Can Anybody Find Me (Kiss Me at Midnight) Page 2

  The first bell rang, startling Will out of his brooding. He reached into his bag for a dry erase marker and his notes on the Peloponnesian War, dismal mood dissipating as his students began to drift into the room.

  *~*~*

  Home. Finally. He had taken his speech and hearing science exam, and his language analysis project had been handed in. His third quarter report card grades and comments were all in, and he had nothing new to grade. He had survived another depressing day in the clinic. There were still five days left before The Day.

  Letting out a deep breath, Will unlocked the door and walked inside, ready to flop down on the sofa and try to forget about his day in the clinic—until he took in what was happening in the middle of the kitchen floor. Max looked up at him, caught in the midst of happily tearing the collar from Will's favorite blue dress shirt, and a blaze of temper ripped through Will. A billow of resentment as dense and choking as smoke followed quick on its heels. Andrew was supposed to be home by now. Where was he, and why hadn't he stopped Max from destroying yet another thing Will didn't want to replace? It was too late to save the shirt, but Will wrenched it from the dog's mouth anyway, Max's tail wagging excitedly all the while.

  "Max," Will said with forced calm, "where is your bone?"

  Max tilted his head to the side, eyebrows dancing independently in a quizzical way that always made Andrew chuckle. When he wasn't filled with murderous rage, Will adored it too.

  "Max," he repeated, "where is your bone? Get your bone."

  As Max trotted off to look for it, Will did his best not to compare his puppy to the five-year-old he had tested that afternoon in the clinic. He balled up the ruined shirt and tossed it in the trash, not wanting to think about how similar the words his dog had understood were to the comprehension tests the boy in the clinic had failed. Forcing examinations of absent referents and action-object relations from his mind for the moment, he went into the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. Grabbing a glass of water on his way to the living room, he tried not to imagine what it would be like to go through life with a child who would never do at twenty what an average child did at eighteen to twenty-four months. He was unhappy enough without that sort of thinking.

  By the time the sound of jingling tags signaled Max's return, Will was sitting on the sofa with his drink and his e-reader. Max loped toward him, bone hanging proudly from his mouth. Will patted the cushion next to his leg and waited for Max to hop up onto the couch. Immediately, Max curled up beside him, head and front paws landing solidly in Will's lap, and started to chew. Will winced at the gummy rawhide residue instantly deposited onto his jeans, but he let it go along with his frustration. It was a price he was willing to pay for the comfort of Max's warm, snuggly body pressed close to his and the unfaltering affection in those deep brown eyes.

  They stayed that way until the rumble of a car up the driveway sent Max launching toward the door so fast he nearly skidded out on the linoleum in the kitchen. Someday they were going to replace that with something less dated, Will decided as he ambled along behind, curious to know what had kept Andrew away while their dog snacked on Will's clothing.

  "Hey," Andrew greeted breathlessly when he opened the back door, immediately dumping the plastic bags in his hands on the kitchen counter and wiping a bead of perspiration from his forehead.

  "Hey," Will returned, stepping close for a quick kiss. "How was your day?"

  Andrew shrugged. "It was all right. Long." He turned back to the bags on the counter, pulling out a six-pack of something Will had no interest in drinking and a bag of chips. "I picked up some stuff at the store. I was hungry, and I didn't know when you were going to be home."

  "Oh." Will blinked. It was sad, really, what Andrew considered food. Then again, what could he expect from a man who had survived college on a diet of sandwiches comprised of peanut butter, barbeque sauce, ranch dressing, and American cheese?

  Andrew looked over with an almost shy smile. "I got you a treat." With an awkward little shuffle, he held out a bag of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Will's favorite key lime soda. "You've had a lot going on this week, and I know how hard you've been working, so I thought you deserved a reward. I know you like to eat these when you're studying, so …" He trailed off, looking unsure whether to be embarrassed or proud of himself.

  For a second, Will thought he might cry. The feeling of impending tears was only momentary, though, and he managed an almost normal, "Thank you, sweetheart." Will took the package from Andrew's hand and set it straight onto the counter so that he could reach his arms out for a hug. He held on an extra moment after Andrew started to pull away, but Will didn't fight too hard to make him stay. Andrew would have laughed about it, but he was stubborn as hell, especially when it came to his personal space. For the same reason, Will didn't reach up for another kiss, even though he wanted it. He would have asked for a lot more than just a kiss if he could have gotten it, but he knew better than to push. It was all right; Andrew's hugs were pretty great all on their own.

  Andrew smiled and kissed Will on the forehead before letting go of him completely. "I'm going to put on my pajamas, and then I'm going to go downstairs and play COD with my brothers. All right?"

  Will nodded. "Fine. Say hi from me."

  "I always do." One more grin and one more quick kiss, and then Andrew was gone with Max fast on his heels. There was a dull clink as Andrew's keys landed in the pile of dirty clothes in their bedroom, followed by the metallic thunk of his belt hitting the floor. Will knew the routine, complete with the search for keys in the morning when Andrew forgot where he had left them. Again. It was a good thing he had Will, or he would never make it to work on time.

  Will leaned back against the counter and picked up the pack of gummy worms and cold glass bottle. A rueful smile touched his mouth as he looked at them. It was a perfect gift. Much as he would have liked to thank Andrew for his thoughtfulness in a much more physical way, he seemed to have found the only man in the world who turned down sex when it was freely offered. After all, Will was pretty much always on offer, and Andrew knew it.

  It wasn't that sex with Andrew was so earth-shattering that Will couldn't get enough. It wasn't. It did not move mountains. It did not leave his throat hoarse from screaming or his eyes streaming with the force of his climax. It was not even close to the hottest sex he had ever had, really. That award went to every time he'd been with Mitch Henderson, a broad-shouldered blond with a fantastic body, killer green eyes, and one hell of a smile, all of which Mitch had known full well. He had known exactly how, where, and when to touch Will to drive him absolutely wild, and he had been insatiable. He had also been a complete douchebag out of bed, and Will suspected that even the fantastic sex wouldn't have been enough to keep Will interested for much longer than their brief relationship had lasted. Will was already having trouble enjoying even the sex by the time he walked into his room before a date to find Mitch balls-deep in his suitemate. He couldn't even muster up any genuine surprise. Sex god and monogamy rarely made a happy pair, and Will would take the latter over the former any day. But Will loved having sex with Andrew, and it didn't matter that it wasn't always mind-bogglingly good because he loved Andrew, and that made the sex great. The only thing he didn't like about it was how insecure Andrew was. It was hard to fully enjoy making love to someone who didn't want Will to look at him too closely lest he see the pounds Andrew had gained since they had been married, and who was convinced that whatever he did wasn't going to be good enough for a guy who had slept with Mitch Henderson. Never mind that Will considered sleeping with Mitch more of an indication of stupidity than of superiority.

  The root of the problem was that Andrew was incredibly self-conscious about the size of his dick. Years of societal pressure, porn, and a terrible first boyfriend had convinced him that bigger was better, and he wasn't big. Will didn't mind, but when he had tried to joke about it by pointing out that, statistically speaking, one out of every two men was smaller than avera
ge, Andrew hadn't laughed. He had just sort of curled in on himself in that way he had when he was embarrassed of who he was and didn't want Will to see.

  Andrew didn't listen when Will explained that he liked Andrew's dick the way it was. It had a gorgeous shape, and it felt great in Will's hand. It was easier to give a good blowjob when he wasn't trying to stuff something nine miles long and half a mile around into his mouth. Being smaller meant whenever it was Andrew's turn to top, it didn't burn so much when he slid in. Will knew there were guys who got off on that sort of pain, but it had never been his personal kink. Yet, no matter what Will said or did, Andrew remained convinced that he couldn't be filling Will enough, that he couldn't possibly be satisfying him, and so he just sort of closed his eyes and tried to get it over with as quickly as possible. If there were ever a gay man in modern America who took the "close your eyes and think of England" approach to sex, it was Andrew. They still both got off, and Will enjoyed it, but he sometimes wished Andrew would let himself go a little more. He thought they both would really enjoy that.

  The worst part about Andrew's self-consciousness was that he got very defensive any time Will tried to initiate anything more than a quick kiss or touch. He would gently push Will away if Will didn't take the hint. So Will had learned to be patient—and to take care of himself from time to time. He had gotten used to it, and he understood why Andrew was skittish; he just sometimes missed the days when they were dating and their dinner burned because they were too busy making out in the middle of the kitchen to notice or care.

  Heaving a sigh, Will went back to his e-book, taking the pack of gummy worms and bottle of soda with him. Andrew was right; after the day he'd had, Will had earned a treat. When the first sip of key lime fizzed up his nose and made his eyes water, his face broke into the biggest grin he had worn all week.

  After reading three chapters of a new biography of Napoleon and consuming enough sugar to make a normal man ill, Will made his way down to the basement with his backpack in hand. Max met him at the bottom of the stairs, running back and forth across the carpet excitedly until Will reached down to run a hand along his back.

  Andrew's face lit up when he saw Will. "Do we get to hang out now?"

  "Depends on whether you're done playing yet or not." Will moved past Andrew to flop down on the other end of the couch Andrew was occupying. Max followed, body a mass of wriggling parts as he squeezed between them. Andrew grinned, reaching out to scratch Max's belly and tug one of his floppy ears.

  "How was your day?" Andrew asked.

  'How was my day?' Will thought. 'Terrible. I started checking off our dog's sensorimotor skills and Piagetian levels of cognitive development. I spent all of my free time wondering whether I'm making a huge mistake, wasting months of my life and thousands of our dollars. I planned lessons I'll probably never teach instead of focusing on the skills I'm supposed to be using in the clinic. I thought about how disappointed you would be if I quit. I nearly had a panic attack because of the pressure and uncertainty I'm experiencing constantly these days, and I'm terrified to tell you because I don't want you to be unhappy or to see what a failure I am.'

  "Fine," he answered, shrugging. "I've got a test to study for later. It shouldn't be hard, but at the very least, I should review the ages of acquisition for normal phonological development."

  One corner of Andrew's mouth quirked up. "Sure, sweetheart," he said, the twinkle in his pale blue eyes indicating that he had no idea what Will was talking about and that they both knew it. "Not too long, okay? I want to actually spend some time with you while you're home for once."

  Will nodded and dragged his backpack over to the edge of the couch. He pulled his legs up, tucking his cold feet under Andrew's warm thighs. Andrew rolled his eyes and shot Will a pointed look, muttering under his breath with feigned annoyance that he wasn't a space heater, but he didn't protest or move away. Smirking a little, Will opened his binder and immersed himself in speech-sound disorders while Andrew put his headset back on and played Call of Duty online with his younger brothers for a little while longer.

  By the time Will resurfaced from his notes, Andrew was watching American Pickers. Max was snoring loudly between them. Blinking, Will craned his head around to get a view of the clock on the wall behind him. An hour and a half had passed while he had been studying. His stomach let out a loud rumble.

  Andrew slanted a smile his direction. "Hungry?"

  "What do you want for dinner?" Will asked, stretching until his back popped satisfyingly. "I can't believe we haven't eaten yet. Aren't you starving?"

  "Yeah, kinda. What do we have?"

  Will mentally scanned the contents of the refrigerator and pantry. "Eggs; cereal; spaghetti, but no marinara; cheese; bread, I think, unless it's moldy. I could make omelets, grilled cheese, pasta with olive oil and parmesan, waffles …" He shrugged. "That's all I can think of. Any of that sound good?"

  Andrew wrinkled his nose. "Chinese?"

  For a second, Will thought about protesting. They had ordered pizza two nights before and gone out the day before that. But then he thought about the amount of effort it would take even to make grilled cheese, and he was nodding before the word "okay" even made it to his lips. The drive to Lotus Garden would require almost as much effort as grilled cheese, but it would yield more food, and it would provide lunch for the next day as well. He reached for his shoes as Andrew dialed the phone.

  Half a carton of lo-mein, a full order of crab rangoons, and the better part of a container of sesame chicken disappeared before either of them even thought about sharing anything with their quietly drooling puppy. The demands of his own stomach satisfied, Will glanced at his empty bowl and Max's silent, completely rapt attention on it. He reached over and put it on the floor, smiling slightly when the eager puppy instantly grabbed the fork in his teeth and ran behind the couch to lick it off.

  "Done with all your work for the night?" Andrew asked as Will propped his feet up on the corner of the coffee table.

  Will nodded. "Done with everything I'm going to do tonight, at least."

  "Good. Then come down here," Andrew ordered imperiously, holding up one corner of the blanket draped over his lap. He stretched out on his side, arm held open wide. "I've got a Will-shaped hole here in front of me on this couch, and it needs to be filled. Come snuggle."

  "I'll fill any hole you need plugged," Will quipped, even though he knew it would make Andrew roll his eyes, which it did. He obediently slid into the warm cocoon left open for him between Andrew's body and the blanket, snuggling back against Andrew and sighing happily as the weight of Andrew's arm closed around him along with the blanket.

  "That's better." Andrew pulled Will's hips back a little until there was no space between them from shoulder to knee. Busy trying to find a way to rest his head on Andrew's arm without smashing his ear, Will made a distracted little sound of agreement. As Will finally settled down, Andrew started to chuckle. "Good now, Wiggles?" he teased, pressing a kiss to the back of Will's head.

  Will could hardly put into words how good it felt to lie there in Andrew's arms. He felt loved in a way he never did even when Andrew said the words, and Andrew was more outspoken about being in love than anybody else he'd ever known. He made a point to say it to Will's face at least twice a day and usually texted Will at some point in between just to say it again while wishing him a good day. Still, there was something about knowing Andrew wanted to be this close to him, wanted him where he could touch and smell and feel him, that filled Will with a contentment the words never quite achieved. Will could live with Andrew's awkwardness about sex because Andrew held him this way, and that was even better than sex.

  While action to which Will was paying hardly any attention played out on the screen in front of them, Andrew's fingers made their way up to lightly scratch Will's scalp. He practically purred in pleasure, even more when Andrew murmured against the back of his neck, "I love the curling of your hair."

  Will's eyebrows tried for
a moment to twitch together, but he was too relaxed to muster any facial expression but utter bliss. "What does that mean?" he settled for asking sleepily.

  "It means I love the way your hair curls," Andrew repeated, sounding amused. "It was the first thing I noticed about you, you know. Those wide, soft Adrian Grenier curls. I spent half of that first class wondering how badly you'd hurt me if I reached over and touched them."

  That startled a chuckle out of Will. He'd thought they had been over the day they met enough times that there were no surprises left; Andrew loved to talk about how he had known he wanted to marry Will the day they met. Yet somehow he hadn't ever mentioned the hair. Andrew had told him plenty of times that the attraction had been instantaneous. That he had been half in love with Will's smile and sense of humor within minutes. That the moment a few weeks later when Will had grinned and stuck his tongue out at himself right there in the middle of class for making a stupid addition mistake had been the instant Andrew had known there was no other man for him. But Andrew had never mentioned Will's hair before.

  "Your hair is curly too," he pointed out.

  "Like a brillo pad," Andrew snorted. "Not like yours. Your curls are soft, inviting, gentle. Mine are wiry, aggressive, keep-the-fuck-away-from-this-head curls."