How to Say "I Love You"

He looked like he was going to spit something back at me, but I stepped in and snarled, "What would have been the point? You'd have just forgotten anything I told you when you woke up anyway!"

He suddenly looked like he was going to be sick. I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bathroom. He didn't throw up, but he didn't look all that steady. I'd had enough. He knew, so what? I couldn't talk with him while he was shit-faced. Yanking back the shower curtain, I cranked on the cold water and hefted him in. "You want to talk? Get your white ass sober, and I'll think about it!"

He called me everything he could think of, and a lot of things that weren't words, as I chilled the drunk out of him. The bathroom floor and I were soaked when he finally stopped fighting me.

He was shivering and mumbling "enough" when I shut off the shower. God he looked miserable, and I felt guilty. The shower had chilled out my anger as well. I pulled him out and he kind of melted against me while he shivered. I wrapped him up in a towel, roughly dried him off, and guided him back to the couch. "I'll make some coffee."

Dave watched silently from the couch, in his soaked briefs and the towel, as I made a big pot and brought out the first mugs. He looked a lot more alert, and a lot sadder. We drank down our first mugs in silence. I didn't need the coffee, I was wound up enough, but it was easier to have him mimic me than try and force him to drink alone.

"How are you feeling," I asked. Any conversation was better than nothing.

"Like my head's full of cotton; not drunk, but not hung yet." He winced a little and then frowned at me. "You're a bastard, you know that?"

I grinned. "Yeah, you said that in the shower."

He looked back at his mug. "I'm sorry I yelled."

"I'm sorry I never told you."

He shrugged. "I didn't go snooping; well, not at first." He looked at my skeptical expression and frowned. "I didn't. I was trying to find where I'd dropped a favorites link for one of the apartment searches, and I clicked the wrong thing."

That made sense. "Oh."

Sighing, he lifted his mug. "Bartender, give me a double?"

I grinned. "Sure."

He sipped the mug after I handed it back, and cradled it in his hands. He wasn't shivering any more. "I guess I've been trying to get you to tell me since I found out."

His behavior over the last couple weeks started making sense. "When was that?"

"The night before I bought you the friendship card." He grinned. "I stood in that fucking store forever trying to find one that said what I wanted."

I was touched. I'd never expected him to spend time trying to express his feelings. "I really loved the card." Hell, I'd put it away in my only photo album.

Nodding, he took another sip of his coffee. His eyes never left me. "So, are you going to tell me why?"

"I told you why."

He set down his cup and stared at me. "I've spent the last two weeks worrying that if you were hiding this, that maybe you were hiding other stuff too. I'm scared, Jim. You've always been the person I could turn to and now I'm not sure I can."

I looked at my hands. "Do you remember who you used to jack off fantasizing about when we were teens?"

He grinned. "Yeah, Marla Thompson."

I swallowed and tried to meet his eyes. "I used to jack off about you."

That seemed to blind-side him. He stared at me, and I could see the "Dave security wall" come up. "Oh."

I stood up. "That's why I never told you. It wasn't that I didn't value our friendship, Dave. You're my best friend. I love you. I didn't want to ruin it." He continued to stare in silence. I wasn't going to get anything more out of him at that point. "I'm going to bed. If you want to talk more later, cool."

I left him sitting on the couch being distant-Dave. The moment the discussion had turned to something really intimate, like the fact that I'd been in love with him when we were kids, he'd shut down. There was no way I was going to share the fact that I was still in love with him. It took me forever to get to sleep; I kept worrying about what was going to happen. I woke mid-morning to find Dave looking at me from the chair near the dresser.

He didn't look like he'd slept at all. "Is it later?"

It took me a moment for my brain to figure out what he was asking. I rolled onto my back and looked up at the ceiling. "Sure."

When he didn't say anything, I looked back over at him. He waited until our eyes met, and then he asked, "Do you still feel that way?"

The problem with having someone continue a conversation from the night before, as I woke up, was that I couldn't think up answers fast enough. I stared at him blankly for a moment before I looked away. "I'm not a kid any more."

He was still watching me when I looked back. "Do you?"

Now I was the one getting angry. He didn't have the right to ask me that question. Mr. "can't open up" had no business trying to force me to do so. I sat up, pushed off the bed, and walked out. He followed. I stalked into the kitchen and found that he'd made a new pot of coffee. I poured myself a cup and tried to control the trembling in my hands as I took a swig. He stood there and waited. Finally, I practically slammed the mug down as I snapped at him, "What the fuck do you want me to tell you, Dave?"

"The truth." His eyes held mine, but they were inscrutable. Maybe it was the fact that he was so good at hiding his feelings, or maybe it was because he hadn't slept. What ever it was, I couldn't see a thing in them but me, squirming like a worm on a hook.

"Yes." I hissed it at him. "Yes, okay?" I threw my hands up and waved them frantically. "I'm just a big fucking queen who's hopelessly in love with his straight best friend." I grabbed my coffee and swallowed down another gulp. "Feel better?"

He stared at me. He looked so tired. If I wasn't so panicked and vulnerable, I'd have hugged him and reassured him that everything would be all right.

Finally, he said, "No."

My heart sank. He turned and went back to his room. I was kind of numb when he came back out with his coat and left. I had no idea what I did for the rest of the day. I knew I got showered and dressed, and I knew I ate something, but I spent most of the day feeling lost.

I found myself on the couch, running my fingers over the embossed lettering of the only token of affection I'd ever received from the man I'd loved for half my life. It was Valentine's Day, but it wasn't a Valentine's Day card. It was only a "thank you" card, but it still brought tears in my eyes. I imagined Dave standing in the Hallmark Store, awash in a sea of choices, agonizing over the perfect card; it was a strange image. It didn't matter if he'd grabbed the first or the last he'd seen; it was perfect to me, just like Dave. He wasn't here, and I didn't know when he'd be back or even if he would be back. Thinking about our years of friendship was like tracing the texture of the card; there were layers upon layers. In the end, it was far more than what was on the surface.

* * * * *

I was still sitting on the couch, tracing my fingers over the damn card when Dave came back in.

He looked like hell. I set the card down and stood up. "Have you eaten?"

He shook his head mutely and I went into the kitchen. "I'll make something." What I really wanted to do was to hug him to me and tell him I couldn't lose him. The look on his face made me wonder if it was already too late.

I started some water for pasta, and he said, "I'm going to take a quick shower."

I nodded and watched him head down the hall. While the water heated, I went back to the photo album on the coffee table. There was a card envelope lying over the card I'd been tracing before. I sat down and pulled out the new card.

It was simple, linen white with an antique gold stamped, "Please," on the cover. I was trembling when I flipped the card open. All that was inside was, "I need you." I stared at those three words until I couldn't see through the tears. It was just like a big, black queen to crumble over a stupid card.

Dave was just standing there, looking at me, when I finally blinked away the tears. I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

Finally, he looked down at his feet. "I can't promise anything, Jim. I just can't lose you." He kind of choked out the last few words.

Standing, I moved over to him and pulled him into a hug. He melted into it and clung to me. I was ready to bawl again. I whispered through my tears, "Friends is enough."

He pulled back a little and looked at me. I wasn't prepared when he leaned in and brought his lips to mine. I stood there, unresponsive, as my brain melted down.

He paused long enough to whisper, "Kiss me back."

That was all it took. When he came in again, I lifted my hands to grip behind his head. It was my first kiss; okay, my first kiss with a man. I thought I was going to bust my zipper. I'd read about kisses that left you hard and aching, but I always thought it was one of those "gay fairy tales." By the time we pulled back, I was definitely hard and aching. Dave was trembling; I was breathless. He hadn't let go of me.

I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "What now?"

He leaned back in and caught my lips again. This time our bodies got into it. He ground himself against me while trying to suck my tongue down his throat. I slid my hand down and squeezed his tight, white ass. At some point, his towel had slid off completely, and his hard shaft was rubbing against my jeans. I was in heaven.

"Bed..." Dave croaked as I moved from his lips to chew on his neck.

I didn't even hesitate. I just lifted him by his ass, keeping his squirming body against me as I carried him into the bedroom. There were some advantages to the fact that he was about fifty pounds lighter than I was. I pressed him back against the bed, and kissed him again. I realized quickly that kissing was something I really enjoyed.

Humping up against my weight, Dave grumbled. "Why am I the only one naked?"

That stopped me. Up to that point, I was living a fantasy. Then I realized it was real. I sat back and looked at him. "Dave..." I think he heard the fear in my voice. It snapped him out of whatever haze he was in. "I've never done anything; ever."

"So?" He looked genuinely confused. I suppose for a guy who'd been having sex for about a decade, he couldn't remember what it was like to be a virgin.

"So, I'm nervous ok?" I looked away. "And I don't think, if we do this, I could go back to being friends."

He was deflating, which to me confirmed that we had probably been fooling ourselves. After looking at me for a few moments, he sat up. "Jim?"

I looked into his eyes, and he studied mine. After what felt like forever, he brought his hand up to cup my face. I hadn't realized I was crying. He kissed me again. Damn him, I didn't know if he knew it, but he could have asked me anything.

"Please..."

I shuddered. I couldn't refuse him. I pulled back, and pulled off my shirt. His hands came up and tentatively caressed my chest. Closing my eyes, I let him explore. When his lips met my shoulder, I moaned. He was going so slowly. I was trembling when he finally pushed me back and his hands came to my jeans. I'd been leaking from the beginning, and I knew my jeans were soaked. I lifted my hips as he tugged at my jeans. They slid off, and I lay there under his scrutiny. Cautiously, his hand came up and wrapped around my aching shaft.

His voice was only a whisper. "God, Jim... you're fucking huge."

It was true. The one myth that I knew was true, at least for me, was the size of a black man's cock. I stood a good nine inches, thick, veined and uncut. Yeah, I had a fucking bull's cock. If Dave had anything close to it, I'd have run for the hills. His was thinner, cut, and only about six inches.

He stroked me slowly, and then slid up over my body and let our cocks rub together. I moaned. He was looking in my eyes, like he was trying to read them, and he asked, "Jim, what do you want?"

He sounded nervous. I realized that he thought I'd want his ass. Okay, I did; but I wasn't going to ask for it. On the other hand, he wasn't as intimidating as I was. I pressed up and kissed him again. God I loved kissing him. "I want you on your back."

I saw the fear flick across his eyes, but I kissed him again before he could protest. Rolling us over, I felt him squirm. I chewed my way to his ear and whispered. "I don't want that, Dave. I'm not going to hurt you."

He relaxed, and I moved against him. I sat back, straddled his hips, and ran my fingers through his fur. He moaned and I felt his cock twitch under me. I did it again, this time pulling on his chest hair. He moaned louder and his cock pulsed. Oh yeah, I'd found a turn on. I started alternatively stroking and pulling his chest and belly hair as he began to squirm. Occasionally, I'd brush his nipples and he'd gasp. More importantly, he was leaking all over the place and his eyes were glazing.

I wasn't really prepared, but I wanted it so bad. I started moving my ass up and down his drooling shaft, and he moaned louder. Each time he brushed my hole, I trembled. His eyes went wide as I tipped up his cock and pressed down on it. He was the perfect virgin's cock. His cock head was small, with a small flange, and his shaft slowly increased in thickness as it descended to his pelvis. Yeah, he was one long bullet, and I was getting ready to have it shoot right up my ass. I pressed down, trying to remember everything I'd read.

It burned like hell, and I was worried I was going to bend him in two, but just as he squeaked out my name, "Jim..." I opened. Oh shit, it burned. Lube, I should have used lube. Dave must have known, because his body convulsed under me and I felt his cock pulse. Suddenly there was moist warmth flooding my ass, and that gave me all the lube I needed. I rose up and sank down a couple times, until he grabbed my hips and held me in place.

"Don't," he whimpered, "sensitive."

I was a little disappointed, but after a minute, I felt him throb in me, and then he started humping up into me a little, releasing his grip on my hips. I started again; up, down, up, down; over and over. He didn't even deflate; if anything, after the sensitivity was gone, he was harder than ever. I clutched his fur and his back arched as I kept slamming down on him while practically ripping out his chest hair.

He was gripping the sheets, his head thrown back and he was groaning. "Oh fuck... oh shit... Jim... God..." The order of the words shifted and his volume and tone alternated as I went up and down, but it was obvious that Dave was as caught up with the whole thing as I was. He was gasping as my strokes became shorter and faster. I was so damn close. I didn't know what I needed to do to trip.

Dave solved it for me. His eyes met mine, and he brought his hand up and wrapped it around my shaft. He didn't even have to stroke me. Just that little bit of contact was enough to trip me. I slammed down on him one last time and exploded all over his fingers, abs, and chest; hell, I hit his chin. My ass must have clenched like a vise, because Dave let loose with one, long "fuuuuuuck..." and I felt his heat flood me again.

All I could do was roll forward, hot, sweaty, exhausted, and nuzzle his neck. Dave stroked my back and sighed. I knew I wanted to be there for the rest of my life.

"I love you," I mumbled into his neck, and Dave trembled. He lifted my face and kissed me again. It was slow, wet, and full of promise. As my head slid back to the hollow between his neck and shoulder, he smiled. "Happy Valentine's Day."

* * * * *

Dave never found another place to live. The only real change in our living arrangements was that he stopped sleeping on the couch bed. I didn't mind sharing. His divorce went through without any serious complications; Dave didn't seem to be as upset about it anymore.

Our life together hasn't been perfect. It has, however, been pretty good. Dave never really mastered the art of expressing his emotions without being pushed. There were two sure fire ways to push him. One was to get him trashed; I didn't like that method. The other was to fuck him delirious.

Yeah, Dave eventually let me fuck him; it was kind of an anniversary present on our second Valentine's Day together. It took a lot of prep and more than a little lube, but once I got in, he didn't want me to leave. How that skinny white-boy could take my monster I had no idea. What was clear was that he loved it. After the first time I fucked him, he finally said the words I'd been longing to hear for the whole year we'd been together, "I love you."

Not that I hadn't felt loved. Dave wasn't incredibly demonstrative, but I'd never been very high maintenance. He did, however, give me cards. He also mastered the art of letter writing. They were little things like "thanks," and "you're everything," and "tonight, 7pm, naked, bed." Okay, so his letters weren't sonnets, but they said what he couldn't tell me to my face. He loved me.

I've kept every note, every card, and to be honest, they are a testament to a relationship that has lasted over half our lives. Though I have told him almost every morning and every night; Dave has seldom let those three words slip from his lips. I've come to accept that he doesn't need to; there are so many other ways to say, "I love you," than with words.