GENERAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains sexual situations between adult males involving various aspects of the kink and fetish communities. If you find material of this nature offensive then you should not read any further. All characters in this story are over the age of 21. If you are under 18 years old in the US or under 16 in the UK you are not legally allowed to read this story. This is purely a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living or dead, or to any events that may have occurred, are purely coincidental. The author claims all copyrights in this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed (except by the websites to which it has been posted) without the consent of the author. Nifty does not exist without donations. If you enjoy these stories, please donate here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
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The Brownstone on Union Park
- Chapter Fourteen -
"Mmmm..." James murmured in a closed-lipped moan.
Carter looked back at him and rolled his eyes again, "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. It's all just pretty amazing. That's all."
"What's amazing?"
"Well, for one thing, the fact that Michael slept downstairs last night yet his cold packs around his ankle with the white tape managed to make it all the way upstairs to your bed. And why was there a bottle of your lube in the shower this morning?"
Carter realized he could not easily explain his way out of this one and irritably retorted, "Of fucking eat me, James!"
"Mmm-hmm..." James replied.
Michael crossed the intersection on Tremont street in the same crosswalk from the night before. The beautiful building draped in the white marble covering the facade stood out against the all the red brick surrounding it on each side. He headed further up Tremont Street and took a left on Clarendon Street toward Back Bay Station.
His mind was still reeling from everything last night. Michael set out to secure a place to live for September and he effectively achieved that by paying his first month's rent to James. He also met Carter in person, slept naked with him in bed, and had an intimately pleasurable experience with him less than an hour ago in the shower. And then, he was told he had to cool it for a while. It was a total mind-fuck.
Michael sighed and looked around Clarendon; to his right was the famous Boston Ballet and on his left was an ornate gothic style church in red brick with copper dormers and slate roofing that was converted into condos. The city did an amazing job of preserving the old architecture, even if it came at the expense of turning every historical structure into condos. But, when you walked on the street it was like stepping back in time to the Victorian era.
He continued walking up Clarendon Street to Back Bay Station when a series of tall and slender young guys about his age passed by him. They were carrying backpacks and duffel bags. The city was alive with a young energy, and at the end of the summer when the students began to return, Boston was revitalized with a breath of youth and vitality.
The group of guys cut across the street and walked into the Boston Ballet building. Michael turned to watch their entry; they all seemed so carefree and content. He began to wonder why that feeling came so easy for some people and not others like himself.
Michael turned around and made his way up Clarendon and had the luck of hitting the walk signal on Columbus Avenue at just the right time to make his way into the station. The T-ride home to campus was quiet going through downtown Boston. Not many passengers were getting on an early Saturday morning; so much of that area was largely deserted on the weekends.
It was not until Michael was on the Green Line above ground that he began to notice the commotion of activity from students starting to return and get into the swing of things. Only four years ago, Michael was one of these students looking around aimlessly. It was astonishing to realize how much things could change in such a short period of time.
Two hours later the fast ferry from Boston to Provincetown began to approach the tip of Cape Cod. It was one of the fastest catamarans on the East Coast and made the otherwise maddening drive with Cape Cod traffic a breeze. James and Carter ended up sitting next to one another in the seats on the first level of the boat with an empty row behind them. They did not make much conversation since their spat in the car earlier.
James sat with his laptop open, banging away at the keyboard, revising a proposal that he had to work on before his trip out to Los Angeles on Monday. Carter had flipped the rim of his Red Sox baseball cap downwards blocking most of the morning light in an attempt to get some additional rest and avoid talking to James. His arms remained crossed but he found it impossible to get comfortable in the narrow theater-style seats on the catamaran given his size and amount of leg room he needed. James made a few more changes to the document he was working on, flipped the laptop closed, and placed it back in his bag.
"I know we're going to be there in ten or fifteen minutes, but I need an iced coffee or something, I'm falling asleep. Do you want anything?" James asked Carter.
Carter flipped the top of his baseball cap up allowing him to make eye contact with James and breathed in heavily and replied, "Sure, I'll do a bottled water."
The awkward tension from the car ride earlier continued to permeate the atmosphere between the two of them. James knew something happened between Michael and Carter but he was not exactly certain of the details. His mind began to stir with possibilities as he tried to place the sequence of events in order but could not come up with a coherent story. A cold pack on the bed, Michael's sprained ankle, lube in the shower, Michael's wet hair, pillow and blanket on the couch. Nothing really made sense.
James got up and made his way to the bar area and concession by the back of the boat a few rows away. The line to the bar was almost nonexistent as people started to gather their bags and belongings.
"And what can I get for you, Sir?" the bar attendant asked looking at James with a cheerful smile.
He handed the lady a bottled water from the open deli case and said, "This, and I'll do an iced coffee with cream, no sugar?"
"I'm sorry sir, we only have hot coffee on board the boat at this time," she chirped in response.
James looked back at the bar area and could see several large bags of ice next to another bag of lemons and limes. His earlier anger from catching Carter in some sort of lie easily transferred onto the bar attendant. He breathed out heavily and raised his eyebrows as he leaned over the counter and got closer to her face. He spoke loud and slowly trying to keep his cool while gripping his hands on the corner of the glass counter. His knuckles were white.
"OK, then! I'll take one-hot-coffee. And, and one-empty-cup-of-ice," he said with extra pauses between words for dramatic effect as if he were talking to an idiot.
"I'm sorry sir, we can't distribute empty cups with ice. It's against bar policy."
James did not reply. He was approaching his boiling point and other passengers were starting to notice the loudness and tone in James' voice, including Carter.
Before the scene could escalate further, Carter jumped up from his seat, made his way to the back to the bar, and placed his left hand on James' back. It temporarily distracted him enough for him to lose his focus on the drink order.
"Do you still want the hot coffee, sir?" the bar attendant politely asked again.
"NO! I don't want a FUCKING hot..." screamed James.
Carter cut in and tried his diplomatic touch, "We're sorry! Yes! The hot coffee, and one ice water, heavy on the ice."
"OK, that FUCKING works!" she gleefully exclaimed looking at James in response returning back some of the sass.
Carter handed her a five-dollar bill and indicated that she could keep the change by making a sweeping motion with his hand when she started to hand him back a single and some coins.
"C'mon, it's fine. I wanted water anyway, I'll just drink it and you'll have a cup of ice for the coffee. It'll work out," Carter reasoned.
James still had his hands firmly gripped on the counter when the bar attendant returned with the ice water and another empty paper cup for the coffee and said, "The coffee urns are over there along with the milk, cream, and sugar."
"Thank you," Carter replied and then asked James, "Can you pass me the ice water?"
James released his grip on the counter and passed him the ice water even though it was well within his reach. Carter drank it immediately leaving James with a pile of ice, handed it back to him, and said, "C'mon, let's get you your iced coffee."
The diplomatic finesse of the distraction worked and James made his way to the coffee station with the cup of ice along with the accessory paper cup. He now had exactly what he wanted. Carter grabbed the other bottle of water still on the counter and went back to his seat when the onboard announcements began to be played about the de-boarding process.
James returned to the row beside Carter moments later with his iced coffee, cream, no sugar, and placed it in the armrest holder. He turned to Carter as he sat down and said, "Thank you, that was quite considerate," and proceeded to cross his legs in a parallel stance with supreme feminine confidence.
Carter adjusted the rim on his baseball cap upwards again to more clearly look at James in the eyes and offered, "You know, if you're pissed at me, take it out on me. Not someone else. She didn't deserve that."
James sighed and brought up his tortoiseshell Ray-Bans from the opening in his polo shirt, carefully placed them on his face, and quietly said, "I know," as he looked directly ahead away from Carter.
Carter turned his head back to his natural position and looked straight ahead too and sighed a little. He attempted to further diffuse the situation and responded, "You know, they say men actually communicate better when they don't have to face each other."
"Is that so?" James questioned and crossed his arms still looking forward at the passenger's head in front of his own.
"Yeah, that's why two guys driving together in the front seat of a car is super effective for talking about difficult subjects. But that's just straight guys," Carter replied.
"So, what does that mean for us then?" Carter asked inquisitively still looking directly forward as he began to bounce his left foot up and down over the other leg
Carter got up from his seat at the end of the row and moved directly behind James's seat. He lowered himself into a crouching position and slowly placed his hands around James' chest and began to hug him.
"What it means is... We're fags. And we don't have to deal with any of that macho bullshit if we don't want to. It means we can just talk to each other like actual human beings," Carter stated in an authentic tone.
James stopped bobbing his foot. He released his crossed arms, extended his right hand to touch the top of Carter's forearm, and gave him an approving squeeze. He turned his head slightly and got closer to Carter's ear and whispered to him, "Did you fuck him last night?"
Carter replied in the same calm demeanor as before still grasping James in a hug and said, "No... I wanted to, I really wanted to. But I didn't," and release his grasp.
James turned around and asked, "So what actually happened then?"
Carter stood up and breathed in heavily, paused, and then exhaled. He began, "I got pissed when you told me what I could and could not do in what I consider to be my home. So, I invited Michael up to sleep in my bed and he actually slept there last night. But, we didn't do anything besides spoon and then this morning I took off the cold pack that was taped around his ankle in bed when we woke up."
"And why was there a bottle of lube on the shower shelf after you showered?" James asked.
Carter paused again and carefully chose his words, he wanted Michael to continue to move in but worried if he offered the literal truth that James might return the rent payment thereby invalidating it. Was the whole truth worth it if he messed up Michael's housing situation and start of his new job?
He crouched down again behind James' seat and explained with a question, "Well, you know how it is when you're really horny and it's the morning, and you haven't gotten off in a while, and you also have to pee really badly, but can't?"
"Yeah..."
"And so, sometimes it's easier to just rub one out instead?"
James cringed a little realizing he showered after Carter and then brought his hand up to his chin glancing upward trying to process everything. He looked back down; James was able to get a few confessions out of Carter and appeared satisfied.
The boat finally docked and came to a halt causing a few passengers to lurch forward.
"So, will you promise to scrub down the shower when we get back home?" James suggested.
Carter brought his right hand across his chest and raised his left, "I promise, I'll scrub down the shower and make it sparkle."
"And Michael will just be a roommate, right?"
"Right."
"OK then, remind me to make a copy of the front door key at the hardware store when we pass by it later on Commercial Street."
"Fine, but do you want me to be the one to go in and get the copy of the key made?"
James looked back at him quizzically not understanding why Carter offered to do it and asked, "Why?"
"Because all the lesbians that run that place are probably still pissed at you from the time you told them to fuck off over the mispriced beach towels."
"Oh yeah, Carnival 2017, that was such a good week last year. Well, except for those cunts that didn't know how to work a pricing gun."
"Mmmm... So, let me get the copy of the key made," Carter offered and kissed James on the side of the cheek as he stood up.
Half of the passengers had already exited the boat when the two of them finished their heart to heart talk. Carter grabbed his duffel bag from the side of the row and slung it around his shoulder. James uncrossed his legs and grabbed his bag with his left hand.
Carter looked down at the cup with the iced coffee, it only had about six discernable ice cubes remaining in it after the heat melted most of them instantaneously.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Carter asked not breaking his vision away from the cup holder on the armrest of the chair.
James readjusted his sunglasses and then brought his right hand to clutch the other handle of his bag bringing it firmly up to his belly button.
"No, I'm not, because the coffee tastes like shit," he said and gingerly side-stepped out of the row and exited the boat to the dock.
Carter was momentarily paralyzed by the remark and did not move a muscle. When James was securely out of earshot, he mouthed to himself, "Fucking unbelievable," while shaking his head in disbelief.