Weddings

Chapter 18

Paul blinked wearily, lifting his head and squinting disapprovingly at the clock by his bed. Eight AM. Eight. Why'd you wake me up Richard? He let his head fall back to the pillow, then reluctantly turned to watch his bedfellow.

Richard was sat with his back to Paul, wrapping a sheet around himself as he attempted to escape unnoticed. Paul sat up, grabbing his joggers from beside the bed. Paul always slept naked, so keeping comfy pyjamas by his bed for morning was a necessity, this led to a moment of tired confusion as Paul contemplated the floor; wondering where his old t-shirt had got to. His heart fluttered as the memory struck him. Just trousers this morning then. Probably should buy a new t-shirt too, after all the action that one saw last night..

Paul looked over his shoulder. Richard had stopped what he was doing, now sitting with his head slightly tilted to the side and downwards. He was listening to Paul moving, uncertain of what to say or, in fact, whether anything should be said at all. A moment passed before Richard floated up, the bed hardly shifting as he stood, before slipping out of the room. Well then...

Paul followed him into the hallway. "Richard?" His voice was uncertain but clear; they needed to talk, whether they liked the fact or not. "About last night.."

"Nothing." Richard interrupted, tilting his head in much the same way as he had been doing on the bed moments earlier..

"What?" Paul whispered, thoroughly confused as to what 'Nothing' meant, but disliking the response immensely nonetheless.

"It.. It was all part of the deal." He turned, silver eyes flashing at Paul in the early morning dimness of the corridor. "My part is over; it's up to you now, Paul. Sort it." And then he was gone, into the living room to retrieve his clothes and head home.

"No!" Paul felt that same feeling he had felt in the haystack, the same feeling from Richard's hotel bed. He'd been used. How the fuck has Richard managed to be the user this time? Is there no scenario where I'm in control with this man? "No Richard!" Paul moved after him, storming into the living room and straight into Emil.

"What the fuck are you playing at, Dad?" Paul deflated, shrinking back. His son was as mad as a badger over last night's events, that was clear.

"Ah.. uhm.. Not great timing Emil. I-I'm just.." Paul shot Richard a quick glance, the man was bent to the floor, smooth muscles rippling as he sorted through the clothes he had tugged off so heatedly last night.

"I-I-I'm j-j-j-just.. Ahhh... uhmmm..Hah.." Emil mocked his father's hesitation. "..A c-c-c-cow."

"A cow?!" Paul scrunched his face up in confusion, he didn't have time for Emil's taunting right now.

"Well I assume so!" His son cried, "I assume you were born in a barn? Yes?"

"Son. It's my apartment. I'm entitled to.."

"Yes. Yes, you must be born in a barn. Fucking so loud like an animal, leaving mess everywhere, clothes, a vibrator, lube, hay.."

"There's no hay, son." Paul sneered a little, trying to show Emil this wasn't the time. Another look at Richard showed the man to have pulled on his jeans and be struggling with his shirt, blushing furiously at Emil's words.

"Cum rags lying on the floor, a drinking trough." Emil continued his list, undeterred. Shit! We left the t-shirt right in the middle of the living room! Paul looked at Richard. The man was resting his forearm to the wall and bending to lean his head against it, panting as if he were being sick in an alleyway. He wasn't being sick, though. The only expression on his face was one of pure shame and regret. Paul felt his heart clench, suddenly remembering Schneider's words to him the previous evening; how the drummer had said seeing such a look in Paul's eyes after sharing such intimacy would kill him. Paul suddenly understood the feelings behind those words more than ever. Don't be ashamed. Please. Please, don't be ashamed. "Not to mention the tufts of hair caught on the door hinges! You've been using them as a scratching post again, haven't you?!"