Fic: Good Reasons
Title: Good Reasons (Donald Strachey Mysteries - movieverse)
Rating & Word Count R, about 3,500
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Richard Stevenson.
Notes: I have several stories in my files that probably could use a little work before I post them, but I know I’ll never do it. I’ve decided to free those stories and let readers think of them what they might. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I’d love to hear your ideas for improvement, but it’s not likely I’ll do any rewrites. I’ll save your advice, though, and apply it to my new fics.
I propped my feet on top of my cluttered desk, kicking impatiently at the mess that had never bothered me before tonight.
Many things had never bothered me before tonight - not my shitty car, my low-life job or my nonexistent bank account - but they bothered me now. I cursed the day I’d agreed to meet Timmy at his hoity-toity fundraiser, because if it hadn’t been for that stupid, pointless event, I’d never have to know for certain what everyone in his uppercrust life thought of me.
I saw the way they looked at me when I walked through the door. Dressed in my best Sears suit while everyone, including Timmy, was decked out in a tux. And not cheap tuxes, either, but the kind you had cleaned on Monday and hung up in your closet on Tuesday. I saw the heads turn as he walked across the room, wearing a smile that could have lit up Manhattan. If I’d been able to concentrate on Timmy’s smile, maybe I’d have been all right. But I saw them put their heads together, whispering, pointing at me with their drinks.
I knew what they were saying. What the hell was Timothy J. Callahan, son of a congressman, a senator’s aide and the best-looking man in the room doing with that guy? Slumming?
Hell, their guesses were as good as mine. I had no idea why a guy like Timmy would even go out with me, let alone stick with me for five months. He never gave me a reason, and I never asked.
But just because I didn’t know why Timmy was with me didn’t mean I liked other people wondering the same thing. It was one thing for me to have doubts, but it was nobody’s fucking business why we were together.
Of course, Timmy didn’t see any of it. He greeted me with a peck on the cheek, took me by the hand and led me to a group of people I hope I never see again as long as I live.
Then the questions began. What do you do, mister … what was your name again? You’re a private eye? How terribly exciting, just like one of those television shows. Your office is where? Central Avenue? Oh, I never get down that way. It’s such a rough neighborhood, but surely you’ll move when your business improves. Wherever did you get that suit?
Timmy never would have taken their shitty remarks the way I did, the way people meant them. He was that way; he never thought anyone meant any harm. He saw the good in everyone, even me, and I loved that about him. Too bad everyone seemed to take advantage of him because of it.
Then there were the men, obviously gay and obviously determined to make me look bad in front of Timmy. They knew he was with me, but that didn’t stop them from touching his arm, squeezing his shoulder and bragging about their new cars, trips to Europe and jobs where they didn’t do anything but collect fat paychecks.
At one point Timmy left me with a group of his so-called friends, telling me he’d be right back with a couple of drinks. I stood there and made small talk, wishing I’d gone with him or even insisted on getting the drinks myself. I’d have had better rapport with the bartender than I did with the useless idiots standing around me.
It took a long time for Timmy to return with the drinks, or at least it seemed like a long time. I looked around for him and finally spotted him about twenty feet away. He was watching me, and he wasn’t smiling. We stared at each other across the space, and I knew what he was thinking. He was comparing me to the people around him. I stuck out like a cactus in a rose garden, and he was finally beginning to understand that.
I wanted to leave. I wanted to go home and drink myself into oblivion, forget I ever met Timothy J. Callahan. But all I could was stand there and wait for him to come and tell me it was over.
He handed me my drink. I tossed it back, took his arm and drew him away from the crowd. I was desperate to leave, and I went with the first thought that entered my head.
“I have to go to work for a couple of hours. I’m sorry, but something went wrong with one of my cases.”
“Really? I thought we were going to your place after this. I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll get you a cab and meet you there later,” I said, desperate to get the hell out that ballroom. “One, two hours, tops.”
“Well, all right. Just let me say good-bye to a couple of people.”
A guy who had at least six inches on me sidled up to us and touched Timmy’s arm. I wanted to punch him. Timmy had introduced him earlier as Colin Some-Shit-Or-Other. The asshole must have spent ten minutes talking about his brand-new Mercedes two-seater.
“I couldn’t help hearing,” he said in a voice as smooth as glass. “I’ll be glad to drop you off, Tim. Wherever you’re going.”
To prove I wasn’t a complete asshole, I agreed. “That would be great.” I squeezed Timmy’s hand, but I wouldn’t kiss him, not in front of that jerk. It would have been like a dog marking his territory. But God, I wanted to. “I’ll see you in a little while, Timmy.”
I stalked out of the ballroom and didn’t look back. If I did, I’d probably would have seen fuckhead with his hands on Timmy, and I was pretty sure if I saw that, I’d go back and knock him on his ass.
So here I was, sitting alone in my dark office, wondering how to end this thing before my heart got broken. Yeah, right, like it wasn’t too late for that.
Another hour spent in the dark didn’t give me any answers. I put my cheap suit coat back on, locked my office door and trudged downstairs to my car. I looked at the battered old relic for a minute, wishing it was a two-seater Mercedes with room just for Timmy and me. But it wasn’t, and I doubted it ever would be.
I drove to my apartment, knowing Timmy would be there, waiting to tell me he needed space, that we should date other people. Oh, he’d find a polite way to put it because he was a gentleman, but the result would be the same. He’d move on; I’d be alone. Again.
The apartment was dark and quiet. Timmy was probably in bed, and I hoped he was sleeping. I could crawl in beside him, take him in my arms and forget about everything for a while.
The bedroom door was open, but I could see a faint light. Great. He was awake, he’d want to talk, and I was too mad to pretend I’d had a good time and too tired to hedge about what I’d been doing. I used the bathroom to get ready for bed, took a deep breath and stepped into the bedroom.
He was asleep. The small bedside light was on, probably for me so I wouldn’t trip over my own feet in the dark. He was thoughtful that way, more concerned for other people than he was for himself. Someday that would come back to bite him on the ass, but I hoped that wasn’t anytime soon.
I stood in the doorway, watching him. He was lying on his back, his chest bare, one arm curved above his head, the sheet bunched around his waist. His face was turned toward me, and it struck me how vulnerable he looked without his glasses.
I was crazy about Timmy, but until that moment, I didn’t realize how much I loved him. I’d never let myself think of the possibility of loving Timmy, knowing somehow, some way, something would fuck it up. But now, standing there, watching him sleep, I couldn’t help thinking about it, feeling it. I loved him.
Writers never tell you what love is really like. You’d think it would make you happy, all the time, no matter what. They never tell you about the fear that comes with love, the fear that makes you want to run away from it and never come back. I was more afraid than I’d ever been in my life, afraid that I would never have enough or be enough of a man to keep Timmy in my life.
I had nothing to offer. I worked hard, but I didn’t make much money. I’d never be able to give Timmy the things I wanted him to have. We didn’t move in the same circles, and I I’d never fit into a life that was second nature to him. He’d probably say we’d live on love or some shit, but I’d lived in reality a lot longer than he had. You couldn’t live on love. Eventually, both of us would starve for things we couldn’t have.
He stirred, almost as if he knew I was there. I would have known I was there, but Timmy’s sense of self-preservation wasn’t as strong as mine. The sheet tangled in his legs and slid lower, revealing his hip. In spite of all my doubts and fears, or maybe because of them, I found myself wanting him.
If there was anything I was good at, it was sex. I could fuck better, suck better and last longer than anyone I knew. I knew how to drive Timmy crazy, how to draw everything out until he came so hard he would scream my name, and I’d have to kiss him through it so the neighbors wouldn’t hear him. I’d watch him fall apart, always making sure he went first before I let myself follow him.
If nothing else, maybe he’d stay for the sex. It was better than nothing and more than I’d probably ever have. And he’d be with me - sleeping in my bed, drinking coffee in my kitchen and letting me take him to work in my shitty car. Yeah, that would have to be enough.
I slid into bed beside him, careful not to wake him. I propped myself on my elbow, watching his sleeping face and getting hard just from being near him. I ran my fingers down his chest, through that silky hair I found so incredibly sexy. He made a noise, but he didn’t wake up, so I traced one finger around his left nipple before bending over him and taking it in my mouth. It was already hard, like he’d been dreaming about me. I sucked on it, teasing it with my tongue and lips until I heard him sigh and felt his fingers in my hair.
“Donald.”
His voice was hoarse, raspy with sleep. The sound rippled down my spine, making me shiver. His hand slid to my neck and down my shoulder, then back to my hair. I sucked a little harder as I pulled the sheet away from his legs so I could see him.
“Donald, wait.”
I let go of his nipple and looked at him. His eyes were half-closed, but I could still make out their brilliant blue. He didn’t smile at me the way he always did when I woke him this way, and maybe that realization prompted me to roll on top of him and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. He had something to say, something it would kill me to hear. So I kissed him, and kept kissing him, driving my tongue into his mouth and sucking his back into mine.
Words. What good were they? This, making Timmy hard and giving him more pleasure than anyone else ever could just because I loved him, was far more important than words. When I was through with him he’d feel loved, needed, wrung out and exhausted, and he’d forget whatever it was he’d wanted to say.
At first, he responded the way he always did, with equal passion and enthusiasm. Then he tried breaking the kiss, but I gripped the side of his face with one hand, keeping him where he was, gentling the kiss into something teasing and light. I ground my hips against his, making him moan into my mouth.
I had him now. I humped against him, hard, and felt one long leg wrap itself around my hips. Timmy was hard and hot, and he needed to come. I needed to make him come. I pushed myself up on my hands, intending to give him everything I had, but Timmy grunted and flipped me onto my back.
That was not part of the plan. I was on top; I was always on top. Even when he was inside me, I was on top. It was the only way I could make sure he got what he needed, every time. I tried to flip us back over, but Timmy held me where I was.
I stared up at him. His face was red and he was breathing hard, his body covered with a fine sheen of sweat. He stared back at me, his expression so serious that I could tell what was coming. My dick wasted no time shrinking back to its normal state.
“Need to talk to you,” he said as his breathing slowed.
“Funny time for a conversation.” I could barely get the words past my throat. “Mind getting off me?”
Timmy ignored my question, shifting so that he lay between my legs, with most of his weight on his elbows. He looked around the room as if it were someplace new and exotic. “A guy could get vertigo up here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m on top.” He smiled down at me. “It’s nice up here.”
“Yeah, it’s great. Let me up.”
“Not before I talk to you.”
“So talk.” I tried to ignore the sudden tightness in my chest. “I guess it must be important if you interrupted us mid-fuck.”
His dick shriveled against mine. “It is important.”
I knew what he wanted to say, so I said it for him. What was the point of beating around the bush? “If you want to leave, leave. There’s the door.”
As soon as I said the words, I wished them back. Timmy didn’t say a word; he just stared down at me like he couldn’t believe what I’d just said.
“You want me to leave?”
I stuck with my stupid bravado. It was the only way to keep myself from bawling. “If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you.”
Timmy shook his head. “If I were a stupid man, I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”
“You can’t be too bright if you’re still here.”
Timmy gazed into my eyes, squinting a little the way he did when his thoughts were sparking on all cylinders. I’d seen him focus that look on politicians and crossword puzzles. It was unnerving, almost as if he were reading my mind.
He settled himself more comfortably between my thighs, kissed the tip of my nose, then rested his head against my chest. I automatically wound my arms around his back, trying not think that it might be the last time I held him like this. I wouldn’t stay with me; why would he?
“I know how much you hated coming to that fundraiser.”
Hate didn’t cover it.
“You came, anyway. Because I asked you to be my date. You knew you’d be uncomfortable, but you put on your good suit and went there to be with me.”
I shrugged. “So what?”
He ignored me. “You never brag about what you have or what you might have someday. You never talk down to people, but you never back down, either. You say what you mean, and you mean what you say.”
He was quiet for a minute.
“You’re always so good to me. You open doors, you get up first and make the coffee and save me all your crossword puzzles. You don’t care that I’m bossy and always want my own way.”
I tamped down a surge of hope. Hope usually got me nowhere.
“I feel good when I’m with you. Happy.”
“Timmy-”
“You’re a poor man, Donald. Most of the time, you don’t have two dimes to rub together.” He kissed my chest. “But when you do have two dimes, you always give them to me. That makes you the richest man I know.”
He raised his head and looked at me. His gaze was soft, his smile sweet. “I love you, Donald. That’s what I wanted to say.”
My mouth opened and closed like a landed bass. He was waiting for me to return the sentiment, and I wanted to, but the words stuck in the back my throat.
“I’ll take that as an ‘I love you, too.’ ” He kissed my lips, my cheek and my chin. “So, you still think I ought to leave?”
I shook my head. “Don’t go. Stay forever.”
He looked around the room. “My apartment’s bigger.” He humped against me, just a little. “If we move to my place, we’ll have more room for your … gun.”
My brain could hardly keep up. “You want us to live together?”
“I want us to be together. Always.”
He stayed on top that night. I let him take charge, let him do whatever he wanted with me. I knew Timmy was excellent in bed, but I didn’t know the half of it. By the time he was done with me, I had bruises and bite marks all over my body, and I was sure I wouldn’t sit for a week. Timmy laughed when I told him that and said paybacks were a bitch.
We were still awake when the sun came up. Timmy decided we’d take the day off and start moving me into his apartment. I listened while he called his office and left a message about having an allergic reaction to shrimp cocktail. I would have said I was puking my guts out and wouldn’t be in.
That done, Timmy arranged the sheet and comforter around us, took me in his arms and ordered me to sleep.
“We’ll start moving when we get up.”
I was already drifting off. “M’kay.”
“You’re not bringing that Budweiser poster.”
“I won’t.”
“Or that rusty frying pan.”
“Gotcha.”
“I’ll teach you how to season a cast-iron frying pan.”
“Yup.” I yawned, making my jaw crack.
“We’ll need to go shopping -”
I put my hand over his mouth. “Timmy?”
“Hmm?”
“Go to sleep.”
He was asleep in seconds. I wrapped my leg around his thighs and my arm around his waist, keeping him close.
“I love you,” I whispered against his chest.
He sighed in his sleep, almost as if he heard me in his dreams.
Timmy loved me. And I finally knew why.
****
Two years later
I strolled into the ballroom, scanning the crowd for Timmy. After a couple of minutes I spotted him, listening politely to some silver-haired geezer and his blue-haired wife. I watched him, unable to help the grin that spread across my face. Timmy was wearing his “interested” expression, the one that told me he was anything but interested.
He turned his head in my direction, and I could tell the instant he saw me. He smiled, made his excuses and headed toward me. People stood aside as he passed, staring at him the way they always did, possibly staring at me, too, wondering why the hell Timothy J. Callahan chose to spend his life with a nobody like me.
I didn’t care about that. Not anymore. I only had eyes for Timmy.
“You made it.” He sipped his martini. “I thought you might have to work late.”
I took the glass from his hand and drained it. “Why would I work late when I could be here with you?”
“You hate these things.”
“But I love you.”
He nodded and whispered in my ear. “Take me home.”
His warm breath against my neck made me shiver with longing. “Don’t you have to schmooze for a while?”
“Why would I schmooze here when I could be alone with you?”
“No reason.” I glanced around me, taking in the pointed glances of people who thought they were better than me. They still didn’t get it. But that was their loss.
I took Timmy’s hand in mine and kissed his cheek. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
I didn’t spare the rest of the penguins a backward glance. They could wonder about us all they wanted. I had Timmy, he had me - for good reasons.
*Crossposted from Dreamwidth*
Rating & Word Count R, about 3,500
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Richard Stevenson.
Notes: I have several stories in my files that probably could use a little work before I post them, but I know I’ll never do it. I’ve decided to free those stories and let readers think of them what they might. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I’d love to hear your ideas for improvement, but it’s not likely I’ll do any rewrites. I’ll save your advice, though, and apply it to my new fics.
I propped my feet on top of my cluttered desk, kicking impatiently at the mess that had never bothered me before tonight.
Many things had never bothered me before tonight - not my shitty car, my low-life job or my nonexistent bank account - but they bothered me now. I cursed the day I’d agreed to meet Timmy at his hoity-toity fundraiser, because if it hadn’t been for that stupid, pointless event, I’d never have to know for certain what everyone in his uppercrust life thought of me.
I saw the way they looked at me when I walked through the door. Dressed in my best Sears suit while everyone, including Timmy, was decked out in a tux. And not cheap tuxes, either, but the kind you had cleaned on Monday and hung up in your closet on Tuesday. I saw the heads turn as he walked across the room, wearing a smile that could have lit up Manhattan. If I’d been able to concentrate on Timmy’s smile, maybe I’d have been all right. But I saw them put their heads together, whispering, pointing at me with their drinks.
I knew what they were saying. What the hell was Timothy J. Callahan, son of a congressman, a senator’s aide and the best-looking man in the room doing with that guy? Slumming?
Hell, their guesses were as good as mine. I had no idea why a guy like Timmy would even go out with me, let alone stick with me for five months. He never gave me a reason, and I never asked.
But just because I didn’t know why Timmy was with me didn’t mean I liked other people wondering the same thing. It was one thing for me to have doubts, but it was nobody’s fucking business why we were together.
Of course, Timmy didn’t see any of it. He greeted me with a peck on the cheek, took me by the hand and led me to a group of people I hope I never see again as long as I live.
Then the questions began. What do you do, mister … what was your name again? You’re a private eye? How terribly exciting, just like one of those television shows. Your office is where? Central Avenue? Oh, I never get down that way. It’s such a rough neighborhood, but surely you’ll move when your business improves. Wherever did you get that suit?
Timmy never would have taken their shitty remarks the way I did, the way people meant them. He was that way; he never thought anyone meant any harm. He saw the good in everyone, even me, and I loved that about him. Too bad everyone seemed to take advantage of him because of it.
Then there were the men, obviously gay and obviously determined to make me look bad in front of Timmy. They knew he was with me, but that didn’t stop them from touching his arm, squeezing his shoulder and bragging about their new cars, trips to Europe and jobs where they didn’t do anything but collect fat paychecks.
At one point Timmy left me with a group of his so-called friends, telling me he’d be right back with a couple of drinks. I stood there and made small talk, wishing I’d gone with him or even insisted on getting the drinks myself. I’d have had better rapport with the bartender than I did with the useless idiots standing around me.
It took a long time for Timmy to return with the drinks, or at least it seemed like a long time. I looked around for him and finally spotted him about twenty feet away. He was watching me, and he wasn’t smiling. We stared at each other across the space, and I knew what he was thinking. He was comparing me to the people around him. I stuck out like a cactus in a rose garden, and he was finally beginning to understand that.
I wanted to leave. I wanted to go home and drink myself into oblivion, forget I ever met Timothy J. Callahan. But all I could was stand there and wait for him to come and tell me it was over.
He handed me my drink. I tossed it back, took his arm and drew him away from the crowd. I was desperate to leave, and I went with the first thought that entered my head.
“I have to go to work for a couple of hours. I’m sorry, but something went wrong with one of my cases.”
“Really? I thought we were going to your place after this. I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll get you a cab and meet you there later,” I said, desperate to get the hell out that ballroom. “One, two hours, tops.”
“Well, all right. Just let me say good-bye to a couple of people.”
A guy who had at least six inches on me sidled up to us and touched Timmy’s arm. I wanted to punch him. Timmy had introduced him earlier as Colin Some-Shit-Or-Other. The asshole must have spent ten minutes talking about his brand-new Mercedes two-seater.
“I couldn’t help hearing,” he said in a voice as smooth as glass. “I’ll be glad to drop you off, Tim. Wherever you’re going.”
To prove I wasn’t a complete asshole, I agreed. “That would be great.” I squeezed Timmy’s hand, but I wouldn’t kiss him, not in front of that jerk. It would have been like a dog marking his territory. But God, I wanted to. “I’ll see you in a little while, Timmy.”
I stalked out of the ballroom and didn’t look back. If I did, I’d probably would have seen fuckhead with his hands on Timmy, and I was pretty sure if I saw that, I’d go back and knock him on his ass.
So here I was, sitting alone in my dark office, wondering how to end this thing before my heart got broken. Yeah, right, like it wasn’t too late for that.
Another hour spent in the dark didn’t give me any answers. I put my cheap suit coat back on, locked my office door and trudged downstairs to my car. I looked at the battered old relic for a minute, wishing it was a two-seater Mercedes with room just for Timmy and me. But it wasn’t, and I doubted it ever would be.
I drove to my apartment, knowing Timmy would be there, waiting to tell me he needed space, that we should date other people. Oh, he’d find a polite way to put it because he was a gentleman, but the result would be the same. He’d move on; I’d be alone. Again.
The apartment was dark and quiet. Timmy was probably in bed, and I hoped he was sleeping. I could crawl in beside him, take him in my arms and forget about everything for a while.
The bedroom door was open, but I could see a faint light. Great. He was awake, he’d want to talk, and I was too mad to pretend I’d had a good time and too tired to hedge about what I’d been doing. I used the bathroom to get ready for bed, took a deep breath and stepped into the bedroom.
He was asleep. The small bedside light was on, probably for me so I wouldn’t trip over my own feet in the dark. He was thoughtful that way, more concerned for other people than he was for himself. Someday that would come back to bite him on the ass, but I hoped that wasn’t anytime soon.
I stood in the doorway, watching him. He was lying on his back, his chest bare, one arm curved above his head, the sheet bunched around his waist. His face was turned toward me, and it struck me how vulnerable he looked without his glasses.
I was crazy about Timmy, but until that moment, I didn’t realize how much I loved him. I’d never let myself think of the possibility of loving Timmy, knowing somehow, some way, something would fuck it up. But now, standing there, watching him sleep, I couldn’t help thinking about it, feeling it. I loved him.
Writers never tell you what love is really like. You’d think it would make you happy, all the time, no matter what. They never tell you about the fear that comes with love, the fear that makes you want to run away from it and never come back. I was more afraid than I’d ever been in my life, afraid that I would never have enough or be enough of a man to keep Timmy in my life.
I had nothing to offer. I worked hard, but I didn’t make much money. I’d never be able to give Timmy the things I wanted him to have. We didn’t move in the same circles, and I I’d never fit into a life that was second nature to him. He’d probably say we’d live on love or some shit, but I’d lived in reality a lot longer than he had. You couldn’t live on love. Eventually, both of us would starve for things we couldn’t have.
He stirred, almost as if he knew I was there. I would have known I was there, but Timmy’s sense of self-preservation wasn’t as strong as mine. The sheet tangled in his legs and slid lower, revealing his hip. In spite of all my doubts and fears, or maybe because of them, I found myself wanting him.
If there was anything I was good at, it was sex. I could fuck better, suck better and last longer than anyone I knew. I knew how to drive Timmy crazy, how to draw everything out until he came so hard he would scream my name, and I’d have to kiss him through it so the neighbors wouldn’t hear him. I’d watch him fall apart, always making sure he went first before I let myself follow him.
If nothing else, maybe he’d stay for the sex. It was better than nothing and more than I’d probably ever have. And he’d be with me - sleeping in my bed, drinking coffee in my kitchen and letting me take him to work in my shitty car. Yeah, that would have to be enough.
I slid into bed beside him, careful not to wake him. I propped myself on my elbow, watching his sleeping face and getting hard just from being near him. I ran my fingers down his chest, through that silky hair I found so incredibly sexy. He made a noise, but he didn’t wake up, so I traced one finger around his left nipple before bending over him and taking it in my mouth. It was already hard, like he’d been dreaming about me. I sucked on it, teasing it with my tongue and lips until I heard him sigh and felt his fingers in my hair.
“Donald.”
His voice was hoarse, raspy with sleep. The sound rippled down my spine, making me shiver. His hand slid to my neck and down my shoulder, then back to my hair. I sucked a little harder as I pulled the sheet away from his legs so I could see him.
“Donald, wait.”
I let go of his nipple and looked at him. His eyes were half-closed, but I could still make out their brilliant blue. He didn’t smile at me the way he always did when I woke him this way, and maybe that realization prompted me to roll on top of him and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. He had something to say, something it would kill me to hear. So I kissed him, and kept kissing him, driving my tongue into his mouth and sucking his back into mine.
Words. What good were they? This, making Timmy hard and giving him more pleasure than anyone else ever could just because I loved him, was far more important than words. When I was through with him he’d feel loved, needed, wrung out and exhausted, and he’d forget whatever it was he’d wanted to say.
At first, he responded the way he always did, with equal passion and enthusiasm. Then he tried breaking the kiss, but I gripped the side of his face with one hand, keeping him where he was, gentling the kiss into something teasing and light. I ground my hips against his, making him moan into my mouth.
I had him now. I humped against him, hard, and felt one long leg wrap itself around my hips. Timmy was hard and hot, and he needed to come. I needed to make him come. I pushed myself up on my hands, intending to give him everything I had, but Timmy grunted and flipped me onto my back.
That was not part of the plan. I was on top; I was always on top. Even when he was inside me, I was on top. It was the only way I could make sure he got what he needed, every time. I tried to flip us back over, but Timmy held me where I was.
I stared up at him. His face was red and he was breathing hard, his body covered with a fine sheen of sweat. He stared back at me, his expression so serious that I could tell what was coming. My dick wasted no time shrinking back to its normal state.
“Need to talk to you,” he said as his breathing slowed.
“Funny time for a conversation.” I could barely get the words past my throat. “Mind getting off me?”
Timmy ignored my question, shifting so that he lay between my legs, with most of his weight on his elbows. He looked around the room as if it were someplace new and exotic. “A guy could get vertigo up here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m on top.” He smiled down at me. “It’s nice up here.”
“Yeah, it’s great. Let me up.”
“Not before I talk to you.”
“So talk.” I tried to ignore the sudden tightness in my chest. “I guess it must be important if you interrupted us mid-fuck.”
His dick shriveled against mine. “It is important.”
I knew what he wanted to say, so I said it for him. What was the point of beating around the bush? “If you want to leave, leave. There’s the door.”
As soon as I said the words, I wished them back. Timmy didn’t say a word; he just stared down at me like he couldn’t believe what I’d just said.
“You want me to leave?”
I stuck with my stupid bravado. It was the only way to keep myself from bawling. “If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you.”
Timmy shook his head. “If I were a stupid man, I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”
“You can’t be too bright if you’re still here.”
Timmy gazed into my eyes, squinting a little the way he did when his thoughts were sparking on all cylinders. I’d seen him focus that look on politicians and crossword puzzles. It was unnerving, almost as if he were reading my mind.
He settled himself more comfortably between my thighs, kissed the tip of my nose, then rested his head against my chest. I automatically wound my arms around his back, trying not think that it might be the last time I held him like this. I wouldn’t stay with me; why would he?
“I know how much you hated coming to that fundraiser.”
Hate didn’t cover it.
“You came, anyway. Because I asked you to be my date. You knew you’d be uncomfortable, but you put on your good suit and went there to be with me.”
I shrugged. “So what?”
He ignored me. “You never brag about what you have or what you might have someday. You never talk down to people, but you never back down, either. You say what you mean, and you mean what you say.”
He was quiet for a minute.
“You’re always so good to me. You open doors, you get up first and make the coffee and save me all your crossword puzzles. You don’t care that I’m bossy and always want my own way.”
I tamped down a surge of hope. Hope usually got me nowhere.
“I feel good when I’m with you. Happy.”
“Timmy-”
“You’re a poor man, Donald. Most of the time, you don’t have two dimes to rub together.” He kissed my chest. “But when you do have two dimes, you always give them to me. That makes you the richest man I know.”
He raised his head and looked at me. His gaze was soft, his smile sweet. “I love you, Donald. That’s what I wanted to say.”
My mouth opened and closed like a landed bass. He was waiting for me to return the sentiment, and I wanted to, but the words stuck in the back my throat.
“I’ll take that as an ‘I love you, too.’ ” He kissed my lips, my cheek and my chin. “So, you still think I ought to leave?”
I shook my head. “Don’t go. Stay forever.”
He looked around the room. “My apartment’s bigger.” He humped against me, just a little. “If we move to my place, we’ll have more room for your … gun.”
My brain could hardly keep up. “You want us to live together?”
“I want us to be together. Always.”
He stayed on top that night. I let him take charge, let him do whatever he wanted with me. I knew Timmy was excellent in bed, but I didn’t know the half of it. By the time he was done with me, I had bruises and bite marks all over my body, and I was sure I wouldn’t sit for a week. Timmy laughed when I told him that and said paybacks were a bitch.
We were still awake when the sun came up. Timmy decided we’d take the day off and start moving me into his apartment. I listened while he called his office and left a message about having an allergic reaction to shrimp cocktail. I would have said I was puking my guts out and wouldn’t be in.
That done, Timmy arranged the sheet and comforter around us, took me in his arms and ordered me to sleep.
“We’ll start moving when we get up.”
I was already drifting off. “M’kay.”
“You’re not bringing that Budweiser poster.”
“I won’t.”
“Or that rusty frying pan.”
“Gotcha.”
“I’ll teach you how to season a cast-iron frying pan.”
“Yup.” I yawned, making my jaw crack.
“We’ll need to go shopping -”
I put my hand over his mouth. “Timmy?”
“Hmm?”
“Go to sleep.”
He was asleep in seconds. I wrapped my leg around his thighs and my arm around his waist, keeping him close.
“I love you,” I whispered against his chest.
He sighed in his sleep, almost as if he heard me in his dreams.
Timmy loved me. And I finally knew why.
****
Two years later
I strolled into the ballroom, scanning the crowd for Timmy. After a couple of minutes I spotted him, listening politely to some silver-haired geezer and his blue-haired wife. I watched him, unable to help the grin that spread across my face. Timmy was wearing his “interested” expression, the one that told me he was anything but interested.
He turned his head in my direction, and I could tell the instant he saw me. He smiled, made his excuses and headed toward me. People stood aside as he passed, staring at him the way they always did, possibly staring at me, too, wondering why the hell Timothy J. Callahan chose to spend his life with a nobody like me.
I didn’t care about that. Not anymore. I only had eyes for Timmy.
“You made it.” He sipped his martini. “I thought you might have to work late.”
I took the glass from his hand and drained it. “Why would I work late when I could be here with you?”
“You hate these things.”
“But I love you.”
He nodded and whispered in my ear. “Take me home.”
His warm breath against my neck made me shiver with longing. “Don’t you have to schmooze for a while?”
“Why would I schmooze here when I could be alone with you?”
“No reason.” I glanced around me, taking in the pointed glances of people who thought they were better than me. They still didn’t get it. But that was their loss.
I took Timmy’s hand in mine and kissed his cheek. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
I didn’t spare the rest of the penguins a backward glance. They could wonder about us all they wanted. I had Timmy, he had me - for good reasons.
*Crossposted from Dreamwidth*