Vestige

Chapter Two



The first thing he did after his long morning and afternoon was go home and slip into bed. What his sister had said carried a grain of truth, as little as Caleb liked to admit it. He worked sometimes into the early morning, usually cooped up in his little office with a cup of coffee jittering in his hand and a bag of half eaten chips on his desk. It was a lonely occupation, he could admit that, and at times it seemed to be an aimless occupation; but Caleb enjoyed the work. He enjoyed writing his opinions and getting down to the nitty gritty, exposing the meat and bones of a story.



He did not enjoy slipping into an empty bed, with no one there to whisper to him or slide their body against his in a comfortable spoon. His last boyfriend had been a sweet thing, younger than him, some kind of artist. Caleb had come home on many occasions and found him covered in paint, dozing in their bed like some giant child after playtime. That had been the highlight of his adult life, he supposed, living with the man. They had played house for a while, like two children; Caleb would come home and there would be dinner on the table, there would be hands massaging his shoulders and feet, a warm mouth to kiss, a warmer body to take to bed. But it had ended as quickly as it had began. The man had told him that he couldn’t play housewife anymore, couldn’t stand the long hours and the tedium and the monotony.



So he had gone, and Caleb had plunged himself head first into his work. Probably not the healthiest way to handle the situation, but after years of studying how his father dealt with his divorces and his random encounters with women, Caleb had mimicked a few of his worst habits. Work became his crutch, a bandage for his damaged heart. He had met a few men over the last year, and had bedded a few of them. But there had been no late night laughter and slow, gentle love; there had been no kisses above his collar and hands massaging his shoulders. He had treated them almost as extensions of his pain and anger, slightly abusive to them, throwing them away like garbage when he was through with them.



Felix, though, he thought, as he drifted between the curtain separating consciousness and sleep, Felix is something. He didn’t yet know what he was, but it was of some import if he was lying in bed thinking of him, after spending only an hour together. He was a refreshing addition to Caleb’s lackluster life; someone who spoke with the same recklessness as his sister, but his method was gentle, endearing; Dorothy was like a wrecking ball.



Caleb wondered what the man wanted from him. That little look in his eyes, that sexual adrenaline that he had caught, suggested that he was looking for something physical. But then he had gone and used that word, friendship, and confused Caleb’s signals. Felix Morales seemed like a bohemian to him, a wandering gypsy with his flip-flops and guitar slung over his shoulder; and just what was friendship to a gypsy? Caleb supposed for someone so carefree and good-natured, friendship could be most anything. It could mingle with something sexual.



You just met him and you’re already judging him, Caleb’s mind fussed, You don’t even know him, and you’re ready to sleep with him. That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.



He didn’t want to think about his sweet faced lover, curling around him in the night and murmuring in his ear; he didn’t want to think about Felix either. All he wanted was to close his eyes and sleep and know no more until he awoke.



But he laid there for some time in the curtained darkness of his bedroom, eyes fixed on the ceiling as though he expected some kind of solution to be found there. Images of his lover and of Felix shifted through his mind restlessly. He could recall how passionate his little painter had been, how responsive and hot; but Felix conjured up images of a different love. A slower, more patient love, but the intensity was still there, the fire still flicked around his smoky eyes.



He finally drifted to sleep, with their faces in his mind. The gypsy and the painter, at times, Caleb thought they were the same person, come to challenge his resolve, come to shake his dedication and tempt him with startling beauty. Jason, Caleb thought, with one last burst of consciousness before he fell down into sleep. Not the painter… I don’t want to remember his name, but I do. Yes, Jason, his little housewife; his little homemaker.



Time had moved on, but the need for him still remained. Drowning in Felix’s eyes and feeling his stomach roll with heat was all well and good, but when it came down to it, he still thought of the painter with his smudged fingers and dirty coveralls. Thrusting himself into his work had not lessened his heartache, meeting Felix had not driven him from his mind. Sometimes, Caleb feared he would never be able to let go of him.







He came upon the man standing outside of the bar. His face was awash in soft neon light, his head tilted back against the brick wall and his fingers lightly plucking at his guitar. The few people who passed by him did one of two things. They either ducked their heads and hurried past him, or they threw loose change into his guitar case, with a look on their faces like they deserved a medal for taking pity on such a sorry creature.



Felix looked almost lost, his eyes closed and his fingers stroking the chords blindly yet skillfully. Caleb stood there and watched him for a few minutes, taking in the lovely shape of his body beneath his loose clothes, the way his toes tapped at his flip-flops in time with the beat. There was a medallion around his throat that shone in the neon lights, and his face was oddly euphoric, as though the music were moving through his veins. Caleb could feel his heart beating, slow and hard, as he watched the man.



What are you doing to me?, Caleb thought, What do you want from me?



But the answer to that was simple. Felix wanted nothing more than Caleb was willing to give. He had a slow, easy way of speaking and smiling, and Caleb knew that anything that happened between them would be met with that same unwavering placidity. He sighed deeply before stepping closer to the man, feeling a smile lift his lips as Felix opened one eye to him, as though sensing his presence.



“So this is the life of a struggling musician,” Caleb chuckled, “Sort of romantic in a sad kind of way.”



Felix shrugged a shoulder, tapping his guitar strings tenderly. “Nothing sad about it, hombre, I just play my music. I don’t beg for their money. I guess I must look pretty shabby if they think they have to throw their change at me.”



Caleb wanted to tell him that he looked beautiful; quite possibly the most beautiful man he had ever seen, actually. But instead he gave his own shoulders a tiny shrug and looked around the neon lit sidewalk. “I’ve never been to this place before,” Caleb admitted, “Do you come here often?”



“Ah, how easily we forget. I told you earlier that I haven’t been out of my grandfather’s bookstore since I arrived here. This is the first time I’ve seen this place, but it looks like it should be quite an entertaining evening.”



Caleb could hear raucous laughter and thumping music from inside the bar. There didn’t seem to be any fistfights spilling out onto the street, no sounds of breaking glass and curses from inside; so he supposed it was a good enough place for them to share a night together. Places like this were really not his scene, and Caleb supposed that he still carried around his father’s arrogance and refinement like a dragging anchor. But for Felix, he would make an attempt, at least for one night, to put his polished, upper class feelings aside.



“They’ve got cheap beer, though,” Felix told him, kneeling down on the sidewalk to return his guitar to its case. He treated the instrument gently, almost like one would a very small and very fragile child. Caleb admired his tenderness, much as he admired the nice curve of his bottom as he snapped the case closed. “So that’s good enough for me.” There seemed to be something Felix wanted to tell him, and Caleb was confused with his hesitation. Earlier he had seemed so forthright and blunt, now he seemed a little awkward and shy, his eyes running from Caleb’s.



“Actually,” Felix sighed, “It’s been a while since I’ve been out to a place like this. Any place, to tell you the truth. And I do want to tell you the truth, Caleb.” His eyes finally settled on the blonde’s face, and they were impossibly deep. Caleb thought that you could spend an eternity in those eyes and never get to the bottom of them. “Even before I came here, I was what you’d call a homebody. I always enjoyed playing my music, but it was easier when I knew the faces. This place…” He waved a hand at the downtown scene, with couples milling about arm in arm and teenagers across the street harassing each other with laughing taunts. “This place is strange to me, and you’re the only one I’ve met who seems to understand me.”



But he didn’t understand Felix Morales. That was the reason why he was so excited by him. In the daily grind of his routine existence, there was not a face that he did not already know or a hand that he had not already shook. There was no one who surprised him, or thrilled him, or set his heart to racing. But Felix did all of those things and more.



“I’m rambling,” Felix murmured, “I’m sorry.”



“No, you don’t have to apologize. I know what you mean.” Caleb looked into his dark eyes and felt as though their souls were, briefly, intertwining. “You’re lonely.”



“Mm,” Felix hummed, tilting his head to the side as if considering the word. “Lonely.” He smiled crookedly and nodded, “That’s it, really. I’m lonely. You’re lonely. It’s a lonely world.”



Caleb’s heart skipped a beat. Did the man really see through him that easily? “A musician and a philosopher,” Caleb noted wryly, “You might make more money if you dispensed some sagely advice.”



“That’s the problem with Americans,” Felix said with a grin, “You throw your money at everything. Well, not you, of course. Almost an hour in my grandfather’s store and you didn’t buy anything. Just chatted up his charming, gorgeous grandson.”



“Hey, I buy all my books from him,” Caleb defended, “I just… And you are pretty damn charming. I blame you.”



Felix picked up his guitar case and gestured at the door, as though leading Caleb on some journey. “After you, hermoso,” he invited with a roll of his tongue and a little sparkle to his eye. Caleb had to forcibly stop himself from pinning the man against the wall and smothering his mouth in a deep, frantic kiss. Instead, he rolled his eyes and moved into the bar, making his way through a cloud of smoke and lighthearted laughter and taking a seat at a stool.



Felix was on his heels, sitting beside him and resting his case on the ground at his feet. “Aren’t you worried someone’s gonna steal that thing?,” Caleb asked him.



“They could try,” Felix answered, “But I’d hunt them down.”



The bartender was personable and chatted with them for a few minutes before leaving to get their beers. A far cry from the bristly waiter who’s feathers Caleb had ruffled earlier that day.



Felix lit up a cigarette, glancing at him questioningly, as though he had broken some unspoken law.



“Go ahead,” Caleb told him, “It doesn’t bother me.”



Felix took a drag and blew the smoke agitatedly from his nostrils. “It bothers me plenty,” he explained, “I’ve been meaning to kick the habit. But well, sometimes what’s bad for us is the one thing we can’t live without.” His eyes flicked to Caleb’s face, sly and sexy.



“More words of wisdom,” Caleb muttered, looking away from him. “You should consider writing for fortune cookies.”



Felix tilted his head back a little and laughed, his hair brushing against his cheek. Caleb wanted to reach over and brush it back behind his ear; in fact, his fingers shifted to do just that, but he wasn’t sure how such a public display of affection would be received. He couldn’t see Felix minding, but they had just met, he didn’t want to look like an idiot.



“Ah, Felix…?”



The bartender returned then with their drinks, laughing and chatting with a woman seated beside Caleb. Felix had presumably not heard him, picking up his beer and taking a long sip, smacking his lips together as he set it back down. “Been a long time since I’ve had one of these,” he murmured, “I might be a bit of a lightweight now, so you might need to drive me home.”



“Anything to get me to your house, huh?”



“Ah, you catch on quickly!,” Felix laughed, “And I thought Americans were stupid.”



Caleb couldn’t tell if the man were being serious or merely teasing him. It was a frustrating situation to want someone so badly you couldn’t even comprehend. He was sure that Felix was merely toying with him, trying to get a rise out of him. If that was the case, he was succeeding splendidly. “Well, I don’t mind driving you home, but don’t try any funny business.”



Felix reached out rather suddenly, resting his hand on the back of Caleb’s neck. A few of his fingers twined through his blonde curls, his palm warm and damp against Caleb’s skin. The journalist gave a small gasp with the contact, his eyes closing slowly as Felix massaged him. “What do you mean by that? Can you be more specific?”



“This,” Caleb mumbled, “Funny business.”



Felix’s hand fell away. Caleb was once more conflicted. He wanted to tell the man to keep touching him; wanted to tell him that he had been miserably lonely for a long time, and his touch was like a blessing. But he couldn’t do that. He chalked it up to some form of manly pride, but in truth, he was afraid that Felix would laugh at him.



“You know, when I read your column a few weeks ago, I think I prejudged you. I saw your picture and decided you were just another rich white boy trying to see through the eyes of the rest of the world. But meeting you… I know better.”



“Oh?”



“You’re probably the loneliest man I’ve ever met in my life,” Felix continued, physically feeling Caleb start at the statement, “I never expected you could know what loneliness felt like. That you could understand what it felt like to wake up every morning and want someone there with you. I had you pegged as some swanky playboy, romancing everyone. But you don’t fit that image.” Felix looked at him, and there was nothing mocking or joyous in his eyes now; they were startlingly naked and intense. “Tell me how long it’s been since someone’s loved you, Caleb Bennett.”



Caleb opened his mouth and closed it wordlessly. The question was blunt and unapologetic, but Felix’s voice was gentle and strangely lulling. If anyone else had posed the question, Caleb would have cut them off with his fist, but Felix was looking at him patiently, seeming to know that eventually the answer would be supplied.



He frantically thought of what the best answer would be. He felt like laughing it off and pretending it had been a joke, but he could sense that that would wound Felix, would prove to him that Caleb Bennett was no different than the other men he had known in his life; unable to recognize sincerity. Another part of him wanted to come up with a lie, say that he had always been loved, that he had never gone to bed lonely and woken up desperate.



But that would be worse than laughing it off. That would be an insult to the man. And Caleb recalled what he had said earlier. “And I do want to be honest with you, Caleb.” Felix deserved the same from him.



He thought of his painter, lying in the afternoon sunlight with his body stained with pastels and watercolors, with his pretty face haloed by auburn hair. He thought of him in the nighttime, so dangerously close that Caleb had feared and prayed that they could melt together. Thought of him in the morning with his eyes filled with tears and his lips quivering; thought of him walking out the door without looking back.



“I’ve never been loved,” Caleb said, stronger than he had thought possible from him.



Felix let his fingers stroke beneath Caleb’s chin, their gazes locked with frightening intensity. “That’s a shame,” Felix told him softly, “You seem easy to love.”



Caleb did not look away from him, or try to backpedal away from the subject. He had spent so long observing the world cynically, focused only on his work, that he had forgotten there were other lives out there. Lives that could intertwine with his own, if he gave them the chance.



Felix broke the eye contact first, looking down into his empty glass as though he had expected more to materialize in his absence. “Take me home, Caleb,” Felix murmured, “I don’t feel much like drinking anymore.”







On his doorstep, with shadows falling over them like reaching fingers, Caleb tasted Felix for the first time. The kiss was aggressive and forceful, Felix’s body trapped against his door and Caleb’s own large frame. His arms locked around the blonde’s thick waist, and he pressed against him eagerly, letting his mouth open, tangling his tongue with Caleb’s.



Caleb groaned against him, his mind swimming and his body throbbing pleasantly. He had never felt that kind of fire inside of him before, as though he would explode if he could not have more of him. His hands gripped Felix’s hair, tipping his head back and diving into his mouth deeper, his knee slipping between Felix’s thighs, spacing his legs apart.



“No,” Felix gasped, hands bunching in Caleb’s shirt, lips wet and bruised. “No, Caleb. Ah, slow down.”



“Slow down,” Caleb murmured, letting his mouth trace the curve of Felix’s jaw, his skin smelling powerfully of soap and sweat. “I can’t.”



“You have to,” Felix insisted, fingers releasing Caleb’s shirt and sliding through his curls. “I want to take it slow with you.”



“Dammit, Felix,” Caleb groaned, grabbing his hip and thrusting against him lasciviously, “Dammit.”



“Mm, just wait for me a little longer,” Felix murmured, pressing a kiss against Caleb’s temple. There was something so sweet and touching in that, that Caleb bowed his head against Felix’s shoulder, hunching down so the smaller man could hold him. “I don’t want us to come together because we’re lonely, Caleb. I want us to come together because we want to be together.”



“Felix, I want---”



“I know what you want,” Felix chuckled, closing his eyes and pressing his nose against Caleb’s thick hair, breathing him in for a moment. “Come on, Caleb, we’re supposed to be honest with each other. What you want is to take me inside and make love to me. But what happens after that? Where do we go from there?”



Caleb didn’t have an answer to that, and Felix only kissed him again, in his hair, and pulled back from him. “Go home and think about me,” Felix told him, “I know I’ll be thinking about you.”



“Felix,” Caleb murmured, leaning down ready to sink into his mouth once more. Felix placed a finger against his lips, smiling his boyish, crooked smile. Caleb felt his heart ache for him.



“Go home,” Felix told him kindly, “But first, you can ask me on a date, if you’d like. Something official. Feel free to throw your money around, too.”



“Goddammit,” Caleb laughed, “You don’t pull any punches.”



“No, you’re a big boy.”



“Wouldn’t you like to find out how b---”



“So go ahead and ask me,” Felix interrupted.



Caleb cocked an eyebrow at the man. He wasn’t sure why he wanted him so badly, why he craved him so terribly; but he understood that it went deeper than his body and his sexy eyes. He was falling for him, and he understood that on some level, he had been waiting for him all this time. That realization was not frightening, but deeply comforting.



“Do you wanna go out with me?,” Caleb asked him. “Maybe Friday night?”



“No, I’m busy Friday.”



“Felix.”



Felix laughed and stood on his tiptoes to lightly press his mouth to Caleb’s. Caleb held him there for a long moment, closing his eyes against the kiss.



“Pick me up at eight,” Felix told him, sinking back down and straightening Caleb’s shirt. “And try to dress up for me. I like when my men get dolled up.”



Walking down his drive, Caleb was overcome with a need for him. He wished that Felix had reconsidered, that they could have gone to bed together. But he supposed that he was right, moving so quickly would only ruin things between them. They had an interesting chemistry; though Caleb could admit the man had a way of driving him crazy.



As he got into his car and drove away, Caleb could see a light come on in Felix’s apartment. The thin curtains twitched for a second, as though someone were peeking out into the night. Caleb turned on the radio and rested his head back, smiling.