Girls are better at it and Phil has kissed a few of them, including Michelle, his sister-in-law. She and Alex were on-again off-again all through high school, and she gave Phil his first kiss during one of their off-again periods, just a year before the hotwire adventure. She was also the first person to notice that Phil wasn’t particularly interested in kissing girls, no matter how skilled they might be.
Dr. Eames doesn’t kiss like a girl, but he doesn’t kiss like most guys either. He’s tentative and gentle at first, then, when Phil moans and melts against him, aggressive and passionate. He clutches the back of Phil's head with one hand, curling his fingers into a fist in Phil’s hair to hold him in place, and squeezes his thigh with the other, close enough to his dick that he’d be touching it if Phil slid down a little bit. He works his tongue in slow, devouring circles in Phil's mouth and makes gravelly humming sounds in his throat.
Phil feels dizzy from it. He feels crazy. He feels like something is breaking open inside of him, spilling heat and need and want everywhere. It’s almost too much, but still he wants more. He wants everything. He wants to climb into Dr. Eames’ lap and rut against him the way he did in that first dream, and he thinks that he could, that maybe he should. He thinks Dr. Eames would probably like it.
He's getting ready to actually do it when suddenly there’s a horrible loud noise, almost like a gunshot. It startles the both of them and they break apart abruptly. Penelope starts barking and pacing around. The moment is ruined- he feels it slipping away, right out from underneath him.
“What the hell was that?” Phil asks. His voice sounds high-pitched and cracked and he feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him.
“I dunno,” Dr. Eames says. He runs his hand over his hair and then down over his eyes. He’s breathing heavily and Phil can see the outline of an erection tenting his pants. “Sounded like a car backfiring,” he says. “Penny, stop it!”
Phil’s never heard Dr. Eames raise his voice like that before and it shocks him almost as much as the noise did. It seems to shock Penelope as well. She stops barking and just kind of stares at Dr. Eames, looking confused.
“Probably someone attempting to leave the party,” Dr. Eames says. “We should, um...” he breaks off and rubs his face, leaving Phil to wonder what exactly he thinks they should be doing. Finally he says, “I should go and see if they need assistance.”
“Right, okay,” Phil agrees quickly, nodding and trying to hide the disappointment sinking like a rock in his chest.
The walk back through the woods is quiet and uncomfortable. Dr. Eames appears to be lost in thought and Phil is sweaty and nauseous, dreading the inevitable.
It occurs to him as they walk that he doesn’t even know Dr. Eames’ first name. He’s listed everywhere as C. Eames and Phil has no idea what the C stands for. He’s always figured it was Charles- lots of British people seem to be named Charles- but he doesn’t know for sure and it’s starting to bother him now. They’ve just made out in the woods and it seems ridiculous to call him Dr. Eames after that, but he’s never been comfortable with the “call me Eames” thing either. It’s an absurd thing to obsess about in this situation, but he keeps turning it over in his mind.
“Hey, what’s your first name?” he asks when they’ve reached the yard again. Dr. Eames stops to look at him finally, with a strangely pained expression.
“It’s Conrad,” he says.
“Conrad,” Phil says, testing it out. It gives him a private little thrill to say it, which is really lame because everyone calls him that.
“Will you take Penelope inside for me?” Conrad asks, and hands Phil her leash, brushing their fingers together for a brief second. “We’ll talk later, hm?”
Phil just nods; what else can he do?
Conrad pats his shoulder in a way that’s probably supposed to be friendly, but feels aggravatingly dismissive. He starts heading towards the driveway, where one of the guests does seem to be having car troubles. Phil can hear the sounds of men gathering in the area and discussing mechanical things. He watches Conrad's back as he walks away to join them, and then he heads inside with the dog.
The party is still going strong and it’s kind of jarring, almost surreal to come back into it, to the bright artificial lights and the noise and the people, after all that.
He feels hyper-aware of everything, and notices a few details that he missed on his first run through the house. The eclectic mix of antique furnishings; the piano in the corner near the fireplace; the metal spiral staircase leading up to a loft where Conrad's bedroom must be... and maybe he should just go up there now, just get naked, get in the bed and wait.
But no, that seems like the wrong approach. With his luck Dr. Miller would wander up there to take a piss or something.
Conrad said they'd talk later, and Phil has a feeling he knows what that talk will entail. It will almost certainly be "the talk", about how inappropriate this is and how Conrad is sorry it happened, and having that talk while he's sitting there naked is just about the most mortifying thing he can imagine. Really, having that talk at all would be pretty mortifying, and Phil thinks maybe he should just go home instead of subjecting himself to it.
They had their moment, something Phil can hang onto and hopefully something Conrad will not forget, and maybe it's not a good idea to push his luck. Maybe if he leaves now, he'll be able to retain some mystery and some dignity.
Phil and Alex made it about halfway to Washington DC in their father's BMW before Phil remembered he had a physics test the next day. The crushing reality of that thought caused him to panic and beg to be taken home. Phil knows when it's time to go.
He sneaks out the side door and walks the long way around, avoiding the driveway where Conrad and all the other people are, and manages to slip away unnoticed. The trek back to his car is bracing enough that he feels okay to drive by the time he gets there. It's probably still a bad idea, but he's hyper-vigilant behind the wheel and thankfully he manages to make it home without causing any damage to himself or others.
The first thing he does when he gets back to his apartment is inhale a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and half a box of untoasted Toaster Strudels, and he thinks okay, maybe I was too drunk to drive.
While he's eating, he checks the stalker Facebook page for updates about the party. He doesn't think anyone from the group was there, but there's no way of knowing for sure. After all, no one would recognize him from the group.
He's sort of half hoping someone was there and that they noticed Conrad wandering off into the woods with him. He sort of wants to be mentioned and speculated about because that would make the whole thing seem more real somehow, but there's nothing. Just a lot of people making sadface emoticons about the fact that they weren't invited, which is also kind of cool. Phil feels smugly superior about it. Not only was he invited, he made out with Conrad in the woods.
They made out in the woods.
It was real, it did happen, and Phil starts to get turned on all over again thinking about it. He tosses the remains of a Toaster Strudel in the trash and starts rubbing his dick instead. For the first time, he starts browsing through the pictures on the site while he's jerking off, allowing himself to think about Conrad on purpose. He figures he has a right to it now. It's not creepy and stalkerish because they made out in the woods.
He stops on his favorite, the sweaty tank top gym picture, and lets himself stare, lets his mind wander. He starts imagining a scenario where they run into each other at the fitness center late at night, where he says something cool and sexy (he has no idea what that might be) and Conrad can't help himself- he has to take Phil right then and there, up against the wall next to the elliptical machines. Since he didn't stick around for "the talk", Phil is free to pretend that this could actually happen.
He thinks maybe the best thing to do now is avoid Conrad for as long as possible, so that he can continue to live in this delusional world where they might someday have sex. He has to go to class on Tuesday,
so he won't be able to keep it up for very long, but at least he'll get a few days of satisfying jerk-off time. At least he'll have a good weekend, before he's utterly humiliated.
He tells himself it could be worse. And that maybe, just maybe, Conrad will be thinking about him too.
Chapter 7
Phil doesn't even make it through the weekend before his plan to avoid Conrad is shot to hell.
He feels like death on Sunday, hung over and exhausted and irritated with himself for pretty much everything that happened last night except for the kissing. The whole conversation with Angie was a mistake, and telling Conrad all that personal stuff and then crying about it like some kind of histrionic child was just pitiful. He still feels like sneaking out was probably the right thing to do, but what if he was wrong? What if he blew his only shot? What if Conrad thinks he’s a coward, or that he’s not even interested?
Recounting the numerous ways in which he made a fool of himself, he thinks maybe he should just stay in bed for the rest of his life, but finally at around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, hunger drives him up to paw through the meager offerings in his refrigerator. Leftover Chinese, leftover Indian, leftover fried chicken. The fried chicken is the only thing that doesn't make him want to barf just looking at it, so he takes the whole bucket and brings it over to the bay window with a bottle of Gatorade and his laptop.
One of Phil's favorite things about his apartment is this window. He can sit in here like a cat, just watching the people walk by on the busy street below. Well, the normally busy street. It's pretty deserted today.
It’s gloomy outside, drizzly and chilly, which is just fine with Phil. It gives him an excuse to stay at home in his pajamas all day without feeling guilty. He does feel somewhat guilty about all the homework he's neglected this weekend (and will no doubt continue to neglect today), but really, how can he be expected to concentrate on academics when he's seen the outline of Conrad's hard cock straining against his dress pants?
God, he's become everything he hates.
He boots up his laptop and, after he's checked his email and a couple of news sites, finds himself once again browsing through pictures of Conrad. They’re organized into folders, one for each of the four years he’s been at the University, and Phil’s been through this year’s folder so many times he’s got every picture burned into his memory. He’s avoided the others for some reason, but today he opens the first folder and starts from the beginning.
It’s pretty sparse compared to this year’s selection, and the quality of the pictures isn’t as high overall, but there are a few good ones. There’s a fantastic shot of him giving a lecture on Wilhelm Reich at Mount Holyoke. He’s a little bit skinnier and a little bit younger, but still hot as hell. The photograph manages to capture the confidence and charisma that Conrad seems to exude naturally when he’s speaking in front of a crowd. Phil finds that quality as enviable as it is sexy.
There’s a nice one taken at the farmer’s market in Amherst of Conrad fondling a honeydew melon with a mangy and sickly looking Penelope at his side. She’s barely recognizable and Phil realizes the picture must’ve been taken shortly after Conrad rescued her. It’s pretty impressive how much work he's obviously put into rehabilitating her.
The best picture is from a whale watching expedition in Boston Harbor, taken by a girl who’d been dragged along by her father and his girlfriend for some quality family time during parent’s weekend. Running into Conrad on the journey was a surprise and, apparently, the only thing that saved the day from “utter lameness”.
Conrad is standing at the boat railing with his arm around a woman, pointing at something in the distance which Phil can only assume is a whale, wearing an appalling denim shirt and aviator sunglasses. He looks tanned and relaxed and so fucking happy it almost makes Phil nervous. He’s never seen the woman before, but she’s beautiful- dark hair and startling blue eyes- and Phil thinks she could be his sister. Could be, but isn’t necessarily.
He stares at that picture for a long time, at Conrad's smile and his hand on this mystery woman’s shoulder, and eventually starts imagining himself in her place. It’s the first fantasy he’s had about Conrad that isn’t explicitly sexual in nature, yet somehow he winds up completely horny from it anyway.
Sighing, Phil moves on to a photo taken right on the street where he lives. Conrad is leaving the Bluebonnet Diner where, according to reports, he has brunch at least one Sunday afternoon per month. Phil’s tried to catch him out there, he can actually see the diner from where he’s sitting right now, but he’s never managed to be here at the right time.
He glances up from the computer to look out the window, just in case, and does a literal double-take, looking quickly back and forth between the sidewalk across the street and the screen of his laptop. He thinks he must be hallucinating or something, but when he looks back outside Conrad is still there, strolling through the mist and the drizzle with his hands in his pockets and a newspaper folded under his arm. He’s about halfway between the diner and the artsy fartsy movie theater which is directly across the street from Phil’s apartment.
Phil puts his laptop on the floor and climbs up on his knees to get a better look out the window. Conrad reaches the theater as he’s watching and buys a ticket at the window. There are four movies playing there this weekend, but only one with a showing anytime in the next hour - a documentary about cave paintings which, until this moment, sounded interminably boring to Phil, but has suddenly become the must-see cinematic event of the century.
This is it. It’s fucking fate, his second chance and he’s not going to throw it away. He starts frantically changing out of his pajamas, brushing his teeth, attempting to gel his hair into submission and make himself appear less like a vagrant.
You can do this, he thinks. You may not be as hot as Conrad, but you’re pretty damn cute and lots of guys agree.
He’s never been so shy and stupid about going after someone he wanted before, and there’s no reason for him to be this way now. Conrad wants him. Conrad kissed him and Conrad had a boner and Phil fucking ran away. Jesus. Not this time.
By the time he gets down to the street Conrad has gone into the theater, so Phil has a moment to check himself out in the reflecting glass at the ticket window. Yep, still cute.
He finds Conrad at the concessions stand buying a giant bucket of popcorn. Conrad looks startled and confused to see him, but then he smiles.
“Hey,” Phil says, trying to feign a surprised expression and ignore the stupid butterflies in his stomach.
“Phil! My goodness, what a coincidence.”
“Yeah,” Phil says. “Well, I live here, so.”
“You live here?”
“I mean, not at the theater. I live across the street.”
“Ah, well. That’s convenient,” Conrad says. Very convenient, Phil thinks. He’s already imagining what might happen when the movie is over, if he can manage to keep his shit together for that long. “You’re here to see the cave painting film?” Conrad asks.
“Yeah,” Phil nods. “I love cave paintings.”
“They are fascinating,” Conrad says. If he remembers anything about their argument in class where Phil basically said that studying cave paintings was a stupid waste of time, he doesn’t mention it.
He’s got dark circles under his eyes, Phil notices. He looks like he hasn’t slept. He looks like a wreck, frankly, and Phil hopes it’s because he was up all night jerking off and wondering why Phil left.
They find seats together, close to the back even though the theater’s empty except for an elderly couple near the front. Phil’s deliberating whether he should make up some lie to explain his disappearing act, or mention last night at all, when Conrad turns towards him with an alarmingly serious expression.
“Listen, I’m glad to have run into you,” he says. “I wanted to um... to apologize. For last night.”
“Oh,” Phil says. “No... ”
“It was completely inappropriate,”
Conrad says, and Phil thinks he might be sick. He’s getting the talk, after all that. He was right in the first place and he should’ve stayed last night and gotten it over with when he was comfortably numb.
“It’s okay,” Phil says, even though it’s really not. Fuck, he’s a moron.
“You’re a student, and you were in a vulnerable position,” Conrad says. “I took advantage of that.”
Now Phil knows why Conrad looks so tired. He was up all night rehearsing this bullshit.
He thinks about all the rumors, all the students Conrad is supposed to have slept with over the past four years. Just because the thing about Angie was a lie, that doesn’t mean none of it was true. Surely there must’ve been one at some point, so why? Why not him?
Then again, why him? Conrad could have anyone. He was a fool for thinking Conrad would risk his career for a piece of Phil’s ass.
“Look, it’s fine,” Phil says. “We were both drunk. I mean, whatever.”
Please, he thinks. Just make it stop.
“Right,” Conrad says. “Heat of the moment and all that.”
“So, um... should I move to another seat, or... ”
He really just wants to go home now, and is half hoping Conrad will tell him to get lost. He’d like to lick his wounds in private and not be forced to sit through two hours of cave paintings first. But Conrad won’t hear of it.
“Oh, no, don’t be silly,” he says. “There’s no reason we can’t continue to be friends.”
“Right,” Phil says. Friends.
About halfway through the movie (which is even duller than anyone could’ve predicted) Phil starts to wonder if he misheard or misunderstood what Conrad was saying, or if maybe there’s some alternate, European definition of the word friends that he’s unaware of.
It starts with the popcorn. Phil doesn't have any of his own. He spent the last of his cash for the week on the ridiculously overpriced ticket to get in here. Conrad has his bucket resting on his knee and the smell eventually becomes too great a temptation. Phil digs his hand into the bucket and, coincidentally, Conrad puts his hand in there at the same time.
Dreaming of You: M/M Gay Romance Page 6
