Chapter 20

 

 

IT WAS pouring down rain.

Seriously.

Fuck his life.

“Goddammit,” Gus muttered.

He reached back inside the house only to find he’d left the umbrella at the Emporium.

“Goddammit,” Gus grumbled.

It was cool. He could do this. It was just a mad dash across the street. Casey would probably be at Lottie’s Lattes and Gus would burst in and say something so awesome that Casey would stop whatever he was doing and they would hug for, like, seven minutes or something. And then they would live happily long-distance ever after and Gus might sometime consider visiting California but probably not really because he was not ridiculous and had never, ever considered making vegan banana-nut granola bars just for the hell of it.

God. California was so weird.

Whatever. Gus was going to be amazing.

Casey would too.

Long-distance.

It was going to be stupid cool and everything would be awesome.

Gus really needed to stop hanging out with hipsters. His lexicon had taken a serious nosedive. He reminded himself to read the encyclopedia tonight before he went to bed.

He started his mad dash across the street.

He made it to the sidewalk when a moving truck passed by, splashing a large puddle up and onto Gus.

“Goddammit!” Gus shouted.

By the time he made it to the shop, he was scowling more than he’d done in three months. He thought maybe it would be best if he walked into the shop with a smile, but he had rainwater in his ass crack and that was not conducive to a smiling, happy Gus.

He could do this.

He was Gustavo Tiberius.

Well.

Not that that meant a whole lot.

But still.

He opened the door.

The bell rang overhead.

And he stopped.

Gus said, “Uhh.”

Because in this shop stood Bernice, Bertha, and Betty. And Lottie. And Xander, Josiah, and Serge. And Casey, of course, who was pacing back and forth, a worried look on his face.

That is until Gus walked in.

They all stared at him.

Xander looked upset.

Casey looked nervous.

The others looked amused, exasperated, curious, and in the case of the hipsters, somewhat stoned.

Gus couldn’t decide what to say first. He knew it was probably a bad idea to open his mouth without a clear thought in his head, but the silence was stretching and it was getting awkward and Gus couldn’t have that. He couldn’t let Casey think he had nothing to say to him, not if he was going to be the best boyfriend possible.

So as he stood in the doorway to Lottie’s Lattes, dripping water onto the floor, an angry, wet ferret at his side, Gustavo Tiberius looked Casey Richards straight in the eye and said, “I want to be a lesbian with you and shave your pinewood beaver.”

And meant every word of it.

The problem with that is he hadn’t meant to say those words in particular. So while the actual verbiage was wrong, the inflection behind it was everything that he could put into it, all his love and hope. His fears and thoughts on the future. His dreams for the two of them, because yes, Gustavo Tiberius had dreams for the fucking future that involved waking and baking, working at the Emporium while Casey typed his latest literary drivel that would be consumed by fifteen-year-old girls who didn’t understand why the books caused aches in their groins. There would be trips to the grocery stores, smoking out of hollowed-out apples, family Christmas cards that went out where Gus was scowling in the picture because it was the stupidest thing ever, and maybe, just maybe, they’d be sitting on rocking chairs on the porch when they were seventy, holding hands and reminiscing about the day that Gus took down the overlord Steve Jobs because of something he read on the Internet.

Unfortunately, it can be rather difficult to discern a love confession when you bust into a coffee shop and make what are potentially inflammatory comments about lesbians and beavers. It was about that time that Gus realized that it might have been better off had he been born mute. Surely at least then he could have avoided the way the acoustics in the shop seemed to echo his voice. He may have been bullshitting about testing the acoustics weeks before, but now he really wished he’d listened to himself then.

And thought ahead.

And had the power to disappear.

He wondered if he could make it to Canada by morning if he left right now. He heard Canada was nice.

That was a lie. He heard Canada was just really cold.

But that was fine. He could hunt yak or whatever. Wear their hair for, like, boots and stuff.

He told his feet to move.

His feet said fuck you, we ain’t goin’ nowheres.

He wondered why they sounded like 1920s gangsters in his head.

He wondered how much time had passed since he’d burst into Lottie’s Lattes.

He thought maybe it’d been five or six seconds.

It was Josiah who spoke first.

Like the waiter-stoner-wannabe actor that he was, he said, “Pinewood beavers. That sounds like a lesbian Boy Scout porn parody. If you make that into a movie, I want to audition for a role.”

Gus blushed terribly.

Casey made that strangled noise he did every time Gus’s face turned red.

Lottie said, “Oh dear god. You two deserve each other.”

“Is that what happens when you get exposed to the Internet for the first time?” Bernice whispered to her sister-lovers.

“No,” Betty said. “I think that’s just Gus. Poor, sweet, innocent Gus.”

“Doesn’t seem to be that innocent anymore,” Bertha said.

“I can’t help but feel that this is partially my fault,” Xander said.

“Honestly?” Serge said. “I might be a bit too baked to understand what’s going on. Why does Gus want to shave Casey’s beaver?” He blanched. “Oh my god, what the hell did I just say?”

“I’ve seen things on the Internet!” Gus said, sounding rather like Harry S. Truman in that his voice was high-pitched and rather ferret-like. He knew he had to try and explain what the hell was going on in his head, but it was all just static noise. His mouth didn’t seem to care. “Things. Like. Things.”

“Maybe we should have installed parental locks on your computer,” Bertha said with a frown. “It sounds like you’ve been looking up things a boy your age shouldn’t have access to.”

“I’m almost thirty!”

“He’s growing up so quickly,” Bernice said, sounding oddly tearful. “Pretty soon, he’s going to move away to the big city and become a stockbroker and do cocaine off the buttocks of high-class Indonesian call girls before he finds his one true love. Or loves.”

“You need to stop reading DesRinaDale fan fiction,” Betty told her.

“It’s not a problem,” Bernice insisted. “I can stop anytime I want. I only downloaded six hundred more fics last night to read. In four hundred of them, Martindale is a barista. A barista. Do you know how original that is? No one has ever done that before. And now I get to read about it four hundred times.”

“Isn’t DesRinaDale that thing from Casey’s books?” Serge asked. “The bisexual three-way or whatever?”

“Yeah,” Xander said. “People get weird about them. Young adult vampire/werewolf postapocalyptic dystopian fans can get really rabid. Once, a fourteen-year-old sent him pornographic fan art. I felt dirty even being near it. Fourteen-year-olds should not be able to draw explicit three-way bisexual sex scenes involving felching.”

“We wouldn’t have to if someone would just finish the next book exactly as I want it to be,” Bernice said, glaring at Casey, who had yet to look away from Gus.

“Gus, I’d like to audition for Pinewood Beavers now,” Josiah said. “I’ve just prepared a scene that I think would fit right in with the feel of the porn parody. And scene.” He grinned salaciously at Gus and arched an eyebrow. “Hey. Do you want to carve some wood with me, Boy Scout? I’ll help you earn your Got Wood badge. End scene.” He frowned. “Okay, that was a work in progress. I’ll get back to you.”

“Oh my god,” Gus whispered fervently. “I have quirky friends. I have mischievous misadventures. My life is a fucking romantic comedy.” And maybe he couldn’t breathe so well after that. “Holy shit!” he squeaked. “I’m Jennifer Lopez!”

And that pretty much killed the conversation because if there was one thing Gus was definitely not, it was Jennifer Lopez. For one, he was not a Latina. Two, he had never dated his own backup dancer. Three, he’d never had backup dancers. And four, he hadn’t squandered a promising start to a career with poor script choices and devolved into something that meandered around mediocre. Also, Gus had a bit of a flat ass. Damn genetics.

“We should let them talk,” Bertha said. “Let’s all go into the kitchen where we won’t be listening through the door at all.”

“We won’t?” Bernice said, sounding particularly aggrieved. “But I have to—ohhh. Right.” She winked obscenely. “We definitely won’t be listening to any conversation that will take place out here because that would be impolite.”

Betty came and took Harry S. Truman’s carrier out of Gus’s hand. “I’ll take good care of him, Jenny from the block,” she said. Gus wanted to smack her for her insolence, but even he knew that Betty could kick his ass, and he didn’t want to have what he hoped to be a slightly dramatic love confession with a black eye or a lacerated liver.

Lottie ushered everyone into the kitchen, the door swinging behind them, and Gus was sure the moment the door closed, they’d all pressed their ears up against the door.

“Hey, man,” Casey said after a while, the first time he’d spoken since Gus had told him about wanting to be lesbians together. He didn’t look particularly happy.

“Hi,” Gus said, suddenly very nervous. “Hello. Um. How are you? I am fine. Thanks for asking. Er. Not that you asked. Or anything.”

Gus knew then without a doubt that this was going to be a disaster.

“You kind of ran away,” Casey said, with no real accusation in his voice. “Hid for a bit, I guess.”

Gus nodded. “Yes, yes I did. I had to think and look things up on the Internet and now I am here to have an adult conversation with an open line of communication.”

“Okay,” Casey said, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, man. I can do that. Share space.”

“Share space, oh my god.”

“Share space,” Casey agreed.

“Fine,” Gus relented. He could do this. “I’ll go first. I don’t normally wear Hawaiian shirts, flip-flops, and jeans with holes in them. The only reason I did that was because I heard you call me abnormal and weird and strange and I didn’t like that because even though I pretended not to, I thought you were the most interesting person I’d ever met. So I went home, remembered I didn’t have the Internet, went to the library, got accused of gang-bang babies, spoke to Mitzi with i’s and y’s, got the Internet, found porn in the first three minutes, and then looked up how to be a normal person. Somehow, that ended up with me having a boyfriend like you and I’ll never regret it, ever, but I’m not a ball of sunshine or a Share Bear or whatever. Sometimes, I fake smile at myself in the mirror but it makes me look like a douchebag, so I try not to do it too often. I bitch about reading inspirational quotes but secretly don’t mind them. Well, a little bit. Also? I think posting pictures to Instagram is stupid. I like your face and your smile and I like it when you’re stoned and I like it when you’re sober and I would like it even if I had to do it long-distance. So. You can move away if you need to and that’s okay. Mostly. You can stay here too, and that’s fine. But I just want you to do what you want to do and I hope you want me to be a part of it too because I think you’re super cool. And I wished I hadn’t just said super cool, oh my god. Seriously. I don’t know why, but I sort of talk like you now and I swear to god, if you’re turning me into a hipster, I will unleash my wrath and it will be unlike anything this world has ever seen.”

Casey gaped at him.

“Oh, this is so awkward to listen to,” Bernice said from the kitchen. “I am so uncomfortable right now. Hush! I’m trying to hear every word!”

“What the hell,” Gus groaned, his brain catching up with his mouth. “My life is a romantic comedy. This is the singularly most depressing thing I’ve heard since I found out Michael Bay was given money to make another movie. Why don’t they learn?”

“I’m conflicted if I ever want Gus to meet Michael Bay,” Bernice said. “On one hand, Gus would probably end up in jail. On the other hand, we wouldn’t get Transformers 16: Vast Black Hole Dark Space Moon Star.”

“I auditioned for Transformers 2,” Josiah said. “I showed up in a kid’s Optimus Prime costume I got at Walmart. They thought I was a sex offender. I didn’t get the part.”

“You poor dear,” Bernice said.

“Gus,” Casey said, voice shaking as he took a step toward him. “I’m so sorry.”

And that made Gus falter. Because why would Casey be apologizing unless he didn’t feel the same way? Gus thought maybe this whole thing had been a mistake and he wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

But then Casey said, “I’m so sorry that I made you think you weren’t perfect just the way you are. Because you are, okay? Gus. You are perfect.”

Gus frowned at him. “Are you high right now?”

Casey shook his head. “No.”

“Because you like a lot of things when you’re high.”

“I know. But I like you even more when I’m sober.”

“Boom,” Bernice moaned. “Right in the feels.”

“I don’t understand,” Gus admitted. “You thought I was weird.”

Casey smiled sadly. “I did. I do, man. You are. But that’s a good thing. Gus, when I said that, I meant it as a good thing, okay? Man, you have no idea, do you? You’re just this… this dude, okay? You’re abnormal and weird and strange, but I like that. I came here because I was tired of fake people. I was tired of being told one thing and having it mean another. I was tired of being lied to, of being coddled and hand-held. So I came here to get away and instead found the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Gus, I don’t need you to be anybody but who you are, because who you are is just fine for me. You don’t berate me because I like to get stoned. You don’t give a shit that I’m sort of famous. You don’t care that I’m asexual.”

Gus frowned. “Of course I don’t. Why would I?”

Casey’s smile widened. “Exactly, man. And it’s the same for me. I don’t want you to be a normal person, okay? Or, if that’s what you want, that’s okay too. I just want you to have what makes you happy, Gus. And that’s what matters most. I would like it if that were me, but if not, that’s okay too.” He was close enough now that when he reached out, he could take Gus’s hand in his own. Gus squeezed him tight.

“You’re leaving,” Gus said, trying to focus through his dizzying thoughts. “You’re going back.”

“Yeah, man,” Casey said. “And that was not a conversation Xander should have had with you. I wanted to talk to you first before I did anything.”

“My bad!” Xander called out. “Super sorry!”

“I’m coming back,” Casey said, entwining Gus’s fingers with his own. “That’s what I was going to tell you. I’m going back to LA next month, going to pack up the shit I want, and then I’m coming back. Lottie wants to travel a bit, so I told her I would stay here and run the store while she’s gone. Serge, Xander, and Josiah will watch the house for me in Pasadena. Maybe I’ll sell it one day. Maybe I’ll keep it. I don’t know, man. But I want to be here, okay? I want to be here with you and I want that more than I’ve wanted anything in a real long time.”

Gus said, “Wow. That’s cool, bruh. Awesome. Don’t ask me to go to California with you because that sounds terrible. You’re staying here? For real?”

Casey said, “Yeah, man. I’m staying. I can write here. I can be happy here. You’re here. We can keep going on dates, man. Like, just, so many dates.”

Gus said, “Yeah. Okay. I want that. For a long time, okay? And I might still wear floral-print shirts because I’m used to them now. But no Strawberry Festivals.”

Casey said, “That was so wicked. I thought I was going to die and then I ate quiche and we played Stoner Scrabble and you got stoned and laughed and we still have to finish Monkey Island Adventures.”

Gus said, “Cool. That’s so cool. You’re so cool. You’re like ice, you’re so cool.”

Casey said. “Did you just make that up? I swear to god you come up with the best shit. I’m like ice, I’m so cool. God, you are abnormal and weird and strange and that’s awesome.”

Gus said, “No, you’re awesome. I’m probably going to cancel the Internet, okay? I don’t need it anymore, so it’s good. I don’t want to accidentally find out if her mouth got pregnant or whatever.”

Casey said, “Yeah, man. Right. I have no idea what you’re talking about. But that’s okay.”

Gus said, “It doesn’t matter. Hey, I’m wet. It’s raining.”

Casey said, “Cats and dogs, man,” and it was like the first time all over again.

Gus choked out, “I’m going to hug you. Okay? Probably for an embarrassingly long period of time.”

Casey gave him the brightest smile. “I was hoping you were going to say that. Bring it in, Grumpy Gus.”

Gus did.

And it was epic.

Gus didn’t even mind when he heard a chorus of people say “Awww” in the background because he was far too busy congratulating himself for having an adult conversation, keeping lines of communication open, and holding on to one of the most important things in his life as tightly as he could.

(Three days before he died, Pastor Tommy had taken Gus’s hand in his own and said, “I love you, Gussy. I love you more than anything else in this world. And one day I hope you get to love someone like I love you. If you do, and I know you will, you make sure you never let that go. It’ll be scary, but it’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to you if you let it. I am going to hold on as tight as I possibly can while I still can, okay? Enough of that, though. We’ve still got time. I think there’s a House Hunters International marathon on. Let’s watch it and see rich people make poor decisions, what the hell is their problem, oh my god.”)

 

 

AFTER THE adult conversation which led to an outburst of feelings better left for a Lifetime movie starring actors from the eighties and nineties, it was decided that Casey and Gus would embark on the next stage in the relationship, that big step for couples that could reveal habits that could make or break a relationship.

“I’m staying the night with you tonight,” Casey said casually.

“Um,” Gus said. “Like. All night?”

“Yeah, man. All night.”

“Sure,” Gus said, screaming internally. “That sounds swell.”

“Great,” Casey said, beaming.

“I have to go now,” Gus said. “I left vegan banana-nut granola bars in the oven.”

“What,” Casey said.

“I’ll see you tonight!”

He fled. It wasn’t until he got home that he realized he’d left Harry S. Truman with the We Three Queens and felt like an irresponsible pet owner. He also felt like a drug addict needing his next fix as he immediately flipped open the laptop and typed how to sleep over for the first time into the site he couldn’t quite get rid of.

“Enabler,” he hissed as the site loaded.

 

Look at you! You’ve made the mature and responsible decision to have your lover stay over for the first time. This can be a perfect time to grow as a couple and find out if you’re compatible sleeping together in the same bed. And yes! We mean that in the literal sense. If you are looking for more erotic advice, please feel free to click over to How to Know It’s Time to Fornicate.

 

“Nope,” Gus said. “Nope, nope, nope.”

 

If you’re nervous about the situation, try having your lover spend the night in your home rather than going to his. This will allow you the comforts of your own home, which should help with the potential stress of the situation. By following these simple, easy steps, you should find yourself having a wonderful evening!

Make sure it’s okay with your parents. It’s never a good idea to invite your lover over if your parents don’t know about it.

Make sure the sheets on your bed are clean. You don’t want your lover to climb into a bed when just last night, you had a nocturnal emission over Andy Griffith as Matlock. That is not fair to your lover to be reminded you have a criminal-defense attorney kink.

Make sure to be makeup-free before you get into bed. It’s better to be natural than to wake up with a smeared pillowcase.

 

“I don’t think I’m the target demographic for this list,” Gus said. “I don’t think the list knows what its target demographic is.”

 

Have fun activities planned, like a puzzle or cooking a ham. Try to avoid things such as movies or television because those will divert your attention from your lover. Remember, you want to learn as much as you can about them.

Also, make sure to be attentive to your lover. You’ll want to offer them refreshments and make sure they know where the bathroom is, where the towels are, and if any of the house is off limits.

Brush your teeth before you go to bed. If you are planning on being fun and flirty while in the sheets, it’s better to have fresh breath.

If it’s you that’s staying at your lover’s house, make sure to pack underwear and facial wipes. These are the two most forgotten items when packing for an overnight stay, according to an informal poll that four people responded to.

To raise the stakes a little, pretend to have forgotten your pajamas and ask if you can wear one of his shirts. Your lover will surely be pleased.

However, try not to do anything that can be misconstrued as too arousing. You don’t want to start something you might not be able to finish. Like relations.

 

“Yeah,” Gus said. “Canceling the Internet. Oh my god, what the hell.”

 

 

CASEY HAD said he’d be over at seven. Gus started pacing at 6:42.

At 6:57, the doorbell rang.

“You liar,” Gus growled.

He opened the door, “Hey, bro,” he said, cool and aloof. “I’ve got some ham in the oven. You know, for something to do.”

Casey stood on the porch, a backpack slung over his shoulder, Harry S. Truman’s carrier at his side. He cocked his head at Gus. “You went on the Internet again, didn’t you?”

“No,” Gus said. “Of course not. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable. Can I offer you a Pibb Zero? There are towels in the closet and you can go anywhere in the house you want to. I have no secrets.”

Casey snorted as he pushed back Gus. “You have some secrets, Gustavo.”

Gus scowled. “I have none.”

“Normal people have secrets,” he teased, dropping his bag onto the couch and opening the carrier door. Harry S. Truman ran out, yelling at Gus for the day’s events before finding his water dish and making a mess.

“I never should have told you about that,” Gus muttered. “I will never hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, man,” Casey said. “Never. It’s totally going to be a thing from now on.” He sank back down on the couch and made grabby hands at Gus. “Come on. I need Gus love.”

Gus was proud of himself that he only tripped a little bit as he scrambled toward the couch. Casey grabbed on and pulled him down, and somehow they ended up tangled together, Casey’s head on his shoulder, one leg thrown over Gus’s lap.

“I meant it,” Casey said, rubbing his beard on Gus’s shoulder. “You know?”

“Me too,” Gus said seriously. And then, “Wait. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Casey laughed. “That you don’t need to be anybody else. I’ll be honest, man. I feel like shit that you thought you had to change for me.”

Gus shrugged awkwardly. “You don’t have to feel bad. You didn’t do anything wrong. I overheard and assumed.”

“Right,” Casey said. “But that shouldn’t matter. No one has a right to make you feel bad about yourself, Gustavo. Not me. Not anyone else. As much as I wish that you’d said something earlier, that doesn’t change anything, you know? You’re you. Just be you, man. That’s all I want.”

“Sometimes I think the me I am is not the me I want to be,” Gus admitted. “But then you like me for the me I am and that’s a good me to be for me.”

“I’ll be honest,” Casey said. “I’m sort of stoned because I got nervous again about coming over here because I like you so much and I have no idea what you just said.”

“I made ham because I’m nervous,” Gus said.

“Fuck yeah,” Casey said. “We’re, like, a power couple. Or something.”

 

 

THERE WAS only a single moment of awkwardness as they got ready for bed. After eating the I-Made-It-Because-I’m-Nervous ham that Gus had prepared, Casey said he wanted to smoke a bowl in bed with Gus because there was no better way to relax before falling asleep.

Gus, hearing Casey mention the bed, thought maybe he should try and be a least a little bit flirty, so he said, “Oh no! I forgot my pajamas. Can I borrow a shirt of yours?”

“But we’re at your house?” Casey asked, adorably confused.

“Right,” Gus said, trying not to die. “That’s what I meant. Just testing you. Good job. You passed.”

“Awesome,” Casey said, and then he took off his shirt and Gus might have accidentally walked into a wall because that was a shitload of skin that he hadn’t seen before.

“Brushing my teeth!” Gus managed to say before fleeing to the bathroom after grabbing his Yasser Arapants.

After giving himself a pep talk in the mirror that probably went on far too long (he told Reflection Gus to be a fucking man about this and not fuck it up because Casey was legit moving to Abby for real and part of the reason was Gus. Reflection Gus smiled like a douchebag and he might have flexed a little bit too), he made his way back to the bedroom, proud that his hands were shaking only a little bit.

Casey was lying against the headboard in boxer briefs and a loose tank top. His hair was messy around his shoulders and his tongue poked out of his mouth as he concentrated picking out the seeds and stems. His He-Man lunchbox was opened between his legs.

And Gus thought he’d never seen anything more wonderful than Casey right where he was, doing what he did best. He must have heard the choked-off noise Gus made because he looked up and smiled. “Hey, man. Want to get high?”

Gus said, “Don’t pack that bowl yet. I want to show you something, okay?”

Casey didn’t even question. He nodded and said, “Cool, man. What you got?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Gus left the room before he could think too hard about it. It wasn’t something he ever thought he’d be ready for. But maybe he was now, and maybe part of that reason was Casey.

Or maybe Casey wasn’t the whole reason. A big part of it, sure, but not completely. For a while after Pastor Tommy died, Gus was numb. He was angry and tired. He could barely sleep. His father had been his best friend and, at the time, his only friend. He had watched him fade away, even as Pastor Tommy had held on longer than he had any right to. Pastor Tommy had joked that he’d lived longer than the doctors forecasted simply because he wasn’t ready to leave Gus’s side yet. Rather, he meant it as a joke, and the doctors would laugh, but then they would leave and Gus would press his forehead against his father’s hand and cry because this man, this wonderful man, was everything he’d lived for, and he hated cancer. He hated it with a rage he would probably never feel against anyone or anything ever again.

The day Pastor Tommy died, Gus had come home and packed up all the little reminders of Pastor Tommy because even the thought of looking at little pieces of his life was enough to make Gus violently ill.

But now he opened the door to his dad’s room and went to the bedside table. He opened the drawer and found the little oak box he knew was there. Gus hesitated for the briefest of moments, but deep down, he knew he was making the right decision. He lifted the box from the drawer and whispered, “It hurts, Dad. A little less each day, though. I think I’m getting better, okay?”

And then he left the room.

Casey was sitting in the same position, the bud on the mattress clear of stems and seeds. He smiled quietly when Gus came back into the room. He eyed the box in Gus’s hand but didn’t say anything. Gus wondered if somehow he knew what it was, or how important this was for Gus.

Gus sat on the bed, facing Casey, crossing his legs. He put the box down in front of him on the mattress. He took a breath and then another and then another. The third one didn’t hurt as much as the first two and when he spoke, he did so hoping his voice was steady. “This, ah. You’re… important. To me.” He didn’t dare look up, eyes focused on the wooden box. “So. I wanted to share this. With you. If that’s okay.”

It was silent for a moment. Then, “Yeah, man. Whatever you want.”

Gus pushed the box toward him and pulled his hands back. He chewed on his thumbnail, eyes darting up to Casey and then away.

To his credit, Casey didn’t push Gus for anything further, and maybe Gus loved him just a little bit more for that. He didn’t know if he was ready to say that yet (seriously, though, he’d filled his quota on feelings for at least the next five years, what the hell), but he thought it. He definitely thought it.

Casey opened the box and let out a little sigh when he saw what was inside. He lifted the clay-fired pipe from the box. It was a remarkable thing. It had a weight to it, a heaviness that Gus appreciated. Its surface was glazed, reds and blues and greens swirling through the clay. It looked good, held in Casey’s hands.

“It was my dad’s,” Gus said finally. “Made it with a friend of his on an Indian reservation. He said it was one of the nicest things he’d ever made, aside from me.”

Casey choked out a laugh.

“I just thought maybe we could use his pipe instead,” Gus said, trying to act like it didn’t matter to him one way or another.

Of course, he failed miserably.

“Gus,” Casey said. “Hey, man. Look at me.” He reached out and took Gus’s hand into his own.

Gus looked up.

Casey was smiling at him, that lazy, warm smile that did stupid things to his heart. “You sure?”

Gus nodded.

“Then I’d be honored,” Casey said reverently. “This is some quality craftsmanship. Your dad knew what he was doing. Maybe you can tell me more about him sometime?”

“Yeah,” Gus croaked. “That’d be cool.”

He watched as Casey loaded Pastor Tommy’s pipe, his dexterous fingers making quick work of packing a stuffed bowl. He held it out to Gus along with his lighter. “You gotta go first, man,” Casey said. “It’s your dad’s, you know? You gotta go first because it’s what he would have wanted. I know that more than anything.”

Gus took Casey’s lighter. He snapped the flame to life. He put the pipe to his lips, lit the bowl, and inhaled. He held the smoke in and thought that yeah, maybe Pastor Tommy would have wanted exactly that.

 

 

THREE BOWLS later, they lay side by side, the pipe cached out and put back in its box. They were sharing a pillow and every now and then, Casey would lean forward and brush his nose against Gus’s and Gus thought everything was right with the world. Their knees bumped together and Gus could count Casey’s eyelashes if he tried hard enough.

“I like being here,” Casey said, breaking almost thirty minutes of silence. “With you.” He reached over and traced Gus’s face with his fingers. “And your Eyebrows of Judgment.”

Gus scowled (but since he was stoned, he actually grinned). “They don’t judge.”

“All the time,” Casey insisted. “They’re judging me right now.”

Gus huffed. “Well. Don’t do things capable of judgment.”

“That’s how I roll, man,” Casey said. “I can’t believe you got nervous and made a whole ham and offered me Pibb Zero. Like. Who even has Pibb Zero?”

“It’s what the Internet told me to do!”

“You have to show me where you looked this stuff up,” Casey said.

“Whoever wrote it had a tiny mustache,” Gus said. “I just know it. You don’t. You don’t have a tiny mustache.” And because he could, he reached out and stroked Casey’s beard. “It’s nice. You’re nice. This is all nice. Everything is nice.”

“I get worried too, you know,” Casey said, leaning against Gus’s hands on his face. “About stuff.”

Gus snorted. “No you don’t. You’re so cool, people think you’re Vanilla Ice.”

Casey gaped at him. “How do you do that?”

Gus shrugged. “S’gift. You know? I just… think of these things. Don’t know where it comes from. Just gifted, I guess.”

“Man,” Casey said. “You should write a novel.” Then, “Oh my god!”

“What!”

“Gus!”

“Casey!”

“We should write a book together!”

Gus’s eyes went wide, because right now? Honestly? That was the best idea. Ever. He told Casey as much. Then he was hit with the struggle of every artist. “But what would we write about?”

Casey frowned. “I have no idea. We need to brainstorm.”

“Hmm,” Gus said, brainstorming.

“Yeah,” Casey said, rubbing his fingers on Gus’s Eyebrows of Judgment.

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Gus said.

“Of course you do,” Casey said fondly. “You’re, like, so good at this stuff. Like, ideas. Or whatever. You have them. All the time. Lay it on me, Grumpy Gus.”

“It needs some work,” Gus warned him.

“S’what I’m here for,” Casey assured him. “You’re the talent. I’ve got the experience.”

“Okay,” Gus said. “Like. Okay. Listen. So. What if, there was, like, this whole seedy underground world that dogs were a part of.”

“I’m with you,” Casey said. “Keep going.”

“Okay. So, like. After everyone goes to bed, dogs get out. And they’re, like, super smart. Okay? Super smart. And they can talk and stuff. And there’s this whole Mafia underground dog ring or something. But instead of cocaine and money laundering, it’s like. Milk-Bones. And which Mafia family owns which fire hydrant to piss on. Or whatever.”

“Dude,” Casey said in awe. “Did you just make this up off the top of your head?”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “I’ve got ideas. You don’t even know. And the book follows one specific dog. He’s like, at the bottom of the rung in the dog Mafia. And has to work his way up. And by the very end, he’s like, Don Dog. Or something. But it’d be really gritty, okay? Like, murder and sex and stuff. Like. Poodle hookers. Like, all the poodles would be hookers because honestly? Poodles are hookers of the dog world, you know?”

“Totally,” Casey said. “Every time I see a poodle, I just want to say, ‘Hey.’ I want to say, ‘Hey. Don’t… don’t hook near me. Or whatever. I’m not interested, poodle hooker!’ You know?”

“I do,” Gus said. “So not interested. Goddamn poodle hookers.”

“And the dog would have to do some pretty horrible shit,” Casey said. “To get to the top. Like, he’d have to order another dog to be neutered. Or something. To earn his redemption arc.”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “And they’d have a BDSM club called Ruff. Because that’s the sounds dogs make and the kind of sex they have there is rough. You know?”

“Gus,” Casey breathed. “Do you know what the Pulitzer is?”

“Yeah,” Gus scoffed. “I read encyclopedias. Jeez.”

“We could totally win. We could totally win.”

“I haven’t even told you the best part.”

“You haven’t? Gus, what the hell!”

Gus shrugged.

“Tell me the best part,” Casey demanded, poking Gus in the face. “You have to! We’re writing buddies.”

“The title,” Gus said.

“Oh my god,” Casey whispered reverently. “Tell me. Lay it on me. I need this like air.”

“It’s a pun,” Gus said. “A play on words, you know? But it’s smart.”

“Is it The Dogfather?”

“No, but now I sort of wish it was.”

“Tell me!”

Gus took a deep breath and revealed the title to a book that would never be written because when they both woke up sober the next day, they realized it was the most ridiculous thing in the history of the world, and most book ideas should not be fleshed out while stoned. “Puppy on a Hot Tin Woof.”

Casey fell off the bed.

 

 

CURLED UP into each other late into the night, Gus said, “What were you worried about?”

“Hmm?” Casey asked, rubbing his forehead against Gus’s chest.

“Earlier. You said you worried too.”

“Oh.” He frowned.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Gus said. “I don’t mind.”

“No,” Casey said quietly. “You’ve given me a lot, you know? And we should be open about this.”

“About what?”

“Sex,” Casey said bluntly.

Gus jerked back, forcing Casey to look up at him. “Sex.”

“Yeah, man.”

“But I thought you….”

“Right. But you’re not.”

“So?”

“Xander said he told you. You know. About us.”

“Yeah,” Gus said, not really sure where this was going.

“I got jealous,” Casey said. “We were together, but I couldn’t give him the things he wanted. He never pressured me, never forced me to do anything that I didn’t want. But he was used to things being a certain way and I couldn’t do that. Not even with him. So I told him he could get that side of it from others, as long as we were honest with each other. I thought it’d work. There are plenty of ace relationships that are open and thrive. I know couples who do that. I just….” He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I had no right, or maybe I did. But I got jealous, knowing he was out there with someone else. It didn’t last very long after that.”

“Do you still get jealous of him?” Gus asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

Casey snorted. “No. Haven’t for a long, long time. I don’t see him as anything but a friend anymore. I’m all about you, Gustavo.”

“I am pretty cool,” Gus said, trying very hard not to be smug.

“Vanilla Ice,” Casey agreed. He relaxed against Gus again. “But that’s what I worry about, you know? That we’ll get to that point where it won’t be enough.”

“It will be,” Gus said, suddenly sure.

“You don’t know that,” Casey said.

“And neither do you. That’s kind of the point of relationships, right? To find this stuff out.”

“Did you learn that from the Internet?” Casey asked, eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” Gus said, not even remotely ashamed. Well. Maybe a little. “Yes, I did.”

“I can do… stuff,” Casey said, pressing against Gus. “You know?”

“Really,” Gus said. He felt fuzzy and warm and happy. “Like what?

“Like maybe one day you could lay with your back against my chest and I can watch you jack off.”

And damn, if that didn’t punch the air right out from his chest. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Gus wheezed. “Don’t say stuff like that!”

Casey grinned, and it was slightly evil. “You’d want to do that? With me?”

Gus nodded. He’d want that very much. He didn’t need it, but it was nice to know it was an option. He knew he wouldn’t be able to assuage all of Casey’s fears, not in one night, so he made plans to show him every day that there was nothing to fear. And one day, Casey would believe him.

“Good,” Casey said. “We’ll get there, okay? One day.”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah, man. That’d be awesome. I like kissing you. I like pretty much everything about you.”

“Not a lot of movement,” Gus said, teasing him lightly.

“Not a lot,” Casey agreed. “Maybe some.”

And he lifted himself up, pressing his forehead against Gus’s. For a moment, they stayed where they were, breathing in each other’s air. Then Casey lowered his mouth and brushed their lips together. Gus brought his hand up to the back of Casey’s head, holding him gently. There was movement, but just a little. Casey sucked Gus’s bottom lip between his own and Gus tightened his hold. He felt Casey’s beard scrape against his face, felt Casey’s nose bump into his own, and for the first time in a very long time, Gus didn’t think of himself as abnormal. Or weird. Or strange. Or sad or grumpy or anything else, for that matter.

No. Gustavo Tiberius thought there was a very real chance that he might be completely happy.

And that felt just fine.

 

 

THE NEXT morning.

“Puppy on a Hot Tin Woof? Oh my fucking god. Why the hell would you let me say anything like that?”

“Hey, man. That’s all on you. I still think it’s awesome.”

“Poodle hookers? Casey. Poodle hookers. What the hell.”

“So. No cowriting a novel?”

“No cowriting a novel, oh my god.”