by Jerry Cole
He sounded very proud of himself. I was very proud of him. It took guts to face your fears instead of running from them. If he’d stayed home and medicated himself into a stupor until I returned, I doubted anybody would have blamed him. But he didn’t. He ran toward his problem instead of away from it. He was always doing that. It was one of the reasons why I loved him.
“You make me feel like an ass, you know that?”
He shook his head and smiled.
“Let’s do this,” I kissed his forehead and got out of the car. Ian handled the dogs while I unloaded the luggage.
“Did you leave ANYTHING at home?”
“I still need to work and I don’t think you have the right equipment here,” he quipped. “Be careful with that one. It has my tablet in it.”
I didn’t bother ringing the doorbell or knocking. I took out the key and walked right into the house as if we owned it. Ian looked around, wide-eyed and incredulous.
“Yeah, I know. It’s like going back in time twenty years,” I said.
“It's awesome,” he whispered.
“Awesome?” I scoffed. “It’s like the house that time forgot.”
“Yeah!”
He seemed to be genuinely gleeful. I shrugged my shoulders and hoisted his bags up to the top of the stairs. It had to be the meds talking. There was nothing awesome about living in a fossil.
“Is that you, boy?!”
I had been hoping that the old man had fallen asleep, but no such luck. I stood beside Ian and looked down at his worried face.
“Yeah, we just got back.”
I heard him get up out of his seat. A man like him wouldn’t want to meet visitors sitting on his ass, surrounded by pills and pillows. He might have been sick but he was still a proud man. His footsteps felt like a countdown to disaster. I positioned my body between him and Ian, just slightly. I doubted he would get violent, but I wanted Ian to know that I had his back.
“Are you going to introduce me to your...this person you have in my house?”
I was shocked. He’d obviously wanted to make a good impression. He was wearing a clean shirt that looked like it might have been ironed. His hair was combed and his skin looked like he’d taken a proper shower and applied the dry skin lotion that his doctor prescribed. He even wore the slippers that Janet had bought him but he’d shunned in favor of the old, stained, terry cloth slippers he’d been wearing.
“Harold, this is Ian, my boyfriend. Ian this is my father, Harold Green.”
Harold’s eyes flashed with anger, but he was looking at me, not Ian. I could handle that. I even welcomed it. The last thing I wanted was for him to find an excuse to turn on Ian.
“Nice of you to visit us, Ian,” my father said. “And who are these two?”
“This is Friendly and Shaolin. They are our dogs. They are housebroken and everything, so they shouldn’t be any problem for you.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you had a dog?”
“There are a lot of things about me that you don’t know.”
Harold nodded.
“I am finding that out,” he said, before turning back to Ian. “And what do you study?”
“I-uh, I’m not in school anymore. I’m a cartoonist.”
Harold’s eyebrows shot up.
“A cartoonist? Like in the funny papers?”
“Umm, mostly online but I do have books out as well.”
“You can make a living doing that?”
“Yes, sir.”
The corner of Harold’s mouth twitched at the sound of the word, sir. It made Ian sound much younger than he was, but it was also charming. It would be hard not to like the kid. Maybe I was wrong to assume that Harold would attack him on sight. Maybe he wasn’t as far gone as I thought he was. Maybe...
“And how in the hell did you end up with my son?”
Ian’s face dropped at the sudden change in Harold’s tone.
“I-uh, w-w-we met—”
“You don’t have to answer that, Ian,” I stepped in front of him fully, squaring up with my father. My rational mind told me I was being an asshole. He was old and sick. I had no business jumping in his face. Even if he wasn’t father of the year, he was still my father. The years I spent in this house was proof that he had cared about me at one time, even if that love was strained now. But I couldn’t get past my anger. I was seeing red.
“It’s okay, Josh. I want to answer.”
His touch was so light on my back that I almost couldn’t feel it.
“Please,” he breathed, tugging gently on my shirt sleeve. I stepped to the side but I never took my eyes off of Harold.
“I see who wears the pants in this relationship,” Harold scoffed. I squelched the urge to punch him in the face. Ian just smiled.
“The night we met, he was on a date with somebody else. Things got physical and went left, real fast. I was close by and helped him out.”
“You? Helped him?”
“We all need a little help sometimes.”
“Some more than others,” Harold rested against the banister where he was standing. His face looked a little flushed and it occurred to me that this was the longest I’d seen him on his feet since I arrived. He was really pulling out all of the stops to meet Ian. Under any other circumstances that would have been touching. Unfortunately, it just made me sad.
“Anyway, that was how we met. And then we became friends,” Ian smiled up at me.
“And then more than that,” I added.
“I take it my son told you that I don’t approve of your lifestyle,” Harold said.
“He has,” Ian nodded. “But I think you love your son more than you hate his sexuality.”
“I love my son, but I hate what he’s become.”
“And what is that?”
Harold looked at me with disgust and pressed his lips together. I could almost hear all of the words that were in his head. All of the words that were tossed around in locker rooms and barracks were all spinning through his head as he looked at me. He couldn’t even see me anymore. I wasn’t his son. I was one of them. A predator, a freak, a pervert, a homo...not Josh anymore.
“Mr. Green, your son is an amazing guy. Other than Friendly, here,” Ian pointed at the happy pit bull. “Josh is the only other person who can put up with me. He’s strong and compassionate. You should be proud of the man he’s become.”
Harold scoffed and shook his finger in Ian’s face.
“You haven’t seen the real man. Trust me. I was shocked too when I saw it. As his father, I am telling you, get away from him. Everything seems rosy now, but one day you will see who he really is. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Harold waved a dismissive hand, turned around and went back to his chair in the living room. Ian looked up at me with alarm.
“He needs his rest. His treatments take a lot out of him.” Ian didn’t look convinced but he went along with it anyway. “Let me show you around the house.”
“Is the backyard fenced in?”
“Yes.”
“Great.”
I walked him through the three-bedroom house where I grew up. Technically it was bigger than my brownstone, but it felt smaller, more cramped and full of memories.
“Your house is so full of cool old stuff,” Ian said as we wandered into the backyard.
“It’s not my house anymore.”
“It feels like your house.”
“Really?”
He sat on the grass and crossed his legs.
“I mean, not you like you are today, but seeing this place makes you make sense, you know? Like, now I get it.”
Both dogs wandered over to him and sat beside him on the grass. He smiled up at me, the morning sunshine bouncing off of his hair and skin. I wanted to freeze that moment forever. In one instant he transformed the weed-infested lawn into a half-decent memory. I smiled at him for no reason and I could feel the anger and resentment I’d been wading through since I arrived begin to recede.
“Do
you want to go upstairs and set up your stuff?”
He nodded and got up, the two pit bulls following close behind.
We spent the rest of the morning converting what was my sister’s room into a makeshift office. Despite the peach and cream-colored walls, he looked very much at home once his equipment was set up.
“I could almost forget why I’m here,” I said, watching him arrange his desk.
“Really?”
“Seeing you here makes me forget why I came. I’d rather be home with you.”
He walked over to where I was posted against the wall and ran his hands through my hair.
“Nobody asks to be sick. Having sick family members is hard, even if you don’t get along well.”
“I wish he would hurry up and die so I can get on with my life.”
“No you don’t, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Oh really? So, what do I really want?”
“You want him to admit that he was wrong about you. You want him to acknowledge you at least once before he dies. And you’re scared that he might not do that. And you’re angry that he didn’t do it when he was healthy. You’re angry that it took a life-threatening illness to get your family to call you back home.”
“And you know this, how?”
“Years of therapy,” he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly. “You pick up a few things. Besides, I may not know all the details, but I understand your mind pretty well.”
“Oh really,” I pulled him up hard against my body. “And what am I thinking now?”
He blushed deeply but didn’t pull away. I buried my nose in his hair, breathing his scent deep into my lungs.
“I missed you so much,” I whispered.
“Me too.”
“Even thinking about you at home alone made me ache.”
He looked up at me and tilted his head slightly. I took the chance and captured his lips. He moaned into my mouth and his hands bit into my arms, holding on as if he were afraid that I might disappear at any moment. I couldn’t resist the urge to feel his skin under my hands. I slipped my palms under his shirt and let my fingers enjoy the smoothness of his skin and the newly found muscles.
He surprised me with his response, jumping at me and shoving his hands under my shirt. He gripped and scratched at my back, shoulders, and chest. Everywhere his hands touched began to tingle. He leaned back, breaking away from my mouth, breathing heavily and flushed.
"Maybe we should—”
I didn't let him finish his thought. The kid had a bad habit of ruining a good moment by thinking too much. Besides, I was in no mood to slow down or rethink anything. I finally had him alone and in my arms, and I wasn't going to waste the opportunity on fears or courtesy. Whatever he thought we should do would just have to wait for another opportunity. I silenced him with another, deep, knee numbing kiss before scooping him up and taking three steps over to the frilly single bed that sat in the middle of the room. I dropped him on the bed and then pulled my shirt off and flung it down. He looked up at me and bit his bottom lip.
Despite the hunger in his face, I stayed still. I knew I couldn’t push him. If I moved too fast, he would shut down. If he wanted me, he would have to make the first move and be definitive about it. I tried to gain control of my pounding heart and calm my breathing as he watched me, making up his mind about what to do next.
After what felt like a torturous amount of time, he scooted closer to me, reached out to touch my body and pressed his lips to my chest. His hands slipped beneath the waistband of my pants, pulling them down slowly, springing my aching cock free from its prison.
“I missed you,” he whispered, his hot breath tickling the length of my shaft.
“Show me how much.”
He wasted no time, swallowing my distended member with enthusiasm and precision. His tongue swirled around the head of my cock. He licked and sucked the entire length greedily, moaning softly as my breathing became more intense. Every thought flew out of my head, obliterated by the pleasure. I was shattered. I gripped his hair and shoulders, trying to stay upright as my knees began to give.
“I can’t hold it,” was the only warning I gave him before I came in his mouth. He didn’t stop, unphased by the thick liquid filling his mouth. He let a tiny rivulet of semen escape the corner of his lips as he continued to suck my cock. Softer, more gently this time, but without pause. Just watching him, his eyes closed, his head tipped back so I could see the lewd expression on his face, was enough to make me hard again.
His hand was wrapped around his own hard cock, stroking it as I filled his mouth with my cock. I stepped back, pulling my cock out of his mouth with a soft, wet, sucking sound. He looked up at me, confused. I didn’t give him any time to ask questions. This time I wasn’t the gentle and loving partner he’d always known. This time I was more demanding. I was a man in need of a release that only he could give me.
I kissed him hard, tasting my own cum on his tongue, and pulled his pants off roughly. He was startled but didn’t pull away. He didn’t resist when I pushed him onto his back. He didn’t flinch as I drove his legs apart. He didn’t retreat when I used my tongue to fondle his tight hole. In fact, it was the opposite. It took me a moment to realize he was actually pressing his body against my face, goading me on, and muffling his moans with his hand. He jumped and shivered, his waist shaking as I continued to lick and prod him with my fingertips.
“More,” he whispered. It was a desperate plea and I was duty-bound to respond.
I pressed the head of my cock against his twitching hole, and he clutched my forearms in a silent demand. I complied, driving my hips forward until I was completely buried inside his body. Ian cried out and then looked around as if he expected the paparazzi to jump out of the closet to catch him in the act.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” I demanded, thrusting into him again. He jumped and shuddered. “Tell me. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Josh,” he closed his eyes and hissed. “The dogs!”
I was too far gone to care about anything else. All I could think about was the feeling of his hot body wrapped around mine. I didn’t care what anybody saw or heard. I didn’t try to hold back the sounds coming from my own throat. I wasn’t hiding. Ian blushed with embarrassment but pulled me closer to his body. He surrendered his body to mine, his cock pressed between our undulating bodies. Sweat made our skin slippery as we clung to each other. We filled the pastel peach room with darker, manly scents and sounds; fucking with wild abandon until he came with a shudder and a muffled whine. The viscous fluid stained his shirt and smeared my chest.
I thrust several more times and then pulled out, stroking my cock until I came too, adding my cum to his.
“Shit!” I stumbled away.
“Your dad is right down the stairs,” Ian chuckled. “I feel like a teenager.”
“Trust me, nobody was allowed to get laid in this house when I was a teenager. Not even him.”
“That must have kept him in a good mood.” Ian stood up and pulled the dirty shirt over his head. He’d obviously been keeping busy by working out and the results were starting to show. The sight of him only made my wasted cock twitch with anticipation. I was going to have to give him proper attention later.
“You were only gone for two weeks and I thought I would go crazy. I think I’m developing an unhealthy dependency,” Ian winked at me. “I can only imagine what he must have been like.”
I shrugged.
“He managed somehow.”
We both laughed, euphoric with the surge of hormones through our veins and lack of blood in our brains.
“Let’s get out of here,” I pulled him behind me. “All of these flowers and shit gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Aren’t you a landscaper? Flowers and shit are sort of your thing, right?”
“Not the same.”
“If you say so.”
Chapter Eleven
Ian
“Mr. Green, are you
hungry?”
Josh was out picking up a chair that Janet had ordered for Harold. He’d asked me to come with him but I declined.
“He’s sick and he really shouldn’t be left alone just in case he takes a sudden turn for the worse.”
“His fingers still work. He can call 911.”
“You don’t mean that. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on him. Besides, I came all this way. We should get to know each other a little.”
“He’s not somebody you need to know.”
“Maybe. But maybe I’m somebody he should know. I am his son's boyfriend after all. Whether he likes it or not, he has to face that.”
“You’d think that facing your own mortality would make things like other people’s sexuality seem trivial.”
I rolled my eyes and shooed him out of the house. In the day since I’d arrived, I hadn’t heard one unpleasant word out of Harold Green. At least, not directed to me. He mostly glared, grunted, and fussed with Josh over everything. This morning they fought over which pair of slippers Harold would wear. Josh insisted that he wear the new pair, and Harold was wedded to the two pathetic scraps of terry cloth and foam that he called slippers. Every once in a while, I caught him looking at me as if he had a question he wasn’t sure how to ask. Since none of the Greens were the type to hold their tongue, I had to assume his silence meant he wasn’t sure he really wanted the answer.
I didn’t push. That was the unspoken rule in my relationship with Josh. He didn’t push me and I didn’t push him. Everything would be revealed in its own time; when we each feel most able to process whatever trauma we were holding on to. It’s not that either of us is fragile...well, not really. It’s a trust exercise in a way. I trust him to tell me what I need to know. And he trusts me to listen to him. At least that’s what my shrink said when I told her.
It felt only right to extend that same trust to Harold Green, especially since he was trusting me to help him in and out of the bathroom and not forget his meds.
“What’s your name again?”
“Ian.”
“Ian,” he leaned over in his armchair. “Do you do this for Josh at home?”
“Do what?”
