His eyes heavy and barely able to open, Marty looked over at the clock on the table. It was 2:13 a.m.
As he got his nocturnal bearing, he realized that Peter had once again pushed himself up against him. Even though he definitely seemed to have overcome his old insomnia, this behavior was something that he had been doing on and off since they were sleeping together. And he was only aware of the times it had awakened him. How many other times he was tossing and turning like this, Marty had no idea.
It was always the same pattern. Practically curled up into the fetal position, Peter would continually press up against him, almost like he was burrowing in, usually with his back but sometimes with his head. Like he not only wanted to be next to him, but had some need to actually feel their flesh pressed together. To Marty it seemed active and intentional, but when he tried to exchange words, even into his good ear, Peter didn't react. He was sound asleep.
At first, he didn't want to do any more than that, for fear of waking him up. He would just wait out Peter's unconscious agitation, which subsided once he seemed to get himself fitted into a particular position with his back to Marty and his head pressing into his arm. But tonight, their first night back, He seemed was especially agitated. His body was in almost constant motion and even his breathing seemed to have become more irregular, a particular concern of Marty's. Not knowing what to do but deciding that he needed to do something before actually waking him up, he gently put his arm around him as he pushed his face into Peter's hair, silently nuzzling him.
To his huge relief he could feel Peter's body relax after only a few moments. It was like the storm had passed. He wasn't sure how much it was his own actions and how much it was something else going on, perhaps just lucky timing. But he decided that he must have done at least something right.
So moving as slowly and gently as he could, he shifted his first his legs then his arms to a position where he was pretty much completely spooning him, wrapping his frame completely around Peters' as much as the bed allowed.
Peter didn't move at all, and his breathing, barely perceptible and not desperate at all, had become smooth and regular. He couldn't really see anything, but the senses that were working told him that Peter was again sound asleep.
It wasn't the most comfortable sleeping position, but as long as it seemed to calm Peter down it was worth it. Gradually he even got used to the position, the only drawback now being that it gave him an incredible hard-on. Even with the stiff meat, however, he eventually dozed back to sleep.
As Peter woke up the next day he stretched out and yawned, his arms reaching across and accidently banging Marty on his forehead. Damn!' he thought to himself as he quickly looked over, I hope I don't wake him up.'
"Mmmmm..." Marty seem to moan as Peter saw the muscular, blond-haired arms now start to stretch out.
"Oh, sorry!" he said as he noticed Marty wiping his eyes with his fists, a sure sign that he had in fact just awakened.. "I didn't realize that you were so close to me. And you're usually out of bed by the time I'm up anyway," he said as he continued to focus his eyes on him. "Are you OK, babe?
Peter didn't hear a response, so quickly stretched out over Marty's torso and toward the shared nightstand to grab his hearing aid, scrambling to quickly insert it.
"You OK babe? "he asked again. "Did you sleep OK?"
"Oh, um... sorry...I was zonked out there for a second. Yeah, I slept OK. Woke up once in the middle of the night...but, um... other than that, I guess OK"
"Doesn't look like you slept much at all. You look out of it. You sure you're sleeping OK?" Peter asked. He was now kneeling next to Marty, who had gotten himself propped up on his elbows, looking around the room.
"Oh, yea, I'm fine...fine," he replied as he pushed himself up farther on the bed. He was quiet for a few moments, his hand resting on his legs, rubbing them to wake himself up.
"How are you sleeping, Pete?" he finally asked, "Once in a while when I wake up at night I can see that sometimes you move around a lot. Are you OK? "
"Am I waking you up?" Peter probed again. "I hope not, but it wouldn't surprise me if I was."
"No, no, not at all," I just noticed once or twice when I wake myself up at night that sometimes you seem agitated, or restless. But why do you say it wouldn't surprise you?"
Peter let out a sigh, then placed his hands on the bed and got himself into a cross-legged position. "It's kind of, well ...I don't really understand it," he answered. "It's really great that I can actually sleep these days, that's a big improvement. But there are times that I still seem to be having really bad dreams. I can't' exactly remember them, but it's often about, like, uh...not being able to um...breath, or something like that."
He paused for a moment as he felt Marty's hand reach over and start to massage his neck. "It happens a lot less now, and last night it seemed real short. But they're still there."
"Short?" he asked.
"Yea, it's kind of weird. It used to be...um...before I met you," he said quietly, "that I'd have these bad dreams all the time. And they always seemed to go on and on. Now, I don't get them nearly as often, but once in a while they do come back," he continued, his voice now getting stronger. "But gosh, last night. It's like suddenly something happened, I'm not sure what it was, but I felt the same kind of feeling coming on, like not being able to breath, but then, suddenly, everything was OK. I could breath fine. It was really strange."
"Sounds kind of kooky, huh? he asked, slightly embarrassed, as he looked away from him. "Night time hallucinations."
"Not kooky at all, Pete," he replied as he nudged his body closer, his right hand moving down to Peter's shoulder as his other reached into his underwear. "By the way, does this feel kooky?"
"Oh...wow! Um...no...not kooky at all...um..."
"What do you think, babe?"
Marty looked at the big barn of space, with a huge dance floor right in front of him. Though he had been to lots of straight parties before and a even few dances, he had never seen anything like the size of the place. And also the fact that, even with only a few bodies, it was all guys.
"Wow, this is...cool," he said, not knowing quite how to react to the scene. "Does this actually ever get full?"
"Oh yeah, and then some, especially on a weekend night like tonight. Probably 11 o'clock or so, maybe a little later, it'll be packed, they'll even be lines to the john. And it gets even crazier during Pride Week in a couple weeks." he said, his hand slowly curling like snake around Marty's waist as he started twisting his belt.
"So it gets pretty crowded, huh?" Marty asked.
"Yea, it'll get real jammed, but that's part of the appeal," he replied with a smile. Peter was a little surprised that he seemed to ask a similar question twice. But he assumed that it was just natural, nervous reaction to the first time in a place like this, so didn't think much more of it as he pulled him closer.
Marty responded with his hand on Peter's bicep, gently squeezing the taut muscle as his partner pulled him in. "This should be fun," he said to Peter's good hearing side, practically shouting as the music started up.
"I hope so. I really hope you like it. There are a few smaller places around that we'll have to try this summer, too. But this is about the best we've got here on the North Coast."
Marty squeezed Peter's bicep again and took a deep breath. "So when does the fun begin for us?"
"Just one second...," Peter replied as he removed his hearing aid and put it in his pocket, at the same time pulling out a pair of ear plugs. After he put one in each ear Marty playfully poked each protected ear with his index finger, giving the plugs a final, ceremonial push in.
"So...when?" he said, exaggerating the speech with his eyes and forming the sign language question mark gesture that Peter had taught him.
"Right now!" he yelled back as he grabbed the metal buckle of Marty's belt and pulled him onto the dance floor. Marty's resisted with a playful stumble as the flashing blue strobe light covered their bodies, making them look like characters in an old silent movie.
Wow, this guy can dance pretty good!' Peter thought to himself. Even though Marty had protested earlier that he really didn't know what he was doing, he had natural rhythm and a body coordination that made him a quick study for a teacher like Peter, who had been taught to swing dance and jitterbug by his Pop and Aunt' Julie, a close friend of his parents, when he was still a kid.
In fact, he had been told that his dads had even met at a dance. It seemed especially important to his Pop, who told him that sometimes a person you meet at a dance can change your life. And at least for Bik it was true – he met Laura at a dorm mixer their freshman year.
"Put your hand like this and turn," Peter called out, not really able to hear himself but using his arms to reach over Marty and twist him around. "My cue will be to just tug a bit here and you'll twist around."
"Oh, I get it!" he called back, not sure if Peter could even hear him so trying to mime at the same time. "Like this!" he said as he repeated the move on Peter himself, his greater height giving him a better advantage as the leader.
"Yea, that's right!" Peter yelled as Marty reeled him back in.
As one song rolled into another, the heat of the dance floor increased as more and more bodies streamed onto it. It was getting to a certain level of density that Peter liked, where the temperature was climbing.
"This has to go!" Peter yelled out as he pulled off his t-shirt, wrapping the now half-soaked white cloth into the back pocket of his jeans. "And this, too!" he said as raised Marty's hands over his head and took off his shirt for him, stuffing it into his back pocket in the same way.
For a moment, the context struck Peter has surreal. He had been to these clubs lots of times before, and had of course seen every inch of Marty's body. But to see Marty inserted into this context gave him almost another view.
The most striking was just what a great bod his blond Adonis had. The comment that his housemate Jeff had made, that Marty was kind of `plain looking' always struck him as absurd. Maybe he didn't have the classic looks of other guys, especially the modeling crowd he knew. But to Peter, there was something special that made him the most attractive guy in the world.
But there was no doubt to anyone, even Jeff, that his body was in another category. He had always worked out, initially as a self-defense strategy but then also because he just got to enjoy it as a stress reducer and diversion. But he had increased his regimen the past semester, to give Peter a `better bod to come home to,' he joked, and the results showed.
He hadn't gained much weight, only 10 pounds or so, but it was in all the right places, his arms, chest, legs. While Peter had gentle ridges where his abs were, a toned kind of classic swimmers body, Marty had a gotten a hard, defined six-pack and then some.
Peter smirked as he noticed guys around them casting quick glances at him.
"Looks like I've got to go beat up a couple of guys here," he called out.
Marty returned an exaggerated shrug, clearly not understanding. He didn't know the sign language gesture for `what the hell are you talking about?' but his intention was clear enough.
"Because all these guys are looking at you!" Peter yelled over the pump of the music.
Marty rolled his eyes. Then he made up his own sign language. He pointed at a guy, then pointed as his own eyes, then pointed directly at Peter. "He's looking at YOU" the message conveyed. Then he playfully pounded his right hand into his left fist.
Peter raised his head back and laughed, or at least it looked like a laugh. The music was so loud that all other sounds were washed away. But when Peter pulled them together again, his bright smile shining into Marty's face, there was no denying the joy and happiness that he was feeling as his lips met Marty's.
They spent the next hour dancing, getting a drink, hitting the john, and then going back out onto the dance floor. Peter thought they were both having a great time and looked forward to staying into the early hours of the morning.
But toward midnight, as the crowd approached, reached and then passed Peter's density threshold, he noticed something happening to Marty. With the crowd closing in around them he seemed to be looking around himself more and more, becoming distracted and not really following the music's pace or rhythm like he had earlier. Peter moved in to talk to him, but his head was darting from side to side.
Suddenly, Peter could see a huge wave of half-naked guys behind Marty, pouring through the big archways and into the already packed dance floor. It was just about the time when he expected the big crowds. But he didn't expect anything it like this.
He looked again at Marty and realized that he had stopped dancing altogether and was now practically frozen in place. Even his eyes had stopped moving as the crowd of bodies started to press in even harder up against them.
Peter thought to himself "Oh, no!" He grabbed Marty's sweaty hand tightly as he leaned over and yelled into his ear, "Follow me!"
Marty was in a daze, continuing to cast frightened glances in each direction as Peter's firm grip dragged him into the onrushing crowd. Peter wanted to stop and reassure him, but knowing that he had to get him out of there as fast as he could humanly do it, he just kept pressing ahead. Even though he was not a big guy, he rammed and bulldozed his way through the crush, his request of excuse me," alternating with get the fuck out of my way!"
Since he had ear plugs in, all he could hear, and feel, was the rhythmic pounding music itself so never heard any of the choice epithets hurled back to him. Not that he would have cared.
It pissed him off that some guys took it as an opportunity to feel him up in the sardine can that the club had become. Sometimes in the past he'd confront guys at parties or dances who were particularly obnoxious about it, but there was not time for that kind of justice now. All he hoped for at this point was that no one would try to do it to Marty.
He'd managed to finally get them to the lobby, a vast expanse in itself that he hoped would mean that they were in the clear. Instead, it looked like trouble ahead.
The formerly wide open spaces narrowed quickly to a long shaft of a hallway that was the only link to the front door. And it was packed, wall to wall with guys waiting to get by the guards. And they were only letting a trickle of guys in now.
Peter stopped. He wasn't sure what to do – maybe go off to some side area and maybe find some room? Stay where they were? Suddenly he felt Marty's grip tighten and tug on him, like he was trying to pull away. There was no time to lose.
Answering his tight grip with a quick pulse of his own, Peter barreled straight ahead into the hallway mass, the one way out. There didn't seem to be any opening at all. But seeing the tiniest space between two huge guys, he put his hand between them and, with all his strength, tried to wedge his way in. The guys were cussing and swearing at him, which he could only barely hear (but could read on their faces).
He could also see, and smell, that they were so drunk they could probably barely stand and certainly wouldn't feel anything. So with one last, enormous effort he was able to shove his way between them and then just let the momentum take them through the exit doors and out onto the outdoor plaza beyond.
Even though he was out of breath and exhausted, he didn't stop moving until he had pulled Marty completely away from the flow of bodies moving in the opposite direction into the building.
They stood behind a low wall, formerly the edge of loading dock that offered at least some refuge and separation from the crowd. Even though his own hands were trembling and he was now having trouble catching his breath, he put his hands on Marty's shoulders and looked into his face.
He started to press gently, working his way from the upper arm toward his head. Peter could actually see the heartbeat in the veins of Marty's neck and fought back his own panic until the massage seemed to attract some life back into his eyes.
"You OK?"
Even though he was clearly disoriented, the sound of Peter's voice and rapid breathing seemed to cause him to shake his head wildly in an effort to get his bearings. First he looked around, up then down, and finally stared into Peter's eyes.
"Are YOU ok?... You're shaking!" he declared, with both awareness and fogginess conflicting in his voice" And you're not breathing right!" Suddenly his own formerly shaking hands were now on Peter's shoulders.
"Let's take these out first," he said as he reached up and pulled the fluorescent yellow plugs out of Peter's wet ears and slipping them into his jeans' pocket.
Even though he was struggling in his still slightly confused state, Marty focused everything he could muster on Peter's breathing. "Slow down, `K? just go real slow," he said.
"What about you?" Peter responded breathlessly. He thought he was recovering himself when he suddenly lost his balance and fell right against Marty, who quickly grabbed him.
Peter leaned his head into Marty's chest, his breathing gradually slowing, as Marty continued to talk to him. Peter's trembling hands were now on his partner's waist in an effort to balance himself as Marty reinforced the firm grip on his shoulders and continued to try to talk down his rapid breathing.
"Easy, easy, don't worry about me, I'm OK...just breath slow...slow..."
After a few minutes Peter finally raised his head up, his own fatigue clear in his slow speech. "Doing better now," he replied, trying to reassure Marty like he usually (and futilely) tried to do. But he really was getting his own breathing slowly back to normal and his hands were no longer shaking.
"You OK now?" Marty asked, his hand under Peter's chin, raising his head up.
"Uh huh," Peter replied. I'm good" he paused to take a deep breath and swallowed. "But what about you? he asked.
Marty lowered his head, and then raised it again. Peter hadn't had a chance to put his hearing aid back in, but thought that he heard him sigh.
"I'm sorry." Marty said, directing his voice to Peter's good ear. "I'm so sorry...thought I'd be OK and all, but..." even without anything to help his auditory abilities, he could tell that Marty's voice was quivering. "Gosh, I hope you're OK. I hope I didn't hurt you. I feel like I did this to you...I'm so sorry..."
"No! No! No! That's wrong, Marty. It's not your fault at all. I'm the one who should have known. You asked me if things would get crowded, and I should have realized right then that it would be tough for you. I'm the one who should be sorry." Peter protested, his breathing rapidly escalating again.
"Hey, hey!" Marty repeated, his arms again gently stroking Peter's. "Slow down...breathe real slowly again, ok?...slow..."
"Uh huh," he acknowledged, his breathing returning to normal little by little as Marty's rhythmic squeezing along his arms continued. He did his motions at a controlled pace, something that he was improvising as he went along, trying to give Peter a sort of human metronome to pace his breathing to.
"I know that you were really looking forward to doing this Pete, I should have been able to handle it." he replied, not directly acknowledging Peter's earlier protest.
At this point he was getting his breathing back under control, but now his body stiffened as he raised his hands up to the blond head facing him. "Wait a second, Babe. Were you listening to me?" Peter asked.
Marty had intended to continue his apologies, but stopped as Peter's eye's drilled into his. Nodding a weak yes, he stared back at him.
"I want you to promise me that you'll never again apologize to me for this. Ever. You don't need to. There isn't anything you can do about it. Like I said, I should have known better."
"Peter, I know what you're saying, but...I can't promise anything about this. As soon as I think it's buried, something sets it off. I don't know what to do, or if I can even do anything."
Peter thought for a moment. "I know, I understand. Maybe I shouldn't ask you to make any promises, maybe there's another word I should be using, I don't know. But I do know that there isn't a lot that anyone can do to change things. Gosh, you did a fantastic job just keeping yourself together as much as you did out there," he said as he put his hands into Marty's and wrapped their fingers together.
"But I do know that I can promise you one thing "he proclaimed, emphasizing the first person pronoun.
"What's that?"
"That I'll always be there for you. Always. Thick and thin. Better or worse. Rich or poor. All that stuff. `K?" he said as he languidly leaned in and his pushed his forehead into Marty's chest again.
Marty's chin went on top of Peter's head as he brushed against his hair. Their skin was still moist as their chests slid against each other, a slight breeze giving both of them the cool feel of the night air.
"Hey, wear this, you're going to catch a cold," Marty said as he reached behind himself and pulled out his shirt. "It looks like you lost yours."
Peter reached into his back pocket. "Oh, damn, you're right, it's gone. But you need one yourself," he said as he pushed it away.
"Hey! Wear it!" Marty ordered. It was his `don't argue with me' look that Peter got to know back when they first played soccer together.
He reluctantly accepted the wrinkled-up black cotton half-sleeve and slipped it over his head as Marty helped him pull it down.
"Thanks," he said as Marty adjusted it around his shoulders. "a little bit baggy, but not bad."
Marty stood back for a second to inspect the final fit. "Hmm...looks OK." he seemed to mumble to himself. "Ready to go?"
"Yup," he replied, pulling on Marty's belt buckle again. "Lead the way."