Chapter 1: Scoring At Home
zuzulous wanted me to finish the drabble she posted here the other day. Her bit is in italics.
Keith had spent the last twenty four hours holed up in his apartment. The television had not been turned on, the telephone had been unplugged, his cell conveniently left at the studio.
Three times there was a knock at his door, but he knew there was no reason important enough for him to answer until the fourth person called to him.
"Get up and let me in, K.O."
He answered the door in his boxer shorts. He didn't even bother running a hand through his hair, and the slightly horrified expression on Dan's face was worth looking like an idiot. "This had better be important." The timbre of his voice made the sleepy statement come out in a growl.
Dan came in and shut the door. "You look like hell. What's wrong?"
"Wrong?" The muzziness of sleep was lifting and Keith regarded his guest with the sort of cocky grin that Dan recognized all too well from the old days. "What makes you think there's anything wrong?"
"I get the distinct impression now that I shouldn't have worried," Dan smiled back, knowing that his friend was indeed, as they used to say, scoring at home. "Though it's not like you to go incommunicado like that, much less sleep through an afternoon. She must be something special"
Not much could put Keith at a loss for words, but his brain hadn't exactly had enough time to shake off the haze. His look changed rapidly from smug satisfaction to guilt, "Well... um..."
Though the apartment wasn't small by New York standards, it was still close enough quarters for the distinctly male laughter from the bedroom to be heard in the living room. And now it was Dan's turn to look uncomfortable. "I see. So you're batting for the other team these days."
"Thank you very much, Anderson!" Keith called over his shoulder before turning to face his friend.
"Anderson? Don't tell me you're fucking Anderson Cooper?"
"Danny, this isn't exactly..."
"Isn't exactly what, Keith?" questioned Anderson. He leaned casually in the doorframe, obviously having pulled on the nearest item of clothing, bothering to zip up the jeans he was wearing only as far as modesty required. When both of the men in the living room turned to look at him, he came forward and extended his hand to Dan.
"Yes, Anderson Cooper. And you're Dan Patrick, right?"
Dan, slightly flustered not only from the situation, but by the sight of those partially zipped jeans, shook hands. "Nice to uh, meet you."
Anderson turned his attention back to Keith, who had covered his face with his hand. "Keith? What isn't this, exactly?"
Keith looked Anderson in the eye, "It's not how I would have preferred to tell him about us. About me." He turned to face Dan, who was conveniently looking at his shoes. "Look, I'm sorry you had to find out this way."
"I'm sorry too, Keith," he said, looking up at his old partner, sadness in his eyes. "Had I known ten years ago, things would have been different between us." He turned and put his hand on the doorknob before looking at Keith over his shoulder and smiling a wistful smile. "A lot different."
Chapter 2: Alma Mater
Cor asked for Stephen in oversized fleece pants.
The difficult part about staying over at Keith's place was morning blindness. Not only did most of their clothing come off before they ever hit the bedroom, but so did their glasses, meaning that clear vision was always about thirty feet away when they awoke.
Stephen groped around the bedroom floor in the dim light of a rainy autumn morning. He found something soft and red, and when he held it up it looked to have a waistband and two legs. He slid the pants on and padded off to find his glasses so he could find the kitchen and make coffee.
Finding the other half of his bed empty some thirty minutes later, Keith went through the same motions. Finding a discarded pair of boxers of questionable cleanliness, he shuffled into the living room to the sofa table and regained his vision. As he turned towards the kitchen, he was greeted with the sexiest sight he'd seen in a while. There was Stephen with his back facing Keith, leaning on the counter and paging through the Sunday New York Times. Riding low on his slender hips and puddled at his ankles were Keith's red sweat pants, with the logo of his alma mater, meant to be worn in front, arched over the perfect curve of Stephen's ass.
Keith waited until Stephen set his mug back on the counter before swooping in to carry him back to bed. "What got into you this morning?" Stephen asked, allowing himself to be cradled like a damsel in distress.
"Just overcome by school spirit," Keith answered as he laid Stephen out on the bed. The red pants were pulled off, and Keith proceded to give him a most enthusiastic blow job, all the while humming "My Old Cornell."
Chapter 3: Toe Licker
soo wanted to know what happened when Keith met Molly.
Keith rolled over and squinted in the direction of the clock. He wasn't exactly sure why he'd be dreaming of that foot fetishist he used to date, or why such a dream would wake him up. He wiggled his toes out of some sort of reflex memory and yes, they really were wet. He knew from experience his toes had been someone's oral fixation while he was asleep.
He peered through the darkness at his bed partner. They hadn't been intimate for very long; as a matter of fact this was the first time he'd slept at Andy's apartment. Did he just wait until... what? He was on his home turf? He was comfortable enough with a new lover? Keith liked Anderson, really he did, and it would be a shame if they had to call it quits because Andy was a toe licker.
The steel trap that was Keith's brain could not let this go until morning. He had to know and he had to know now. He reached across the bed and gently shook Anderson. "Andy?'
"Anderson, wake up."
"Wha? Keith? Whas wrong?"
"What do you think of my feet?"
After a long pause in which Anderson thought that Keith may be insane, there was an answer. "They're, um, as big and ungainly as the rest of you?"
"So, you don't have any particular attachment to them?"
"Not beyond the fact that in your case there really does seem to be a corollary between foot size and dick size."
"Very funny. Why then, are my toes wet?"
"Are your feet outside the sheets?"
In seconds a big ball of fur and wet tongue and energy leapt up onto the bed. Andy reached for the bedside lamp, and Keith saw his culprit. A very excitable brown and white spaniel who seemed hell bent on giving Anderson a sound tasting.
Amid his giggles, Andy mangaged to make the introduction. "Keith, meet Molly. The toe licker."
Chapter 4: The Things We Do For Love
spike21 wanted to know what Jon felt when he held and kissed Stephen.
Jon shifted slightly, so as not to wake Stephen. Comedy Central hadn't just passed the old Daily Show studio on to the fledgling Colbert Report, but Stephen had inherited Jon's old office and the ratty sofa that resided there. Jon was very familiar with the broken spring on which he now sat, where Stephen had fallen asleep in his arms.
At first they called it a "straight boy crush." The office joke that they were more than friends and co-workers went from the halls to the screen and everybody laughed. Everybody except Jon and Stephen, who knew better. They were both married, they loved their wives and families, but how they felt about each other was the elephant in the room. Some of their best work was fueled by sexual tension.
Work like The Colbert Report, which demanded long hours of development from them. Hours away from their families; hours that Evelyn came to resent. Marital troubles on top of physical attraction on top of deep affection until the pyramid toppled. Jon came into Stephen's office to find him on the verge of tears yet again, sat down next to him yet again, put his arm around him to comfort him yet again. But instead of pouring out his troubles yet again, Stephen turned and kissed him.
It was a kiss that sought comfort, nearly chaste in it's execution. Both men pulled back and looked into the eyes of the other seeking answers. But there were none to be had, only more questions. Jon pushed his fingers through Stephen's hair, pulling him close for another. Eyes closed, heads tilted, lips parting, it tasted to Jon as he imagined water tasted to a man in the desert sun. What he wanted and needed and craved for so long was his to taste.
Stephen was the one to break the kiss. "No," he had whispered, "my marriage may be trouble, but I won't take yours down too." He laid his head on Jon's shoulder; Jon leaned back and cradled him, holding his friend tight. Feeling, maybe for the last time, Stephen's slender frame in his arms. Feeling him relax into sleep, knowing he was loved.
He felt the vibration on his hip, knowing he couldn't ignore it. Jon shifted slightly, so as not to wake Stephen, pulling the cell phone from his belt and answering. "Hey baby. Yeah, I'm in Stephen's office. I'll be home in a couple of hours. Love you too."