The Name of the Game Read online

  "You look good on me," Clay explained earnestly. "You gotta know I've dreamed… thought about… but there was Sophie, and no way, right? But here you are, and here am I, and…" The hand began waving again. "It's all good, yeah? Everything's okay now."

  "Sure thing." Seth could hear the absent tone in his own voice. Clearing his throat, he tugged at Clay. "Can you stand up?"

  "Rather stay right here." Clay tugged back. "You ever sat in the front seat of a car with someone, Seth? Really just sat with 'em and said, 'this is nice'? All the way home, I kept thinking it over and over again. You're great to be with." The smile turned sweet -- gentle. "You gotta know you're a prize."

  "Oh, yeah, the booby prize," Seth joked to cover his confusion, and his discomfort with things that were rapidly becoming clear. "Up, up, and away. Out of the car, Clay. Come on, now."

  Grumbling, Clay allowed himself to be pulled along. When he stood on his own two feet, Seth's arm still supporting him, he weaved to and fro and blinked in rapid succession. "When did the trees learn how to dance?"

  Seth stifled a snort of laughter. "Last night."

  "The waltz?"

  "Nope. Fox-trot."

  "Who taught them?"

  "That'd be me. Tomorrow we're gonna work on the tango. But first, we get you inside to bed. Sound like a plan?"

  "Bed. Mmm." Clay leaned against Seth. "I think," he said after a fragrant pause that made Seth's head start to spin, "I need a little help."

  "Right here for you."

  "Only a little bit." Clay attempted to gauge the distance between finger and thumb, ending up with a snap. "Hey! Did you see what I just did?"

  "Maestro. You can play the music for the trees."

  "Dancing trees," Clay snickered, tucking his head into Seth's shoulder. "Can I have one in my bedroom?"

  "Oh, yeah. A little bonsai. We'll show it how to flamenco."

  "Cool." Clay rocked slightly back and forth. "Cool."

  "We're all good." Seth gently pushed Clay back upright and helped steady him on his feet. Then, with a careful nudge, he eased them forward. "One step at a time, that's the way. Come on, hang with me. We'll get you safe inside."

  Slowly, they wove a path up to their door. Clay blinked owlishly and fumbled at a pocket. "Keys," he said in explanation. "Gotta have some of those."

  "You're in luck. I happen to have some of my very own."

  "No kidding?" Another blink. "How'd you do that? Make a copy when I was getting another… thing I was drinking. They have a machine in the bar?"

  "Clay, pal, I live here, too."

  "Oh." Clay considered the statement with weighty gravity. "Right, yeah. Sorry. I forgot. I thought it was just me and Toni."

  "Anthony's never lived with you, goofball."

  "Shows what you know." Clay elbowed Seth. "We did. Shared a place when he first got out of college. Was looking for his… his own… space, thass it." Clay laughed, full and free. "He had all these glittery things, and I had my beanbag. Good old beanbag. Thought he'd claw my face off when I left a cold pizza on the floor."

  "No kidding?" Seth had no idea if this fantasy was the result of a liquor-addled brain, or if Clay were on the level. One thing for sure, Clay did make an entertaining as well as an easygoing drunk. "What happened then? Here, hold on to me while I get my keys out."

  Clay happily slid his arms around Seth's waist. "He made me eat it," he said solemnly, but with a huge grin. "After he'd stepped in it getting out of bed."

  Seth couldn't help himself -- he cracked up. "If we're talking about the same Anthony, I believe you."

  "Oh, yeah. Toni, Toni, Tone. My Toni." Clay sniffled. "Bestest friend ever. Except you. I like you. A whole lot."

  "Bet you do. I'm irresistible, right?" Seth waited for the answer, wondering if Clay were drunk enough to answer honestly.

  "You so are," Clay responded easily, tucking his head back into Seth's shoulder. Seth found himself on the receiving end of a warm hug. "You're just about one hundred and ten percent perfect."

  Seth's hands closed on cool metal. "That a fact?"

  "No doubt." Seth stiffened as he felt warm lips on his neck. "And you're coming home with me. I'm the luckiest guy there ever was."

  "Just giving you a little help when you need it, Clay."

  "Nice guy," Clay mumbled. He watched as Seth slid the key into their lock. "Look at that," he marveled. Then, he swayed again, turning slightly pale. "I think maybe I need to sit down."

  "Not yet, big guy," Seth said, nudging the door open with one hip. "We're close, but no cigar so far. You're going straight to bed."

  "Bed," Clay agreed, starting to smile again. "Tuck me in?"

  "Sure thing," Seth agreed. "Let's just get you there first, okay?"

  Clay nodded, and somehow Seth managed to get them through the doorway together. Not far to Clay's room -- everything opened off the hallway from the kitchen. A few tricky bits of navigation were involved, such as getting around the kitchen table, through another doorway, and Clay's insistence on stopping to examine one of Anthony's paintings that hung in the hallway.

  "It's beautiful," he decided, after describing how the brush strokes went up and down, in and around, and swirled from side to side. "Just like Anthony. Wish I was…" He swallowed. "Wish I was what he needed. But maybe he'll find someone. Like I found you."

  "You were lucky," Seth found himself saying. Then, his throat closed up, and he couldn't find another single word. Luckily, he didn't have to. They were through the door to Clay's bedroom.

  Seth fumbled after a light switch for a few seconds before deciding they didn't need it. He knew this room as well as his own, and he could find Clay's bed in the dark.

  A few more steps and they were at ground zero. Seth carefully angled Clay at the optimum position in relation to the bed, calculating angle and trajectory around the likelihood of flopping limbs, then let go. With a happy whoop, Clay fell -- as Seth had hoped, on his bed, if at a slightly diagonal slant.

  "That was fun!" he enthused as Seth lifted his feet and slid them into place. "Let's do it again! You try, too."

  Seth paused to put a hand on Clay's forehead. "Sorry, hon. I don't think you'd respect me in the morning."

  "Hon." Clay, damn him, seized on the teasing word and turned it into something else. A softly breathed endearment. "You're sweet, too. Taking such good care of me."

  As Seth watched, oddly unable to move, Clay reached up and took Seth's hand in his own. He pulled the appendage down and pressed a kiss to Seth's palm, then closed his fingers around the warmth left by his lips.

  "A really good guy," Clay whispered before his eyes fluttered shut.

  Seth felt about two inches tall. Damned if he could open his hand, either. "Clay?" He pushed the man with his knee. "You awake?"

  Deep, even breathing answered him.

  Okay, fair enough. Seth reluctantly pried Clay's fingers away from his own and eased the man's arm down on top of his blanket. Quilt? Looked new, whatever it might happen to be. He wouldn't want to ruin that with the inevitable result of getting tanked. Seth pondered the problem, then stood up and went back out into their hallway, heading for the kitchen.

  When he returned, it was with an old sheet, torn in half, a glass of water and two painkillers. The water and pills went on Clay's bedside table, where he'd be sure to see them when he woke, and the soft old sheets on either side of his head to protect the quilt in case anything got spilled.

  The job done, Seth stood up to study Clay. The guy didn't earn a fortune at the radio station, and his clothes were in a sorry state. They'd be even worse if he slept in them overnight and then had a bad morning after.

  He should probably take them off.

  Half of Seth quailed at the thought with a hearty, heterosexual oh, no way -- but the other part, quivering with curiosity, couldn't stop poking its nose in. "Clay?" he whispered. "Clay, man, I'm going to get you a little more comfortable, all right? Not trying to do anything wrong here. Just helping you out."
/>
  Clay stirred and murmured. His mouth curved into a soft smile. Watching him, Seth felt his heart contract with a mix of sorrow and something he couldn't put a name to. "Just don't be mad at me tomorrow morning," he said softly, touching Clay's forehead again. He couldn't have explained why he did. It just felt right.

  Pulling away felt wrong.

  Shaking his head at himself, Seth started with the hoodie. It unzipped down the front, the metal sounding loud in the hush of Clay's room. Seth winced, but Clay didn't flinch. "Arms first," Seth said soothingly. He lifted one, limp and unresponsive, and threaded it out of a hoodie sleeve. An arm underneath Clay's shoulders and he was able to tug the garment off via the second sleeve. Seth tossed it on the floor, mentally noting the need to take it to the washing machine as soon as he finished.

  Clay shifted in his sleep, still smiling. "Good dreams?" Seth asked quietly, grinning back at his friend. "Thinking about that cute redhead at the agency? Man, I've seen trannies in my day, but never anyone who pulled it off like she did. Can't believe I missed the signs. Jeri, was it? Oh, yeah." He smoothed his hand down Clay's chest without thinking -- then froze.

  What the hell was he doing? Male chest, flat and hard, with no soft swell of breasts or dip and curve of belly. Nothing but lean muscle and the beginnings of a six-pack. "Hey," Seth said, knowing he sounded like an idiot, "you really have been working out. Good job, man."

  He fell silent. Any minute now, he'd be moving his hand. Any old minute.

  His fingers disobeyed the mental imperative. Slowly, they unfolded, fanning across Clay's breastbone, broad enough to reach almost from nipple to nipple. Seth found himself studying them in fascination. He'd seen Clay with his shirt off before. Washing cars, watching TV, stepping out of the shower.

  Never had wanted to touch the skin, though. Never felt the urge to scratch lightly at the soft flesh. Was it the soap? Or was this just Clay in the raw? He could feel Clay's heart beating with a slow, steady rhythm, and had the craziest urge to lay his head down and listen.

  Seth gave a small shudder. His emotions were playing around like he'd never felt. Confusion, curiosity, puzzlement, and… desire? He swallowed hard as he recognized the sensation. Couldn't be. He was straight. Always had been, always would be.

  Right?

  Had to be. Which didn't explain a thing about why he was climbing up on the other side of the bed, toeing his sneakers off onto the carpet, and stretching out beside Clay.

  I'm just keeping an eye on him, Seth thought. Making sure he's okay. That's what friends are for, right?

  "You get some sleep," he said, not reaching out for Clay, no matter how much he wanted to. He didn't understand himself yet, and he didn't need to get Clay tangled up in yet another of his own messes. "I'll be right here if you need anything, okay?"

  Clay breathed in and out, steady and deep.

  Seth nodded, the pillowcase soft and cool underneath his cheek. "Thought so," he whispered, and let himself fall silent, still, and unmoving.

  Like a guardian statue, he watched over his friend, making sure nothing happened.

  He'd keep his eyes open all night if he needed to.

  * * *

  Bong. Bong. Bong.

  Three A.M., and Seth still hadn't been able to fall asleep. Pretty hard to, with his mind whizzing around in a dozen different directions on flights of fancy he couldn't hope to keep up with. He'd chase after one, and another would distract him into following.

  He'd given up on lying down thirty minutes in. The temptation to reach out and touch was too much. There'd been an almost magnetic pull, as if his arm demanded its rightful place stretched over Clay's chest. And that -- no. Just, no. Seth couldn't cope, so he'd strategically retreated.

  Sitting up with his back braced against the headboard, a pillow across his lap, Seth watched Clay sleep. Again, not anything new. He'd seen Clay snoozing on the sofa during early mornings when he'd been too tired after the all-night shift to make it to his bedroom. Even tossed a throw blanket over the guy and ruffled up his hair, laughing when Clay made small irritated noises and twitched away from him.

  What would Clay do now, if Seth gave in to the need rising within him, reached out, and carded his fingers through the soft black tumble spread across Clay's pillow? His fingers twitched, reminding him of Clay's tender kiss. The center of his palm felt warm, as if he held a live coal.

  And if he had an ember in his hand, it didn't hold a candle to the fire alight in his belly. Shaking his head, not understanding in the least, Seth edged a little further away from Clay. "Sorry, man," he whispered. "This is all just a little much for me, you know?"

  Clay murmured something in his sleep and turned slightly, tilting his face toward Seth. Seth stared at it, tracing the lines and angles as if he were seeing them for the first time. This didn't make sense. None of it did.

  If he'd been in bed with a woman, what would he have been doing? More than likely he wouldn't be hunched up like a spider. No, he'd be down by her side, keeping her warm, spooned up against him. Sleeping lightly, waiting for the morning to break so he could help her to the aspirin and water.

  Clay, though, definitely not a woman. A man, and his housemate. The guy he loved like a brother. A brother, Seth insisted to his unquiet mind. Nothing more.

  Why, then, did his eyes keep straying to the long lines of Clay's body spread out on the quilt? Every line of the man held a strange sort of fascination for him. The curve of an arm pulled up against his side, the broad expanse of chest, the ridges on his belly, and the square jut of his chin, thrust up as he dreamed of things Seth couldn't begin to comprehend.

  What was it like to really be gay? Seth shook his head. God, he'd been a fool. Starting this whole game off as a way to annoy Sophie into leaving, then getting interested in how the different world worked. Clay must have been so pissed at Seth treating his lifestyle like one big amusement park ready and waiting for him to come play. He'd disrespected the man, and what had he gotten in return?

  Understanding. Jokes. The same warm acceptance Clay exuded for everyone who came close enough to touch. He hadn't treated Seth like a social moron or a rude bastard, no. He'd let Seth in, and showed him the ropes.

  Seth shook his head. He wouldn't have been so understanding, himself, if Clay had asked him about being straight. More than likely, he'd have pointed the guy in Anthony's direction and told him to have at it. In fact, hadn't he been thinking about the same thing in the shower? Seth winced as he remembered the thought.

  And fuck, could he get any more insensitive than jerking off while thinking about warm brown eyes that had only ever been friendly to him? Granted, the whole thing had taken him by surprise, too. He'd been wrong in how he handled the aftermath, though. Using Clay like a blow-up doll just to piss off his thankfully ex-girlfriend.

  Clay deserved more than the shoddy treatment Seth had dealt out to him. He needed someone in his life who'd understand, who'd offer a shoulder when he needed one.

  Slowly, Seth reached out and rested his hand on Clay's forearm. He felt so warm, so soft, and so good. Touching him gave Seth's stomach a turn, just like it was the seventh grade all over again and he was sneaking his first kiss underneath the bleachers during gym class.

  What would life be like, really, if it had been a Joey instead of a Joanna who he'd kissed? Seth exhaled softly, realizing he really didn't know the answer to that question.

  Would it be so bad, being attracted to a man? Seth gave in to temptation, just the tiniest bit, and let his eyes roam over the length of Clay's body again. He wasn't sure he got the whole lack of breasts thing, but if he were looking at Clay through different eyes, he could see the appeal.

  All that smooth, flat skin just begged for a hand to caress up and down the dips and planes. Seth could see himself starting with one finger right between both nipples, drawing a line down over the muscles to the thin trail of hair that disappeared into his jeans, and…

  He jerked his hand back before it ventured any furt
her. God! He'd actually done it. Reached out and felt Clay up like a -- Seth felt sick. Disgusted with himself.

  But for all that, his hand tingled. Stirring where he sat, Seth felt the beginning of an erection start between his legs. And Clay, well, he was already there. Good dreams? Seth would say so. But were they brought on by his touch?

  Seth drew back, wrapping his arms around his knees. Old girlfriends and guys he'd hung out with in the past flashed in front of his eyes, each one of them offering some piece of advice: run away, stay right where you are, touch him, don't touch him, wake him up, let him sleep, tell him everything in the morning, and don't you dare say a word.

  It didn't seem right leaving Clay all by himself, but Seth knew he couldn't stay any longer. Carefully rolling off the bed so as not to wake the man up, he rummaged around in the dark until he found a folded blanket. He opened it up and spread it over Clay's body, carefully smoothing down all the wrinkles.