Serenading Stanley (25 page)

“Good,” Roger cooed. “Don’t ever get unlost. I don’t think I could handle it.”

There were so many things Stanley wanted to say, but his mind was such a whirl of spent passion and emotion and contentment that all he could find to say was, “Me either. I couldn’t handle it either.”

Again, their lips came together. And as they kissed a long slow kiss, Roger’s breath slowly deepened; his grip on Stanley’s back relaxed.

In moments, he was asleep, still cradling Stanley snugly in his arms.

Stanley closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks to a God who could be so generous as to give such a gift as Roger Jane to a lowly nobody such as himself. What Stanley had ever done to deserve it, he couldn’t imagine.
But now that you have, God, I promise I’ll be a better person. I swear I will. No shit, God. No shit whatsoever.

With Roger’s warm breath washing over him, and the hair on Roger’s warm chest brushing against the smoothness of his own, Stanley gave himself up to those blessed arms and muscular legs and tender, tender hands. He forced himself to relax, scared to death he would wake Roger and the moment would be lost.

He closed his eyes against the darkness and gave himself up completely to the sensations he felt having Roger so close. The sweet, clean scent of the man. The heat of his belly. The warmth of the hard bicep he loved so much pressed to his cheek. The strong, fuzzy legs brushing against his own. The comforting softness of their two cocks snuggled together, his own still leaking come onto the sheet as if weeping for what was lost.

But Stanley knew, as sleep slowly came to claim him, that nothing was lost at all. This was just the beginning. And he would never doubt Roger again. Nor would he doubt himself.

This was what he needed. He knew that now. This man. This love. This was what he had longed for his whole life. A reason to say, “Yes, I’m worth it. Yes, I deserve happiness as much as the next man. And yes, here in these arms, I’ve finally found it
.
”

A smile touched Stanley’s lips as, in his sleep, Roger snuggled closer and whispered, “Little Mouse.”

A moment later, they were both asleep, and they would not move from each other’s arms throughout the long, still night.

T
HE
next morning, Stanley and Roger opened their eyes to a bedroom filled with light and promise. They reached out to each other without a single reservation. After a slow, romantic round of oral sex, which was far less hurried this time and even more enjoyable, they showered together, which got them keyed up all over again. After Roger ran down to his apartment in Stanley’s bathrobe to fetch a shirt and a pair of shorts to wear—he refused to wear his bloody scrubs from the day before—they finally began their lives together over a breakfast of leftover pizza.

If there were any lingering qualms or shyness or uncertainty hanging around to spoil the morning, they had clearly washed them down the drain during their communal shower. And good riddance. They were both too happy to deal with diffidence now. Stanley felt emboldened by everything that had happened. He understood love now. For the first time in his life, he understood it completely. And he was changed by it. He knew that too. Changed for the better.

Still, he wasn’t so altered he couldn’t watch Roger eat and still feel awed that the man who loved him was such a looker. Had Stanley Sternbaum hit the jackpot, or what?

“It’s the weekend, Stanley,” Roger mumbled around a mouthful of crust. “You have no classes, and after my double shift yesterday, I have two days off. What would you like to do?” He waggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

“Cuddle?” Stanley suggested through half a slice of pizza he had poked into his mouth with an index finger because he was absolutely starving and didn’t have time for puny little bites. After sex last night and sex this morning, Stanley had some replenishing of bodily fluids to implement. So he was trying to do it with pizza and a two-liter jug of cola. Breakfast of champions. And lovers.

Roger had opted for coffee to wash down his own pizza. And he drank it black, like a man, Stanley hadn’t failed to notice. When Stanley had coffee, it was mostly french vanilla creamer and a shitload of sugar.

While they ate, they held hands and gazed lovingly at each other like a couple of saps. Stanley had never been so content,
ever.

When the two pizzas were reduced to two empty boxes, a scattering of crumbs, and one questionable mushroom which neither one of them had the nerve to tackle, Roger squeezed Stanley’s hand to get his attention, as if he didn’t have it already.

“Any second thoughts?” Roger asked. “Any questions you want answered? Any vows you want me to make?”

There was such sincerity and humility in Roger’s voice, Stanley felt his eyes burn with welling tears. He was startled by a cramping sensation in his chest. It took a second for him to realize it wasn’t a heart attack, simply another manifestation of how much in love he was with the man sitting across from him.

“No second thoughts. No questions.”

“And vows?” Roger asked again, a gentle smile dimpling his cheek as he studied Stanley’s sweetly sober face.

“Just love me,” Stanley said, his voice broken with emotion. “Just love me as much as I love you.”

“Done,” Roger said. He leaned across the table and kissed Stanley on the mouth. Hands clenched, hearts pounding in rhythm, they closed their eyes and breathed each other in. The fact their kiss smelled and tasted like pizza didn’t bother them in the least.

Roger finally pulled back and opened his eyes. “Well, that was easy. We’ve sealed the deal. I love you, Stanley Sternbaum.”

Stanley blew his nose on a paper napkin. Jeez, he was all choked up. When he found his voice, he said, “And I love you, Roger Jane.”

Stanley was just thinking of pulling Roger into the bedroom, or throwing him naked across the table where they were sitting, when someone knocked on the front door. Natch.

“Your door,” Roger said. “
You
get it.”

Stanley grinned and headed for the door.

It was Arthur. He was dressed in work pants and a lace camisole. The camisole didn’t quite come down to the top of his pants, so his belly protruded between the two. At the moment, his belly was wrapped in what must have been an entire box of Saran wrap.

Arthur was drenched in perspiration from climbing the stairs, and he had a limp cigar clamped in his teeth. The cigar was so soggy from Arthur’s sweat, he couldn’t have lit it with a blowtorch, for which Stanley was immensely grateful.

Seeing Stanley studying the Saran wrap around his midriff with wonder, Arthur had the good grace to blush. “I heard it helps you lose unsightly inches by drawing out the moisture. What? You think it’s a dumb idea?”

“Whatever floats your boat.” Stanley sighed. After yesterday in the emergency room, nothing Arthur ever wore again would surprise him. “Was there something we could do for you?”

Arthur surreptitiously peeked over Stanley’s shoulder, hoping to get a glimpse of whoever else might be in the apartment. He was smiling as he did it. “I tried Roger’s door, but since he didn’t seem to be home, I thought he might be here. Maybe he’s even been here all night, huh?”

Now it was Stanley’s turn to blush. When he opened his mouth to speak, he amazed even himself. “Yes, and it was the best night of my life. Now then, was there a
reason
you came knocking? Need some aluminum foil?”

Arthur ignored the sarcasm and positively beamed. “Oh, I’m so happy for you both. Honestly. But I’m afraid we have a situation.”

Stanley smiled as Roger came up behind him, slipped his arms around his waist, and stuck his chin on Stanley’s shoulder. His stance implied ownership. Stanley knew it, Roger knew it, and Arthur knew it.

“Good morning, Arthur,” Roger said. His green eyes lit with amusement at the ensemble Arthur was wearing. But he knew Arthur. Nothing Arthur did could surprise him either. “What’s up?”

For the first time, Arthur looked a little uncomfortable. “I’m such a coward. Sorry to disturb you, but someone is in Sylvia’s apartment, and I know it isn’t Sylvia. She isn’t coming home from the hospital until later today. Thought I could use some backup while I check it out. Would you boys mind?”

“Not at all,” Roger stated, obviously fearless. “As long as Stanley’s with us, we’ll be okay. You should see him kick down a door. I’m sure he could kick the poop out of an intruder just as handily.”

Stanley seemed appalled by the suggestion. “Uhh—”

Arthur gave a grunt. “I know. I just paid for the repairs on the
last
door your boyfriend demolished. It wasn’t just a matter of putting on a new lock either. I had to replace the whole door. And most of the doorframe. But since it saved Sylvia’s life, who’s complaining?” He reached out and gave Stanley’s cheek a pinch. “Thanks, honey.”

“Um, don’t mention it.”

Arthur straightened his camisole, which was the most bizarre thing Stanley had ever witnessed, and said, “Now then. Coming, boys?”

“You bet,” Roger and Stanley said in unison, and hand in hand, they followed Arthur to the stairs.

“Arthur,” Roger said, “take that silly Saran wrap off or you’ll keel over from heat exhaustion. Whatever weight you lose from water loss will go right back on the minute you drink a glass of water. It isn’t worth risking your life over. Just buy a girdle.”

Arthur stopped and looked back at them. He stuck his finger on his chin like Shirley Temple. “Ooh. Why didn’t I think of that?”

By now they were at Sylvia’s door. Sylvia’s
brand-new
door. It was shut tight, and immediately they heard sounds coming from inside. Sounds of—humming. Someone was humming show tunes.

Stanley thought that sounded promising. How big and mean and insane could an intruder be if he was humming show tunes?

Arthur handed Roger the key and stepped back, obviously intending to be the last to enter. When Stanley gave him a surprised look, Arthur stared right back as if to say, “I’m wearing a camisole. What did you expect? Butchness?”

Again peeking over Roger’s shoulder, Stanley watched as Roger unlocked the door and eased it open.

Sylvia’s apartment smelled of cleaning stuff. Pine-Sol. Windex. Ammonia. Bleach. Stanley didn’t remember it smelling like that the
last
time he was in it. There was no one in the living room, but they could clearly hear the humming coming from the direction of Sylvia’s bedroom.

“Pervert,” Arthur whispered.

“Well, he seems awfully cheerful about it,” Roger whispered back.

In tandem, each holding the shoulder of the one in front, with Roger leading the way, they snuck across the apartment all in a row like the segments of a caterpillar and peeked through Sylvia’s bedroom door. They looked like three heads on a totem pole. Arthur was on the bottom, Stanley in the middle, Roger on top.

What they saw was a puzzlement indeed.

Charlie, the redheaded kleptomaniac on three, was removing the sheets from Sylvia’s bed.

When Charlie looked up from what he was doing and saw three heads staring at him from the doorway, he jumped straight up into the air and screamed like banshee. The sheet he was holding flew all the way across the room and landed on a pole lamp.

Arthur was the first to speak. And he was furious. “Charlie, what are you doing? Stealing the sheet right off her bed? You’ve gone too far this time. I want you out of my building immediately.”

Roger was studying the horror on Charlie’s face. He looked around the room and saw a laundry basket full of cleaning supplies sitting on the floor in the bathroom. He saw a clean set of sheets waiting to be put on the bed after Charlie stripped away the soiled ones. He saw the bandanna tied around Charlie’s forehead to keep the sweat from running into his eyes while he did what he was doing. While he cleaned Sylvia’s apartment!

Roger laid his hand on Arthur’s arm. “Arthur. Wait. Let Charlie explain himself.”

Charlie was so upset, he was shaking. “I’m just making the apartment nice for her when she comes home. Sylvia’s my friend. She makes me cookies. I—I love Sylvia.”

“Wow,” Stanley breathed. “Another one.”

Charlie didn’t seem to hear. “I wouldn’t steal from Sylvia. I wouldn’t! She’s the
last
person I’d steal from. Besides, I’m taking my medicine now. I haven’t stolen anything for—shit—two or three days. And that was just a Snickers bar at the market on the corner. I was hungry. And I paid the little Vietnamese guy for it later!” He aimed pleading eyes in Roger’s direction. “Tell him, Roger. Tell Arthur I’m not stealing.”

And much to Arthur’s and Stanley’s surprise, Roger strode to Charlie and draped an arm across his shoulder, comforting him with a pat on the back and a hug. Roger looked back at Arthur while he did it.

“He’s telling the truth, Arthur. Look around. Nothing’s missing and everything is spotless. I say we leave Charlie alone to do what he started. We should have been considerate enough to think of it ourselves. Tell him he doesn’t have to move, Arthur. You’re scaring the poor guy to death.”