Page 34 of Torch Songs

Guthrie was enough himself now to roll his eyes. “No, idiot. Just… what kind of top would I be if I’m sobbing through sex. That’ll be fun for you.” He thrust his hips. “Come for me,” he mimicked, making his voice warble with pretend sobs. “Please… wah, wah, wah… please, baby… waaaahhh.” He rolled his eyes again and snapped out of it. “That’s attractive.”

Tad sobered too. “Except it wouldn’t be like that, would it?” he asked softly, rubbing his thumb across Guthrie’s cheekbone. “Because you’d trust me. And if you let tears fall, and they didn’t have to force their way out, you’d simply cry and keep making love. And I’d be happy, because… because that thing you said? About them happening when you were feeling a connection?” He bit his lip. “That’s… that’s about the best thing I’ve ever heard.That means you care about me when we’re doing this. Guthrie, that’s hope!”

“Oh my God,” Guthrie complained, palming his eyes to wipe away the last of the tears. “Could youbeany more of a Dudley Do-Right?”

“I don’t know,” Tad said, working on the “making Guthrie laugh” angle. “Does the guy in the white hat ever get laid? Because I’m feeling pretty good right now. Pretty satisfied. Does Dudley Do-Right get himself a prime piece of musician ass? Because, uhm, you know….” He pointed to himself and nodded. “Lookit me. I’m a stud. Don’t know if you canbeDudley Do-Right and a stud. Don’t think it’s a thing.”

Guthriedidlaugh, and Tad felt like he’d won the lottery. “You are being a goofy asshole on purpose,” he said, “but”—his voice fell—“you talked me off my ledge. I was seriously thinking about hiding in the bathtub all night, and that wouldn’t be comfortable.”

Tad smiled at him tenderly and moved in to kiss him with gentleness and warmth, like grown-ups. Carefully, he wiped the leftover tears from under Guthrie’s eyes, the ones caught in the long blond lashes, and kissed him again, pulling back when Guthrie went boneless in his arms.

“I’m serious,” he said. “You don’t ever have to hide this part of you from me. I-I mean, I knew what we were doing was special. Wasimportant. But this—this means you felt it too. I don’t mind if you cry in bed, Guthrie, unless I’mhurting you, and you don’t tell me because you think I’ll stop.”

Guthrie sighed and nodded. “I… it’s going to take me a little, I think,” he said, obviously choosing his words. “I ain’t never trusted anyone to see that.”

Tad nodded. “Well, I’ll be honored if you do,” he murmured.

“Mm….” Like an exhausted child, Guthrie yawned; his day had obviously caught up with him. “As long as I don’t feelobligated to sleep in the bathroom, it’s fine. Do you want a washcloth?”

Tad stopped him with a hand on his chest. “I’ll get it,” he murmured, kissing Guthrie on the cheek. “Stay here.”

He understood the need to take a breath, to get some space. He’d bottomed before, knew the shakiness of the thighs, that need for safety, the need to hide for a moment, to master the vulnerability that came from opening your body for someone like that.

And he knew he needed a moment to recoverhimself. Because Guthrie’s tears, his embarrassment, the depth of histrust—that Tad wouldn’t mock those things, hold them against him…. Tad was suddenly reminded, in a real, painful way, that sex could be so important. Sometimes it was easy, fun, a naked handshake that needed cleanup afterward.

But with Guthrie, it had probably only been like that with women, because Guthrie needed that connection to make it good.

He’d said it that first night. He knew what love was now. He wouldn’t settle for anything not worthwhile.

Tad had better make this worthwhile.

With a shaky breath, he ran some warm water on a washcloth, wrung it out, and grabbed a hand towel for drying before going back into the bedroom, shivering a little and scrambling under the covers. Guthrie went to take the washcloth from him, but Tad shook his head and wordlessly peeled the covers back and went about washing him off, then drying him, giving a little kiss on his bottom before sitting up and taking care of himself. He folded the towels neatly and set them on the end table before pulling the covers up over their shoulders and turning to face Guthrie in the darkness.

“You want dessert?” Guthrie asked suddenly, just as they were settled. “I got ice cream.”

Tad chuckled and shook his head, snuggling closer. “Keep it for next time I’m here,” he said softly. “Not next weekend—Chris and I are on the roster. But the weekend after that we should be off.” Chris’s daughter graduated on Tuesday of that week and left for a senior trip two days later. Chris had been excited about a weekend trip for himself and Laura to sort of celebrate Robin’s successful launching for the last month.

“That brings us to early June,” Guthrie murmured. “My weekends free up a little over the summer.” He gave a tentative smile. “I could, uhm, visit you.”

“I’d love that,” Tad said. “I want any time I can get with you.”

Guthrie gave a shy smile. “Wouldn’t mind,” he said.

Tad traced a finger over the shell of his ear, enjoying the quiet, the sound of his breathing, the warmth of their bodies under the covers. “We’ll find a way,” he promised. “I… sometimes my weekends get overrun. My hours aren’t always regular. But I’ll always be trying, okay? Don’t ever think I won’t be trying to get back to you.”

SLEEP TOOKthem over soon after that, and Guthrie’s alarm rang at seven, which felt obscene. Guthrie showered first and Tad took second, making coffee and starting eggs while he waited.

When Tad got out of the shower and dressed in jeans with a sport coat, he shivered.

“You forget how cold it gets,” he said, taking the cup of coffee from Guthrie gratefully. “I mean, compared to Sacramento. Once you pass Vallejo and those hills….” He shuddered.

“I don’t mind the cold,” Guthrie said. “The damp gets into the instruments, though.” He paused with his own coffee, apparently waiting for the toast to pop.

Tad had noticed a small dehumidifier in the corner of the room with the drum set and the two guitars, so he guessed Guthrie felt that keenly. Then he noticed Guthrie standing in his chilly kitchen in his clean blue polyester shirt with the logo of the Gene Calhoun Auto Dealership on the pocket. He was shivering too, and Tad had a sudden moment of absolutely not wanting to leave.

With a grunt of frustration, he set his coffee down and went to his backpack, where he’d stowed everything he’d been wearing the night before. He came back with his red plaid flannel shirt jacket. It had knit sleeves and a knit hood, and it was the perfect amount of warmth for summer west of Vallejo.

“Here,” he said, shaking it open. “Put your coffee down and put this on.”

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