For a second, Laurie wanted to insist Liam take him home. But he shook his head. “No. I'll be fine.”
“I'm gonna go catch a cab, then,” he said and tossed Laurie a salute. “Best of luck. I hope I see you again.” He leaned over and shouted toward the car. “Remember, Maurer, you promised to be good!” Liam laughed, and when Laurie turned to see why, he saw Ed's hand above the roof of the car, middle finger raised and aimed in Liam's direction.
“Good night,” Liam called, and then he was gone.
Laurie walked back up to the car, feeling strangely out of body. He told himself it was his confession, but he knew it was more than that. He came around the rear bumper of his car, came all the way up beside Ed's door, which was cracked open and had Ed's foot sticking out of it. Then he opened the door and looked down at the man he'd agreed to host for the evening, the man whose shirt was unbuttoned three buttons down, who was swaying in his seat, whose dark hair was a mess, whose beard was rough and visible against his flushed cheeks—whose dark eyes were looking up at Laurie with bleary but clearly sensual promise.
It wasn't his confession making Laurie feel light-headed. It was Ed.
He managed to get him out of the car without incident, and he even got them into the elevator just fine. Down the hall was tricky because Ed had a penchant for navigating them into a wall, but Laurie got them eventually to his door and propped Ed against the frame as he fumbled with his key. But when he closed the door and turned around and saw Ed standing there in his entryway, filling the space, smiling his silly, drunken Ed grin, Laurie faltered.
Ed's face fell. “I'm sorry,” he said.
“For what?” Laurie asked.
Ed smiled again, but this smile was a grim one, and he gestured unhappily to himself. “For this. For being drunk. For being a problem. For you having to babysit me.” He glanced at Laurie, looking sad. “Sorry you have to settle for a partner like me now instead of someone who made you feel like you were home.”
Laurie felt dizzy. He knew he should tell Ed he'd misheard, that it was partner dancing, not Paul, that made him feel that way. That actually he and Paul had, he knew in hindsight, hadn't worked as well as they could have on the floor, let alone romantically. But he couldn't say anything about that, not now, not with Ed standing in his hallway, filling it. Ed, smelling like beer. Ed, who had held his hand and told him the past wasn't his fault. Ed, who drove him crazy, but who, he realized when he was with him, never let him feel alone.
As he stood there staring, letting all those thoughts swirl around him, he decided to stop fooling himself and admit, at least to himself, the real reason he'd been so eager to take Ed home.
“Laurie?” Ed said, uncertain.
But Laurie still didn't know what to say. So he stepped forward, pushed Ed back against the closet door, and kissed him.
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Chapter Seven
sacada: a displacement, to move your partner's leg out of the way gently with your own.
Ed woke to sunlight streaming through a strange window onto the strange bed where he lay naked. The bed beneath him was soft, but it was little comfort, because Ed felt like complete crap. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted like dog shit, and he had to piss so bad his teeth were floating.
Beside him, someone stirred in sleep.
Ed shut his eyes and said a silent, desperate prayer. Then he told his bladder to shut the fuck up, and he did his best to assess. He began by taking a deep breath.
He let it out with relief. He'd smelled man. Women smelled soft and fresh. Women smelled vaguely sweet. And women's bedrooms tended to smell of hairspray and fabric softener and—well, women. Men, even the fussy ones, smelled muskier. Sharper. An edge of something spicy. Savory. Yummy, as far as Ed was concerned.
This was a man smell. This was a man's room. Which meant he'd gone home with a man. Thank fucking God.
Ed then focused his attention with some trepidation on his ass.
It felt fine. Bit of gas, maybe, but mostly his backside felt just like a plain old ass. Nobody had fucked him, or if they had, they weren't anybody to write home about. But probably nothing had happened. So no condomless orgies. Ed thanked God again. And then he drew another breath, gathered his courage, and turned to open his eyes and start trying to ID the stranger he had fucked.
But when he saw who was there, he nearly pissed the bed. Because the man lying next to him was not a stranger. It was Laurie.
Blinking didn't change it either. It seriously was Laurie Parker lying—also naked—beside Ed in the bed, in the very nice, high thread count pristine white sheets. Laurie's dark blond hair was beautifully mussed over his pillow, and he was asleep, so his features were soft and relaxed, making him look exquisitely beautiful. Pretty. Laurie was handsome, yes, but he looked pretty now, like a china statue. His cheeks were pale but stained pink, and his lips were just flush enough to draw attention to them. Relaxed. He looked so relaxed and at peace, lying there.
I am lying in bed with Laurie. Naked. In bed. With Laurie.
Ed blinked. What the hell? What the hell?
Laurie—naked.
With him.
Laurie had gotten naked with him.
I fucked Laurie. Heat diffused through Ed.
And then the cold, horrible reality of it hit Ed like a defensive tackle.
I fucked Laurie, and I don't remember doing it.
The thought drew a strangled, anguished sound out of him, and the noise woke Laurie, and then Ed was staring down, horrified and openmouthed, as beautiful, gorgeous, fucking lick-me-pretty Laurie looked up at him blearily and smiled. And then woke up enough to read Ed's expression, and he tried to withdraw.
Ed's hand shot out and stopped him, gripping his shoulder. “Laurie?”
Laurie lifted his chin. “Yes?”
Ed reeled. “Laurie?” He felt like the world was sliding out from beneath him. It had to be a mistake. How could he fuck Laurie and not know? How did they go from polite Laurie to naked Laurie? “Laurie—we—Did we—You aren't—I am—” He shook his head and dug his fingers into Laurie's shoulder. “Laurie?”
Laurie reached up, disengaged Ed's grip on his shoulder, tugging the sheet up to the top of his armpits as he lay back on his pillow. “Yes?”
This posture sent off warning bells for Ed, but he was having a hard enough time just sussing out his situation, let alone finessing it. “Laurie—did we? You and me? Did we—” God! He couldn't say it.
“Have sex?” Laurie supplied for him patiently.
Ed nodded. He felt like he was steeling himself for the answer, but he couldn't tell which answer he was hoping for.
Laurie looked like he were considering. Finally, he shrugged. “It depends on your definition.”
Ed shut his eyes and ran a hand over his face. “What—what did we do?”
“Nothing that warrants the kind of horror you seem to be experiencing,” Laurie replied. His tone was sharp. And clipped. And pissed.
Ed clutched his hand to his head. “The last thing I remember is being at work! How—how? How did I get from—and you—and—”
I didn't even know you liked me!
He looked at Laurie's naked chest, thought of his naked body beneath the sheet, of how he'd seen it and possibly explored it and didn't remember.
Ed groaned. “I'm such a stupid fucker.” He drew the blanket up, all the way over his head to hide it in his misery.
Then he realized what else was under the blanket and quickly opened his eyes.
Laurie realized too and rolled to the side, pinning part of the sheet beneath his body and effectively shrouding himself from Ed's view. Annoyed, Ed came back out from the covers and glared at Laurie. But Laurie glared right back.
“You're welcome, by the way, for taking you home and keeping you from killing yourself in some drunken fit. And for cleaning up the bathroom floor, and putting up with your pawing at the bar—”
“We were at
a bar?” Flashes of memory came back, and Ed sat up. “Matt's! We were at Matt's! We—”
The act of sitting bolt upright with a hangover caught up with him. He groaned and sank weakly back to his pillow again.
“Yes. I came to Matt's after you didn't come to class, and Vicky called me frantic because you were either drunk or hurt or maybe both, and you were upset and asking for me.”
Ed frowned, digesting this. It sounded vaguely familiar or at least plausible. “What happened to me?”
“Nothing. I called you, you made no sense whatsoever, and your friend Liam told me how to get to where you were. I sped all the way over, worried sick.”
Ed turned to him, surprised. And touched. “You were worried about me?”
“Yes, because I'm an idiot.” Laurie's cheeks were flushed now. “Because there you were, not hurt, just sloshed with your football buddies.”
This, now—this felt familiar. “Yeah. I sort of remember.” Ed beamed. “Yes! I remember you showing up! I do! I remember!” He deflated again. “And that's it. Just your face, you sitting next to me at the table.”
You looked worried.
“You made me eat a greasy hamburger with cheese inside it. You wouldn't let me leave, and so when Liam said someone had to sit with you to make sure you were okay, I volunteered.” He flattened his lips, looking disgusted.
Ed wasn't disgusted. He was shocked. And touched. “You did all that for me?”
“Yes,” Laurie snapped.
Why? But Ed knew better than to say that out loud. So he just looked up at Laurie and said, “Thank you.”
Laurie snorted and rolled onto his back.
Ed rolled to his side and reached for him. When Laurie lifted a hand to block the touch, Ed captured his hand instead. “So you took me home. And we had sex,” he prompted. “Of sorts.”
“Regretfully, yes,” Laurie admitted.
Ed laced his fingers with Laurie's. “What sort of sex?” When Laurie didn't answer, Ed slid his thumb down the back of Laurie's hand, stroking encouragingly. “Since you're giving it restrictions, I'm assuming there was no penetration?”
Now Laurie looked really pissed. “You think I'd let you fuck me when you were so drunk you don't remember what even happened?”
“You might have fucked me,” Ed pointed out.
“I considered it, but then you started vomiting, and the urge passed.”
Laurie delivered the line so drily that Ed couldn't tell if that was just a barb or if he'd really almost fucked him. But the thought of being that close to being with Laurie, with Laurie all the way, pierced Ed in a yearning ache, and he went still. His bladder was starting to scream at him, its insistence that he urinate now exquisitely intense, but Ed shoved the need back down and focused on Laurie.
“So what did we do?” He wasn't whispering, but he was speaking very quietly. “What happened?” When Laurie said nothing, Ed stroked his hand again, pleading now. “Please. Tell me.”
He'd expected to have to beg more, to cajole. He'd expected, at best, that Laurie would either stammer out the minimal details or throw them at Ed like knives. He was ready for either one. He was not, in any way, prepared for what actually happened, for Laurie to pull his hand back and lie there, still staring up at the ceiling as he gave Ed, in exquisite, erotic, and naked detail, the truth.
“You'd been touching me all night,” Laurie began. “If you weren't hanging on me, you were pressing against me or touching my shoulder or my neck or my hand. When I tried to leave without you, you looked at me with such a betrayal that I couldn't bring myself to go without bringing you along. In the car you didn't touch me, not much, but you talked to me, asking me about myself. About my past. And because I was feeling foolish, I told you, and you seemed to understand. Probably because you were so drunk. But I wasn't thinking about that, not then. I was just feeling heard and a little vulnerable, but I felt safe with you. And it was because of that, I suppose, that when we were both standing inside my apartment, alone, you looking at me with longing again, that I kissed you.
“I kissed you against the wall. You kissed me back. And then you dragged your mouth across my cheek, dug your hands into my hair, and you started to whisper. You told me you thought I was beautiful. ‘So beautiful,’ you kept saying. ‘So, so beautiful.’ I tried to kiss you again, to shut you up, but you wouldn't stop talking.”
Ed wanted Laurie to stop talking now. He did think Laurie was beautiful. He thought that all the time. But he'd never meant to say it. He sure as hell never meant to say it and not remember.
Laurie kept going, but the words were coming out stilted and halting, like he didn't want to say them any more than Ed wanted to hear them.
“You told me I was beautiful when I danced. You told me that when you watched me move, it made you ache inside. You told me you wanted to move with me. You told me you wanted to move inside me. And there in the hall, you pressed me down to my knees, talking to me all the time, telling me beautiful, drunken, slurred things, and after I helped you unbutton your pants, you put your fingers in my hair and drew me close, and then, yes, you did indeed move inside me.”
Ed, full of arousal and despair, shut his eyes, unable to take any more of this. But Laurie went on, merciless.
“At some point we moved to the bedroom, where we kissed some more, and then you said more pretty, silly things. About how you thought about dancing with me all the time. About how alive it made you feel. And then you slid down my body, kissing and whispering, and then you took me in your mouth this time. You pushed my legs back, and you made love to me with your mouth and your hands, sucking me, stroking me, and I gave in and let go to you. I didn't think about anything, just what you were doing to me, and I let go. Like I don't think I have for a long, long time.”
Stop, Ed tried to whisper, but his throat was too dry to work.
“And then,” Laurie went on, rueful, “you got sick.”
Ed winced and shut his eyes tighter.
“You made it to the bathroom but not the toilet. You apologized. A lot. I told you not to worry, and we cleaned you up. Got your teeth brushed, your body cleaned off, and your stomach calmed down. I got you back in bed, finished cleaning, then stood in the hall, trying to decide if I should sleep beside you or take the couch. And then you called out to me, so I went in, and you talked me back out of the pajamas I'd put on and into bed beside you. You pressed kisses against my forehead and whispered tender gibberish, and then you went to sleep.”
He paused, and Ed, thinking he was done, dared to open his eyes. It was a mistake, because he got to watch Laurie's face harden, going from soft and moved to hard and angry as he added, “And then you woke up and looked at me with horror, and I realized it had all just been drunken lunacy. Which serves me right.”
The story had disarmed Ed, but this last was a cleat right in the center of his gut. He tried to speak again, but his throat wasn't just dry, it was swollen shut. So Ed tried to reach for Laurie, but his hand wouldn't move. Nothing about him worked. Even his bladder had given up vying for attention. He just lay there, stunned. Completely, utterly stunned.
And then the chorus of “Piece of Me” began to chirp happily from across the room, which meant that Ed's phone was ringing and that it was work.
Work. Ed rolled back over, saw the clock on the nightstand, and swore under his breath as he staggered out of bed and toward his pants. They were lying neatly folded over some kind of rack until Ed retrieved them to fumble in the pocket for his phone.
“'Lo?” he ground out.
“Ed?” his supervisor, Tracy, asked. She sounded harried. “Ed, where the hell are you?”
Ed dropped the pants and rubbed the side of his face. Oh God in heaven, he had to piss. He wandered toward the door on autopilot and across the hall to the bathroom. “Sick,” he said, then flipped up the toilet lid, leaned against the sink so he could stay upright, and gave his bladder its longed-for release.
“Why didn't you call in?”
&n
bsp; “Sick,” Ed said again. He shivered at the pleasure of a bladder no longer full to the point of pain. “Threw up.”
“Ed, we have the presentation to senior management today. I need you here.” She paused, then added, “Ed, are you—are you urinating?”
“When's the meeting?” Ed gave himself a shake before flushing.
“Two,” Tracy said, “but—”
“I can be in by twelve thirty,” Ed said. “But you're gonna want to put me in the back.”
He could feel Tracy's tension through the phone, and he empathized but only distantly. “I gotta go.” Ed's throat felt thick again. “See you later.”
“Ed!” Tracy called out, but Ed just pushed End, and he didn't hear her anymore.
After staring at the phone for a few seconds, Ed lifted his gaze to the door. Laurie. He was there, waiting in the other room, lying there pissed as hell. Laurie, who had wanted him. Laurie, who had blown him. Laurie, who had kissed him. Laurie, whom he had blown, who had cleaned Ed up when he'd been sick after—
Laurie. Laurie.
What am I supposed to do now?
Ed stood there, silent, waiting for the answer, but it never came.
Eventually he put the phone down on the edge of the counter, wiped his face with his hand, and climbed into the shower.
Ed was tempted to stay there all day, to hide under the warm water and hope it wore him down enough to send him into the drain. But eventually he made himself move. He washed his hair. He soaped off his body, trying not to think about Laurie's mouth moving across it as Ed pushed his fingers into that soft blond hair. He rinsed out his mouth and used one finger as a toothbrush, then all of them as a comb for his hair. Finally, he tucked his towel around his waist and left the sanctuary of the bathroom.
Laurie was in the kitchen, fully dressed, reading something on the counter. He didn't look up when Ed came in.
“I don't have much for food just now,” he said, not sounding too apologetic about it. “But I could probably produce some toast and coffee.”
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