A Fluid State

by Rob Browatzke

  And now he was lying here, in the same bed. It was the sleepover that hadn’t happened the night before. There was no Peter up the stairs. Andrew could see him sliding his pajama bottoms off, sliding under the covers, pressing up against Patrick...

  His dick was hard, and that was the most frustrating part of it all. He wanted Patrick so badly. And more, Patrick seemed to want him just as much. They needed to figure this out. If it was an experiment, which Andrew knew was likely, the only one who was going to get hurt was Andrew. He was the one likely to catch feelings, assuming he hadn’t already, which, he thought, looking over the sleeping god next to him, was pretty much too late.

  In the morning, they’d need to talk. First, he just had to sleep, and that was going to be hard given how hard he was. Briefly, he debated jerking off. Patrick was clearly out cold, and would probably sleep through anything, but that just felt wrong.

  Angrily, he rolled onto his side, his back to Patrick, shoved a pillow between his legs, and closed his eyes. If he couldn’t come, at least sleep could. Eventually.

  §

  When Andrew woke up, he was in bed alone. For a second, he wondered if he had dreamed the entire thing, but then he heard noises from the kitchen. Wiping the sleep crusties from his eyes, he opened the door and looked down the hallway.

  Patrick was making himself right at home. Andrew could smell coffee and could hear something sizzling in a pan. As he walked down the hall, he couldn’t help but try to remember the last time a man had not only spent the night but made breakfast in the morning.

  Patrick turned and smiled. “Morning,” he said.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Apology eggs. You didn’t have much here. Seriously, I don’t know how you don’t have more food in the house, but I figured the least I could do was make us something for breakfast. To make up for showing up here so drunk.”

  “You were pretty drunk indeed,” Andrew said, helping himself to a cup of coffee. “Do you remember everything?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. I’d hate for you to have forgotten that incredible sex.”

  Patrick looked at him, his mouth open. “What?”

  Andrew grinned. “Just kidding. You were begging for it, but I was a perfect gentleman.”

  “Oh. Good. I guess. Thanks.” He turned back to stove and flipped the eggs sizzling in a cast iron frying pan Andrew was pretty sure he had never actually used. “I probably was though.”

  “Probably was what?”

  “Begging for it.”

  “You go all in before a guy’s even had his coffee, hey? Aren’t you a little too hung-over to get this heavy this soon?”

  “Are we getting heavy?”

  “I think it’s inevitable. We clearly have some stuff we need to talk about.”

  “But eggs first?”

  “At least.”

  The toaster popped. “That was the last of your bread too,” Patrick said. “Your kitchen is very underused.”

  “I eat out a lot. Or order in.”

  “Doesn’t that get expensive?” He loaded the toast on a small plate, transferred the eggs to two other plates, and carried them over to the table.

  “Need a hand?”

  “Not now,” Patrick said, “now that I’m here.” He set the plates down.

  The table had butter, jam, and honey on it. There was cutlery laid out. “You made yourself at home.”

  “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” Andrew reached for a slice of toast as Patrick sat down. “It’s probably not as cheap as it could be,” he said, winding the conversation back, “but I hate cooking for one.”

  “Me too” He reached for the jam. “I can’t believe you don’t have peanut butter.”

  “I hate peanut butter.”

  “Who hates peanut butter?”

  “I dunno. Lots of people. Me, for one.”

  “What else do you hate?”

  “Food-wise?”

  “Or in general.”

  “Just peanut butter. I’m very easy going.”

  “Aside from your apparent random hatred of one of the best condiments ever made.”

  “You’re very defensive. Who knew you were such a fan of the nut butter?” Andrew wagged an eyebrow, and Patrick blushed, like Andrew knew he would.

  “And we’re back to sex.”

  “Seems that way. The eggs are good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Have you always been so handy in the kitchen?”

  “Yes. Christy hated cooking, so it usually fell to me. I’m no chef, but it’s okay, I think.”

  “Well, you’ve nailed breakfast and barbecue anyway.”

  “So you agree I’m good at nailing things?”

  Andrew smirked. “I can’t speak to that. I know I am though.”

  Patrick’s cocky smile faded. “I’ve been thinking about that too.”

  “About what?”

  “You know.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “The stuff. You know, the butt stuff.”

  Andrew smiled. “And what have you been thinking about it?”

  “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Get fucked, you mean.”

  “Yeah. I’ve done butt stuff before but...”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Not like that. With Christy. She let me try it a couple times.”

  “And?”

  “It was different.”

  “Different good?”

  “Just different. She didn’t really enjoy it, so we didn’t do it often.”

  “And why would she? Butt fucking is designed for guys. We’re the ones with the prostate.”

  “As in prostate cancer?”Patrick had a confused look on his face.

  “Well, yes, but when it’s not cancerous, it can make you feel very wonderful.”

  Patrick’s expression turned doubtful. “I dunno, Andrew.”

  “Well, I certainly wasn’t suggesting we do it right now.”

  “I know.”

  “But we do need to talk. Look, I appreciate the breakfast, and I certainly appreciate the interest, but what’s going on here, Patrick?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With you. With us. Like, are you gay?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Well, yes, it does. I mean, it doesn’t matter to me if, as a person, you’re gay or straight or bi or pan or whatever, but...”

  “Pan?”

  “Pansexual.”

  “What the fuck is pansexual?” He glanced over at the stove, and Andrew could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to sexify the frying pan.

  “It has nothing to do with cookware. Look, we can’t get derailed on that. It’s just about being attracted to more than two genders.”

  “So like male and female and what?”

  “Like, trans and enby and fluid. See, this is it entirely, Patrick. You don’t know this stuff. You’re processing a lot of new information, and I can’t just be your educator or whatever.”

  “That’s not what it is. That’s not what this is at all.”

  “But what is it?”

  Patrick sighed. “I don’t know Andrew. I wish I did, but I don’t.”

  “And that’s why we have to put a pin into it. Look, I’m a guy and I like getting off as much as anyone else, but eventually, I’m going to develop feelings and you’re not, and I’ll be the one that gets hurt when you decide that Patrick’s little excursion into gayland is over.”

  “Is that what you think? That it’s just about getting off? That it’s just physical and you’re the only one here feeling things?”

  “Oh, I know you’re feelings things. But horny isn’t an emotion, Patrick.”

  Patrick stared down at his nearly empty plate, pushing a bit of egg around with his fork. “I like you,” he said finally.

  “I like you too,” Andrew said, “but...”

  “Let me finish. I don’t just mean as a friend
I enjoy talking to and hanging out with and having some beers with.”

  “What are you saying? That you’re what? Romantically interested in me?”

  “I don’t know. Yes. I guess. Maybe.”

  “See? You don’t know. And while you’re figuring things out, I’m the one who just falls deeper.”

  Patrick looked up. “Are you falling for me?”

  Andrew took a deep breath and figured why not? It wasn’t even nine in the morning, and he’d already said more than he ever thought he’d have to say. “Of course I am, Patrick. You’re... you’re incredible. Anyone would fall for you. And that’s all the more reason why I can’t do this.”

  “It’s not as if you’re just a guinea pig or something.”

  Andrew smiled. “We aren’t supposed to use phrases like that anymore,” he said. “Animals are people too.”

  Patrick rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t, Patrick. I really don’t.”

  (But oh I wish I did).

  PATRICK

  “It’s like this,” he said. “You said you think that I’m on some vacation in gayland, but last night, when I was at Riders, that was the vacation, and it wasn’t one I enjoyed. The times we have hung out the last few weeks, things have been confusing and complicated, but they’ve also felt right.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That I like you. I don’t know where this is coming from, and I don’t know where this is going, and it’s the farthest thing from something I expected, but here we are.” He reached across the table and put his hand over Andrew’s. “I want to explore this. With you.”

  “Do you though?”

  “Yes. Come over tonight. Let me make you dinner.”

  “Like an actual date?”

  “Like an actual date.”

  Andrew pulled his hand away. “And if I say yes, and I come over, and we have a great time, and we eat, and chat, and say we even do more, what happens then? After? Later? In the morning? Do we have some secret relationship? Are you prepared to be out with me in public?”

  “Like as your boyfriend?”

  “Let’s not go with that kind of label, but yes, as a man who’s out on dates with another man. I can’t date someone who’s hiding in a closet.”

  “I’m not in any closet. Believe me, this is the first time these thoughts have ever crept through my brain. Is that what it was like for you?”

  “No. I always had those thoughts. If you’re being honest with me, and honest with yourself, and you’ve honestly never had attraction to another guy, then I don’t know what to say.”

  “I am being honest, and all I can promise is that I will continue to be honest. You said to me before that you’d be honest about anything I asked, no matter how uncomfortable. I can make that same promise. I’ll be honest about everything I’m feeling as long as you agree to do the same.”

  Andrew nodded. “I can promise that.”

  Patrick paused. “What are you feeling right now?”

  “Nervous. Scared. Terrified even.”

  “Me too.”

  “But also, I’m feeling that you’re incredible. That you must be so confused inside, but you’re handling that confusion with way more openness that I can imagine.”

  “I know what I want, Andrew, and right now, that seems to be you.”

  “That’s the kicker though, isn’t it? The ‘right now’. What happens when the right now wears off?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s take it one moment at a time, and see where we end up?”

  Andrew pushed his chair back from the table. “Well, the first moment is cleaning up, I guess, and since you cooked, I assume that means my turn to clean?”

  “Oh, I’ll help, in exchange for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A good morning kiss.”

  Andrew chuckled softly. “I guess I can manage that.”

  Patrick stood up and closed the distance between them. His left hand fell onto the small of Andrew’s back, and with his right hand, he held Andrew’s head still as he moved his lips closer. Andrew’s breath had a whiff of strawberry jam on it. Their lips met, softly at first but then with growing urgency.

  Maybe he couldn’t call himself straight anymore. This felt too good, too right. He loved kissing Andrew. It didn’t make sense. Damon and Mike wouldn’t understand it, and that didn’t matter. Christy would either freak or be turned on, and he couldn’t let himself think about that. Peter, well, Peter would probably understand – it was truly amazing what a great kid he was.

  Andrew pulled back. “Happy?”

  “For now,” Patrick said. “Actually, no.” He pulled Andrew back in and kissed him where his neck met his shoulder, then playfully licked him.

  Andrew laughed and squirmed away. “You, sir, are going to be trouble.”

  Patrick grinned. “Damn straight.” They both laughed.

  §

  Andrew had been over for dinner lots in the last while, but this was different. This wasn’t BBQ and beer in the backyard. If Patrick was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

  When he left Andrew’s, which was hard enough in itself because one goodbye kiss led to another kiss, and wasn’t it completely crazy that he was enjoying kissing another man to the point where he couldn’t bring himself to stop kissing him, but once he pulled away and Uber’ed home, he checked the fridge and was definitely disappointed in his options.

  What should he make? He loved to cook, and wanted this to be special. A quick Google search for “romantic dinner for two” had him off to the store, where he scooped ingredients into the cart without a spare thought for the fact that he had just used the word ‘romantic’ in context with another man.

  Some chicken thighs, some feta, some cherry tomatoes and mushrooms, and did he really want the garlic and onions because that might not work with the kissing he knew he wanted for dessert? It would be fine. At least, they’d have bad breath together. And a bottle of marsala cooking wine.

  He should probably get actual wine too, he realized. Then again, there was a lot of liquor involved in this relationship already.

  That made him stop short. Was it a relationship? There was a difference between exploring some curious new feelings, and actually being in a relationship with another man. There was no doubt it was more than sex. That was part, sure, maybe even a big part, but the way Andrew had sunk into his mind? That wasn’t just sex.

  At times like this, Patrick wished he had someone closer to talk to. Christy, he knew he could probably talk to, but he also knew that telling Christy would make it very real, and was he ready for that step?

  The answer was no.

  Not yet.

  But if dinner went well, if the feelings kept on the way they were, and if Andrew was feeling the same – and it seemed Andrew was – then he’d sit down with Christy and... and what? Come out? Was he gay? Was he bi?

  He looked around. The grocery store was busy, and he tried to assess if he was attracted to any of the other men there. He wasn’t. It didn’t make sense that he would only be attracted to one other man. Then again, he wasn’t feeling attracted to any of the women in the store either.

  Was there such a thing as an Andrewsexual?

  No. It didn’t matter. Tonight, he didn’t need to label it. He didn’t need to worry about telling Christy or Peter. He didn’t need to worry about what Damon or Mike might think. He didn’t need to worry about anything, except making this chicken Marsala and making sure everything turned out right.

  On his way home, the phone rang, with Andrew calling.

  “You better not be cancelling,” he said.

  “Not at all,” Andrew said. “I was just calling to see if you needed me to bring anything.”

  “I think I have everything.”

  “What are you making?”

  “Dinner.”

  “Funny guy.”

  “You’ll see. I didn’t grab wine.”

  “Shoul
d I?”

  “I thought we could maybe do this sober?”

  “I’m fine with that if you are.”

  “It’s not the booze talking.”

  “I know.”

  “Just checking.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven?”

  “Sounds good. So you don’t need me to bring anything at all?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Not even something for dessert?”

  “I thought you were dessert.”

  “Wow. I hope the dinner isn’t that cheesy.”

  Patrick felt the grin creep across his face. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

  “See you at seven, Patrick.” The line went dead.

  It was definitely not just sex, Patrick thought. He could feel his heart smiling, and that should have been weirder or scarier or something, but it wasn’t. It just felt good.

  ANDREW

  He’d been nervous before the date with Kent, but this, this was different. His palms were sweating like he was some seventeen-year-old on his way to prom. He was daring to believe though. Maybe Patrick wasn’t just experimenting. Maybe this was something more.

  There were red flags for days though. The alcohol, for one. It was good Patrick wanted tonight to be sober, although Andrew suspected that wouldn’t last. It wasn’t just the alcohol of course. There were other issues, namely the possibility...

  (Probability)

  (Thanks)

  ...the probability then that Patrick would change his mind, that he would decide guys (i.e. Andrew) weren’t for him, and go back to women, or maybe worse, would decide that guys were for him, but not Andrew. He’d dated a guy before who had just come out, and it had been hard to lose that guy to the scene.

  That was down the road though, and for tonight, all he had to do was enjoy a date (was it really a date? Patrick had called it a date, but really, was he ready to date another man?). The thought that it was a date made his heart beat faster. The thought that the date might lead to more, not just sex later (but oh god let there be sex later), but something more, that was what was making his palms sweat.

  It was all he could do, in the car on the way to Patrick’s, to remind himself to breathe in, to just go with the flow, and let things happen.

  He debated stopping for a flower. Would that be too corny, showing up with a rose or something? Would it scare Patrick off? Would Patrick see it as Andrew claiming the “man” role?