Happy

by Chris Scully

  “Fake?” Louie repeated. He looked a bit woozy and Peter held back a smile. Lightweight. He grabbed the ouzo and the glass and marched over to a booth in the back corner, out of sight from the windows, his sodden sneakers squelching on the tile floor. He pushed the table away and sat down, toeing off his shoes and flinging his wet socks onto the nearby chair. He stretched his legs out on the seat.

  Louie hung back. “Peter? Why did you come to that bar tonight?”

  “Because you asked me to.” He met Louie’s eyes and held the gaze. There it was again. That electric pull. Even in the dark, he felt it.

  “Is that all?”

  He couldn’t answer. Didn’t want to put himself out there again. The silence was filled by the steady patter of the rain outside. Peter averted his face, certain that his thoughts, his feelings must be broadcast there plain as day. Annie said so. And even Adam, on that day they’d played tennis, had noticed the direction of his interest.

  When Louie joined him on the banquette, sitting close enough that Peter felt the heat from his body, his penis stirred. He did his best to ignore it. “So, who is it?” he asked.

  Louie sighed. “I don’t know. All I saw were the shoes. I thought… I thought it was you at first.”

  The hurt in Louie’s voice made Peter take notice. Guilt swiped at him. Was it possible that Louie had feelings for him after all?

  The urge to confess surged up in his chest again, the words pushing at his throat. “It’s not real,” he finally said.

  “What’s not?”

  “All of it. Me and Demetra.”

  Louie sat up straighter. “What?”

  Peter reached for the bottle of liquor—for courage—but Louie caught his wrist, his grip firm but not forceful, just letting Peter know he wasn’t going to give in. “No more. You don’t need that.”

  That crazy, forbidden lust flickered back to life. For a second, he imagined Louie pinning him down, the weight of his body on top of him. He shook it off and took a deep breath.

  “Your mom and mine fixed us up months ago, but we knew as soon as we met it wasn’t going to happen. So we decided to use it to our advantage, reduce the pressure a bit.”

  Louie’s jaw tightened. “You lied to me.”

  “Not only you. Everyone. At first it wasn’t so hard, but then you came along and…. You, more than anyone, deserve the truth.” Peter mentally braced himself. Louie would hate him now. And he deserved it.

  Louie’s eyes blazed in the shadows. “The truth? What is that, Peter? All along you’ve been using her to cover for you, haven’t you? Because you’re too scared to admit what you really want. Do you even care about her at all?”

  “Stop comparing me to your shitty ex-boyfriend,” Peter snapped. “I’m not him. Demetra and I came up with this together. I was going to tell you all this, but you didn’t want to hear it.” He wanted to say more, that it had been Demetra’s brainchild, not his, but he doubted Louie would believe him.

  “Yeah? And just how long was this supposed to go on?”

  “I don’t know. We didn’t get that far in the plan. I figured at some point we’d part ways and I’d take the blame as usual. Just one more girl picky Pete couldn’t commit to.”

  Louie leaned back against the banquette with a muttered curse. His shoulder touched Peter’s, and little bursts of electricity seemed to radiate up and down Peter’s arm. “So… you guys never…?”

  “Slept together? No. She’s not my type.”

  “What is your type, Peter? Because I’m a little confused.”

  Peter gave a harsh laugh. “You think you’re confused?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. He was joking. He might be in denial, but he’d never been confused about what he wanted.

  “You played me,” Louie spat. “You played me, when you had to know how I—”

  “How you what? You’re the one who said you were done with dating.” Peter exhaled. “I didn’t play you. Everything with you was real.” Before his mind even knew what his body was about to do, Peter leaned in and cut Louie off with a kiss. He gripped Louie by the neck, thumb stroking across that bearded jaw as he’d been longing to do, felt his swift intake of breath. At first Louie held himself stiff, unresponsive, and Peter thought, once again, he’d made a monumental mistake, but just as he would have pulled away, the tension left Louie’s body, his mouth softened. And then Louie was kissing him back, and nothing had felt as right in a very long time.

  Or so Peter thought until Louie’s lips parted and tongues got involved. Then everything began to spiral out of control. He became frantic. What felt like a lifetime of wants and needs bubbled to the surface, urging him on in case he never had this chance again. He kissed the corner of Louie’s mouth, his cheek, his ear, the line of his jaw. He rubbed his cheek against Louie’s, shivering at the rough pull of stubble.

  His hands slid over Louie’s chest, the skin hot and smooth to the touch, the nipples hard. By the time Peter’s fingers reached Louie’s belt, he was shaking.

  “Peter,” Louie protested weakly, gravel in his throat. Peter ignored him, slid his tongue deeper into Louie’s mouth, tasted the liquor they’d consumed earlier. He palmed Louie’s cock through the fabric of his slacks, holding back a cry of joy when he found it hard and growing harder. So fucking hot. His own gave an anxious throb. He groaned in frustration when Louie grabbed him by the wrist and halted his explorations. “Dammit, Peter, you’re drunk,” he managed to say.

  “No. I’m not.” His words were low and rough. Oh he felt drunk all right, but not from the alcohol. From Louie. From the way he smelled and tasted and felt. He buried his face against Louie’s neck, inhaled deeply, the scent of his skin making Peter dizzy.

  Louie’s fingers loosened around his wrist in silent submission, and Peter gave Louie’s erection a gentle squeeze, thrilled at the way it responded, the way it thickened further. “You’re so hard,” he moaned, rubbing with increasing pressure.

  Louie gasped, his head falling onto the backrest. “Tell me you’re not pretending. Tell me this isn’t just about getting off.”

  That made Peter pause. He looked Louie in the eye, the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. “Fuck, Louie,” he managed, “for the first time I feel like I’m not pretending.” He couldn’t be more honest than that.

  Louie grabbed the back of his neck, dragged him in, searching for his mouth. He kissed him deeply, tongue stroking tongue.

  Before Louie could even think of protesting this time, Peter’s fingers fumbled at his zipper, drew it down, and slipped inside. The damp heat stole his breath. He explored the outline of Louie’s shaft, cupped the soft orbs of his balls. Not nearly enough. Tearing his mouth from Louie’s, Peter bent at the waist and buried his face in Louie’s crotch through the opening of his fly, inhaling that intoxicating musky scent until his head swam. He mouthed Louie’s length through the cotton of his briefs, moistened the fabric until it was nearly transparent, and scraped his teeth gently over the head, loving the way it seemed to give a little jerk each time, as if desperate for the feel of his mouth.

  Still he couldn’t get enough.

  Louie clutched the back of his neck, stroked his back. Absently Peter felt his undershirt being drawn up and air on his skin, but he didn’t want to move, not for a second, not even so Louie could touch him. After a few failed attempts, Louie simply left the shirt bunched beneath his armpits.

  “Fuck, I want to see you, taste you….” The words died in Peter’s throat as he tugged down the waistband of Louie’s briefs, his lips and tongue blindly seeking flesh. Louie’s cock sprang up to meet him, and he ran it over his cheek, over his lips. Saliva flooded his mouth at the first taste. Hungrily he sucked the head fully into his mouth.

  He heard someone moaning and realized it was him. But he was powerless to control it—Louie tasted so damned good.

  Louie’s fingers skimmed down his back and slipped beneath his waistband to stroke his ass. Peter paused, breath bated, pulsing cock on his tongue, w
illing that hand to move just a little farther, just a little deeper. When it didn’t, he popped the button on his fly and lowered the zipper, hoping Louie got the hint.

  He did.

  Peter shuddered at the first touch. His eyes slid closed. His blowjob grew sloppy as he lost the ability to concentrate on anything except the way Louie was fingering him just right. His confined dick ached. His balls felt tight. He could shoot his load any second, and he hadn’t even touched himself.

  Suddenly Louie was cupping his head, tugging him upright again. Peter moaned in protest. “What are you—?”

  He was kissed roughly and then pushed back against the padded backrest. Laughter bubbled up in his chest as Louie struggled to work his pants and underwear down. He raised his hips to help, and then it was Louie’s turn to bend and swallow him. Peter gasped at the wet heat and—oh shit, it was true: guys did give better head than girls. Or Louie did at any rate, using his expert tongue to tease his foreskin. Peter struggled to control his breathing, to make it last longer, but he was close, so close.

  His fingers tensed in Louie’s thick hair. He was just about to warn Louie when he pulled free, sat up, and then swung one leg over so that he straddled Peter’s lap.

  Face to face, chest to chest, Louie cupped his face and kissed him, claiming his mouth possessively.

  Peter melted at the unexpected tenderness. He grabbed Louie’s ass, tried to shove his pants down his hips for better access and drag him closer so their slippery cocks slid together. Louie’s hand stole between them, stroking them both, and then he was gone.

  WHEN PETER finally came back to earth, it was to a kink in his back, come cooling on his stomach, and his pants down around his shins.

  And he’d never been happier.

  “You do know how to impress a guy, Peter Georgiou,” Louie mumbled against his neck with no signs of moving. “Now I know why you were so popular in high school.”

  Peter snickered. A full-blown laugh followed, then another. Once he started, he found he couldn’t stop.

  Louie raised his head and smiled indulgently when he was done. “I like your laugh.” His fingers toyed with the gold cross Peter wore around his neck. “This is pretty.”

  “It was a gift—from my mother.”

  Louie’s palm skimmed over his chest and flattened just above his heart. Could he feel the way it was still pounding, Peter wondered.

  “I think the rain has stopped,” Louie murmured.

  A whisper of cool air chilled the sweat on his body, and Peter shivered. The air conditioning was running. Looked like the power was back too. “Too bad.” He sighed. If only they could stay here, like this, and never move….

  “If you fall asleep here, how will it look in the morning?” Louie teased. “Annie will get quite a greeting.”

  “Mmm, knowing Annie, I don’t think she’d mind.” He opened his eyes to find Louie watching him. Peter leaned in and kissed him again. Slow and sweet this time. Just because he could. He thrilled at the freedom.

  The ring of Peter’s cell phone made Louie groan. “Ignore it,” he mumbled, kissing his way down Peter’s neck.

  But Peter couldn’t ignore it. Because there was only one person who would be calling him this late instead of texting. Fighting a mounting sense of panic, he pushed Louie off his lap and searched for his phone. It had fallen out of his pocket and lay on the floor near his feet. He grabbed it, and the familiar number turned his blood to ice. “It’s my mom,” he said through numb lips.

  “Panagiotis,” she cried as soon as he answered. “It’s your father… it’s….” He could barely make out her words through the sobbing.

  “Ma! Please. Where are you?”

  “Come quick. I need you.”

  TWELVE

  LOUIE WATCHED the color drain from Peter’s face and instinctively knew it was bad. An icy hand clawed at his gut as he began dressing. His shirt was still damp, and he grimaced at the clammy feel against his skin.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Peter said in a tight voice.

  When Louie glanced over, Peter sat on the bench, the phone in his hand, his face blank, and his eyes unseeing as he stared straight ahead. “Peter?”

  “It’s my dad. He had another heart attack.”

  “Oh, Peter.”

  “I need to get to the hospital,” he said dully but didn’t move.

  Louie recognized the signs of shock. His heart wrenched. “Then let’s go.” He grasped Peter’s hands and pulled him to his feet. “Get dressed.” He tossed Peter his shirt. “Which hospital?” he asked, already on his phone and calling for a cab.

  Peter blinked. “What? Oh, yeah.” The hospital he named was downtown. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to get there. But Louie’s hopes sank when the taxi dispatcher warned him it could be a bit of a wait. The quick storm had snarled traffic and brought down power lines across the city.

  He debated running home and grabbing Demetra’s car—or Peter’s—but neither of them were in any condition to get behind the wheel right now. Better to wait for the cab. He spun around and found Peter calmly straightening up the tables and stacking the candles. He was dressed, but his shirt hung unbuttoned.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Putting things back the way they were.”

  Louie shivered. He knew he was probably imagining it, yet he couldn’t help but notice the double meaning in Peter’s words. When Peter handed him the bottle of cleaner and told him to spray down the banquette, his anxiety only increased. It seemed as though he was wiping out any trace of what had just happened, of the beautiful moments they’d shared.

  Finally Peter locked up, and they stood out on the sidewalk to wait. It seemed to take forever for the taxi to arrive.

  “It’ll be okay,” he kept repeating on the cab ride to the hospital. He had no right to make such a promise, but it was all he could think of. He had no idea if Peter even heard him. He remained silent for the whole ride, clutching his hand with a tight grip. Any other time Louie would have been overjoyed by the small action, but even as he clung on, he could feel Peter retreating further into himself. Please don’t let them be too late, he prayed.

  By the time they arrived, they learned Kosta had already been admitted. Louie didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. They raced through the warren of hallways and finally found Tina in a small waiting area off the main emergency wing. Although bustling with staff, it was strangely silent—everyone talking in low voices or whispers. Four uncomfortable-looking hard-backed chairs lined the wall opposite the main desk. That’s where Tina sat. She looked terrible: her skin pale and waxy, her perfectly coifed hair a tangled nest.

  Peter let go of his hand and took a step forward. She gave a little cry and rushed into his arms when she saw him, sobbing loudly against his chest. For a horrifying, heart-wrenching second, Louie thought they must be too late.

  He hung back, not sure what kind of welcome he was in for, and let Peter comfort his mother. They spoke quickly, urgently, in hushed tones. He saw Peter tilt his head back, saw the way his shoulders sagged in relief, and assumed the worst hadn’t happened then.

  Tina suddenly frowned and leaned back. She patted the front of Peter’s open shirt. “What is this? Why are you wet?” Then she turned her head and noticed Louie standing there. “Why is he here?” she asked.

  “We were….” Peter’s eyes slid away from Louie’s. “We went out for a drink,” he replied, the lie rolling easily off his tongue. “And got caught in the storm.”

  Something twisted in Louie’s chest. The pain was brief but piercing, like someone had quietly slipped a knife beneath his breastbone, only instead of blood, it was hope slowly seeping from the wound. The deception had already begun.

  Tina let loose a rapid fire volley of Greek that he couldn’t quite make out, but he heard Peter say his name at least twice. He didn’t look happy when he said it either.

  The realities of the evening began to sink in. Even if Peter’s relationship w
ith Demetra was fake, that didn’t mean he was necessarily interested in one with Louie. He had no idea where they stood.

  Peter’s and Tina’s discussion was interrupted by a young male nurse. Peter put his arm around his mother’s shoulders as they spoke. Another round of urgent voices, of nodding heads, and then the nurse escorted Tina away.

  Peter stood alone for a moment, forced his shoulders back and then turned in Louie’s direction. Louie rose to his feet as he approached, a knot of tension forming behind his eyes as he mentally braced himself. But Peter surprised him, stepping into his arms and clinging as if he were a drowning man and Louie his only salvation. His breath came in shaky bursts, and every few seconds, a tremor would roll through his body.

  Louie just held him tight. “Are you okay?” he asked after a few minutes.

  He felt Peter’s nod against his shoulder. Another couple of minutes, a deep breath, and he raised his head, but didn’t step out from the circle of Louie’s arms. “They have him stabilized. He has to have surgery. They’re doing an emergency bypass in the morning.”

  Louie let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good, right?”

  “They’re letting Ma see him now.” Peter dipped his head and wiped at his eyes. When he raised them, they were black with guilt. “I should have been there,” he said hoarsely.

  “You can’t think like that, Peter.” Louie grasped Peter’s face in his hands and stroked his cheeks. He knew exactly what Peter was thinking: if he hadn’t been with Louie tonight, it might have been different. If they hadn’t stopped at the restaurant. If they hadn’t had sex. “I won’t let you blame yourself.” That guilt would eat him up alive.

  He searched Peter’s face for signs that he’d heard what he was saying, but he found none, and it terrified him.

  “Panagiotis?” Tina called. “Come.”

  Peter quickly jerked away. Louie’s hands fell to his sides, suddenly numb. He knew how this went. But it still hurt like hell. He’d thought Peter would be different.