St-st-stuffed

by Anyta Sunday

  Charlie began humming immediately, and Karl could see him already trying to cook something up. "How old are you?"

  "I'm twenty-eight."

  "Papa, what rhymes with eight?"

  "Mate, bait, late, gate, fate, um . . . plate, date . . . "

  "Wait, skate," Karl added. The lift doors slid open on the ground floor. But instead of going outside straight away, Paul told him to wait in the lobby a moment. A few minutes later, Paul appeared with a large wicker basket. It all screamed picnic. A grin pulled at his lips. Sweet! He stepped toward the entrance, but Charlie clutched his sleeve.

  "Wrong way!"

  Karl gave him and then Paul a puzzled look.

  "Back to the lifts!" was all Paul said.

  "Okay," Karl said, shaking his head. "I'm thoroughly confused. Why'd I have to put on a sweater if we're going back up? And why'd you take me down with you?"

  Paul's eyes twinkled. He was enjoying himself. "Exactly the reaction I wanted."

  The lift doors closed a second time; Paul pressed the button and stood with his back against the panel.

  When the numbers above the door passed the floor their apartment was on, Karl got all tingly and excited. On the top floor, they exited. Karl kept chuckling at Charlie's murmurings—pieces of song that mostly didn't rhyme.

  His curiosity piqued when Paul led them up a narrow set of stairs. He sucked in a breath when a blast of air hit them and they emerged on the roof of the hotel. Set up in a sheltered corner sat a table with three place settings.

  He stopped. This was amazing. Almost too much.

  Paul stopped. "Are you okay?"

  "Okay?" Karl breathed out. "This is incredible." And then he took Paul's hand, pulled him closer and planted a chaste his on his lips. "Thank you."

  Paul radiated. "Actually, it was Charlie's idea. I wondered where we should picnic, and he said in the sky. We agreed the roof was as close to that as we could organize for breakfast."

  Karl knelt and hugged him tight. A burst of 'Happy Birthday' puffed out of him.

  "Then let's eat," Paul said, placing the basket in the middle of the table, "I had the restaurant staff prepare us a little something."

  'A little something' was enough to stuff them all—and probably for the remainder of the day. Once they'd finished, Paul made a call for someone to clean up for them. They shuffled back downstairs to the parking lot. Half-way to Charlie's pre-school, the monkey piped up. "Got it, Karly."

  "What's that?"

  He started singing, and whether or not it rhymed well, it was the best Karl had ever heard.

  Happy birthday to you,

  Today you're twenty-eight

  You have a funny tooth and scar,

  But you're my bestest mate!

  They dropped Charlie off at pre-school, Paul promising to pick him up really early. Just before he trotted toward his friends, Karl said to him, "You're my bestest mate, too."

  "Okay," Karl said, admiring Paul's small smile as he drove them across town, "so I'm super curious. What's up now?"

  The leer Paul gave him had Karl laughing and shaking his head. "Other than that."

  "Not saying," Paul said. "Patience is a virtue."

  "One I sorely lack. Now what's happening?"

  Paul chuckled and landed a palm on his leg. Squeezed. "Let's just find a place to park. Anywhere near the waterfront."

  Once the car came to a stop, Paul unbuckled and leaned over Karl's lap.

  "Oh, really, Paul? You wanted to park?"

  Paul slapped his knee. "Is sex all you can think about?" But it came out muffled with his head between Karl's legs. With his free hand, he fished under the seat. Finally, he lifted himself up; a square, thin black box came with him. "It's . . . um . . . well just look, and then I'll explain."

  Paul watched him, blushing—and looking somewhat nervous—as Karl grappled with the lid. Slowly, he shimmied it off.

  The gasp that came out of him left Karl without air or voice. His mouth dropped open as he freed the framed picture from tissue. "How is this possible?" He wanted to look into Paul's eyes to ask, but his gaze remained riveted on the picture of the elderly man. A wicked grin on his face, standing next to a brand-spanking-new Lamborghini.

  Pop.

  Don't give it up, Pop.

  "How is this possible?" he whispered again.

  "The answer to that is not exactly . . . ethical."

  Now Karl dragged his questioning gaze to Paul.

  "It was all a bit fortunate, really, and Gill helped me." Paul swallowed. "I'd been planning to get you something of your pop's for a while, only I wasn't sure how. That was until a place came up for sale just down the road from where your family lived." He hurried an intake of air and continued before Karl had a chance to utter a thing. "So, it gave me an idea. I convinced Gill to help me by pretending to be my wife, and we conned an invitation to your parent's home by saying we were interested in purchasing the house, but wanted to get a feel for the neighborhood. We baked up some crack questions to ask, and while you mother," here his voice fell, as if Paul didn't want to hurt him by mentioning her, "prepared some coffee and cakes with Gill accompanying, I—I snooped. I hoped there'd be some framed photos around. I couldn't believe my luck when I found a photo album lying on the coffee table. Anyhow, I looked through it and, well . . . " He pointed to the picture. "I didn't know what he looked like, but as soon as I saw the car, I knew. So I snuck it—"

  Karl knocked the rest out of him as he threw his arms around the man. It was awkward with the console between them, but Karl quickly maneuvered over it, till he was atop Paul's lap.

  "Okay," Paul said, "but now it really does look like we're parking."

  "Shut up," Karl said, smiling. He grazed their lips together. "Thank you for this." Then, making sure the photo was stable on the passenger seat, he opened the driver's side and tumbled out.

  The next half an hour they spent walking along the waterfront. For a Tuesday, there were plenty of people out. Most had lost their winter coats, carrying them over their arms.

  Paul stopped, twisting Karl to him and planting a little kiss. Stepping back, he said, "Would it be tacky if I just kept kissing you wherever we go? I feel like a freaking dog, needing to mark you everywhere."

  Karl spluttered in his sudden laugh. "Such a romantic analogy. Guess I should be glad it's with kisses, huh?"

  Paul frowned, "Ah yeah, the other way verges on too kinky. Even for me."

  Karl spewed with laughter. Crass! Icky. Funny. And then: "Speaking of dogs—"

  "We weren't speaking about dogs, Karl. We were speaking of me wanting to show you how much you mean to me, and in public."

  Chuckling again, Karl pinched another kiss. "At the mention of dogs," Karl started again, "That'd be something I'd be interested in."

  Paul arched a brow, shaking his head and giggling. Yep, giggling.

  "Get your head Out. Of. The. Gutter. Right now, Paul Hyte." They continued walking, a fresh breeze bringing with it the smell of spring. "I meant getting a dog would be something I'd like. For the future, you know. Maybe after I've finished my culinary training." He’d wanted one for years, but Will had been really freaked out by them. But now . . . God, he hoped Paul would be up for this.

  "What type of dog?" Paul definitely sounded interested. Sweet.

  "Not one that yips. Heavy growls, strong bark—anything but yippy. Yippy hurts my ears. Um, like a retriever or lab or something. Of course, they're probably not apartment dogs."

  Paul shrugged. "Okay, so we get a house. I prefer bigger dogs, too."

  Karl had stopped moving. We get a house? We get a house! Paul had said it so off-hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world to suggest. "A house? Do you remember how nervous you were asking me to share a room with you? That was just this morning, right? Now a house?"

  "Be nice for Charlie to be able to play in a back yard. And I think animals are great for kids to learn compassion. And, yes, asking you to share a room was more nerve-
wracking. But we already live together in an apartment. This would just be changing the setting."

  "Oh," Karl said, feeling stupid for understanding it differently, "you mean, it'll be your house."

  Paul stopped. "Well, I'd like it to be our house, only I don't want you to spend your money on it. I mean, I have the means, Karl, and—"

  "No."

  "What?"

  "I mean, I don't care that you can afford it all on your own. If and when we do get a house, I will be paying for it, too. Or certainly as much as I can."

  Paul frowned, and Karl kissed it away. "I'd want to do that."

  "But, why?"

  Karl laughed, the whole idea was making him giddy. "Because it would be showing you something. However, Paul, I don't want to get a house right away. Let's explore what we have a bit longer first. But, yeah, when it happens, the dog and the house come together."

  "Showing me what?"

  "How much you mean to me." Go on, ask me how much that is.

  But Paul didn't. Instead, he just smiled and took Karl's hand in his. "Time to get the last part of your gift."

  * * *

  "I still can't believe you got me this for my birthday!"

  "Everyone needs a good suit," Paul said. "Besides, I enjoyed watching them size you up for it."

  Karl dressed into the fine, light pants, shirt, and jacket.

  "Don't forget this." Paul held a dark green tie. He came up to Karl and, lifting the collar, carefully knotted it for him, continuously glancing into his eyes, a small and sexy smile cornering his mouth. He looked into them again. "Yeah, they're more green than brown now." He planted a soft kiss. "Beautiful."

  Karl dragged his lips over Paul's cheek. "You too, handsome. You spoil me rotten."

  "You deserve it." He tugged on Karl's tie. "Right then, let's go meet Will . . . "

  Rolling his eyes, Karl followed him out of their room. "Yeah, let's. Gimmie the keys, though, I want to drive."

  After a goodbye to Charlie and quick thanks to Gillian and Tirone for babysitting, they made their way to the restaurant Karl had suggested.

  Once inside, Karl immediately latched on to Will's lean figure, casually leaning against the mahogany bar, one brow slightly cocked. He'd anticipated he might feel strange seeing him again. Particularly considering the anger he'd held against him for so long. But it surprised him that, in fact, he felt nothing bad. Actually, he was excited. Here was Will, coming to see him. Here was their chance to confirm their friendship.

  He turned to point him out to Paul, but judging by the guy's scowl, eyes narrowed toward the bar, Karl was pretty sure he'd guessed who Will was.

  "You all right, there?" Karl murmured.

  "Humpf." Paul paused and faced Karl. "You never said he was—"

  "He was what?" came Will's creamy voice over Paul's shoulder. Paul froze.

  Karl tsked under his breath, and greeted Will with a hug. "Good to see you again."

  "You too, K."

  Paul arched a brow at the nickname, and subtly—or not so—pushed Karl to the side, further from Will. Reaching out a hand, they shook. Judging by the slight flinch Will gave, Karl was sure Paul was squeezing a bit more than what was polite.

  When Karl elbowed Paul to give it up, Paul dropped Will's hand with a fake pleasant smile. "Guess it's time to get to our table."

  Will flicked his head, moving his dark hair from his brow. "It's the one by the windows there."

  Sitting down, Karl looked him up and down. He looked different somehow; he'd always been great looking, perfect skin, dazzling smile and all that, but there was something about him that . . . glowed. "You're looking good, Will." He meant it only friendly, but would have sworn Paul's glare was burning into the side of his head.

  Will cracked a smile, and Karl didn't miss his quick glance at Paul. Will's smile widened. The cheeky ass. He hadn't changed much there.

  "Thanks, K. You're looking as good as ever, too." Now his smile faltered, and Karl caught the way he rolled his lips—like he used to do when he was upset and trying to hold it in. Guess this was harder for him.

  "So," Karl rushed on, "what have you been up to the past year?"

  "Bit of this and that. Finished my undergrad, which is a relief. Dated for a bit, you know. Nothing serious though. I don't seem to be good at picking for that." He laughed, but anyone could tell it was hollow.

  Still, he glowed. Which was becoming more of a mystery to Karl. Their waitress came over to take their orders. Paul hesitated over the wine and beer list and opted for still water instead. "You can drink if you like, I'll drive," he said to Karl while Will, in typical Will style, discussed exactly how he wanted his meal.

  "Um . . . nah, I don't want to be the only one drinking."

  Paul motioned to Will, and Karl shook his head. "Drinks rarely."

  They both stared at Will then, listening as he spoke kindly to the waitress. The salad couldn't have any dressing over it, but the dressing should come in a little dish on the side. Any additional bread was to please come in a basket and not placed on his plate, unless there were no baskets, in which case on the plate would be acceptable. Except in the case there was sauce. If there was sauce, make sure it didn't touch the salad, or alternatively bring the salad in a different bowl.

  The waitress gaped at him. A pretty similar look to the one Paul had. Karl refrained from lifting his dropped jaw and shutting it.

  "Yes, I think that should be all, thanks," Will said.

  Karl smiled at his friend's idiosyncrasies. He'd always been particular when it came to his food. The waiters or waitresses could never get upset, either, because he really was polite. He didn't even mind repeating it if necessary. That, and he tipped well.

  Hurriedly, the waitress noted something down, got Karl's order, and disappeared. Within two minutes she was back with their drinks.

  "What are your plans for this year?" Karl sipped his ginger ale.

  A spark flickered in Will's eyes. Ah, this is where the glow was coming from.

  "In two weeks, I'll be studying at the University of Otago—doing my masters there. I’ll be away for a year."

  "What do you study?" Paul asked.

  "Information Technology and Computer Science. They have an excellent department there, from everything I've heard."

  "Where will you be living there?" Karl was curious.

  "They have accommodation for international students, but I wanted to do something on my own. So, I've organized to rent a room—actually, it will be boarding—for a month, during which time I hope to find a flat of my own."

  "Right." Karl nodded. "Know who you're boarding with?"

  "Nah. They sound pretty well off. They kept talking about the room I'll be staying in, apparently it belonged to their son—also studying at Otago, but who's rooming with friends—anyway, it has a view of the city, apparently. In a nice suburb. Ten minute drive to campus. Or half-hour walk." Will smiled. "It's only for a start. I look forward to the year, though, hope to get a lot traveling in."

  Will had wanted to travel for years, had always talked about taking a few months and driving around the coast, living in a tent and hiking as much as he could. For someone so fussy about restaurant food, he was quite happy to bunker in cold foliage and eat reconstituted potato mash. Ugh, Karl shuddered at the thought. He'd never shared the interest.

  Still, he was glad Will would be getting the opportunity soon enough.

  "And what about you?" Will asked Karl. "Plans for the year?"

  Karl told him about going to culinary school, eliciting a large, genuinely happy smile from the man.

  "So good to hear that. You always were the best cook. Know you'll get there, K." He slipped a hand in his direction.

  Paul reached out for Karl's glass of ginger ale, cutting his access off, and Karl chuckled inside. "So, I hear you're into music?" Paul swiftly changed subject.

  "Yeah. Singing, mostly. Choir. And I yodel, too."

  Paul choked on his drink. What was up with that
? Karl had told him about Will yodeling before, hadn't he? Gosh, maybe he hadn't. People did tend to widen their eyes hearing that for the first time. Still, Will was pretty exceptional at it.

  They continued chatting through dinner, in the middle of which Will excused himself for the bathroom.

  "I don't like him," Paul said, sawing his steak.

  "Why not?"

  "He looks funny."

  Karl laughed. "You mean he looks hot."

  Paul's scowl deepened.

  "And he yodels. That's just weird."

  Karl smiled. "It's sexy, you know."

  "What? Yodeling?"

  "Hey, stop with that. Will's a good singer and yodeler. But no, I meant what's sexy is that scowl on your face." The jealousy behind it. It’s . . . touching.

  Paul's face transformed into a proper smile.

  "And that's even sexier."

  "And this?" Paul threw him a suggestive look as well as slipping a hand under the table and onto his thigh.

  "Mmmm, yeah, I like that."

  Paul continued tracing small circles, gradually climbing higher. That felt good. Too good. Certainly it was having an effect . . . Karl's breathing hitched and he squeezed his legs together on Paul's wandering hand.

  He came closer to Paul. "Man, I want to kiss you right now." He said it as a statement, but really it was a question. Could he? Would Paul say yes?

  Paul's eyes darted to Will coming back towards them. He gave the slightest shake of his head.

  Karl dropped back into his seat. Ah, but it was okay. Paul was coming out, just bit by bit. Would take time still. Though Paul had to know Will knew they were together. Like it wasn't obvious to anyone who'd seen the stares Will and Paul threw at each other. Mostly Paul.

  The rest of dinner and dessert, Paul and Will seemed to settle into an easier banter between them. Much to Karl's relief. He did so much want Paul to like his friend. Once they were done, and Will had left a thirty percent tip, they moved outside.

  It was weird to say good-bye. Especially with Paul watching, eyes like a hawk's. Karl shook his head.

  "Good seeing you again, Will." They embraced once more.

  "Keep emailing, okay?" he asked, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

  Karl squeezed a little harder. "I will. All the best for your time abroad."