Chris nodded. "My cooking is only passable, but I will, sir."
"You may contact any friends you like. Your cell phone or the house phone, within reason. Any calls to other continents will require reimbursement. You have run of the TV and stereo. We will be attending the memorial service, when the date is set. I'm one of the executors of William's will and will be busy until then with work and that responsibility."
Chris nodded.
Master Bear put a large hand on his shoulder. "Chris, I am here. I will listen when you need to talk."
Trying not to sound impertinent, Chris took a large breath against the sobs he could feel getting ready to start. "I'm not ready to share yet, sir."
Bear just smiled and set a box of tissues on the top of the towel. "Then get some rest. Morning is wiser than evening. I'll leave you some breakfast. I have to be out early. You'll be all right until your friend comes?"
Chris nodded and swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
Bear kissed his forehead, just like Mike had done. "Good night, Chris."
Chris fled for the spare bedroom and barely got the door shut before he burst into great heaving sobs. Part of him was shocked he had any left after all the tears earlier. He cried it all out and lay, feeling thin and fragile, on the bed.
Master Bear didn't seem awful. He was being very generous. Chris hoped the memorial service wouldn't be too far away. He just hoped Mike would go for the idea that had hit him in the last stages of the crying.
* * * *
Good as his word, Mike came over the next day when Chris called. Chris stared a moment, trying to figure out why he looked odd. Then he realized he'd never seen Mike in anything but a scrub top. The black polo shirt was a complete change of pace. But the subtle little Superman emblem reassured Chris.
"When you asked me to help you move, I talked to Bear. He said you could use his pickup and the keys are on the buffet."
"Thank you. I'll thank him tonight. Tell me what you know about Bear? What does he like?"
Mike picked up the keys and offered them. Chris shook his head. He didn't feel stable enough to drive. He wanted to talk and that would take most of his concentration.
"He likes neatness. He likes his den kept in order. He likes a grateful boy and a submissive one who is very obedient."
"I meant to eat. I was going to make him something special as a thank you."
"Are you up for that?" Mike glanced over at him as they stopped for a stoplight.
"I think so, if it's not too hard." Chris checked his hands. They weren't shaking.
"Don't get distracted and burn his house down." Mike picked back up as the light went green. "He's pretty easy taste-wise, but he likes chicken more than pork. If you really wanted to treat him, we can get the makings of a chocolate meringue pie on the way home."
"I never made meringue." Chris wondered if he could manage a whole pie as well as dinner. Cakes were easy enough, but pies daunted him.
"It's easy and I'll help. Can't stay though, I have a late afternoon shift."
"Thank you." Chris scooted to the middle of the seat and laid his head on Mike's shoulder.
"You're welcome, babe. Always."
Mike parked next to the kitchen door of William's two-story house. "How much are we taking, kid? Do I need to plan two trips?"
Chris shook his head. "Not too much. I don't have much. Just my clothes and some books." He unlocked the door, feeling a pang. Yesterday evening, he had walked out this door with William. Today, William would never walk back inside. His throat went very tight and his heart felt as if it had turned to ice at the thought.
William would never drink another cup of coffee out of his favorite blue mug. He would never sit comfortably in the captain's chair, chatting as Chris did dishes. The place already smelled empty and musty. Tears rolled down Chris's face as he saw William's big empty chair in the living room. Only Mike's hand in his helped him not break down.
When Mike folded him into a hug, he did cry again. "He's everywhere," Chris gasped, "but he's gone."
"I know, kiddo. I do know." Mike's own voice sounded tight and Chris felt a couple of tears drip onto his back.
Chris caught his breath and stepped out of the embrace. "Let's get this done." He went straight to his little bedroom and packed all his clothes. He'd been planning a little ahead and most of the winter things were already packed away for the summer. He pulled out the cedar boxes.
"This needs to go out?"
"My winter stuff. I'll pack the summer." He started folding slacks into a suitcase. Mike picked up a box and carried it out.
Chris looked at his skiing things. He hadn't been skiing in years, not since William got sick. He wondered if Bear liked to ski. He packed his skis and poles and even the snowboard he'd messed around with. He'd never do flips in midair, but surfing down the hill had been great fun.
Mike came back to find him holding a box with photo albums. "I should sort through them," he mumbled.
"Not today. Just take them with you. The house goes on the auction block, as is, in two weeks. Anything you want, get it out today. Tomorrow the de-kinking and de-gaying crew comes to, pardon the expression, straighten it up."
"Who?"
"Me, Ian Boyd, a few other guys. We get all the gay movies and porn, any item that shows a gay kinky man lived here, and we split or sell them. But, like I said, you get first pick. So if there are any toys or tchotchkes you're fond of, grab 'em. William would rather you have them."
Mike took the suitcases to the car as Chris went through the kitchen. A few tools, the owl-shaped refrigerator magnet made out of half a walnut shell and an apron that said "spank the cook" went into the bottom of a plastic box he carried. Then, he headed into the playroom. The bullwhip went into the box, as did Chris's favorite flogger and the inflatable plug. He added a set of soft cuffs and a small painting of William in full leather. Then he migrated to William's bedroom and picked up the silver-framed picture of them at his collaring that stood on the nightstand.
Chris buried his face in William's pillow, wishing he could take it, too, but knowing the scent wouldn't last. It didn't smell right anyway, all sickness and drugs with only a hint of William. He did take William's favorite scarf.
"My books and movies are in the three boxes by the big purple tote," he told Mike, handing over the box. "Leave the tote."
"Got 'em," Mike said and carried the box out as if it were a Faberge egg.
Chris cast about and found it. William's pride and joy, an actual bit of a Norse grave site he'd worked when he was a grad student. The three carved soapstone beads rested on a bit of black velvet under archival glass. The certificate of authenticity hung beside them. All the students had been given three beads from a broken string as their summer bonus. Any museum in the country would pay him four figures to have both beads and certificate. He carried them out and put them on the little Queen Anne telephone table.
Mike came back, almost bumping into him as he headed out the door with table and artifacts. "'Bout ready?" Mike asked.
Chris nodded. "This is the last of it."
Mike took a look and whistled. "He showed me those once. Yes, I think you should have them."
Chris loaded the things, then came back in. Mike stood in the middle of the front room. When Chris came in, he opened his arms. Chris went right into them.
"This is it, Chris."
Chris shook for a moment, but no tears came. He took a deep breath. "This is it."
Mike kissed him, slow and deep, his easy command making Chris's knees quiver and his cock twitch. Chris opened his mouth to ask the question he'd thought of the previous night, but Mike kissed him again and stopped his words.
"I love you. I'm only as far away as your phone. Anytime, night or day. Call me if you need me and I'll be there."
Chris nodded, clinging to Mike. He knew he held on too long, but Mike made no move to shove him away or break contact. Instead, he gave Chris another kiss.
"Do you need me here?
" He felt Mike glance at the clock which was up and over his shoulder.
"For a little while?" Chris hated imposing and his failure to contain his emotions felt more acute here in William's world. Mike stood quietly and held him until it didn't feel like home anymore.
* * * *
He'd been with Bear a week. Sometimes, it felt as if all he did was eat and sleep and cry. Mike came every afternoon for an hour or so. Bear ate dinner and then vanished behind a locked door. He still hadn't taken off the bear mask he'd worn since the night at the club. Chris couldn't figure that out. He wasn't sure he liked living with a bear. He wondered what Bear's face looked like, or if he'd ever get to see it. Maybe he didn't want Chris getting too attached to him.
That night, Bear beckoned him over. "I have something I want to show you, Chris."
Chris dried the last plate and put it in the cabinet. He looked at Bear curiously, wondering if now was when he had to pay for all the comforts.
"The playroom is in the basement." Bear led him the opposite direction, and opened the locked door. A big den with a large fireplace welcomed them. It smelled of wood and leather and paper. Several big chairs, a wet bar, and even a set of antlers on the wall completed the rugged room. "This is my space. Come on in."
Chris looked around, checking out the shelves of fine hardbound books, the bar, and the chessboard. He noticed Bear went right to the mantle and touched a little carved wooden box. He joined the big man there.
"Danny," Bear said to the box, "this is Chris. He's staying with me a while. He just lost his top. We're getting along okay and it's nice having someone else in the house."
Chris stared at him. "Has every top in town had a sub die on him?" He covered his mouth. "I'm sorry, sir, that was rude."
"No, just myself and Ian. Ian's boy died of the Plague. Danny went in a car accident. He dozed off behind the wheel coming home from work one morning. Hit a bridge abutment." Bear's voice went tight. "He never felt a thing." He patted Chris's shoulder. "You can spend any time you need to in here." He stroked the box. "I'm not sure which would be harder, watching someone like William go, or the sheer shock of the wreck."
"Both bad, sir."
"Yes, both are bad. Make yourself comfortable. It's quiet time." Bear picked up a big leather-bound book and a fountain pen. The scratching of the pen soothed Chris as he made himself comfortable on the floor near the chair. The quiet pleased him.
William would have liked this room, even as he would have called it...Chris thought about what William would have called the very masculine den. Ah, "an architectural paean to virile masculinity," sounded about right. He smiled and wondered if William had ever sat in here, drinking whiskey and talking with Bear. He must have. William would never have given Chris to him if he hadn't known Bear very well.
The clock tolled out eight and nine, the last startling Chris awake where he'd been dozing. Bear sat in the big chair, his hands crossed on his stomach and his head drooping. He was either meditating or napping. Chris didn't dare take the mask off. It could be a test to see whether he would. That sort of thing always ended badly. He shuddered thinking of Bluebeard and the Phantom of the Opera.
Master Bear shifted and yawned. "Nine already? Bedtime, I think. Chris, I know I'm being pushy, but here." He pulled a business card from his wallet. "I've made you an appointment with a grief counselor."
Chris stood up and took it. "Thank you."
"She's good. She helped a lot." Bear gave him a quick squeeze and shut the door to the den, without locking it.
* * * *
"You're okay living here with Master Bear?" Mike made himself comfortable on the sofa. Chris sat beside him for a second and then shrugged. "Chris, you aren't talking to me. This worries me."
"I just...don't know." Chris hoped his voice didn't sound as shaky to Mike as it did in his own ears. "I haven't really seen much of him since the club. He's busy."
"Come here." Mike opened his arms and Chris moved right into them. The big nurse's arms felt strong and secure around him. "Will you be okay until the memorial in two weeks?"
Chris clung to him, shaking. "I think so? Why is it so far away?"
"William wanted to give everyone time to get here and carry out his wishes. You'll be getting his ashes." Chris, nodded, clinging harder as he felt tears start. Mike held him in close and kissed the top of his head. "If I know Bear, he offered to let you put William right next to Danny."
"I miss him," Chris whispered. The sobs finally came again. He buried his face in Mike's X-Men scrub top, thoroughly drenching several Wolverines.
"I know you do, kid. We all do. But none like you." Mike rubbed his back and nuzzled his hair, sounding a little sniffly himself.
Chris tried to stop crying, but even the deep breath trick didn't work today. He just curled up in Mike's arms, safe and secure, and let all the hurt and anger and confusion pour out of him.
Mike held him through it all, saying nothing, just touching him. He loved that about Mike, the way he never needed to fill a silence with empty talk. Cried out, Chris just leaned against Mike, closing his eyes and ignoring the wet shirt under his face.
They sat like that for a long time, maybe half an hour, just a quiet cuddle. Mike knew when to talk, too, and Chris found he loved that just as much.
"So how are you and Bear doing?" he asked again.
Chris sighed. "It's going to take a while. He's not William. I'm not even sure who he is, except a big scary voice and a big hand that leaves me food."
"He's more," Mike said softly. "He'll show himself when you're ready for him, I'm sure. Right now, he's just giving you plenty of space and time to grieve." Mike kissed him again. "Can you stay with him a while, or do you want to try things on your own?"
"I'll stay. Even a big scary voice is better than an empty apartment with cheap furniture."
Mike nuzzled in his hair. "You let me know if anything is wrong." He went quiet, cuddling Chris closer.
"Yes, sir."
They cuddled a while more, then Mike looked at his watch. "I need to get home. And you need to get Bear's supper ready." He stood up, not letting go of Chris.
Chris dared a look up into his dark eyes. He saw only sadness and great love there.
"Call me when you need me, I mean it," Mike said.
Chris knew he could call at any hour and Mike would come.
"Yes, sir."
Mike ran one finger along the side of his face. "Chris, I'm your friend, not your top. And I'm about to be a very bad friend again." He kissed Chris full on the mouth. Chris startled under the kiss, having dreamed of it for days, and then relaxed, giving Mike everything.
"Please, can I come stay the night with you?" he asked. "I need a friend and lover."
Mike frowned as Chris pressed against him. "I'm not made of stone, boy. Don't tease."
"Mean it," Chris said and pulled Mike down into another kiss, this one much hotter and deeper, showing the big nurse exactly how much he meant it. He'd meant it since the day William had found him crying in Mike's arms in the kitchen.
"After the memorial, kid. I promise," Mike said thickly. "Do your master one last honor and stay celibate until the memorial."
Chris nodded but stayed clinging to Mike. Mike kissed him gently and disentangled himself. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Chris just nodded and watched him go. He still hadn't had a chance to ask about moving in.
* * * *
They gathered in the living room of William's house. Chris bit his lip, uncomfortable to be back here. It didn't even smell like home anymore. It was too clean. William's magazines and books were all shelved or disposed of. The small clutter of everyday life had vanished. He snuck in and peeked at the playroom, which was once again a spare bedroom, with a desk and book shelves, and no sign of manacles or a rack or any toys.
Master Jonathan rose, unshaven and bleary-looking, his skullcap and fringe impeccable. Chris wondered if he'd slept for the last week. He suspected Jonathan had observed some s
ort of Jewish mourning ritual in William's honor. He held up the will.
"Gentlemen, we are gathered here to celebrate the life of William Davis, a good friend. He left instructions for everything. You will each find a parcel with your name on it. The money from his accounts and from the sale of his house and property will be placed in trust for Christopher Price, who will also receive William's ashes to do with as he sees fit."
Chris shivered. He didn't have to stay with Master Bear. He would have enough money to make it on his own. And he would have William with him, always.
He barely listened to the rest of the reading of William's will. He had the important part. He looked around the room, searching for Mike. Only ten people were here and Mike was not among them. He'd promised. Chris grumbled to himself about how promises to a sub meant nothing.
"There is a handwritten codicil, dated a week before his death," Master Jonathan finished. "I hereby appoint Michael Cipolla, informally called Master Bear, to care for Christopher until such time as he finds his feet without me. I love you both. William."
Chris just stared as Master Bear removed the mask he had always worn. Underneath, his own Mike, his friend and lover, smiled, finally revealed. Chris stuttered a little.
"Chris," Mike--Master Bear--said, coming to him and embracing him. "You are welcome to stay with me as long as you like, spare room or in my bed as you choose."
Chris threw his arms around Master Bear's neck and hugged him hard. Words still wouldn't come so he let his touch speak for him.
William's friends crowded around, congratulating Bear and Chris, taking hugs and kisses and shaking hands. One by one, they started leaving, each picking up the box he'd been assigned.
Chris found the boxes labeled for him and Bear and picked up William's urn. He heard Master Jonathan talking to his Mike.
"You'll be good for him. And he loves you already," Jonathan said.
"Loved him for months," Bear said. "Chris, let's go home."
"Yes, sir," Chris said, and walked out of the house for the last time, carrying William's urn with him.
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