make a wish
"I don't want to go."
Stopping in the doorway, shirt half buttoned, belt hanging unfastened from trouser loops, in stocking feet, Arthur half‑turned to stare at his lover, bewildered. When he spoke his accent was stronger, the way it got when he was stressed.
"You said you would go."
Sitting on the small bed, looking at his hands, which were tugging at fingers and picking at cuticles, Curt didn't look back up at him.
"I changed my mind."
"Curt..." Sighing, Arthur closed his eyes and rubbed at them with one hand, trying to decide if he was more disappointed or angry. Or should he just be worried?
After he'd tracked Curt down to the little hole‑in‑the‑wall pub he owned and ran, and they had gone back to his place to relive that one night, he had gotten up the next morning and gone to work, and Curt had vanished. Worried, Arthur had checked the bar, where he was greeted with surly looks from the bartender, and the house, which was been locked up, and then he'd given up, thinking the other man had bolted, frightened by the memories or too hurt to face him and them together. A week had passed and he stopped calling the bar, and, incidentally, stopped talking to people at work, which had led to a discreet inquiry from Lou.
Catching him in the hallway after work, his editor had stopped him with touch to his shoulder.
"Arthur, that piece you did on English pubs in New York was great. We've had calls from subscribers saying how much they enjoyed trying some of them out."
"Ta." Not looking at him, Arthur tucked his hands into his pockets and waited for a chance to escape, so he could go home and brood.
"It was so good they want you to think of some more like that. Check into a couple of other areas. Any ideas?"
"Galleries." Looking at the floor, he answered quietly. "I thought to do one about all those little galleries ‑ not like an art critic, but just a guy's view."
"I like it."
When the older man didn't say anything else, Arthur finally looked at him.
Lou was frowning.
"Are you okay, kid?"
Lifting one shoulder in a sketch of a shrug, he didn't answer verbally. It wasn't enough for Lou, who took a step closer.
"I mean, are you *okay*? You've been even quieter than usual lately." It wasn't mentioned, but Arthur heard the words 'ever since that Tommy Stone thing'.
"Yeah. Fine." He answered steadily, meeting the dark eyes that were graciously concerned about him.
"You spend too much time alone." Lou pronounced. When Arthur didn't respond, he sortof smiled, a little uncomfortable, and there was a touch of understanding in his eyes. "Go out, meet somebody. Get a date. Bring somebody to the dinner next month, you know you're welcome to. Everyone else does."
Dropping his gaze back to the floor, Arthur shrugged again.
"Nobody to bring."
"Yeah." Patting him on the back Lou passed him, he'd apparently said all he could. "Well. Good night, Arthur."
When he had gotten home from work a little while later Curt had been there. Crouched on the floor beside his apartment door, hair in his eyes, leather jacket on despite the heat of the hallway.
They went in and made love and Curt said he was sorry for running out and could they see each other again.
And Arthur, primed, perhaps, by Lou's words, asked him to go to the annual company dinner, which, then, had been six weeks away.
Curt had said yes.
Crossing to the bed, Arthur went to his knees and gripped Curt's thighs, which were tight with tension.
"Then you don't have to." Ducking his head, he looked beneath the curtain of hair and into the changeable eyes. "I won't try to make you do anything you don't want to."
"But you want me to." Turning his head away, Curt pulled his hands back, out of Arthur's space, and put them on the bed beside himself. His hair tickled Arthur's nose and the kneeling man stifled a snort, which made Curt turn back and laugh roughly.
"Sorry."
"I love your hair." To prove it, Arthur tangled both hands in it. Curt had come over to pick him up only to find Arthur half‑dressed, while Curt himself had shed his usual jeans and tee‑ shirts for blacks slacks and a black button‑down shirt with a high priestly collar ‑ and his leather jacket.
Tugging at the hair, Arthur pulled Curt's face down and kissed him.
"Could you tell me why?" He asked when they broke apart, breathing a little faster now.
"I don't like crowds."
"They won't know who you are." Arthur guessed at the problem. "I don't understand why you don't want anyone to know ‑ but I won't give you away."
"They know about you?" Tilting his head, Arthur's hands still holding it, strands of dark gold hair spilling over them, Curt had that little‑boy‑lost look that touched Arthur so deeply.
"Most of them. They don't care, mostly."
"You really want to go?"
"Yes." Arthur sighed. "But I can go without you. Or stay here. We could do something else, maybe go back to your place."
"I'll go." Curt said, suddenly, quickly, as if afraid he wouldn't get the words out. "Just ‑ don't leave me alone, okay?"
Unhappy to see this vulnerability surfacing, but determined to do everything he could to reassure him, Arthur kissed him again, and this time Curt opened his mouth and leaned into it, kissing voraciously, until Arthur had to pull away, knowing his mouth was going to be bruised.
"I'll be ready in a minute." He said, going into the bathroom, only to have Curt follow him, reaching for a comb on a shelf, and using it to straighten his hair while Arthur took care of personal business. A pinch to his butt made his protest, but he grinned and gave himself the obligatory shake before turning to slip his arms around Curt's waist. "Thank you."
"For what?" Traces of the time the American had spent overseas showed up occasionally, especially in that 'whot.'
"Just thank you." Arthur repeated. "The cab will be here soon."
"I'm ready." Curt gave him a quick, tender kiss, and again Arthur felt his reluctance. Was he afraid to go? Was he ashamed of what he was now, or of who he had been?
Or did he just not want to be seen with Arthur?
He got an inkling of the problem in the cab. Curt sat stiffly, away from him, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. When he spoke, Arthur almost jumped, it was so unexpected.
"Didya tell anyone you were bringing me?"
"I told my boss that I had a date." Drawing the syllables out in classic Cockney style, Arthur tried to read Curt's eyes, but the man wasn't looking at him. "Why? D'ya think I just want ta show you off?"
"No." The answer came quickly, and Curt turned, reached a hand for him. "It's just that, I'm trying to get past all of that, y'know? Who I was, and the way I was. When people know, they look at me and they see the junkie, the queer who got shock treatment. They don't see me, not the way I am now."
"I never saw that." Clasping the hand tightly, Arthur caught his breath. "You were beautiful and I never dreamed someone like you could want me....You changed my life."
"Could ‑" Looking away, Curt's voice broke and Arthur fought the urge to draw him close and hold him like a child. When he looked back his eyes glistened. "Could you return the favor? I'm so fucking messed up here. I haven't had anybody important in my life in so fucking long... "
"That's all I want to do." Now Arthur did draw him close, cradle his shaggy head against his chest, petting him tenderly. "Just let me. Please let me."
Closing his eyes with a sigh, Curt relaxed into and accepted the embrace, let himself be held for the rest of the drive.
The dinner was being held at the Four Seasons, in the ballroom, like always. Stepping through the arched double doorway, presented with a glitzy, over‑decorated room, Curt hesitated and Arthur slipped his hand into his own and squeezed gently.
"When they ask who I am, what're you gonna tell them?" Curt whispered into his ear.
Frowning, Arthur realized he hadn't thought that one through. He turned his head and leaned close, whispering to Curt, his lips brushing his ear. The hand he held tightened.
"What's your middle name?"
"Nicholas." It was said with a shrug and a half‑grin.
"Then I'm here tonight with Curt Nicholas, who owns a pub. We met when I was doing research for that article. Right?"
"Right." With relief Curt agreed. Then he raised Arthur's hand to his lips and kissed it before releasing it. "Let's go."
"Arthur Stewart and guest." Handing over his invitation, Arthur saw the doorman's eyes flicker over them with mild interest, then it was returned and they were waved in. Music was being provided by a string quartet, and the rows of circular tables were dotted with name cards held up by teeny steel racks. They had only just stepped into the room when Kate, the senior writer from his department, waved from a table near the front. Her husband sat beside her, with Lou across from her and George, the other writer, a black man in his forties, beside Lou. There was a pretty, petite young black woman beside George, and Lou's wife, of course.
Giving Curt's hand a last reassuring squeeze, he released it and headed for the table, pausing to be sure the other man was coming. After hesitating a few second or two Curt caught up to him, their shoulders bumped, and they walked between the widely‑spaced tables. When they got close Kate spoke up cheerfully.
"Arthur! What a surprise to see you here! I thought you hated these things."
"Your seat is right there." George pointed to the one next to Kate as Arthur stopped, and Curt slipped around him, pulled the chair out, which made him smile.
"Thanks, mate." He sat, feeling the eyes of the others on him, knowing that Curt was sitting beside him and that he had moved his chair closer than necessary. "This is Curt Nicholas."
"Hello, Curt, it's nice to meet you." Kate offered her hand and he shook it, mumbling a polite response.
"Thought the food would be here by now." George said, craning his neck, looking for a waiter. His date shook her head and spoke to Arthur.
"I liked the article you wrote last year about the Rock‑and‑Roll Hall of Fame. The way those guys lobby to get in, I was really surprised, that they would do that. Especially the ones who used to be so anti‑establishment."
"Thank you." Giving her a quick grin, he held out his hand over the table and she took it. Hers was tiny and delicate.
"I'm Stephanie, George's fiancée."
"I didn't know he was engaged."
A waiter finally saw George's look and trotted over to take drink orders.
"Scotch rocks, double." Curt said, looking at the table again.
"A Guinness, please." Sliding his leg over a little bit, Arthur pressed his thigh to Curt's and the other man flicked his eyes up to meet Arthur's dark ones.
"Have you two been dating long?" Stephanie chirped, making Arthur turn his attention back to her. He noted that Lou and George were watching Curt closely, which was probably making him more self‑conscious.
"A few weeks." Arthur answered, bumping Curt's leg with his own as the drinks arrived. With the glass in his hand the blond seemed to feel more comfortable, he looked up and graced Stephanie with his trademark crooked grin.
"I have a pub. He gave it three stars."
"Just three?" Kate teased.
"That's what I said." Curt sipped and settled back in his seat, facing the table now, his leg pressed to Arthur's. "I wanted a four, but he said my bartender is unfriendly."
"He is." Arthur asserted. "Doesn't like me."
"I know just what you mean!" Stephanie chattered. "But when we were in Germany last year *all* of the bartenders were like that, so maybe it's European thing....Arthur, you're from London, right?"
He nodded, and then felt something warm on his thigh. Curt's hand, resting there, rubbing slightly.
"They're rude in London, too." Lou said, joining the conversation at last.
"Before the food get here...I'll be right back." Kate said, pushing her chair back. "Steph, Carol, shall we abandon the men for a moment?"
On cue Lou, George, Kate's husband, and Arthur stood, followed quickly by a startled Curt. They waited until the women had left and then sat again, the conversation turning to the latest baseball scores, which left Curt silent and Arthur only adding a comment or two.
Watching his lover sip his drink, Arthur could tell how uncomfortable he was. It occurred to him that he'd never met anyone like Curt Wild. Onstage, in clubs, he had been confident to the point of arrogance, drawing people to him with the sheer force of his personality. He had certainly drawn Arthur, ten years ago, but even then the reporter had sensed something else beneath that bravado. The onstage antics that garnered so much attention, the heroin and drinking, to Arthur they meant something else, showed him something other people didn't see.
After the abuse of his childhood, from his brother, family, and the medical profession, it wasn't surprising Curt had developed an outward persona of toughness. But there were moments, like now, when the mask slipped, and he could see how shy Curt truly was. How much it bothered him to be out of his normal circumstances, away from people he knew.
Brian Slade had simply taken Curt into his world, but his world had been very similar to Curt's own. Arthur was trying to do the same thing, but the world he lived in now had little in common with the world they had both lived in then, to different degrees.
Aware of his scrutiny, Curt tilted his head and smiled at him, a small smile, looking a bit nervous, and finished his drink.
"Here they come." George said, and Arthur started, half‑turning in his seat, seeing the women returning. "And here comes the food."
Standing, this time Curt stood with the others, husbands and fiancées pulling out chairs, Arthur realized that he had sat there and stared at his lover like a git for five minutes or more. Lou caught his eyes and there were questions in the older man's that Arthur had no intention of answering.
The food was good and Curt ate most of his, glancing at Arthur occasionally as he made conversation. The others were careful to direct comments to Curt as well, making an effort to keep him in the conversation, and he made them laugh once with an amusing response.
The speakers were boring and the awards presentation took too long, but it did end eventually, with company gifts being handed out by the waiters. The ladies were all given pretty compact mirrors that lit when opened and the men received matching cases to hold business cards.
Their waiter hesitated when he reached Curt, and Lou, who was closest, lifted one of those out of his hand and passed it to Arthur, who set it in front of Curt because Curt was looking at the table again and had both hands wrapped around his glass, which held a third double shot of scotch poured over ice.
His hair had fallen forward and was hiding his eyes. Unsure what to do, Arthur played with his own case, then Lou spoke up.
"They don't quite know what to do with you." He shrugged and Curt looked at him, his eyes conveying nervousness and anger at the same time. "Things aren't the way they used to be, but they are getting better."
"Yes, they are." Kate agreed. "Better for women and anyone else who doesn't fit the standard mold."
Not answering, Curt nodded and Arthur smiled at them, sadly, silently thanking them for their support, and Curt finished his drink, one hand returning to Arthur's leg.
It wasn't long after that Kate began making time to go noises.
"Got a babysitter to pay." Her husband, whose name Arthur still didn't know, explained as he draped her shawl over her low‑cut green evening gown. "More expensive than you might think."
"I can relate." Stephanie said, and then she and George were leaving. Curt stood, too, a hand on Arthur's shoulder.
"It was nice meeting you." He said, stiffly, and Arthur stood as well.
Hands were shaken and then they were out front and the doorman was getting them a cab and Curt crawled in before Arthur, collapsing on the seat with his head thrown back and an arm over his eyes.
"You alright?" Arthur asked, feeling stupid and unsure.
"Yeah, fine." Curt's other hand lay in his lap, loosely clasping the card case.
They were about halfway to Curt's house when he sat up and tapped on the glass, speaking to the driver.
"Let me out here."
The man pulled over quickly and Arthur protested.
"Curt? What's wrong?"
The other man climbed out and stood there, holding the door open while Arthur worried that he wanted him to go home alone, that he didn't want to see him again. Had he pushed too hard?
"Aren't you coming?" Curt's low voice broke through the worry and Arthur was out quickly, while Curt went around to pay the driver. After he pulled out again, Curt came to stand in front of Arthur. "I'm sorry. I ‑ it just ‑ I was getting, you know, claustrophobic. Needed some air."
"I'm sorry, too." Carefully, on the lookout for any reluctance, Arthur pulled Curt into a loose embrace, and smiled when the other man nuzzled into his neck, arms going around Arthur's waist, Curt's breath warm on his collarbone. The street was deserted, there was no one to see them. "I should not have pushed you to go."
"They're your friends. The people you work with. They were nice." Curt mumbled, inhaling deeply. "I hate being like this. It makes me want to go out and score. Heroin makes me feel strong, makes me not care what anyone else thinks."
"Do you really care?" Running his hands through the shaggy hair, Arthur shifted to let Curt rest more of his weight against his chest.
"No." Curt snorted. "But I feel like I should."
"Not for me." Arthur said fiercely.
"Okay." Pulling back, Curt grinned at him. "Cool."
They walked the rest of the way to Curt's house. Curt had a cigarette, and Arthur admired his hands as he cupped a tiny flame and nursed it to health as they walked, before lighting up. Then, with one hand holding the cigarette to his lips Curt reached over and took Arthur's with the other.
They exchanged grins and kept walking. Arthur felt silly, but there was a sense of pride as well, and deep satisfaction, to be walking here, with this man. To show publicly ‑ even though there was no public around to see it ‑ that he was with this particular man.
By the time they reached the house Curt had regained his usual attitude, climbing the stairs with a toss of his head, tugging on Arthur's hand to hurry him up. As soon as the door closed behind them he pushed Arthur up against the wall of the foyer, hands holding his head still, kissing him hungrily, his pelvis pressed hard to Arthur's, letting him feel the arousal there.
"Stay?" Curt pulled away and gasped the single‑word question, then kissed him before he could answer. When he pulled away yet again and answered it himself. "Stay. You'll stay."
"I'll stay." Bemused and very turned on, Arthur allowed himself to be flattened to the wall, his arms tight around Curt's shoulders, grinding their hips together. "Bed?"
"Floor." With a lunge Curt threw them sideways and they fell together, Curt on the bottom, taking the brunt of the impact, then squirming around to get to his knees, his back to Arthur, hands unfastening his belt quickly. Arthur leaned over the other man, stroking his back and whispering to him.
"Slow down, love, there's no rush. I don't want to hurt you." But his hands were shaking and his body was taut with need and anticipation, he hadn't done this, with Curt, before. An aggressive, adventurous man in bed, Curt was usually the one in control. It didn't bother Arthur, he knew himself well enough to be happy with the situation. If he was on the receiving end for the rest of his life he would be well‑satisfied.
But here was Curt, on his knees before him, pleading with him in a husky voice that made Arthur think of snowy nights and crowded clubs.
"I need it, man, I need you. Arthur, don't leave me hanging, I need this right now."
Kissing his back and ass, Arthur thought quickly, trying to decide if it would ruin the moment if he left to get the lube and a condom, but Curt was pressing back against him and he took a moment to look around them, at the walls, which still needed refinishing, and the ceiling, hung with new tiles, and the floor that Curt had pieced together himself...
"Not here." He said, more firmly, standing and pulling Curt up with him, catching the other man's trousers with one hand so they didn't fall. "Not on the floor, love. Not like that."
"Why not?" Honestly confused, Curt began zipping up. He met Arthur's eyes for a moment and then looked down again, but not before Arthur saw the shame in them.
"Because you're better than that." Taking his chin in both hands, Arthur had to tug rather insistently to get Curt to look at him. "You don't belong down there."
Pulling away, Curt yanked open the living room door and snapped angrily.
"If you don't *want* to, just say so!"
Having half‑expected the outburst, though he hadn't been the focus of that anger before, Arthur followed him through the room and into the bedroom, where Curt threw himself facedown on the bed, his head under his crossed arms. Sitting on the edge, he stroked the tense back tenderly.
"Get out." Curt snarled, not even looking at him.
"No." Sliding up to lie down beside him, Arthur wrapped as much of his own body around Curt's tense one as he could. "Not until you look at me."
With a lunge Curt scrambled away, landing half‑sitting against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest, glaring.
"There. I looked at you. Now get out."
Slowly, swallowing heavily, Arthur began to unbutton his own shirt with hands that trembled visibly.
"Don't make me, Curt. Please?" Softly he pleaded, dropping the shirt to the floor and pulling off the loafers he'd worn, followed by socks and belt.
Almost against his will Curt stared at him, eyes getting rounder.
"Arthur..." Again, he sounded young, and lost, and frightened. "Why do you do this?"
"Because I love you, you daft prick." Granting him a soft smile, Arthur finished stripping and then began on Curt, getting his boots off first, while Curt just watched him. After he got Curt's shirt unbuttoned he went to slip it off, but Curt shook his head.
"Leave it on?"
Amused, Arthur shrugged.
"Sure."
Then he was pulling Curt back down to lie flat on the bed, straddling him, kissing him, and Curt seemed to get over whatever had been bothering him, because he kissed back, his hands running over Arthur's body with a light touch, occasionally stopping to pinch a nipple or grasp a handful of muscle. Within minutes they were pushing against each other, Curt lifting Arthur with his hips, his hands digging into the muscles of Arthur's back, his kiss becoming hungry again, brutal.
Past ready, Arthur dug under the pillows with one hand while the other tried to hold Curt's head still ‑ it was a losing battle ‑ and when he had the tube in hand the man beneath him disentangled himself, the black shirt clinging to his sweaty skin, stark against his pale flesh, and he turned over, went to his knees, gripping the headboard with both hands, head bowed.
"You really want it like this." Arthur said, petting him, kissing his neck and shoulders, sometimes on the shirt, sometimes on skin. One of the shirt‑tails trailed down the crack of Curt's ass and Arthur nuzzled it aside, kissing and licking, and Curt rumbled a moan, pushing back. Quickly taking the hint Arthur prepared himself and then worked on Curt, finding that he was very tight and very hot.
"This is going to be great." He sighed into Curt's ear, the other man shifting and panting beneath his hands.
"Come on, do it, man, do it."
With the head of his cock pressing against Curt's hole, Arthur waited, just a minute, his arms going around Curt's waist to hold him tightly.
"Curt, love ‑ are you here, with me? You haven't gone off somewhere?"
Twisting, Curt snarled at him, meeting Arthur's gaze with one grey‑blue eye.
"I know who I'm *with*, Arthur. Just fuck me already."
Taken aback, even a little bit hurt, Arthur nodded, lay his head on Curt's silk‑clad shoulder, and pushed in. Slowly, because Curt keened softly, sounding like he was in pain, but surely because the pain would fade and then it would feel better.
Rolling his head on his shoulders, Curt tipped it back, panting harshly, as Arthur waited for him to be ready, holding himself off by force of will alone. He could feel Curt relaxing around him, softening, accepting him, and then the other man tightened his grip on the headboard and shoved back insistently.
"Do it." he bit out.
"Yes." Unsure what else to say, Arthur answered softly, and then began to thrust. Each time he pulled out and pushed back in it felt better, and each time Curt loosened up a little more, until he was rocking into each thrust, using the headboard for leverage, and his moans spilled into the air eagerly.
Already halfway to coming, listening to him pushed Arthur the rest of the way and he had to slow down to hold off, but Curt growled at him and shoved back harder, taking him in even deeper and Arthur felt something give way inside himself, and he began to pound at Curt like he'd never done to anyone else, just really giving it to him, fucking him deep and hard, and Curt moaned and thrashed and bucked into him. The shirt between them was sodden with sweat, the air was thick and hard to breathe, Arthur had to use both hands to hold onto his lover and couldn't reach his Curt's cock to stroke it, but then Curt was howling, like wolf, a long, ululating cry that warbled as he thrashed in the throes of orgasm, and Arthur could do nothing more but slam into him again and again and again until his eyes exploded and his body convulsed and he clung to Curt desperately, afraid of being washed away on this stormtide.
They hung together for long moments, until Curt's legs gave out and he slid gracelessly to the bed, collapsing, Arthur still inside him and now half on top of him.
"There, love." Petting back the sweaty, tangled hair, Arthur caressed Curt's face with gentle, trembling fingers, to find a smile twitching on Curt's mouth, which was swollen and puffy from their kisses. "Is that ‑" He had to stop and swallow past the lump in his throat and repeat himself, his emotions in flux, "‑ Is that what you wanted?"
"Yes." Curt sighed, turning over, dislodging Arthur's cock but holding tightly to his body, pressing his face to Arthur's chest. A sound escaped him, like a sob, and, disturbed, Arthur held him tightly and rocked him. "I don't know why, I'm sorry, I don't want to be that way, I don't want ‑"
His words were cut off by a kiss, Arthur's mouth covering his, Arthur's hand pulling his face up.
"I will give you anything you want." Arthur said, his voice thick with suppressed tears. "All ye have to do is ask, love. You can want anything you want."
"I'm sorry." Curt repeated, curling in tighter, closer, eyes tightly shut, a few tears leaking out anyhow. "I'm a fucking basket case, man, how can you want me? I screw everything up...."
"Nothing is screwed up." Holding him tighter, thinking that he was going to be leaving bruises, Arthur rocked and petted while Curt hid his face again. "I've loved you for ten years, nothing is going to make me stop."
A kiss was pressed to his chest and Curt began to relax, a little at a time. Eventually Arthur got them both laid down, managing to dispose of the condom in the process ‑ on the floor beside the bed ‑ and he held and rocked Curt until his lover finally drifted into sleep, petting him silently, kissing his head and face.
Inwardly he cursed everyone who had ever hurt this man, all of those who had made him feel that he wasn't worthy of love, and again he vowed to prove to him that he was, and that Arthur did love him.
Sticky, sweaty, still tangled in his silk shirt, Curt slept restlessly and Arthur was woken several times during the night by his movements, each time drawing him into an embrace before Curt woke too, holding and petting him until his sleep eased, then sleeping again himself, thankful that it was a Saturday and they could sleep in, then be lazy all day if they wanted to.
They needed a day of rest, just the two of them. Perhaps they would start on the walls of the foyer, or the living room. Choose paint colors or just watch the telly and drink beer.
When Curt finally woke Arthur was lying on his back, Curt's head on his chest, staring into space, looking thoughtful.
"What?" Pushing up on an elbow, Curt frowned when his shirt got caught beneath it and worked at getting it free, not looking at Arthur.
"Nothing." Smiling, Arthur reached to strip him out of the shirt, and this time Curt let him, then lay back, one hand splayed possessively over Arthur's bare stomach.
"I want you to move in." He didn't look at Arthur as he said it. "I've got lots of room, and your place is a cave. You can have your own room and everything."
"If you want me to." Grinning stupidly, Arthur covered the hand on his stomach with one of his own. He could feel the tremor that ran through Curt's. "Today?"
"That's what weekends are for." Rolling over, Curt pressed close again. It wasn't exactly cuddling, but more of a needful closeness. "Okay?"
"Okay." Closing his eyes, Arthur let himself drift. He would keep his apartment at least until the lease was up, and use a bedroom here, he could set it up as an office. And file a change of address with the post office, Curt would like that, it would feel permanent then...
With his face pressed to Arthur's shoulder the words were muffled, but he heard them as clearly as if Curt shouted them.
"I love you too, y'know."
"I know." He replied, although he hadn't been sure until this very minute.
They drifted, drowsy, dozing, until nature called and the day started.
