Copyright Alex Douglas 2009
Author's note: This is a revised version of a previous unfinished story. It's taken me 6 years to finish it, so finally here it is. All feedback greatly appreciated. Email me at alex_d0uglas@yahoo.co.uk and I'll do my best to reply.
He didn't tell anyone about what the consultant had told him. He felt helpless and out of control. There was no sense drinking it away, so he lay on the sofa, filling his brain with inane daytime TV and thinking of nothing. Megan was exhausted after Jack had developed colic and Cal was busy catching up with his family, it seemed, because he saw nothing of either of them. His mood was so black he didn't particularly care. He didn't want to see anyone. He ordered food and slept, long, dreamless hours. At least the nightmares had eased off. But it was hard to feel grateful.
A few days later, Owen called round. "What's going on, mate?" he said, handing Sean a bunch of flowers. "Haven't heard from you in ages, it seems. Do we need to have a conversation?"
Sean put the flowers in a vase. "A conversation about what?" he said, pulling at the excess leaves absently. "Oh, you mean...that." It felt strange to use his voice again, after so many days alone.
Owen sat down and ran his hands through his hair. He'd shaved off his beard. It made him look younger. At the same time, the skin was whiter where it had been. Sean felt a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "That's a nice Irish beard," he remarked.
A grin lit up Owen's face. "Yeah," he said, rubbing his chin. "Didn't think about the tan thing when I shaved. You don't, do you, when the weather's like this all the time." He gestured to the window. The sky was grey, the clouds heavy with another impending delivery of rain. "Suppose I'm outside a lot, though."
"Anyway," Sean took a couple of beers from the fridge, "you didn't come here to talk about the weather."
"Cheers," Owen clinked his bottle against Sean's and took a drink. "Yeah, no, I just wanted to ask. Where this is going, like. I really like you, you know that. But I get the feeling your heart's not really in it." He paused. " Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?" His face was so earnest, his eyes green like the forest.
Sean sighed. "No, you're not wrong. I really like you too, but..." he took a drink. "There's someone else. Nothing's happened, I don't know if it ever will, but it's not fair on you... unless you're just after something casual, of course." He winked, trying to shift the heavy mood. "That's all I'm good for at the moment, to be honest." They were difficult words to say. But he felt better for telling the truth, finally.
"It's that bloke who called round here, Cal?" Owen's voice was neutral. He was picking at his thumbnail, as if he was trying not to care.
"I suppose," Sean said. "But...well, you know what's happened. It's not like we're going to go prancing off into the sunset anytime soon."
Owen chewed his lip. Finally, he cocked his head to one side and smiled. "Casual, then?" he said. "I guess I can live with that, until someone else comes along."
Sean smiled, surprised. "You're pretty amazing, you know that?"
A big grin. "That's what they all say."
"Well, "they" are spot on. And you're not bad at the guttering either."
"Cheeky bastard!" Owen laughed, and Sean felt his mood lighten. Owen stood up and put down his beer. "Want to see my new tattoo?" He pulled off his t-shirt and turned his back, peering over his shoulder at a black Chinese symbol on the small of his back. "It'll give the ladies something else to look at when my workman's arse is showing, like."
Sean's eyes travelled over the symbol, the tight muscles of Owen's back, the faint t-shirt tan. His jeans were loosely balanced on his hips, the tip of his crack just a shadow. "Nice," he said. "What does it mean?"
"It means "tiger" as in "tiger in the sack". At least, " he laughed, "I think it does. Can't bloody read it, can I!"
Sean ran his fingers over the smooth skin. "Well, let's see if that's true...tiger," he said, laughing. Owen's kiss was hot and slow and wet, and he felt his cock start to emerge from its hibernation. Under different circumstances, he thought, then Owen's hand slid down his zipper and he thought no more.
= = = = =
A couple of days later, Declan Crilly called, to remind Sean about the class reunion. Two weeks to go. Can't go to that in a wheelchair. Sean finished drying the dishes from the night before and threw the tea towel down, wiping his brow. Grabbing a packet of crisps, he went into the living room and sprawled over the sofa, marveling at the addictive qualities of Trisha and Jeremy Kyle. He watched Jeremy casting judgement on a teenager who'd fathered six children in a year. "You go, Jeremy!" he muttered, raising a handful of crisps to his mouth. "Last thing we need is more chavs running around."
Now he'd had time to think, he knew in his heart there was only one option. The cast, the wheelchair, more physio. He had already accepted it in his mind. There was just the practical side to worry about. He would need help with pretty much everything,just like before. But he couldn't move in with Megan again now she had the baby, it wouldn't be fair. Then he'd had a brainwave and called Jude to see if she was available to help out, and luckily for him, she was. She'd taken a holiday after Jeff's death, going to Australia to visit her sister. "It'll be nice to look after someone who's going to get better," she said, and they had made arrangements, sorted out fees and chatted about the weather in Perth.
"Damn sight nicer than this shit," Sean remarked to himself, remembering the conversation, looking out at the grey skies. People were talking about April showers. But since it rained most of the year, it seemed like a moot point. Despite the weather, he felt a lot happier. The date for the operation was scheduled two days after the class reunion.
The credits started to roll up the screen as tears were rolling down the young father's face. Time to go out, do something. Go for a walk, while he still could, rain or no rain. But just as he was pulling on his coat, he heard a bang outside. Opening the door, he saw Cal's Audi parked haphazardly on the pavement and Cal on his knees, trying to gather grass cuttings into a heap while Cassie licked at his face. The wheelie bin was on its side, its contents scattered over the street. For a second, Sean leaned against the door and smiled to himself, watching Cal trying to push the dog away, a warm feeling stealing into his heart.
Pulling the door behind him, he went over. "Need a hand?" he asked, trying not to laugh.
"Yeah could you..." Cal spat as Cassie licked his mouth. "Take this mutt. Sorry about knocking over the bin." He held out the lead. "Please?"
Sean took the lead and tied the dog to the gate. "Let me help you," he said, hunkering down beside Cal. A shot of pain made him gasp, and he overbalanced and fell on his arse. Cal looked up from the grass cuttings and they both burst out laughing at the same time.
When the giggles subsided, Sean hoisted himself to a standing position. "Leave that shit," he said. "I'll do it when I get back."
"You'll get fined," Cal said, frowning.
"I'll sue them for picking on the disabled."
Cal's eyes widened. "Is it that bad, your leg?"
Sean grinned. "I was talking about you. Who on earth allowed you behind a wheel? They should be shot."
"Cheeky sod!" Cal smiled, and Sean pulled him up. His hand was strong and warm. Sean had to force himself to let go.
"I was just going for a walk..." they both said at the same time, and laughed again. It had been so long since he'd seen Cal laugh. He was even more beautiful than ever, dressed in black as usual. He'd cut his hair shorter than Sean had ever seen. It was soft, not clogged with gel. He'd put on a bit of weight, and his face had lost the gaunt look he'd worn for so long.
"We can go to the park," Sean said. Cassie's tail began to wag. "But I'm driving."
As they drove, Cal was bright and full of chat about his mother, his brothers. One of them had got married, and had a baby on the way. The oldest one, Feargal, was about to emigrate to Canada, which was causing Valerie a lot of heartbreak. But nothing on Cal's father. He was still refusing to acknowledge his youngest son's existence, and a shadow passed over Cal's face as he said it. "Apparently he won't have photos of me anywhere in the house."
There was obviously something else on Cal's mind, as there was on Sean's. As he parked the car, the dog's whining was so loud he couldn't hear himself think. He skidded slightly on the gravel underfoot as he stepped out of the car, jarring his bad leg and for a moment he couldn't breathe with the brief shock of pain that left him gasping in its wake. Letting the dog out, he turned to tell Cal about his impending operation, but Cal got there first.
"I'm selling the house," he said, as they started off along the path Sean had taken the day he and Cal had been reunited over a broken wrist. "I just can't live there anymore, it's too big and... anyway." He took a deep breath. "I wondered if I could stay with you for a few days while the decorators are in." He looked out over the playing fields and sighed. "I can't stay with mum, obviously. And my brothers have all got some shit or other going on. I...don't really have any friends here, any more."
That's the worst idea I've ever heard, Sean wanted to say. He imagined Cal walking around in his boxer shorts, damp from showering. Cooking in the kitchen, wearing that stupid apron. Sitting next to him on the sofa, drinking beer. He would get used to it, then feel like shit again when Cal left. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what would happen. Cassie bounded past, her full weight landing on Cal's foot as she tore into the trees after a squirrel. He hopped and swore for a second while Sean laughed.
"She's a handful," Cal said, watching her barking up at the tree the squirrel had run up to escape. "Anyway what do you think? I won't be any trouble. And she can sleep in the garage, if you want."
Sean shrugged. What was there to say? "No" wasn't an option. He would just have to take a cold shower every day and hope that Cal's decorators were fast. "Sure," he said. "Just bring your stuff over...like whenever." He sighed, trying to ignore the conflicting feelings in his head. So wrong, but what was the choice?
That evening, Megan had plenty to say about the issue. "Tell him to come and stay with me," she said, her t-shirt pulling free of her waistband as she stretched up to get a packet of pasta from the cupboard. "You're just setting yourself up for a fall, baby brother. You must be mad."
Sean caught a glimpse of the roll of baby fat around her waist. It had been one of the multitude of reasons his own mother had resented them so much, the loss of her figure, and consequently her husband's fickle attentions. The drinking and bingeing hadn't helped her lose it, either.
"Mad," he repeated. "Yes, I think so. But he said he hadn't any other friends, what could I have said?"
She stirred the pasta into a saucepan of boiling water. "Tell him he's welcome here." she said again. "I don't think I'll have any problems keeping my hands off him, sweetie. He can help with the baby."
It sounded like a good idea, but he was reluctant to say anything to Cal. Despite all his misgivings, he wanted him in his house, more than anything. "The dog's coming too," he said. "You don't want a dog around the baby, do you?"
Megan raised an eyebrow. "That's a pathetic excuse and you know it," she said.
He shrugged. "I can't help it."
The letterbox flapped in the hallway. "That's the Telegraph," he said, glad of an excuse to leave the room. "I'll get it for you."
"You're not getting away that easily!" Megan shouted after him.
He paused to look at himself in the hall mirror. His blond hair was sticking up, as usual. He squinted, noting the creases around his eyes. Rubbing his chin, he wondered if Cal saw what he saw: thirty six years of living in that face, the tiny scars from the accident, the slightly crooked nose which he'd broken years ago falling off a mountain bike, the white hairs around his temples. Or did Cal see what Sean saw when he looked at his former school friend: underneath the caresses of the years was the face of the boy he had grown up with and loved. He thought of the photo Jeff had taken of them in the hospital café, and couldn't stop himself from smiling a little.
"Don't be a mug," he told his reflection, but it just smiled back, dumb.
= = = = =
Cal came with two huge suitcases of clothes, the dog and a Playstation. A perfect distraction. Sean flopped back on the sofa, annoyed at failing once again at Prince of Persia. His thumbs were so sore he couldn't continue. It was doubly annoying when Cal took the console from him and effortlessly maneuvered the Prince past the obstacles and up to a safe platform. "You sure you don't want to try again?" he said, grinning.
"That's a stupid game," Sean said, flicking on the TV. Cal was sitting so close. He was painfully aware of the warmth of his body, the scent of his aftershave. The cold tap in the shower, as he had prophesied, had been used more frequently than ever before. And the worst thing was, Cal seemed oblivious to the effect he was having. He'd forgotten his bath robe and was using one that Megan had left, a short, pink one that left little to the imagination. His hair was damp after his recent shower. Sean stared straight ahead at Jeremy Kyle. Today's topic was eating disorders, a crap one. It meant that Jeremy wouldn't be so judgemental, which was the whole point of the show.
Cal leaned forward to put his empty cereal bowl on the new coffee table. The ridiculous robe gaped open at the front and Sean looked out of the window at the sky. He had noticed on the first day that Cal's nipples were dark and glinted with gold piercings and he couldn't look again. Even the thought of it made his cock start to wake up in his jeans and he stood up. "Time for my shower," he said, trying to keep his voice normal. "Then we can take the dog to the park if you want. I feel like a walk."
What he wanted to say was "Get some fucking clothes on." And: "Any chance of moving out?"
It wasn't Cal's fault the decorators had used the wrong colour. It also wasn't his fault that the boiler had burst and needed replacing, or that the surveyor had recommended having the wooden floors replaced before putting it up for sale. "It's just an old house," she'd said. "These things need doing." He couldn't help those things, but he certainly could get dressed quicker in the mornings and stop lying around the sofa in that woman's bath robe, or even worse, his boxers. Sean felt himself going around in a state of low level arousal that was like the irritating buzz of a fly, just too far away to swat but not close enough to react to.
With the bathroom door safely locked, he relaxed as the spray of warm water hit his skin, and his hand drifted to his semi-erect cock. He imagined pressing his lips against those dark little nipples, feeling the metal under the tip of his tongue. As his hand speeded up, he recalled how Cal's cock had felt in his hand all those years ago, and the well-worn old memory brought him quickly to a climax. He bit his lip as his cock pulsed in his hand, shooting white lines into the swirling suds at his feet and waves of tingling pleasure throughout his body. His mind was pleasantly blanked out by the force of orgasm and he leaned his forehead against the steamy glass, panting.
As he rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, he felt the blank space fill with guilt. Unable to get to sleep easily at night, he had heard the desolate sounds of muffled tears coming from Cal's room, the grief that Cal tried so hard to hide. He'd noticed that Cal was drinking every evening. Not much, but maybe enough to take the edge off. And here he was, supposedly the supportive friend, perving at every opportunity and whacking off over past events that might as well never have happened. He couldn't wait for Cal's house to get sorted out. It was ridiculous that he had to creep around his own house with his eyes dancing around the floor like a religious aunt at a Chippendales show hen night. "Stupid fucking moron," he muttered at his reflection, rubbing shaving gel over his chin. He didn't need to shave, but it would give Cal more time to get dressed at least because he still took at least an hour to get ready to go anywhere.
Some things never changed.
= = = = =
The days went past uneventfully. Cal was out of the house a lot, which Sean was grateful for. He had things to do of his own, such as moving all the things he would need for day to day living down the stairs. It would be a while before he would be able to make it up the stairs again after the operation. Going to the bathroom would be a pain. His was an old house, with an outside toilet which he had never used. He cleaned it all up and built a ramp for the step at the back door. The practicalities were a depressing reminder of what was to come, but he counteracted it by imagining his life finally getting back to normal, when he was able to walk properly again.
He organized a pre-reunion barbeque which turned out to be a rain soaked disaster. The burgers looked more like charcoal and the salad looked like vomit. Not one of his better attempts. Luckily an order to the local Indian sorted that one out, as well as copious quantities of beer. He invited Declan and a couple of his old rugby mates, Tom and Ger, and after they'd got over taking the piss about Sean's cooking, they'd had a laugh. He'd realised that none of his former schoolfriends knew he was gay, and he didn't want to spend the whole reunion talking about it, or around it. Declan, who'd never played rugby in his life, slapped him on the back. "Damn, I bet you're sad you never got to grab my bollocks in those scrums," he'd said, a modest look on his face. "These guys have regretted that for years."
"You know," Tom had said. "We grew up in a sheltered fucking environment. I had no idea that people were gay until I got to uni."
"Or that they walked among us," Ger had added with mock terror on his face, and they'd laughed themselves silly. No big deal. He was glad that his former schoolfriends were a bit more enlightened than the average, or the types who'd spray insulting graffiti on a dying man's door.
Cal had missed the barbeque and staggered home at well after midnight, drunk and incoherent. He smelt of cigarette smoke and sweat, and Sean put him to bed, dutifully tucking him in and leaving the usual packet of Nurofen and a glass of water beside the bed, a bucket on the floor. Cal's t-shirt was inside out. He fingered the label for a second, and then stroked Cal's damp hair. "What are you doing," he whispered, his heart swelling with love and pity, wishing he could just wave a magic wand and make Cal feel normal again.
Cal's brow wrinkled and he shifted in the bed. "Stop fussing, Jeff," he muttered. " M'okay."
You're far from OK, Sean thought, going into his bedroom, the shine gone from the evening.