. It's.. comforting somehow to meet you." He nodded but didn't speak, so I continued. "You said you have business in the area tomorrow?"
He nodded again. "Confirming the whereabouts of a bail jumper. I don't usually do skips, but this one ties in with another case, so I took it." He glanced around. "Can you recommend a decent motel?"
I studied him for a moment, liking him more by the minute, before I spoke. "Come back to my place for a while. All the guys are just gonna relax, have something to eat. You don't really want to go sit in a motel, do you?"
He looked at me, then shifted his gaze to the dispersing crowd; I did the same. Matt was holding the car door for Adam as they got ready to leave. Danny, Gabriel, and TJ were talking with Vincent, who was watching me. Cody and Wade were walking hand in hand toward their car.
"Those all Dylan's friends?" he asked, somewhat wistfully, I thought.
"Yes, and mine." He didn't say anything, so I offered, "Just follow me home - it's only a few miles from here. I've got a bottle of Laphroaig in the cupboard." I tempted him with the name of the famous Scottish malt whiskey.
One eyebrow went up. "Do you now? Well, then, lead on."
Maria had set out a big buffet and we loaded plates up before heading for the den. I poured a neat Laphroaig for Ryan and took it to where he was leaning against the wall by the piano. He took a small sip, then closed his eyes in pleasure and gave a low, "mmm."
"You met Dylan on a case?"
He sipped again, nodding. "Yes, in Dallas at my office. It wasn't love at first sight, but it certainly was more than... It could have been good, I think. We enjoyed each other."
He stared into the glass of whiskey, lost in thought, until I spoke again. "We'd drifted apart the last year or so. Something was going on with him, but he didn't talk to me about it and now I can't ask him."
Ryan studied me for a long moment, and then seemed to come to a decision. He looked away as he began to speak. "He was dating a woman in his office for a while."
"A woman?" My mouth fell open in surprise.
He sighed. "It began as an office friendship, one of those things that can happen when you're around each other all day. One evening, after a long day, she kissed him."
"But he's gay," I protested.
"Ultimately, yes, but he was also curious. I've met her..... she's pretty, and he liked her quite a bit, but he thought you'd react badly, so he didn't tell you. They stopped seeing each other when she realized that he probably wasn't husband material."
I was silent, thinking back to Dylan's aloofness, which I'd taken for irritation with the fact that Vincent and I had gotten together. A woman.. I'd had no idea. TJ came over just then and I left them talking. Vincent found me in the kitchen, staring out into the night. I told him what I'd learned.
"Huh," he said thoughtfully. "Haven't you ever been the least bit curious?" he asked me.
"No!" I replied a little hotly.
"Well, some guys are," he countered in a neutral voice. "Why are you so upset?"
I wasn't sure, and I didn't have time to think about it then, because people started leaving. When it was down to Vincent, Ryan, and me, I offered him the spare room. He was surprised but pleased, and accepted after a feeble protest.
"I spend a lot of nights in motels. It would be heavenly to sleep in a decent bed in a quiet room for a change. Thanks."
I went up to make sure the guest room was ready for company and spent a few minutes arranging things in the bathroom. When I walked back through the bedroom, I came upon Ryan, who was shirtless and had just dropped his trousers to the floor. He was sideways to me, looking around the room as he undressed.
He had the typical pale skin of a natural redhead, and his body was nice - lean and toned, with a small spray of reddish hair between his pale nipples. A tantalizing line of darker curls dropped into the boxers that hung low on his hips.
I must have made a sound because he turned to me quickly, putting a hand over his heart in mock surprise as he grinned at me. "Jesus, I thought I was alone."
I sidled toward the door. "Just checking the towels. Sleep well."
The three of us had breakfast together the next morning, and then I walked him to his car. We promised to keep in touch, and he hugged me briefly before driving off. Vincent glanced at me when I came back into the kitchen. "Nice guy."
I nodded. "Yeah. What a shame. For both of them," I added as an afterthought.
The gray days of January drifted by, and I drifted with them, unable to work up the enthusiasm to do much of anything. I was sleeping poorly and spent much of each night wandering the house, or sitting in the den in the dark. I had no appetite, and began to lose weight. My sex drive seemed to be gone as well; Vincent and I hadn't made love since the day before Dylan's funeral. The Sunday after, he found me in the kitchen early in the morning. As he wrapped his arms around me from behind, he nuzzled my neck and whispered in my ear.
"Come back to bed, baby."
He bumped his crotch against my butt in invitation, and I tried to match his interest, but there was nothing there. I pulled gently away from him.
"I'm sorry. I can't ..."
He released me and moved to the counter. The silence stretched out between us until finally he spoke. "I know this has been hard for you..... Dylan, and then Matt..... but I'm still here, and I miss you. I miss us."
He paused, and I felt tears of guilt well up in my eyes. He watched me for a moment before coming to kiss my forehead gently. I stood there a long time after he left the room.
By the following Wednesday, I looked like hell, but didn't care, and Vincent and I were barely speaking. We slept in the same bed, but after holding my unresponsive body for several nights, Vincent now left me alone and slept on his own side of the bed. Where once we had exulted in each other, I now dreaded the strained silence that accompanied bedtime.
I knew something was wrong; simple grief couldn't account for the numbing fatigue that dragged at my every step, the continued weight loss and insomnia I was experiencing, but it didn't seem important enough to do something about. It was easier to just let the days go by.
Two weeks after Dylan's funeral, I'd managed to get myself out of the house and to the office at Stonegate, where I'd been sitting at my desk for over an hour with a pencil in my hand. I wasn't using it, I had simply picked it up and gotten no further. A soft knock on the door made me look up in time to see Vincent step into the room. When our eyes met, I thought that I'd never seen him look so sad. He studied me for a moment, and then walked past me to the window where he stood with his hands in his pockets, staring out into the yard.
"I can't do this anymore." His voice was very soft. "It's killing me to see us come apart like this." Another pause. "I made an appointment with a psychiatrist for this Friday, and I want you to come with me." He turned slowly toward me, but I couldn't meet his eyes. "Will you do that for me?"
After a moment, I nodded.
His sigh of relief plucked at what little emotion I had left. "Thank you... I need you, Sean. Please..... please come back to me."
I did raise my eyes then. His were heartbreaking - dark pools of raw emotion in his drawn face. We stared at each other for a long, long moment. I knew that he was waiting for something - anything - from me, but I just couldn't give it. He finally looked away in resignation, and walked past me to the door, closing it softly behind him.
After Vincent left, I sat at my desk for another hour, forcing myself to think about what he'd said, and I began to feel ashamed. Step by step, I put down the pencil I was still gripping, pushed myself to my feet with great effort, and left the office, headed for the stallion barn. Cal nickered when he saw me, giving me a hard shove with his head that nearly knocked me down when I entered his stall. He crunched his carrot as I haltered him and cross tied him in the barn aisle. He was a little shaggy with his winter coat, so I curried him thoroughly, almost smiling when he curled a lip and stretched in enjoyment.
I was weak from losing so much weight, and out of breath as I tacked him up with my jumping saddle and double bridle, then led him out into the chilly winter sun and climbed on. He was fresh and shifted under me, eager to be moving. I worked him in the arena for about twenty minutes, until I was pretty sure he wouldn't buck me off, then I aimed him for the trail head that goes out our back gate.
He took off at a trot, snorting at every skittering leaf and darting squirrel, finally breaking into a ground-eating canter that took us quickly to the rear of the development. The ground rises back there, and when I pulled him to a halt at the top of a knoll, I could see Stonegate's steeple in the distance and my own chimneys a little closer.
Calvin stood with his head lifted into the breeze, ears swiveling as he listened to the sounds of the neighborhood in front of him and me talking behind him, alert and gloriously alive in the moment.
I didn't suddenly feel the grayness lift from my soul, out there in the weak afternoon sun as I pondered the scene in front of me, but my thoughts were quickening.
I slid off Calvin, held his reins loosely, and searched through the fog in my mind - needing to know what had brought me to this point. I scuffed the earth with the toe of my boot as I thought about the last two weeks. It came in bits and pieces, but as I reached deep inside my thoughts, it coalesced into a single word - betrayal.
Dylan had betrayed our relationship by dying without telling me what he was feeling about being with a woman. Matt had left me without a verbal goodbye, so I'd felt betrayed again, although I'd known that he was going to leave us someday. I'd betrayed myself when I encouraged it and urged him into the healthy life he now enjoyed with Adam. As my thoughts came into focus, I realized that these were people I loved and who loved me, and I knew they wouldn't deliberately hurt me.
Now Vincent wanted me to see a psychiatrist. I looked up at the view in front of me again and remembered what I'd said to Danny a few months ago.... 'as much as I love Stonegate, I'd chuck it in a heartbeat for Vincent.' That was true - I would do anything he asked of me.
It was then that I understood that the light was slowly seeping back into me, that I'd be okay. It would take a while, and it wouldn't be easy, but I would be okay.
Calvin dropped his bony jaw onto my shoulder and nudged the side of my face. His low, throaty nicker made me smile for the first time in two weeks.
"Calvin," I said, as I stroked his neck, "you're a horse of few words, but as usual, just the ones I needed to hear."
With a spark of anxiety, I thought about Vincent, and I knew I had to turn my thoughts and emotions around or risk losing him, losing the one thing that I knew I couldn't do without.
I hoisted myself into the saddle, turned Calvin back down the trail and trotted him all the way to Stonegate, looking around me with interest for the first time in two weeks. I passed the back of Jack and Paula's place; Katie and Paula were in the backyard cleaning up their garden and waved as I went by.
Back at the barn, I handed Cal off to Kelly, hugging him quickly, which drew a startled, "Hey."
It was almost four, so I drove slowly home, thinking about Vincent. I knew that my behavior had damaged our relationship, and I needed to find some way to make it right with him. I wandered into the den, considering various possibilities, when I saw the latest issue of MEN on the coffee table, placed there by Maria after she'd opened the mail. I paged through it, not seeing anything that sparked my interest, but as I put it back on the table, I remembered a night in November when Vincent had drooled over a Pac Ten guy in FRESHMEN.
I rooted through the pile of back issues in the basket by the fireplace, finally coming up with it, and when I paged to the guy, I knew what I had to do. I jogged up the stairs two at a time and jumped into the shower, soaping, scrubbing, shaving, and moisturizing for all I was worth. With the magazine open on the counter, I gelled my hair as close to Mr. Pac Ten's as I could, pulling up little spikes here and there. When I was polished and gleaming, I pulled on a pair of white socks, comfortably slouched around my ankles, and went naked to the closet.
Vincent had a dozen of the formal white tuxedo shirts that he wore when serving as 'maitre de' at Corleone's. I slid one on and did up a button at my navel, leaving the rest open. Magazine in hand, I padded over to the full length mirror to check myself out.
Well, I wasn't twenty any longer, and my abs weren't quite as tight, (although I'd lost nearly ten pounds, so they looked pretty good), but my cock was bigger than his, peeking naughtily out between the tails of the shirt. I smiled in grim satisfaction, and went down to the kitchen to finish my preparations.
By quarter to six, I was as ready as I was going to get. I had gulped down a glass of wine for courage, put cheese, fruit, and crackers on a tray, gotten my dick hard, and was nervous as a whore in church. The wine had gone straight to my head, and I had to hold onto the edge of the island for a while to stay upright.
I shifted restlessly from one foot to the other as I waited for him to get home. At 5:57 I heard the garage door go up and arranged myself next to the island, one elbow nonchalantly resting next to our wine glasses, the other arm hanging loosely at my side. The tip of my stiff dick was just poking through the flaps of Vincent's shirt, and I was about to hyperventilate. Breathing deeply, I watched the door into the kitchen begin to open.
He didn't see me at first, stepping into the room sideways to get his briefcase through. He took off his jacket, sighing deeply, then stretched and turned toward me. Our eyes locked and held for perhaps five seconds, which is a long time when you're not breathing, and then his gaze traveled slowly down my body.
He stopped momentarily at my chest, partially visible in the open shirt, before he saw my cock. It bounced under his scrutiny, my shirt tails sliding back as it bobbed to and fro. My heart went BANG BANG in my chest as Vincent's eyes went hot and his jaw tightened.
I stared at him, licked my dry lips, and then said in an unsteady voice, "I'm back."
His voice was deep and hungry, and a bit unsteady, as well. "I see that."
His eyes held mine as he walked slowly to me; his palm was warm and gentle as it cupped my face. He slid his thumb over my lower lip, then leaned forward and kissed me deeply. All the hurt and loneliness of the past two weeks were in that kiss, and some anger as well, because just before he broke the kiss, he bit my lip hard. I gasped in pain and surprise, but was distracted when he took my cock in a firm grip. Vincent had undoubtedly masturbated in the last fourteen days, but I hadn't, and it took every ounce of control I had to keep from cumming in those first few seconds.
Still holding his eyes, I opened his pants, sliding the zipper slowly down his erection as his jaw muscles tensed. He tightened his grip on me as my hand closed around his penis, and before I could stop myself, my nuts clenched and I blasted two weeks worth of cum all over his good slacks.
He stared down at my still-hard cock in his gooey fist for a moment, closed his eyes in a grimace, and then climaxed with a thick groan, drenching the front of my shirt with a load as big as mine had been. When his face cleared, he opened his eyes.
"Two weeks is too fucking long," he said weakly.
"You didn't..?"
"Nope. Waitin' for you," he replied.
We gazed at each other for a moment, still holding one another's softening dicks. In his face I saw relief mixed with the anger that had surfaced when he bit me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I... It was just everything at once, I guess. Dylan, then Matt leaving.. I'm sorry."
He pulled me to him then, his arms enfolding me, his face buried in my neck. When I hugged him in return, I felt tremors move through his body.
"Oh, Sean... You really scared me, sweetheart. I thought I was losing you." He heaved a big sigh and squeezed me tight for a second before pulling back a little to look me in the face. "I thought I was losing you," he repeated, more softly.
I swallowed hard. "Never," I vowed.
We stood there a long time, holding each other, whispering reassurances, apologies, promises - anything that would make the hurt of the past two weeks go away. At one point, Vincent ran his hands up my sides, stopping when he came to my ribs, standing out in bony relief under my skin.
"God, baby, you're so thin." He reached behind me, stacking a couple slices of cheese onto a cracker and then feeding it to me. I chewed obediently, sipping the wine he held out to wash it down. After a few, I stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
"We're a mess. Let's go clean up - then we can eat. Okay?"
He agreed, and as we walked hand in hand down the hall, he glanced at the big wet splotches on my shirt. "Is that my shirt I just came all over?"
A couple more chapters to go. Thanks to David of Hope.
Comments? qwb224@gmail.com