by L. J. Hamlin
Petrichor
By L.J. Hamlin
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2019 L.J. Hamlin
ISBN 9781646560509
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
Petrichor
By L.J. Hamlin
Breaking the Rules
Cherry Bomb
In Love with Zeus’s Son
Love and Cake
Lover’s Lane
Luck of the Irish
Nurse Levi
Will You Be the Wolf to My Captain Dee?
Breaking the Rules
“Hello, you guys all know me pretty well. We’ve been going to group therapy together for a long time. I started coming right after my diagnosis, and you’ve all been a great help to me, and I lost my leg along the way, lost people I thought of as friends, became closer to my family—a lot has happened in the past two years, and I’m still going to need you guys, but I’m happy to say, that as of my last test, and the results I got yesterday, I’m clear on cancer,” Ian Reid says, standing at the front of the room, and his smile is like nothing Greg Jones has ever seen before. It’s like a flower slowly blooming under the light of the sun, and it’s not the first time Greg has seen that image in his mind when thinking about Ian since he joined this support group for anyone affected by cancer in anyway.
The room applauds Ian’s announcement, and some people go to hug him or shake his hand, but Greg waits, waits for the group to break apart. Then Greg taps Ian on the shoulder and stops him before he goes for refreshments. Greg hugs him, making sure not to linger too long, not wanting to give away his massive crush in a room full of people, especially as some people in the group follow the rule of no dating among group members. Greg plans to break that rule, but not right away.
“Thank you for not telling anyone after I told you. I wanted you to know because you’ve been such a great friend, but everyone else I wanted to tell all at once. I’m just so happy. I mean, you know my story.” He runs a hand over his short hair, only just growing back after he lost it all to treatment. Greg’s lost his, too, and it hasn’t grown back. Ian had broken his leg and found out he had bone cancer. He’d had to have the leg removed, and it was his mother who’d found the group for him. “If I can do anything at all for you,” Ian went on, “just let me know.”
And that was exactly the kind of opening Greg had been hoping for. “Actually, I do have a favour I wanted to ask you,” Greg admits.
“Of course, anything. You’re one of my best friends, Greg. You’ve helped me keep upbeat; you got me to go see a doctor when I was depressed. No one else convinced me to do that, not my family, not people I knew before the cancer. I would do a hell of a lot for you, even if it’s illegal,” Ian says, and he sounds so serious, it makes Greg feel strange. It’s hard to explain. It’s not like he didn’t know he was Ian’s friend, and he knows he’s helped Ian, but hearing Ian say it like that makes his insides flutter.
“Why would it be illegal?” Greg frowns.
“I don’t know, but you seem really nervous about it, so I figured you needed to rob a bank or something.” Ian shrugs.
“As expensive as treatment is, I don’t need to rob a bank quite yet. But I am nervous; I have my first nude modelling job since—well, how do I put this delicately?—since they cut off one of my balls and I lost all my hair. And while the lack of body hair won’t be an issue, I am kind of worried about the rest of it. Everyone said they’re cool with it, but I don’t think this photographer has ever liked me, so it’d be reassuring to have a friendly face there.”
“You want me to come with you?”
“Yeah, if you’re free this Friday, I’d really appreciate it. I’ve regained the weight I lost during chemo, my muscle definition is almost back to what it was, but I had what you once called Fabio hair before. Now I’m bald, and no one apart from my doctors and my brother have seen my dick since they removed my ball.” Greg is honestly terrified about the photo shoot but trying to play it cool. He’s been a model since he was a kid, and focusing on nude modelling since he turned eighteen ten years ago.
He’s not modelled much since he got sick, and what he has done has been fully clothed, and he’s not felt as comfortable or as confident as he once did. He used to be the guy who loved having his picture taken, for work and when out with friends. He loved attention. He’d always been the good looking one in the group; he’s used to admiring second looks everywhere he goes. Now people look at him differently, treat him differently. He used to be beautiful, and people called him shallow for it. Now he has photographers and people telling him he’s brave for having his picture taken. Fighting cancer has been the hardest thing he has ever done, but he doesn’t feel like he needs a pat on the back from people he hardly knows; it feels condescending, especially since those people are nothing like the ones here in the group, who know exactly what he’s going through.
“Why has your brother seen your dick?” Ian frowns.
“I was worried I looked weird with one ball and that guys would laugh at me when they saw it when I finally went on a date,” Greg admits.
“I hope he told you it doesn’t matter. I’m not the biggest social butterfly, and I’ve never dated a guy who’s been in your situation, but I’ve been on dates since I lost my leg, had sex since I lost my leg, so I understand how you feel, at least a little. I thought no one would be attracted to me, I thought it’d creep people out when I took off the prosthetic, but it hasn’t been like that,” Ian says firmly.
“Thanks, but will you come anyway? It’ll just be nice to have a friend with me, if I freak out. You’re good at calming people down,” Greg asks.
“Of course, I’ll come. Text me the details. I’m going to talk to a few people now, but try not to stress too much before Friday. Text me if you feel stressed. I’m here for you man.” Ian pats his back and heads off towards Mick, the man who runs their group.
Greg hangs out a while longer, grabs a coffee, and talks to a few people, and waves to Ian when he leaves. He really hopes he’s not going to make a fool of himself on Friday.
* * * *
Greg has had his makeup done, and he’s hanging around just off set wearing nothing but a robe next to Ian, who looks great. He always dresses well, and sure Greg has met better looking guys—he works with models all the time—but none of them have caught his attention like Ian has. Greg has been caught from the moment Ian found him throwing up before one meeting, commiserated about how the puking sucked, and helped him get cleaned up, and taught him tips to hide how crappy he felt. Ian had patted his back and asked Greg to sit with him,
and a crush had started to form. It had been just a baby crush then, and he’d not really been thinking about dating at the time. But now he’s getting healthy again, he’s been free of cancer for a month. The axe hanging over his neck has lifted, and he’s no longer walking around with a clock ticking away inside.
And his crush is no longer a tiny crush; the more he’s got to know Ian, the more he’s wanted to be close to him. They’ve become friends, good friends, and this is the first they’ve spent time together just the two of them.
“Feeling okay?” Ian asks.
“Better than I expected. I feel ready to try this,” Greg replies, especially because of Ian. Having him here is comforting, like having a warm blanket, because Ian believes he can do this. But there’s also that being on a set again is comforting. He knows this routine, and he’s missed the comforting ritual of it: half-dressed, ready and waiting to have his picture taken.
“You look great,” Ian says with a smile.
“You really think so?” Greg grins.
“Yeah, I can’t wait to see you doing your thing. I’ve never seen a professional model in action,” Ian says, just as someone calls Greg for his shoot.
An assistant asks to take his robe, and Greg hesitates before he unwraps the robe from his waist, and hands it over. No one gasps, the room doesn’t go so silent you could hear a pin land, or any of the other things he’d imagined happening in this moment. He glances at Ian to see his reaction, but Ian isn’t even looking below his waist. He’s smiling. Greg takes a deep breath and gets ready to work.
Greg takes his place lying out on a red silk sheet, and he focuses on his job to start with, posing, listening to the photographer, and trying to give her what she wants. She seems more relaxed with him than she usually is, and it takes Greg a while to realize she’s not the one who’s changed. She wasn’t too bossy—he just wasn’t listening as well before. He’s changed a little over the course of his illness, and from meeting people like Ian. He revaluated his life a lot; he went to a therapist as well as group therapy. All of the hospital appointments, the tests, the fear of dying, that might not change some people, but it has Greg. He’s less confident of his body but determined to go after things he wants.
Like he wants to try with Ian, and he’s going to try, so after a while he looks over to where Ian is sitting, and he tries to let his face convey his attraction without ending up looking sleazy, and Mary the photographer seems to love it, and when Ian makes eye contact it feels even better. They maintain eye contact for a long moment, until Mary says he’s looking flushed and Greg realizes he’s blushing.
The session lasts a while longer, and Greg keeps sneaking glances at Ian, and Ian is always looking back at him. He finishes and goes to the small changing room, which is just a curtained off area. He’s only got his underwear on when Ian asks if he can come in. Worried, Greg says yes and Ian slips between the curtains.
“Tell me I’m crazy,” Ian says in a low voice. The space is small, so they’re close together, and even though Ian has already seen him naked, he’s glad for the underwear.
“Um, you’re crazy?” Greg replies. “Why am I telling you this?”
“I wasn’t finished. Tell me I’m crazy, because I swear there was a vibe between us back there. Am I imagining things? I’ve felt like we had moments before, and am I just being stupid, or do you like me? Because I like you. And I’d kind of been waiting till I knew I wasn’t dying to ask you out. I was so convinced I wouldn’t be here long term I didn’t want to make plans, but I can make plans now, and I want to start making plans with you,” Ian says rushing but keeping his voice down.
“You’re not crazy or stupid. I like you, and not just because you’ve helped me. You’re kind—even when you’re in a bad mood and have every right to be sad—smart, you work at soup kitchens even while getting treatment, you’re amazing. I invited you here today because I needed support, but also to spend time with you,” Greg admits.
“So can we go for dinner after this, or do you have plans?” Ian asks.
“I’d love to have dinner with you.” Greg hovers closer, not sure if it would be too forward to kiss Ian, but Greg doesn’t have to make the choice because Ian steps forward, puts his hand on Greg’s jaw, giving him long enough to pull away if he’s not into it, but Greg doesn’t pull away, and Ian kisses him softly.
The kiss starts sweet, and it’s been a while since Greg was kissed, and he can’t resist giving in to the hunger that has been building inside since he met Ian. He deepens the kiss, wrapping his arms around Ian, whose hands slide over and cup Greg’s ass. They’re making out, lost in the kiss when someone clears their throat and they spring apart.
“We need to clear the space soon, so you might want to get dressed and wait till you’re somewhere else to make out with your boyfriend.” The assistant who spoke rolls his eyes.
“Shit, we’ll get out of here.” Greg pulls his pants on, and Ian hands him his shirt.
They hurry out of the changing area and leave the building, both blushing bright red. And Greg doesn’t want embarrassment to ruin things, so he stops Ian before they go anywhere.
“I’m sorry if that was awkward. I’ve never done that kind of thing on set. But I’d love for you to come to another shoot; you gave me a boost.” Greg says, hoping things are still going well.
“I’d love to. Do you have time now? We can go for coffee.”
“Coffee sounds great.”
Ian offers his hand, and butterflies fill Greg’s stomach as he takes it. This feels like the crushes he had as a kid, but times a thousand. It’s exciting, and he feels like he’s starting over again. They’ve both gone through changes, physical and mental, and they’ve endured pain and fear and a million things Greg never knew about being sick. The storm has passed, and Greg fully intends to enjoy the calm.
* * * *
The photographer calls them into position, and Greg has never smiled so easily in a photo, but then, he has his new husband beside him. Ian leans in and kisses him on the cheek. They both look a little different from their first date. Greg has grown his hair long again, and Ian still teases him and calls him Fabio, but he knows Ian likes his hair. He’s always playing with it.
They have more photos taken, then, before long, they’re getting in the limo ready to go to the reception, with all their friends and family. Ian takes Greg’s hand once they’re seated, and it feels like yesterday, not five years since they first did that, but Greg wants Ian to be the man who takes his hand for the rest of his life.
“I don’t think our moms are ever going to stop crying,” Ian says as the driver pulls away.
“My mom told me today that she thought the worst when I got sick, and she thought she’d have buried me by now. She never thought she’d see me get married, and I thought the same once. Cancer didn’t end my life, but it changed it, and I know if it ever comes again, for either of us, we’ll face it together,” Greg says, and he kisses his new husband lightly on the lips.
“I’m so glad I broke the group rule about dating members, and glad they didn’t turn on us for it. I love the group, but I love you more,” Ian says with a soft smile.
“Do we have to go to the reception? Can’t we just skip to the honeymoon?” Greg asks, glancing at the driver, who smirks.
“Come on, you know you want to see everyone. But don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time alone.” Ian kisses him, and Greg’s heart still races when they kiss.
He wouldn’t choose how they met, he wouldn’t choose cancer, or all he went through, but he’s thankful he found Ian.
Cherry Bomb
Being the only openly gay guy in a frat should be hell, but Carl has won the college lottery when it comes to fraternities. He’d thought it was a joke when they’d asked him to join. But it turned out one of the Delta Omega Beta big brothers was the proud son of two fathers and another had a gay brother.
They didn’t tolerate homophobia, so Carl had joined up, and many shots and a few prank
s later, he had become a member and moved into the frat house. His parents thought it was a good idea, despite knowing about the drinking, because they know how shy Carl is. That was a year ago. Now it’s the week of his twenty-first birthday, and he thinks he’s been pranked yet again by his brothers.
He’s in line for a club called Cherry Bomb. His brothers said they would meet him here, but they’re not outside when he gets there. Carl sends them a text, and they say they’re inside, so Carl gets in line—a line he can’t help but notice is all male.
They’re taking him to a gay club. Part of Carl wants to run away and hide, but if his frat brothers have the balls to go inside a LGBT club, and he doesn’t, he’ll never hear the end of it. So Carl waits, and a few minutes later, a bouncer with a shaved head comes down the line and asks for Carl’s ID. Carl knows he looks a little young.
But the guy doesn’t tell Carl to get lost. He smiles at Carl and waves him to the front of the line.
“Are you sure?” Carl blurts, not understanding.
The big guy laughs. “Oh, cutie, you have no idea how hot you are, do you? You’re going to get eaten alive in this place. Sure you want to go in?”
Carl’s surprised at being called “hot.” He’s tall and thin, with icy blond hair and blue eyes. His mom tells him he’s handsome all the time, but that isn’t the same thing. He spends most of his time with his frat brothers, who certainly don’t call him “hot,” and sorority girls who just call him “cute.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m meeting friends inside, but thank you.” Carl grins.
“Lord, I hope your friends are half as sweet as you.” The bouncer smiles. “Did your friends get you a guest pass?” the guy asks, and Carl realizes it’s a members-only club. Either the trick is that he won’t get in, or his pals didn’t know that when they sent him here.
“Sorry, we’re not members. I guess I’ll go,” Carl says, feeling embarrassed.
