by Kim Fielding
It took some time to set up all the giveaways, and the entryway ended up stuffed with boxes. “We’d better get a lot of kids,” Elliott said.
“We will.”
And Simon was right. The first of them arrived even before dusk, babies and toddlers dressed as flowers and ladybugs and superheroes, each of them goggling in wonder. Elliott couldn’t blame them. From a little-kid perspective, it was a weird holiday. You put on funny clothes and went tromping around the neighborhood at night, ringing the doorbells of complete strangers. Elliott didn’t know how impressed the little ones were with the stuff he and Simon were giving out, but the parents seemed pleased with the bookmarks and water bottles and things. And the baklava—that was a hit.
Ishtar remained on a leash, wagging her tail eagerly, and whenever a parent gave permission, Simon or Elliott—whoever held the leash’s other end—let her move forward to greet the children. She licked their faces, making them giggle, and cheerfully withstood their clumsy pats.
Everyone left the house smiling.
The real deluge began shortly after dark. Sometimes the crowds were so thick and heavy that Elliott and Simon didn’t even bother closing the front door. They just stood there, waiting for the next gaggle of kids to come up the walk.
It was maybe among the fifth or sixth group of children that a tween boy dressed as a pirate exclaimed, “You’re the book guys!”
“Just him,” Simon said.
The boy turned to Elliott. “That library thing is cool! Did you see I put a book in there the other day?”
Elliott smiled at him. “What was it about?”
“Reptiles. I love reptiles. I’m going to be a herpetologist.”
“That’s great! I did see your book. I think somebody else has already borrowed it.”
The boy beamed at that and gave his friend—a boy in firefighter garb—a high five.
Several more people complimented the library that night. A couple of adults even showed up with books to hand over, and despite the call of candy and the street’s darkness, quite a few people paused to look the library over. Melanie came by with both of her parents, and her mother handed Elliott a gift bag with black cats and ghosts on it.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“For you. To thank you for bringing a mini library to our neighborhood.”
The bag contained a bottle of wine and a package of Snausages.
“Wow,” said Simon when they had a brief break. “Your books are a hit. Did you expect this?”
Elliott felt a little dazed, actually. “No. I just wanted to get rid of some books.”
“Seems to me you’ve gotten a whole lot in return.”
Elliott nodded. Neither of them meant the wine.
As the night went on, the crowds began to thin and the visitors became older. The teenagers came in big groups without parental accompaniment. Elliott was afraid they’d be disappointed at the lack of candy, but they loved the goodies he and Simon gave out, and they spent a lot of time petting Ishtar. She had obviously decided that this was the best day ever and undoubtedly believed all these weirdly attired people were coming just to admire her.
It was almost nine and only a few stragglers remained when a pair of boys came to the door. It was hard to tell under all the makeup, but they were probably in their midteens. One of them wore Dorothy’s blue gingham dress with matching bows in his pigtails, and he carried a wicker basket containing a tiny stuffed dog. The other was dressed in a blonde wig and spangly leotard. Lady Gaga, Elliott guessed, but he wasn’t sure. The boys held hands.
“Are you gay cops?” asked Dorothy when Simon gave them water bottles and badges.
“I used to be.” Simon pointed to his knee.
“I never was,” Elliott added. “Gay college professor. Way less cool.”
But the boys were polite to him too, and then Lady Gaga announced they’d both been reading Elliott’s books. “Together,” Lady Gaga said in the most suggestive tone a sixteen-year-old could muster. Great. Elliott just hoped they were reading the parts about safe sex.
Simon shook his head when they walked away. “God, they’re so confident in who they are.”
“Maybe because it’s Halloween.”
“Maybe. But I never would have put on a dress when I was in high school, not even as a costume. I would have felt . . . too naked like that.”
Elliott gave Simon’s ass a quick grope. “What about a kilt?”
“I’m Assyrian, not Scottish.”
“Okay, how about a tunic, then?”
Simon pulled him close. “How about nothing at all?” he rumbled.
Almost as if cued by a beneficent god, rain began to splatter the sidewalk.
“I hope those boys get home before their makeup and outfits are ruined,” said Simon, which made Elliott kiss his cheek before closing and locking the door.
They ended up close together on the couch, each with a bowl of baklava and ice cream plus a glass of Melanie’s wine. Exhausted after her door-greeter job, Ishtar lay stretched on her bed, snoring softly. Sometimes her paws twitched. Elliott liked to think she was dreaming about chasing a squirrel-sized Mike Burgess. In the spirit of the holiday, Elliott had put on Psycho, but they weren’t paying much attention to the movie. Instead, they snuggled a little and talked about trivial matters. Rain pattered against the window in brief gusts.
Midway through his second glass of wine, Elliott finally found his courage. “Nebraska State called. They’re flying me out for an interview.”
Simon’s expression, usually so open and cheerful, closed up at once. Then he forced a smile. “That’s great, Prof. Congratu—”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“I don’t know how I feel about it, and I sure as hell don’t want you to fake being happy over it.”
Simon relaxed a bit. “I am happy for you. I mean, in a way. Aren’t you? Isn’t this exactly what you’ve been wanting?”
“It was, yes. Now . . . I’m not so sure.”
With a groan that had more to do with emotional turmoil than tiredness, Elliott stood and collected the empty ice cream bowls.
Ishtar lifted her head as he passed, but she must have decided licking the dishes wasn’t worth the effort, and she went back to sleep. He left the bowls in the kitchen sink, along with the detritus from dinner, and returned to the living room. But he didn’t sit down.
“Ish and I walked by your house last night.”
“Why didn’t you stop by?”
“Someone was there.”
Simon stared blankly for a moment before frowning. “It was my parents. Shit! You didn’t think I had a guy over, did you? I know we haven’t talked about being exclusive, but I have no intention of seeing anyone else while we’re together, okay? I’m not— That’s not me.”
Actually, the possibility that the Ford belonged to a hookup hadn’t even crossed Elliott’s mind. He didn’t know if that was because he was oblivious or because he trusted Simon. “I assumed it was your parents.”
“Oh.” Simon shrank back against the couch cushions. “Okay. They stop by once in a while. They bring me leftovers from the Palace so I don’t starve to death. And yeah, I know, clingy much. I don’t really mind, though.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to spend time with your family.”
“Next time, you can text beforehand if you want. Save you the trip.”
Elliott wanted to pace but didn’t. He drained his wineglass instead. “It’s not that. I was, literally, in the neighborhood. It’s just . . . I hated having to slink on by.”
It wasn’t easy for Simon to get off the couch, but he did, and ignoring his cane, he hobbled over to gently grasp Elliott’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry. You deserve much better.”
“So do you!” Elliott wrapped his arms around Simon’s middle and sighed when Simon did the same. They leaned against each other, Elliott bearing a bit of Simon’s weight. And that was nice until Ishtar apparently decided it was
group-hug time, ambled over, reared up on her hind legs, and joined them. She nearly knocked Simon onto his ass but didn’t look the least bit repentant.
They ended up taking the party to the couch—more stable that way. Elliott sat almost in Simon’s lap while Ishtar returned to her bed with a satisfied grunt.
“Something’s gotta give here, doesn’t it?” Simon nuzzled Elliott’s hair.
“Yeah. Jesus, Si, I really don’t want you to damage your relationship with your parents. But I can’t—”
“I know. And I can’t ask it of you. And if I’m just going to string you along like this, I also can’t ask you to give up the job in Nebraska.”
“It’s just an interview,” Elliott muttered, but he knew what Simon meant.
Simon ignored the comment. “You and I, we’re stuck in this half-life. In limbo. Between careers. Between, well, loves I guess. It’s a fairly comfy place. With you in it, anyway. We haven’t known each other long, but we, we feel . . . matched.”
“Yeah.”
“When I was a kid, I went through a Lego phase. Did you do Legos?”
With a smile, Elliott nodded. “Yeah. Ladd and I used to build things together. He’d make these wild vehicles and my specialty was mansions.”
“I think I still have mine, somewhere in the wilds of my second floor.”
Absurd as it seemed, Elliott could picture himself sitting with Simon, like a pair of kids, constructing things. Maybe Simon was imagining the same scene, because he chuckled and kissed Elliott’s head before saying, “You can look for them next time you’re over, if you’re feeling brave. But do you remember how satisfying it was when you snapped that last brick into place and your creation was perfect? That’s how I feel about us.”
Elliott totally understood the analogy; he felt that way himself. But still he frowned. “Ladd used to wreck everything as soon as it was finished.”
“Perfection can’t last. Do you think we can keep it together for at least a little longer?”
Despite his melancholy, Elliott smiled. “We can put us on the top shelf in the closet. It’s where I hid things from Ladd.”
“The closet. Great.”
They were quiet for a time, Simon absently rubbing Elliott’s chest through his T-shirt, and Elliott, with closed eyes, leaning back into the warmth and comfort as if he were a cat. He suddenly laughed with a small note of bitterness. “We’re not fighting.”
“No. Is that bad?”
“John and I used to bicker all the time. Not yelling, but nasty squabbling. Over stupid things too, not heart-wrenching matters like losing family or moving away. More like whether we should order pizza or Chinese. Which hotel we should stay at during a conference. Which journal I should submit a manuscript to.” Even at the time, he’d realized the hostility over what to watch on TV was truly displaced from the real issue, which was their dysfunctional relationship. But knowing that hadn’t helped.
“Sounds stressful,” Simon said. “I hate fighting.”
“Says the cop.”
“Ex-cop. Anyway, when I did my job right, I settled confrontations instead of engaging in them.”
“Or you got shot.” Elliott rubbed the thigh of Simon’s bad leg.
“That’s when I did my job wrong.”
“You’re alive. But anyway, life with John was stressful.” So much so that after John had been sent to jail, and even while Elliott was still under suspicion for colluding with him, one of the many emotions flooding through Elliott had been relief. No more arguments with John.
“I’m sorry,” said Simon.
“My own damn fault. But you and I haven’t bickered at all.”
“We have handled our situation like grown-ups.”
“It’s nice. Really nice.”
Simon answered with a kiss, which was fortunate because Elliott’s eyes felt prickly, and he might otherwise have cried. He didn’t even know why. Everything, maybe. A gestalt weep.
The kiss escalated into mutual petting, but that fizzled out as they melted into couch-bound lassitude. They could always move to the bed later—right now, simply snuggling was wonderful in itself.
“Speaking of adulting,” Simon began through a yawn, “I think I know what I want to be when I grow up.”
“Yeah?”
“I want to be a park ranger.”
Elliott wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. “Park ranger?”
“Yes! Like the ones we talked to in Columbia. Doesn’t that seem like a cool thing to do? It’s law enforcement, only less with the meth dealers and more with giving directions to hikers.”
Elliott pictured Simon in the green-and-khaki uniform. “You’d look good in the hat.”
“That’s the important thing, of course.” Simon tickled Elliott’s belly before continuing. “I did a little research. Park rangers are sworn peace officers, which means I already have most of the training I’d need. I’d have to do some special park-operations academy stuff, but that lasts less than two months. Plus, I could do some of it on the job, and I could qualify as a supervisor.”
Although Simon sounded cheerful and enthusiastic, Elliott had to ask, “What about your leg?”
“Yeah, still a small problem. But I talked to my PT, and he thinks that if we work hard, maybe in six months I could be in good enough shape to pass the physical agility test.”
“Could you stick around here? Or would you end up on top of Mount San Jacinto or something?”
Simon squeezed him. “Here. Central Valley district includes a bunch of parks—including Columbia.”
“You’re picturing yourself swaggering down Main Street like Wyatt Earp, aren’t you?”
“No.” Another tickle. “More like Cleavon Little.”
Elliott attempted to sing Lili von Shtupp’s “I’m Tired” song, then fondled Simon’s crotch and cried, “It’s twue! It’s twue!”
Simon responded by tickling him in earnest until they landed in a tangled pile on the floor with Ishtar joining the fun. Elliott laughed so hard he was in serious danger of pissing his pants.
“I think I’ve had too much drama lately.” He leaned his head back onto the seat of the couch. He was still giggling a little.
“That’s because you’re not an Odisho. We’re all about the drama. Like the current main episode, which involves Ashur’s sister, Miri.”
“The pregnant one?”
“Yep. She’s nineteen, and the father’s some guy—not Assyrian, even—she slept with once after a party. She’s talking about putting the kid up for adoption. Cue a whole lot of yelling.” Although he shook his head, he appeared more fond than annoyed. Then he shifted his legs. “And I don’t think I can stand up.”
Elliott rose and gave him a hand. They persuaded Ishtar to visit the backyard one last time, and even though it wasn’t yet midnight, they headed to bed. Before they got there, Elliott stopped Simon. “I’m glad you’ve decided to be a ranger.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Your face lit up as soon as you mentioned it.”
Simon kissed him so thoroughly they almost didn’t make it to the bedroom.
Chapter Eighteen
By his best approximation—and assuming a fairly broad definition of sex—Elliott had had sex with John somewhere around four hundred times. Which was a lot when you came to think about it, especially when both partners were busy and unable to spend much time together. Some of the sex had been good—very good even—but most had been . . . mediocre. And of course, over time they’d fallen into familiar patterns, so their encounters were like ordering from a menu: one from column A, one from column B, and if you’re lucky, a dessert from column C.
Elliott and Simon hadn’t been together nearly long enough to slide into bedroom ennui. Like explorers newly landed on a mysterious continent, they were still discovering each other’s body—and that was a wonderful adventure indeed. They were learning how to make each other gasp and writhe, how to bring each other to the point where beggi
ng turned to wordless cries, how to tease and soothe and delight.
So the sex was hot. But almost as good was what came afterward—the tender kisses and murmured words, the restful times while curled in an embrace. Elliott had never had any of that with John, and he had come to realize what a poverty that had been.
Now on Halloween night, Simon and Elliott climbed into bed and spent a long time stroking and fondling, interrupted occasionally by whispers.
“I’m glad you don’t wax,” Elliott said, petting the sleek hair on Simon’s chest.
“You have a thing for bears, huh?”
“Hey, you’re the one who wants to be a park ranger.”
“You got a pic-a-nic basket?” Snorting at his own dumb joke, Simon caressed Elliott’s balls. Elliott might have objected to the humor except, well, Simon was caressing his balls. And that felt damned good.
Elliott rolled onto his back and splayed his legs, encouraging easier access. Taking the hint, Simon continued what he was doing as he tipped onto his side to mouth Elliott’s chest, which in its natural state was almost hairless. For a time, Elliott enjoyed simply lying there, luxuriating in Simon’s wandering fingers and clever tongue, shivering slightly at the scrape of Simon’s beard over his skin. Simon smelled of baklava and wine, and he hummed a bit as he worked Elliott’s body. When they were in bed together, it seemed as if Elliott temporarily acquired more senses, and all of them were nearly overwhelmed with the corporeality, the actuality of Simon.
“Hey, El?” Simon’s quiet voice rumbled through the sensory noise in Elliott’s head. “Would you like to top tonight?”
Oh yes, Elliott would.
Getting Simon ready was a reward in itself. After arranging him facedown, Elliott had an excellent excuse to lavish attention on Simon’s round, firm ass. Dark hair grew there too, but more sparsely than on his chest, and these hairs were finer. Beneath that was soft skin and strong muscle, and Simon’s cleft invited Elliott’s fingers and tongue.
He waited until Simon was gasping—almost growling with need—before rolling a condom onto himself. In consideration of the injured knee, they’d propped Simon’s hips with a pillow, but still, before beginning a slow side home, Elliott licked his nape and whispered in his ear. “Doing okay? Leg’s all right?”
