16. Eater of His Muffins #3
Jonathan bent to nudge Ribby away from his calf, but the ears were better than cashmere, so smooth, so soft under his fingers. Ribby would understand that he owed Jonathan this moment with his soft doggy ears before they went outside.
“This is so unfair. You are a demented imp. You are ruining your owner’s sex life. You are ruining my sex life.”
“Hardly. You’re going to hit it later, promise. Here.” He handed Jonathan a sweater. “It’s cooled down.”
Connor knew Jonathan ran chilly, accepted it, and handed him a sweater.
Jonathan slipped on his sneakers with the teddy bear cartoons, Connor shoved his feet into a pair of black and white rubbery slides that shouldn’t be worn outside of frat house showers, and they went with Ribby into the wine-dark night.
Ugh, he was annoying even to himself when he’d been thwarted. There was no way Connor would want to hear him spout Homeric saga nonsense like wine-dark anything.
They strolled after Ribby. His sleeve brushed Connor’s arm, but he couldn’t feel the warmth of skin, not through their layers of clothing, and the silence crawled on his body. He was too stretched, almost ready to burst. He needed to fill the space with words.
“What would you wear to Pride or wherever we wanted to go, if you weren’t an adored teacher and youth soccer ref with a ninety-two percent heteronormative lifestyle score?”
Connor looked at the sky, but the city lights reflected off the low cloud cover and obscured the stars. “I don’t know.”
Connor’s voice had cracked on the last word. Jonathan had wanted to get out of his own thoughts by continuing the light-hearted teasing they’d shared on the couch, and he’d assumed his question would elicit more banter, a surface response, something cute.
Instead of skipping across the surface, Connor’s voice had breached the deep water. Connor could swim, of course he could. He must, because Jonathan was not a certified lifeguard to dive into someone else’s emotional undertows.
“That’s okay.” He reached for Connor’s hand. The simple response, and simplest touch, was all he had; hopefully it would be enough. He didn’t know if he could be more.
He’d never tried.
The way Connor clutched his hand felt like confirmation that he’d offered the right thing.
Ribby stopped to sniff around the base of a small tree in the parking strip.
The lights of nearby houses and the solitary streetlight mid-block made everything visible enough for walking, and he could hear music and televisions through several open windows, but no one else was on the street.
The pools of darkness gave them a feeling of privacy.
“I’d wear something soft,” Connor said.
That he could have guessed. The other man had three throw blankets in his living room alone, each one a different type of knit, as if he’d been comparison testing and couldn’t choose so he’d bought them all.
He seemed to pet everything: Ribby, Jonathan, those gray fuzzy plants in his flower border, everything.
Jonathan untangled their fingers and instead let his hand rest on Connor’s back, pushing the thin cotton of his well-washed T-shirt a few inches up and down. “Soft like this?”
“No.” He swayed with Jonathan’s motions. “Soft and fluffy.”
He thought of the stuffed toys on the bedroom dresser. “You do like fluffy things.”
Connor nodded.
Ribby’s leash pressed against Jonathan’s leg as the dog crossed from one side to the other, pulling them away from the intimacy that had wrapped them together. “You’re telling me you’d like to dress as a baby chick for Pride?”
“Fuck off.” Connor’s voice had no edge, just a happy hint of smile.
“No, I can work with this. A rainbow furry costume!” Jonathan pumped his right fist, trying to imitate a softball ump. “Perfect on the last weekend of June. It will merely be in the seventies, you’ll only marinade in your perspiration, not boil.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket, stepped back, and dramatically waved his empty hand at Connor’s body, gestures exaggerated enough to be visible in the dark. “Are you a size one-X-L or a two X?”
“What?” Ribby jerked at his leash, pulling Connor’s arm but not moving his feet.
“Definitely two X.”
“Nah,” Connor twisted toward Jonathan, one hand extended in front of his body because Ribby was hauling towards the house, and the other hand clapped to his stomach. “This is pretty lean.”
“However, this.” Jonathan trotted close enough to palm a handful of one of Connor’s buttocks, which made the other man stumble to a halt.
He stepped into the curve of Connor’s body, crowding in close to where both of them enjoyed the meeting of Jonathan’s hand and that epic ass.
“This is all buttery sweet vanilla cream bun.”
Ohmyfuckinggod, what had come out of his mouth. Who was he? What had he become? Or, more accurately, what had this man turned him into?
“Butter,” Connor whispered.
In a few moments, they’d be indoors and he’d be able to see Connor’s face, but by now he knew what this man sounded like when he was happy. He pictured a smile that stretched broadly enough that his teeth gleamed in the dark and his dimple showed.
“Not a substitute for lube,” he whispered back.
Connor groaned. “Walk faster, you silly dog.”