Drawing Closer (2 page)

his wrist. "This truth, Charles." He brought Charles' hand to the swell of his cock, hard under the thin, soft cotton of his pants. "Right here."

Charles felt the heat of Gray's erection soak into his palm -- promising, enticing, tempting. He

wanted to run his hand along it, pull the fabric tight across it, see the blatant thrust of it outlined

clearly. Wanted to kneel and mouth it through the material that covered it until they were both

panting and the rasp of the zipper scratching down would be the sweetest sound in the world.

Instead, he snatched his hand back, making a fist, more to trap the heat burning across his palm

than in a threat of violence.

Gray bit his lip. "You know why I'm always the last to leave your class?" he asked quietly. "It's because I'm hard like this. Before you even walk in the room, I'm hard. I sit there watching you,

listening to you, talking to you, and all the time,
all this fucking time, Charles
, I've been hard." He glanced down, but Charles didn't know which of them he was looking at. It didn't matter. If the

kiss hadn't left his cock eager and aching, Gray's words would've done the trick, and he was sure

his own arousal was evident.

He just wasn't sure what to do about it.

The clank of a cleaning cart being trundled along the corridor broke the tension.

"Christ, this is impossible," Charles muttered. "Gray, I'm --- flattered. I'm just not -- no, I
am
interested. Okay? I'll give you that much. I am. But it's not going to happen, for many reasons, so

please just--"

Gray's eyes met his, angry and hurt. "Just what, Doctor Stanway? Just leave? I can do that. Can't

promise I'm not going to think about you, though. Can't promise it's not going to be you I'm

thinking about when I take care of this--" His hand dropped down to caress his erection, taking

Charles' gaze with it. "You ever come thinking about me? Or is that more than you'll admit to?"

Charles took refuge in ambiguity. "Yes. Good night, Gray."

He turned away as he spoke, sparing himself the sight of Gray leaving. The door slammed,

leaving the room empty and Charles emptier.

Drawing Closer - 8

By the next day, Charles had stopped thinking about Gray. Mostly. The town was large enough

that he'd never seen him before the class started, so it wasn't likely that their paths would cross

again now that it was over.

And it
was
over. An infatuation based on nothing more than a shared attraction, the kind that

flared up and, without more than lust to fuel it, died down just as quickly, satisfied or not.

With a single-minded concentration that he'd developed over the years, because otherwise he

wouldn't have been able to cope with anything more taxing than the crossword in the TV Guide,

he got to work on the outline of an article. He managed to lose himself in Tudor England without

more than a slight detour to recall the happy little whimper Gray had given when their kiss had

ended.

He rejoined the world at about the same time that Rudegar stretched, yawned and padded over to

give him an insistent nudge with his hard head. Stroking the cat's black, glossy fur, Charles did

some yawning and stretching of his own. He saved his work and went to feed the cat before he

could begin clawing at the computer chair, already showing signs of wear although it was no more

than three months old.

After forking some sloppy cat food into a clean bowl and shuddering at the smell, Charles went

to fix himself something to eat, finding enough in the fridge to satisfy his stomach, if not his taste

buds, and then settling down with a whisky that he'd been promising himself all day.

Two sips in, and the doorbell rang.

He didn't get many visitors: it was probably a child selling something to support something else

and he never had the heart to turn them down, although he was probably head of the

neighborhood list of suckers. Charles sighed and went to open the door, attaching a polite smile

on his face out of habit.

Finding Gray on the other side was more of a shock than it should've been. Had he really

expected Gray, who'd raised a trivial point in the first session of class and spent the next five

weeks tracking down an obscure reference to back it up when Charles had been skeptical, to give

up that easily? Hardly. No, this was just what he'd do, and with a flash of honesty, Charles

admitted to himself that he was glad, and even a little envious of Gray's determination and lack of

self-consciousness. Charles couldn't imagine himself doing anything remotely similar. Rejection

Drawing Closer - 9

was too painful to seek out deliberately.

Gray let the silence between them build, staring down at the step, his shoulders tense, before

looking up with a challenge in his eyes.

Oh, God. Charles stepped back, a mute signal just short of an invitation, and watched Gray walk

into his house and close the door.

"You -- last night I had something for you," Gray said, his voice tight, not bothering with

anything as mundane as saying hello.

"Besides a kiss?" Charles asked, a little unkindly perhaps.

"Yeah." Gray's head came up higher. "Besides that. Do you want it?" His lips curled in a tight smile. "'Cause you're not getting another kiss until you ask me for it."

This Charles could deal with. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "I think we both know

that that isn't going to happen, Gray. The asking, I mean, just so that we're clear." He cleared his throat. "What did you want to give me?"

"You are so fucking full of shit, you know that?"

Gray didn't sound angry, despite his words, and Charles shrugged agreeably. "You're probably

correct. Better keep your distance, hadn't you?"

Gray grinned at that, his eyes sparkling, and Charles realized that he'd said too much already --

lost control of the conversation simply by virtue of allowing it to begin. "That's not going to

happen. And you know, with that accent of yours, it's really hard for me to take offense no

matter what you say, because you sound so damn cute."

"I most certainly do not," Charles said crisply. The novelty of having his accent gushed over had worn off in the first month after he'd emigrated.

"Yeah, you do," Gray whispered, moving closer in the narrow hallway and making Charles regret

his lack of hospitability. In a chair, drink in hand, Gray might have been a little more controllable.

A warm hand slid around his neck and Charles swallowed.

Maybe not.

"Don't worry." Gray's breath was soft against Charles' face. "Told you: no kissing."

"Then, why--?"

"Touching isn't kissing."

Drawing Closer - 10

"One could argue that they're closely related." Hard to debate semantics with Gray's fingers

stroking the back of his neck slowly, while his other hand -- "Stop that."

It emerged sounding fairly definite, even sharp, and Gray snatched his hand away from the third

button of Charles' shirt, with his fingers crooked and teasing at the skin he could reach. Gray took

a deep, shaky breath. "This is all weird and mixed-up," he muttered.

"I'd agree with that," Charles said fervently. "Look, come in and sit down, will you? I want to find out what the hell is going through your head and you're making it hard for me to think."

"I am?"

Gray looked pleased at that and Charles rolled his eyes. "Yes, you are. But it wasn't a

compliment."

It was easier once they were sitting down, with his glass of whisky warming in his hand and

Gray drinking a beer in long, slow swallows, his gaze traveling around the room.

At least he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Gray wouldn't ask him if he'd read all of the

books that crowded the shelves around them, as most visitors did, seemingly unaware that they

weren't exactly being original.

"You've got a lot of books." Close enough. Charles groaned silently, feeling disappointed, but Gray hadn't finished. "Want one more?" He took a brown envelope out of his pocket, bulked out

by the unmistakable shape of a book, and balanced it on his knee.

"What is it?" Charles asked. Gray smiled, his message clear.

Come over here, and find out.

Charles stood, walked to the couch where Gray was sitting, and held out his hand. Gray squinted

up at him, the soft shadows of twilight filling the room, and gave him the package.

Carefully, warily, Charles slid the book out of its wrapping and turned to the title page.

"My God."

"You said you'd been looking for it for years. Said you couldn't find a copy, except for one that

was too expensive, and by the time you'd raised the cash anyway, it'd already been sold."

"I did, but I can't -- Gray, I couldn't possibly accept this," Charles protested, even as his fingers brushed the pages reverently, disbelievingly. "If you would allow me to borrow it, I'd promise to

take the utmost care of it, but it's far too valuable--"

Drawing Closer - 11

"It's valuable to me because you want it," Gray said flatly. "I've read it. I remember it. I don't need to own it to have it." He smiled at Charles' look of surprise. "Good memory," he explained.

"Not eidetic, but close enough. Handy for exams and phone numbers."

"I'm sure it is." Charles felt slightly envious. It wasn't as if Gray learned facts parrot-style either; he was intelligent and capable of using the data he could apparently soak up effortlessly. He sat

down beside him and sighed. "I wish you hadn't given me this."

"Why? You wanted it." Oh, Christ, he was pouting again. Charles wasn't sure why that puzzled,

resentful expression affected him so profoundly, but it did.

"I did, yes." Charles hesitated, the book resting on his knee. "Do you want to know why?"

Gray nodded, his face expectant now.

"It was written by my great-uncle. You'd think that would mean I'd find it easy to get a copy, but

it was such a limited printing, and when he died, his sister descended on the house and--" Charles

grimaced. "She spring-cleaned. Everything was burned, given away, or sold. All his papers, his

entire library -- God, I can't think about it without wanting to hit something."

Gray gaped at him. "She threw away his
work
? His
books
?" His voice went bat-squeak high with outrage and Charles nodded, appreciating the shared horror, although for him it was far more

personal than the loss of the irreplaceable. John Cavendish had died when he was seven; they'd

never met, and although Charles had grown up knowing that his great-uncle was recognized as an

authority on the Shakespearian sonnets. It wasn't until he was about Gray's age that he'd felt the

urge to follow in his footsteps.

In more ways than one, of course, as Uncle John had died three weeks after his lover; a man

whom his sister had persisted in calling his secretary, deliberately pretending to be blind to the

relationship they'd shared. She'd taken out a lifetime of resentment and prejudice in two days,

purging the house she'd inherited of everything belonging to its previous owner.

"Yes. She did." Charles picked up the book, weighing it in his hand. "How did you get this?" he asked curiously. "I wasn't exaggerating when I said that it was practically impossible to find a

copy."

Gray pushed his hair out of his face, managing to mess it up even more in the process, and settled

back, his body adapting to the deep couch with the same elegant ease Rudegar showed every time

he fitted his ample bulk into a patch of sun-lit carpet.

"That isn't what you wanted to talk about."

"No," Charles admitted, giving Gray a rueful smile. "I'm sorry. Books are my passion, if that
Drawing Closer - 12

doesn't sound too pretentious; you managed to distract me rather thoroughly, I'm afraid."

"Damn." Gray shook his head. "That wasn't what I had in mind." He grinned and reached out his hand. "Give it back!"

"Really?" Charles asked, sure of the answer.

"Noooo..." Gray sighed. "You know I don't mean it, but I'd appreciate a little bit of your attention being on me, if it isn't too much to ask?"

Charles looked at him. "I can't think of any moment when we've been in the same room and you

haven't had most, sometimes all, of my attention."

"Then why--?" Gray shook his head. "No. I know why. At least I know what you'll say. Ten

years older--"

"Nine," Charles corrected. "And yes, that's part of it."

"I'm not a kid!" Gray protested. "And I'm sure as hell not a virgin, so why the fuck is it a problem? I know you're not seeing anyone else."

Charles felt his defenses slam down. "Oh? And would you care to enlighten me as to how?"

Gray flexed his shoulders as if they were tense but his face held nothing but amusement. "Oh,

come on. You think I'm some kind of stalker? Nah. I know the same way I know you have a

black cat with a taste for robins and you like shortbread." His eyebrows arched up and he waited

for Charles to put the pieces together.

"Oh, my God. You're Beatrice's grandson." Charles wished that he hadn't left his drink on the

other side of the room. He needed it.

"Wow. You're good." Gray grinned at him. "But I knew that already."

"And you wonder why you're off limits?" Charles asked incredulously. "Gray, your

grandmother's frankly terrifying. I dread to think what her reaction would be if she knew you

were here."

"She is, yes," Gray agreed. "I'm the only one in the family she's halfway nice to, because I don't scare easily, but still… " He tilted his head. "You like her, though, don't you?"