So In Love

Caught Off Base-4

As Tyler showered, Ange cleaned up in the kitchen sink, splashing icy water on his arms, his chest, his face to save the hot water for his guest. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do with the kid—let him stay the night of course, but then what? Take him back to the street tomorrow on his way into work? Give him the money he needed to move on?

Keep him?

He’s not a damn puppy, cholo. Just because he followed you home doesn’t make him yours.

He used a threadbare kitchen towel to dry off—the only bath towel he owned sat folded on the back of the toilet, for Tyler. Stacy’s old boxers and an oversized shirt Ange dug out of the bottom drawer of his dresser waited on the closed toilet lid. In the small apartment, the shower splashed loudly off the tiles despite the closed bathroom door. As he listened to the sound, Ange pictured Tyler beneath the spray, his skin impossibly pale, the short blonde hair he had hidden under the baseball cap plastered to his scalp. In his mind’s eye Ange could imagine all too clearly the way that skin would pink beneath the hot water, where those tattooed fingers would rub as they soaped up his stomach, lower…

Stop.

Ange wouldn’t go there. Slipping out of his greasy work clothes, he pulled on a pair of baggy sweat pants and a sleeveless T-shirt, then tied his hair back from his face with a worn elastic band. With quick, efficient motions he jerked the sheets off the bed, shook the pillows free from their cases, and stripped the blanket to the floor. Then he tugged clean sheets onto the old mattress, snapping the fresh linen into place around the corners. Clean pillowcases, too—never let it be said he didn’t go all out to impress a guy. He even found an ancient quilt in an old suitcase buried under the sofa. It smelled a little musty but was bulky and warm and didn’t have spunk stains on it like Ange’s other coverlet.

As he smoothed it out, making the bed, the water cut off and seconds later, hinges squealed when the bathroom door opened. Ange glanced over his shoulder to see Tyler standing there, naked and wet.

Water beaded on his light skin, trickling down the planes of his chest and over the slight paunch at his belly and down his hairless crotch to drip from the tip of his half-erect p***s. Tyler stood with his head down, feet turned in, hands behind his back and probably playing with his asshole for all Ange knew. “Dios,” Ange muttered.

There was something so naive, so childlike, so wrong about the boy standing there in the buff that Ange felt the blood drain from his body to thicken his d**k. With considerable effort he closed his eyes but Tyler crowded his mind, that image of him in the buff burned into Ange’s brain.

Finally Ange managed to speak. “Tyler.” He struggled to keep his voice even and low when every nerve cried out for want of the guy just a few steps away. What happened to not taking advantage of the situation? “There’s a towel on the toilet. Didn’t you see it?”

No answer. Ange wanted to open his eyes, take another look, but instead he turned away, back to the bed they would share in a few hours. Don’t go there, his mind cautioned. After a long moment, he sighed. “I left you some clothes in there,” he said softly. “Why don’t you get dressed, muchacho?”

Tyler started, “I thought…” Then his voice turned pouty. “Don’t you want to f**k?”

With a forced laugh, Ange replied, “Not if you ask like that.”

“I thought that’s what this was all about,” Tyler whispered. “Why you brought me here.”

“I brought you here to sleep.” Ange could practically feel the kid’s damp nakedness radiating from him and his pulse throbbed in his groin with a sweet ache. “I thought you were probably hungry, standing out there all day, begging for money, and it’s storming and cold out and I figured you could use a dry place to hang for a while. That’s it.”

Silence. Ange fought the urge to turn around.

When Tyler spoke again, Ange hated the eager-to-please hopefulness he heard beneath the boy’s words. “I’m flat broke, man. You saw my sign—you were the only one who stopped all damn day. Let me repay you—”

“Not like this.” Gently Ange prompted, “Go dry off already.”

“I thought you were…” Anger flashed bright in Tyler’s voice. “Turn the f**k around, man! I know I’m not reading you wrong. What’s the problem here? Don’t you like white boys? Don’t you want me?”

Ange sighed. Why couldn’t this be easy? “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what?”

Ange half-turned, careful to look only at Tyler’s eyes and not let his gaze drift down to the boy’s shaved genitals. An image flashed through his mind, his lips wrapped around those hairless balls—would they be prickly with new growth or smooth as a baby’s skin? God knew he wanted to find out, but not tonight, not like this. “Get dressed.”

For a moment he didn’t think Tyler would listen. Then those dark eyes clouded and the kid turned on his heel, flashing a round ass Ange wanted to sink his teeth into, fat buttocks he ached to part. Tyler stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him so hard, it popped open and he had to shut it again, hitting it with both hands before locking it for good measure. “f**k you then,” he told Ange from the safety of the other side of the closed door. “Bastard.”

Suddenly Ange was all too aware of the late hour, his aching feet, and the fact that he hadn’t gotten a hot shower tonight. With a heavy sigh he clicked off the garage’s single light and crawled into the bed, careful to stay to one side so Tyler would have enough room. It seemed like he lay there for hours, waiting for the kid to come out of the bathroom. It wasn’t before he began to doze that the door finally opened. The bed moved beneath him as Tyler climbed in.

Around them, the darkness seemed to stretch forever. Curled into himself, Ange murmured quietly, “Night.”

No response. He didn’t expect one, but it would’ve been nice. Burrowing into his pillow, Ange tried to clear his mind and get some sleep. He’d think about what to do with the kid tomorrow—things would be clearer then, they always were…

From behind him came very faint sobs—Tyler crying into his own pillow, trying to be quiet. “Tyler?” Ange turned and touched a trembling shoulder that shrugged away. “Hey. Hey now, it’s okay. You hear me? It’s going to be okay.”

He reached for Tyler again and the kid rolled toward him, arms easing around Ange’s waist as he buried his face against Ange’s shoulder. His cheeks were hot and wet with tears, and his breath came in short, painful gasps that hurt Ange’s heart to hear them. Against Tyler’s damp hair, he pursed his lips, “Shh.” In the darkness, he wrapped his arms around Tyler’s shaking shoulders and held him close. “Hey there. Shh, it’s okay.”

Entwined together, Ange comforted Tyler until they both fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.