“You’re not dressed.” Michael put his hands on his hips.
Cobey scrunched lower in the couch and stared at his book.
“I don’t want to go.”
Crap. Michael’s
better half was wearing jeans—not the party kind—and a Christmas green sweater.
A cup of cocoa sat on the table next to him. The scent of chocolate and peppermint
Schnapps wafted over.
“I thought we agreed: you would choose the Christmas Eve
activity, and I would choose the New Year’s Eve plans.”
Cobey flipped the book face down on the arm of the sofa and
met Michael’s gaze. “Yeah. But I didn’t think you’d choose a sushi bar followed
by Stork’s party and then Turbulence.”
Oookay. “Something
going on here I don’t know about?”
“That place is a meat market. Turbulence, I mean. It smells
of alcohol and sex and man sweat. That’s not the kind of atmosphere I want for
a special time.”
“Oh.” It was kind
of smelly. Before Cobey, Michael had considered those aromas to be an
appetizer. Admittedly, he hadn’t been there in months, but Turbulence really
knew how to throw a party. Michael sank onto the couch. “I wanted to go
dancing. And live it up a little while you’re on break from the university.”
Cobey sighed. “I know. I just…it should be memorable. In a
good way.”
Memorable equaled romantic. Like in front of the fountain at
the university a couple of weeks ago. Like going caroling on Christmas Eve and
then coming home to spend time with friends and feast on homemade Christmas
cookies. Like a late night present exchange followed by making love in the glow
of the Christmas tree lights.
Ah, yes, romance.
There had been a time when Michael would have laughed off
all of that and opted for a holly-jolly one-night stand. But that was before
Cobey.
Michael scooted closer. “What would you like to do?”
“You make the plan. Just something that we’ll always
remember.”
“Any ideas?”
Cobey leaned in and pressed their mouths together. It made
Michael warm inside, the taste of hot chocolate and peppermint and Cobey. “You
know what I like.”
Great. Obviously
Michael was on his own. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Cobey grinned.
~*~
Cobey couldn’t see a thing. “Is the blindfold really
necessary? I feel weird.”
“You look great.” A grin tinted Michael’s words.
After Michael had disappeared, Cobey had wondered if he’d
return wearing jeans and announce they were staying in. Cobey wasn’t the best
at speaking up about what he wanted. Probably ridiculous not to offer an
alternative when he’d shot down Michael’s plans. But Turbulence—yeesh. The
place would be packed; the crowd would be drunk. The groping would be rampant.
Maybe Michael was taking him to the movies. There were a few
Cobey wanted to see, and that’d be cozy. Afterward they could have a drink at
that new English pub downtown. Or the Museum of Natural History had a sort of
highbrow champagne dinosaur tour. Or…the college had a “Winter Wonderland”
sculpture garden walk, complete with bubbly or hot buttered rum.
The car slowed, turned. “Almost there. Keep the blindfold
on.”
“Are we someplace people are going to see me like this?”
Michael laughed. “Nope. Hang tight while I park.”
The window hummed as it lowered. Cold air poured into the
car, carrying the smell of exhaust. A ka-ching, a snap, and they moved forward.
Cobey shivered. Probably headed for a movie at that vintage theater downtown.
What had been playing there? A romantic comedy, maybe.
The car turned, stopped. Cobey reached for the blindfold and
Michael grabbed his wrist. “Not yet, not yet, not yet, my son.”
Cobey smirked.
“ I’ll come around and get you.”
This was unique; Cobey had to give Michael props for that.
The door opened. Michael gripped his forearm. “Pivot and
step out. Watch your head.”
A leather-covered palm curled around Cobey’s neck and then
into his hair. Gingerly Cobey stood, clutching Michael’s elbow. “Can I take it
off now?”
“I’ll let you know when.” Michael’s arm wrapped around
Cobey’s waist and pulled him forward. The car door slammed. “Let me guide you,
okay?”
“I don’t want to run into anyone I know like this.” Cobey
ducked his head. This was getting a little extreme, now that they’d arrived.
“I won’t let that happen.”
Cobey snorted. “No way to avoid it, I’d say.”
“Do you trust me?”
During the summer, trust had been their watchword. Cobey had
trusted Michael to teach him the ropes of intimacy, and Michael had never
pushed, never broken his word.
“Yeah, I trust you.”
“Then c’mon.”
They strolled–at Cobey’s speed—across the space. Their
footsteps echoed, and there was the idle of an engine in the distance. The smell
of concrete and mud and melting snow got stronger as they made their way.
Must be a movie.
Then why dress up? At home, following a mysterious thirty
minute interval, Michael had waltzed into the living room. He cut a dashing
figure wearing a black long-sleeved T-shirt, black pants, and a charcoal
jacket. Cobey had whistled, and Michael had sent him upstairs with the caveat
to wear what Michael had laid out.
Black pants, black long-sleeved Tee, dark pin-striped
jacket. White silk briefs.
He could feel the slide right now if he concentrated on it.
So soft. And Michael hadn’t gotten to enjoy them—
“Stop.” Michael’s arm tightened. “We’re at an elevator.”
“Ah. Can I take it off?”
“So impatient. Soon, I promise.”
“I don’t want a bunch of people on the street to see this.”
Cobey waved a hand in front of his face.
“Mmm.” Michael nuzzled Cobey’s ear. “No worries.”
The air pressure changed and Michael tugged him forward.
“Straight ahead three steps.”
Cobey hesitated. The game was getting old. This was too much
cloak and dagger to attend a movie. Or…was there some solve-the-mystery thing
downtown? That might be fun.
“There’s no one in the elevator, Cobe. C’mon. Almost there.”
“Okay.” He shuffled his way forward. The doors closed them
in. There was a hint of floral perfume in the space. Lips nibbled along his
jaw, and then Michael kissed him on the lips. And again. Cobey smiled and
reached for him, teasing with a bit of tongue.
Michael pulled away. “We better stop.”
“Are we almost there?”
“Yep.” The car slowed, stopped. “Now.”
Cobey slid off the blindfold, tucked it in his jacket, and squinted
at the lights. Now what? The doors slid open. Cobey’s jaw dropped. Oh my God, Michael. What did you do? He
turned to Michael.
Michael had a huge grin. “Yeah?”
“I…you…wow.” Cobey exited the
elevator, Michael at his side.
It was bright, but a different kind of bright; an elegant
bright, the kind borne of dozens of tiny lights. Cobey directed his attention
upward. And no wonder. There was a giant chandelier illuminating the area. And
what an area. The space rose high above, a giant atrium. Richly patterned
carpet in shades of navy, purple, and cream stretched ahead, punctuated by a
round table bearing a vase of white roses which scented the air. Marble
pillars, a mezzanine with arched openings, and wrought iron railings. And
everywhere gold and silver: balloons, streamers, confetti, all gilded.
A band played somewhere.
It was amazing and daunting and delicious all at once.
“Michael…you brought me to the Palace?” Guilt poked at
Cobey. This place cost a fortune, and they were on a budget. Assistant art
professors didn’t make much, and neither did self-employed graphic artists.
“You like it?” Michael ran a hand up and down Cobey’s back.
“I love it. But it’s so pricey.”
“Ah. But look what I have.” Michael reached inside his
jacket, pulled out two tickets, and handed them to Cobey.
The heavy card featured a drawing of a man in a gold mask,
wearing a wicked smile while another masked man shown in profile kissed him on
the cheek. The sketch was rendered in gold on a black background. Below the
figures it said:
Admit One
Figlio New Year’s Gala 2014
~at~
The Palace
Who was Figlio, and why did Michael have tickets to Figlio’s
Gala? “Where did you get these?”
Michael’s eyebrows rose. “Do you not recognize the drawing?
I’m no art professor, but it turned out well, I think.”
Oh. Yeah. The
original drawing had been graphite on white. “You designed this.”
“Guilty as charged.” Michael put one hand on his chest and
took a slight bow. “Mr. Figlio was so happy he invited me to his party.”
“You never mentioned it.”
Michael’s smile faded and he pulled Cobey into an alcove
occupied by a confetti-strewn white
buffalo sculpture. “I…didn’t think you’d
want to go.”
Happy New Year, everyone. Thanks for a great 2014, and here's to a fabulous 2015.
~Whitley Gray
“Why?” No way. No.
Way. “This is a work event?”
Michael shook his head and leaned in. Against Cobey’s ear he
said, “It’s a private party. Mr. Figlio owns Escalade Underwear.”
“That expensive brand that caters to…” Cobey swallowed. “To
gay men?”
“The very same. In fact you’re wearing a pair from the new
line.”
The briefs seemed to caress him and he shivered. “Thank
you.”
There was a sharp nip on his ear. Cobey sucked in a breath.
“Mr. Figlio is gay, Cobe. We can dance and drink champagne and kiss at
midnight.”
That did sound good. Cobey pulled back and gazed into
Michael’s eyes. “Lead on, Captain my Captain.”
~*~
The dancing was the best part. Michael snuggled Cobey
against his chest for a slow dance. It felt so good to be in an atmosphere
where no one batted an eye about men with men. The big band music was more fun
than the teeth-rattling boom-boom-boom of club music. No one had shed their
clothes. The restroom had an attendant and was nicer than most living rooms. No
screwing in the bathroom.
Not a problem. Cobey seemed in heaven. He hadn’t been the
typical shy professor tonight. Maybe it was the comfort of the circumstance, or
maybe Cobey had sneaked a second flute of champagne. Whatever it was, he’d been
animated and charming with Mr. Figlio and guests.
“Michael…” Cobey spoke low, against Michael’s shoulder.
He spun them and began moving them toward the tables.
“What?”
“You are amazing.”
Michael laughed. Must be the champagne talking. “Mmm.”
“No really. I’m serious.” Cobey pulled back and gripped
Michael’s shoulders. “This is the best New Year’s I’ve ever had. The first
celebration I’ve ever had.”
Michael stopped dancing. “Seriously?”
“Yep. There was never a suitable party for me to attend.” He
gave a shy smile. “And who wants to kiss a girl at midnight?”
“Gentlemen, and gentlemen.” The voice came from in front of
the band. Mr. Figlio stood there with a glass. “It’s nearly time. Grab your
drink and your man.”
Michael grabbed Cobey’s hand and they hustled to retrieve
champagne from one of the waiters.
“Ten, nine…”
“Thank you,” Cobey whispered, eyes wide.
“Eight, seven…”
“You’re welcome.” Michael pulled Cobey in.
“Six, five…”
“This is romantic,” Cobey breathed.
Bingo. Michael
grinned.
“And you are so getting laid.”
“Four, three…”
“Good thing I have a room upstairs,” Michael murmured in
Cobey’s ear.
“Two, one…Happy New Year!”
Noisemakers rattled and horns blared around them. Michael
pressed their mouths together. “Happy New Year,” he said, voice sultry and low.
“It is,” Cobey said with a grin. “The best.”
~*~
