“Glad I’m good for something,” Chris offered. He stole another kiss before he swallowed his nerves and decided now was the time to say what he really thought. “I’d like you to stay? For another drink or something?” The something he didn’t name was playing out every single fantasy he’d had over tall, dark, and dangerous Daniel Bailey.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Daniel said. Regret was obvious in his expression. “I’ve got to go; I’m on shift at eight.”
“It’s fine.” Chris fought to keep disappointment out of his tone.
“I’ll call you though, text you, I promise,” Daniel said. They said their goodbyes, including simple kisses, and then he was gone, leaving Chris horny and thoughtful.
Not a brilliant combination for a good night’s sleep.
Chapter 7
Sunday, December 9th
When the text arrived, Chris was in the middle of shaving. He left the cell sitting idly on the side of the sink. He wanted to look, but the anticipation of what it would say was the best part of receiving a text from Daniel.
The other man had been flirting with him by text. Real down and dirty flirting, gently teasing flirting, and every text had made him smile. He finished shaving, washed the razor, and placed it back in the medicine cabinet. Turning his face this way and that, he judged the shave in the mirror.
Today was shaping up to be a good day and nothing was going to ruin it. Not anxiety, not exhaustion, nothing. They had plans to be together for almost the entire day. As he hadn’t seen Daniel since the previous Saturday that was one hell of a positive thing. He splashed on aftershave, wincing at the sting, and then pushed gel into his hair, working the short length into soft spikes. Finally, he couldn’t delay any longer, and he checked his cell. Two messages. The first one consisted of only two words: “bring muffins” . He snorted at that; Daniel led with his stomach, that much was clear in this relationship so far.
The second was the one that flipped his heart in his chest and sent iron to his dick.
“Switched shifts. Have dinner at mine?”
He flipped the cell in his hand over and over as he contemplated what witty comeback to send. He went through variations, but in the end, his text went more along the lines of okay to dinner. He added, “Ame has prune and whole wheat bran muffins. Will bring ten.” He added a winking face at the end and stopped texting long enough to get dressed. Dinner. That was a big step.
“Where are you two going?” Ame asked when he arrived in the kitchen area and snagged a coffee to go.
“Police museum, then dinner at his,” he replied calmly despite the fact that actually saying it out loud suddenly made him nervous.
“Have fun,” she offered. Then she took a second glance and tilted her head in a question. “You okay there?”
Chris leaned back against the counter, watching her mix a huge bowl of batter.
The motions were rhythmic, and he wondered briefly if leaning over and tasting the mixture would be allowed. Then he remembered the last time he had done that and the pain a spoon to the back of the hand caused.
“Ask me that ten minutes ago and I would have said I was really cool about the whole day. Museums I can do; hey, I can even sound intelligent”—Amelia snorted her disapproval of him putting himself down, but he largely ignored it—“then he sent me the text about dinner and the whole thing changed.”
“Changed how?”
“Became something more I guess.” He couldn’t explain how he felt and shrugged in punctuation.
“More real you mean?” Amelia stopped the work and poured herself a coffee, clearly ready to listen if Chris wanted to talk.
Chris nodded. That was exactly it. “He said he wants to go slow, then he asks me to his home, and fuck, we know how that is gonna end up.”
“Man on man?” Amelia smiled.
“Ame,” he whined.
“What is the worse that could happen, babe?”
“Oh I don’t know, let me think—where do I start? That I completely freak, do something wrong, show him the real nerdy, geeky, cowardly me? The one who would rather back down to save myself stress than stand up for myself?”
Amelia placed her coffee down, a look of determination on her face. In a few steps she stopped right in front of him.
“The real you is amazing; why wouldn’t he see that?”
“I never thought he saw it in college, but he said he did ‘see me’. He admitted he actually wanted more with me apparently but he stayed away deliberately because he said he was a slut.” Exasperation slipped into Chris’s voice.
“And?” Ame asked. “Was he a slut?”
Chris calmed immediately. “Big time. Like I said I think he slept with most everyone that was halfway attractive, girl and boy alike.”
“Then why would you doubt what he said then?”
“Look at me, Ame”—he indicated himself with a wave of his free hand—“I’m uncoordinated and clumsy, no social skills to speak of, a teacher of teenagers who needs glasses—tell me why he would even look at me, let alone think that he wanted me when I was younger and even klutzier.”
“Where has this come from?” She looked concerned and cupped his face in her hands, pulling his head down to hers and resting her forehead against his.
“I don’t think I deserve… that he would want… Ame…” He realized he was making little sense to anyone who listened, but in his mind’s eye he was back at college and he was a clumsy nerd all over again, drooling over the big man on campus. It was all well and good, Daniel saying nice things about how he had wanted Chris at college, lies like that were usually things he was happy to believe, things that wouldn’t hurt. But his year had been shit so far. Too many people lying to him, lying for him, making him lie, he couldn’t get a real handle on it.
“That fucking school,” she snapped with no small amount of heat in her words, “you were doing so well and that letter has just ripped the hurt open again.” Chris closed his eyes, emotion choking his throat. “Unless you fight this, Christian, you will never get closure.” They stood like that for a little while, with Chris unconsciously measuring his breaths against hers. The action centered him, calmed him.
“I’m not strong enough,” he finally half whispered. “I can’t stand up and announce my sexuality and defend what happened, not when he will say the opposite.
They can do what they want, and I can’t see them taking my word over his.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” She moved subtly, resting her head under his chin and hugging him close. His instant reaction was to wrap his arms around her. She smelled
good, of cookie dough and fresh fruit, chocolate and Christmas spices and he inhaled deeply.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s your call, Chris. Just look after yourself. And please, for me, just have fun.”
Chapter 8
He had been late, a good twenty minutes late, but Daniel didn’t seem that worried, only pulled him in for a quick hug and a gentle kiss. It had taken Chris a long time to still the rising feelings of panic and actually walk the last part of his journey to the museum. Stupid freaking self-esteem. Ame was right. What happened at Sacred Heart hadn’t been his fault. He’d trusted the wrong person. He did need to confront what had happened, not back down, not accept the lies that were spoken about him. He would one day. Just not today.
The police museum was the kind of building found in New York that was old and solid and hemmed in on all sides by tall office blocks. Nothing on the outside advertised the museum as even being there except a dark plaque on the wall. Daniel was quiet as he read the plaque.
“I’ve never visited here,” he said.
“Me neither.”
“I’ve wanted to, ever since I became a cop.”
They went inside and hovered by the shop for a moment while Daniel picked up a leaflet. They moved onto the displays, passing two police motorcycles and a large plastic horse in full regalia.
“Were you a cop straight from
college?” Chris asked when they were staring at a display for the fallen of 9/11. Somehow seeing the picture of the young men there reminded him of what Daniel was and that he didn’t actually know how long Daniel had been a cop.
“I worked with my dad for a few years straight after college.” Daniel shrugged. “It didn’t work out. Me in an office pushing papers was not the most useful thing for me to be doing. Being a cop was what I wanted and I was lucky that they took me.”
The painting of the first responders in front of the 9/11 ruins was so moving and he and Daniel gripped hands as they saw the replicas of badges of all people who had died in service, including those in 2001. Chris hadn’t realized that evidence for trials had been stored in the towers, and there was a lump of concrete that had melted in the heat and then cooled with a gun inside it. There were videos, photos, and the whole visit was sobering. The museum was quiet, respectful, but that didn’t stop the open affection Daniel was heaping on Chris in the form of hugs and holding hands. Everyone walking the floor—couples, families, people by themselves—seemed to need that connection to another human. It was a humbling experience and when they walked out the door real life seemed to slam them in the face. The museum sat directly in the financial district; a turn to the right and there was a beautiful fountain with benches.
“It was weird to see Al Capone’s gun,” Daniel said. He pulled a small photo out of his pocket. Both men had opted to have their photo taken in front of the height board; something offered to tourists. It had been Daniel’s idea to stand in front and assume a bad-guy pose. As soon as the photos were printed he swapped them. “You look kind of good as a criminal,” he commented with a laugh.
They sat and drank Starbucks coffee, staring up at towering office buildings where thousands of people worked during the week. Now the area was full of tourists just like them.
Chris had forgotten everything about the worries he had this morning. Daniel was attentive, interested in what he had to say, snarky, fun, and he knew so many cop stories that just made Chris laugh. They tried new coffees and laughed and teased, just two guys having a good day. They spoke of nothing any more serious than history or geography, and, by joint decision, had skipped lunch so they could pig out on pizza back at Daniel’s apartment.
Considering how rich his family was and the money Chris knew Daniel had in trust, the apartment was very modest. It was in a good neighborhood nestled in the Sunnyside section of Queens, had good views, and everything was clean and tidy.
Slumped on the sofa post-pizza, it was difficult to move and easy to talk. Daniel flicked channels, swallowing beer, settling on Return of the King.
“God, I love this film,” Chris pointed out as the opening monologue started.
“Aragon or Faramir?” Daniel smirked as he asked the question.
“Aragon, Boromir, Faramir, and Legolas, not necessarily always in that order.”
They watched in companionable silence for most of the film with only a few observations on the whole ‘Legolas staring into the distance thing’. He wished he were in the theater watching it for the first time with Daniel, but then, given what happened at the last film, maybe that wouldn’t have worked so well. When the film finished it was eleven thirty and Chris briefly contemplated pulling out his cell and calling a taxi.
It was just so damned hard to think of moving at this very moment, when he was warm and well fed and sitting with Daniel.
“You’re freakishly neat,” he finally observed. He leaned slightly so he knocked shoulders with Daniel, who was sprawled half on his side, his long legs spread out in front of him.
“I’m never here,” he said. He shrugged. “Well, not here long enough to make a mess. I eat, sleep, and breathe work I guess.”
“That’s real dedication.”
“There’s nothing else I wanted before.” Daniel moved slightly, sitting more upright, then he widened his arms. “Come here.”
Chris hesitated for a second or two, not quite understanding what he was being asked to do, then just as quickly he got with the program. As carefully as he could, aware his general clumsiness made his knees a danger to Daniel’s dick, he straddled Daniel’s lap and squirmed slightly to get comfortable. There wasn’t any real awkwardness; Chris leaned in, Daniel leaned up, and the kiss was electrifying. Lust sparked like a match to tinder, his dick hard, the need to push down only just held in check. Daniel groaned low in his throat as he deepened the embrace and slid both hands down to firmly cup Chris’s ass, encouraging Chris to scoot forward some more.
Chris was lost in the kiss; he could sit for hours just tasting this man, learning him, making him lose it hard. It seemed Daniel was well into that plan.
Daniel pulled back slightly, gasping for a lungful of air. “I didn’t have anyone,” he said, half closing his eyes, “it was easy to be dedicated to the job.” He would never
know how those words sent shivers down Chris’s spine. Chris buried both hands in silky curls, holding Daniel still, licking and biting his way into Daniel’s mouth, their tongues meeting and mating, the heat rising between them. They weren’t really even trying to get off, it was a lazy, uncomplicated make-out session, and Chris couldn’t remember one single occasion where he had ever done anything like this before. It had always been meet, fuck, goodnight, the end. This was different.
“Your glasses?” Daniel was asking a question, but it took a while for Chris to stop the exploration of Daniel’s neck with his tongue and lips.
“Sorry?” he managed to force out, blinking to focus on Daniel’s kiss-wet lips.
“You used to wear glasses. In college. I remember.” Shit, he was hoping Daniel had forgotten about the glasses. Horrible dark-rimmed nerdy spectacles that did nothing for him in any way.
Sudden shyness enveloped him. “Reading,” he said softly, “I just need them to read really.”
“I loved your glasses. You always looked so freaking hot in the library, all bookish and concentrating.”
Chris groaned. “I can’t believe, of all the things you remember, you had to remember my glasses.”
“Chris?”
“Hmmm?”
“Will you stay here tonight?”
Chris didn’t even have to think on the answer. “Yes,” he said quickly.
Daniel’s voice was low. “You know I had this fantasy way back when. I would go to the library after dark, and I would find you studying.” Chris eased off Daniel’s lap, adjusting himself so his stone-stiff dick pressing against his fly didn’t hurt as much.
Wondering what came next, Chris waited until Daniel had risen to his feet as well. The sudden halt to the whole making out business had thrown the proverbial bucket of ice water over Chris. He found himself thinking a little too clearly. He glanced over at the two lemon poppy seed muffins they had thought to have for dessert. There they sat, untouched, in the box emblazoned with Amelia’s on its top. This was surreal, it was going too fast. He needed to go now. Anxiety knotted in his chest, but Daniel was still talking and Chris forced himself to listen.
“You would be so buried in what you were learning, some dusty words spoken a hundred or more years ago.” Daniel flicked off the TV and the lights, then took Chris’s hand and led him through the room to the hall separating living space from sleeping.
Chris let himself be led and didn’t think for even one minute of pulling his hand away.
He was standing on the edge of something, ready to fall or fly. Whichever way it went, he needed this tonight. “Maybe it was Brönte, or Dante, or some contemporary tome that would have sent me to sleep in a heartbeat.”
“That doesn’t sound like the best fantasy in the world. I’m not seeing the sex angle there,” Chris murmured, trying to inject a lightness into the touch of Daniel’s words on his senses.
“But I haven’t finished the whole thing.” They reached the bedroom door and Daniel pushed it open. The soft blue LED glow from the alarm clock showed it was past
midnight and Daniel turne
d on the small bedside lamp. He smiled back at Chris, who hovered at the door. Daniel didn’t stop talking. Chris was mesmerized. “So we are all alone in the library, and I finally dredge up the courage to talk to you.”
“We talked all the time.” Bewildered, and clearly taking Daniel’s words at face value, Chris frowned a little.
“Grammar and sentence structure and meaning, never what I wanted to talk about. About how your brown-eyed expression was so thoughtful and that you have a speck of black in the brown of your left eye; about how I could imagine staring into those eyes all day. Feeling the need to write poetry about them. About you. I was so far gone.”
“Oh,” Chris replied faintly, allowing his shirt to slide off his shoulders after Daniel had gently unbuttoned it. The cool wash of air across his warm skin cascaded little shivers of sensation through his body.
“I needed, like breathing, to tell you how beautiful you were. How handsome, gorgeous, clever, cute you were—everything I wanted to say to you in real life but that I just held back.“ Hesitant movements from Chris pushed his own jeans away and down.
He knew that Daniel was removing his clothes—he didn’t want to stop it, and in a matter of minutes he was standing in front of Daniel just in his shorts. His panic surfaced so suddenly that it stole his breath, and he was unexpectedly angry at the lies Daniel was saying.
“You don’t need to—” The words snapped out louder than he’d intended. Gritting his teeth, he deliberately tried to relax each muscle. “You don’t need to make things up just to get me into bed. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m a sure thing.”
Daniel rocked back on his heels, a myriad of expressions sweeping across his face in quick succession: surprise, disbelief, and then, it seemed, acceptance. His hands had been fumbling with the belt of his own jeans, but he stopped. “I’m telling you the truth, Chris. Why can’t you believe me?”
New York Christmas Page 5
