Booked Up

by Harper Logan

  Sometimes everything is right. The sun pouring down, sparkling over the water. The view of Serge’s ass as he climbed back up the ladder of the dock, reaching a strong arm down to help Cam up as well. The rush back to the blankets. No towels, because nobody would think of going into the water in this weather. So wrapping up, together, stretching out. “We’ve got to get out of these clothes,” said Cam.

  “We’ll catch pneumonia. It’ll be terrible,” said Serge, his lips pressed against Cam’s collarbone. Then, a look of strange determination in his eye, he pressed Cam to the ground. Cam looked up, a question in his eyes, but Serge ignored that. He lifted Cam’s shirt and began to kiss and lick, from one nipple to the next, then down the lines of Cam’s thin abdomen. When he reached Cam’s hip, where the line of it ran down into the waist of Cam’s pants, he began to undo Cam’s belt.

  “We’re…we’re out in the middle of the park,” whispered Cam. “Anyone could come by.”

  “I don’t care,” said Serge, unbuttoning Cam’s pants. “I want you so bad, Cam. I’ve been so stupid. I don’t care what anybody thinks.”

  It was such a beautiful thing to say. Cam felt so warm. Could it be true? Finally, had Serge released himself from his fears of the world finding out he was attracted to guys?

  There comes a time when you have to trust. And as he felt his wet pants pulled down over his hips, his cock and balls open to the air and sun, Cam pushed his heart towards trust. Feeling Serge’s tongue exploring him, the heat of it against his cool damp skin, feeling those probing, questioning fingers, he put his heart entirely into Serge’s hands.

  It was, finally, what Cam had always wanted. Someone who loved him. Who wasn’t ashamed of loving him.

  When he felt Serge’s lips encircle his thickening cock, he lay his head back, looking up into the clear autumn sky. Please last forever this time, he said to the sky, to the breeze, to the world. Please let this last forever.

  18

  Serge

  “What are you so worried about?” asked Serge. His arms were still wrapped around Cam’s waist, even as Cam stood by the nightstand, fastening his watch. Serge stared at the skin of his arm pressed against the skin of Cam’s flank. Just looking at Cam made him hard again. How could he have spent so much of his life holding back, afraid of this? He wanted to hold Cam all the time now.

  They had separated for hours, Cam back to his place for dry clothes, then back to his job. But as soon as he was done, they’d met again, this time at Serge’s place. Serge had spent the night with Cam in his arms, and never wanted to let go of him.

  Cam turned in his arms, so that Serge was now facing his belly, with its soft kissable skin. “It’s this Angela thing. I don’t want to be there for that.” It was obvious he wanted to break free and put his shirt on, but he lingered in Serge’s arms a moment, sighing at the way Serge’s lips moved over the tight ridges of his abdomen.

  “So stay,” said Serge. He tugged Cam closer. “Madeleine doesn’t need you every single day. We can lie around, watch movies and order in.”

  Finally, Cam did push himself away, but not before kissing Serge on the top of the head. “I wish I could, but she does need me. With this party coming up, there’s so much planning to do, and she’s going to be utterly useless about it while Angela is there. Ugh, I hate her so much.” He pulled on his shirt and began buttoning it.

  “How can you hate someone you’ve never met?”

  “I feel like I know her. Madeleine has been talking about her for a solid year. Oh, darling,” he said in an imitation of Madeleine’s voice, “you just don’t know all the trouble Angela used to get into on my behalf. Why, she burned down every bookstore in town when they refused to stock extra copies of my book!”

  Serge laughed. “The perfect personal assistant. Well, aside from you, I mean.”

  “Yeah, I’m not going to perform acts of sabotage on her behalf, as you well know. But this Angela sounds pretty scary. And when they talk on the phone, it’s just awful. Madeleine starts doing this big evil cackling laugh, like they’re plotting. I hate plotting. And anyway, even if I didn’t have to plan this party single-handedly, I have to go so that you have time to write.”

  The smile on Serge’s face stiffened. “I could take a day off.”

  “No. No more days off! I heard you talking to your agent last night. Go forth and be creative. Let’s catch up for an early dinner. Maybe we can actually get something to eat this time?”

  Serge nodded, and gave Cam another kiss goodbye. He got up and showered. He didn’t go to his computer. He didn’t turn it on, or make notes for his novel, or rearrange the index cards on his desk, or anything. Instead he packed his bag, pulled on his shoes, and jogged to the gym.

  Two hours later he was back, sore and tired, sitting at his desk. The computer was on. His novel was on the screen. The cursor blinked.

  He got up and ate an apple, then sat back down. He pulled on his headphones and listened to some songs, then turned off the music. He got up and spent some time straightening the house, making the bed nice and neatly.

  The cursor sat there and blinked.

  What the fuck was wrong with him? He sat at the computer and typed:

  What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I come up with anything to say?

  He glanced at his phone. Another voicemail from his agent.

  “Sergio, they’re swarming me like flies,” said his agent Sam. “You have got to get me some pages. Anything. I don’t care. Send me a laundry list. I can’t keep holding them off. Do I need to drive down there and put your hands on the keyboard? Call me.”

  An hour later he was sitting in front of the keyboard again. He missed Cam. If Cam were here, then he’d have a reason to shut down the computer. He’d drag Cam over to the big couch and push him down onto the cushions. His cock started to harden as he thought of ripping at Cam’s clothes, popping those buttons off in his hurry to suck on Cam’s pink hard nipples, feeling the muscle underneath flex.

  Serge unzipped himself. He got his hand around his fat cock and began to stroke it. Thinking of Cam got him so hot. Why was that? A couple months ago, it wouldn’t have even occurred to him to think about a guy like this. If anyone had suggested it to him, he would’ve gotten defensive about it. But now? As his fist squeezed and worked his shaft, all he wanted was to shove himself into Cam. Cam’s ass, his mouth, it didn’t matter where. He needed his boyfriend.

  His left hand slid under his balls, cupping them, pressing them up against his groin until it sent a shiver up through his shoulders. Picturing Cam straddling him, right here on this chair, his thighs spread, his sack resting against Serge as Serge pressed up into him. Serge imagined the way Cam’s cock would shake and throb, untouched, just the sensation of having his ass fucked providing all the stimulation, until he hit Cam’s spot just right and forced him to come. He’d spray all over Serge’s chest, up his throat, hitting his chin, filling Serge’s mouth, gallons and gallons of come in this daydream.

  That got Serge to the point of climax. He pushed himself back in the chair, his hand rapid on his shaft as it swelled and shot an arc of seed onto his desk, barely missing the keyboard. He groaned, feeling the fire in his cock as the second spasm hit, then another, as it began to subside. His head fell back, his breathing heavy.

  A little while later he cleaned up his desk, taking the opportunity to wipe it all down, get out the furniture polish, get the surface shiny.

  He opened his novel file.

  What if the main character isn’t a big ladies’ man at all? What if he’s secretly gay? Maybe so secret he doesn’t even know himself. He’s so used to being treated as the big manly man. Other guys are jealous of him due to his size, his ferocious intelligence, his money. None of them realize what’s inside him, until he meets the personal assistant of an author—no, no, wait, that’s way too obvious.

  But for a split-second he felt a little hope. There was potential there. His hero’s motivation had just been “go solve the
crime,” which was fine…but pretty shallow. Just a way to escape his hidden pain. But what if the real mystery was what was inside Detective Valentino? His own hidden secrets, needing to be uncovered? How would that motivate Valentino to act differently? And what if someone were to find out? What if his hero were on the run, hoping no one would discover the secret of his orientation?

  He typed for two hours. The pad beside him filled with notes. Finally he closed the computer file with more of a sense of satisfaction than he had felt in a long time. It was nothing like a draft, or even an outline, but it was something.

  Then a pause. What if someone read that, and thought Serge was talking about himself? Which of course he was, in a way. But wouldn’t that be outing him before he was ready? He gazed at the computer with a look of concern, as though it had plans to tell the world about him.

  19

  Cam

  A week later, Cam was trying to survive work. It wasn’t easy.

  “Angela, I miss you so much, darling. I wish you would move back to Rosebridge.” Madeleine tapped her cigarette against the ashtray. “Cam, can’t you think of a way to induce Angela back?”

  Angela Mayes was a little bit terrifying, and not at all what Cam expected when Madeleine said her old assistant was coming to visit. Taller than Cam, with the sides of her head shaved and showing an array of zodiac signs around the back of her skull, she was formidable, with a raucous laugh.

  “You couldn’t get me to move back to this burg in a million years,” said Angela, her tone as frosty as her spiked tips. “I don’t even know why you stay, Maddy. You’re going to hit it so big with this book. You should consider getting a place in the city.”

  Cam cringed. He hated it when people referred to New York as “the city,” as though it were just down the road.

  “What, and leave the town to Sergio Faletti? There are rules of battle, darling! I must burn him to the ground and salt the earth before I can leave, so no more little Sergios grow in his wake.”

  “Would you stop?” said Cam. He tried to keep his smile on his face. “You don’t need to destroy Serge.”

  “They’re dating,” said Madeleine to Angela in a conspiratorial voice.

  Angela leaned closer. “How do you stand it?” In a whisper loud enough to be heard across the room she said, “Are you sure Cam isn’t spying on you for the enemy?”

  “Are you spying on me, Cam?” Madeleine asked with a delighted laugh.

  But to Cam, it didn’t seem like much of a joke. His time with Serge was so deep and real, but scarred by the former feud with Madeleine. The more Cam talked about her, the more nervous Serge got. He was sure she was still searching for a way to destroy him, even though Cam assured him that Madeleine had moved on to other things.

  At least, he thought she had. But now, with Angela here?

  “Nobody’s spying on anybody,” he said, “but I do need your signature on these orders.” He showed her the quote from the ice sculptor. “I can’t believe how much a dolphin costs.”

  She took out her purple pen and signed her extravagant, looping signature onto the page. “It’s all worth it, you’ll see.”

  “Ice sculpture? What’s the occasion?” asked Angela.

  “A little celebration,” said Madeleine. “Just a small thing.”

  “The literature faculty at Beasley,” said Cam, beginning to count on his fingers, “half the upper echelon at the publisher, three dozen critics—”

  “Three dozen!” said Angela.

  “He exaggerates,” said Madeleine. “But there will be one critic in particular there. Our dear friend Sergio.”

  “That name again!”

  “Yes. Cam, shut your ears. I intend to rub Mr. Faletti’s nose in my success. That review could so easily have tanked early sales of my book.”

  Angela laughed. “It sounds like you have a nasty plan!”

  “Can you please stop plotting against my boyfriend?” he asked.

  “Oh, Cam, I’m not going to do anything dramatic,” said Madeleine. “The fact of my success will be enough. Let him come and drink my champagne, eat my caviar, and savor the life that is otherwise denied him.”

  “You are as merciful as you are wise,” said Angela. “But if you ever need a nastier idea, you just come to me.”

  “So do I have something to be scared of, or not?” asked Serge. He gazed deep into Cam’s eyes, as though looking for the truth. It was late afternoon, and the restaurant was quiet in its post-lunch lull.

  Cam shook his head. “I think it’s all talk,” he said. “Yes, Madeleine would still love a little nasty revenge against you. But she’s not going to upset her party guests to do so. That’s not like her at all. If nothing else, it’d take the spotlight off her, and she would never go for that.” He reached over and clutched Serge’s hand. “But you’ve got to hear about this assistant. I thought she would be all small and businesslike, a tinier version of Madeleine.”

  Serge slid his hand away without saying anything.

  Cam paused. Should he question the way Serge moved his hand? He had taken it out of Cam’s like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it had just been a napkin landing on his skin.

  It actually hurt. And Cam didn’t really want to make a scene, or even have a conversation about this. But he said, “Sorry,” in a quiet voice, and went back to looking at the menu.

  “What? Tell me about the assistant.”

  “It’s okay. Nevermind. Let’s just get something to eat.”

  “You can’t be upset about the hand thing, Cam.”

  Cam set down the menu. “We don’t have to talk about it right now, in public.”

  “You’re right. I don’t want to talk about it. But it’s okay.”

  “I mean, it really isn’t.”

  Serge sighed. “I’m under so much stress. I got two more messages today. I think my editor and agent are playing good cop/bad cop. My editor says she’s just wondering when I can send the next chapter over. My agent reminds me that he worked his ass off to get me this contract, and that if I don’t start coughing up the pages, I’ll have to refund the advance.” He stared down at the tablecloth. “It was a lot of money, Cam.”

  Cam couldn’t help it; his heart went out to Serge. He would have grabbed both hands and pulled him close, hearing the anxiety in Serge’s voice…but of course Serge wouldn’t allow that. Not in public. How could someone so warm and physical in private freeze up so badly in public? Cam kept his hands to himself and said, “Just send them some pages, then. Why wait?”

  With a shake of his head, Serge seemed to sink deeper into his chair.

  “I don’t get it,” said Cam. “Whenever Madeleine’s agent starts bugging her, she just sends a rough draft of whatever chapter she’s working on.”

  “Madeleine. I don’t want to hear her name right now.”

  “Sorry. By the way, you’re invited to her party.”

  Suddenly Serge put his face into his hands. “Jesus, I’m ruined.”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” A thin needle of worry was working its way up Cam’s spine.

  “You have to promise me you will not tell Madeleine,” Serge said.

  “You’re as bad as she is. You know you can trust me. I love you, Serge.”

  Did Serge flinch when Cam said it? It was so quick he couldn’t tell.

  “If she finds out, she’ll destroy me.”

  “Then she won’t find out, Serge.”

  “I don’t have any pages.”

  A pause. Silence hung between them. The waitress came up, brightly smiling, but before she could say anything, Cam asked her to come back in a few minutes. He leaned over the table. “What are you saying? How many chapters have you written?”

  “None. One. Half of one.”

  “I knew you were blocked, but…”

  “It was so bad, Cam. I have thrown out more pages than you can imagine. I had this great idea. But then I went back and looked at it, and I just don’t know. T
he publisher wants the same book, reheated, and for some reason that’s not coming to me. I’m in so much trouble, and I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “But listen, surely there’s a way out of this. You’re not the only person who has ever been blocked. Maybe you could hire a ghostwriter.”

  “What? Get real, Cam. I’m not going to hire someone to write a story only I can tell.”

  “But you’re saying you can’t tell it.”

  “You don’t understand. This is my story. I came up with it, I sold it. I can’t ask someone else to write it.”

  “When is your deadline?”

  “Last week.”

  “You couldn’t have told me then?”

  “We were busy being happy back then.”

  “I could’ve helped you. I do this with Madeleine all the time. We could set up—”

  “I don’t need your help on this, Cam.”

  Cam’s eyes narrowed. “You need somebody’s help.”

  Serge pushed himself up from the table.

  Cam reached after him.“Where are you going?”

  “Out. Away. I have to get some air.”

  Cam rushed to follow him outside, ignoring the confused look of the waitress. “Serge, what the hell is going on here?”

  “Can’t I freak out in peace?”

  “First, you yank your hand away from me. At some point, you are going to have to admit to someone that we are seeing each other. I’m not going doing this relationship in the closet. Second, you act all aloof like this writing thing is a problem you have to solve on your own. My whole career is about helping writers. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you don’t have to solve anything on your own. Just trust me, will you?”

  Serge sighed and buttoned up his jacket against the cooling breeze. “I know it must seem ridiculous to you, this not being seen in public thing—”