UNCLE, GRUNGE & LOVE: Chapter Twelve
The next day we woke early and simultaneously. I headed to the kitchen while he took another long piss in the bathroom. But, before I could start breakfast, I heard him call out, "No coffee." I returned to the bathroom, watching him shake the last drops from his cock, my mouth watering.
"There's a coffee shop on the ground floor of the complex. We'll get food and coffee there. I don't want to crap here - I want us to take our dumps in That Bitch's apartment. I fucking paid for that privilege."
I just smiled and got a hard-on.
Soon we were in the pickup, packing-tape and boxes tossed in the back, heading across town. They had lived in the 'up-and-coming' district, which basically meant higher prices, more crowds and lots of Starbucks. We swung through the streets unobstructed, though - it was still early.
"It's weird, not showering, isn't it?" I said, trying to take his mind off of what was coming next.
"Yeah," he nodded, smiling. "Like - last night, when my balls were crushing me, a shower was all I could think of to take the edge off - until you helped me out, bro." When he said that I was crushed again. Just calling me 'bro' felt like a gift to my younger self who had never been a bro, but had always wanted to be one.
"But this morning," he said, sneaking a sniff under his pit as we sat at the light ... "Fuck, this morning I love the way I feel."
I just nodded.
"Sometimes I get a little itchy," I said, rubbing my head. "My body isn't used to this." But then I unzipped my jumpsuit, reached into my crotch, scratched around and pulled my hand out, sniffing it. "But, fuck, I love my own stank."
He signaled to let him whiff, so I stuck my fingers under his nose. He just growled -
"Take it away - gonna get hard again."
"It's gotten to the point I can't tell if we're REALLY rank or not, I'm so used to it now," I said, and it was the truth. "I mean - is That Bitch gonna freak out when we show up? Is she gonna be able to smell our stank?"
"I got two answers to that question. First, I hope so. Second, I don't give a shit. Also - we're here."
He gunned it into the parking garage of a fancy new apartment complex - his key card still worked - and he pulled into the loading dock section.
"Follow me."
We got our coffee - a couple of massive scones - and headed up to the eleventh floor. I could feel his tension. I wanted to reach out and touch him - so, I did. I hadn't touched him much in public, and this wasn't that public - we were alone in the elevator - but it made him jerk. Then he smiled, looking at me in the shiny stainless steel as my hand rested on the small of his back. Then we were out of the elevator, at the door, and he was knocking. The door opened.
"Hey Lorrie," he said.
"Jayson," she said.
"You remember my nephew, Stewart? He's helping me out today."
"Hi Stewart - come on in, guys," she said, basically ignoring us. When we got to the kitchen, I saw that there were lots of pots and pans already out.
"I tried to get stuff ready," is all she said. Then she made a face - I could tell she was smelling our funk. Jayson just smiled. She backed off, heading out to the dining room to escape our musk. On the dining table, there were papers strewn about. "I made a list - " she said, picking it up, presenting it to him. He didn't move. "I'm not gonna hang around this morning," she said, pouty. "It doesn't feel like a safe space for me."
"What the fuck does that mean?" he asked. But it wasn't aggressive - it was straightforward, like him.
"I'm still in a lot of pain - so, Troy is gonna keep an eye on things for me. Troy?!?!" That last was a call down the long hall. Some dude emerged with bed-head. He wore loose sweats and no shirt, was impressively cut, but way too pretty for my tastes - with one of those faggy haircuts where it's really long up top, but shaved on the sides.
In my opinion, that style won't age well.
"Who the fuck is Troy?" he asked, again he was straightforward, but this time there was menace. Clear menace. Troy had rambled down the hall and emerged into the light.
"Hey," Troy said, sticking his hand out, while blinking his crusty eyes. "I'm Troy - nice to meet you, Jayson." But then, when his eyes cleared - when he got used to the light - I saw something that I'd learned to watch for around Jayson - it was blatant and apparent to me, even if it was missed by everyone else. And then I saw his other hand stray to his crotch, adjusting it.
Jayson just stood there, not taking the dude's hand, muscles trembling. I could sense the danger and I could see this was precisely the reaction That Bitch had hoped to achieve.
"Troy's gonna keep an eye on my stuff - to make sure you don't steal anything," That Bitch said, snottily, and then she picked up her purse and walked right out the door, sashaying her just- beginning-to-sag ass along the way.
"You smell gross, Jay," she said, as she turned at door. "That's another reason I dumped you."
And then the door slammed. There was silence. Troy was getting nervous - and he was right to get nervous.
"Who the fuck are you?" Jayson asked.
"Look -" said Troy, trying to man up and failing miserably. But again, I saw his need. I also saw the need to intervene.
I stepped between them, facing Jay.
"Jayson - let's go outside for a second -"
"...' the fuck is he?" he whispered again, and this time I gently pushed, backing him up. He barely allowed this - muscles tensing, this time signaling that I may be his target, but even though he scared me, my care for him overpowered my fear.
"Come on man - back off," I said, muscling up myself, touching him on the pec and shoulder with both authority and tenderness - and he relented, barely, so I pushed him into the kitchen -
"You gotta listen to me -"
"Fuck off, Stewart -"
"Outside man - let's talk outside - "
"Fuck him -"
"Come on, Jayson," I said, pushing hard now, and I could tell he was at war with himself, the only thing protecting me was his care for our coupling and suddenly we were back in the hallway, and he was raving and I was trying to get him under control.
"Gonna kick his fucking ass - that bitch - who the fuck is he - who the fuck is that cunt in there, bro? What the fuck IS this shit -"
And I just stood there, leaning into him, saying the same thing, over and over again: "Jay - Jayson - listen to me - please listen to me - just fucking listen -"
And then I went there - I pushed him hard, into the wall, using all my strength, and before he could respond - and he was about to respond - I said: "I ate your shit, dude, the least you can do is listen to me."
And that broke through - because of course it did - and he came out of the fog of his own war and his face cleared - just a little - and he looked down at me, eyes narrowing, nostrils still flaring, and he saw me for who I was - the guy who had fallen head-over-heels for him. For a moment, I had all his attention.
"What the fuck you gotta tell me, Stew?"
"He's a fag."
"What?"
"He's a faggot - just like those guys in the gym. I can smell it on him -"
"But he's sleeping with her -"
"Then he's the worst kind of faggot - a closet faggot. You gotta listen to me, Jay. That dude is a fag. He wants your cock. You don't have to hurt his ass or beat his ass - you can fuck his ass. He doesn't fucking matter, Jay."
He stood, listening to me. He was uncertain.
"You fucking sure?"
"Bet you all the money I got, man. All of it. It ain't much, but it's the best bet I could ever make."
He shook his head - he was coming out of his rage now, trying to get a grip.
"What the fuck do I do, then?"
"Stay on task, Dad," I said, the coaching roles reversed now. "Let's get this done and get the fuck outta here. But trust me, stud - he's a fag. You can check yourself."
"How the fuck do I .....?" he asked.
"Fuck you, Jay - you been doing it all week at the gym. You just didn't do it here because he caught you off guard. Go in there and shake his hand - and keep your eyes open."
He nodded, but there was doubt. Doubt did not sit will on the man I worshipped. Also I was getting frustrated. At some point he had to step into his power. Now was the time, in my view, so I went there, letting him hear my frustration.
"You're a fucking God, Jayson. You're a fucking God," I said, and I meant it. I had said it the night before and he'd deflected it, but now it sank in. "I ate your shit because you're a fucking God. Gonna eat more, too. So fucking own it, stud. It's time."
And then ... I walked away - left him there - went back into the apartment where Troy the Faggot was still standing, nervous now, but trying to maintain whatever authority That Bitch had imbued him with - which wasn't much.
"He's been having a hard time, you know - since the break up -" is all I said, at which point Jayson strode back in, completely transformed, and moved past me, shoving out his hand, totally himself.
"Hey man," he said, smile on his face, hand out. "Sorry about that - I just got surprised is all -"
"No worries," Troy said, more of a hoarse whisper, responding to the Alpha Male that had imposed himself. He took the hand, which engulfed his, and Jayson shook, hard, not letting go. Then he moved in, closer, and I could tell he was pushing his sexuality and his intuition at the same time, muscling the guy against the kitchen counter. One hand was on his shoulder, all bro- like - the other held the limp-wristed fag-hand, while he loomed, dominating with his presence.
"This ain't on you, stud - I know that. Just been having a hard time, you know how it goes. Plus, not getting any pussy since she kicked my ass out, so I'm horny and ... well - you know -"
"Yeah - I get that -"
By now Faggot Troy was overpowered - I could tell his mouth was dry. The fag on him was easy to see as he tried to bury his desire toward the man that towered over him and could probably get him on his knees with just a quick ask.
"I mean - my nephew over there - Stewie - he's gay, ya know, which is cool by me, I like gay guys - they can suck cock like nothing you ever seen - anyway, he keeps begging me for my cock - says he wants to get me off 'cuz I'm so horny and frustrated, but fuck, that's incest, ya know, so I'm hard up, and this whole thing has been tough - I lose my temper easily when I don't get my nut."
Then he took his hand off Troy's shoulder and grabbed his crotch. It had grown, and now the fag looked down at it.
"You know how that is, right bud? When you get all horned out cuz you ain't got your nut?" Jay just held his clothed junk in his big paw, when he said that and finally, Troy the Faggot succumbed to his desires and he actually said this: "Well - you know - maybe I could help with ... that ... ya know?"
"Yeah ..." Jayson said, pushing in a bit, trying to decide if he should take it right then. There was a long, very sexual pause, and then he stepped back, releasing the handshake, just as Troy the Faggot was about to grab Jay's Junk.
I'd been right. And Jay figured it out, too.
"Maybe," he said, scratching his crotch again. "Gotta lot to do today, though," he said, picking up the list, turning his back.
"Look, man," Troy the Faggot said, desperately, as we stood on the periphery of his unfulfilled sexual fantasies. "I barely know Lorrie - met her two nights ago at the bar - I fucking needed a place to crash was all, and she was worried about the rent - so .... I'm not trying to get involved in your personal shit - I mean, the stuff between the two of you."
Jayson just nodded, looking at him for what he was, which was pretty fucking pathetic.
"I'm not gonna stop you guys from taking anything, 'kay? Just - do what you need to do."
"Yeah - right," Jayson said.
"I need to take a dump," I said, intending to break the tension.
Jay smiled, pointing down the hall: "Bathroom's the first door on the left."
"Lorrie said she didn't want you guys to -"
"Dude," Jayson said, pushing into the fag's space again. "We're gonna shit here if we need to. I been shitting here for two years - I'm not gonna stop now."
"Yeah - sorry - fuck, of course. I'm lame. I'm sorry ... uh ... sir."
He was obvious now and Jay took advantage of that.
"Why don't you hop in the shower, get yourself ready for a little fun later - I got nothing against a blow job -"
"Okay," Troy the Fag said.
"We'll start moving shit out and you can - you know - do what you need to do in case it goes beyond that -"
"Fuck yeah," he nodded, eagerly. "Good idea."
He turned, swishing just a little, trying to entice us with a not-that-impressive ass, and I followed him, but Jayson grabbed me, pushing me against the counter.
"He's a fucking fag," he said, as if this was suddenly news.
"Told you -"
"What do we do?" he asked, sincerely trying to figure it out.
"Up to you - " I really needed to shit and was getting shaky, but I held it in as he stood there, imposing himself on me.
"Stay on task," he murmured to himself, loosening his grip.
"Yeah -" I said, snorting in his scent. He was so fucking total in his masculinity, it was impossible not to be entranced by him in this bizarre moment.
"But Stew," he said, conspiratorially. "Be ready with your camera, kid, okay? Just be ready."
I nodded and he released me, and we went on with the day.
((((()))))
While the faggot showered (and showered, and showered, and showered), Jayson directed the tasks at hand. He showed me his closet and the drawers that were his.
"Don't bother folding it all up - I think I'm moving in another direction fashion-wise," he said, cracking a smile at me. "Just box it. I'll be in here," he said, opening the door to the second bedroom, which he'd converted to an office.
"Whoa," I said, stepping back. One full wall was shelved, with a bunch of routers and wires and boxes that were blinking - a whole bunch of electronic equipment that I didn't know what it was. On the large desk were three screens, one real big, two smaller, and two additional lap-tops. The whole set-up buzzed and whirred like it was alive.
"How the hell we gonna get all this in my place?"
"The shelving," he said, but I shook my head.
"That shit's not gonna fit on my wall," I said.
"Sure it will -"
"Jay," I said, turning to him. "It won't."
He still wasn't used to me asserting myself, which I found cute. "Just box up all the equipment," I said. "We'll swing by Home Depot on the way home and pick up some shit - I'll build a work- station for you this evening."
"Um ..." he said, looking at me. "What?"
"I'll build it - "
"Stewie -"
"Look, Jay - I ain't good at much, but I got a degree in design - Dad wouldn't pay for college so I worked my way through building sets for the theatre department. I can build shit - it's easy to me - like cooking's easy to you. Leave the shelves -" I said, grabbing one, nearly pulling it off the wall. "It's flimsy as shit anyway."
"Um - I put those in -"
"Sorry - but it's still flimsy as shit -" I said, demonstrating by pulling a strut out of the wall and then putting it back in real quick. His face reddened. He was cute when he got challenged.
I changed my tone: "Jayson, this is your work, right?"
"Yeah - this is where the magic happens - where the money gets made - "
"Then it's important... and, I'll handle it. Just box up the equipment. Leave the shelves on the wall. Let the faggot deal with them after That Bitch kicks him out of her bed."
He looked at me, hard, as I took a bunch of pictures of the set up with my phone, making sure I got a sense of the whole, and of each individual component, and how they connected to other components - and then I turned and headed out the door. Before I could leave, though, he'd grabbed my arm.
"You keep surprising the shit outta me, kid," he said, pulling me into his body, close. He shoved his tongue in my mouth, hard and deep. It was aggressive - appreciative. Then he pulled back, looking deep in my eyes.
"You sure?" he asked.
"I got it." He considered me - considered my confidence - and accepted it. It was another one of those moments where we were getting to know each other and letting each other be the best we could be.
He let me go and I got to work on the packing.
I worked fast - not wanting to hang around. In short order his clothes and his kitchen shit was done. He directed me to go down to the basement storage, where his athletic gear was - he'd already boxed that. When that was loaded, I came back up and his electronics were boxed, labeled and ready to go. "Keep it all together," he said. "Try to be careful, too."
I nodded, understanding that this was a core of him I'd not known until now.
And then we grabbed the big stuff: the chair, which wasn't on the list, but which he said he'd paid for, a bunch of lamps, all the art, and the sofa. The place looked barren when we were done. I suddenly realized that all of the style had been his - extracting it from the apartment had cut the heart out.
That's when Princess emerged from the shower - sorry, not Princess, Troy the Faggot. He wore a flimsy towel and had obviously done a lot of work on his hair, which stood up straight and pretty, the way I hated it. But I'll give it to him - he was lean, and I could see the tats better in the mid-day light. He was kind of hot, in a kind of closeted way.
He looked around, a little dazed.
"Jeez..." he said, confirming my view of his intellect.
"Yeah," Jay said, standing tall, arms crossed. "If she gives you shit about the chair, just have her call me. It's mine - I got the receipts, still. I keep all my receipts."
Troy just nodded.
"You guys all done, then?" he asked. The question was wistful.
"Yeah - mostly. I mean - " Jay said, grabbing his crotch, gripping the whole package in his hand. "I haven't gotten off yet, but otherwise...."
"Well ... um ... like I said, I can help with that," Troy said, approaching, tentatively. He let the towel drop. He had a respectable five inches that was probably a welcome relief for That Bitch, given her perceived frigidity.
"You all cleaned out?" Jay asked, slowly unbuckling his pants.
"Yeah - " Troy replied, but then dropped to his knees. "But, can I suck it first? Please?" he asked, looking up at my stud of an Uncle. "Lorrie says your huge."
"Not that big," I said, unable to stop myself. Jayson cut me a look that told me to ice it, but mostly because he nearly lost his shit laughing, and needed to concentrate on the fag on the floor.
"It alright if my asshole of a nephew watches? We talked about it - watching ain't incest in my book."
"We wouldn't want to commit incest," I said, seriously.
"He can do whatever he wants - you both can," Troy said, reaching up and grabbing at my uncle's crotch, but Jayson batted his hand away.
"Be patient, Troy," Jayson said, and the asshole just nodded, eyes glazed. Jayson winked at me and I moved around to the side, out of Troy's line of vision. I had my phone in my back pocket and grabbed it surreptitiously.
"Lorrie know you're a cocksucker?"
"Naw - and I'm bi, man - I'm not gay, okay?" he said, looking up at Jayson, attempting to reclaim whatever dignity he believed he had.
"Sorry," Jayson said, shrugging his shoulders, feigning apologia. As he did that he hauled out his cock. It wasn't raging hard, the way it was with me, which gave me satisfaction, but it was hard enough, and Troy gasped, nose wrinkling at the smell of it, eyes exploding in surprise. "Didn't mean to offend, buddy," Jayson said. "You just look like a cocksucker to me."
And, he did. Because his mouth was open, and there was drool on it. Jayson pushed forward, eyes on me all the time. Troy the Faggot opened his mouth wider and Jayson nodded. I did a rapid-take, getting about twenty shots in a couple of seconds. Then, just as Troy was about to fall on the big head and consume it, Jase pulled away, stepping back.
"On second thought," he said, gripping his cock and shoving it back in his pants. "I don't do skanks. You get the pics, Stew?"
"Yup," was all I said.
Troy looked at me, panicked, then tried to lunge.
"No - don't - you guys -"
Jay kicked him - not hard - mostly it was a push with his boot that was well-placed, but it was an intervention - quick and athletic - and it made me feel protected. Troy fell back on his ass, legs in the air.
"What the fuck -"
Jay stood over him. I was worried he was gonna get violent, but there was another look on his face, and it rippled through his muscles, too: superiority. "Look man," he said to the sprawled fag on the floor. "I don't like Lorrie that much. I kind of think she's a stuck-up bitch, and I'm beginning to wonder why I wasted two years of my life on her, but I'll tell you what - if you're bi, she deserves to know. So, you should tell her. You got - " he looked at his watch. "About five minutes."
Then, he looked at me, and gave me the sign.
"Let's split, Stewart. We're done here."
"You guys - please don't - please - she's gonna kick me out - I don't got a job - I don't got a -"
"Tell her," Jayson said over his shoulder.
"He's not bi, Jay," I said as we exited. "He's a fag."
"YOU GUYS!"
And then the door closed behind us, as he kept up his useless screaming.
"Send those to me, Stew."
I nodded. In the elevator he passed me the keys. "You drive - I got a text to send - just take it easy. We're hauling a full load."
"Not in a hurry, Unc."
In the cab, Jayson looked through the pics. "These are nice, Stewie - great lighting. Composition."
He was smirking.
"I took a class."
"Can't figure out which one to send."
"Send 'em all," I said, not that seriously, but I was more focused on protecting his truck than his relationship with That Bitch.
His big fingers texted rapidly as I pulled out of the garage. I swear to God I saw her sitting in the outdoor patio of the coffee-shop, looking at her phone, but then I turned into traffic. When he was done, Jay read the text.
"Hey Lorrie - I'm sorry it ended the way it did. I hope, in time, we can be friends. Because I want to do right by you, I thought you should know something about Troy. He's a fag. Anyway - stay strong, babe. Love, Jay."
He looked at me for approval.
"Sounds good to me," I said, scoping out the right lane, so I could turn into Home Depot.
"Pressing send," he said, with just a huge shit-eating grin on his face.
I swear to God you could hear the piercing shriek of That Bitch from every corner of the city.
((((()))))
We spent the rest of the day working. First, we loaded the shit up to the apartment that Jay needed to keep close at hand. Then we loaded out the futon and some other bullshit furniture I'd gotten at second-hand stores. Then we were back in the truck, heading out to the storage space.
"I want you to see it - help me set it up."
It was out on the outskirts - beyond some half-vacant strip malls and a truck stop. Jay punched in the code and drove around to the back. It was the last stall at the end of a long line - in the corner of the lot, as secluded as you could get at one of these places.
It was a big unit - bigger than we needed, but Jay had a plan so I let him lead. Pretty soon everything was unloaded - then he threw drop clothes on the open floor, put the futon in the middle, covered that with a drop cloth, yanked out a cooler which was heavy and full - of what, I didn't know - and turned around, looking at me.
"Good enough, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, huskily. I was turned on but trying to keep myself turned down - particularly given last night - particularly given the work yet to come.
"Let's split," he said. "I'm getting hard - just wanted to show you."
"What about the security cameras," I asked, looking at the corner fence where a camera was pointed right at our unit.
"I hacked them - I've got a full day and full night playing on continuing loop, starting tomorrow. I'm not supposed to do that - don't tell my business partners, if we're ever hanging out together - but it was an easy hack. The cameras turn back on Monday morning."
"What if we're still going by then?" I asked, smiling.
"Nasty little fucker," he said, laughing.
We peeled out and were back at the place in about fifteen minutes, having picked up huge Hoagies that we stuffed our faces with. Eating had become a whole ... thing ... for us, with each meal becoming successively more important as we approached whatever finish line we were approaching. But we ate in silence, letting the meaning sink in as we did.
That afternoon Jay organized the space, putting up art and taking over a hall closet. He somehow figured out a way to fit his dresser in our small bedroom. Then he completely reorganized the kitchen, storing some of my stuff and replacing it with his own. I spent the day building his workspace. I had tools in the basement storage, and periodically would measure, sketch, then head downstairs to cut and build. At times I would catch him staring at me. First, he was doubtful. Then he became appreciative. A couple of times he started to say shit, like he was about to give advice - then he would step back, shaking his head. At one point he did speak up and I just looked at him -
"Nevermind," he said, quietly.
When I build stuff I go into this strange zone. It was something that happened in my head and my hands and my heart. I saw what I wanted to build - clearly - and then imagined it from all different angles, figuring out how to put it together. It's not easy to explain. A couple of guys in the Scene Department at college said I was a freak - I didn't think I was a freak. I just thought I had a skill and was able to apply it.
By early evening, I was basically done. I had used Jay's primary desk as the focal point, placing it at the window. Around the window I'd constructed a work-station with shelving that was adjustable and that could - if he wanted - be moved to block the window if he needed more space or needed darkness (for whatever reason). To one side, in the corner, I'd constructed a thin, but tall unit that could fold down and create a side desk, for another one of his screens. This came out a little too far for my tastes and blocked the view to the bathroom, but in our confined space, it was the best I could do. Finally, on the other side of whole set up I placed his favorite chair - the one we'd taken from the apartment. There he could relax and still have access to his primary equipment, by using a hinged table that I'd hidden under his desk. He could pull it around for a lap-top while kicking back in comfort.
When I was done I stood at his desk, sketching out the entire layout, showing which unit went where, how the wiring should go, and the various options for adjustments he might want to make. I did this because a couple of times I heard him whispering "Ain't all gonna fit in that space" or some such shit, and I knew that wasn't the case. The problem with his old set up was disorganization. With better space management, it would work.
The funny thing about set design is that you learn how to do a lot with very little - and that's basically what I did here.
Finally, I was done, and I stood up. He was looking at me, skeptical. I realized he'd been looking at me for a while - watching me make finishing touches. I was so in the zone I didn't notice him - which just goes to show how deep I can go down the rabbit-hole when building something with my bare hands.
"You gonna get me a beer?" I asked, still sweating - really fucking dirty and really fucking proud of myself.
"You gonna tell me how all my computer equipment is gonna fit in that space?"
"Yeah, fucker," I said, exasperated, but enjoying myself way too much. "Here," I said, handing the paper to him, and crossing to the kitchen myself. I popped my beer, drank a big gulp, and returned to him, where his eyes were scanning the drawing.
He looked up at me, coldly, then looked at my beer.
"Oh sorry, Unc - did you want one?" I said, grinning.
"Little bitch."
"Better than That Bitch."
"What am I looking at?"
Which was the question I was waiting to hear, so I launched in, explaining each piece of his equipment using the pics I took with my phone, ("you know - that black thing that's kind of square, with the green lights" & "that antenna thing that's round - that goes up top") and where it went, marking each place on each shelf with a pencil and eventually hearing a low whistle.
"Damn, kid," he said, nodding approval. "How the fuck ...?"
"Just skills, Unc. Skills," I said, putting down the beer, flexing my arms like a douche, and belching at the top of my lungs.
At that he tackled my ass, grabbing me and throwing me on the couch. The motherfucker had me in an instant, like he usually did, but this time he tickled my ass until I was nearly crying, and then he was on top of me, face to face, both of us breathing hard.
"Thanks, son," he said. "You really surprised the fuck out of me right now - all day today, kid."
"You're welcome, Dad," I said, eyes blinking. Sometimes it felt like I could barely survive looking at him.
He kept staring at me. It was unnerving. Finally, I said, "Are you gonna set up your stuff tonight?"
"Naw - it's too late - gonna do it Monday while you're at work." Then he kissed me, tenderly. I pushed into him. I'd hated toning down our sexual heat - I needed it - thrived off it. Soon we were kissing - powerful, deep, male kisses. My heart was pounding.
Finally, he pulled away.
"Thank you for your help today - and for that - that's some amazing shit over there."
"You're welcome."
"We still got lots to talk about, you know."
"Yeah, I know," I said, smiling. "But I'm so fucking hungry now."
"Good - pizza's ready to go in. Normally I would suggest a shower ..."
"But we ain't normal, Unc."
"Fuck no, we ain't."
And then he stood up, adjusted himself, filled his lungs with air, and headed into the kitchen.
"No - we ain't normal, son," he said again, a declaration, but one of truth.
Soon we were eating - soon after that, we were sleeping, clutched in each other's arms, waiting for tomorrow to come.
((((()))))
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