The Sweetest Days

It takes me a couple of seconds to remember.

"It's from 'My Fair Lady'. Lerner and Loewe."

"I don't think I've heard of it."

"The movie was with Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison?"

He shakes his head.

"Must have been before my time."

"Well it was before my time, too, boyo, so watch it with the age insults."

"And you know it well enough to sing songs from? You really must like musicals." He says it like it's a bad thing.

"We had a production in college, and I was an understudy for the part of Freddy. Do you know that the guy, who played him in the film, went on to play Sherlock Holmes on that BBC series?"

He seems unimpressed by my knowledge of trivia.

"You sang in musicals in college?"

"Just the one, and I never actually made it on stage. I also played baseball. How about you? Tennis, I'm sure, but anything else?"

"I didn't go to college. I'm trying to finish an online business studies program now, but it mostly feels like a waste of time."

"Why are you doing it, then?"

He shrugs, finishes his slice, and stands up.

"I'm going to get another beer. Do you want one?"

"Yeah, thanks."

I watch him walk to the kitchen, admiring how his broad shoulders taper down to narrow hips, a tight butt and long legs. At some point he took his boots off and the heel on his right sock has a small hole, which I find oddly touching. He comes back and hands me my beer, then sits sideways on the couch, stretching his arm across the back and tucking one leg under him.

"I don't want to be the only guy in my family without a college degree. My two older brothers and my sister all have MBAs and I barely finished high school."

"Yeah, but did they play tennis professionally?"

He waves a dismissive hand.

"Tennis is just a game."

I gape at him.

"You don't really believe that, do you? I mean okay, it's a game, but not when it's played at the level you played it at."

"You don't know anything about it. Anyway, it's in the past and I don't want to talk about it."

Fair enough.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Can I kiss you?"

I set my plate on the table and wipe my greasy fingers on a napkin.

"You didn't ask me the first time. Why the sudden manners?"

He casts a worried look at Theo, who's fast asleep.

"Seriously?" I grin. "You think he'll mind?"

"I don't know. I've never been around a baby before. What if we..." His voice peters out and he swallows nervously, his Adam's apple bobbling up and down.

"What if we what? Fuck?" I ask deliberately.

I didn't think it was possible for his face to get any redder, but it does.

"Well. Yeah," he chokes out.

"So let's take it to the bedroom, then."

I stand up and look down at him. His upturned face looks young and vulnerable, and I feel a small kick in my chest. I sit down again.

"No?"

"You probably think I'm an idiot, but I've never dated before."

"I don't think you're an idiot," I tell him automatically.

He thinks we're on a date? Fine, there's food and drink and we did have some getting-to-know-you conversation, so most of the 'date' boxes are ticked, but it never occurred to me to he'd consider this as anything more than a casual hook-up.

"Don't think of it as a date, if that helps."

He's still blushing, and he ducks his head, avoiding my eyes, and mutters something.

"What?"

"You make me feel naïve and stupid," he says finally, his voice a little angry. "Even on the plane."

"I'm sorry. I certainly don't think you're stupid. Or naïve, really. Just, maybe, young."

"I can't be more than ten years younger than you."

"So perhaps it's just a reflection of how old I feel," I assure him, and I'm more or less sincere in that. I do feel old, some times more than others, and this is fast becoming one of those times.

I don't really know if I want to start something with a closeted guy, no matter how casual it might be. Been there, done that, and it's not much fun. And yet, when he called, I didn't hesitate for a second, I was even anxious that he might change his mind. And I wasn't only thinking about fucking him, though it must be confessed that wasn't too far in the back of my mind.

"Is it okay if we just leave him here?" he asks stiltedly.

"It's the warmest room in the house. And I've got the baby monitor; the receiver's in my bedroom."

"He'll probably wake up the moment we take our clothes off. Murphy's law."

"Probably."

Paul thinks about it. "Then again, he might not."

"I'm willing to risk it if you are. Plus, we could keep some clothes on, so as not to tempt fate."

He smiles slowly, his head cocked to the side; my dick hardens in response to the way he's looking at me.

"That sounds like a good plan," he tells me, his voice a little huskier than before, and this time, when I stand up, he stands up too.

Not-so-way back when, I used to hook up with guys on the internet, and they'd drive to my house or I'd drive to theirs, so it's not the first time I've stood with someone in a bedroom, wondering how to break the ice and get down to business. Yet this feels more awkward. Probably because I couldn't care less what an anonymous trick thinks about me, as long as I get off, but I don't want to disappoint Paul. In fact, I want to impress him.

We smile at each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally Paul takes his glasses off and sets them on the nightstand, then pulls off his Henley and drops it on the floor. He stands in front of me, his shoulders squared, and he does that head crank thing again, which I find utterly endearing and sexy. Without his glasses, his brown eyes are a little unfocused, their normal laser-like intensity softened.

He's absolutely beautiful. Lean, defined pecs and abs covered by a dusting of brown curls, small dark pink nipples peaking through. I put my hands on his hips, his skin warm and smooth under my palms, and he rests his hands on my biceps, squeezing gently.

"Yes," I tell him.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, you can kiss me."

He's still smiling when he does, a light playful peck, then he pulls me against me, wrapping one arm around my shoulders and cupping my chin with his left hand. He has calluses from years of holding a tennis racket, and their rough scrape causes me to shiver.

"Pepperoni breath," he mutters against my lips, but it doesn't seem to bother him very much, and he kisses me again, his mouth open, his tongue wet and slick, and nobody's playing anymore. I slide my hands under his waistband and cup his firm ass, pulling him firmly against me, his erection unmistakable against mine. He grinds against me, gasping a little, and I inhale his hot breath. He's a wet and sloppy kisser, which is normally a turn-off for me, but his obvious hunger more than makes up for it, and I return his kisses, just as wet, just as hungry.

I back my hips away from him so that I can unbutton his waistband, and his hands are there as well, helping me lower his zipper and push his cords and underwear down his thighs. Hard flesh covered by silky skin pushes into my fist, and I stroke him, my knuckles brushing against the wiry hair at the base of his cock.

"I want you to suck me," he tells me breathlessly. "I want your mouth on my dick."

I've always liked a guy who knows what he wants, especially when he wants the same thing as me.

"Lie down."

He does so after hurriedly shucking his clothes the rest of the way off, and leans back on his elbows, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, his erection curving up against his belly, waiting for me. I nearly tear the buttons off my shirt, trying to get it off. I kneel on the bed between his legs, nuzzling at the base of his cock, the smell of his arousal turning me on even more. I should have gotten the goddamned rubbers before, because I don't want to leave him now.

"Drawer," I almost growl as I lick his balls, rolling their heavy weight against my tongue. I hear him fumbling, the scrape of the drawer opening, then of a foil pack being ripped open. He rolls on the condom himself, then his fingers comb through my hair and trace my ears.

"Suck me," he instructs again impatiently, his rough tone at odds with the gentleness of his caresses, and when I swallow him, he groans, his hips jerking.

I love bringing a guy off with my mouth, controlling the tempo, leading him to the edge and then backing off to start all over again.

"You fucker," he half-laughs, half-moans, when I yet again block his effort to quicken the pace, and then he flops flat on his back, his arms flung out, and he lets me have my way with him. I look up and see his face, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth hanging open, gasping for breath, and I reward him by taking him as deep as I can, over and over again, until he comes.

"Okay?" I ask him, as I crawl up his body, licking the salty skin of his belly, briefly sucking at one nipple, kissing the curve of his shoulder and his throat. I need to take more time with him, really explore him, and I will. Later.

"Oh, yeah," he laughs.

I grind against his thigh, and he lets me do that for a few minute, then flips me onto my back and dips in to kiss me, one hand burrowing into my jeans and cupping me over my boxers.

"What's that?" he asks suddenly.

"What's what?"

"That," he says needlessly, as I hear Theo's wail both through the baby monitor and through the open door.

"Oh, shit," I groan. "Maybe he'll stop."

We lie tensely, listening, Paul's hand still on my cock, but Theo's cries only get louder, and after a final squeeze, Paul finally pulls his hands out of my pants with a rueful smile.

"I'm starting to figure out why they needed a night off," I grumble, as I sit on the side of the bed. "Shit."

"And you didn't even undress," Paul laughs, sounding truly relaxed for the first time since he arrived. Yeah, easy for him, he got his rocks off. I turn to glare at him, then get up to check on my nephew.

A quarter of an hour later, Paul makes his appearance in the living room, fully dressed. He watches me for a while as I walk around the apartment rocking Theo in my arms and singing to him, then sighs.

"You want a fresh beer?" he asks me, and I shake my head. I barely touched the second one and I doubt it's even had a chance to get warm. He goes and gets one for himself, then sits on the couch and reaches for a slice of pizza. He's obviously not going anywhere, which both surprises and pleases me.

"You have a nice voice," he tells me. He blushes a little when I meet his eyes. "You don't mind if I hang out for a while, do you?"

Maybe he's thinking that Theo is bound to fall asleep soon, and he's waiting for round two.

"No," I tell him, and it comes out a little strangled, so I have to clear my throat. "I don't mind."

I take Theo for another round of the living room, feeling Paul's eyes on me the whole time.

"You can turn on the TV, if you want."

He nods and reaches for the remote control, switching to a sports channel and muting the sound. Tennis, but I don't recognize the players or the venue. Paul's face is expressionless as he watches, and I wonder if he misses playing.

"That game I watched you in, in Forest Hills," I start out, and he flicks me a quick angry look at me, his mouth growing mutinous. "You seemed, I don't know, out of it."

He doesn't respond.

"Were you in pain or something?"

"Or something."

"What was wrong?"

"Why do you want to know?" he grates.

I shrug. "No reason, I guess. I just wondered about it."

He shakes his head, then sighs.

"I've never talked about it."

"That's okay. It's none of my business."

"Are you out? To your family and friends?"

I nod, nonplussed at the sudden change of subject.

"And they're okay with it?"

"I guess. Things were awkward with my dad and mom for a long while, but they eventually got used to the idea. They've both passed away now. Evan, my brother, he was okay for the most part from the start. I lost a few friends, but made others."

"When did you know? That you were gay, I mean?"

"I can't remember ever not knowing. I didn't know what my feelings meant, not until junior high, and I didn't exactly have a label for them, but I knew. I think most of us do, deep down."

"I didn't."

"No?"

"No. I played tennis. That's all I did, all I focused on. My mom tried to get me to do other things, to have a normal life, but my dad, he thought I had a gift, and I guess I did, too."

"You wouldn't have gotten to where you did if you didn't."

He waves his hand in a dismissive 'whatever' gesture.

"So when did you know?" I prompt him.

"In 2000, I got a new trainer. I was having trouble with my legs and my shoulder, and my coach heard of this Romanian guy, who had recently immigrated to the US. He was based in LA, so we went to see him."

"And?" I ask after a while.

He spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. "You can't guess?"

"You fell for him at first sight."

"Oh, yeah." He laughs shortly. "Hard. I was twenty years old, so you can imagine how surprised I was. After that my life was tennis and Liviu. Or Liviu and tennis."

"Did he reciprocate?"

"Yeah. Maybe not the emotions, but the rest, yeah, he did."

Theo is quiet now, sleepily sucking on his fist, so I sit next to Paul on the couch, and Paul reaches over and places a hand on his back, like he did before.

"He's so little," he says in amazement.

I smile at him.

"So what happened to Liviu?"

"He quit. He realized that I wasn't going to avoid surgery and that I probably was never going to make it into the top ten in any case, and he got headhunted by somebody who was, so he quit."

"Did you ever see him again?"

"Yeah. Only a few months later. In 2005, in Forest Hills. He was working for Libor Martisek. My opponent at the game you saw," he explains, when he sees my blank look. "Maybe if I'd met him later in the tournament, but it was the first round. I just couldn't get it together."

"Yeah, but..."

"When you're out there on the court, you've got to do it by yourself. Your coach can't tell you if you're doing something wrong or suggest a different play or strategy, and sometimes, when things are going to shit and you're hurting, all you've got to draw on is hearing someone's voice yelling your name, and if it's someone you love, so much the better." He smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "And Liviu's voice always carried."

"I guess he wasn't calling your name that day."

"No."

"They psyched you out."

"Yeah, but I hadn't had it in me for quite a while. That was just the final straw. You gotta know when to quit, get on with the rest of your life."

"Do you miss it? Tennis?"

"Sometimes. Not really, though. I still play for fun."

I want to ask him if there was anybody else for him after Liviu, but I don't. I lean my head against the back of the couch, drowsy and comfortable, Theo a warm small weight on my chest. Paul rests his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers rubbing my scalp lightly in an almost furtive caress.

"I should go," he says softly.

"You don't have to," I tell him, responding to the reluctance in his voice.

"In a little while, then."

*******************

Paul is still here when the doorbell rings, curled on the couch, his head on the armrest and his feet in my lap. At some point after he fell asleep, I put Theo in his cot and the left-over pizza in the fridge, then returned to the couch. I briefly considered waking Paul up, but finally I just sat on the opposite end of the couch, stretching my legs onto the coffee table and watching the muted sports channel. I dozed off a couple of times, but never for long.

Neither man nor baby even stirs at the sound, and I scoot out from under Paul's feet to go buzz Evan and Louise in. It's only minutes past seven. I guess they're used to getting by on a few short hours of rest and decided to take pity on me.

When I open the door, it's not Evan I see coming up the stairs, but Connor. He grins at me, his bloodshot eyes, blond stubble and rumbled clothes indicating that he's hasn't been home. He waves a white bag in the air.

"Hey, uncle! I come bearing bagels. Is the coffee on yet?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" I hiss at him, half-heartedly trying to block his entrance into the apartment. Apparently he misinterprets my move, because he wraps an arm around my waist, kisses me on the temple, then shimmies his way around me and inside.

"You look like you haven't slept all night," he tells me.

"I could say the same for you."

He beams at me as if I just paid him a compliment, then looks around, his eyes falling on Paul who's blearily pushing himself upright.

"Who's this?" Connor asks me.

"Paul, Connor. Connor, Paul," I introduce them and I hear them mumble something at each other as I go to the bathroom to relieve my bladder. After I wash my hands and face and unsuccessfully try to smooth down a cowlick with damp fingers, I return to the living room to find them eyeing each other warily.

"Lucky I bought four," Connor says. "You like sesame bagels and cream cheese, Paul?"

Something about his tone and the way he's behaving like he's the host of this impromptu breakfast get-together sets my teeth on edge.

"Sure," Paul says easily, standing up. "I'll be back in a minute."

We watch him leave the living room, then Connor raises his eyebrows at me.

"So who's that?"

"Paul."

Connor follows me into the kitchen and sets the bag on the table, then reaches into the cabinet for three plates and serves the bagels.

"Yeah, I heard his name the first time, hon. But who is he?"

"A friend."

"I know all your friends. I don't know him."

"Then I guess you don't know all my friends. What are you doing here, anyway?"

He leans against the counter and watches me measuring coffee into the filter.

"I figured you'd want some company."

"That's big of you. After you had your fun and all."

"Looks like I wasn't the only one," he says sourly.

I briefly puzzle over his irritation, then decide to ignore it. I'm too tired to be figuring out Connor's sudden weirdness and anyway, he's probably still half drunk. He's certainly not smelling too fresh.

"There's OJ in the fridge if you want some."

Paul joins in the kitchen, leaning against the door frame, his arms stuck deep in his pockets.

"So how do you know Nate, Paul?"

"We were sitting next to each other on a flight from Frankfurt last week. How do you know Nate?" Paul asks insolently.

"Nate and I go way back. Way, way back."

They have me feeling like the belle of the ball, which is sort of nice, actually, but then the penny drops. Connor is just having some fun at my expense. As for Paul... Well, I don't know what the hell Paul is doing.

"Connor and I met and suffered together through wind sprints our freshman year in college, and it's been downhill ever since," I say briskly, ignoring Connor's wounded "Aw, baby," and I start pulling mugs out of the cabinet and thumping them on the counter with unnecessary force. "How do you take your coffee, Paul?"

"Black, please," Paul answers politely.

All three of us wait in silence for the coffee maker to stop burbling, then I pour Paul and myself a mug and hand him his.

"Thanks," Connor says sarcastically, as he's left to serve himself.

"You're welcome."

I take one of the plates and head back to the living room to collapse on the couch. Connor plonks himself where Paul had been lying before, and Paul sits in armchair opposite, studying us both expressionlessly.

Now would be a good time for Theo to wake up and create a diversion, but contrary as ever, he sleeps on peacefully. After a mostly silent breakfast, Paul checks his watch.

"I should get going," he says. "I have to meet a client at ten."

I get up and walk him to the door.