Touch-Starved

The thing is, Arden Rice has known Sebastian April for years, and he's known he dates. Rice thinks he's kind of attractive, after a fashion -- he's not into men, so it's not like he would know, but he's decent looking, could be called pretty even, or handsome, or whatever the fuck.

But you know, he uses a cane, and he's a little wheezy -- asthmatic -- and he needs reading glasses to see by. He's not much older than Rice is, so a bit young to need all that, but he's needed it as long as Rice has known him. He's skinny and he wears woollen vests and cardigans and wears a tie every day even though he very much does not need to.

He's kind of a kooky guy anyway -- great at his job, sure, and Rice would probably even say the two of them are good friends. Everything they do together is typically a bit nerdy: they play boardgames, they see sci-fi flicks sometimes, but April's not into any of the sports that Rice is into, doesn't really fit in -- or particularly wants to -- fit in with April's other friends, and he doesn't care much about pop culture beyond what he's into himself, doesn't club much either.

And then one Monday April is late for work, and he comes in with his hair ruffled and his clothes rumpled too -- clothes that Rice is pretty sure he was wearing yesterday.

He can't help but chuckle as he goes, "What, DnD ran late last night?"

April laughs and goes, "Nah."

"Then what?"

"Well, you know how it is," says April, "I met a girl, I took her home, meant to leave, she wanted to go again, I stayed over, I'm about to go home in the morning, she says, please, one more time...?" April's laugh is soft and breathless as he rubs the back of his neck. "And here I am in yesterday's clothes."

Rice stares at him.

It doesn't compute, exactly, because he loves April, they get on fucking well, they're friends, and he's never been bothered by him being a bit of a geek when he's fun, and Rice can be a bit of a geek with him too.

And he was just out for a one-night stand? Okay, kind of possible, but... three times? Twice in one night? "You know how it is?"

"You do that often?"

"Not on work nights," says April, and winks.

"No, right, but I mean," says Rice, "where do you meet them?"

"Meet whom?"

"Girls."

"Women, you mean?" asks April. "I meet them everywhere -- they're not under lock and key, you know -- they go where they please, and where they please is sometimes home with me."

"No, I know, but how do you...?"

April tilts his head, smiling, like he doesn't understand. "How do I what, talk to women?"

He realises what a pussy he must look like, asking that, and he forces a laugh and waves his hand, mutters, "Nah, no offence, but I don't need tips from you."

April chuckles, and they both head back to work, but Rice keeps thinking about it, can't stop thinking about it.

He thinks about it when he and April stand close together over one of the printers and he can smell what he assumes is that girl's perfume on him, when April reaches up to scratch his neck and pulls down his collar and Rice sees lipstick underneath it still.

For the whole week it's all he can think about.

He doesn't really get girls -- he meets them sometimes in bars but he's never done the whole casual thing, has never actually, really had sex at all except fumbling around at school.

But April? With girls? Regularly, casually?

Girls in the office talk to April, and Rice can't exactly believe he never noticed before, but they kind of... like him. Or they seem to like him, anyway, they laugh with him in a way they don't with Rice -- they touch him, put their hands on his chest, his arms, even play with his hair while they're talking.

April catches one of the secretaries by the hand and kisses the back of it as he thanks her for copying something for him, and it's a piss-take, but she laughs and smacks him in the chest and blushes, and obviously likes it.

It's one of the graphic designers' birthdays, and he brings her fucking flowers, and she squeals and throws her arms around his neck, nearly knocks him off his balance.

"You -- April."

"Rice."

"Not -- you've never, uh, with any of the girls at work, right?"

"Hm? No, no, I wouldn't, I don't really date, and not everyone is made for a casual fuck. I wouldn't want to make things awkward."

"But I mean -- A lot of 'em would. Wouldn't they?"

April laughs, grins at him, and says, "Sure, maybe, but this is a workplace, hm? Besides, I wouldn't want anybody to think I'm looking at them like they're meat, like I'm not respecting their work. I like to fuck, but hardly at anyone's expense."

Rice can hardly understand because if he's fucking like he's fucking and it's not with the girls from work, who already know him, what? He's meant to believe April is just picking them up in bars?

And he's out one night and sees a guy in between a woman and a man, arms around their waists, both of them with their arms around his shoulders, and the man is holding his cane for him, and he and the girl are sharing a cigarette, because it's fucking April.

"April," he says, and April glances his way, grins.

"Rice," he says. "Anya, Van, this is Arden Rice, he's a coworker of mine."

"Is everyone you work with as handsome as this one?" asks Anya immediately, making Rice's cheeks flush. "What are you, Arden, six three?"

"Uh, yeah, that's right."

"Those abs real?"

"Ha. Pretty real, yeah."

The guy has his fingers curled in April's hair and the girl's hand is splayed over his side, squeezing his waist. It must be half-resting over his arse.

"Well, excuse us," says April. "The three of us want to get in and out of the cold." He winks, and he's always been someone who winks, always been someone who does those playfully and mischievously, and in this moment, it makes Rice's stomach do a sudden strange flip.

Rice steps back, laughs to disguise the fact that he's internally screaming, and goes straight home from there.

Two of them. A guy and a girl. And both of them tall and hot and attractive and charming, and what, he and the guy are both gonna double team her?

Or he's...?

Nah.

No. He'd have mentioned it if he was gay, if he was even half-gay. It'd make more sense if he was with guys though -- guys had lower standards, right? Guys didn't care so much if guys were short or kinda weird or geeky?

The next morning at work, April stays sitting a lot. When he gets up, he actually leans heavily on his cane -- he normally uses it to stabilise himself, keeps it for the sake of ensuring he doesn't get too fatigued, especially when he's standing for a while. Today, though, today he's using it a lot more as he walks -- he's kind of... bow-legged.

"How was last night?"

"Mmm, good. Very good. A challenge, but not an unwelcome one."

"You, uh, you had to deal with them both at once?"

"Deal with them? You make it sound like a chore. No, Rice, I just strained myself a bit, that's all. Rode hard, got ridden hard. My hips are tired."

"Where'd you meet them?"

"A poetry reading at a bookshop."

"Serious?"

"Mmm hmm."

"How many -- You do this often, right?"

April laughs, putting his pencil behind his ear and leaning back in his seat, looking up at him. "I'm a bit of a slut, Rice, is that what you want me to tell you? We're not all waiting for marriage."

"I'm not fucking waiting for marriage," Rice snaps at him, angry and indignant for reasons he doesn't quite understand, and April's eyes widen, surprise showing in his expression.

"Hey, no shame in it," April says softly. "Sorry. Just -- I know you don't do what I do."

"I don't know how you do it."

"Well, it's very simple -- when two people like each other very much -- "

"No, I mean, with your..." Rice gestures vaguely. "You know."

Something cools in April's expression, and Rice knows he's misstepped. "My... you know."

"Not every girl gets hot for a guy who needs something to help him walk, that's all," says Rice, even knowing it's the wrong thing to say, feeling like he's sliding down an embankment and can't stop himself. "I don't mean anything shitty by it, just, I don't get how you can get them all eating out of your hand."

"Mm, well, people's overwhelming revulsion to my disabilities aside, Rice, I'm a tremendous lover, for which I have a reputation. I'm also flirtatious, intelligent, have beautiful hands, a nice face, a lovely voice. Rather a nice cock, too, so the reviews have told me."

Rice swallows, not letting himself glance down at April's crotch, but that just means he has to keep looking at his face, and April looks... pissed.

"I didn't mean -- "

"Mmm, didn't mean anything by it, yes, you said," said April. "It's not my fault you can't satisfy a woman, Rice, don't blame my cane."

"Hey! I didn't -- "

"Go away, would you? I've got actual work to do, and a man grows bored of attending to your ego."

And just like that, April has turned around and started sketching again. Rice stands there for a second or two, waiting to see if he'll turn back, but he doesn't, and Rice gives up, forces himself to go.

That night he dreams that April bends him over his desk and fucks him until he screams, and then says, "See? See how I leave someone satisfied? Why don't you give it a try?"

And he wakes soaked to his skin with sweat and --

Everything else.

* * *

It's awkward with April, going forward. It used to be they'd hang in each other's spaces at work a lot and hang out afterwards maybe once or twice a week, often just casually.

This week, April doesn't even look at him, and the two of them work in silence.

"Hey," he says at the end of one day. "I, uh. I owe you an apology."

"We're agreed on that point," says April.

Rice stands there, his hands at his sides, and April turns slowly from his monitor, arching an eyebrow as he looks up at him. He's leaning back in his chair, his elbows resting against the arms, and Rice forces himself not to look down at his crotch.

"Um," says Rice. "Sorry."

"Quite impressive," says April without tone. "Lacks emotion, sincerity, specificity..."

"I just, I mean it. I was..."

"Jealous," says April, when Rice can't find the words.

"Yeah," he agrees, although it makes his skin feel too tight, makes him feel nervous and uncertain. "Maybe."

"You don't particularly deserve my advice," says April, "but you'd perform a damn sight better if you stopped calling every woman you see a girl, let alone thinking of them like puzzle toys you can unlock with the right combination of commands."

"I don't fucking do that," says Rice, and April responds with a quiet, "Hmph."

He's beginning to power down his unit, flicking off his monitor.

"And I shouldn't have assumed that, um. That your disabilities stop you from having sex."

"You shouldn't have," agrees April. "Although what you actually assumed was that my disability makes me unattractive, which was something of an insult, but something of an admission on your part, too."

"It's not your... disability."

"Oh, I suppose I should apologise, then," says April dryly as he stands to put on his coat, which Rice automatically moves to help him on with. "It wasn't my cane or my lungs that you thought would so deter partners from me, it was my appearance and my personality."

"You gotta admit, you're not exactly..."

"A jock, hm? Not exactly conventionally attractive? Not the cover of any of your body-building magazines?"

"No."

"No," April agrees. "Which is part of why people are so ready to believe I'm capable of making them come."

Rice swallows, not sure what to say to that. He thinks of April fucking him over his desk, doesn't even know what anal feels like, except that it can make you come really hard, if you're into that.

"And you're... You're into guys."

"They call it bisexuality," says April breezily. "It's all the rage."

"So, like, you -- do you, um, prefer...?"

"Arden," says April, turning to look at him as Rice passes his cane over, although April doesn't lean on it right away, keeps his elbow on the back of his chair. "I don't keep a tally. I fuck whomever I find attractive."

"And you just -- You just go right up to people and...?"

"And flirt," says April. "I do indeed. I make it clear that I enjoy sex, that I have it rather frequently, that I'm a skilled and attentive lover, and that I prefer my encounters friendly and without long-term overtures."

"Overtures."

"I don't date much -- I have too much in my life to make space for a romantic partner. Have we really never discussed this?"

"Nah," mutters Rice. "So you never fuck the same people twice?"

"I do," says April quietly, but there's something in his face that's new, and Rice doesn't know what it is, even as April leans forward slightly, leaning on his cane. With his free hand, he adjusts the collar of Rice's coat, and the touch makes him shiver. "Not irregularly, I do."

"I'm sorry," whispers Rice.

April raises his eyebrows, his lips shifting into the slightest of smiles, and he gives a neat inclination of his head. "This time, I find I believe you."

"I don't, um..."

"You're a virgin," says April bluntly.

Rice stares at him. "No," says Rice. "No, I'm not -- "

"I get it," says April, and his tone is cool but his lips are smirking and the way he looks at Rice makes him feel hot and uncertain. "Big rugby player like you, a gym shark, jaw like steel. You thought you were marrying down with me, so to speak."

"Marrying down?" he repeats, and April chuckles, moving forward. Rice runs to keep pace, then slows to stay in line with him.

"You thought you were taking pity on the nerdy guy, hm? You thought you were the alpha between us, or some nonsense like that."

Rice swallows, and April chuckles, rolling his eyes.

"Stop using Reddit, you ingrate," says April. "Calling women girls doesn't help you, but nor does trying to project some imaginary social hierarchy onto all your relationships. You're not the alpha between us because of all your muscle."

"You been waiting to say this a while?"

"I've been waiting for a time you might be receptive to it," says April pleasantly. "Of the two of us, it was correct that I should be the virgin, hm? You could feel at home with me."

"I already fucking said I was sorry."

"I heard you, I even believed you," says April placidly. "I just imagine there's currently some internal monologue knocking about in that head of yours as to the unfairness of it all."

Maybe.

Maybe a little bit. He guesses he should feel more unfair about it -- it's just that whenever he starts thinking about April fucking girls... women, he starts thinking about April just... fucking. April's body, April's skin, April's straining hips.

"Is your dick big?" he blurts out as they get into the lift, and someone else in the office glances over as the doors close shut.

"It's a little above average," says April modestly. "It's got a curve to the shaft which I'm told I put to good use."

Rice bites down on his knuckle.

"Why, is yours?"

"Yeah," says Rice reflexively.

"Proportionate, I suppose."

"I guess. It's not like I go around doing dick-measuring contests."

"Hm."

"Hm? What the fuck does hm mean?"

"It means that your insecurity is boring me," says April. "There's a reason we've never discussed sex before."

"Huh?"

"I figured from the beginning you'd be like this," says April, shrugging his narrow shoulders. "But I like you, Arden. You're a very good friend of mine -- I like you immensely. I'm just not interested in therapizing you through these issues of yours."

"I haven't got issues," says Rice, and April suddenly twists, shoving him against the glass of the elevator wall. He lets out a noise, his whole body flinching, as April leans into his space, his arm over Rice's chest, hand splaying across his shoulder.

"No issues," repeats April, his voice soft as a knife slipping out of a sheath. "Look at you, shaking like a leaf because there's an arm over your chest. When's the last time someone so much as hugged you, Arden Rice?"

Fuck. Why's his dick so fucking hard?

The lift doors open and April walks out. Rice's whole body feels raw as he stumbles after him.

The thing is, the last guy that hugged him was probably April, the last time they hung out together. He always looks forward to those hugs, not in a weird way, not in a sexual way, just... The fact that April hugs him.

He and the guys wrestle, nudge each other, shoulder one another, but they don't hug.

He trails after April like a lost fucking puppy even as April limps down the street. He shoves in front of him and forces people to clear out of his way as they go down the escalators, through the gates, down to the platform.

Some cunt tries to stand in front of April at the line and Rice growls at him, "What, you gonna kick his cane out from under him too?" and leans over him, and the guy shrinks back and scurries to the back of the platform like the rat he is.

"You really don't need to do that, but I can't pretend I don't enjoy it whenever you do," says April amusedly. "There's just something about the way they crumple like paper."

"Guess I'm an alpha male after all."

"Mm, if you like," says April. "Be a good boy and take my bag for me, would you?"

"Don't do that," mutters Rice even as he takes April's bag, throwing it over his own shoulder, feeling his face go hot. "Don't fucking -- make this out like I'm gay."

"I'm not making anything out," says April, his face unmoving as the train doors open and they both step on; April drops into a seat at the end of the bench with a slight wince, and Rice stands up next to him like he always does, hugs the closest pole to April and dares anybody else to sit nearby. "You're always like this with me, that's true," says April, as if he's just thinking out loud. "I do enjoy your chivalrous instincts. You once shoved a man to the floor because he tried to lean in front of me at the bar -- I think about that often. But for all that brute strength, you can't deny that I do tend to call the shots between us."

"It's not like I get off on it," mutters Rice, staring at April's knees.

"No? I do, a bit," says April.

"What?"

"People find it easy to disrespect a man like me -- they back down when they lay eyes on you. They back down faster when they realise you'll take my orders."

"I don't..." Rice starts to say, but April doesn't give him any heed, instead leaning back slightly in his seat, his hands resting on top of the cane between his knees. He does what April says, sure, has for the years they've been friends, but --

It's only right.

He does the stuff April doesn't ask for -- holds doors out for him, carries his stuff, sometimes snaps at people that get disrespectful or try to push past him, shit like that. And yeah, he does stuff if April does ask -- fetches stuff for him, reaches things he can't, does what he needs.

There's nothing weird about it.

The guy needs the extra help -- he gets fatigued, he has spells where he's pale and his breathing's more laboured, and sometimes his knees go weak unexpectedly, especially if he has to stand too long, which he shouldn't ever have to. The weird ones are the ones that put pressure on him, don't show any fucking courtesy.

And maybe --

Okay.

Now he thinks about it, maybe he does go a little hard on it. Fetches stuff April could get himself, whatever, but they're friends. He likes to make sure April's okay -- he's a loyal guy. Loyal to April, has to be.

"I need you to make a decision now," says April, not opening his eyes, "because it affects whether we get off in three stops or five. Do you want to talk this through properly now, or do you want to have some drinks and tread gently?"