They had been on the same tour of the Frank Lloyd Wright house and studio in Oak Park, Illinois, and then they'd passed each other or sighted each other from the distance while both were strolling through the area picking out and observing the other houses Wright had designed and that had been constructed in what was now just a far suburb of Chicago.
They were both of much the same look—blond, good-looking, trim, and dressed well in well-pressed khaki trousers, expensive polo shirts, and the latest style of athletic walkers, although neither was really athletic looking. They both looked more like college students than student athletes, which they were.
There was a difference, a subtle difference in the look they had, the way they moved, and their interactions with the world around them, however. Ken was willowy and moved with grace; Thane was more solid, more deliberate, moving like he was in charge, like he owned the place. And Ken's features were slightly more delicate than Thane's. He didn't maintain eye contact with someone he was aroused by. He'd dip his head, smile slightly, and blush. He had done that with Thane when they had first encountered each other. Thane looked directly at Ken from the very first, during the tour of the Wright house, his eyes commanding, undressing, possessing. The two young men, even though very similar in appearance, both knew the natural role of the other.
Both knew instinctively that the other was actively gay.
After the first couple of chance encounters during the house and studio tour and later when walking the neighborhood, Ken started looking for where Thane might appear. If he had the impression that Thane was tracking him, he was right. They surprised each other, though—or at least Ken was surprised—when they found themselves standing almost side-by-side on the sidewalk and watching a couple of muscled-up guys roofing one of the houses that obviously predated Wright's work in the town.
"Queen Anne style, I think. Turn-of-the-century Victorian. Not Wright's style, surely."
Ken turned in surprise at the sound to see that the young man—the one he'd been playing tag with since they both toured the Wright house—was standing beside him. "Yes, I think it looks earlier than Wright," he said, "although I think Wright started designing that style, when he worked for someone else." He was slightly embarrassed because it wasn't the house that had made him stop and look. It was the roofers. They were real hunks. Probably rough trade, he thought—to be ogled from afar. He didn't want it to be obvious that he had been watching the men rather than the house and mentally picking one out for imaginary play he wasn't brave enough to take beyond his imagination.
"So, you're an architect, are you?" Ken asked.
"They're in prime shape, aren't they?" Thane said, as if he hadn't heard Ken's question. "It must be hard work, or it wouldn't be warm enough out today for them to work shirtless. They have such good muscle tone because it's hard work. Real hunks."
Surprised again, all Ken could think of responding with was, "Yes, the temperature seems to be dipping this afternoon. If their work wasn't so vigorous they surely would be cold."
"But you're glad they're working shirtless, aren't you?"
"Yes," Ken answered, surprised not only by the directness of the other young man's conversation but also by how openly he himself had admitted his interest. The other guys seemed always to be able to tell about him—that he'd be sexually aroused by the roofers. He had no idea why. It was like he exuded pheromones that screamed "fuck me."
"Me too," the young man said. "I can always appreciate a beautiful body in motion. Thane. My name is Thane. We met—or at least brushed up against each other a time or two—at the Wright house, during the tour. I hoped we would have a chance to talk. Are
you
an architecture student?"
"Uh, a student, but not architecture," Ken answered. "My name's Ken. I go to the University of Chicago. Fine arts—creative writing program. We were sent out to get inspiration and write a story. I thought Frank Lloyd Wright and Oak Park would inspire me."
That wasn't the only reason Ken had taken this excursion. He hadn't had any in over a week, and it had him horny and full of nervous energy. And he was tired of his needs controlling his actions. A ride on the L out to Oak Park seemed to have been a good, nonthreatening idea. He'd had no idea he'd see someone here who interested him.
"And?"
"So far nothing inspiring," Ken answered and laughed.
"Pity. I seem to have lost my charisma then. It's tough learning you aren't inspiring."
Ken laughed. It was a slightly nervous laugh, which Thane caught, but it relieved some of the tension that had been building inside Ken. He took another look at Thane, liking what he saw. Liking that Thane had guessed his sexual interest and seemed to be fine with it. His mind started to assess Thane as a possible sex partner. Was he gay—actively gay? Was he a top? Was he hung? Ken had a weakness for hung. Everything Ken had seen and heard Thane say so far pointed to all of the right answers.
"Not even the guys roofing that house? Those beautiful torsos in motion—they don't inspire you?" Thane asked. He was smiling. Ken thought he had a nice smile.
"Well, maybe," Ken said, and smiled. "But they look rough. Not my type—or my speed, at least."
"Good," Thane said, but then, before either could follow up on that, he said, "I'm fine arts too. U of C too, but my area is fine art itself. That's why I find those bodies up there interesting; I paint them. But not today. Today I'm here spying out Wright's design motifs. I plan on working them into a series of paintings. Not that I'm not interested in them sexually, of course. I am. Although they aren't my speed either."
He smiled at Ken. He couldn't have been more straightforward about being gay and attracted to Ken rather than the roofers. "I'm spending most of my time on the lakefront now, at the Chicago Museum of Art," he continued.
"Oh, so that's why I haven't met you at the university yet," Ken said. "You're mostly at the museum and I'm mostly in a dusty classroom." As soon as he'd said it, Ken had wanted not to have said it. It wasn't surprising two men hadn't met at Chicago, which was a huge university, even if they were in the same school of the university. What he'd meant was that, both also being gay, it was strange they hadn't met within the same circles. Chances were good they knew someone in common.
"Yes, strange we haven't met yet. I know a guy in the writing program, though. A graduate student. Erick Malloy. We cruise with each other sometimes."
Ken shivered. Yes, he knew Erick. And Erick knew him—biblically. Was Thane thinking of him as he had been thinking of Thane—wondering if they were a fit. "Yes, I know Erick. I've gone with him before." There, that should establish that. "Gone with him" was pretty understandable code for "have been fucked by him—have bottomed for his topping."
"Erick's from Boston. Stockbrokers, I think. Quite a party guy, I think," Thane said.
Why did guys in his circle always specify a place and family business of wealth, Ken wondered. It seemed like establishing a club just for them. He guessed it was part of the stratification of people living in Chicago—vast wealth on the lakefront and deep poverty just blocks off the water. The fear of poverty and those trapped in it.
"Yes, I've partied with Erick," he said as if he couldn't avoid playing the game himself. "I visited his family in Boston over winter break too. Our families are acquainted. He showed me a good time."
Thane smiled, which Ken didn't miss. Yes, that had established that—Thane was a top to Ken's bottom and they both understood what was what. It only remained to establish mutual interest—and opportunity. And they were so well matched otherwise—both sunny blonds, the same age, probably even the same class. "Your accent. You sound like you're a New Englander."
God, why did he have to check that out, Ken wondered. He was trapped in this class distinction thing.
"Yes. Bar Harbor," Thane answered. "A long family line up there. Shipping rather than fishing."
The monied class, Ken thought. Like me—and Erick. Quite a dominator, that Erick. A fast reloader. "I'm from the Hamptons. Long Island. My family's in banking."
"Great," Thane said. "I'm off to see the Unity Temple, the Unitarian church Wright designed. Would you—?"
