“I’m glad Ace is going to work through this, and that you’re here for him. You’re a good man. And Ace is strong. He’ll make it.”

  “I’ve been here for hours,” he yawns. “And the reception inside this building is horrible. I’ve been trying to reach you all evening.”

  “You sound exhausted.”

  “It’s been a long evening.”

  “How about a cup of coffee?” I pull away from him and ask.

  “That sounds like the best idea.”

  * * * *

  There’s complimentary coffee in the waiting room where Ace’s family sits. I consume all three enjoyments: Ace’s family, the coffee with extra cream and sugar, and JD’s company. After meeting Ace’s parents, Rita and Dan, and Ace’s identical twin brother, Arty, JD flashes me his cell phone’s screen. It’s a text message to JD from Victor Base. The message reads: Be advised. Joey knows. JD looks at me straight-faced and asks, “Can we talk about this text?”

  I see that the text came in around a half hour before. Fresh. Nothing stagnant. “Sure. Yeah.”

  He leans into me, brushes his chin against my right earlobe, and whispers, “Not here, though. Let’s find some privacy and leave the family alone.”

  “Fine,” is all I can say in a sober tone, having somewhat of an idea concerning the meaning of the four-word text from Base. I stand with JD, follow him out of the waiting room, into the hallway, and head toward the elevators to our left, a narrow cove, and to a large window that overlooks Pittsburgh, its three oil-like rivers, and reflections of city limit lights; privacy where two men can share an intimate conversation without anyone hearing.

  We face each other: lips and foreheads almost touch; arms brush together. He inquires, “What’s happening at the party?”

  “Everything and nothing. Your nephew has it all under control.”

  “That’s quite vague.”

  “When it comes to our mixed lot of friends, vague is normal. They’re hard to describe.”

  His eyes twinkle.

  Do mine? I wonder. Probably. I’ve been told I have almond-shaped eyes, that are handsome and rich looking with color.

  He holds up his phone in the narrow space between us. The screen is black this time. My view slips to his eyes. He blinks, blinks, blinks. “You know. Don’t you, Joey?”

  “Know what?”

  “Everything and nothing.”

  I wink at him, grin. “And the great secrets of the world.”

  “Or just about JD Lawson.”

  “What are you talking about? Or, better yet, what do you want to tell me? This is the time and place to come clean. It’s just the two of us now. What does Base’s text mean?”

  He slips his phone away inside a pocket, rolls both arms around my back, snugs me to him, collects our chests together yet again, and stares into my eyes. “That I like you more than a friend.”

  I shake my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, JD. We’re friends. We’re roommates these days. We’re—” My words become lost and fade away into nothingness.

  “Of course you don’t know what I’m talking about. I don’t expect you to.” He closes his face to mine and our lips brush together. It’s not a kiss, but some might just consider it one. Just a brush. A faint touch. Something…“Base let my secret out of the bag.”

  I play with him, “That you two are lovers? I knew this a long time ago. Base is a thirst trap. Good for you.”

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying.” He shakes his head. Every time he does this our lips touch. Back and forth. Back and forth. I don’t mind. Why should I? It’s rather a comforting and pleasurable feeling, that causes my cheeks to numb and goose pimples to form on my arms.

  “What are you saying then?”

  “That I really like you, Joey. I mean, I really, really like you, and I have for quite some time now.”

  I confess, “So I’ve heard. From a few of the people at the party this evening.”

  He cocks his head to the right and questions, “What do you mean by that?”

  “Like you’ve said…your secret is out of the bag.” And I tell him about my conversations with Luke, Gigi, and Base. It becomes rambling at its finest. On and on. Sentences form paragraphs. Strings and strings of details. Run-ons.

  When I stop, he says, “I thought this would happen.”

  “You did?”

  “I did.”

  “And now what, JD?”

  Perhaps rushed, not leaving me hanging, “Can I kiss you?”

  “What will your boyfriend, Base, say?”

  He chuckles. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “But he is a thirst trap and much better looking than I am. Plus, he has a healthier heart than I do. Mine beats too fast.”

  “Trust me, I like your heart more, and you’re better looking, in my opinion.”

  I shrug. “Guess you can kiss me then.”

  “You guess?”

  “I’ll try you out.” A chuckle escapes me.

  “You’re a tease, Joey Pollard.”

  “I am,” I whisper, and feel our lips collide together: compressing, sealed, tight, unclenched. It’s one of the best kisses ever; something I will remember in ten, twenty, or thirty years in the future, when we are much older and in each other’s company; an earth-shaking kiss that rocks the hospital, swaying it left and right on its steel beams; a kiss that builds a turbulent yet amorous fire between our upright and solid frames, twisting us in eager motion. Endearment at its finest level; growth at its highest pinnacle, that will forever bond two men; a kiss that lasts for the next minute or longer, unwavering, without regret, and becomes consensual.

  The kiss ends far too fast, and he says, “Just as I thought it would be between us. Perfect. Storybook-right with you.”

  “You’re silly.”

  “Sometimes…It will keep us forever young.”

  He kisses me again. This time longer, without being subtle. His palms fall to my hips and collapse here. The kiss almost causes me to fall against the window. Something tells me that if I do fall, he’ll catch me. No harm will occur. No fouls. This is innocent behavior. Harmless behavior between two male figures next to a window, and the beginnings of the fresh days of romance.

  This second kiss ends and we pull apart. He says, “We should really get back to the family.”

  “We should.”

  Before he walks away, returning to the waiting room and allotted amount of time for his football player to recover, leaving me to follow in his footsteps, I ask, “Why, JD? Why did you fall for me?”

  He blinks a few times, shares a wide-wide grin. “Why not? What don’t you have to fall for?”

  * * * *

  We stay at the hospital with Ace’s family until well past midnight. The recovery process for Ace will take the next week or more. He’ll be in the hospital for the next few days, under Doctor Madeline Rarr’s care. For now, Ace rests and is being replenished with insulin, proper meds, and promising dreams.

  In the hospital’s parking lot, illuminated by the dull blue and alien-like lights, I tell JD I’ll meet him back at his place. He kisses me goodbye and tells me, “Drive safe. It’s late.”

  “I will. Promise.”

  I think he whispers to me, “I love you,” but I’m not sure. Maybe I hear this. Maybe not. Whispers can be so imprecise at times. So vague. So indistinct. But…the words—if he does tell me this, prompting the trio to escape his narrow and somewhat open mouth—warm my heart, mind, and soul. A needed and wanted transaction. A gift of sorts from him. The perfect gesture of his emotional state for me. The sweetest and smoothest goodbye.

  We part…as men who gravitate together often do. He heads to his truck and I climb into my dilapidated jalopy. Our parting is quick and uneventful. Nothing much to speak of, except for my thoughts. Words spin through my mind as we separate. They dash and spin. They twist together and fall apart. They mix and become lost. Such simplistic words: I’m glad you love me…love me…love me.

  Perhaps this is the time where love stories take difficult turns, like post-midnight car wrecks or heart attacks behind steering wheels occur. Maybe an accidental shooting at a stoplight happens near a convenience store. Or, God forbid, a racing train derails and kills one, or both of us. Things of such dire and traffic-consequences occur in life. Irregular tragedies happen just as much as uplifting and untimed hopefulness. Life can certainly change on a dime, of course. A second of love can twist into a lifetime of pain. You know this. We all do.

  By luck, this tale isn’t a tragedy or a dizzying creation of hurt for love-crossed drivers after visiting a small city’s hospital. Rather, we drive safely away from Jefferson Regional in separate vehicles, without a single negative occurrence between us. There isn’t a car wreck and my heart doesn’t give out. We are spared from an accidental shooting and a train doesn’t derail, killing the pair of us. Nothing of the sort unravels. Uninteresting nothingness occurs. Our actions consist of banal night driving. Driving. Driving.

  I don’t know how JD ends up at the Tudor on Hugh Street before I do. His truck is parked in the drive and I pull my beater beside it. I expect to see guests on the lawn and every light lit in the place. But the house is dark and all the partiers seem to be gone. The front door is wide open: a dark mouth waiting for my entrance.

  I turn off the Honda’s engine, climb out, and close the door behind me. Hereafter, I make the walk from the drive up to the few steps next to the stoop, enter the house, and…

  A vanilla and strawberry smell wafts inside the Tudor, swirling, spinning, and tumbling. I see flickering candlelight emanate from JD’s bedroom. The yellow-orange glow somewhat illuminates the hallway. As I close the Tudor’s front door behind me, I hear his masculine voice call out, “Joey, come here!”

  It takes me just a few seconds to find him on his bed. He’s a total thirst trap: shadowed, naked, and positioned on his left side, erect between his muscled thighs. His balls droop against the mattress, and his no-fat abs look as if they are painted on. I study his firm pecs and pointed nipples. My stare rises and takes in his dented and curved shoulders. A warm looking grin spreads over his dashing face, and a serene twinkle in his eyes suggests seduction. “Come over here. There’s plenty of room for both of us.” He pats the vacant space on the queen-size bed next him. “Don’t be shy.”

  “I’m not shy.” Surprised somewhat by this moment, but not timid. I don’t move.

  “You’re sweating.”

  I am. Under my arms. Between my legs. Even behind my ears. Because my nerves are getting the best of me. Because I don’t know how to respond to his bedtime gesture. Because…

  “I don’t bite,” he says, winks, and giggles. “Well, maybe a little. But you might enjoy it.”

  If, I decide to close the thin gap between us, peel my clothes off and drop them to the floor, and slip into the bed beside his rugged and beautiful nakedness, will it be the right decision? Can our friendship forever be damaged if we don’t see cock to cock? Can we ever survive such pain and sorrow because of sexual urges? Will we be able to forgive each because of a sexual blunder tonight, in the heat of the moment?

  There’s more to this connection than meets the eye, and I’m thinking a bad judgment call might be made. My heart skips a beat for him…two beats…three beats. Heated fire rages up and along my shivering legs, through my stomach, and tickles my throbbing chest. Goose pimples dance along my shoulder blades. I find him more attractive than any man I’ve admired in months…a year…longer. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. JD is a prize and prince on the bed, awaiting my meaningful kisses and desired pets and pats. My emotional state for the man is much stronger than just friendship. Truth is, my heart flutters for him, dips and falls, and races at an unbreakable speed. I feel perspiration on my forehead, because I’ve fallen in love with him, every inch of his fiber, all of him, and now realize the reality of our connection. It’s not a crush for him that I have. It’s not a laborious stinging due to puppy love. It’s a full-throttled emotion of love that careens through my system and is coal-burning, driven, and powered by longing for him, my unabashed and heartfelt emotions…my need. And I know, here and now, that he is the only man that will be able to fill my heart from this second forward, and many more seconds to follow, overflowing it with love.

  * * * *

  It happens just as I thought it would. I strip out of my clothes, move up to the bed with a fresh erection, and lean over him. My face meets his and we kiss. Passion is unearthed and discovered between us. Heat fills the bedroom, almost catching it on fire and turning into a swirling inferno. JD takes one of his hands and locks it to the back of my neck, holding it in place. The kissing continues. It’s rough kissing mixed with gentle slurps and laps. Hungry. Driven. Forceful. Pleasurable. I can’t foresee it ever stopping between us, but it does, with him instructing me, “Lay down. This is about you.”

  I listen, parallel at his side. His fingertips on his right hand travel down the center length of my sweat-covered chest and circle its puckered navel. One fingertip dances over the capped structure of my stick. A drop of pre-ooze is gathered there, eventually wiped away. When the set of tips travel northward bound, circling my rigid abs one by one, his lips meet mine again, causing me to hallucinate under his care and soothing touch. His fingertips caress my pecs: one, the other, one, the other. And his tongue darts within my mouth, separating my lips: in, out, in, out.

  These actions—circling and dancing fingertips, more pre-ooze, pec-touching, and tongue-dipping—proceeds for the next twenty minutes, or longer. I tell him, “You have to stop. Because if you don’t, I’ll explode.”

  He listens, being polite, a gentleman. But he teases me with: “I have other plans for you, Joey,” and kneels at my side. Within a matter of seconds, he holds the base of my tool with one hand, arches over me, and licks my stem: around its swollen cap, upwards and against its perfect length, downwards. He acts ravenous for the cock and takes it inside his mouth, inch after inch. Its mass presses against the roundness of his throat as he raises and drops his head over the structure, gratifying both of us, unstoppable.

  Our intimate affair only begins. My bottom…He has a certain affection for it, and deep attraction. As the oral satisfaction continues, his free hand pushes my now-bent legs apart and his fingertips brush, brush, against its peach’s tight opening. The action causes me to gasp above him, losing breath. I quiver on the bed, although I feel overheated, lighter, and taken by surprise. Dizziness sweeps over me, mixed with a sense of semi-unconsciousness. I swear, I am going to pass out on the bed, under his touch, becoming molten fire. Again and again, he brushes his fingertips against my soft but stringent area. And, again and again, labor-intensive, driven, passionate, his mouth works the cock at my center, attempting to drain me of my soul and whatever else I have within me.

  Of course, he pulls off my dick and whispers, “Unfinished business, Joey. Still hungry.” He climbs between my legs, lifts my bottom for use and…

  The lower half of his face brushes against my rear-slip: five-o’clock scruff and chin and bottom lip; his tongue and part of his upper lip. These body parts press against me once, twice, three times. His tongue becomes wild, though, a device in and of its own, and delves inside me, pulls away, delves again, again, and again. It’s a solid reminder that he’s ravenous for me, taking me as his own, desiring me, and obtaining exactly what he wants from me—bottom and all.

  I wilt beneath him and become useless. I gasp, groan, and feel the power of my muscles weaken, although the erection and my nipples are all at full mast. My eyes slide closed and I see different shapes in various hues. Turquoise octagons. Persimmon trapezoids. Emerald ovals. The colorful shapes spin in circles behind my eyes, as more animal-like noises escape my parted lips. I can only breathe through my nose, dizzy and lost during his mouth-connection, on a different plain or planet—elsewhere. The moment with JD Lawson feels extraordinary, beyond anything I have felt and experienced, enticing on a higher and exceptional level.

  He comes off of me for air: huffing and puffing. I return to consciousness and see his chiseled chest push outwards, fall inwards, as he collects oxygen. His upper torso is covered in a thin layer of desirable sweat that I want to lick away. One lap. Two laps. Maybe more. Spittle collects on his lower lip, which he wipes away in a masculine action by using the back of his right hand. Once he finds the strength, he says to me, “We’re just getting started. Are you up for a ride with me?”

  “More than you realize.”

  “Exactly what I thought you would say.”

  We become chest to chest as he slides inside me, breaking me apart. I hang onto his shoulders as our faces meet, kissing. The pain is unbearable, but enjoyable at the same time. As he begins to rock inside me, to and fro, to and fro, my solid dick rubs against his stomach, more to and fro. I feel his stringent abs as they create friction against the underside of my cock. We glide together, rocking, molded, and build something of beauty between us. The perfect romance occurs on his bed: men locked together; men combined by perspiration-covered body parts; men entangled on the sheet and mattress as we sway back and forth in quick and heated motion; men who find a sense of the sublime, as subtle lovers.

  The thick scent of man-sweat hangs between us as we rock together. The room becomes stifling hot. We turn noisy together: murmuring, grunting, groaning. The queen-size bed makes a squeaking noise under our thumping action. And the pre-summertime wind, something you hear about in soothing jazz songs during post-midnight hours, sweeps inside the room and wraps around our combined frames, licks our flesh, enjoys the heated flavor of our relentless tempo. We are ceaseless on the bed, rock, huff, and cling to each other. Our synchronized motion feels haphazard, but agreeable at the same time.

  The naked dance between us proceeds for fifteen, twenty, almost thirty minutes, until something rare and unimaginable happens to me; something that has never happened before; something of an oddity. Yes, my erection is poised between us. And yes, much friction occurs during our physical twosome. Hence, the reason it is no surprise that I feel electric current swim and roll throughout my core. Deep fire bursts at my center. An unspeakable vibration happens within my entire body and…and…and…Without my cock being touched, grazed, fondled by hands or mouth, I explode a stream of ooze out of its head, squirt a rush between us, against our navels and pumped abs. I shoot the man-spray along our lower halves, emptying my gun as I clench and clamp hands to his broad shoulders, digging fingertips into his flesh, coming…coming…coming.