Mike and Winston - 5. Chapter 5

They arranged to skip the lunchtime meeting so that Winston could get out of work earlier. At a little past six, Mike opened the door and found himself pressed against the wall, Winston’s lips planted hungrily on his own.

“Hey, let me shut the door first,” Mike muttered, grinning.

“Sex or dinner?”

Mike groaned. “Dinner.”

“Mm. We could have a quickie.”

Mike shuddered. The other man’s hardness was grinding against his own, and Winston’s mouth on the hollow beneath his ear was making him feel other needs besides hunger.

“All right, a quickie,” Mike muttered as he undid the buttons of Winston’s shirt. Moments later, Mike was leaning his head back in pleasure as Winston worked magic over his chest, his stomach, up and down the inside of his thighs.

Mike looked down. Winston had stopped. “What?”

Winston only shook his head, but the corners of his lips were turned upwards. “Nothing,” he said, leaned forward, and removed all thoughts of talking from Mike’s mind.

It was well past seven when they emerged. The evening was cool, and Mike had put on a hooded sweatshirt. They walked quietly, far enough that they seemed apart, but close enough that they knew better. No one would consider them to be connected, Mike thought with some amusement. He was wearing an old hoodie; Winston had a blazer over a shirt in cosmopolitan colors. They were a generation apart. Perhaps, thought Mike, they truly were strangers, happening to be walking on the same sidewalk to the same unreachable destination.

“Do you have any ideas for a good place to eat?” Winston asked. “I’m thinking something a bit high end,” he added, before Mike could respond.

“High end? Uh…” He glanced up and down the street. “I dunno. I guess any place that doesn’t look too ratty?”

“I’ve heard of a place that shouldn’t be too far from here called Gesualdo’s End. Do you want to check it out?”

Mike shrugged. “Sure.”

Gesualdo’s End turned out to be sleek, badly lit, and better dressed than Mike felt comfortable with. He hesitated two steps in.

“Are you sure? This seems—”

“Two, please,” Winston said to the smiling maitre d’hotel.

This was where people went to get engaged or flaunt their salaries, Mike thought apprehensively. He wondered suddenly how much money Winston made. His wife was on a science camp trip, he had said; surely she would not be a schoolteacher if he pulled in millions?

They stopped at a small table in the corner of the room, and a waitress appeared. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, beaming. “My name’s Clarice, and I’ll be looking after you tonight.”

Mike nodded and attempted to return her smile. He pulled open the menu she left behind and felt his stomach sink.

“Winston,” he muttered, “don’t you think this is all a bit—expensive?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Winston said, looking up only to smile. “I’ll pay.”

“What?”

“I’ll pay.” He shrugged. “It was my idea to come anyway.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Mike…”

Winston’s hand was on his. Mike stared at it for a moment as though transfixed, and then could not help shooting a glance at the rest of the room. By the time he was beginning to debate furiously what to do, Winston had taken his hand back, and Mike, trying his best not to show his discomfiture, was only beginning to realize how bewilderingly nice it had felt. It had been so natural, even though it was so strange. Winston, he saw, was smiling behind his menu.

“Might I recommend the Fricassee a la Provencal?”

Mike blinked. “Where’s that?”

“Second page.”

The fricassee turned out to be a creamy-looking chicken with a vague taste that Mike decided was too subtle for him to enjoy. It turned out that “a la” meant “in the manner of,” and “Provencal” was a region of France.

“Did you take French?” Mike asked.

“No,” Winston said. “Just stuff I picked up here and there.” He took a sip of his wine. “So is this a better dinner than what you had with your friend?”

Mike had to take a moment before he realized Winston was referring to Dan. “Yeah, I mean… This stuff is probably five times as expensive. We only had pizza at this place on Telegraph.”

“You and your friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Boyfriend?”

Mike nearly bit on his fork in surprise. He felt his stomach do an odd twist. “No. Of course not.” He felt suddenly even more out of place than he had before, and a bit of the niceness evaporated. “He’s someone I know from work.”

“So you guys go out on Fridays for dinner?”

“No, just last week,” Mike said, moving the chicken back and forth across the plate. “His name’s Dan, by the way.”

“Hmm, Dan,” Winston murmured, and leaned back to sip his wine. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mike said, clearing the frown that had settled on his face. Winston, he noted, had already finished his dinner. His own food had cooled. He felt full, even though he had not eaten a lot.

“Not used to fancy French food?”

Mike mustered a grin. “No, not really. I usually have Chinese takeout. Cheap, but big meals.”

“Well, this week will be your education,” Winston said, and smiled.

I’ll teach you all the important lessons, Dan had said.

Winston seemed rather tipsy as they headed back to his dorm, though Mike only remembered Winston emptying two glasses of wine. Mike was wondering what might come of it, and was abruptly answered when Winston reached around his chest while he was unlocking the door. Before he could protest, he felt Winston’s lips on the side of his neck.

Fortunately, the lock obeyed. Mike stumbled in, glanced wildly up and down the stairs, and slammed the door shut.

“What the fuck!” he shouted.

“Sorry,” Winston said, frowning and looking genuinely surprised. “There was nobody there.”

“Still!” Mike hissed.

He was still shaky when they reached his room. Winston did not attempt anything this time, but Mike was tense even after they entered. The room was cold. Mike frowned and went to the window to close it. He paused, looking at the long, empty street, gray with evening. A car was pulling up one of the driveways. Some ways down was a black-haired girl, walking with a backpack over one shoulder.

He could feel the heat of another man behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Winston said quietly. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Winston had a way of smiling that turned down the corners of his mouth, as though he were uncertain about letting the smile out fully. And some of that reached his eyes, an overtone of doubt that Mike was beginning to read.

“I overreacted,” he said.

Winston smiled. They kissed. Moments later, Mike found himself pressed against the wall, holding back his groans as he watched the other man lick his scrotum, murmur up his stomach.

They were on the bed, roaming each others’ bodies with their hands and mouths, when Winston turned Mike onto his back and traced a finger up his shaft.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Mike hesitated. “Uh…”

“You don’t have to,” the other man said, grinning. “I’d be happy to fuck you.”

“No,” Mike said quickly. He could feel a blush spread across his face. “I actually didn’t really get anything out of it, with the last guy I did it with.”

“Maybe he didn’t know how to take it up the ass,” Winston suggested.

Mike snorted. “No, he didn’t,” he said, and he was surprised by the resentment he heard. Petch had been his friend, he reminded himself. Together, they had discovered their own and each other’s body. But Petch had fucked him because that was what happened once you were in a relationship, and Petch had murmured “I love you, Mike, oh I love you” during their poking and prodding because that was what was done in movies. And he had left without acknowledging anything they had done. That, perhaps, was the worst of all.

Winston was still waiting. “So you think you know how to take a fuck?” Mike said.

“Ah. Is that a challenge, Berkeley boy?”

“Boy?” Mike said, arching an eyebrow and positioning his cock so that it stuck straight up into the air. “Mr. Winston, I’d never have pegged you to be a pedophile.”

Winston gave a bark of laughter. “Shut up, you’re disgusting.” He eased off the bed. “D’you have a condom?”

“In the bottom drawer,” Mike said, pointing at his desk.

It was a strange feeling, Mike decided, to watch someone else roll a condom on his own cock and lather it with lube. Winston was soon crouching over Mike’s body, his legs on either side of the younger man’s hips, his asshole just brushing the tip of the swollen organ.

“Oh…” Winston hissed as he sank—slowly, slowly. Mike stared, open mouthed, feeling an unbearable fire spread throughout his body. Warmth, excruciating tightness was enveloping his prick. Winston’s right leg shook. “Oh God,” he gasped and fell forward. Their eyes met. Mike found himself clutching the other man’s back, fingers scrabbling over muscle and damp skin; his own legs were spread apart and tense, and he could not stop himself from giving a strong thrust upwards.

Winston uttered a strangled cry.

Mike froze. “Are you all right?” he managed to gasp, feeling immediately regretful. He could feel the other man quivering. “Should I pull out?”

Winston shook his head vigorously. He was still trembling. “No,” he whispered, face buried in Mike’s shoulder. “I’m— make love to me, Mike.”

The words were like fire. Mike bucked upwards, and heard a cry he was uncertain was his or Winston’s. The next thing he knew, he was staring down at Winston’s face while his body moved uncontrollably on top of the other man, and the surge of heat rose, and maybe it was supposed to be like this, the crest breaking with an element of pain as he came with deep, whole-body thrusts.

It was a few minutes before they managed to recover. The room was not very warm to begin with, and the fading afterglow was leaving them feeling slightly cold. Mike kicked up a sheet to cover themselves, and rubbed the top of his head ruefully.

“Did you bump your head?” Winston asked.

“Yeah, I did. Against the wall. Stop smirking.”

“I guess you were a bit overenthusiastic, huh?”

“Shut up,” Mike said. He could feel a big grin splitting his face. “That was good.”

“An understatement, I think.”

Mike turned in surprise, and then laughed. Before he knew it, he had reached his hand under the covers and found Winston’s. Their hands fumbled with each other, almost shyly, and Mike could feel the texture of the other man’s skin, the dryness that was so different from the moistness of his own. The band of metal around the fourth finger.

Make love to me, Winston had said.

Mike did not protest when the other man pulled away and clambered out of bed. “Do you have any beer left?”

“Three bottles,” Mike said.

“Hmm. I’ll have to get us some more tomorrow,” Winston said. He shut the refrigerator door and tossed a bottle at the bed. Mike caught it, barely.

“Jesus! Be careful where you aim.”

Winston smirked. He jumped on the bed and planted a kiss on Mike’s face. “Love you,” he whispered, and tucked his legs under the sheets.

The entire building seemed to have fallen silent. Mike stared the wall ahead and noted, as though he were seeing it for the first time, the crack running from the ceiling halfway down the wall, like the branch of a tree in winter. Winston said nothing when Mike got out of bed, beer in hand. He went to his desk, took out the Swiss army knife, and paused. Their eyes met.

Mike looked down quickly. “Do you need this?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Here, I’ll do it.”

“Thanks.”

He tossed the bottle caps into the trash can. They clanged loudly. The bitter taste of the beer swirled through his mouth, down his throat, and burned his stomach. He crawled back under the covers, glancing only sideways at the space between them.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Winston said. “Or a blowjob, if you prefer.”

Mike let out a breath. “It’s getting kind of cold.”

“Yeah,” Winston said, a smile in his voice, and Mike felt the other man bring him closer. “This is when body heat is called for.”

He pulled away abruptly. “Are you—” He stopped but could not stop his voice from sounding accusing and more than a little miserable. “You said no relationships.”

“Are we having one?”

Mike shook his head. Winston was married. And a stranger.

“Then we’re not,” Winston said simply. He pulled Mike closer, and this time Mike did not resist. “I know why you’re thinking this,” Winston said with a soft chuckle. “It’s all because I said, ‘love you.’ Is that it?”

Mike nodded slowly. That was not all, he thought, but he did not want to speak.

“Don’t worry about it.” Mike felt the other man give a shrug. “People tend to say that sort of thing when they’re caught in the moment.” Winston shrugged again, and Mike thought he was somewhat overdoing the nonchalance. “And we had quite a moment back there, didn’t we?”

Mike gave a strained smile in response. “Yeah.”

They stared at the wall in front of them. Every so often, when the silence became unbearable, Mike would steal a glance at the other man, but Winston did not return it. He stayed quiet and nursed his beer. His arm, though, stayed where it rested on Mike’s shoulders, and while the rhythm to his breath was never uneven, Mike was careful not to look too closely at the other man’s eyes.

It got colder, later. Mike gathered the covers from where they had fallen off and attempted to make the bed more suitable. They took turns at the bathroom, and Mike insisted Winston wear a shirt before he left.

“Did anyone see you?” he asked.

“Only your landlady,” Winston said with a grin. It was good to see the grin back, Mike thought.

“Oh really? What did she look like?”

Winston sighed and eased himself under the covers. “She looked as though she wanted to jump me, of course.” He wagged his eyebrows, and Mike could not help laughing. Winston was in some ways just a big kid, he thought.

He felt drowsy the moment his head hit the pillow. But he did not sleep for a good while, and he stayed awake long enough to see, through half-shut eyes, the other man set his wedding ring on the bed stand, quietly so as not to be heard.

When Mike was just entering high school, his father had taken him and his brother on a trip to Europe. Their mother had stayed at home. Someone had to look after the house, she had said, and anyway, she had gone to Europe on their honeymoon.

They went to several places in France and Germany, and spent half a day in Florence. Mostly, they stayed in a German town that looked more like a postcard than a place to live. From the way their father navigated the streets, Mike suspected he knew this village better than he was letting on. But Mike did not think much of it; his main concern was the bathroom, which did not have a lock, and thus made masturbating much more difficult.

One of the things Mike remembered most was the rain that fell almost during their entire stay. The rain was connected with the two picture frames he had been surprised to find in his father’s things, because his memory of encountering them was backdropped by the rain-dashed window. One was a picture of him, taken in third grade, surrounded by a frame made of popsicle sticks, on which he had written ‘I LOVE YOU DAD’ and ‘HAPPY FATHER’S DAY.’ He could not remember having made it. The other was a similar thing, somewhat less effusive, which Steve had made. Mike had not known that his father had them.

He also remembered staring out the window at the wet pavement below, and how he had liked to watch umbrellas walk by. They were intriguing to watch, moreso than those unlucky people who hurried about without something over their heads. That was why he had almost missed seeing his father, who was empty handed, talk to a black umbrella at the entrance of the hotel. They talked for quite a while, and it ended with his father leaning forward and giving the umbrella-holder a kiss. Then the umbrella had left, and Mike, watching carefully, had decided that it was a woman.

“Dad!” Steve had whined the moment their father came in. “I’m hungry.”

“Well, guess what?” their father had said, lowering himself to a crouch and smiling. “I’m taking you both to a special restaurant.”

“What’s so special about it?”

“Its specialty is cheese.”

Steve had made a face. “Yuck!”

The memory ended there. He tried pushing it every so often, to try recall what the cheese had tasted like, how far away the restaurant was, but nothing came. There was now only the picture frames, a black umbrella, and Steve’s screwed-up face.