by Willa Okati
Whose fault had it been that he’d lain awake almost all night long?
Who’d gone back for a second and third round of wall-shaking sex with fits of laughter, incessant chattering and chain-smoking in between, despite their promises to keep the lid on?
Who had deprived him of so much rest that he’d slept through his alarm?
Billy.
Quentin threw off his blanket and sheet with a growl. He wasn’t a violent man by nature, and didn’t enjoy confrontation, but if Billy had been standing next to his bed just then, he’d have gotten a kick in the groin and a fist to the nose. Late on his very first day. Late! Quentin was never late. He made a point of punctuality, especially after Melissa had impressed upon him how important it was to always be on time.
He kicked the remainders of his covers free and stood. Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands through the short brown prickles of his hair to calm himself. Violence never solved anything. The horrid situation he’d gotten into, the one that sent him running from the deplorable “gay” scene toward the light…
There had been a man who’d been trouble—Quentin knew—but he’d been unable to help himself. A man who’d known his personal sexual desires were wrong, but hadn’t been able to deny them.
Quentin hadn’t understood. So oblivious! He’d gone about things misguidedly, not listening to the man’s doubts, encouraging him instead to “just relax”.
Bad advice.
In the end, the man who’d preyed on Quentin had tried to shoot him. In a flurry of passion, he had then turned the gun on himself. His shot at Quentin only went through the shoulder. The bullet used on himself drove deeply into his brain, ending his life in a heartbeat.
Despite his terror and shock, the realization had been immediate and stark. Quentin knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he had driven a confused man to death.
In the aftermath, Quentin’s mild wounds had been doctored at a hospital, but it was while he recovered—still in shock over what had happened—that a visitor from the Sainted Lady, who had heard about his plight, came to show him the error of his ways and saved his soul…
But that was history. A hard lesson learned. Now, Quentin had to deal with the present. If he and Billy were to get along at all, he’d have to sit down with the man and have a civilized, hopefully quiet talk about some house rules.
Yes. He’d just get dressed and make himself some breakfast. A healthy mind required a healthy body, and skipping the morning meal, the most important of the day, simply wouldn’t do. He’d eat his cereal with perhaps a banana and think about how to broach the subject that night. That wouldn’t do anything about his lateness, but at least he’d be prepared to face the day.
That was…unless Billy got in his way.
But surely Billy wouldn’t be up and about already. Unorthodox probably extended to sleeping in far past eight and keeping a haphazard set of office hours. Speaking of which, honestly, shouldn’t Ten Hawks have been a little more direct in his warning? Living with Billy was like being back in a student dormitory, not sharing an apartment with a fully ranked professor.
Quentin ran a hand down his stomach and grimaced when he hit a crusted spot. Dried-on semen. And he’d thought he’d cleaned himself up the night before. Fine, then, he’d take the time for a shower. A quick one, but thorough.
Grabbing up a towel, one of the good sort which Melissa had bought him and warned him not to leave displayed where others could steal them, Quentin opened the door and set foot out in the small hallway, headed for the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar and the lights off. He pushed it open, expecting an empty room.
He was wrong.
“Holy shit, man!” Billy exclaimed, then laughed. Quentin caught a glimpse of the man tucking himself back into his pair of jockey briefs. “You wanna knock or something when you head in here? Not that I mind you getting a look at the goods, but a guy likes a little privacy when he’s taking a whiz.”
Quentin began to simmer. “You were relieving yourself with the door open and the lights off?”
“Well, hey, I just woke up, you know? Enrique’s still asleep. Lights are too damn bright before I get my first cup of coffee.” Billy busied himself with washing his hands at the sink. “Nice body there, Professor. You work out?”
The urge to cover himself with his arms almost overcame Quentin. He managed to stand there stiffly, deliberately not looking at the way the tight black cotton hugged Billy’s ass while he waited for the man to finish. “I lift weights. When the weather permits, I jog.” Melissa had taught him to love running. When they’d last gone out together, he’d finally been able to keep up with her. The woman could sprint like an ocelot.
“Very cool.” Billy shook off his hands, splattering water, and reached for a small towel hanging on a hook. After he’d dried his fingers, he re-hung the terrycloth at a crooked angle.
Quentin itched to straighten it out.
“We should run together some day,” Billy offered blithely. “If you ever want to. And hey, remember knocking next time. I’m gonna get a cup of java and fry up something for breakfast.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Sorry about the noise, but Enrique and I worked up a pretty good appetite, if you know what I mean.”
“I know. I heard you. All night long.”
Billy burst into chuckles. “Nothing like a man with endurance, huh? Or, in your case, a woman. Gotta love it when they can go for hours.” He pounded Quentin on the shoulder, just as if they were friends. The warmth of his hand seemed to leave a print on Quentin’s skin. “Bathroom’s all yours, friend.”
I am not your friend.
“Thank you,” Quentin said despite his rising anger. “I’ll be sure to shut the door.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, sure. Not like I’m going to sneak in here and ogle you naked, right?” Billy winked and sauntered off, his perfectly rounded ass outlined in clear relief through the jockey shorts. “Enrique, you feel like some bacon?” he called.
Quentin shut the bathroom door. And locked it. God, not only was Billy a night owl, but a morning person as well. Insult to injury.
Why did he have a feeling that the day could only go downhill from there?
* * * * *
Clean from head to toe and dressed in his version of office casual—a crisp white button-down shirt over a Sweetwater T-shirt, paired with fresh new khakis—Quentin emerged from his room and aimed himself toward the kitchen. He could hear the sounds of pans clattering and smell the aroma of oily, greasy food thick in the air.
He wouldn’t let it get to him. He’d have his cereal and be on his way.
“Enrique, you’re sure you have to go so soon?” Billy was asking as Quentin rounded the corner. He got an eyeful of the professor hanging on to the moving man, swinging by his waist. “Bet the moving company would understand if you took another day.”
“The boss is already gonna be plenty pissed that I stayed overnight. You are el Diablo, so tempting.” As Quentin watched, Enrique planted a kiss on Billy’s forehead. “I have to get back to work. Wild night, though, eh? I ever come back into town, we should do this again.”
“Count on it.” Billy was all but purring. He slid his hands up Enrique’s back and tilted his head to give the man a thorough kiss. The moving man gave in without a struggle, pulling Billy close. Quentin saw their tongues slide into one another’s mouths before he turned his head, cheeks too hot for comfort.
How could Billy be so casual about what he was when…
Billy broke off the kiss with a loud pop. “Okay, then, get going. See if I care.” He gave Enrique a hard spank on the ass. “But I’m gonna hold you to your promise. Next time you’re in town you call me, understand?”
“Si, si. Telefono. You don’t think I’d miss out on another night like this, do you?”
“Better not.” Billy gave Enrique a push in the direction of the door. “Get back to work.”
“You have to work yourself, no?”
Billy sat in a folding chair drawn up to
the table, and threw Enrique a wink. “I didn’t post a schedule. If there are any students waiting, they can hang on until I’m done with my breakfast.”
“We finished eating.”
“I didn’t have dessert.” Billy picked up his ever-present pack of cigarettes from the detritus of plates, half-empty glasses and saucers. He pulled out one long cylinder and lit up, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “There. Almost done.”
Enrique chortled under his breath as he opened the door. “See you later, then, if you do not kill yourself with these in the meantime.”
“Only the good die young, my friend. I figure I have a good sixty years left.”
Shaking his head, still chuckling, Enrique headed through the door, and hopefully out of Billy’s life. Billy watched him go, then turned to Quentin. “You sure do like to watch, don’t you? But then again, I’m guessing after last night you like to listen, too. You’re a one-man journalism team.”
Quentin gave a start. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring, drinking in every detail of the moving man’s departure and Billy’s antics. “I—I—” he stuttered.
Billy cracked up. “Come on, man, it was a joke.” He glanced over the full and cluttered table, then held up a platter with some scrambled eggs. “You want the leftovers? I think they’re still warm. A guy like you needs fuel for the busy, busy day I bet you’ve got planned.” His eyes sparkled. “All that studying, making nice with the kids, studying some more, calisthenics, studying again, and maybe finishing up with half a slice of bread and a glass of water. Least I can do is see you get a good start to the day.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “Aw, shit. I forgot to open the window again. Here, let me take care of that.” He stood, still in nothing but his jockey shorts, and headed for the small kitchen window.
“No! I mean…no. It’s quite all right. I’ve lived through a day and night of your incessant smoking. There’s no time for pretending it’s not choking me now.” Quentin’s temper was rising again despite his determination not to let Billy know he’d gotten to him. “Just…go back to your breakfast. Dessert. All I want is a bowl of cereal and I’ll be on my way. You can go back to doing whatever you want.”
“Nah. Once I finish this, I’ve gotta get dressed and head down to the faculty building myself. We could walk together.”
“Thank you, but no. I prefer to walk alone.”
“I bet you do.” Billy sounded both amused and derisive.
Blast his smug hide.
As Quentin busied himself with finding a bowl and a spoon, he could feel the weight of Billy’s gaze drinking him in from the top of his head to the bottom of his sensible Oxford shoes. “You do a lot of walking alone, Q?”
“I hardly see how that’s your affair.” Quentin hunted around for his cereal and finally found it stuffed behind three grapefruits and two boxes of powdered milk. “What did I tell you about putting fruit in the cupboards, Billy?”
“Geez, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I always kept the fruit put up when I had my own place. But hey, if it bothers you, I’ll take it all out. Make a nice bowl for the middle of this table.” Billy tapped the littered surface. “Would that bring you happiness and joy?”
“It would be a start.” Quentin poured his cereal into the bowl, headed for the refrigerator and took out what had been a full gallon of milk. At the moment, it was decidedly on the half-empty side. Weighing the container in one hand, he glared at Billy.
Billy grinned back at him. “Oops. But hey, no worries. I’ll buy another jug when I’m down in the city later on.”
“I see.” Quentin poured a measured amount of milk over his Grape-Nuts. Not too little and not too much. Capping the container, he put it back where it belonged. Even if he had to push a partially filled glass of pop and an apple with two bites in it out of the way. Milk belonged on the second shelf, not the first, where it could be easily reached.
Billy would just have to learn these things. They wouldn’t be able to live together otherwise.
Heat and color flooded Quentin’s face again as he thought about the implications. Here he was in an apartment with a flamboyantly gay man, not only one who’d kissed him but who’d just sent an impromptu lover off after a night’s wild fucking. He lived with Billy. Lived with him. One could read all sorts of things into the situation.
He refused to think about how, at one time, sharing living space with a man like Billy would have been his dream.
The man seemed in fine good humor as Quentin approached the table. He shuffled flatware and mugs out of the way, clearing a space for Quentin’s bowl. “Health-food cereal. Why am I not surprised? A guy like you would never go for the Fruity Pebbles.”
“I think there’s enough fruit in this house already.” Quentin sat down and dipped his spoon into his bowl.
He’d just taken one measured bite when Billy leaned back, exhaled a cloud of smoke and said, “So what did you think about last night?”
Quentin nearly choked.
“Seriously, man,” Billy went on, oblivious to Quentin’s struggle and fit of coughing. “Enrique. I love a man with caramel skin. Never been disappointed. Italian men make the best lovers. This guy, though, he was a close second. A prick like you would not believe and he knew how to use it, too.”
Quentin managed to swallow. “Billy, please. I don’t need to know the sordid details of your sex life.”
“No? Figured it might loosen you up a little. You have, what, a girlfriend, right? You never shared morning-afters with someone?” Billy tapped the tabletop with a fork, making the tines dance along the edge of a plate. “Come on, you have to have done it one time or another.”
“No. I respect Melissa’s privacy, as she respects my own.” Quentin took another bite of cereal and chewed determinedly. “I won’t be giving you any details.”
“That’s a shame, man. Nothing like bonding over the way you bounced the springs.” Billy hummed with seeming contentment. “Enrique, now, he talked to me about his past lovers. You know he got it on once in the back of his truck with a Texan he’d just helped move onto a ranch? Ride ‘em, cowboy. He said I beat that guy by an inch.”
“An inch of what?” Quentin asked before he could stop himself. Billy whooped and slapped Quentin on the leg as Quentin closed his eyes in embarrassment. “I see.”
“Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, that’s what I say.” Billy crushed out his cigarette and lit a second one. “You mind if I stick around? We’re walking to the faculty building together, after all.”
“We are not,” Quentin repeated, snapping out the words. “Don’t play games with me. And for the record, Dr. Jennings, I have no interest in being friends with you. It seems I need to repeat myself on this point. We share living space, but that is where things end.”
“Nah. You live with someone, you’ve gotta get to know them.” Billy made an expansive gesture with his cigarette. “You’ll love me in a while. I have a way with people.”
“So I’ve seen.”
“Nah, nah, not like that.” Billy was utterly unsquashable. “I mean I get under people’s skin, or so I’ve been told. Lots of people hate me when they first meet me.” He twinkled with good humor. “I win ‘em over, though. Never met someone I didn’t get along with sooner or later.”
“I’m afraid you’re out of luck this time.” Quentin scooped up the last spoonful of cereal. “And I’m not waiting for you. As soon as I’ve rinsed this out, I’ll be on my way. Alone.”
“Okay, fine, so you hate me right now. I’m a big boy.”
“So I’ve seen.”
“I can cope.” Billy leaned back. “So why don’t you get it all off your chest? Tear me a new one. You’ll feel better. Go ahead and tell me what you’d like to do with me. A good punch in the nose? Uppercut to the jaw? Fist to the stomach?”
“I’m not inclined to violence.” Quentin stood to carry his dish to the sink, focused on rinsing it out. “I do suggest that you clear away your mess before ants discover a feast, howe
ver.”
“Shit, we have ants?” Billy sat up straighter and looked around himself. “I don’t see any.”
“Hypothetical ants!” Quentin barked. He turned on the faucet with a vicious jerk. “You take the least important things as if they were the most serious, and when it’s something that counts—”
“Okay, cool. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Billy leaned back again. Quentin couldn’t help turning to look at the man. He sat spraddle-legged in his chair, knees wide apart, exposing muscled thighs and strong calves, a defined chest and…and…
Quentin tore his gaze away from what Billy carried between his legs. He couldn’t look. Shouldn’t. Wouldn’t. “I am going to clean up after myself,” he said through teeth that were nearly gritted shut, “and then I am going to work. I suggest you do the same.”
“There’s time.”
“There is not enough time!” Quentin slammed his bowl into the bottom of the sink. “Dr. Jennings, you clearly lack a sense of what matters in life.”
“See, that’s where we have a difference of opinion. I think that the small things are what count. Every little crumb that goes into making a day isn’t just a crumb, it’s a feast. Pounce on every little morsel and enjoy it with all your might. That’s what makes a good life. Anything else is just going through the motions.”
Quentin pinched the bridge of his nose to try and ward off an impending headache. This wasn’t going to work. He and Billy had no chance of getting along at all.
“Go ahead,” Billy encouraged. “Even if you don’t say it out loud, think about what you’d like to do with me.”
Force you to wear a tie and be in your office at the start of the day. Have you close the bathroom door while you’re inside. Clean up the mess you’ve made. Eat healthily and sensibly.
Kiss me again.
Run your fingers through my hair.
Press your body close to mine.
Lie on your back while I’m between your legs, with your hands holding on tight…
Quentin drew in a deep, shocked breath and opened his eyes. Billy sat with his head tilted to one side, looking at Quentin as if he could read his mind. “See?” he asked softly. “The imagination’s not such a bad thing, is it?”
