Kiss Me Again, Guido

Kiss Me Again, Guido

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairing: Warren/Frankie

Disclaimer: Kiss Me Guido, with its related characters and themes, does not belong to me. I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and maybe Bryan Batt.

Wherein the audience does pant; the provocative ending just got better; and the actors turn to a more active performance.

They returned to the apartment. Their apartment, now. Frankie helped Warren to the sofa and sat beside him. Frankie was flushed with triumph, success; he'd finally become an actor, he hadn't ruined the show, his family had come to see him and only his mother had fainted; he'd gotten to beat up Dakota. All in all, a good night.

"What are we going to do now?" Warren asked. "Would you like to keep on with the show?"

"Of course I want to keep doing it," Frankie said. "It's my first role. I can't stop now."

"Yes, but if you recall, you kicked the writer; and the backer, who was also your costar, has gone."

"So no money, no actor, and the writer's pissed at me. Okay. We can deal with that."

"How?"

"Dakota's put a lot of work into this, right? Writers don't just write a play and then say, 'Oh, forget about it, I don't care what happens to it.' He's going to want it to be a success. And it's on again tomorrow night. I'm the only lead he has. He needs me. Unless he wants to stand up there alone onstage reciting the lines to himself, both parts. As for the money, that's his problem."

"You're right," Warren said. "He needs you. This is great. He'll come begging to take you back."

"He has a lot of practice doing that," Frankie guessed.

"Tons. But you're sure that you want to do it?"

"You don't think I can?"

"I know you can. You just did. But I know that you were...a little nervous about the kiss."

"I gotta kiss him again?" Frankie asked. "Tomorrow night?"

"Unless you-know-who comes back. You did it tonight, and you were fine."

"I don't like kissing him. I don't like him. Maybe you should do it."

"Do what?"

"My part. His part. Something."

"Frankie, I can't. My ankle-"

"So we'll cut out some of the running around stuff. You can sit and I'll move around you. Hey, it's a paying acting job, you can't say no."

"And you can't hire me. Besides, I... Wait. You want to play the lead and make me do second?"

"Well, you are injured." Frankie grinned.

Warren hit him. "What we need is to talk to Dakota, find out what he's planning to do."

"We meeting for brunch again?" Frankie groaned, slouching back on the sofa.

"Think of it as a tradition."

"Why don't we eat here? Invite him over, I'll make something."

"You cook?"

"Do I cook? Do I cook? I'm Italian," Frankie said, sitting up again. "Besides, what do you think I was doing with the pizza all those years, defrosting it in the microwave?"

"All right. But if he gets food poisoning... Well, I might just laugh at him and thank you, but it won't help us get or keep our jobs." Warren reached for the phone and dialed. "I hope I get his machine. Damn it. Hi, Dakota, it's Warren. No, I'm not calling to gloat. Frankie and I were talking about the play and we had some ideas. Why don't you come over here for brunch tomorrow? Yes, I know that you're busy; you have to find a way to suck you-know-who's - - all right, all right. Just stop by here at ten, then. Yes Frankie's going to be there, he lives here. Yes, I know that he's straight. He's also Roman Catholic. No, I didn't think that you'd be surprised. I don't care. Bye."

"He's coming?" Frankie asked.

"Unfortunately."

"Great. I'll do the cooking, you do the talking, we'll hit the stage tomorrow night."

"Frankie, you know that... I like you living here, but it's... You'll be sleeping on the sofa."

"No kidding."

"You don't mind?"

"I'm not moving back home, I can't afford any other place. I can't afford this place, either, but as long as I'm here why leave? The sofa's fine, you and I get along, what's not to like?"

"Good. Okay."

"And when I pick up a girl, we'll just go back to her place."

"Good. Okay. Then I'm going to sleep."

"Okay. Good night. You want some help?"

"No, I've got it."

Saturday morning, Warren just sat and watched as Frankie did the cooking. "There are only three of us," he said.<br>
"I know."

"I don't have a waffle iron."

"I got it from Meryl downstairs. Pino slept over at her place last night and he was still there when I went down this morning. Still there! Pino never sleeps over, ever. Normally he just goes in, does her, and he's out of there."

"I hate guys like that."

"You don't do that?"

"All right, maybe once or twice, but it was a long time ago. You do that?"

"Me? Nah."

"Are you blushing?"

"Blushing? Why would I be blushing? Little girls blush. I don't blush."

"Okay." He moved to answer the door. "Terry? What are you doing here?"

"Is Frankie here?"

"He's in the kitchen. You have to go - - Dakota's coming."

"What smells so good?" Terry asked, walking past Warren to the kitchen. "Frankie? You cook?"

"He's Italian," Warren said, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, how you doing?" Frankie asked Terry.

"Tell me about your friend Joey Chips."

"Joey?" Frankie asked. "What do you want to know?"

"And why do you want to know it?" Warren asked.

"He seems nice," Terry said, trailing his fingers along the edge of the kitchen table.

"Excuse us," Warren said to Frankie, and grabbed Terry, dragging him from the room physically. "Joey Chips?! Terry, he is straight. He's Frankie's friend! What are you doing?"

"He's nice," Terry said. "Okay, he got drunk and passed out, but he's nice. He's sweet. He let me suck him off."

"He let you what?!"

"I think that he thought - - did you say that Dakota's coming?"

"Do not change the subject."

"Don't you change it either. Dakota? Why is he coming here? Frankie's cooking for him? What is that, the straight boy's version of the casting couch?"

"Apparently Frankie likes to cook."

"Is he any good?"

"I don't know. Will you leave?"

"No. I want to stay and eat and say hi to Dakota. There he is now!" Terry went to open the door. "Good morning, Dakota."

"Terry."

Terry turned and went to the kitchen.

"Warren, it smells great in here," Dakota said.

"Frankie's cooking."

"For me? I hope you hid the arsenic."

"Why would I do that?"

"Why did you want me here, anyway?"

"Have you found a backer?"

Dakota made the "4" sign. "-is going to put up the money, but he's out of the show. He said that he'll prostitute me but not himself, something like that. The important thing is that I have the funding."

"And no actors."

"Frankie and I can do it."

"You're a writer, not an actor."

"I can do both."

"No you can't," Frankie said from the archway. "Not with me."

"Meaning what?" Dakota asked.

"You want me in your show?"

"Don't start making demands," Dakota said, "and don't threaten me. I can get another actor fast, believe me."

"By tonight?" Frankie asked. "A good actor who knows all of the lines? I am a good actor and I know this play. I've done this play."

"What do you want?" Dakota asked.

"I play lead. Opposite Warren, not you."

"Warren's hurt."

"So he'll sit."

"Last night you were begging me to be up there, and now you're the one saying that my injury should keep me off of the stage?" Warren asked Dakota.

"Do you want us or not?" Frankie asked. "We know this play as well as you do. Or would you rather find someone completely new for tonight?"

"All right," Dakota said. "You can do it. Come at seven so we can do blocking." He left.

Frankie high-fived Warren. "Yes! Come and eat." Frankie frowned. "Hey, what's wrong? You got the part."

"He kept insisting that I do it, and when the bottom formerly known as John ran out he begged me to be up there. Today he says that I'm hurt and I can't do it."

"Yeah, I heard. You think he's mad? He doesn't want you up there because he's pissed at you?"

"You're the one who kicked him."

"So he's just a big jerk. What's new? Come and eat, you'll feel better."

That night Dakota led them through a rehearsal. They knew the lines already; the main issue to be worked out was blocking, how they'd stand and move. For the most part, Warren sat and Frankie moved around him. The curtain would rise and fall on a seated Warren so that no hobbling or crutches would be viewed by the audience. And, soon enough, Warren would be healed and they could return to a more active presentation.

Despite having to work for Dakota in a badly written play, Warren was enjoying himself. It was a real treat to be able to work again, and to work with Frankie, who actually acted, and acted well. He felt that he and Frankie could achieve success here, rising above Dakota's inadequacies and coming to be better actors themselves.

Of course, then came the kiss at the end of the play, the evening's final moment. He remembered how stricken Frankie had been the night before, and he hoped that having to kiss wouldn't ruin an otherwise promising performance. Frankie said the final words; he turned onto his back, looking up at Frankie; Frankie gave a nervous smile and kissed him, lips pressing to lips. Then the audience applauded and Frankie sat up and the play had finished.

Warren received praise from friends and strangers and Dakota. Frankie hugged him and Meryl said that maybe there was hope for men after all and Terry said that this could kick off his career.

His friends took him out to celebrate his opening night; Frankie declined the invitation and went home. When he got home himself he found Frankie asleep on the sofa in a T-shirt and boxers, Face/Off in the VCR. He turned off the television and draped a blanket over Frankie. It really wasn't fair to expect Frankie to continue to sleep on the sofa, but he didn't want Frankie to leave, either. The least he could do was get a pull-out couch. Of course, it might be nice if he used his money for rent, too. He was working again, but not for much. Well, he could always sell his body on the streets. Or pimp Terry. Now that might work...

Of course, if he were pimping anyone, Frankie would bring in the most money.

Oh, god, that was cruel. He shouldn't think dirty evil thoughts about the poor kid. Frankie was nice and fun, enthusiastic, interesting. A lot of fun. It was completely unfair and bad bad bad to think about pimping Frankie. Frankie was a nice Roman Catholic boy. Frankie had gone to Mass just that morning. Nice Roman Catholic boys didn't sell themselves - - not even to the priests.

Oh, god, it was getting worse. Making crude jokes about men of the cloth, how low could he sink? Besides which, pedophilia was not a laughing matter at all; he knew better. Maybe he should say a few prayers himself, for himself.

Did Frankie pray for him? For his perverted and damned gay soul? Frankie liked him, they were friends; presumably, Frankie saw homosexuality as a perversion, a sin; did Frankie pray for him? Purposely not pray for him? Or hadn't it even crossed Frankie's mind? He didn't want Frankie to pray for him because he didn't want Frankie to see him as burning in hell for loving men, but if Frankie did worry about the fate of his soul he'd be touched. Could he ask? Was it rude to inquire into someone's prayers? Was it any of his business?

Two weeks passed. Word was out that a straight man was kissing a gay man, which wasn't a big deal, except that Frankie's neighborhood knew all about it, and all of Frankie's neighborhood was packing the theater to stare in shock. Apparently Frankie was well-known and well-liked; a good kid, kind to his family, good to his mother, did what he should, didn't do what he shouldn't, tried to do right by his girlfriend except she was too busy licking everybody else's balls to appreciate it. And now he was living with a gay man, starring in a gay man's play, kissing a gay man - - people were starting to talk. Maybe seeing his brother and his fiancee together had knocked a few screws loose. He never had been much for the women, after all. Not like Pino. Frankie treated girls right, he was nice to them, but... After all... He had been a virgin.

A virgin?

A virgin!

A virgin.

Word reached Terry, who came to the show all of the time with different people, trying to build a fan base. Terry pulled Warren aside after the play one night.

"You look awful, is something wrong? Oh, I have to tell you. You will never believe what I just heard."

"Terry-"

"Frankie. Frankie is a virgin. A virgin. No wonder that girl cheated on him! Doesn't take after his brother at all, does he? I guess we know who has the balls in that family."

"Terry-"

"Such a shame, too. I mean, I know he's a breeder, but he's such a good-looking one. Someone should be getting a piece of that."

"Terry-"

"You look awful. Is something wrong?"

"He winked."

"What? Who? Where?"

"Frankie."

"Frankie winked? So what?"

"When he kissed me. Right before he kissed me."

"He kissed you - - oh, you mean onstage. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? So he winked before he kissed you, what's the big deal?"

"He never winks. He's straight, he's uncomfortable with gay men, he doesn't like kissing men, before the first show he was violently ill, he threw up at intermission for the entire first week, and suddenly he's winking at me!"

"So maybe he's relaxing. Getting used to it. Becoming comfortable with the role. It's a good thing, Warren. And he's fine with gay men. Granted, he's not one, but he likes you. He hates Dakota, but everyone should no matter what his sexual orientation. Frankie is, and excuse me while Linus Roache rolls over in his grave, an actor. He's playing a part! He's having fun with it. Leave him alone."

"I'd love to leave him alone. I'm trying to leave him alone."

"What does that mean?"

"Forget it."

"Warren, would you talk to me?"

Well-wishers came over then and he allowed himself to be separated from Terry. What excellent timing.

Terry, of course, did not forget it. Terry came over the following afternoon while Frankie was making lunch so they could sit and eat while they watched Grease. Terry sat on the sofa with him while Frankie was busy grating cheese.

"Warren, would you like to tell me why you've lost your mind?" Terry asked quietly.

"Go away, Terry."

"Do I need to provide you with a wake-up call?"

"Go away, Terry."

"I thought that your little relationship with Dakota was bad, but this takes the cake. You have lost your mind, girlfriend."

"Go away, Terry."

"Hey, Terry," Frankie said, "you want to stay for lunch?"

"Thank you, Frankie, I'd love to," Terry said. "Warren, he's straight."

"I know."

"He's Roman Catholic. He goes to Mass at least once a week if not more."

"I know."

"He wants to be your friend. I don't condone befriending his kind, but if you want to, that's your decision. And if you want to live with him, that's up to you as well. But if you start to let your hormones get in the way of your thinking, it's my responsibility, as your friend, to tell you that you've lost your mind. Frankie is very heterosexual. You can't have him."

"I know!" Warren shouted.

"You okay?" Frankie asked.

"Fine," Warren said tightly. Frankie raised his eyebrows and turned back to the pizza. "I know," Warren repeated softly to Terry.

"He's young and straight, you're a bitter old queen. Not to mention - - and I say this with completely pure objectivity, as a gay man who's seen straight men, he is gorgeous. He is way too good-looking for you. And he's too young for you."

"Too young?"

"Yes."

"You think he's gorgeous?"

"Hello, I have eyes," Terry said. "Have you looked at him? Ever?"

"He's not bad-looking."

"Warren, he's gorgeous. And his body-"

"You looked at his - - stop checking him out!"

"All I can say is, I envy you, living with him. You must see him at least half-naked all of the time."

"Terry. Satan. I want you to go away and never come here again."

"Frankie invited me to stay," Terry said.

"He wouldn't have if he knew that you want to see him naked."

"I'm not the only one. There's you, of course. And Dakota."

"I knew it!"

Frankie looked over again.

Warren smiled weakly at Frankie and turned back to Terry quickly. "I knew it! He's jealous of me, isn't he? He wants to be the one up there onstage instead of me."

"Getting hot wet tongue every night in front of a panting audience."

"He doesn't - - shut up and go back to Hell from whence you came. And the audience doesn't pant."

"You know that's what they came to see. The play sucks. The acting's good, but the play sucks. The only reason anyone comes is to see the kiss at the end. We all sit there watching and waiting for the final scene, the kiss."

"It's really that good?"

"He's a very good actor."

"And I'm not?"

"You're gay, you kiss men all of the time. Or, well, you would, if you'd ever date anyone. You haven't gotten laid in almost six months now, Warren. Now, of course, we all know why." Terry's eyes slid over Frankie. "I know that he's a breeder, and it's against my every priniciple, against my very religion, but I'd do him if he asked."

"He won't ask. Ever."

"Come on, wouldn't you? It's a point of honor to lay at least one straight man in your life."

"I've already had Dakota, thanks. Speaking of straight men, how's Joey Chips?"

"He's upset with me."

"Why? He found out that you're a guy?"

"Worse. He found me in bed with someone else. He's so sweet, I don't know what to do."

"Someone else? Someone else whom?"

"John."

"Who's John?"

"Oh god, Warren, don't make me do the hand symbol."

"You mean the guy? The pretentious self-absorbed idiot?"

"That's the one."

"You went to bed with him? You hate him. He hates you. You're both self-absorbed bottoms, what did you do, lie there and insult each other?"

"It was fun. He was good. And he liked Joey. He finds Joey...straight, wholesome, everything he's not. He wants a three-way. I don't know how I'll ever get Joey to do it, though."

"And you think that I've lost my mind? You, the guy, and Joey Chips. Two self-absorbed bottoms and an ignorant straight man."

"Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

[But that's another slashfic.]

Warren watched carefully over the next week. Dakota was all over Frankie. Frankie wasn't suspicious and had no idea of Dakota's interest, but didn't like Dakota anyway. It was fun to watch Dakota lust after someone and have absolutely no chance of getting him. Not that Warren had a chance with him either, but at least he was Warren's friend and roommate. At least he was kissing Warren, even if only for the briefest of seconds onstage.

Ticket sales dropped for the end of that week. The writer-director and two stars had a backstage conference on what to do to boost sales. Terry, self-appointed agent, manager, and public relations committee, joined the conference. "The answer's obvious," Terry said. "If you want to bring in the audience, give the people what they want. Those people do not come here to see Dakota's wonderful play. They come here to see Frankie and Warren."

"They do?" Frankie asked. "They think I'm good?"

"They're very fond of you," Terry said. "You're building a fan base here. And what's important is the key moment of the play. The climax."

"The kiss?" Dakota asked.

"Good of you to recognize the climax of your own play," Warren said.

"Build up the climax and you build up the play and you get people in those seats," Terry said.

"Build up the climax," Frankie said. "How?"

"Make it a better kiss."

"I'm doing it wrong?" Frankie asked. "Guys kiss guys different?"

"You're doing just fine," Warren said.

"You could make it bigger," Terry said. "Make it longer. Slip him some tongue."

"I don't... I'm not..." Frankie turned to Warren for help.

"You're an actor, aren't you?" Terry asked. "It's a kiss, onstage, in the role. It's acting. You're already doing the kiss, now you just make it bolder. Give the audience what it wants."

"If Frankie's not comfortable," Dakota said, "I won't force him to have an onstage sex scene."

"I'm comfortable," Frankie said. "What, you think I can't do it? It's just a kiss, right? And if I got fans, and they want me to do something, if it makes them happy, why not? I'm already kissing, I might as well make it good. Don't want anyone thinking I can't get into a role right."

"You're sure that you want to do this?" Warren asked.

"Yeah I'm sure," Frankie said. "What, do I look indecisive to you? What, you don't want to kiss me? It's acting."

"Maybe Frankie isn't confident about his kissing style," Terry suggested.

"I kiss great!" Frankie argued. "I'm the best kisser you'll ever meet! Warren, who's the last guy you kissed?"

"I couldn't really-"

"Dakota," Terry answered for him.

Frankie looked Dakota up and down, snorted, and said, "No contest."

"So I can spread the word that our provocative ending just got better?" Terry asked. "Tomorrow night, Frankie, I want to be able to sit in the back row and feel the tongue you're giving Warren." Terry left. Dakota left.

Warren was going to kill Terry, and he was going to make it painful.

A bitter old queen in love with a gorgeous well-built well-hung Italian Roman Catholic straight boy. This was not pretty. Warren needed to get laid.

Not to mention that now Dakota knew that he hadn't had anyone since their last kiss.

The next night, he rolled to his back and looked up at Frankie.

Frankie leaned in, licking his lips; his lips met Warren's. But it didn't stop there. Frankie's mouth opened, his tongue separating Warren's lips, his teeth catching on Warren's lower lip, his tongue opening Warren's mouth and slipping inside, sleek and predatory. Slow, deep, hot, and wet, with the slide and flash of tongue visible enough that somewhere beyond the roaring in Warren's ears there was a gasp from the audience. Then the kiss-induced roaring turned into applause, and Frankie's mouth left Warren's.

Warren opened his eyes and found a standing ovation.

By the time they reached home, Warren was coming out of his stupor enough to notice that Frankie was quiet. Frankie wasn't normally quiet. "Is something wrong?"

"Did I do it wrong?"

"Do what wrong?"

"Do guys kiss different?"

"The mechanics are the same, I'm sure."

"Then is it me? Am I doing it wrong? I mean, it's not like anybody ever sat me down and taught me how. The only advice I ever got was, 'Open mouth, insert tongue,' but I try not to take Pino's advice."

"Frankie, it was fine. It was a very good kiss."

"So it wasn't bad?"

"It was a very good kiss. You'll make some woman very happy some day." Very happy. Very, very, very-

"Then how come you didn't, you know, kiss me back?"

"I didn't?"

"You didn't."

"I'm sorry. I will tomorrow night."

"If I'm doing it wrong, I want you to tell me."

"You're not doing it wrong! It was perfect."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. If something were wrong, I would tell you, because I wouldn't want to be kissed badly every night. Tomorrow I'll kiss you back and we'll see how it goes. I was just a little nervous tonight. I'm not used to kissing with straight guys."

"You know, Terry said... Terry suggested that we practice. You know how we practice running lines? He said that we should...you know...practice the kiss. Just once or twice. So we get adjusted to it. So it'll look better. Not that, I mean, I don't usually spend my spare time sucking face with guys or anything, but just once, to make sure it looks good."

"You want to kiss me."

"No! I mean, yeah. Sort of. I don't want it to look bad. This is my job here. It's your job, too."

"Fine. Kiss me."

"Well I can't now."

"Fine. You kiss me whenever you're in the mood. I'll just watch TV and go to bed."

"Okay. I'll just do it when I'm ready."

Warren sat on the sofa and turned on Look Who's Talking.

Frankie sat beside him. "You know my brother's doing your landlady?"

"I'm well aware."

"And my best friend's doing your best friend?"

"Yes."

"Maybe our exes should get together, too."

"They deserve each other."

"Yeah."

"Does Joey know that Terry's a man?"

"Does Terry know that Terry's a man? Sorry."

"I know what you mean. I'll take offense tomorrow."

"He said something about some guy named John. You know who John is?"

"What did he say about John?"

"That Terry wants to do both of them at once. Joey doesn't...he's not into that, you know? But Terry really wants to do it."

"Does Joey know that John's the guy he walked in on Terry in bed with last week?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like it if your former girlfriend wanted to do you and your brother at once?"

"You trying to make me sick here? That's gross!"

Warren watched the movie.

"I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"You ever done it with two other people?"

"I was invited to, but I said no."

"Why?"

"The third person was a woman and I don't do women. Dakota's done three-ways."

"I'm not surprised. He'd do anything."

Warren chuckled.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"May I ask you something?"

"Ask me first." Frankie waited, tense.

"When you go to Mass or confession, do you...pray for me? Confess about me? Light a candle for me?"

"Why, because you're gay? I know I probably should. I'm living with a gay guy, I'm kissing a gay guy, which is still kissing whether it's acting or not, in God's eyes. But you, you seem to have it all together. You're smart and you're... You're an adult, you're confident, you're capable, you know what to say and what to do. I mean, if I'm praying for anybody, it should be Pino, you know? You don't seem to need my help. Sure, I pray for you, just for God to watch out for you, the way I pray for Joey or my ma. But, I don't know, I guess I figure if God has any other problems with you he'll take it up with you himself. None of my business if you like guys. Now if you get back with Dakota, then I'll start lighting candles for you."

He'd never realized that Frankie might just pray for him. Include him in prayers just as Frankie prayed for other friends and family. He was touched.

"So can I ask you now?"

"Anything."

"It's sort of personal. I mean, it's none of my business. I got no reason to ask."

"Ask me, Frankie."

"When you're with guys... You specifically... With Dakota or whoever... You know..."

"Yes?"

"I know Terry, I heard him say he...bottoms. I think I know what that means."

"And what do you think that it means?"

"He's the guy who takes it, right? Like the girl part."

"So what's your question?"

"So do you?"

"Do I what? You're asking me whether I bottom or not?"

"I'm just asking."

"Oh god. All right, yes, I bottom sometimes. I also top sometimes. I like it both ways. The only remaining question is which of us is more humiliated right now."

"I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just couldn't tell. So Terry's a bottom, and that sign guy's gotta be a bottom, he's so... And Dakota, he does it both ways, too?"

"Dakota's a slut. He'll do anything."

"Right."

"Anything else?"

"I'm just gonna-" and Frankie kissed him, suddenly. Just mouth to mouth, lips on lips, then Frankie's mouth opened, and Warren was lost. Everything was hot and wet and dizzyingly erotic. Frankie's tongue was the most talented tongue he'd ever encountered. Frankie's mouth was a delicious cavern of treats; sleek wet tongue, slick even teeth, full lips, sensitive roof; and Frankie sucked on his tongue and tongue-fucked his mouth, and they kissed and licked and nibbled and tasted each other. He dug his fingers into his thighs, forcibly keeping his hands to himself. He had never, never, in his life, been kissed like this. Usually kissing was either getting-to-know-you or prelude-to-sex. This was sex itself.

Frankie's mouth left his.

He opened his eyes.

Frankie turned away, put his elbows on his knees, put his head between his knees, and crossed his arms over the back of his neck. "I'm going to Hell."

"You're not going to Hell," Warren said. Anyone who tasted that good was pure Heaven. "It was a kiss. One kiss. It was practice. Rehearsal. For the show."

"That was no rehearsal. You kiss everybody like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like they're the best thing you ever had in your mouth and you wanna make love to them for the rest of your life?"

"Have you been reading romance novels?"

"I'm going to Hell."

"Is that how I kissed you?"

"I sure hope you didn't kiss Dakota like that. He doesn't deserve it. Neither do I. I'm going to Hell."

"Would you stop? You're not going to hell. And no, I probably didn't kiss Dakota like that, because he didn't kiss me like you just did. Frankie, it was one kiss. You don't go to Hell for one kiss. Even Judas did a lot of other things wrong."

"It wasn't just a kiss for rehearsal. It wasn't just practice for tomorrow night. I liked it. I liked it and now I'm going to spend eternity burning in the fires of-"

"You liked it?"

"That's it, rub it in!"

"Well, it doesn't mean anything. It doesn't. It was purely physical. It doesn't mean that you're gay."

"It doesn't?"

"No."

"I'm not gay?"

"You're not gay."

"I'm not going to Hell?"

"You're not going to Hell."

"We gotta kiss again tomorrow night?"

"Yes."

Frankie groaned.

Warren patted Frankie's back. "I'll eat garlic beforehand, you'll hate the kiss, everything will be fine."

Everything was fine. Whatever their individual concerns over their kiss, he and Frankie continued the next day with standard operating procedure, from waking up through the play. Until the final kiss. When Frankie kissed Warren slowly, gently, with a soft pink tongue dipping through Warren's lips and the faintest sigh of satisfaction. Warren hadn't felt this aroused in ages.

When Frankie raised his head at the sound of applause, their eyes met, dark brown to dark brown. "Should have gone with the garlic," Frankie said apologetically.

Warren had felt their onstage chemistry immediately, but he'd assumed arrogantly that it was due to natural acting ability. Yes, they had a certain magic; they connected when they were onstage. They connected offstage as well. He was a bitter old queen, Frankie was an enthusiastic and naive young man; maybe it was tired and done, but opposites seemed to attract. Really, they did have a lot in common despite obvious differences. And onstage, he felt every word that Frankie said. Now that the kiss was...real...he was sure that they deserved the applause. They were good. They were very good.

And when Frankie kissed him and moved away every night, he felt like Frankie's lover. Every time he rolled over and looked into Frankie's eyes, he was lost in the fantasy.

One evening the fantasy was shattered completely, and on purpose. The two of them had grown tired with the same routine every single night, so they'd decided to shake things up a bit. They warned Terry beforehand, so that Terry would select an appreciative audience. They invited Meryl and, consequently, Pino. They didn't tell Dakota; why bother? Then they spent the entire play doing everything wrong. They said some lines backwards, and some in pig Latin; Frankie had a repetitive itch on his right ear all night; Warren developed an inability to say the letter "r"; Frankie put his shirt on backwards; chairs fell over, with or without them sitting there; Frankie adopted various accents; Warren fell off of the bed. At one point Frankie forgot his line, so Warren said it for him, and then Frankie said Warren's next line, so they continued that way for a while until Frankie got lost again. In the final kiss scene, after Warren fell off of the bed, Frankie rolled onto the stage with him, and chased him around and across the stage on hands and knees, shouting lines fervently, finally grabbing him and, instead of kissing him, rubbing knuckles over the top of his head, then dropping him, standing, and shouting, "Oh, Sandy!"

Everyone loved it. It was their most successful evening. And it got out of their systems so that they could continue on as the serious, dedicated actors they were for the rest of the play's run.

"So how come you don't date?"

"You're making me watch baseball, I've finally consented to sit here and watch hours of bored men scratch themselves on national television, and now you want to talk?"

"How come you don't date?"

"I don't date because I don't have anyone to date. I haven't found anyone to date, and I'm tired of bars and clubbing and tricks."

"Okay."

"Why aren't you dating?"

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"You don't? Dating in general, or you specifically dating someone?"

"Me. Right now."

"Because of your fiancee? You don't still care for her, do you?"

"Oh, no. No, it's not that. It's just... Now's not a good time for me."

"Well, if you ever decide to date again, Dakota'd love to take you out."

"What about you?"

"What about me? Do I want to go out with Dakota?"

"Do you want to take me out."

"Not particularly."

"Why not?"

"You're straight."

"What if I'm not?"

"Frankie-"

"No, really. What if I'm not straight. What if I'm, you know, gay? Or bisexual. Or something. Whatever."

"You think that you're bi?"

"I like kissing you. I like...you."

"Frankie, we're friends. And we play lovers onstage. And I'm the first gay person you've ever really known."

"You think I'm confused. I thought so, too, at first. Like maybe I was just being hit with too much new strange stuff at once, so it made me confused. But I don't think so. I think that Joey's confused. But I'm...I like you. And I want to kiss you offstage."

"You know that you can't. I can't let you."

"You don't want me. I understand. No, I do."

"It's not - - you've gone to pains to be honest with me, so I'll be honest with you. You're very attractive, and I would like to...'kiss you offstage.' But I do think that you're confused, and I do not want to take advantage of your innocence and our friendship. I can't let you act on your interest or curiosity or whatever this is. I am a gay man. I take this seriously. I can't let you get hurt, and I can't let you hurt me, either."

"Okay. I get it. No, I do. We're cool."

"You're my best friend, Frankie. Besides Terry."

"And you're mine. Besides Joey."

"Good. Now let me watch these idiots pretend to be athletes."

The following morning was Sunday. Warren was alone in the apartment while Frankie was at church. He read the paper until a knock came to the door. He went to answer it and Terry almost knocked him off of his feet.

"Where's Frankie?!"

"At church. You know that. What's wrong?"

"He called Bryan this morning. Then he called me. He's not here?"

"Called you about what?"

"He called Bryan first, and personally I'd like to think he didn't call me first out of respect for Joey, but it could just be that Bryan's cuter. But you know that Bryan's still and always with Steve, so-"

"Terry!"

"He wanted sex. I don't know exactly what he wanted, positions or anything, but he wanted to get physical. Really, I was sort of flattered and sort of offended - - all right, mostly flattered. If he didn't get it from Bryan or me, and he's not getting any from you, where else would he go? Who else does he know who's gay?"

"He's at church."

"Dakota!"

"Where the fuck is my phone!" Warren grabbed the phone and dialed so fiercely that he had to try again. He got Dakota's answering machine. "Shit! Dakota, if Frankie isn't in church right now, I'll make you pray to God!" He slammed down the phone and grabbed Terry. "Come on!"

He managed to get into Dakota's building, then pounded on the door with Terry at his side being completely unhelpful.

Dakota opened the door. "Warren. What are you doing here?"

"Where's Frankie?"

"He goes to church every Sunday morning, Warren."

"He's not here?"

"He's not here."

"Then you won't mind if we come in and look, will you?" Terry asked, pushing Dakota aside and walking into the apartment. Dakota turned to pull Terry back and Warren saw, in slow motion, Frankie rising from the sofa. Half-naked, barefoot, bared to the waist, fly open, lips red.

Warren wasn't breathing.

Terry turned around and slammed Dakota into the wall. "You lousy motherfucker!" Terry shouted, which was as unreal as everything else right then. "I have hated you since I met you, you two-timing slimy son-of-a-bitch! You fucked up Warren's life and Warren's mind every way that you could. And now you've sunk lower than even I could imagine. If you touch Frankie one more time, I will kick your ass, and then I will get Joey to come and kick it with all of his pals from the Bronx, and then, you fucking asshole, I will get John to pull your funding forever. And he will see that you never get a dime from anyone. So hands off the merchandise, baby; this one is not for sale." Terry stared down Dakota. "Frankie, get your clothes and let's go."

Frankie tugged on his clothes, stuffing his socks in his pocket, following Terry, passing Dakota with a quick embarrassed glance. Terry closed the door and said, "I don't want to hear one word from either of you until we get back to your place."

"He lets you call him John?" Frankie asked.

"I can call him anything I want," Terry said. "Silence."

They continued in silence until they got to the apartment. Terry said, "Frankie, would you like to explain to your gay sponsor what just happened?"

"I don't know if I'm bi or straight or gay or what," Frankie said. "I wanted to be with Warren, but we're best friends, and he doesn't want me, and he doesn't want either of us getting complicated or hurt. I totally respect that. But I still gotta know what's going on with me. So I called Bryan, because he's really nice, and I asked him if he'd mess around with me. But he has a...boyfriend...so I called you. And I know that you have Joey and the guy, and I respect that. So I figured, Dakota wants me. It was just...screwing around, I don't even like him, I don't want him, I just wanted to know what's going on with me."

"What did he do to you?" Terry asked.

"He kissed me. And he got me half-undressed, and he had his hands, you know, all over me. He groped me."

"That's all?"

"He was trying to get in my pants when you guys started pounding on the door."

"Did you like it?"

"Terry," Warren said.

"No, not really," Frankie said. "I shouldn't have gone; I don't even like him. I just wanted to know if I could get it up for somebody who wasn't Warren. But I couldn't."

"You get hard over Warren?" Terry asked.

Frankie was turning red. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah."

"And Warren? How do you feel about that?" Terry asked, blinking.

"You should have told me," Warren said. "I have been in love with you all of this time, and I promised myself that I wouldn't - - and you just hand your body over to my ex-lover?! What if we hadn't come? What if he had gotten his hand down your pants? What if he wanted more?"

"Warren-"

"What if he'd wanted to fuck you? What if he'd wanted to suck your dick? Would you have let him?!"

"You didn't want to!"

"I have wanted to since I met you!"

"Is that why you threw me out?!"

"I threw you out because you were straight."

"I'm not straight."

"You were then!"

"I'm not straight! And how could you have been with Dakota - - he's disgusting!"

"You couldn't get what you wanted from me so you want to my ex-lover?!"

"Where else was I supposed to go? I didn't know anyone else who'd do it."

"Maybe we don't all want to be some straight boy's experiment."

"I wanted to experiment with you. See what I liked about you. I don't know what I want, I don't know what any of it's like, I've never been with a guy. Weren't you excited and curious and scared your first time? That's what it was like for me, the first time I kissed you. The first time I really kissed you, there, on the sofa. And I wanted more. But I got scared. You think it's easy for me here? And when I did try to ask you for more, you said that we were friends, nothing else."

"We were friends."

"Oh, and now we're not? Warren, I told you that I wanted you, you said that I couldn't have you, so I went to someone who was willing to give me something. It was a mistake, I never should have done it, and I regret it. Not just because it hurt you but because it was wrong for me, too. And if you're mad, I'm sorry. But you can't be angry at me. You told me to get lost, so I did."

"Warren," Terry said, "Frankie's being very mature right now. Don't get bitchy."

"I will get as bitchy as I want to get," Warren said. "You were going to fuck my ex-lover."

"If you want him, go get him! I don't want him," Frankie said. "You're jealous because he wants me and not you?"

"Go to hell," Warren said, and stormed to his bedroom, slamming the door.

"Maybe we should leave him alone," Terry said. "Until he calms down a little. And I left Joey and John alone; they're probably fucking without me. You'll be all right?"

"I'm fine," Frankie said. "Tell Joey I said hi."

"Call me if he does anything stupid," Terry said, and left.

Warren was lying on his bed on his stomach, face in the pillow. He stared at the wall, at his print of Degas' ballerinas. Dakota's print of some flowery impressionist thing had been there before, and when Dakota left he'd put up something to fill the bare spot on the wall. He'd put them up to be temporary, since he didn't feel right about having young girls eyeing his bedroom activity, but he hadn't gotten any action to scandalize them, so they remained.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bedroom door open; a tall, lean, broad-shouldered figure entered the room. What now?

Frankie pulled his T-shirt over his head, dropped it to the floor.

Oh god.

Frankie opened his jeans.

Oh god oh god.

Frankie walked to the bed, knelt astride Warren, on hands and knees. "Roll over."

He rolled to his back, looking up at Frankie.

"You said that you're in love with me."

"I was hoping that you hadn't heard me."

"You meant it?"

"I meant it."

"You wanna kiss me off-stage?"

"I want to kiss you everywhere."

"Me too." Frankie kissed him, slowly, deeply. He licked away all traces of Dakota, wanting to leave Frankie with his imprint. Frankie possessed his mouth, and he let Frankie own it. Then he felt Frankie's hand on his chest, running down to his waistband, tugging his shirt free. Frankie unbuttoned his shirt one-handed, tugged up his T-shirt, put a hand to his naked skin. "Warren."

"What?"

"Take this off."

"Exactly how far are you planning to take this?"

"I'm going until you can't come anymore." Frankie kissed him.

"Frankie - - wait. We have to talk about protection, positions-"

"What, condoms? Don't you have any?"

"No. I always used them - - even when I was with Dakota, he was unfaithful, and I couldn't be sure that he wasn't picking up something. But I haven't gotten laid in so long I gave my condoms to Terry."

"I don't have any, either. I've never done this. Any of this. With anybody. But we're both clean, right?"

"Yes."

"So we don't need condoms."

"Frankie-"

"What, you're going to get pregnant?"

"Frankie, it's a good idea to use protection. You can't just trust that the other person-"

"I trust you."

"God help us both. All right, what are you trying to do here? You want to fuck me?"

"I want to make love with you. We don't have to have, you know, anal sex, do we? Can't we just get each other off today?"

"We could. If you're sure."

"So take off your shirt."

"So back off and give me some room."

"No." Frankie kissed him, wrapped an arm around his waist, leaned down while pulling his body close. Warren's hands sought purchase on Frankie's naked shoulders. He'd never gotten anyone with this good of a body even when he was Frankie's age. He hadn't been with anyone in too long; he missed this, physical human contact, sharing with another person. And he hadn't had good sex in even longer. He pulled off his shirt, breaking the kiss only once in the process. There was a hard-on at his hip, Frankie's erection. He was turning someone on; what a revelation. He was turning on Frankie. He missed handling other guys' cocks. He slid a hand between their bodies, left arm wrapping around Frankie's shoulders, right hand reaching down for Frankie's arousal. Inside Frankie's shorts it burned his hand.

"What are you doing, trying to make me come? Don't touch that," Frankie chided, kissing his shoulder.

"You need to learn self-control."

Frankie moved up, sat back astride Warren's legs, grinned, opened Warren's pants, came down again and kissed Warren's mouth. "You can touch yourself if you're so greedy."

"You touch me."

A strong hand skimmed down Warren's side, over Warren's hip, in between Warren's thighs, into Warren's shorts. They stopped kissing; their eyes met as Frankie's long masculine fingers explored the sensations and dimensions of Warren's cock. "Am I doing this right? Does it feel good?" Frankie asked.

"Stop and I'll kill you."

"Must be doing something right. It's just a cock, right? So I can do to you what I do to me?"

"Please do." Warren was treated to a devastating rhythm of grip-slide-squeeze that had him shuddering with want. Finally he had to grab Frankie's wrist and force Frankie to let go of him. "I want you to come, too."

"Now?"

"With me. Take off your pants."

"All of them?"

"Unless you'd rather come in your underwear. Unless you don't want this."

"No, I do. I just want to make sure I'm not - - you want me naked."

"Yes."

"Okay." Frankie stripped.

Warren undressed, too, and looked at Frankie. "Frankie?"

"What?" Frankie was stroking fingers across Warren's navel.

"Is your brother hung like you?"

"No." Frankie kissed Warren. "Can I come now?"

"What's your rush?"

"You look good naked." Frankie grinned. "And kissing you turns me on."

"Here." Warren rolled them to their sides. "Come whenever you want." Warren moved against Frankie's tight lean body, cock to cock.

"Don't stop that," Frankie said.

"Do it with me," Warren urged, kissing him. They brought their hands to each other's bodies, entwining their legs to bring their bodies closer together, straining and thrusting against each other. Frankie's hips rolled like a natural's. Warren came first, couldn't help it, wanted to keep going but couldn't refrain another second. Frankie thrust against him harder and came, too. They relaxed, weighted down, eyes closing, kissing gently until they fell asleep.

Warren's last thought was that the ballerinas were going to have to go.

matthew@matthewtime.com
Kind of a sequel: "Terry, Joey Chips, and 4"
Other slash page
Home

MatthewHaldemanTime.com