Undone
by Miriam Heddy

     "Oowww!" Larry hunched his shoulders and pulled away.

"Sorry. I was trying to take it off."

"Charles, I have no idea what kinds of movies you watch in your spare hours, but trust me when I assure you that the laws of physics continue to be in play here, and button-down shirts do not suddenly lose structural integrity just because it might be convenient."

"I do realize that, Larry. I thought I'd gotten them all undone."

"Well, clearly, you lost count." Larry rubbed at his shoulders.

Charles crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the dresser. "I don't lose count. Though I think I've lost interest."

Larry laughed. "Between your bruised ego and my actual bruises, it's a wonder we've ever consummated this relationship."

"Mocking me is not the right approach to getting the mood back, Larry"

"And what is the right approach, Charles? Because I'm still in the mood. Well, as much as I was."

Charles frowned at him. "We don't have to do this now. If you really want to work, by all means. Dad should be back from the store in an hour." Charles made a dismissive gesture that was, Larry considered, somewhat at odds with the erection clearly outlined against his jeans.

"I didn't say that I wanted to work."

"But you're thinking about it. I can see you're thinking about it."

"Yes, but I'm always thinking about it. I'm also always--well, nearly always--thinking about sex. The two things are not only not mutually exclusive, but are, in fact, inextricably bound up in you, which I have to admit is not ideal, under the circumstances."

Charles looked up from his study of the carpet. "That's--really? I make you think about sex?"

"Among other things." Larry nodded. "Yes. And if I could multi-task, I'd fuck you while contemplating the implications of hot dark matter... now why does that suddenly sound so sexual?"

"I have no idea, Larry. So I'm distracting?" And now Charles was smiling.

"Absolutely." Larry undid the last few of his own buttons and slid his shirt off. "Among other things." And an hour wasn't nearly enough time.

_____________________________


"Ah ah ah--"

Larry frowned and did his best to untangle his hand from the mass of curls that had ensnared him, once again. Charles held his head very still, his chin tipped up, his throat muscles taut. After a moment, Larry got his hand free, pulling away a few long strands that clung to his fingers like still-living things, and Charles lay back down with a sigh.

"Charles, I realize you continue to operate under the--I would argue erroneous--belief that the source of your virility--or is it your intelligence?--lies in your flowing mane, but--"

"I like it this way."

"As does your mysterious, perfumed, secret admirer, yes, I know. Though I do have to point out that your admirer from afar might not admire it quite so much if they had to clean it out of their shower drain every morning you stay over which, I should note, seems rather more frequent lately. Should I ask why or just count myself grateful?"

Charles shut his eyes. "Don't ask. And please, talk to me about plumbing, because that's--drain clogs--those are very sexy. Very hot."

Larry laughed and leaned in to kiss Charles, though as always, the tendrils of hair somehow found their way into his mouth. He consoled himself with the thought that in only a few inches, he could force Charles to subdue it with a rubber-band, though he suspected Charles would look ridiculous with a ponytail, and the drain problem would only get worse.

_____________________________


"I told you this wouldn't work."

"It'll work."

"No--I don't think that it will. And I'm not sure I think we should even try. Why don't we--"

"Just--hang on."

"I am hanging on, and I can't say that this position is conducive to--"

"There. Okay. Sit down."

Larry frowned, examining the very narrow space between Charles' lap and the wheel. There was just barely room for Charles' erection. "I don't think so."

"Larry, come on."

"I really think that I'd rather not."

Larry noted that Charles was laughing, which did nothing at all for his own arousal. "Larry...."

"Ten--no, fifteen years ago, you might have convinced me to--though fifteen years ago, I would have been arrested for statutory rape as well as public indecency, so probably not then either."

Charles looked at him in mock horror then laughed. "Fifteen years ago I would have been shocked just to get to make out in a car like this."

"Yes, and what happened to that ability to be shocked, I wonder?"

"You," Charles said, and Larry wondered if that were true, and if it were possible to change someone so thoroughly that they ended up changing you, in turn. "Look, we can switch places. Here--"

Charles made as if to scoot over onto the passenger side, but Larry found that he was in the way. Not that that turned out to be a bad thing, as he had no objection to being manhandled, though he did object to the way the seats felt against his bare skin. He'd never quite understood the sexual fetishism of car leather, and though he did believe that classic cars were aesthetically beautiful, he suspected that Charles had rather purposefully misunderstood that appreciation to include abusing the Model A in ways that Larry--and Henry Ford--never intended.

And now he was behind the wheel which, while fitting in that this was his car and there was no way in hell he'd let Charles drive it, was still awkward, with Charles straddling him, kneeling and draping himself against Larry, holding onto the back of the seat while he applied lube to himself.

"Okay. Okay."

Larry nodded, thinking small thoughts, as Charles lowered himself onto his erection. And Charles leaned his back against the wheel, which looked uncomfortable, though he just exhaled slowly and sighed.

One thing Larry could say in favor of this position was that, while moving was entirely out of the question, it afforded him an excellent view.

Also in its favor was the complete access to Charles' cock. Larry stroked Charles' chest and belly, enjoying the rare moment of penetration without motion, without Charles able to indulge his need for speed--Charles' body both laid out on display and holding him inside.

"I told you this would work," Charles murmured, tensing his thighs. And Larry laughed and found that, with a bit of effort and Charles' cooperation, he could move just enough to come.

_____________________________


"Absolutely not."

"You say that every time, and you know, I'm starting to think your skepticism is just a ploy designed to make me come up with a better argument."

"And just how many years did it take you to come to that conclusion which, by the way, is largely correct?"

Charles frowned at him. "So you're not saying I'm wrong."

"No, Charles, I'm not saying that, though it's possible that you are wrong, and if you insist on not doing the work necessary to convince me either way, I can only assume that it's because you're afraid to find out."

Charles ran his hands through his own hair, somehow not getting stuck, though perhaps it was a symbiotic relationship at work, and Larry considered that Medusa's snakes probably didn't bite her, either.

"Okay. Alright. So you were with me up till here." Charles dotted the board at the point at which Larry had first objected.

"Charles, I'm with you all the way."

Charles turned around from the board and suddenly smiled softly, and Larry looked at his own hands, a little shocked at the things that Charles sometimes moved him to say. Not quite lyric poetry, and too often edging on the cliche, but perhaps the sincerity made up for those failings.

"I know." And Charles turned back to the board and stayed there, getting immersed in the work, while Larry watched his back, peripherally aware of the fact that Alan had entered the garage while they were talking, saying nothing, but standing in the shadows and watching them both.
 
_____________________________


"Alright, you win."

Charles frowned. "What's the catch?"

"There's no catch, Charles."

They were standing outside of one of those stores that Charles was so fond of, and Larry examined the mannequins in the window with some trepidation, noticing that they were all at least six feet tall, with identical bland features that, he reasoned, would likely result from wearing those clothes.

"So you're coming in?"

"I'm coming in, yes. But I offer no guarantees that I'll make any purchases."

Charles smiled. "Oh, trust me, you will."

Charles opened the door, and ushered him inside, and Larry flinched at the music, which seemed to pound up from the floor in waves that, when he squinted (which the lighting encouraged), he thought he could actually see. Though, given the scent of pot that echoed in the wake of the young man who walked past, Larry considered that he was simply not in the right frame of mind to appreciate the ambiance.

"Look at this. Larry?"

Larry blinked and followed Charles over to a rack of menswear that Charles was fondling with the pleasure he usually reserved for bare skin. "That's you like that?"

Charles nodded and took off his own jacket, handing it to Larry to hold while he tried on the--Larry frowned at the price--

"Now this is a jacket."

Larry couldn't really argue with that. "It does appear to be a jacket."

Charles laughed. "It's a nice jacket."

"The sleeves are rather long."

"A tailor can fix that."

"Well, I suppose he'd have to. Wait--you think I'm going to wear that?

Charles stared at him. "I don't need a jacket. We're here to buy you clothes."

"No, I think we're here because I felt guilty. But I don't think I feel quite that guilty. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that I've never felt that guilty about anything."

Charles sighed and took the jacket off. "You don't have to feel guilty. I was going to have to tell them eventually."

Larry was on the edge of issuing another apology, but then he saw that Charles had found another piece of clothing to fawn over, this one not quite so terrifying, though by no means suitable. "Charles, I really don't think--"

Charles held up a hand. "You can't say no until you've tried it on."

"No. Look, it seems I can say it after all."

"Larry, it's a nice shirt."

"It's--it's inside out."

"No--it isn't."

"The seams are showing. And it's wrinkled."

"It's made that way."

"On purpose?"

"Can I help you?"

Larry looked to the salesclerk for some assistance, as Charles had quite clearly lost his mind. "Maybe. Can you explain why anyone would want to wear a shirt that is, apparently, intentionally designed to look as if you'd picked it up off the floor and put it on in the dark while hung-over?"

The young man's eyes drifted over Larry and onto Charles, perhaps looking for some support. "Um...It's just the style."

Larry nodded. "Yes, I suppose that explains everything." The salesclerk's hair was combed towards his face from all directions and seemed to be sticking there, as if he'd been caught in a particularly hard rain. That was probably also "the style."

"What about the pants?" Charles had found a pair in Larry's size, though that was about all that was correct about them.

"Yes, Charles, I'll wear those to the next funeral I attend. Why rend my own clothing when I can buy it that way?"

The salesclerk cleared his throat. "Maybe your Dad would be more interested in something from our work line?"

Larry covered his face with his hands and gave up. "Charles, I'll take the pants. Just put them in a bag."

"Larry--I--"

Larry peered out at the salesclerk, who was frowning. "No--never-mind the bag. I'll just wear them out of the store, because I sense my son's funeral is imminent."

"Larry," Charles put down the pants and stepped closer to stand behind him, his voice going soft, and Larry allowed Charles to turn him around and pull his hands away from his face. And then Charles put his own hands on the back of Larry's head, drawing him close and kissing him, the kiss somewhere between an abject apology and an invitation to have sex right there in the store's dressing room.

Larry kissed him back, accepting the apology and trying not to accept the invitation, though he considered that he could put on that horrible outfit and make Charles remove it, which might make it all worthwhile.

At last, Charles pulled away from him and casually glanced at the salesclerk, who was blushing.

Larry sensed the very real possibility that he could now leave the store with, if not his dignity, then at least his bank account intact, but Charles picked up the pants from the rack and held them out to him. "Try them on."

Larry opened his mouth to object but then stopped because what he saw in Charles' expression suggested that Charles was still thinking about the dressing room.

"Charles, I really don't think that--"

Charles silenced whatever argument he might have come up with by kissing him again, and this time, he accepted the pants and let Charles accompany him to the dressing room, though not inside, because he was not at all convinced that the presence of security cameras would be enough to dissuade Charles, or himself. Given Charles' propensity for creating challenging sexual problems in order to solve them, it was possible that Charles had already found the blind spot in the store's security system.

The dressing room was large and had a very nice leather bench to sit on, and he sat down, staring at the pants a moment before realizing that he had to try them on and might as well get it over with, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans and leaving them on the floor with his sneakers.

And he saw Charles' feet move away from the door, and, when Charles returned, it was, he realized, with more clothing to try on. Larry opened the door warily and received the multiple hangers that, thankfully, did not include the ridiculously seamed shirt. All of the clothing was dark, he noticed. Blacks and browns and navy blue. He picked out a shirt that was wine-colored and held it up in front of his own button-down short-sleeved shirt, and decided to try it on first.

He unbuttoned his shirt and avoided watching himself do it. There was something disconcerting and unnatural about stripping in front of a full-length mirror, though perhaps it was designed to encourage you to try on the clothing more quickly and thus free up the dressing rooms for others.

The wine-colored shirt looked strange with just his bare legs, and so he pulled on the black pants and frowned, seeing that not only did his feet entirely disappear when he pulled them on, but they didn't seem to want to go all the way up, though they did close, which indicated that they were the correct waist-size. He peered around to the label and saw that they were "boot-cut and low-rise," and he was not at all sure he could stand to wear them, having vague flashbacks to the seventies, which, under the circumstances, was not a good thing. He didn't remember having to buy special underwear to wear pants back then, though he had seen young men walking around with their boxers showing above their belts, so perhaps this, too, was "the style." And he didn't own any boots that weren't made for hiking.

"So?" Charles called out and he realized that he had to either pretend Charles had gotten the wrong size or open the door.

"Tucked or untucked?" he called back, and he could imagine Charles glancing over at their salesclerk for a recommendation.

"Your choice."

Larry tried it both ways, finally settling on untucked, because then the fact that the pants dipped rather precariously low made no real difference, nor did he feel quite so much pressure to not exhale.

He opened the door and shut his eyes, moreso to avoid the clerk than Charles. But when he opened his eyes after a prolonged silence, Charles seemed to be alone.

"I think I'll undress now." He stepped back into the room and Charles followed him, reaching out and putting a hand on Larry's left shoulder, then moving it down to run the length of his arm, finally settling at his waist.

"The pants are too long."

Charles frowned and got down on his knees, folding up the cuffs until Larry could see his white socks. And Charles remained there, on his knees, looking up at him, looking....

"I didn't have a chance to try on the others...."

"I like this one. This--this is--"

"It's really not me, Charles."

"Oh, it's you, Larry. Always you."

Larry looked down at his white socks and then back at Charles' face. "Where's the blind spot?"

Charles licked his lips. "From what I've been able to tell, the security cameras here are not actively monitored--or else they're monitored by a remote feed--and so unless they have a need to watch them, they're probably taped over periodically to save space."

"The blind spot?"

"No cameras on the dressing rooms at all."

"Charles, are you sure about that?"

"Reasonably sure, yes."

Larry looked at the price tag that still dangled from the shirt and frowned. "Just... be careful with the buttons."

Charles nodded and reached up under the tails of the shirt to unzip him, stopping a moment to trace his fingers at the skin just above the top of the pants. "I like this very much." Charles unbuttoned the bottom three buttons of the shirt, pushing the tails aside and kissing him just above where the pants buttoned before unbuttoning them as well.

"It's unreasonably expensive and--"

"Very hot." Charles unzipped the pants and Larry braced himself with one arm on the wall of the dressing room, his other hand tangling in Charles' hair.

_____________________________


If Larry appeared just a bit smug at the checkout, that was tempered by the outrageous number that appeared when the clerk rang up the three shirts and two pair of pants, though Charles handed the clerk his credit card before Larry could stop him.

"My treat, Dad."

Larry reached into Charles' back pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "I'll just call your father and tell him to start reciting Kaddish for you now."

Charles handed him the bag of clothing. "Larry, you have no idea just how close we came to that point last night before cooler heads prevailed."

Larry nodded, because he actually did know something about that. He'd spent over an hour on the phone with Don, of all people, alternately offering advice on how Don might safely mediate the dispute while inquiring as to whether Don thought it advisable for him to come over to help get Charles out of the garage, where anger, and habit, had drawn him to take cover. Don had ignored most of his advice and insisted that he most definitely should not come over, and in the end, perhaps because Don was otherwise occupied shouting at him for being the cause of all the trouble, Charles and his father had managed to work out their differences of opinion on the matter with no permanent injury to anything but one door, which suffered some damage when Alan had slammed it hard enough to break the leaded glass inset panel, which was a shame, though not irreparable.

"So are we done here?" Larry asked.

Charles nodded. "I think so, yes."

They walked to the car and Larry tossed Charles his keys, enjoying the raised eyebrows and wicked grin that accompanied Charles' opening the driver's side door and getting in. Larry slid into the passenger seat and, with no small worry about the lack of seatbelts, set his new wardrobe down by his feet. He didn't ask where they were headed next, and Charles didn't say, and Larry soon relaxed, trusting that Charles knew the way home.

—FIN—

 

Thanks to Lucia for holding aloft the electric pom-poms in her usual, pseudo-menacing manner!

© 2006

 

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