Date: Wed, 24 Apr 2019 15:46:29 -0400 From: RJ Subject: Closer than Ever, Chapter 10 Closer than Ever by RJ This story is about the love been a father and his son and contains sexual activity between the two of them. If such themes offend you, do not read. ***For those who have been following this story***: THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER. Like some of my other stories, I may revisit "Closer than Ever" in the future, but that is not guaranteed. For now, this is where I leave things. Thank you so much for sharing this journey with me. If you have any questions or comments about this piece, want to know about any of my other works, or just want to reach out, please don't hesitate to email me. A list of my works, including links and descriptions, can be found here: https://bit.ly/2S5IYDI. If you would like to be added to a mailing list for this story (or all stories) and receive emails about any updates, let me know. Please also consider donating to Nifty if you can: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ~ Chapter 10 (Dad's POV) ~ "Is that the last box?" Jo just watches me as I lug the final cardboard box from the car into his bedroom and drop it on his desk with a grunt. "Better be," I say, slowly sitting up straight before stretching out my back. Why did he feel the need to pack so many damn books? Now my back is sore. Christ, I hope I'm not feeling that in the morning. "Sweet," he says, looking around the near-empty space. It only has a few essentials: bed, dresser, barren desk. A couple dozen boxes of varying sizes are (for the most part) stacked in the corner of the room, filled with his books, clothes, toiletries, personal effects, bedspreads -- anything and everything he'd need to be on his own. I glance at the pile of boxes before my eyes focus on Jo, my son, my pride and joy, who's officially about to settle into his life in Boston. He's starting college in just under a month. Where did the time go? Seems just yesterday I was teaching him how to walk, how to handle fractions, how to ride a bike, how to change a tire. How to fuck. How to love. And now I'm helping him and his boyfriend move into Brett's aunt's surprisingly well-furnished apartment. Various stages of our life together flash before my eyes, and I start to feel it, that tingling sensation in the back of my throat. I'm getting emotional. Jo notices my expression shift. "What?" "Nothing," I say, shaking my head. Don't cry, Mark. Don't start now. Jo smiles, sensing waterworks are underway. "Daaad," he says, laughing a little. "Fuck," I mutter, looking away and clenching my eyes shut. Suck it back in, Mark. You were doing so well. But I break -- especially when Jo steps forward and wraps his arms around me. I just let myself cry, holding him close and squeezing him tight, allowing the tears to drip down my cheeks. "You're gonna make ME cry," Jo says into my chest. I give him a little watery laugh before sniffling. "It just hit me, is all," I say, stroking the back of his hair gently. I want to memorize every detail of this moment: the feeling of his body against mine, how his hands are gently stroking my back, how soft his hair is. Half of me wants to pack everything up and take him back home, but I have to let him go. I've pushed him this far, and there's no sense in pulling him back. Now it's time to sit back and watch him sail. "You'll still talk to me every day, right?" he asks. I chuckle. I find him naive to think that he'll still try and talk to me every day once the semester really takes off, but I encourage the prospect anyway. "I'll try," I tease. "Not good enough." I roll my eyes, smiling fondly. "Fine. Yes. Every day." "Good." He wraps his arms even more tightly around me, and I kiss the top of his head, leaving my face in his hair. I inhale slowly, letting the smell of him relax me. Suddenly there's a noise outside Jo's bedroom door, and we both separate when we hear Brett's voice. "Oh! Sorry," he says, probably noticing he interrupted a moment. When I look down at Jo, I see that he was crying too. He reaches up and wipes stray tears off his cheekbones. "Just wanted to know if you guys wanted lunch," Brett says. "Might grab a couple sandwiches a few blocks over." "Sounds good to me," Jo says, clearing his throat. "Get me the usual." He laughs. "Okay." Then he turns to me. "How 'bout you, Mr. Henderson?" "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Mark?" I ask, amused. "At least a million," he says with a little smile. I sigh, laughing. "Just get me whatever Jo's having. Here, I'll give you some cash--" I start to say, reaching back to pull my wallet out. But Brett wants to take it upon himself. "No, it's cool, I got it," he says, smiling at us. "Be back in twenty." And with that, Brett disappears from the doorway. We hear him grab something off the table (presumably his wallet) before the front door opens and shuts. I look down at Jo, stroking his hair gently, causing him to close his eyes. I can't believe that, within the next hour or so, I'll be on the road, heading back home, and Jo won't be riding alongside me. He'll be here, unpacking his boxes, setting up his room, probably cuddling with Brett, dreaming about the future. "I don't want to say goodbye to you," I say softly. "Neither do I," he says. Then he smiles. "Just don't hit me with the proud-father speech and I'll be okay." I laugh through my nose, just a short burst of air. "I won't." He looks at me for a moment before taking my hand and leading me towards the bed. I sigh. "Jonah..." "I'm not going to try anything," he says, kicking off his shoes as he climbs onto the bed. He lies down on his side before looking at me, patting the spot next to him. "I just wanna lie with you for a bit." I hesitate before joining him, remembering how things blew up this morning. Restraint, Mark. Practice restraint. I find it hard still, to not think of him in that way. I've gotten better, but only because I have to. I have to be that person for him, the man who says "No," if I'm going to allow him to grow. I remember the night he came back from his trip to Niagara Falls with Brett, about a year ago. I remember the laughter in his voice, a sense of surprise still on his face as if he still didn't believe what had happened in that dingy motel. I asked him what it meant for their relationship, if anything had changed, but he didn't have an answer for me. Everything was unspoken. "Just going with the flow," he said decidedly, which, to me, just seemed like an excuse for them to not have that conversation. But it seems that flow kept bringing them together anyway. Soon, the hookups continued. First, they were months in between. A few random instances. Then, weeks. Then days, depending on what circumstances presented themselves. Then, as their senior prom approached, Jonah casually asked Brett to be his date -- as friends, of course. In response, Brett surprised my son with a question of his own: "Can I go as your boyfriend?" It was an emotional moment for Jo, him telling me about this new development. Graduating from best-friends to boyfriends was a big deal. The excitement was obvious. The joy he felt was radiant. The love they shared even before they officiated themselves was evident to anyone who was around them, and I was just happy that they finally acknowledged it in some way. But then, in the middle of his happy tirade, he looked at me and suddenly broke down. An absolute sobbing mess. A complete shift in mood. He clutched onto my shirt and cried into my chest, and I was so surprised that I could do little else but console him by rubbing his back and holding him close. I said his name, leaning in and asking him what was wrong. It took him a while to compose himself before he pulled back and started wiping his eyes. "Sorry," he said, blinking a few times. I got up to grab a few paper towels for him to dab his eyes with, and when I sat back down and handed them to him, he thanked me. I rubbed his leg gently. "Talk to me," I said. He sniffled a bit before looking at me again. "I know what you're gonna say." I arched my brow. "About?" "This," he said, gesturing between us. I knew exactly what he was talking about. The sex. Our "relationship." It was all fine and dandy before, even if he was occasionally messing around with Brett, because they had never had that discussion about the changes to their friendship. Nothing was official. But suddenly, a label was slapped on their relationship: "boyfriends." And even though a relationship is what you make of it, Jo knew Brett -- to Brett, a healthy relationship required monogamy. And if Jo pursued this with Brett, that meant closing the door on that aspect of OUR relationship. "We knew this would happen eventually," I told him. "Yeah, but... I thought it was going to be you first," he said, laughing slightly. To be fair, I thought the same. I thought I would meet another Max and have to break things off with Jo. But I realized something months prior -- I'd never find another Max. Maybe that was pessimistic of me, but it's the only thing that made sense to me at the time. I didn't think I'd find someone as perfect for me as Max was, and so I stuck it out with Jo and enjoyed things while they lasted. Maybe that would have been easier for Jo, if I was the one to cut the cord. It would shirk the responsibility off his shoulders. "I didn't expect it to feel like this," he said, wiping his nose. "Like what?" "Like... a loss. Like it's the end of us." I felt a sadness then that even I wasn't prepared for. In a way, it did feel like an end. A sudden one at that. I was positive that Brett and Jo would end up together eventually, considering the way they'd been acting over the past several months, but it was still a bittersweet surprise to hear that it had finally happened. Overall, though, I was happy for him. Ecstatic, even. And in that moment, I was more than willing to urge him in the right direction. "This isn't the end for us, Jo," I said. He laughed. "But..." he said, knowing I was about to employ that conjunction. I smiled. "But, it does... change things." "I don't want anything to change," he mumbled, rubbing his face in his hands. "Don't you want to be with Brett?" I asked. "Yes," he said, without much hesitation, "but I want to be with you, too." I smiled sadly. "You can't have both, kiddo." He looked up at me with watery eyes. "So I have to choose?" I was right in thinking that it'd be easier if I was the one who had started dating. He suggested juggling both me and Brett in a semi-joking manner, but I reminded him how unfair that would be. So to make this transition simpler, I chose for him. I urged him to focus on Brett, even if he fought me on it a bit. I understood his struggle to agree to these new terms. When thinking about it conceptually, sure, it was easy for both of us to say "Yeah, we'll stop when we need to." But to actually be faced with that prospect is another thing entirely. It was hard. But after a long, tearful conversation, he came around to the idea. It just made sense. It'd be better in the long run. And the important parts of our relationship could still be salvaged, while his relationship with Brett would probably be irreparably tarnished if we were ever found out. We shared a bed together that night for the last time. I think fondly on that night often, remembering the slow, burning passion between us, the depth of my penetration, the way we couldn't look away from each other when our lips weren't locked together. If I focus hard enough, I can recall the exact way he tightening around my manhood when he came. When I made him cum without him touching himself. I remember the look on his face -- a look of shock, embarrassment, confusion, but most of all, resolute pleasure. That last kiss, as I emptied myself inside of him, was a goodbye. We were good over the past few months. We behaved. And nothing changed in our relationship besides the removal of sexual intimacy. It was a tough adjustment, a strangely rigorous exercise in practicing restraint, but we managed to catch ourselves from giving in to fleeting (or sometimes stubborn) temptations over the summer. Soon we fell into the roles we needed to fill: typical, law-abiding, "moral" father and son. No kisses on the mouth. No hands straying beyond the waistline. No initiating something inappropriate. We had to be normal. We had to move on. But we slipped up this morning. It was that one little question: "Should we do it one more time?" It was so casually said as we were packing up his room, Lisa downstairs handling a big goodbye breakfast. I stared at him after he asked me that, and our eyes locked before, like a magnetic pull, our lips and hands and bodies found each other. It was explosive. Passionate. Blinding. Confusing. Sudden. I felt guilty about it after the fact. I still do. But at the same time, part of me is glad I got touch him again. Feel him again. In a weird way, especially with him now settling down in Boston for college, it helped me digest the finality of the situation. This is it. No more frequent sleepovers. No more late-night movies and snuggle sessions. No more secret lovemaking. Now, I have to let him go. Officially. Jo rests his head on my chest, and I stroke his back lightly as I close my eyes. "Do you regret anything?" Jo asks softly. I look down slightly, pausing and thinking. "You mean... with us?" "Yeah." I don't have to ponder my answer. Aside from it interfering with my relationship with Max (which is, in a lot of ways, a huge regret), I don't. "No," I say. Then I clear my throat. "Maybe this morning, but..." He laughs slightly before he clutches onto my shirt a little tighter, making it bundle up in a fist. Then, after half a minute of silence, he speaks up again. "You'll always be my first love, you know." Oh, Jo. How I'm going to miss seeing you multiple times a week. Hugging you when you show up at my apartment. Having a front-row seat to your success. Sharing in your warmth, and intelligence, and love. Feeling how touching your words can be when said to my face. I clutch onto him tighter. This will be good for us, this separation. It gives us both the opportunity to move on, and gives him and Brett the space they need for their relationship to truly flourish. My presence will only confuse Jo. And, in turn, confuse me. This will be good. Even if it is sad. One more. Just one more kiss. One more sweet moment. I slide down a bit, tugging him on top of me, and our lips naturally find each other, just like they did this morning, as if he's been waiting for me to kiss him. This time, it's a tender moment though. We just hold our mouths close. Nothing sensual. Nothing provocative. Just a simple, loving kiss. I plant my lips on his, soaking in the closeness, the softness, the firmness, wordlessly telling Jo how much I love and cherish him until, finally, we separate. I roll my eyes at the page I just received: "ER." The emergency room? Again? I've been down there twice today already to assist with incoming traumas because of the dangerous mix of new hires and new interns. This is what happens when we hire too many untested doctors at once, and when the resident doctors are overworked as it is. Everyone's scrambling because no one knows what they're doing. Turns out it was the same intern who last paged me. This time, though, she did it by accident. She looks terribly flustered and apologetic when I step into the ER, immediately coming up to me and practically begging for forgiveness. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she says quickly, grasping the pager with two hands, her glasses nearly slipping off her nose. "I don't know how to use this thing and no one will show me and--" I just sigh, calming myself. "It's alright," I tell her in a level voice. I have to be patient with these folks, cut them some slack. I remember how difficult med school was. But this girl has a habit of looking frazzled and anxious. Maybe this isn't the career path for her. "I'll show you." I take the pager from her and (painstakingly slowly) run through the basics with her. She thanks me and apologizes again, a little too profusely. Usually I wouldn't be so bothered, but something about her energy is completely putting me off, so I just nod and turn away. I hate how badly I wanted to scream at her. Use her as a verbal punching bag in order to blow off some steam. Where this steam is coming from, I'm not entirely sure, but it's been building lately. I need to brighten up. Refresh myself. Maybe I'll take a mini-vacation or something. A solo trip out west. Somewhere with lots of trees and privacy. I've always wanted to see the Redwoods, so this seems as good a time as any. I turn away from the intern (whose name I suddenly can't recall) and am about to take my leave when something catches my eye. Someone, actually. And to think, I almost passed him. My heart skips a beat and my breath hitches when I see him, sitting just a few feet away from me: Max. I don't know how long I stare for. I'm not even soaking in the details. I'm more so frozen in surprise, suspended for a moment. In disbelief. It's him, isn't it? Fuck, my chest. Or maybe my stomach. Suddenly I feel numb, excited, fearful, overjoyed, anxious. But I just stare -- long enough for him to notice, because, when he looks up from his hand, I'm the first thing his eyes fix on. For a moment he looks surprised. Then, for a fleeting moment, pleased (which I'm happy to see). "Mark!" he says, sitting up straighter, his expression turning back to one of surprise before his face becomes unreadable. Is he skeptical? Sad? I'm not sure. "Hi," I say, at a loss for words for the moment. He gives me a smile, but it's not as warm as I'd like it to be. "Should've expected to run into you here." Here? Oh, right. We're at the hospital. I'm at work. "What are you...?" Then I shake my head, starting over. "Are you okay? Why are you in the ER?" He seems calm, so I'm sure it's nothing serious. But he's by himself, sitting upright in one of the ER beds. "Oh, it's nothing," he says, waving me off before he holds up his bandaged arm. "Just a minor burn." It must have been mildly serious if half of his forearm is wrapped up. "Doesn't seem that minor." He shrugs. "Just a little bit of very, very hot water," he says with a grimace. I wince a bit. "Ouch." "Yeah, ouch," he says with a slight laugh. "I just wanted some tea." I look around a bit. "So is someone helping you, or...?" "Yeah, I think the nurse is getting me a cream or something to take home." He shrugs. "I don't know. I was told to wait so... here I am." I smile. "Here you are." I try not to stare, but I'm still so caught off-guard by his presence. I haven't seen Max in... what, two years now? But he still looks exactly the same as I remember him, down to the dorky glasses. Even his facial hair hasn't seemed to budge. We stare at each other, maybe trying to read what the other is thinking. Why does he have to look so cryptic right now? "Um. How are you?" I ask. "It's been a while." He raises his eyebrows before nodding. "I'm okay. You?" He's asking me how I am too? Why does that make me feel hopeful? Though it could just be out of politeness. "I'm doing alright," I say. "Day by day, I suppose." He surprises me by chuckling. "I know that feeling," he says, and I nod a bit. Then he asks me another question. "How's Jonah?" I feel like I freeze for a moment as my eyes and ears frantically search for any sign of bitterness or resentment. But I can't tell what he's thinking. Or how he feels. "He's, um, good," I say. "Started college at UMass at the end of August," I say. Damn, has it been three months already? He raises his eyebrows. "Oh, really? I didn't expect him to go that far." We both know exactly why he was expecting Jo to stay closer. "It was time for him to leave the nest," I say. Then, all of a sudden, it slips from my lips: "I miss you." In my head, I think fantasy took over -- the fantasy of me telling Max how much I've missed him, how often I think fondly on our relationship (especially of late), how sorry I am that things ended the way they did. The fiction continues with Max saying he never stopped loving me, never stopped thinking of me, always wanted to come back but was too afraid and needed the right moment, the right sign. And this would be that moment. My smile would be the only sign he'd need. But he just looks uncomfortable. That's the impression my words seem to have made upon him, and so I immediately try to take them back. "I'm sorry," I say, "I just--" "I miss you too," he says, looking away from me. I pause, surprised. "You do?" "Of course I do," he says as if it's obvious. He tugs on the bandage around his arm slightly before he looks back up at me, catching my expression. "What?" "I'm just... surprised," I tell him. "I guess I thought you hated me." He squints. "I never hated you, Mark," he says. "Just what you did. I mean, we had it good until then." I can't help but agree with him. "Yeah, we did." I want to kiss him right now. I want to hold him and kiss him and make it up to him. "I'm sorry." "I know," he says in a soft voice. Then, we're interrupted by a nurse coming over to give him a white paper bag that has a cream inside. She tells him how to properly apply it, how often he should rub some over the burn, when he should change his bandage... Max just nods, his focus completely on the nurse. When she finishes running through her mini-speech, he smiles and thanks her for everything, and she returns the smile before moving on to the next patient. Max grunts as he hops off the ER bed, standing up straight. "I should go," he says, scratching his head. I blink. "Already?" Did I say that out loud? He sighs. "Yeah, I have some things to submit before six. This kind of set me back," he says, holding up his arm. Poetry, I'm assuming. Maybe something to do with his publisher? I want to ask, but all I say is "Oh." That's all that comes out. He seems to expect me to say more, because he waits for a moment before nodding. "Well... it was, um, good seeing you, Mark." "Wait," I say, catching his arm before he turns away. He looks at my fingers gripping his bicep before he looks up at me. "Shouldn't we... I don't know, talk?" He arches an eyebrow. "Why?" I get it. He may miss me, but that doesn't mean he's particularly fond of seeing me. Maybe he doesn't want to invite temptation. Or maybe he just wants me to tell him exactly why, here and now, and have that be that. Still, the rough sort of tone he employed hurts a little. I let go of his arm and slump a bit. At my reaction, he seems to soften. "I just thought it'd be good to get... closure?" Is "closure" the right word? Maybe. We never actually talked after that night. He wouldn't respond to the couple of messages I did send, aside from stealthily leaving a box of my stuff outside my front door. I understood why he wanted to cut me off as quickly as possible, but now that I'm seeing him, right now, in the flesh... "We left off at a bad spot." He looks away for a moment as if searching for someone else to pull him from this conversation. "I don't know, Mark." "Please?" I hate that I'm begging right now, but suddenly my biggest motive in life is to make my case to him. And I can't ignore that heavy pit in my stomach that I know Max's presence in my life could lighten. Maybe that's selfish of me. "I'll be out in maybe two hours. How about you come by my place?" I ask. "Or I could come to you. Or... we could meet up. Anywhere you want. Your choice." He stares at me for an uncomfortably long time, clearly hesitating before he says "I'll think about it." I just give him a little nod. "Okay." He takes in the sight of me for another moment before he turns around, bag in hand, and heads right out the sliding doors. Just like before, I watch him go. I'm nervous. Jittery. Antsy. Is he going to show or not? He didn't call, didn't text. Does he even still have my number? It's been over a year. He could have deleted it. And I wouldn't have blamed him if he had. And I can't blame him if he doesn't want to come. Reopening old wounds is never a fun experience -- especially if you don't know whether or not it'll be worth it in the end. But I'm praying, praying, praying he shows up, if just to allow me to try and sway him. He's all I've been thinking about since I saw him four hours ago. Please, Max. Come. I can't deny how lonely I've been these past few months. It didn't truly hit me until that first weekend I was alone, the first weekend (after so regularly seeing Jo most Saturdays and Sundays) that my son was not with me. There was an absence so noticeable that it almost felt like a presence in and of itself. Jo was gone, too out-of-reach, and even though we still kept in contact every day, there was still that uncomfortable ache that said "It's not enough, is it?" After a few weeks, Lisa and I started seeing more of each other. Nothing romantic or anything of the sort, but I think both of us were feeling that empty-nest syndrome that plagues parents. Our boy kept us tethered together after the divorce, but suddenly we found ourselves acting more like friends rather than simply exes. We found solace in each other when we saw how much things were changing -- and just like we expected them to. We both knew Jo would become unintentionally distant when he moved to Boston. Sure, he talked to me more often than her, but the frequency had (and still somewhat has) been dwindling as the semester continued, after getting swept up in classes and a blossoming social life. While inevitable and understandable, it still made us both sad. Bittersweet, I suppose. Having Lisa back in my life was helpful, but not enough. She filled the void only to a certain degree. The rest required someone who I would be more romantically (and sexually) involved with. I tried to take Jo's advice and "get out there again" (after I confided in him about my feelings), but it was like when I started after the divorce: nothing felt right. It was somewhat nice to know that I had no problem landing dates, but the dates themselves (and the men that I took on them) deterred me from wanting to continue down the casual dating path. I tried another doctor, a corporate analyst, a trust fund baby, a chiropractor, a plumber. No one was exciting enough, interesting enough, different enough. No one was enough, period. I kept comparing them to the one guy who I felt was right for me: Max. And because of that uncontrollable comparison, I ended up giving up altogether. No more dating. I tried my best not to slip into a funk, but it was hard not to be cynical after I quit romantics. I told myself over and over, "This is just how it is right now," but the thought still left me feeling bitter and strangely heartbroken. And now, Max. Seeing him during those first few, pivotal moments, where he didn't even notice I was there, both refreshed and scared me. All those feelings came flooding back. All those memories. And for a split second, I thought "To hell with my loneliness. HE is who I want. Who I need. Who I've been unknowingly craving all this time." But the question is, does he want anything to do with me? I hear a knock on the door, and I get this sudden urge to run away, this fleeting desire to face anybody else but Max. Shit. This was stupid, wasn't it? I shouldn't have invited him over without preparing a proper apology. That's the whole reason he's coming, right? To hear what I have to say? What DO I have to say that would sound earnest and heartfelt? That he hasn't heard already? God, I'm an idiot. I take a composing breath and answer the door, finding myself face to face with Max yet again. He looks just the same as when I saw him earlier: thin flannel with the sleeves rolled up, flattering jeans, a bandaged arm. He gives me a tiny smile, but it seems more out of courtesy than anything else. "Hi." "Hey," I say, unable to resist looking him up and down. "I wasn't sure you were going to come." "Moment of weakness," he says, and for a brief second, I feel stung by the joke. But he winces when he sees my reaction. "That's not... not what I meant--" "No, it's okay," I say, opening the door more. Relax, Mark. He's not petty. He's not malicious. Just relax. "Um. Wanna come in?" He seems to hesitate before stepping inside and looking around. Not much has changed since he's been here last. I'm not one for constantly redecorating, so I'm sure he's looking for anything that seems out of place. Or maybe he forgot what my apartment looked like. "Do you want anything?" I ask as I shut the door. "Water? Lemonade? Liquor?" "I'm fine," he says, holding his bandaged arm tenderly. I point to it. "How's the arm feeling?" "Still hurts," he says, "but you know. I brought it upon myself." I can't help but feel like that has some double-edged meaning to it, but I don't ask anything further. "Everything looks the same," he says as his eyes wander my place. So he does remember. "Yeah, I don't change much around here." "Hm," he says. Then he gestures towards the bookshelf in the corner of the sitting area. "That's new, though." "Jo and I made it over the summer," I say, and I stare at Max's face when I mention my son. But there's no extra flinch, no sign of disdain. He just nods. "Looks nice." Then he laughs. "A surprising number of books for someone who doesn't read." I smile, glad to see that he feels comfortable enough to tease me in a playful manner. "You won't find any poetry on there," I fire back with a laugh. "Well, except for your book." That seems to catch Max off-guard. "You bought my book?" "Yeah, of course," I say, heading straight to the bookshelf to pull off his small, hardcover book of poetry. I bought it as soon as it came out. Even though we had broken up, I still wanted to support him. And I was surprised to find poems in there that I enjoyed. They took me back to the first time we met, at that poetry club, when he free-styled on stage about me. That was the first time I was ever stirred by a poem. "I can't say I understand it all," I admit, bringing the book to him to prove my ownership of his collection, "but I found some of them to be really touching." He takes the book slowly from me and then strokes the cover with his fingertips. "How did it do, by the way?" Max doesn't respond at first. I have to say his name to get his attention. "Huh?" he says, looking up. "Oh. Um. Really well, actually. I'm working on another one now, and..." But he trails off, because suddenly, his eyes shut. "Max?" I ask. My first thought is that he's dizzy or something, or feeling faint from the pain in his arm. I suppose that's the doctor in me. But he turns away -- and not before I see why. He's crying. "Sorry," he says, lifting his glasses to wipe at his eyes with the back of his hand. "What's... what's wrong?" He sniffles a bit but keeps his composure. "I wish I hadn't come here," he says, and I feel my heart sink. "It's bringing back old feelings." "Good ones, I hope," I hesitantly. He smiles sadly. "That's the problem." He sighs heavily, handing me the book back. "It'd be easier if I hadn't seen you today." "It doesn't have to be hard," I tell him, taking the book and holding onto it. "Sure, but it still is," he says, taking a seat on the couch and rubbing his face. I consider consoling him a bit, but I don't want to overstep my bounds. I have to be careful about what I do and say because he's clearly feeling vulnerable. I want to be honest, but not take advantage of him. In some respect, he has to come to me. After half a minute, Max looks up at me. "Why did you invite me here?" "I just thought we could talk," I say, setting the book down and joining him on the couch. "Or, should." "Why?" he asks again. I sigh. "Because -- I'm selfish and lonely and I miss you and I hate that I fucked up what we had." He smiles slightly, and this time, it feels a little warmer. "So you admit this is more for your benefit than mine." "Yeah," I say, smiling back. "I'm just hoping for the best here." "Which is...?" Should I be forward? In a perfect world (or at least, my imagination of it), we'd talk it all through, come to an understanding, and get back together. Nice and easy. Pick up right where we left off. But something holds me back as soon as I start to speak, and I say that I don't know. Immediately, though, I regret chickening out. "I still want you, Max," I say. "Mark," he says with a sigh. But he doesn't say anything further, so I continue. "I haven't felt the same since we broke up. And seeing you again today..." "...What?" he asks after I trail off. "It brought it all back," I say, exhaling slightly. "How I felt the first night we met. How easily we clicked and fell in love. How much love I still have for you... How selfish I was for hurting you." I look down at my lap for a moment as the memory of our breakup comes flooding back. I spent so much time trying to forget about Max after we ended things because I figured he didn't want anything to do with me. But I guess forgetting isn't the same as getting over someone. "I took it all for granted, because it was so easy to love you. You just... I don't think you understand how happy you made me, Max. I was better with you." He looks at his fingers for a moment before asking a question. "What if I'm better without you?" That's what I'm afraid of. "Are you?" He stares at me for a long moment, calculating. He must be coming up with a way of turning me down gently. I brace myself for him to tell me that he IS much better without me. In fact, he's probably dating someone right now. Max is a catch. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a man waiting for him at his apartment, someone who's kinder than me and more handsome than me and doesn't have a son. Fuck. How did I not even consider that possibility earlier? What I didn't expect is the kiss. Suddenly Max leans forward quickly, as if acting on impulse, and presses his lips against mine. Oh God. I feel it, that warmth. That soothing, internal sunshine. Right off the bat, they're not just simple kisses. These are deep and carnal. I close my eyes and press my lips back against his, moving like we're starving for each other, letting my body react to his: leaning closer, hands reaching for a thigh, fingers gripping shirts, tongues slicing against tongues. Already our kisses are breathy, needy, electric. Erotic. I feel Max grip the hem of my shirt and start tugging on it eagerly. Should I stop him? Should we talk about what we're about to get ourselves into? But then Max lightly sucks on my tongue, and all inhibitions are tossed right out the fucking window. I lift my arms, letting him pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor like it was just an obstacle. There's a slight chill once my torso is exposed before I feel his warm hands start to roam my body, touching me anywhere he can reach. He quickly swings his leg over my lap and straddles me as he resumes with the kissing, the lip-lock deep and secure as we grab at each other like long-lost lovers. It feels like an eruption. Like we've both been holding back for too long, and finally, we're getting what we want. I reach between us to undo his flannel as quickly as possible, my fingers agitated. I almost get annoyed at them, these inanimate objects. I need them undone, and I need them undone immediately. I finally get them all opened, and I pull his shirt off a little too eagerly. In my excitement, I completely forgot about his burn, and I nudge it too hard when I try to pull the sleeve off his arm. "Ow, ow, ow!" he says, pulling back and hissing. "Shit, I'm sorry," I say, holding my hands back, panting slightly, out of breath from the hungry kissing. "You okay?" "Y-yeah," he says, holding his hand gently over the bandage before he starts laughing slightly. "I'm such an idiot," he mumbles. "No you're not," I say, resting a hand on his opposite hip as he clenches his teeth, waiting for the burn to stop stinging. I get under his flannel though so that I can touch his skin with my thumb. He's so warm, and soft. God, I missed the feel of him. After a minute, once we've both caught our breath and his arm doesn't throb, he glances at me. Then he reaches forward and starts stroking my jaw lightly with his fingertips. I keep my eyes on his as his fingers roam closer to my lips, kissing the tips of them when they dance across my mouth. "We shouldn't," he says softly. "Why not?" I ask. "It makes things confusing." I let him play with my bottom lip. "I don't want to confuse you," I say. He smiles a little bit. "Too late," he mutters, moving his fingers down my torso. Then he moves them back up, resting them over my heart. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me," he says after an excruciatingly long pause. "I just thought you should know that." That's at least comforting to hear. That he knows I'm sorry. That he somehow trusts me, in that regard. I slide my hand up to his and place my palm on top of it, giving it a gentle squeeze as I smile sadly up at him. "I still want to make it up to you. Somehow." Was that the right thing to say? I've always found it a bit cheesy when someone says "Let me make it up to you." Some feelings can't be remedied. Sometimes, what's broken stays broken. But here's me hoping that I can do something, anything, to fix this, to get back what we both lost. Out of fear of interrupting him, I try to keep my mouth shut and just watch him sort through his thoughts, but all he does is stroke my chest lightly, staring at my skin. "What are you thinking about?" I finally ask. He sighs through his nose. "Everything." Then, he leans down and kisses me gently. One soft kiss, damp enough to make our lips smack against each other in the quiet of my apartment. He slides off my lap, standing up in front of me. My first thought is that he's about to get dressed and take his leave. But he surprises me by pulling his flannel off himself (more carefully than I tried to remove it), letting it drop to the floor before he offers his hand. I grin a little, giving him a look that asks him if he's sure. But he doesn't budge -- not until I take his hand and let him lead the way to my bedroom. We take things much slower now. Not just because of his arm, but because I want to (and I think he does too) elongate this as much as possible before regret shimmies its way in. I shut the door behind us and, once he takes his glasses off and sets them on my nightstand, I kiss him. We just stand there, slowly making out, my hands on either side of his face as he wraps his own arms around me. I missed this more than I realized. This contact, but specifically with him. There's still a familiarity between us that hasn't left my memory, and I take advantage of that. I move my lips across his cheek and make my way to his weak point: his neck. As I suck on it gently, I elicit a soft moan out of him, feeling him dig his nails into my back tenderly. I pull back a bit and look down as I start to undo the button on his jeans. We get somewhat methodical about stripping nude, but once we're both naked, we stand in front of each other, letting our eyes drift before our lips connect again. We kiss slowly, pressing our fronts together snugly. Complete contact. All skin on skin. It feels nice to just hug and kiss in a soft manner for a while. Then, I start to make a move. I kiss my way down his soft torso slowly until I'm kneeling in front of him, his soft cock against my chin as I glance up towards his face. There's a moment where he seems to hesitate -- where I think he's going to look away, rethink this decision, maybe stop me. But he doesn't. His eyes stay fixed on mine, even as I open my mouth, tilt my head down, and guide him in. Both of us moan once I have my lips closed around his shaft. Even my eyes shut. I missed his taste, his scent, the fullness of him. I slide my hands up the backs of his legs and grip his ass as I start bobbing back and forth, sucking him to hardness. I feel his fingers in my hair, holding on firmly as he pants lightly. I make sure to take him deep, happy that I still turn him on, still get him going. And it's clear, because he rewards me with copious amounts of precum. I moan at the taste, pulling back to the head and just suckling on it gently as he throbs and leaks repeatedly. I let my tongue swirl around slowly, coaxing more and more of that precious liquid out. I pull off with a gentle "Pop!", licking my lips and swallowing before I look up at him. He reaches down and rubs my bottom lip with his thumb, and I take it into my mouth gently, letting my tongue wander around his finger before he has me stand up. He hooks his hand into the back of my neck and reels me in for one deep, yearning kiss. Somehow, without really guiding each other, we find ourselves on the bed, moving seamlessly. Like a unit. Like a practiced pair. He keeps kissing me while hovering over me until he decides to move his lips elsewhere. I feel his hand before I feel his mouth, though. I moan as he grips my cock firmly for the first time tonight. It's been a while since I've had any sexual contact, and even longer since Max and I did anything. I missed his sure hand. His loving embrace. His soft fingers. He strokes me slowly as he kisses my neck, making me groan softly. His fingers tighten around my cock as he moves to lie down on his back, causing me to have to shift with him. I roll onto my side, but he keeps tugging insistently, directing me higher. So I shift up onto my knees and kneel beside his face. Satisfied with my position, he guides me into his mouth before moving his hand to his own cock. I let out a long exhale, feeling my body both tingle and relax as Max works me over with his talented oral skills. Oh, that mouth of his. Those soft lips. That eager tongue. I feel myself practically melting into him, even as his free hand reaches up to fondle my balls. My hand finds his head and grips his hair, but gently. I don't tug. I don't get rough. This isn't that kind of moment. This moment calls for tender touches and gentle moans, and I give him both of those things as I watch him work back and forth on my manhood. I glance down between his legs to see him stroking himself with slow strides, slightly putting his hips into it. It's hot to watch, but I'm suddenly desperate to taste him again. I shift and straddle him, keeping my cock near his face as I move my head between his legs and guide him back into my mouth. He lets out a pleased moan, adjusting to the added sensation before he continues to suck me off, and after a minute, we both find ourselves following a similar rhythm: slow, deep strides that allow us to relish in the taste of each other while our tongues swirl around our glands every time we slide up to our heads. I feel strangely complete, being pleasured while simultaneously pleasuring him. Isn't that what proper sex is all about? And it's with Max. God, I can't believe we ran into each other like that. What if I hadn't come across him? What if he hadn't burned himself, or if that intern hadn't accidently paged me again? What would I be doing now? Certainly not kissing down Max's shaft. Suckling gently on his balls. Lapping at his taint, edging closer and closer to his furry little hole. Once my tongue makes contact, once I finally taste him, I moan. Max even spreads his legs a bit, letting out a muffled groan against my cock. I shift up a bit more to get better access, spreading his cheeks wide and then sliding my tongue in between. He's so fucking warm. And delicious. He's always had a peculiarly, inexplicably tasty hole. It's a taste that only makes me hungrier for him. I lap at his hole over and over with long swipes of my tongue, salivating like crazy. I adjust my fingers a little more so that I can spread his hole wider and then more easily slide my tongue past his opening. He lets out a soft moan, my cock slipping from his mouth as he grips onto my side, raising his hips a little as his way of asking for more. I give him more. I give it to him slow and tender, insistent and deliberate. After rimming him for a while, I start kissing back up his body, slowly moving myself off of him until I'm sitting behind his head and kissing him upside down. He pants softly against my lips a bit as I hold the sides of his face, kissing him deeply. He reaches up with his uninjured arm and holds the back of my head, letting his fingers get in my hair. To me, it feels like a beautiful moment -- but I pull back slightly. "What?" he asks, looking up at me. "I--" And then I pause. Is it too much for him? "I want to fuck you," I say, nervous that he'll look scandalized. But his expression doesn't change. He just bites his lip before nodding a couple times. "Okay." I smile. "Okay?" He laughs a little. "Yes. Okay." I plant a deep kiss on his lips before pulling away, standing up, going around the bed, and heading to the nightstand. Please have condoms, please have condoms, please have condoms. I check the drawer I used to keep them in and sigh with relief. Thank God. There are two left -- the same brand Max and I used to use. They're two or so years old, but they're quality, so they should be fine. I pull one out of the drawer and, as I tear open the packet with my teeth, I glance over at Max, who's just lying there beautifully, staring at me. I pull the package from my mouth and smile at him, and when he smiles back, I crawl back onto the bed. I get between his legs, loving that he grabs the back of my head as I lean in to kiss me tenderly. This feels like a moment. Something beyond just feeling horny and wanting to get off with someone. This feels like... us. When Max breaks the kiss, I sit up on my knees, tear open the wrapper, and slowly roll the condom onto my hard-on. I bite my lip as I get it to the base, noticing Max staring intently at my groin. Then, we get into position. I'm careful to avoid his bandaged arm, placing one hand near his head as I reach between us and grab my cock. He holds the backs of his thighs as I search around for his hole, and both of us let out the same short moan once I push forward and finally penetrate him, causing us both to laugh a little. I slide in a little further, working in with just my hips, watching Max's face shift from amused to distracted. His eyes closed as he focuses solely on my cock inching its way deeper inside of him. His head tilts back a little more, and his fingers grip the sheets a little tighter until, finally, I'm all the way in. His eyes flutter open after I hold my position for a moment, and we end up staring at each other, completely in suspense until I lean down to kiss him. Then, as his arms slide around me, I start grinding, thrusting, gyrating. It really feels like we're picking up right where we left off. Like there was no space between that last dinner and tonight's fuck. This feels like lovemaking. Passionate, emotional lovemaking. I missed him so fucking much. Enough to make me cry a bit, even right now, while I'm kissing him. I don't know what the future holds for us, but for right now, I'm going to enjoy this night we're sharing together. This moment. Like it was meant to be. I feel one of his hands between us, rocking back and forth. He strokes himself as I rock my hips, giving him what he so aptly named "The Casanova." Romantic, smooth, tender, focused. Each movement of my hips is calculated for his benefit. I want him to feel it. I want to remind him how good our lovemaking was. How effortless we were together. How desirable he is. For ten or so minutes we rock in unison, like we're one body. I lick my lips as I look down at him, his eyes closed as he masturbates and wraps his legs around my hips. He's getting close. I can tell by the way his upper lip quivers. I remember that distinctly. Plus, his face is more flushed than it previously was. So I increase my speed, depth, and force just a hair. Just enough for him to notice. He lets out a small cry, jerking himself off even faster until finally, he clenches his teeth, squints, grunts, and starts to cum. I feel that warm liquid spurting between us, and I close my own eyes, focusing. Nothing but Max comes to mind. I replay his o-face over and over in my head until I reach my own climax. I swear, burying my face in his neck as I give him one more thrust and fill the condom. I don't make a sound aside from a few hitched grunts, but once I finally finish, I let out a deep exhale in his ear before relaxing all the muscles in my body. I give myself several moments before I slowly pull away from him. I don't try to kiss him or anything of the sort. In fact, once I pull the condom off my cock, toss it in the trash, and then finally lie down next to him, we don't speak for a long time. We just lie there, both of us gazing up at the ceiling. I wonder what he's thinking. What he's planning. If he regrets what just happened, or if he's accepting it and running with it. I know he was hesitant to begin with, and the sex we just shared seemed like an act of temporary blindness, letting our bodies' desires take over for a while. Now it's time to think rationally. So who knows what he's thinking now. Max is the one who breaks the silence. "I haven't had sex since we broke up." That surprises me. "Really?" I ask, turning my head towards him. He nods. "You were a hard one to get over," he says, smiling slightly before he looks at me. "Honestly, that first week was really tough. Part of me hoped you'd chase me down like we were in high school or something. Bouquets, chocolates, a teddy bear, maybe some silly 80s track playing in the background," he says, grimacing. I laugh. "The whole charade." "Exactly." He chuckles too, shaking his head. "How corny is that?" I take a chance and reach over to nudge his side with my knuckles. He doesn't push me away. "Would it have worked?" I ask. He sighs, looking back up at the ceiling. "No," he says. I feel my chest tighten a bit. I don't know what to do. What to say to him. If he knew even his fantasy wouldn't work, how is it going to work now, now that he's had months and months of time to get over our relationship? But then he says something interesting: "Jo reached out to me, you know." I blink. "What? When?" "Last summer," he says. So a year and some change. Last summer was his internship, where we lived together essentially the whole season. Why the hell was he talking to my ex? "What did he... say?" I ask. Max doesn't answer for a moment, but when he does, I'm shocked. "He said that you didn't talk about it much, but he knew that the breakup was hard on you, and that you missed me, and you were happiest with me," he says. "And... he said if there was any chance that I wanted you back, he would step aside." I'm a bit floored, if I'm being honest. Jo has never said anything like this to me. I never knew he was willing to "step aside," like he said. But I guess that explains why he thought I would have started dating before he did. He must have thought Max would have come back. I think Max understands that this is news to me, because he can see the look on my face. "He did?" I ask stupidly. But I don't know what else to say. I'm at a loss for words. Max just nods. "But I didn't want to come in between you two, so..." He trails off before he looks up at the ceiling and sighs. "I wondered for a long time if I could ever just be okay with something like that. You know, with you two... doing what you do." I swallow thickly. "And?" He pauses before saying "I still don't have an answer." I feel horrible. Horrible because I fucked Max over and still ended up enjoying my time without him. I had Jo. And what was Max doing? Actively working to get over me. Not having sex for two years. Debating whether or not he'd be okay with my incestual relationship with my son. It seems terribly unfair to me, and all I want to do is treat him, shower him in affirmations, love and adore him, support him, encourage him. All I want to do is make it right. "We've moved on," I tell him. Max glances at me. "What does that mean?" "He's been with someone since May, and now he's in Boston, so we came to an agreement that we should... you know... stop." Max just stares at me for a while, as if wondering whether or not I'm telling the truth. I get the sudden urge to explain myself even further. "I know what Jo and I have is... It's fucking crazy, is what it is," I say, rubbing my face with my fingertips. "But I never meant for it to happen. Especially in the middle of us," I add, gesturing between us both. "The way things unfolded... It was just bad timing." I feel like I'm not effectively getting across what I want to (whatever that is). Max just sighs. "Mark--" "I still love you," I say, interrupting him. He looks away. "Don't say that." "But I mean it," I say, rolling onto my side and facing him. I stroke his forearm with my fingertips, feeling the emotion flare up inside me. There's a particular joy that Max brings me that not even Jo can offer. It's the openness of a relationship. To be able to public with my affections and proudly profess my adoration for this man. The ability for him to be a true partner. It's something I've struggled with for a long time, but I've come to the conclusion that I really do love him differently than I do Jo. Some ways overlap, of course, but with Max, there's a fullness there. An all-encompassing love. "Tell me you don't feel the same," I say softly, running my fingers down towards his hand. "Tell me you don't feel anything for me and I'll leave you alone." When I look back at his face, I see that he's crying again. Just staring up at the ceiling as water wells up in his eyes and then streams down the side of his face. He's silent for a long time, and when I slide my fingers between his, he squeezes them as if he's tense. Is he thinking? Fantasizing? Processing? I'm desperate to know, but I don't want to say anymore. I've already said enough. Then, suddenly, Max rolls over to face me, quickly moving his hand to the back of my head and kissing me. He inhales as he plants his lips firmly against mine, and I hold onto his side tightly while making every precaution to not hit his arm. I have to practice restraint and not roll on top of him again. I just lie there, letting him do what he wants to me. The ball's still in his court. He pulls back and then sniffles lightly, staying close enough for me to feel his hot breath on my lips. "I'm not promising anything," he says. "Okay." "But I miss you so fucking much." I gulp, clutching onto him tighter. "I miss you too, Max." He sniffles again before sighing. "I wish I could stay," he says softly. I run my hand up and down his side. "So stay." "Well..." Then he laughs. "Problem is, I have a dog now." I arch my eyebrow, pausing. "Really? I thought you hated dogs." "Yeah, but I adopted one after we broke up." I give him an amused grin and he playfully punches my chest. "Don't. I was grieving." "I didn't say anything," I comment. He blushes but smiles. "Well, I have to make sure I let him out and everything." "Okay," I say, thinking he's just going to take his leave. But he surprises me by asking me if I want to come over. "You could... stay the night." I feel the warmth spread in every direction, starting from my chest and expanding. I have to do everything in my power to not smile like a goon. So this is it then. Already a step in the right direction. That, I'll happily take. "I'd love to." We spend another few minutes kissing before we decide to get up. Once Max gets his pants back on, he heads into the living room to grab his shirt, in turn leaving me alone so that I can get some things together. I feel tingly all over as I start to pack a bag with an extra set of clothes. Nervousness and excitement battle for the upper hand. Max clearly doesn't know exactly what he wants to do yet. I'm sure he wants to make sure the sexual chemistry between us (as well as the dredging up of old emotions) isn't clouding his judgement. But I can't help but believe that he's leaning in my favor -- because of tonight, because of what we talked about, because Jo is in Boston, and even because of what Jo said. That might have been an integral moment, Jo telling Max that he would step aside if need be. I wonder if Max would have believed me had I been the one to say that. Probably not. I grab my phone to message Jo. I see an earlier text from him that I missed, asking which credit card deal sounds like a better offer. I tell him my opinion and then I add: "By the way, I saw Max today" in a separate text. Before I can even start to explain what occurred, Jo calls me. I pick up, talking quietly. "Why are you calling me?" I ask. "You saw Max?" he asks excitedly. "Where?" "At the hospital," I say, glancing at the open door. "Kind of ran into each other." "And?!" He's clearly begging for more info. "Did you talk?" "A little. He's, um... at my apartment right now." "What?!" I hear Jo laugh, sounding positively giddy. Which only makes me smile. "Why are you talking to me, then?" "You called me!" I say. "He's just in the other room, getting dressed." "Ooooo!" he says, laughing. "Did you two... y'know?" I bite my lip a bit. "Maybe." "That's a yes," he says, chuckling. "I can't believe it! I had assumed he just-- Wait, wait. Are you guys getting back together?!" Are we? It's certainly possible, but I don't want to assume. I know Max is still sorting through how he feels about me, and me and Jo, and whether or not he wants to talk about that moving forward. "I don't know yet," I tell him. "Baby steps." "Okay, fair. But it'd be nice to see M&M again," he teases. I roll my eyes but smile. It would, wouldn't it? "Did you talk? About... us?" he adds in a quieter voice. I pause. "He said you reached out to him last year." "Oh." Jo doesn't speak for a moment. "He told you about that?" "Yeah." I wait for him to explain, but he says "I don't know what to say." "Why did you say you'd step aside?" "I thought I was doing what was right," he says. Then: "Are you mad?" "No, I'm not mad," I assure him. "Not at all. Just surprised." "I wanted you to be happy, Dad," he tells me. "I was happy with you, wasn't I?" "Well yeah, but--" He tells me to wait. I hear him shuffling around -- probably heading into a different room because before he continues speaking, I hear a door shut. "You weren't the same after your breakup. And after that whole summer, and especially after everything with Brett, I was thinking about how selfish I was being. I felt like I was just take take taking, and even if that isn't how you felt, it's how I felt. That's what kind of pushed me to go to Boston. I didn't want to be separated, but I wanted to give you room for, you know, someone to make you happier than I could. And I hoped that someone could have been Max." He sighs a bit. "After that summer, it just... I don't know, it hit me, how selfish I was. I mean, I ruined your relationship, for Christ's sake." "You didn't--" "I did, Dad," he says insistently. "Just let me take the blame. It was good motivation anyway, to make it up to you. You deserve to be happy, more than anyone I know," he says. "And if there was even a chance that I could... I don't know, rekindle something between you and Max, I had to try." I smile softly, tugging absentmindedly at the zipper on my backpack. "Even if it meant ending things with us early?" "Yeah," he says. I sigh heavily, trying not to get emotional. My boy. My pride and joy. Willing to sacrifice a part of our relationship for me. To me, that's emotional intelligence. That's wisdom. That's love. "I love you," I say softly. He laughs. "I love you more, Dad," he says, and I can practically hear him smiling. "Go back to him. And you better keep me updated." I chuckle. "I will," I say. After we hang up, I take a moment to compose myself before making sure I have everything I need: a change of clothes, a few toiletries, and my toothbrush. I rinse off in the bathroom sink quickly before I meet Max in the living room, who's sitting against the back of the couch, waiting for me. He smiles when he sees me walk in. "Ready?" he asks me. I just smile, nodding as I sling my bag over my shoulder, feeling light, and loved, and no longer uncertain. Max takes my hand and, once our fingers are interlocked, gives me a gentle, reassuring squeeze before leading me out the front door.