Milk Cartons

It didn't catch Matt offguard when the hot fluid spurted into his mouth, filling his throat; Justin's groan of climax was long and low, as if despairing that the act was over, though Matt knew otherwise. He worked at swallowing the seed as it filled his mouth, until the flow waned and died; he pulled his mouth slowly away, letting his tongue and lips caress the hardness that was no longer so hard, drawing apart with just the slightest strand of mixed seed and saliva that he surreptitiously wiped away from his mouth. The ache between his legs was throbbing by now, but he ignored it. He kept his hands on his partner's thighs until his heaving gasping had lessened into a hoarse pant, and drew them away only when Justin at last weakly pushed himself up, face flushed and gleaming with sweat; Matt could see it dampening his shirt under his arms as well.

He offered him a slight smile again, but his partner didn't seem to see it. Instead of smiling back or even saying anything, he pulled himself forward so awkwardly and abruptly that Matt had to back away to avoid getting accidentally hit. He furrowed his brow a little when the detective hurriedly pulled his underwear and pants back up, hastily working at the belt and zipper. He stood up as he did so, which wasn't a good idea as he hadn't gotten his balance yet and nearly stumbled; Matt would have grasped his leg to help him avoid falling, but something in his mind told him not to. This wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.

"Justin...?" he asked softly, having to look up at him as he was still kneeling.

"I have to go," Justin said almost before his name was past Matt's lips. He didn't meet his eyes at all; Matt could tell now that the flush still on his face was no longer from desire, and neither was the way his hands shook as he tucked himself in and straightened himself out. He bit his lip a little, keeping any detailed reassurances he had to himself, as he knew they wouldn't work here. Instead he slowly stood, so as not to threaten the other man, and gave his arm just the slightest touch. It wasn't a good sign when Justin jerked his arm away this time; Matt could tell the reaction was reflexive, and unintentional, but that didn't matter, a reaction was a reaction.

The flush in the detective's face grew and he paused just slightly as if to make sure he hadn't hit him or anything, but he still refused to meet Matt's eyes or touch him back. "It's all right," Matt started to say, hoping to at least calm him down a little-if he planned on driving in such a state, and Matt knew for certain now that he was going to leave, he was likely to crash his car-but Justin cut him off again; Matt sensed he didn't like being so rude or brusque, but had no choice.

"I have to go," he said again, his voice not quite as panicky as before, though Matt knew what it meant, even if he wasn't sure of the why. He'd been certain the other man's inhibitions had been overcome, if only in private, but apparently it wasn't so yet. The twinge of unspoken sympathy he'd felt earlier only grew; he didn't feel disappointment so much as regret. It always saddened him to see somebody in such denial.

He didn't offer any further argument, just stepped aside to keep out of the detective's way as he turned for the door. Justin-if that was in fact his name-kept his head low, but Matt could clearly see the look on his face. He'd been right; it took more than being on the police force to get a look like that. Matt wanted to speak up, very much, but he didn't believe in wasting his or anyone's time on pointless things. He kept silent as Justin slipped out, the door shutting behind him, and honestly wondered if he'd see him again, though he wouldn't be surprised if he didn't.

* * * * *

The rest of the week rolled past and the new one began. It wasn't like him to do so, but Matt couldn't quite get him out of his mind; perhaps it was more pity than anything. He returned to the bar as he regularly did, though he never saw "Justin" there again, nor had the bartender, when asked. The bartender offered his sympathy that things hadn't worked out, though sometimes it couldn't be helped.

Matt even wandered past the nearest police stations, though Justin had never said which one he worked for, nor had he ever given his last name. Matt wouldn't have asked anyway; if he couldn't even come out to himself, then surely he hadn't come out to the police force yet,if he even was one of them. Perhaps he'd made that up to sound more impressive, though Matt hadn't gotten that impression; as the bartender had hinted, he had no need to make himself look good. His reactions that night had seemed sincere enough, unfortunately.

It was a shame. He'd rather liked him, even with how uptight he was.

It was a full three weeks before he spotted a familiar car parked at the side of the street out front of his building. He furrowed his brow and craned his neck, his arms loaded with groceries, to peer into the passenger-side window. The driver was turned away, facing the building-looking up at a window about the level of Matt's apartment-so he didn't even notice Matt until he used his elbow to tap against the door. The other man almost jumped out of his seat when he whirled around to gape at the window; Matt smiled and bobbed his elbow, gesturing for him to roll it down. When he did so, Matt nodded up toward his own window.

"You can sit and stalk me or you can help me out if you want."

He had enough time to see Justin's face go red before the window rolled back up and he got out of the car. He accepted the bag of groceries Matt handed him without a word, though looked as if he had no idea what they were. They crossed the street and now Matt nodded at the alley beside the building. "We can take the side entrance," he said, an excuse that didn't sound like an excuse, to save him the embarrassment. He saw the twinge of guilt flicker across Justin's face but pretended not to as they entered the building and made their way up the stairs.

"It's kind of creepy-sweet and all but if you wanted to find me you could've just come up," Matt said as he took the groceries from him to put them away.

"I didn't know when or if you'd be here or at that bar, or if you even had a job or not," Justin retorted, sounding genuinely offended. Matt laughed at the reproving tone of his voice, which just seemed to confuse him.

He made sure to make no references to their last-and so far only-time together, and to not even ask why it had taken so long to hear from him again; he could tell it must have taken all his courage to show up at all. He could also tell that his lack of comments on the subject perplexed Justin even more, but he said nothing either. The longer Matt engaged him in idle chatter the more relaxed and relieved he seemed, so chatter Matt did.

Through steering the subject in various directions he learned more about him-that his name was in fact Justin, Justin Reichert, and he was in fact a detective with the city police; that he had a mother, stepfather, and younger stepbrother (Matt could tell from the way his eyes softened when he mentioned him how close they must be); that his father had been out of the picture for a very long time (Matt could tell from the way his eyes hardened when he mentioned him that there was little closeness to be found there); that they were moderately well off and lived in a nice brownstone on a quiet street whereas he had his own apartment overlooking the city proper; if one went out onto the balcony and leaned over and craned their neck they could see the Twin Towers. In return Matt made sure to drop details about himself, since he could see that Justin-Reichert (he seemed to prefer going by his last name)-was genuinely curious. When he stated that his life was nowhere near as glamorous as that of a detective, it was as if some small barrier were broken-Reichert let out a short sudden bark of a laugh that Matt knew wasn't intended, but it made him smile anyway.

They talked that evening much longer than they had the last time; Matt noticed the daylight fading through the window, but Reichert made no move to leave. Matt told him several of the most humiliating stories he could think of and earned laughter every time, knowing that sharing life's embarrassments could actually help lessen such things. At last after nightfall the conversation wound its way back to their last encounter, and at last Reichert asked what had obviously been on his mind the entire time, why he'd even been invited back up here at all.

"I figured you weren't parked out there just for fun," Matt said.

"Yeah, but so? I mean, after..." Reichert trailed off; Matt didn't bother filling in. "I acted like an asshole the last time," he said at last, his voice quieter.

Matt took a sip of his drink. "You mean that was an act?"

"Okay, Iwas an asshole. You know what I mean. That's my point. I figured..." He paused, then shrugged and picked up his own drink, as if just to give his hands something to do. "I wouldn't have invited me back in."

"Yeah, maybe, but I'm not an asshole like you." Matt laughed at the disgusted way Reichert rolled his eyes. "Look, you might think you're subtle and all, but you're not. You don't just wear your heart on your sleeve, you leave a dripping bloody trail behind you." He didn't pause at the way Reichert grimaced at this knowledge but kept on as if not noticing. "It's not a bad thing, it's just not who you are to act like a blank slate. You can't pull it off. You know why nobody was talking to you in that bar? They figured you were too good for them. Chew on that for a while." He took another sip, ignoring Reichert's gaping stare. "Fortunately I don't let such things stop me. Otherwise you might still be sitting in there."

"Oh. So I haveyou to thank for getting me out of that situation."

"Well, yeah. Aren't you grateful? Since none of those other guys were good enough for you anyway."

He did like that once they got talking, Reichert seemed to take very little offense with whatever tone he assumed, so he could speak freely without getting a hissy fit in return. He wondered if it was a cop thing. After some more inane banter-Matt even tossed out a few mild insults, just to test him, which Reichert tossed right back-he got up to clear away the remains of their informal supper; Reichert stood as well, but Matt took the dishes away before he could pick up anything. He stood fiddling his fingers at the zipper of his jacket-he'd never even removed it-as if not knowing what else to do; Matt stepped out of the kitchenette and back toward him, reaching out to take his preoccupied hand as soon as he drew close enough. Reichert jerked back-just as Matt knew he would, so he tightened his hold, keeping his hand held fast. When Reichert saw that was all he intended to do he relaxed again, though the guilty look Matt was coming to know so well had returned to his face.

Matt pulled lightly on his arm; at first the detective hesitated, but when Matt made a point of indicating how the pullout bed hadn't been pulled out, and was now merely a couch, he untensed a little bit again, and they both sat down. Matt kept a small space between them and stared at him for a while as he sat with his fingers knotted between his knees, Reichert's own stare fixed on the small coffeetable.

"You wouldn't've sat parked outside my apartment for God knows how long if you didn't intend to be invited back up," Matt said after a while.

"I don't know what the fuck I intended," Reichert said in return.

"Well, when we don't know what we intend is often when we do what we intend to do most. What's so awful about it?" He interjected the question before Reichert's face could complete screwing up at the odd statement preceding it. "You seemed to enjoy yourself the last time you were here," he added, at Reichert's perplexed look.

Reichert turned and ducked his head lower, hunching his shoulders. "I don't know," he said, almost defensively.

"I'll take that as a yes. Otherwise you wouldn't be here again, unless I were breaking the law for something." Reichert's nose wrinkled, but Matt didn't let him cut in. "So I'm wondering, what's so awful about it by now. You stepped into the bar in the first place, you didn't run off when I said hi to you, you even came back here for a while. You know the rest. I can tell that was an awful lot of accomplishments for one night, if the muscle cramps I see you have from keeping yourself jammed in that closet are any indication." The flush returned to Reichert's face and he hunched his shoulders again, a comment of Matt's finally seeming to hit a sore spot. "I hear the police force is a lot more progressive these days," he added, opening a can of soda sitting on the coffeetable and taking a drink.

"Yeah, well,you might be all lah-di-dah and out there but that's you and not me. Just because a place is progressive doesn't make everything all clear and easy."

"I never meant to say it did, so I'm genuinely sorry if it sounds like I'm making light of it. Maybe I've just had things a lot easier than you."

Reichert's shoulders lowered somewhat and he stared at his hands. "I haven't had anything hard," he murmured; Matt bit his tongue at the unintentional double meaning of the comment. "No one knows yet. I know I wouldn't be kicked out of my job or anything stupid like that, but that isn't everything. There's another guy...another guy at my station. A beat cop. He's been out as long as I've known him there. Do you know what the other detectives say when we're the only ones there and he's not around?"

"Fairy, homo, faggot...I'm sure those are just the tame ones," Matt said. "I've heard them all. That's nothing new. I'm betting it's not new to him, either."

"Yeah, well, that's what they say when they think he doesn't know. I laughed the first few times. I didn't really find it funny, but I laughed anyway. After a while it got annoying and then it just got tired and ignorant. They don't even bother hiding it anymore, do you know that? I'm certain he's heard them more than once. And because I'm one of them, that makes me just as bad, at least to him, I bet. The last time they started it up, he was right there just a few yards away, obviously hearing everything, I told them to shut up and let it drop. They were surprised. That I lost my sense of humor, I'm betting they think. I haven't told them otherwise and I don't really plan to."

"It's not your prerogative to do so. It's none of their business."

"Yeah? Tell that to him.He's none of their business, but that doesn't stop anything."

"So you think that because you're not outing yourself like him, you're part of the problem."

"Well, I'm certainly not part of the solution, am I?"

Matt shrugged. "Like I said, it's not your job to be the solution. It sounds like he's handling it."

"So I suppose if you saw a group of thugs beating somebody up in the street, you'd tell yourself, well, you're not involved, he's handling it, and go on your happy way?"

"It's not the same thing and you know it, otherwise you wouldn't be practically asking for affirmations."

"It's close enough, and you know it, or else you're more ignorant than I thought."

"Look, the moment one of your fellow assholes takes a swing at him,then it's your problem. Otherwise...you can't save the world. All you'll be doing is beating yourself up over things you can't fix. Christ, you have no idea how many times I've seen you look guilty and you haven't even done anything bad so far. Do you just like to punish yourself on purpose?"

"Just because you can't fix the world doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

"Gee, you should put that on a poster with a picture of a cute little kitten and sell it. Make loads of money and you could even retire."

"Sorry, it's already been done. And cops don't become cops so they can sit and twiddle their thumbs while the world goes to hell and just tell themselves, 'Well, that's not my problem.' Some of us actually like to try to fix something. It's not like we're in it for theloads of money."

"I get your point, I really do, but you're only one person and can only do so much. Here's an affirmation for you, you have to pick your battles. Like stopping in a bar instead of driving on and insisting that's not for you. Or saying hello to somebody instead of running off like a scared little pussy."

"Is that some sort of hint?"

"It wasn't meant to be one, but sure, if you want. I'd love to give you yet more stupid things to feel guilty about since God knows you don't have nearly enough."

Reichert looked as if he were going to reply, bit his lip, then turned to stare across the room instead. Matt set down his drink and leaned back on the couch to rest his feet on the table. Some impish part of him wanted to draw his knee up and run his foot along Reichert's leg, but that wouldn't accomplish anything useful, so he didn't. "Look. You might think you're the only person who's ever thought these things or had this conversation, but you're not. I can't tell you how many times I've said some version of the stuff I'm saying to you. No," he added, when the detective looked at him over his shoulder, slightly pursing his lips, "I'm not some kind of man-whore. I've just had more experience than you have. That comes with not beating yourself up every time you meet somebody in a gay bar. Not that you can have much experience with that, but..."

Reichert turned away again. When he spoke, Matt could barely hear him. "I just keep wondering maybe..."

"Maybe it was just a one-time thing? You had to get it out of your system? And now you can go out and be normal and find some cute girl who'll change your mind? Trust me, I've heard all that a hundred times before, too," he said, noticing how Reichert's shoulders hunched a little again. "And every single time they were wrong. With how you pick every single other little thing apart I'm sure you've been turning this over in your head since I last saw you. So tell me, have you met any cute girls who've changed your mind yet?"

He waited a very long time but got no response, and so leaned forward again so they sat almost shoulder to shoulder. He mimicked Reichert's action of staring blankly across the room, though he did surreptitiously peer down to see how he kept rubbing one finger across his knuckles, again as if not knowing what else to do with his hands. The impish part of Matt's mind could think of at least a dozen more useful things he could do with them, but again, he didn't mention this.

"You don't really get it," Reichert said at last, though the tone of his voice was faltering, no longer so certain. "My family...my mother's side of the family, they're-we're Catholic. I don't mean like I go to church every Sunday and eat wafers and drink wine or anything, but..."

"And youhonestly think you'd be the only Catholic ever in the history of the world to have this conversation? I can tell just from what you said that you're not worried about burning in Hell or anything. So if you're still looking for excuses, you need to find a better one." When Reichert said nothing he added, "You're not worried about what some priest or nun or God might think, you're worried about someone else." Still no response, though he noticed the subtlest change in Reichert's posture. "You're not the only person to have ever thought that. You're not going to be the last. There are three things you can do-you can keep this up and tell them, you can keep this up and not tell them because frankly it's none of their business and it really shouldn't matter, or you can stop this and pretend you're exactly what everybody assumes you are and go on doing what you were doing before. If you're leaning toward choice C, let me just advise you to remember what you were feeling right before you stopped at that bar."