if someone doesn’t step forward and message me of what i’ve done and to who by the end of today then i’m gonna let it go. i’ll refer to it as a giant lie,
bc by the way everyone is behaving about it, it sounds like this person is lying to all of their friends about something i haven’t done. i don’t know anyone involved and it’s all talked of in secret, unless light is shined on this subject to me, i’m going to assume you lie to all of your friends for attention.
it’s bullshit, stay away from my mutuals.
The city was sweltering, muggy, and Chuck swore he saw steam rising from the footpath as he walked up the apartment stairs. The stairway was just as stifling, and he hoped a good wind had blown through the apartment while he’s been gone.
He’d been stir crazy before he left, languishing and sweating in his briefs all day, lying on his back on the hardwood floor, doing nothing. So he got up, went out and bought a record, and hoped the change of scene would propel him into doing something useful. Or at least kill time until the sun went down.
Under his arm, safely wrapped up in a paper bag, was Birth of Cool. If it hadn’t warped from the summer heat or the heat radiating from his body, he’d blast it as he did all the chores he’s been putting off.
Chuck opened the door and felt the room was just as hot as outside. The windows has been closed, and he Ron slumped over the dining table, hair sticking to his forehead. He was drunk, and going by the half empty bottle of vodka the he’d been drinking for a while. Why he’d closed the windows Chuck couldn’t guess. His cheeks where red, shirtsleeves undone and flapping around his wrists as he poured himself a generous amount of Smirnoff. When he knocked half the glass back he winced. Ron hadn’t even noticed Chuck walk in.
Then he saw the newspaper on the table. Ah, that would explain it. The New York Times headline read TRUMAN ORDERS U.S. AIR, NAVY UNITS TO FIGHT IN SUPPORT OF KOREA.
He’s been avoiding the news, but it was all Ron talked about now. It excited him. But he’d heard all kinds of shit. It gave Chuck a headache, so he kept himself busy. He put the record down by the door and walked past Ron into the kitchen.
There were dishes to wash. He turned the tap on and let the hot water scold his hands, damn the heat in the room. The branches of bottlebrush tree outside hit the kitchen window in the wind. Maybe a branch would come through the glass. He almost hoped. Anything to avoid the facts a little longer.
As if on cue, and Chuck had never been lucky with this sort of thing, Ron mumbled something that Chuck couldn’t hear, but he caught the word enlisted. It was like a punch to the stomach, and Chuck felt the breath choke out of him. Ron then slurred something else, before saying, “but I love you.”
And that was the knockout punch to the jaw. Chuck didn’t stop washing.
“You’re a dog, Ron.”
“Hey!” Chuck turned and saw Ron slump further along the table, head resting on his arms, waving a now quarter full glass in his hand. He looked ridiculous, and something inside Chuck softened.
So he smirked, “all men are.”
Ron grinned roguishly at him, and got up on wobbling legs. Chuck thought he’d trip at least once, but he made it into the kitchen unscathed and slumped into Chuck’s back.
“Does this mean I have to call you captain again?”
Ron sighed happily, “if you like.” His tone turned more serious then, and he asked, “you’d go? If you could?” He mumbled it into the back of Chuck’s neck, wrapped his arms tight around his chest.
“I don’t…” Chuck scrubbed at a particularly stubborn sauce stain on the plate he was holding. “It’s different, now. And besides…” he trailed off again, felt Ron’s hand move lower as he tried unbutton Chuck’s shirt with drunk, clumsy fingers. He was so damn distracting, insatiable when he got like this. It was too hot to fuck, so Chuck slapped away his wandering hands and put more soap into the water. Why’d this shit always happen in the summer? “It doesn’t matter. I can’t.”
Ron started to sway behind him, and hummed. He had no ear for music, and couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. It was unclear what song he was thinking of until he started to sing, “don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me, till I come marching home.”
Chuck rolled his eyes, “God, that’s an old song.”
Ron started to kiss his neck, more deliberately than a drunk man should have been able to manage. Feeling the sweat run down his neck, it occurred to him that maybe Ron was as scared as he was.
“You’re a dog,” he repeated, turning around into Ron’s arms. “And I’m furious with you.”
Ron looked up at him, gaze steady. He moved his arms around Chuck’s neck. Chuck couldn’t believe he had the nerve to look so sure.
“So you’ll be waiting?”
He didn’t belong to Ron, and Ron wasn’t his. But he’d decided, long ago, that he’d rather be alone than without him. Ron would go off, was always going somewhere, but it still meant something.
“You just want to watch two men fuck” ok susan I waited two years for them to finally hold hands, another two years for them to hug, and another two years for them to hug again I can’t even imagine if I will ever see them kiss let alone fuck. All I ask is a simple love confession that’s all.