The Bells of Times Square

by Amy Lane

  The couple left near dawn, and by then, most of the thoughts of what he and Walter would do in bed had flown from Nate’s head. He was exhausted and sore from standing in the cramped closet, and even the feeling of Walter’s skin had begun to pall when they had been mashed together, without respite, for so long.

  The front door slammed, and both of them startled from the semidoze they had fallen into, and Nate counted his own breaths to keep from bolting out of the closet, body screaming for space and air.

  One . . . two . . . three . . . forty . . . fifty-five . . . ninety-eight . . . one hundred . . . one hundred twelve . . .

  Walter took two steps forward, over the sheets and clothes they’d dropped as they’d crept into the hole, and caught himself on the wall when shaky legs threatened to give out. He turned and held his finger to his lips and gestured to the house.

  Nate nodded. His wounded leg and his ribs were aching from standing so long. He would need to stretch and shake out his muscles if he were to run anywhere. He would love to be the one out there taking the risks, but Walter was better equipped to get away.

  Walter ventured out, popping back after a moment, his arms full of sheets and his medic’s bag dangling from his hand. Nate had propped his hands against the wall and was stretching his body, trying to work up the strength to move.

  “They’re gone. Here, help me make the bed, and we can get some shut-eye,” he said, his voice abnormally loud in the quiet house.

  Nate nodded and took the sheets from his hands, and Walter bent and picked up the things he’d brought with him from downstairs.

  “They saw our boots,” Nate said, his voice feeling rusty. “They must have.”

  “Well, maybe they saw them but didn’t think on them,” Walter replied practically. “They sort of had other things on their minds.”

  “Zol Gott mir helfen!” Nate swore—it had been one of his grandfather’s favorites.

  “That sounds like Jerry talk,” Walter muttered, surprised.

  “It means ‘God help me,’ because those two . . . they wouldn’t leave, would they! They were going to go at it until we both dropped from exhaustion.”

  Walter’s chuckle was subdued, tired, and as distraught as Nate felt, but it still felt good to hear. “I didn’t even have to speak French to know she was saying, ‘Do me, big daddy, like I ain’t ever been done before!’”

  Nate was too tired even to blush. “Lick up, down, to the left, faster, slower, right there—good. You might have it now.”

  Walter collapsed, leaning against the wall, dropping all the things in his arms in a silent convulsion of laughter. “She did not!” he managed between gasps.

  “She did!” Nate protested. “I’m serious. Poor man! With a woman who gives directions like that, you’d have to be mad to want to make love to her.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like you’re expecting two guys in the closet, taking notes and making a . . .” Walter picked himself up off the wall and managed to shoulder his way into the main bedroom.

  “Critique,” Nate said, his voice sobering. “A critique. I don’t imagine anybody likes a critique when making love.” The bed loomed, red maple, stained nearly black and still shiny with lacquer under the dust. The mattress looked old, used well, stained, and a little flattened, but not soiled. Just . . . used.

  “No,” Walter said, and to Nate’s relief, he drew a little nearer, bumped shoulders with Nate, and touched his arm briefly with his chin. “Nobody does.”

  Wordlessly, Nate spread a sheet on the bed and set about tucking in the military corners while Walter folded their clothes again and set them on the vast dresser that matched the bed. The two pieces were solid and well made but wouldn’t travel well.

  “They were Jewish,” Nate said into the predawn quiet. “The people who owned this place. They fled before the Nazis got here.”

  “Good,” Walter said, but like he was taking the observation seriously. “Nobody wants to be around when the Nazis are here, but it’s worse if you’re not blond and blue eyed.” Conscientiously, he finished up with the clothes, then picked up more of the sheets they’d been sleeping on and used them as light covers on top of the bed. “It’s colder in here away from the stove. I think there might be a blanket or two.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Nate said on a yawn. “I wish there were pillows.”

  Walter’s only reply was the sound of rummaging and swearing. He came back with an armload of wool blankets—two of them decidedly moth eaten but also a large one that looked mostly untouched. Nate pulled one of the extra sheets off the top of the bed, suddenly excited.

  “What are you doing?” Walter sounded cranky and out of sorts. And who wouldn’t be?

  “Rolling them together to make a bolster,” Nate replied, using the bed as a table. Sure enough, with some rolls and some tucks, it would reach completely across the head of the bed.

  Walter yawned and waited patiently for Nate before spreading the blankets and pulling back the sheet. The bolster was a little flat, spread out for two, but with some fluffing and some punching into shape it looked much more comfortable than the bolster on the arm of the couch or love seat, which had been giving them both headaches since Nate had first been brought here.

  “Why did you do it?” Nate murmured, sliding under the sheets and feeling loopy with exhaustion. The windows up here were better boarded; this room would probably stay cool and dark well into late morning.

  “Do what?” Walter slid in next to him, tucking something from the medical bag under his pillow as he did so. They rolled to face each other in the dim light.

  “Go save me. It was such a brave thing to do.”

  “I was lonely,” Walter slurred. “And God sent me you.”

  “It appears I was special made,” Nate replied dryly, and to his relief, Walter smiled, even though his eyes were closed.

  “Yeah, I think that’s just proof that God loves poofs too.”

  Nate chuckled, and then one last thought overrode the pleasantness of falling into a deep sleep. “It was real, right?” he whispered, thinking Walter was asleep. “It happened.”

  “I held your cock in my hand,” Walter confirmed, eyes still closed. But his lips were quirked up on the sides. “And you kissed me like it meant something. Don’t worry, Nate. There’s more reckoning to do.”

  “Thank heavens,” Nate whispered, grateful as he’d never been grateful before. “It was wonderful.”

  Walter pulled Nate’s hand toward him and kissed the soft-skinned knuckles. That was how they fell asleep.

  Warm, masculine lips moved along his collarbone, and stubble rasped his neck. Nate hmmed and stretched, trying to reconcile the sensation to the world as he’d known it. He’d never awakened with a lover in his bed, had never experienced lips on his bare skin, had only ever dreamed that the person—the man—he desired actually wanted him back.

  There was a man in his bed. The man’s hands were gliding on his chest, his stomach, his hip, and Nate grunted in surprise and want.

  He opened his eyes and saw Walter, his red hair falling across his forehead and in front of his heart-shaped face, as he pointed his tongue and licked at Nate’s nipple through his T-shirt.

  The world stopped, and Nate took another one of those mind-pictures that he’d been filing away since his plane went down. Etched in his mind for eternity, a blue-eyed man, tangled red hair falling from being wet-combed and slicked back, a studious look crinkling the corners of his mouth and quirking up his lips, and that wicked pink tongue extended.

  And the shutter clicked, and Nate’s body became light and sound, soaring like a spitfire toward the precipice of instant arousal.

  He gripped Walter’s head, fingers clenching in that amazing hair, and bucked his hips, suddenly so hungry for Walter’s body he wanted to shout with it.

  Walter’s chuckle vibrated under his fingers, and Walter tilted his head and licked his lips.

  “You know what would be amazing?” he whispered.
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  “If you did that again?”

  “If I did it when we were naked.”

  Nate smiled shyly, suddenly more aware of his otherness than ever before. “Your body is so perfect.”

  He ran his big hand down Walter’s back, along his backside, kneading a little at the scant padding of muscle there. He smiled, but then his father’s face, the face of the rabbi at temple, his mother’s disapproval, all snuck behind his lazily closed eyes for a moment. He snapped them open again and saw Walter, propped up on his chest hopefully, unaware that there had ever been a doubt, a fear, a hesitation in Nate’s heart at all.

  He was looking at Nate hungrily, naked yearning apparent in his eyes.

  “I don’t care about perfect,” Walter said harshly. Nate moved his hand from Walter’s backside to his cheek and cupped it fondly, the transparent stubble rasping his hand. “I want you so bad.”

  Nate palmed the back of his head and lifted up, pulling Walter into a kiss. Their teeth weren’t brushed, but that was minor unpleasantness compared to wet, hungry open mouths fused together. Nate’s virginity was lost in a haze of Walter’s taste, his feel, even the earthy smell of him, particularly musky, pungently male.

  Walter lunged upward, pinning Nate down against the makeshift pillow, storming his mouth like a conqueror, and Nate gave up willingly. His whole life of reserved, quiet people, yearning glances, perhaps the faint inkling that somebody, somebody might desire him back, and he’d never had this. Never had passion and want, so furiously undisguised.

  Walter knew how to kiss, and he knew what he was doing. In no time, he’d straddled Nate’s hips and was wrestling his shirt off. Nathan’s hands were still tangled in the soft knit when Walter whipped his own shirt above his head. His knotty body, tight with muscle, narrow because they did not eat steak every day, was close, so close, and Nate was desperate to untangle himself.

  “I want to touch you!” he panted, and Walter pulled back, his expression luminescent.

  “That’s wonderful. You keep right on wanting that. I’m dying to be touched!”

  Nate freed his hands and slid them down Walter’s ribs, shivering in the sensuality of skin on skin. Walter deepened the kiss and flattened himself against Nate so their bare chests were sliding together, and Nate did everything but wrap his legs around Walter’s hips and trap him there in one big bare-bodied caress until he couldn’t help himself from wanting . . . what?

  What do you want, Nate? You know there’s a name for it.

  But there was no time. Walter was shaking, grinding his groin into Nate’s and grunting softly. His body started to shake, and he dug his fingers into Nate’s shoulders, and then groaned quietly into Nate’s mouth and pushed down harder. His entire body went rigid, and he threw back his head, opening his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. Nate wrapped his arms around Walter’s shoulders even tighter, grounding him, keeping him from flying apart.

  A spurt of hot wetness seeped through Nate’s underwear, and Walter collapsed against him, panting. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shoot so fast, but . . . God. I’m sorry. I needed that so bad!”

  Nate bucked up against him, trying to say, That’s all right, but his erection was weeping at the head, the glorious, shameful mess at his groin staying slick and hot. He made a noise of frustration, incompletion, and Walter chuffed laughter against his neck.

  “I hear ya. Not fair to promise and leave you hanging.” He kissed Nate’s neck, scraping his teeth lightly, then dragged down to Nate’s collarbone. His tongue came out to play, the combination of lips, tongue, and teeth was exquisite, and Nate’s hips undulated against the mattress.

  “Torturer,” he muttered, and Walter laughed softly before sucking Nate’s nipple into his mouth and toying with the end. Nate gasped and thrust a little more solidly against Walter’s body. The vibrations of Walter’s gentle, teasing laughter made Nate even crazier, and his hips rocked regularly. Walter’s hand, bold as brass, thrust against the join of Nate’s hip and leg.

  “Nope. No getting off without me,” he said firmly. “Hang on. I’m gonna make this good for you.”

  His hand down Nate’s shorts was assertive, no-nonsense, and heavenly. And then he wiggled, the little touches of his skin and semen-soaked shorts tantalizing and unbearable. Nate rambled, strung-together gibberish mumbles. “Walter, what . . . Wait, I don’t . . . No . . . Yes!”

  The air hitting Nate’s cock was almost painful, he was so aroused, and the heat of Walter’s mouth was a detonation. His body soared, and the noises he made—oy! He would be embarrassed later, but in this moment, his entire being was shaking and his arms flailed, pounding the bed on either side of him. Walter kept up pressure and then started to stroke up and down. He used one hand to cup Nate’s balls and to tickle the area behind them, to slide around in the spit and the pre-cum and tease. He used the other to push against Nate’s chest as Nate tried to come off the bed.

  Nate spread his legs and bent his knees, using the extra leverage to pump up hard, and Walter engulfed most of him, sucking intensely.

  Nate’s whole body shook cold, and his groin, stomach, perineum, asshole, clenched and exploded.

  He let out a roar that rattled the wood in the window frames as he climaxed. Walter kept his mouth over Nate’s cock and kept sucking, his throat working intensely while Nate spasmed beneath him. Finally, Nate pulled loose and rolled to his side, drawing his knees up and gulping air, his mind a stunned blank and his body a quivering, sensitive nerve.

  He’d been beating off in the private dark since he was twelve years old and still what had just happened with Walter was a complete surprise.

  The silence that settled over the darkened little room was filled with their harsh breathing and the sound of birds outside.

  “What are you thinking?” Walter said behind him. Nate felt something hovering above his arm and realized that Walter had moved, and his hand was a finger’s breadth away from caressing Nate’s arm.

  And that he was afraid.

  “I’m thinking that was terrific,” Nate said, feeling honest. Walter’s hand settled on his arm, and some tension leaked out that Nate hadn’t known he’d been holding. With a sigh, he let go of his surprise and the aftershocks that kept rippling all points south, and rolled back over. Walter looked worried, and Nate—no matter the ghosts of his father, his rabbi, and his mother that haunted behind his eyes—didn’t want that.

  He extended his arm and smiled faintly. Walter laid his head on Nate’s shoulder, and they made themselves comfortable. Soon, the call of nature would need to be answered, and they would have to get food. Walter had kept drippings from the meat they’d cooked, and he’d been making a serviceable fried bread for the last few mornings. Once, he’d even found some quail eggs to add to it, and that had been delicious too.

  “You’ve never done that before,” Walter said frankly, but Nate was too satisfied to blush.

  “You have,” he said, carefully leaching any judgment from his voice. He was jealous; he could admit that in his own heart. What he felt for Walter was huge, all-inclusive. He’d done something with this man that he had never contemplated doing with another man—had, in fact, chosen unavailable men, men with girlfriends or wives to dream about, so that he would never have to choose between faith and desire.

  There had been no choice here. Not since the closet had revealed him. Not since Walter had licked his hand and looked Nate nakedly in the eyes, proclaiming without words, This, this is who we are. Cum eaters, cocksuckers, ass fuckers—you know this. We have no excuses.

  Nate wanted this to mean something to Walter too, but he was not sure how to ask.

  Walter nodded, unashamed. “Yeah. Them Indian two-spirit kids—they were pretty good at this shit. I was white,” he said apologetically. “I was good enough to fuck and all, but they didn’t want to bring me into the tribe.” Nate heard the sadness there, and his comforting pat on Walter’s shoulder was automatic. Lonely. He’d been exiled from a group of his peer
s because of something he hadn’t been able to control. Nate knew that feeling, even if his own exile had been self-imposed.

  “I would have thought . . .” Nate hesitated to bring the name up. The talk of running around with other young people and simply sharing sex made Nate supremely uncomfortable. But it was not commitment. It was the sad yentzen of the ugly girl at the school dance, the one who could be had for a smile and a soda because she was sure that was the only love she would get, but it was not real love.

  “Jimmy,” Walter murmured, and the name alone made Nate’s heart constrict. Jimmy, who Walter would have met in real life, who he would have seen in the drugstore or the grange. Jimmy could well be the love of Walter’s life, and Nate just the poor replacement. Nate was very aware.

  “You were very much in love.”

  Walter grunted. “Didn’t think about it that way with Jimmy. He was just mine. He . . . he didn’t start out a virgin, either, you know? We just . . . we checked each other out and knew—this person was safe.” Walter’s voice dropped. “I ain’t felt safe my whole life. But me and Jimmy had each other’s backs.”

  Nate was stroking Walter’s arm absently, and when Walter shivered against Nate’s chest, he tightened his hold. He had so many questions for Walter, but Walter wasn’t going to volunteer any answers. Perhaps it was time for Nate to be brave. He had the officer’s stripes—perhaps he needed to put himself in the line of fire.

  “I have avoided this my entire life,” he said baldly.

  “Sex?”

  Walter sounded so horrified, Nate had to laugh. “Loving someone so much I felt compelled to have it.”

  Walter made a hurt sound and rolled over to his side, propping up on Nate’s bare chest. “You don’t really mean that,” he said and started to move off the bed.

  Nate stopped him, holding his shoulders and making sure Walter could see his eyes. “You are the first man to look me in the eyes and say, ‘We are like this,’ and not apologize. To not make it dirty. I know we are trapped in this house, and we’ve been forced to be congenial to each other when we might ordinarily have just ignored the other’s existence. But I couldn’t ignore you now. I couldn’t go back home and not hope to see you. If I saw you walking the street while I was on the way to temple, I would miss temple, grab you by the arm, and spend the entire day doing what we just did. I would never go to temple again.”