Date: Mon, 2 Jul 2001 02:32:52 EDT
From: Dakotajoe2000@cs.com
Subject: Hanging By A Moment, chapter seven

	This story is copyrighted and the sole possession of the author. No
duplication is permitted without the express written consent of the
author. It will contain graphic description of consensual male to male sex
and may be offensive to some. If this is not something you wish to read,
please look elsewhere. Certain events in the story are based loosely on
real events so the names of the characters, with the exception of mine,
have been changed to reflect that. Hanging By A Moment is the title of a
song by Lifehouse. Constructive email can be sent to Dakotajoe2000@cs.com

	Chapter Seven

	A short week after the goodbye gathering at Union Station, Nick
found himself waking up in a new apartment.  There were boxes piled up high
against one wall, the framing for his bed leaned up against another.  The
matress was the only thing laying on the floor, other than two sets of
clothing.  A cell phone rang noisily out in the living room, but Nick made
no effort to get to it.  There was a long day ahead and whoever was calling
could surely wait.  He still had to remind himself that "back home"
was three hours ahead and their day was now into the afternoon.  Nick took
a deep yawn and exhaled.  He needed to brush his teeth, he thought.  As he
rolled out of bed, he smiled happily at the young man laying there with him
and managed to steal a kiss without disturbing his slumber.

************************************************************************

	I sat quietly at the kitchen table.  Dawson was still in bed and I
had no intentions of waking him.  We put in a long night of unpacking the
truck.  I couldn't really imagine why we did that, but it was his idea.
We drove straight across the country, stopping only for gas and bathroom
breaks.  We even ate in the truck.  I was excited to be getting to Oregon,
for sure, but he seemed to be hell bent on it.  We pulled into the
complex's parking lot just after eleven in the evening and I was ready
to call it a night.  He was still ready to go.  We finished everything up
about two am and I sat down on the floor in the entry way.  He reached for
a box to start unpacking and I had to call him off of it.
	I know how upset he was over this whole move.  He told me that he
was completely supportive of me, but I always questioned that without
letting him know.  I had known for quite some time that I was going to be
moving, it just happened to be poor timing for us to meet each other.  I
kept myself from getting too attached to the boy, but aparently he
hadn't been that successful.  His non-stop driving and wanting to
unpack right away seemed to point to that at any rate.  I was glad that he
had come with me to help settle in, but I also knew that when the time came
for him to go home, it would be that much harder for both of us.
	I picked up a copy of the Oregonian that the welcome wagon team had
left for us.  It was two days old, but the news wasn't important to me.
I wanted to get a feel for the town and what it was going to hold for me.
School didn't start for another seventeen days and I was determined to
be completely ready for it.  I wanted to know the town as well as I could,
and that would mean getting out to see it.
	Hunger found it's way up to my brain and I decided to see what
I could do to appease it.  There were some cereal samples in the welcome
basket as well, so I helped myself.  I ate the box of corn pops without
breathing.  I opened the box and down they went.  The frosted flakes
weren't that easy; that was when I felt these hands tickle me and
partially chewed up flakes went spewing across the kitchen.
	"Dawson?  C'mon, now I'm going to have to clean
up."
	"Aww, poor baby.  I was hoping you were going to anyway.  This
kitchen looks like it last doubled as an army mess hall and a trough at the
Kentucky Derby."
	"Cute," I managed to grumble out from under the table with
my roll of paper towels I grabbed from the cleaning box.
	"Wow, thanks.  I think I've still got morning breath, but
at least I know I've got the look."
	I threw the paper towels at him, which he artfully dodged.  The
next thing I knew, he had a strong grip on my ankle and was tortureously
tickling the bottom of my right foot.  I kicked at him with my free foot
but somehow the boy managed to avoid my jabs.  My ultimate fortune was that
he was enjoying this so much that he doubled over in laughter and lost his
grip on me.  I crawled far back under the table and balled myself into a
fetal position.
	"General Longstreet," Dawson said, "bring your men
forward, for I fear that they may attack."
	He was laughing so hard at this time he didn't even see me
crawl out from under the table.  I was quick to get to the bedroom and grab
a pillow.  A "cereal" killing was one thing, but to mangle the
lines of my favorite movie was a completley different story.  Gettysburg is
sacred, and to misquote Martin Sheen in such a fashion deserved a good
beating with a pillow.  I wasn't aware of what I had started though.
	Wham!  The pillow caught him across the back of the neck, but the
events that unfolded didn't aid in my defense any.  I had grabbed the
wrong pillow.  I had certain pillows that lay on my bed during the day to
compliment my bedspread and I had grabbed one of those by mistake.  Large
goose down feathers went flying everywhere.  Dawson had turned the fan on
the evening before while we were unloading the truck and the circulation in
the room picked up the feathers like dust in the wind.  I was sneezing in
no time and had nothing to do but run to the balcony for some fresh air.
Feathers followed me out onto the porch and softly floated to a certain
death in the busy parking lot below.  I turned and looked at Dawson who was
hunched over in pain from his laughter.
	I sighed quietly to myself and had to grin at the situation.  It
was very funny in hindsight.  I picked up feathers as I walked across the
room and deposited them in the waste basket.
	"What are you doing?" Dawson questioned.  "Those would
be perfect for your boa.  They match your evening gown so well."
	I laughed at the thought.  He was winning at every turn and I had
to bail on the moment in order to pull myself together.   "I'm
going to grab a shower," I announced.
	"General Longstreet, I fear we must retreat to fight another
day."
	"Okay Dawson, look, you won....please, stop ruining the movie
for me.  If you're not careful, I'll have to start misquoting
`Clueless' as revenge."
	He shot me this most painful look as I walked towards the bedroom.
Point for Nick.  I grabbed my Abercrombie madras shorts from my overnight
bag and headed for the shower.
	"'Clueless' is NOT my favorite movie," I heard him
bellow from the other room as I turned on the water.  I grinned to myself
and enjoyed the shower.

	Dawson had a quick shower as well.  Still a little wet from not
drying his hair, he put his arms around my waist and squeezed.  I let him
hold me for a second before I pulled away.  I went back to toweling off
some of the dished that I was cleaning in the sink.
	"So, stud, what is the plan for today?  More unpacking?"
	I looked across the little counter separating us and smiled at him.
	"No.  You're leaving tomorrow and I was hoping that we
could just spend the day together.  I can do this stuff in the next two
weeks before school starts."
	"A'ight.  It sounds like a plan.  Got anything specific in
mind?"
	"Well yeah, for starters, I'm hungry.  I didn't get to
finish breakfast this morning."
	"Picket's Charge will go down in history now as a
success." He grinned.
	"Oh please.  Anyway, there is this pizza place I want to have
lunch at.  You game for that?"
	"Hmm.  Yeah, I could go for that.  How'd you find it?  Was
it in the paper you were reading?"
	"No, silly.  Pizza places don't place ads in local
newspapers."
	"Whatever.  I'm hungry, let's go."
	With that, we were off.  I knew it was going to be a pleasant
afternoon.  The sun was out and bright.  I'm sure that it had burnt off
the morning fog and things were looking up.


	We got to Cannon Beach just after one in the afternoon.  It was
crowded.  I had forgot that this was Saturday, and with such pleasant
weather, we weren't the only ones in from Portland for the afternoon.
We had to park all the way down Hemlock Street and walk back to town, but I
didn't mind.  We got to take a look at some of the scenery, and we
walked past Haystack Rock.  Dawson hadn't even seen it in my
photographs, so he was pretty much in awe.
	Neither one of us was in a hurry to eat.  I had told him where we
were going for lunch, so he made me stop at Wendys for some food on the
way.  I guess that was okay, because we got to look at all the galleries
along the way.  I love the nature store on the second floor of the
"mall".  I was already decorating my beach house for when I made my
first two million.
	We continued on down the busy street watching people as we went.
We stopped in the Christmas store where Dawson picked up a gift for his
sister.  It was a miniature ornament version of Haystack Rock.  I liked the
idea, but I figured I was living in the area and didn't need a daily
reminder of my favorite beach.  I had enough of those without ornaments
hanging from my tree.
	Our last stop before what was now going to be dinner was
Bruce's Candy Kitchen on the far side of town.  They had every kind of
taffy you could imagine.  Dawson and I each bought a couple of pounds.  I
had favorites that I stuck with, but he went for the kill and got some of
each.  I figured that he'd be sick at some point on the flight home.
	We walked out into the late afternoon sun and decided to make our
destination and then head back into town, maybe catcing a movie at the
cineplex.  As we were walking back towards the center of hustle and buslte,
Dawson noticed a guy sitting off to our left.  He was doing characatures
and had attracted quite a crowd.  I got tugged over to watch and before
long, he had us both sitting for the young guy.  I was blushing to the
fullest extent....Dawson had pulled me onto his lap and was holding me at
the waist.  The young artist winked at one of us, or both maybe, and began
his work.  Some stupid woman in the group watching said how cute we looked
together.  She wanted to take a pciture of us, because we represented what
was "right" about America.  We could be who we wanted and were okay
with being seen that way.  I rolled my eyes and noticed the artist pull a
faint smile.  I figured he knew what was going on.
	Dawson got tired of her chatter after a bit and told her to shut
up.  Several of the people clapped.  She disappeared and the young guy
finished his work.  It was masterful.  He had captured the entire essence
of us as a couple.  I pulled out a twenty dollar bill and added it to the
one Dawson had given him.  The boy smiled at us and handed me a card.  It
had his name on it, along with a URL for some website.  I'd have to
check it out once I got my pc back up and online.
	"So, tell me about this pizza place."
	I shrugged my shoulders.
	"What's to tell?  They had really good pizza the last time
I was here.  I really wanted to bring you here to show you the beach and
the town.  It's become a part of who I am."
	"Damn, look at the line!"
	"Yeah, I know.  I told you they had good pizza.  It'll move
fast though, trust me."
	We made some small talk while we waited in line.  We joked a little
bit about me becoming a Seattle Mariners fan.  It was a complete joke
though...he knows that I wouldn't give up on my Indians so fast.  We
commented on real estate in the area and what it would take for me to live
in the tight little community: only my first fifteen royalty checks, I told
him; that is, assuming I'm ever published as a writer and successful on
the best seller list.  The line moved quickly.  I had turned to talk to him
as we approached the counter.  My back was to the counter when I heard some
guy yelling from the back.
	"Hey!  Get up here, we need some more help kiddo."
	I turned my head briefly, but went back to my conversation that I
was wrapped up in.  We were discussing the virtues of parmesan cheese as a
topping and I was watching a cute boy farther back in the line.  I heard
`next!' and turned with Dawson to place my order.  I stopped cold
in my tracks about two feet from the counter.
	"Nick?!  What are you doing here?"
	My face went pale and I started to shake.  I didn't want this
to happen at all, let alone here.  Dawson and I had been holding hands ever
since we left the artist's group.  I squeezed his hand tighter, the
other one dropping to my side and I looked blankly up at Dawson.
	"Hmm," he said.  "Let me guess, you're Jason?"


Constructive comments or criticisms can be sent to Dakotajoe2000@cs.com