When Morning Comes

This chapter is the prerequisite 'not a lot of sex but necessary for the plot' chapter. Sorry.

Chapter 2 - Somewhere to Go

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"But that was a long time ago, right? That was like, before the last thing that happened."

I shrugged. "Man, you gotta know I pulled bare dudes on those apps. And you could too if you loosened up a bit!" I sipped some of my coffee, watching him shake his head. "Just..." I muttered, as an addendum; "don't ever let me see your profile."

"Nathan, you are incorrigible. I meant your...uh...your thing with your...coworker?" I set my mug down, already uneasy about where this was headed. "Or...whatever he is. How's that going?" I frowned automatically. My thing. How did I know it would lead here?

"It's not going, like at all," I responded, growing dim about the subject. "I, uh...I haven't...talked to him much." 'Not since...well.' My uncle cocked his head at my pathetic answer.

"How's it you guys met again? I'm assuming at work, right?"

I smiled. "Well--sorta?" It was just partially true. "My job...well--my old job, I mean--I was cleaning a building for this company that used it. And he worked at that company." My uncle let out an 'aaahh' of understanding. Reaching back into my memory, I could picture that stupid building, clear as day. Even if my memories of it were covered in dark; bathed in the deep, heaving night.

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"Fuck yeah. Oh, fuck yeah. Oh, that feels so good. So fucking good. Fuck your daddy's hole, fuck...."

God, he was annoying. But he was a fantastic lay. That was about his only redeeming quality.

Underneath me, tonight's hookup lay prone on the table I was fucking him into. An empty, abandoned office, save for two horny pricks. For an older guy, he had a great body: tight, but softened around the edges with time, and near-totally matted in attractive silvery-brown fur. I ran my hands over his firm chest, over the curious healed scar along his abdomen. He was fucking fertile, always raring to go, no doubt.

It's just too bad he just would not shut the fuck up.

"Oh, fuck yeah, Nathan," he moaned, hefting the soft mounds of my body under his hands. "Oh, fuck, you sexy fucker." He jiggled my tits about. He said he loved fat guys, and damn, was it ever true; sometimes I felt like his own personal dildo. "You fuck me so good, baby, so good, so fucking good...."

"Mmmh," I grunted, trying my best to speed up. My cock was so close to cumming and yet just not close enough. 'Come on fucker!' I thought. 'Just blast in his fucking guts already! Damn!'

An unassuming commercial building off Riverside Drive had been my workplace for a not-insignificant year of my life. Probably identical inside to all the other ones around it. To put it mildly, I'd turned it into a fuck den. The first time we had sex--again in this office--his vocalisations really amped it up; made the sex so much more visceral, more raw.

He loved the daddy thing, loved the power dynamic found in a younger guy using his mature hole. But as of lately, he'd become more of a fallback for when I couldn't find someone else, or if a date went south. And what a truly depressing situation that was to be in. Being a person's backup.

Being single in the city had its benefits, but the problem with Ottawa was that no matter where you went--no matter the bar, the party, the dating app--you were going to run into all the same men. I imagine it was the same anywhere else, but damn. Hell, there were even some events I'd gone to where my own Tito Jon was there. Fucking kill me instead.

And this guy, well--he tried to be at all of them. The dude was a background character in my sitcom. But I could do way worse than him. Really. He was hot, no doubt about it. Would've been some twink's dream daddy, if he didn't make a much better cock sleeve for fat horny fucks such as myself.

I suppose that's why I even gave him the time of day the first time. But you know what they say about feeding strays: they come back. Again and again. It was starting to become a diminishing return.

He reached up, snaking his hand along my body, which quivered under the battling forces of my pleasure and annoyance. He followed the curves of the folds, and his calloused hand ended up on my face. Fuck, he was gonna do it again wasn't he. Yep, he was. He hooked his thumb into the corner of my mouth, pulling my lips apart at a weird angle. I don't know why he did this shit.

"Hrrrmmggh," I grumbled, trying not to say anything. It was hot the first time. Not the six billionth. In response, I pulled back and rammed into him, hard. His strained moan filled the room; the sound of it absorbing into the carpeted floor, the cubicles. He dropped his hand, his body flopping under me. I grabbed his ankles to get better leverage, and pulled my hips away from him.

"You like that shit?" I growled at him through the haze. He was crying his responses out.

The next few minutes were a cacophony of his moaning, my pants, and the sound of skin hitting skin. I was so fucking pissed that my cock felt great, but apparently not good enough to just fucking cum already and send this guy home. He did that thing where he repeated a jumble of words like it was a mantra; filling the air with his desperate chanting.

Finally, I pulled out just enough, and the angle of my dick head rubbing against his entrance struck me just right. I felt the tell-tale weakness bubbling up from my knees that threatened to knock me off-kilter. Letting a last groan escape me, I lost it. I pushed into him one last time and shuddered out my orgasm. It rocked my body. My cum splattered against the wall of the condom and spread back out all over my cock.

Panting, he reached up with his one free hand; the other, he was using to furiously beat himself off to climax. By the time he announced--repeatedly--that he was cumming, I was already mentally far away, coming down from the high.

As if by practised ritual, I handed him a clean towel. Then we went through the motions; I took the condom off, wiped the cum off my dick and disposed of the evidence. Listen--this was the workplace after all, and I really didn't need my boss or coworkers finding this shit in the morning, even if the horny security guard manning the door had my back. Shit, he probably had a girl lined up for after I left, himself.

By the time he'd gotten himself cleaned up and dressed, I had already wiped up the table and collected the evidence in a plastic bag. Like a night janitor is meant to do. Besides the obvious smell of sweat, sex and cum hanging in the tepid air, there were virtually no signs that I'd just used my workplace to fuck in. I watched him smooth out and over-straighten the folds of his button-up shirt, peering into some invisible mirror as he worked.

"Got somewhere to go after this?" I asked him in unmasked mocking.

"Home," he replied simply. "I gotta catch a nap before work tomorrow. They're sending me to Halifax for a week." He sighed; a horribly grandiose sound. "It's annoying, but at least my job's paying for the whole thing. But Halifax's beautiful this time of year, so it'll be a nice little trip, I guess. Ever been?"

I hated the way he stretched out his words and laid them before me, like he wanted me to be amazed. To stare at his life and heap praise on him. Yes sir, you are so much cooler and more successful than I, I love having sex with someone sooooo accomplished.

"Nah," I said, piling rags into a bag I could throw out. He shuffled in place, almost twitching, before I saw him take a step towards me in the corner of my eye. Within moments he was in front of me, levelling his eyes into mine. Electric green. That's when he went in for the kiss. Of course. I turned my head away as his lips met disappointingly with my cheek.

The first time I'd done that, he'd complained to me. "What, you can't even kiss me after you fuck me?" he used to ask. Now, he just nodded his concession and left. He knew his way out by now.

Hooking up had been a last break type of activity, and the rest of the night went by as smooth as butter. The last thing I did was turn the lights back on in the hallway that had led to this office room. The security camera posted there would actually have something to record then.

"You're lucky it's only me tonight, Nate," the guard was saying through a smirk as I passed by his station at the end of the night. He swung in his chair to face me, and I could see him palming the bulge in his pants. "Could hear ya from the fifth floor."

He wasn't a bad-looking guy, just straight. I think. "I'll keep it down next time," I told him.

"Hah! Next time." He nodded me off. "Get outta here. My bitch is coming next." Like I said--it worked out for everyone involved. I was certain it was highly illegal.

When at last I was outside and free from the confines of that building, I inhaled deeply of the city air at 3 AM. In Alta Vista, there weren't that many people up and about, not like it had been, twelve hours earlier. I found peace at night; there was so much anonymity to be found in the dark. My night job, my night hookups...it was the goddamn life.

I lit myself a joint and inhaled deeply of the acrid, vegetal smoke. Almost immediately, that familiar friendly tickle of a high crawled up my neck, into my brain. Sex and weed, that was the true peak of living. In the distant hum of traffic that came from the nearby highway, I could hear my own slow footsteps against the pavement...and my phone vibrating. Ah shit. Here we go again.

Aaron Rodriguez

Aaron Rodriguez (2:15): Thanks again for tonight stud! ...

I scrolled right past the message preview, to another, later one, that had come in while I was fucking Aaron. One I cared infinitely more about.

Josh Beckett

Josh Beckett (2:07): Nate are you awake

sorry

(2:08) i just know you're usu in alta vista atm

can you come pick me up from this party? sorry

Nathan Liemco (2:21): I'm on it dude, where u at?

He hadn't even finished texting me the address before I had gotten in my car and started it. When I looked he was only a few minutes away. I hadn't even taken into consideration how bad I must've smelled or how dishevelled I looked. It didn't matter--I had to get to him.

When I pictured my friend Joshua Beckett, there was something...maybe protective in me that took over. Three years my junior, but it felt like more, with the way he carried himself. He was timid, something that conflicted with people's image of him: a tall, imposing, overall solid dude. He looked like he could throw a punch. But he was a gentle guy, only blossoming when he was near his very few friends.

And so when I pictured him at this party, probably being pressured to drink, surrounded by people he didn't know.... Something distantly in me clenched. And I had to reckon with the fact that him going to this party had been my bright idea. Fuck.

I had even finished my joint by the moment I was on the streets. Within ten minutes, I was pulling up to the address not far from my workplace: a house belonging to somebody I didn't know, and likely, neither did Josh. That weird tightness in me became even stronger when I spotted him, sitting by the steps that led up to the house. He was hunched over, with all the energy of a wet towel. I could hear shitty music blaring from beyond the open door.

"Josh!" I called to him; he regarded me with a sheepish, crumpled smile.

He turned to wave goodbye at a couple of cute Black girls that stood on the porch. Drinks in hand, they only scanned him up and down with disinterest in their eyes as they watched him squeeze into my car. "Thanks, Nate," he muttered in his curiously high-pitched voice. "Did you have a good shift?"

"Yeah, it was fine," I replied as blankly as I could. "It was easy tonight. Hmm...it, uh, looks like your one coworker got the memo about sticking gum under his desk." Despite his state, a giggle floated out of him.

"Our boss called him out. I...mentioned it to her. After you told me."

I smiled, and let out a dumb laugh. "Josh...you didn't need to. But thank you." He laughed again, and reached into his pocket. From the corner of my eye, I could see him reaching out to me; a cursory glance told me that he was giving me an entire gigantic brownie.

"The hell have you got that for?" I asked, watching the road go by. The more familiar high-rises and well-lit bridges of my area were coming into view.

"It's for you, man. For picking me up. Take it. I took it from the party." Despite himself, I could see him smile, and put the crumpled treat into my cup holder. The brownie sank in, and somehow it looked sad doing it. Nonetheless, we both laughed. He reclined back; had to adjust his long legs to fit into the groove of my passenger seat. His phone had already connected to my stereo, and his playlist drifted.

I just drove. In the dark of my car, its insides lit up by a passing streetlamp, I caught the sight of his downturned frown; the sleepy slope of his dark brown eyes. A comfortable, easy quiet had filled the space, with the music barely disturbing it. I just drove aimlessly before I found myself in my area again.

Right before the bridge that connected my neighbourhood to the scenic drive to the downtown core, I veered right and pulled into a parking lot. It sat there, bathed in a wash of orange streetlamp light that contrasted against the dark, starry night. Empty and full of promise. Josh sighed.

Here was where we'd had our last deep conversation, and I found it ironic that this was the case. It was the same place where, a week ago, I'd told him to go to this party that some other people in his department were having. And now, I stared at the fruits of my labour, leaned against my car, staring at the night sky. A faraway look on his pouting face. He crossed his arms beneath the shelf of his solid pecs, squeezing into himself. The man who wanted to disappear.

"...and those girls, man, I dunno," he was saying now, after having given me the rundown of just how tragically that party had gone. Just about the only saving grace, from his story, was that he hadn't gotten sloppily drunk and embarrassed himself. But his face seemed far away as he recounted his night. "They seemed into me. Then...I choked. I dunno why."

"Okaaaayy..."I drawled out, deep in the rhythm of our usual conversations. "Well...given your past history with, y'know, girls...I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you choked once they started getting too handsy. Am I right?" One sidelong look over at Josh told me that I was. He sighed, hung his head; I could see him press his eyebrows together.

"Why do I do that, dude?" he griped to the open air, his frustration clear on his face as it was lit up by the streetlamp. From my position on the concrete parking bumper, I took in the sight of him. He seemed totally unrelaxed, about to crumple, near implosion. He was painted in orange by the streetlight, warming his deep, night-dark brown skin; light seemed to just melt into his smooth face.

If I was being fully honest with myself, I was fucking frustrated with Josh. He had just stood there and told me that women--women, plural--were throwing themselves at him. And he choked and turned them down.

Honestly, if I looked like Josh, I wouldn't know how to act. Shit--I look like me and I already don't. He was tall, taller than me by a head, and even with me being a big guy, he was as wide at the shoulders as I was at the waist. He could hold someone so comfortably...and they would just get lost in his big, warm embrace.

"Josh, dude," I mumbled, nudging his ankle with my foot. "I don't get you, man."

He shrugged, and laughed balefully. "You think I do? Dude, two hot girls, two, were trying to dance with me and drink with me, and go home with me and shit...and I tanked it, hard." If I further assumed that said women had been the two that had been standing on the porch watching him go, then he was fucking crazy. They were hot.

"Bro, fuck...that literally lines up with the exact thing we talked about." He shot me a cringing glance. "You know! That thing you said you wanted? What the fuck was it you said? You wanted to just...be a slut?" I spread my hands out in front of me, gesturing to the bitches he did not have.

He sighed. "Saying it is one thing. Actually going out and doing it is something else entirely." He squeezed the bridge of his nose, his face twisted in a frustrated frown. "I know it doesn't make sense. I wish I could explain what was going on in my head, but I don't know either." He looked down at me, eyes heavy with regret. "But man, you remember what I said about the connection thing?"

"You did, yeah," I confirmed.

'I just can't hook up,' he had told me one night, with the deep gravitas of a man who had been drinking for hours. 'I need the connection. And what if I make a connection with someone that doesn't really want me?' They were common dating anxieties, truly; you'd hear Josh's same story from many other people. Shit, I had them too but I never dwelled too deeply on them.

Thing was, many other people didn't look like Joshua Beckett. They weren't this solidly-built Black bear of a guy who gave fantastic hugs...maybe fantastic cuddles too. Fuck.

"I wanna try again," he was muttering. "But maybe a party wasn't the right setting." He kicked a nearby pebble. "Shit, man. Imagine being twenty-four and still a virgin. Not even kissed."

"So try again, bro," I said, swallowing. "You can do it."

Again, that sad smile. "You don't seem convinced."

"Well...I can't really help you, if not even you know what you want. Like, since we've talked about it two months ago, you've met like, three girls. Two of them, from tonight!" He nodded. I spread my hands out again. "Shit--what was the problem with them all?"

"None of them wanted to get to know me," he mumbled, hands in his pockets. "It's so stupid, yeah, but...I'm a person, man. Not just...y'know, someone to fuck." He sniffed, put his hands up. "I can't do it like you. No offence, Nate--you do you. But I can't do you like that."

"None taken, man," I said with a sigh. "But...I think what you think you want and what you really need are two totally different things. And that's why you're stuck." He sighed, and that errant thought came to me: 'I could solve at least one of those problems right now. Right here.' But I didn't, because that wasn't allowed. Josh, specifically, was off the table, and I couldn't ruin what we had.

He peered down at me again, a curious hazy emotion playing in his eyes that I couldn't place. His face drifted in my vision, painted a soft, dark amber by the night.

"Sometimes..." he muttered; "sometimes, man, I wish they were you." That clenching feeling squeezed around my spine and refused to let go. I stayed balefully silent.

I looked up at him, eyes searching. I didn't miss the way my stomach tightened at what he'd said. "You're the only person I can talk so openly to. I dunno. You're just different." He held his hands up again, his face a blur. "Whoa, sorry, Nate. Still kinda drunk. Sorry. I'm just saying things."

"Yeah, dude, no problem...." I stood from the barrier, allowing myself to take in the sight of Josh, hating myself for it. I can't believe he'd said that. Despite myself, my fists clenched and unclenched on their own. "Look, let's get you home, okay? I still have to get to bed."

He slapped his forehead. "Fuck, I'm so sorry! Yeah, let's do that--can I get you back sometime?"

"Don't make a promise you can't keep, Josh," I said through a smile. I motioned my passenger to the door. We were off within the minute.

By the time I arrived at Josh's apartment, so tantalisingly close to my own, I had become tired. Tired from work, tired from fucking Aaron to only my middling satisfaction, and tired from untangling my forbidden, my unspoken-of desire for Josh out of my gut.