They say that eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves, don't they? Guess it's the same for any bad news.
I've been away for a while – can't actually remember how long, this time. Tyler knows to expect me, though I can't remember telling him exactly when - shows you how tired I am! I'm often away, of course; damned job requires it. But he always knows how much I miss him. I tell him so, don't I? I show him so, wrapped in the sheets at night, in our bed, caressing him, claiming him as mine. Making him cry out loudly with his pleasure; making him hold me so tightly that I know I'll never find another lover as responsive.
Always says he misses me, too.
Tonight, I feel dog tired – like the journey's been longer, and more exhausting than usual. It's dark outside, already. I just want to take a piss, sink into a hot bath, eat some half-decent food – then hold Tyler close; smell his sweet sweat; feel his quickening heartbeat. Maybe we'll have sex, right away – I'll bury myself deep in that delicious, boy-smooth body of his. Hell, I've dreamt about it, enough! But perhaps I'd rather sleep first. I just feel damned tired all the time, it seems. I need my bed; our bed.
Don't know why I don't call out, as I enter – why I don't slam the front door to the flat, behind me. I suppose because it's ajar, I just slip in; I grin, at the thought of surprising him.
And then I hear the voices. Just a soft murmur in the background, from the direction of the lounge. It's not that big a flat, y'know? I can hear the lilt of Tyler's voice – don't know the sound of the other man.
I stand outside the door to the lounge, looking through the gap of the hinges. Why don't I just go straight in? I have just as much right in that place as Tyler – and more than his guest. But I don't go in.
I know the guy, sitting beside him on the couch – Tyler works with him. We met him at an office party, last Christmas. Tyler's too easygoing; makes friends with everyone. I told him this guy was likely to be trouble.
Tyler had just laughed.
Tonight, he's not laughing. He looks fucking tired, actually. I mean, he's naturally pale, anyway. Good looking, and well-built, but very fair, and with a long, thin face. When he's tired, he looks exhausted, and that's how he looks now. He looks like he slept on the couch, because there's a blanket folded up by his feet. He does that when he can't settle at night, so he doesn't disturb me as well. Guess I ought to go over and comfort him – but, again, I choose not to go in. Not sure about my motives - let's worry about 'em some other time, OK?
Bet his worry is something to do with work. He's a sensitive guy; easily upset – has a sleepless night at the drop of a hat. He's always panicking about his appraisal, though I hear he's one of the best lawyers in the practice; but he's always worrying about what the boss thinks of him. Whether there'll be a problem if they find out he's gay – that we're living together.
Get into the 21st century! I tell him, far too regularly. That's their problem. Screw the lot of 'em!
Not literally, of course, I laugh.
*
The guy sitting on my couch works for him, I remember. Richard Wright, his name is. OK, so he's fairly fit, with well-cut blond hair, and he's attractive, I guess – if you like that barely-pubescent, undergraduate look. Looks too scared to piss in his own pot, my mate Nick would say! But I know he's one of the smartest and brightest office students. Shit, I knew I'd seen him catch Tyler's eye, at that party! I'm sure the boy's had plenty of chances since, to follow that up.
And we argued about it, that night, Tyler and me – another of our many, gut-churning arguments. We left the party early, I was so fucking incensed! Ty just sighed softly, when I insisted the guy was hitting on him; challenged me to find any evidence. Like I was going to find anything, just off the top of my head like that! Tyler's good at that – confronting my thoughts and suspicions. He brings that clear, open expression to bear; uses those calm, rational words – come to think of it, he's suspiciously like one of those mindfucking doctors, then.
But he reassures me. Usually.
"Sal..." he'd said that time, very gently, though his hand had been firm on my shoulder. "You're the only one for me. I don't know how often I have to say it. You don't seem to want to believe it." He'd been smiling, but underneath it all, he looked distressed – I seem to inspire that in him, a lot. His hand had run slowly down my arm; smoothed across the tightened muscles of my belly. He was tense, himself – but he was seeking to relax me. Like he always does.
It had been one hell of a night in bed, after that argument.
*
But anyway, there's still the strange guy on my couch! He's sitting next to Tyler, and he's way too close for any of those personal space issues that Ty's usually so particular about. They're talking in low voices, so I can't hear all the words. Tyler sounds tired, as well as looking it – his whole attitude looks beaten down. Looks damned sad! What's this about? There's a sharp tug of emotion inside me; something catching in my throat. Guess I didn't realise he felt this strongly, just because I'm away from him...
Wright's voice jars on me, although it's soft, like he's soothing Tyler.
"How long will this go on, Tyler?" A few words reach me, like a volume dial has been turned up. "How much longer? You deserve so much better -!"
Deserve what? Damned kid should get out of my house, and away from what's mine -
I don't move, though. Just watch.
Then he leans over Tyler, as they sit there, close together on the couch, and now I want to call out! He puts a hand to Tyler's face – I don't know why Ty isn't beating him off! Stupid kid; needs to keep his hands to himself.
"I want to care for you, Tyler. You know I always have. I've understood your feelings; I've hung back for so long –"
The words are fading away again – I can't hear him anymore. But my whole body feels the sudden chill of watching those soft, boyish fingers stroking at Tyler's mouth.
And then he's kissing Tyler – a soft, gentle touch at first, but none the less sexual for that. His hand is on Tyler's neck, and he's tugging him nearer. His other hand is on Tyler's waist, drawing him in.
Get back, I hiss to myself. Don't fucking touch him!
Who am I talking to? Richard Wright – or Tyler himself?
For Tyler's hand is on his neck, in return; Tyler's mouth is opening with a show of eagerness. My Tyler is kissing him back.
*
I feel hideously cold – bloody nauseous. I hope to God I'm not going to throw up. Is this shock?
I'm still watching – I'm still silent. Am I scared to go in – to confront them? I've never had a problem knowing what's mine, and being prepared to protect it. You ask Nick – he's been my best friend since childhood. We've stood together, up against it, plenty of times.
Say, you could ask the doctors, as well! They said a similar thing about me, though in plenty of Latin. And they made it sound like it was something bad.
Tyler doesn't like my friends, Nick particularly. Oh, he's polite enough, but they've never got on. He says Nick's a bad influence on me – a remnant of my previous life. He met us both when I had that trouble with the police – when both of us only got off jail because of Tyler's intervention.
That's in the past, anyway! But Nick's told me to leave Tyler, lots of times – says that Tyler is a white collar loser; that he's a flake; that he'll leave me, if I don't dump him first.
Nick's the best kind of mate. Ty's my lover. It confuses me, sometimes, the conflict between 'em.
When we first met, Tyler and I – well, the attraction was obvious, wasn't it? He held off for a while, until my case was won, but then we became lovers, pretty damned quick! Everything was hunky-dory – I got a fair enough job; he got the flat.
