by Josh Lanyon
He carried the tray to the trunk at the foot of the bed, and amazedly reported its contents. “Baked ham on Parker House rolls, minced pie, fresh milk… There’s ribbon candy. I haven’t seen that since before the war!”
He looked up, beaming, and found Rob grinning at him. “You can thank the Germans you still have a tooth left in your head.”
“I sure used to have a sweet tooth, that’s true.”
“Used to?” Rob accepted a dainty plate with a thick, buttered ham sandwich. “Christ, I am starving.”
“Milk?”
Rob nodded. James poured a glass of milk and carried it to the bedside table.
Rob grunted thanks. He took a big bite of sandwich, chewed, and said abruptly, “Mom said you weren’t coming to Christmas dinner.”
James glanced at him. He wasn’t sure how to answer. Wasn’t sure what to make of that curious look Rob was giving him.
Rob swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. “First time in how many years?”
“Five.”
He’d been having Christmas dinner with the Garretts since his mother had passed away five years ago. That had been a…very tough year. They had been very close. He didn’t recall his father at all. David Jameson had been a mining engineer who’d fallen to his death in the Ticon shaft the year James was born. It had been just James and his mother for as long as he could remember. And though the Garretts were practically his second family, it just wasn’t the same.
Rob said, “Maybe you had a better offer?”
That had to be a joke, so James forced a laughed. “Sure. Sitting in the Scandia Bar, listening to the jukebox play ‘My Buddy’ a hundred times.”
Not too much of an exaggeration. George, the barman, had finally begged him, for the love of God, Jameson! to put some Christmas music on.
That tune, the melody of “My Buddy,” had been running through the back of his mind all day, even with everything that had happened—even sliding half-upside-down across an icy road.
I miss your voice, the touch of your hand
Just long to know that you understand
My buddy, my buddy
Your buddy misses you
Somehow the song had come to be about Rob even more than Joey. In fact, Joey would have laughed his head off if he’d known James was sitting around getting sloshed and listening to sentimental songs from before the Depression.
Rob said gruffly, “If you feel that way, why wouldn’t you come to dinner?”
Now that was funny, and James laughed. “What’s it matter? Neither of us was ever going to make that dinner.”
“True.” Rob shifted around on the cloud drift mattress. “Why?”
James lifted his shoulder, moving back to the fireplace.
“Since when are you afraid to talk to me?” Rob asked curiously.
Good question.
Since you stopped wanting to hear from me.
James didn’t say it, of course. He chewed his sandwich, looked at the fire, and tried to decide if he should say anything at all. But of course, he was going to do whatever Rob wanted, and it seemed Rob wanted to have this conversation. “I wasn’t sure…I was still welcome.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rob sounded truly astonished. “Why wouldn’t you be welcome?”
James kept his eyes on the flames. “It seems like everything changed after…Joey’s funeral.”
Rob was silent.
“I thought maybe you all wished I had gone instead of Joey.”
That thought had entered James’s mind, but it had mostly kept going. He didn’t really believe Rob or Mrs. Garrett or any of the Garrett girls wished it had been him instead of Joey. That was partly his own guilt that he wasn’t over there doing his share, and partly it was easier to offer up that excuse instead of what he really feared.
“That’s not true.” Rob sounded horrified. “You don’t really think that?”
James risked a quick look, and Rob looked as genuinely shocked as he sounded.
“No. Not really. But things did change.”
After a tense moment, Rob said, “Yes.”
It hurt to hear it confirmed, but it was also kind of a relief. He wondered sometimes if he was making too much out of nothing—maybe there had been nothing to withdraw because Rob hadn’t meant to offer anything in the first place.
“It wasn’t anything to do with Joey. It sure as hell wasn’t because— You’re like a brother to me. That’s like suggesting I’d trade Louise for Helen.”
James nodded and went back to looking at the fireplace.
Neither of them spoke. The small china clock on the white fireplace mantel ticked out the minutes. One, two, three, four…
James gathered all his courage and said, “Do you remember you kissed me once?”
The silence that followed was so loud and so stricken, he’d have given anything to take the words back. He felt hot and sick and even a little light-headed.
Why in the name of God had he said it? He couldn’t believe he had.
“No,” Robert said. His voice sounded funny.
The lie startled James out of his agonized self-recriminations. In all his life, he’d never known Robert to lie. Not even about the little things everybody lied about.
It had the unexpected effect of making him dig his heels in.
“It was at the pond behind your mother’s house. It was the afternoon before our birthday party.” He and Joey had been born on the same day. In fact, it was the wonder of a shared birthday that had first brought them together in Mrs. McCardy’s second-grade classroom. From that date on, he and Joey had shared every single birthday.
Until last June.
Rob was staring at him like he were a stranger.
“I remember everything. We’d been swimming. Joey went up to the house to get salve for a bee sting, and you came down. You sat down on the grass next to me. You were wearing your police uniform, and you said it was hot enough to melt your buttons. And I said you should undress and jump in.” James swallowed. “You laughed, and then you leaned over and kissed me.”
If he closed his eyes, he could still remember how that kiss had felt pressed on his half-open, dumbstruck mouth. Remember the smell of Rob’s clean summer sweat and faint aftershave, and the unexpectedly cold-sweet taste of his mouth. He’d drunk a Dr Pepper before walking down to the pond.
Of course, James had been mooning over that kiss for so many years, maybe he’d made up half the details.
Rob blinked. He said very, very casually, “Oh, sure. I remember. You were a cute little kid. You had freckles on your nose.”
He’s showing you the way out. Take it. You can still get out of this.
Instead, James said quietly, fiercely, “I wasn’t a little kid. I was sixteen. I’m not your little brother.”
“No, you’re not. And you need to forget about that.” Rob’s voice was flat and unfriendly. He did not sound like Rob at all.
James did not know what to say. What had he expected would come out of cornering Rob? His mouth was dry, and he felt shaky and sicker than before. He nodded.
After a long fraught moment, Rob put his plate on the bedside table. He turned out the light. He humped down on the mattress, rolling onto his side, his back to James and the room. “I’m going to get some sleep. You should do the same.”
James nodded again. He was pretty sure no words would come out of his throat, so he didn’t try. His heart was pounding so hard, he felt like he was about to smother. Maybe his lungs were weak, because he was pretty sure they were just hanging there in his chest like a pair of torn parachutes, no energy—or desire—to ever draw another breath.
There was still whiskey in his glass. He drained the last mouthful and choked a little. He did his best to quash the sound. Then he poured another finger of whiskey. He was not going to sleep tonight. Might as well get drunk. Rob would surely unload him as soon as possible the next morning.
Rob might never speak to him again.
The fl
ames in the grate blurred for an instant, but James blinked them back. He was not going to sit here weeping. For the love of God.
The thought of climbing into that bed beside Rob was equally impossible.
He jumped as Rob spoke. “I don’t know why you’d say that.” He sounded wide-awake and angry, although he was keeping his voice low.
“Because it’s true.”
“It needs not be true.”
That was such an astonishing thing to say, James was once again without answer.
When he didn’t respond, Rob demanded, “What did you think would come of this?”
James shook his head.
Maybe believing he hadn’t answered, Rob rolled over and sat up. “You must have had some reason for speaking up.”
At least he wasn’t pretending it hadn’t happened, wasn’t pretending he didn’t remember. So that was something. James knew he wasn’t crazy, wasn’t imagining things, because Rob was sure as hell behaving like a man with a guilty secret.
He said carefully, “I guess I thought that if you knew that I knew, that I didn’t mind—understood—we could maybe—”
In the face of Rob’s dark and bristling silence, his courage failed.
“Maybe what?”
Even in the gloom broken only by firelight, he could see Rob was looking at him like he was an enemy, like he hated him, and it was too painful to bear. This was worse than it had been when Rob had suddenly, inexplicably pulled back from their friendship.
James shook his head, wiped ferociously at the wet gathering at the edge of his eyes. “I thought we could talk sometimes. That we could be friends again. That’s all.” He didn’t mean to say the next words, but they spilled out anyway. “It’s lonely this way. To be this way.”
There was another of those electric silences.
Rob groaned, threw back the bedclothes, and came to join James beside the fireplace. “Jamie. James. We are friends. You can talk to me.” His face twisted in pain. “This isn’t a thing to talk about, though. There isn’t anything to say. We’re the way we are.” He shrugged helplessly, staring at James like he wanted something from him.
What?
The promise to never speak of it again?
“But how can there not be anything to talk about?”
Rob thrust his hand through his dark hair in an almost harassed gesture. “What I mean is, if you have questions…yes, I can try to answer them. But there isn’t any way to…to fix it. I’ve tried. You just have to accept what you can’t change and…and get on with things.”
James nodded. He was wondering if they were talking at cross-purposes.
“It doesn’t have to spoil your life,” Rob said earnestly. “Just don’t do anything foolish. Or cruel. Most people will never even question it. It never enters their mind that such a thing is possible.”
Now James was truly confused. What in God’s name was Rob talking about? What foolish or cruel things was he liable to do? What was it that people would never question? What near impossible thing would never, fortunately, enter people’s heads?
“Okay.”
Rob studied him. His mouth gave another of those pained twists. “Don’t look so worried.”
This had not gone at all the way James had hoped, but it was still much, much better than Rob looking at him like he was something dangerous and threatening. Rob was back to his old big-brother self, his light eyes—blue as Montana skies—warm with concern, his firm mouth smiling, even if the smile was troubled.
“Friends?” Rob asked.
James’s heart ached at the gentleness in Rob’s voice. He yearned for more of that gentleness. And for other things as well. He wanted Rob to put his arms around him so much, it almost made him tremble. He wanted Rob to kiss him again. Not just lightly, fleetingly, like that first time, but for real. The way it was in the movies.
Well, except it wasn’t for real in the movies, but still. The way it felt watching the movies.
He loved Rob. Had probably loved him all his life. It was clear now he could never say so. He could not risk losing the gift of Rob’s friendship. Those minutes when he believed Rob hated him ranked among the worst in his entire life.
“Friends,” he said huskily.
Rob gave another of those doubtful smiles. He gathered himself to rise, then sank back.
He said in an odd voice, “You still have glass in your hair.”
James reached up automatically. “I do? Do I?”
“Stop.” Rob brushed his hands away. “I’ll do it. Lean forward. Close your eyes.”
James lowered his lashes, leaned forward. He could feel Rob bending over him. Rob’s fingers lightly, lightly, combed through his curls, a touch that could have been a caress. He felt the microscopic burn of glass on his cheeks, on the back of his hands.
“Like stars falling out of your hair.” Rob’s voice still sounded strange, almost stifled.
James breathed out a shaky laugh.
“Keep your eyes closed,” Rob whispered.
James’s lashes flickered, but he kept them obediently shut. His heart was drumming in his chest like a cattle stampede, the vibration closing his throat, his muscles so tense, he knew he was going to start shaking any second. He had the idea he could feel the brush of Rob’s fingertips within his very heart, this touch he had longed for nearly as far back as he could remember.
Rob’s fingers feathered his ears, trailed down to his jaw.
James swallowed, then winced at the audible gulp.
“I won’t hurt you,” Rob said, and his voice was so low, James had to strain to hear it.
James opened his eyes. Gazed into Rob’s. “I know.”
The mattress was like sinking into summer grass. It even smelled faintly of sage and lemon balm. James quivered as he felt Rob’s hand groping softly, yet knowledgeably. It was foreign and embarrassing and exciting to be touched like this, so intimately.
Kind of like he had imagined, and kind of not.
In his dreams, clothes had just fallen away, and he had not really thought too much about the mechanics of things. He had never considered there would be any uncertainty on Robert’s part or that he might be expected to take a more active role.
“Do you like this?” Robert asked softly, his finger stroking across the opening between James’s butt cheeks. “Is it okay if I touch you here?”
James nodded, half-smothered beneath the pound of his heart and the heat suffusing his body. “Yes.”
Jesus Christ. That Robert’s finger was there…
A crazy fluttering started in his belly and rose up to his chest. Like a swarm of velvety, honey-drunk bees.
“I can touch you so it feels really good. It could hurt a little too at first.”
In his boyish fantasies, he hadn’t expected to have to make choices—and nothing had ever hurt.
“Yes, do it,” he breathed. “Do whatever you want.”
“It has to be what you want too.” Robert’s voice was even softer.
“I love you so much,” James said. He hadn’t meant to say it at all, let alone burst out with it like that, but it was such a big truth, too big to hide anymore.
“Shhhh,” Robert said quickly. And then, “I know.”
He wet his finger and pressed his fingertip into James’s hole. It was startling and did not feel particularly nice.
“Don’t tighten up,” Rob whispered, and James made an effort not to tense as he waited for whatever was going to happen next.
“I read about the Greeks,” he offered.
“Hm?” Rob sounded absent. He pushed his wet finger in a little farther, pulled back, pushed in. Little rhythmic thrusts that were distracting at first, but then started to feel good. The friction was exciting.
James gulped. “Gosh. That’s…”
“You like it?”
“I…think so.” He felt a funny thrill in the pit of his belly.
“Here…” Rob changed position, took James’s hand and placed it on his cock, which wa
s straight and true as an iron flagpole on Armistice Day. “Just like if you were pumping yourself.” He guided James’s hand up and down. “Yeah, that’s good, Jamie. That’s exactly right.”
The angle wasn’t quite right, and how could he know if Rob liked the same things he did? But somehow it didn’t matter. Rob’s skin felt like suede stretched over muscle and bone. To be allowed to touch him—to feel Rob pushing up into his grip—it was almost too much to take in. The knowledge that he could give pleasure, that he was giving pleasure, was even better than what Rob was doing to him—and that was starting sparks at the base of his spine, sensation tingling up his spine to the base of his skull.
“Yes, keep going,” Rob urged, all the while touching James in that intimate, exquisite way.
James tightened his muscles, rocked up, straining to draw Rob’s touch deeper, needing more…something…struggling toward… Oh Jesus, that was it! Rob stretched his finger, stroking a soft, secret place that seemed to detonate into a million points of light.
James began to pump hard, sweet cream spilling everywhere, colors exploding behind his eyelids like every light on a Christmas tree popping at once.
Rob’s hand landed on his, moving him more roughly, guiding him. “No… God, don’t stop,” Rob panted, and James focused and tried to give a little of what he had received.
Rob gulped out a hoarse whisper and began to come as well.
The dreams of boyhood had been lovely. The reality was hotter, wetter, stickier—and much, much better.
Rob kissed him, and he tasted of Schenley Reserve, sunny morning feelings, and the granting of twenty-three years’ worth of Christmas wishes.
Chapter Five
It was just going to make it all the harder, of course, but Robert didn’t—couldn’t—regret making love to Jamie.
When Jamie spoke of his loneliness, it had felt like a punch to the gut. Which was kind of funny given that Robert accepted a solitary life as inevitable—necessary—for himself.
But Jamie wasn’t like him. Jamie wasn’t cut out for that. He deserved, well, love and companionship. He deserved the things every decent man deserved. Robert couldn’t fix that for him, but he could give him friendship. Yes, he had been wrong to fear friendship. He could—should—guide Jamie safely through unknowns and occasionally rough waters. He would be glad to do that. Who else?
