3-05: Delicate

Hello, readers. I am back with episode five of eight. I had to ask myself some questions when writing this episode. I was tempted to self-indulge, but I resisted. Keeping the show theme in mind is what kept me on track. Gosh, I can't believe we're FIVE episodes in. 10,000+ words. Again, thanks for the emails and feedback. Please, keep it coming. See you next Thursday.

I Will Always Have Your Back
“It’s okay,” Noah says in between hungry kisses, “believe me, I want this.”

Ricky gently pushes him down on the sofa, and wiping tears from his eyes, presses his trembling body on top of Noah’s. His tongue swirls around Noah’s succulent lips before parting them. I know one thing—I will always have your back. Ricky pulls back, but Noah pulls him in again for a kiss.

“Don’t stop,” says Noah, slipping Ricky’s robe off his shoulders.

And I know something else: you love Wade. Ricky pulls himself up. “We can’t,” he says, putting his robe back on.

“Why?”

Ricky rubs his face, smearing his tears away. “You’re hurting, Noah. This isn’t what you really want.” Ricky grabs Noah’s hands. “I won’t let you make this mistake.”

“You’re not a mistake, Ricky.”

Ricky nods, tears continuing to stream down his cheeks. “I just want to protect you. I don’t want to ruin our friendship. I’ve done enough as is.”

Noah leans into Ricky. He wipes Ricky tears away with his hand. “I’m sorry.” He hugs him. “I’m sorry, Ricky,” he says, breaking down

“Shh...” says Ricky, smoothing Noah’s hair. “I’m here for you.” Hugging his best friend tighter, he says, “Just let me be here for you.”

The Nose Knows
Alex checks the turkey bacon sizzling in a skillet. He quickly glances at the O Magazine page titled “Best Omelet Ever!” He grabs a whisk and starts whisking eggs. “Trey, it was madness,” he says. He pulls a tray of golden biscuits from the oven. “I hit Ricky upside his head with a bread roll.”

“Babe, it sounds like you all were one scene away from being thrown out of there,” says Trey, bouncing Oje on his knee.

“And Ricky, with his crazy ass, looked like he belonged on Skid Row. It was just a mess, but they talked and now everything is back to normal.” Alex chops tomatoes and onions and throws them in the bowl with the eggs. “You ain’t got no friends in love with you, do you?”

“I’m not going to even answer that.”

“I’m just asking. Get my good spatula, baby”

Trey sits Oje in his swing. “The only friend I know who’s in love with me…is you,” Trey says, coming up behind Alex and handing him the spatula. He wraps his powerful arms around his husband’s waist, pulls him close, and plants a kiss on his neck. “Right?”

Alex laughs. “Boy, I’m tryna cook over here.”

“I got something cooking right here.”

“I’m surprised Wade didn’t know about these little developments.”

“Hmm...” Trey quickly removes his arms from around Alex’s waist. He picks Oje up from his swing and starts bouncing him on his knee again. “How’s my little Oje?” he says in a coochie-coo falsetto.

Alex grabs a plate from the cupboard and fills it with bacon, an omelet, grits, and cheese biscuits. He fills Oje’s bowl with baby cereal. “Trey,” he says, setting Trey’s brimming plate down in front of him, “something you wanna tell me?” He takes the baby from Trey, lifts him high in the air and zerberts his tummy. Oje giggles uncontrollably. “Huh, Trey?”

Trey looks up, a sliver of turkey bacon dangling from his mouth. He chews it up slowly and deliberately before swallowing. “What?”

Alex puts Oje in his high-chair. “You heard me.” He grabs a chair and drags it noisily across the floor to Oje’s high-chair. “You ain’t deaf,” he says, sitting down to feed the baby. Oje scrunches his face at the cereal and then  turns his head when Daddy Alex tries to airplane the spoon to his mouth.

Trey scoops up a big spoonful of grits. “Damn, babe, these grits are delicious,” he says, licking the back of the spoon.

“My grits are always delicious. I asked you if you wanted to tell me something.”

“Nah.”

“You sure?” Alex asks, giving Trey his you-don’t-wanna-lie-to-me look.

“Damn, babe.” It’s useless. Alex has got a whiff.

“I’m listening.”

“Don’t say anything to Noah, but Wade’s been talking to Dre…” Alex suddenly lurches from his chair; and with a quick dash from the kitchen to the living room, he’s on the telephone all before Trey even finishes his sentence. “ALEX!” Trey calls after him.

“Feed the baby!” Alex screams back.

Trey looks over at Oje, who has both hands plunged into his cereal bowl. Oje smiles, raises his goopy hands and flicks them in the direction of his father. He giggles when the cereal splatters Trey's worried face. “I guess I deserve that, huh, little man?”

No
“Hello?”

“Uhm-hmm,” says Alex over the phone. “Let me talk to Noah, Wade.”

“He’s not here.”

“I tried his cell phone—he’s not answering.”

“Alex, to be honest, I don’t know where Noah is. We had a fight last night.”

“I bet he’s at Ricky's,” says Alex before hanging up.

“Ricky?!”

Chance-E
Chance fluffs pillows while Ella Fitzgerald croons “Blue Skies” on the CD player. “Blue skies smiling at me,” he sings along with Ella. He spreads his New Yorker magazines in chronological order on the coffee table. When Ella scats, he scats along with here. “Didy doo, baba, da, dee daw…” A spritz of lemon Pledge on the cherry oak end tables, a duster ran over the lamp shades, a few Yankee candles are lit, and finally the living room is spotless. “Never saw the sun shining so bright. Never saw things going so right. Noticing the days hurrying by. When you're in love, my how they fly.”

“Chance, is he here yet?” Eddie calls from upstairs.

Chance can’t hear Eddie because he’s rewound the song to the scatting part and is scatting like he’s performing live at the Cotton Club in a spectacular duet with Ella.

“CHANCE?” Eddie yells.

Chance turns the music down. “What?”

“Is Mr. Harrison here yet?”

“Eddie, you’re driving me crazy,” says Chance, walking to the foot of the stairs. “When he gets here, I’ll call you. Just get dressed.”

After spending all day cleaning and cooking in preparation for Eddie’s new boss, Chance was ready for this day to be over. He was exhausted and he wanted a drink. Bad. It took every ounce of strength in his body to not have a glass of wine. Just smile and say I agree and it’ll be all over. In the kitchen, he takes a roast from the oven and lets the meat rest. He smashes potatoes, tosses the salad, and mixes his special white wine vinegar salad dressing. He sets the table. I’m a robot. The thought comes out of nowhere. Immediately he finds himself at the liquor cabinet having a glass of Bordeaux. And then another. ROBOT!

Delicate
Leaning against the cobalt blue tiles of Ricky’s shower, Noah let’s the soothing warm water cascade down his body. The water saturates his hair and massages his shoulders. It’s sobering him up. The shower tickles him--only Ricky would have a see-through walk-in shower, where he probably sat Indian style on the floor watching his tricks wash the night’s debauchery down the drain. Ricky had been good to him; had been there for him in ways he hadn’t expected. He let him sleep in his bed while he slept on the couch. This morning he made him his infamous French toast (infamous because it’s the only thing Ricky can cook) and even sat still through another gratuitous viewing of Mahogany. He’d even turned down not one, not two, but eight tricks that called, texted, and emailed him their booty calls. Noah tried not to be miserable, but a miserable scene it was: Noah spread out on Ricky’s sofa feeling sorry for himself, and poor Ricky sitting on the floor; not answering his phone; not leaving his side.

Then it happened.

As day turned into night, out came the bottles of wine, loud music, and both getting into their old skin. The talk became easier and a bottle of Pinot Noir later, the conversation turned to sex. It was tipsy talk about sex; about the men who they laid it on and vice versa. They had even discussed Wade’s kissing style.

“Wade can kiss,” Ricky said. “I’ll give him that.”

“Did he do the tongue thing?” Noah asked, not at all bothered by the conversation.

After downing half a glass of wine in one gulp, Ricky said, “You mean when he drags it across your bottom lip and then slowly into your mouth?”

“That’s it.”

“Hey, remember our one and only kiss…well, half kiss?”

At this point, Noah was drinking straight from the wine bottle. “It was terrible.”

“We were both drunk.”

“Yeah, like now.”

The look Ricky gave Noah could only be described as sex. “My kisses are never drunk.”

Noah swigged from the wine bottle, “Is that right?” He returned the look.

It was all in fast motion and hazy, but Noah remembers pouncing on Ricky and devouring his mouth. Ricky let him go at it for a few minutes before pushing him away. “Don’t play with me,” he said, getting up, his hard-on jutting out from his jeans.

Noah hooked his fingers in the waist of Ricky’s jeans and pulled him down on top of him. “I like playing with you.”

Ricky kissed him hard.

It was all he needed. He excused himself to a quick shower to get ready. He didn’t care. Fuck mistakes. Fuck it all. He was going to fuck his best friend. He was only alive for tonight. Fuck yesterday Fuck tomorrow. Fuck his husband. Fuck fuck.

He turns the off the shower, dries off and wraps a towel around his waist before exiting the bathroom. He finds Ricky waiting on the sofa, his shirt open exposing his hard chest; his legs spread wide. Noah dims the light and turns up the music. Ricky smiles and bites his lower lip. Standing in front of Ricky, his body sways to the gentle rhythym of the music. He slowly bends forward and kisses Ricky, sucking in his tongue and breathing hard into his mouth. The kiss is so good he moans.

"Delicate like rain
Delicate like snow
Delicate like birds
Delicate just so
Delicate like air
Delicate like breeze
Delicate like you and me"

Noah struggles to pull himself away from Ricky’s kiss. He slides his tongue down Ricky’s chest all the way down to the top of his jeans. He unzips them but doesn’t pull them down. Ricky’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Noah drops to his knees and rubs his chest up against Ricky’s hard-on. Ricky runs his fingers through Noah’s wet hair. Ricky lifts Noah’s chin and pulls him up to his hot mouth again. Their hard-ons press together.


“A delicate advance
A delicate retreat
Delicately planned
Delicate like peace
Delicate like a touch
That's delicately brief
Delicate like you and me”

Noah stands and drops his towel and turns around to show Ricky what’s he’s been missing and craving. Ricky gently runs his hand over Noah’s ass. Like a moth to a flame he is pulled in. He covers Noah’s ass with soft, gentle kisses. Noah pushes him back against the sofa and Ricky pulls down his jeans; his hard dick springs forth, relieved to be free. It lies against his hard belly. Ricky pulls Noah into his lap. “Damn,” Noah whispers. “So big.”

“Delicate like trinkets on a bracelet
(Like trinkets on a bracelet)
Delicate like a bracelet on your arm
(Like a bracelet on your arm)
Delicate like sweet arms around me
(Your sweet arms around me)
Delicate like me on top of you”

“What do you want?” Ricky asks, his voice filled with sex.

Noah throws his head back against Ricky’s chest then slowly slides down his body, his wet hair leaving a trail on Ricky’s chest and stomach. “You shouldn’t have to ask,” he says, turning around and coming face to face with Ricky’s throbbing sex. Ricky uses his index fingers to trace the outline of Noah’s lips. Noah sucks it in, making love to Ricky’s finger.

“Fuck!” Ricky cries. The feeling of Noah’s hot mouth on his finger—giving him a preview—is too much for him not to cry out.

“Delicate like words
Delicate how time
So delicately runs
Then delicately dies
Delicate how eyes
So delicately breathe
Delicate like you, my dear
Delicate like me, my love
Delicate like you and
Delicate like me and”

KNOCK!

The loud knock startles Ricky. “Who the hell is this at 2:30 in the morning,” he says, looking at his watch.

Noah grabs his towel and wraps it around his waist. “I guess some tricks can’t take no for an answer.”

Ricky snatches the towel off Noah. “Oh, this is not over.” He pulls him closer and grips Noah’s ass. “You don’t know what you’ve started.”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Let me take care of this. It might be a neighbor about the music,” Ricky says, pulling his jeans up. Noah falls to the sofa and pours himself a glass of wine. Ricky uses a remote to turn the music down. “Who is it?” he asks, walking to the door.

“Wade.”

Lyrics used in this work belong to Terence Trent D’Arby and are used without permission.

Edited: Cleaned it up a bit, but have not touched Delicate scene--yet.