By HT Murray
In hindsight, moving in with his best friend and lifelong partner in crime might not have been
such a great idea -- a judgment that had nothing to do with Cal being gay. Well, maybe it had a
little to do with Cal being gay. Ian wasn’t sure if bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (and hence, likely
to impose upon the sleep of best friends and roommates) were card-carrying gay traits. Cal was
the only gay man he'd ever lived with, but none of Ian's straight friends or roommates had ever
awakened him at that time of the morning except to tell him that wasn't his bed and to get his
drunken ass out. Right about then, Ian would gladly have made concession for his ex-roommate's
moldy socks and half-empty beer cans if it meant he'd get to sleep in a little longer.
Instead, he lived with a Tony Horton/Martha Stewart hybrid mandroid who was… God, what
was he doing?
"Caaalllll. Ugh." Ian peeked to see just what was so important that Cal needed to be in his room so early on their day off, and found out the hard way that it was well into mid-morning. The sun
at that spot in the center of his window reminded him of the list of things he needed to get in
order to officially finish his move in. Blinds were on it, solid lead if he could find them, dense
enough that friggin' Superman couldn't get through, and they were so going to the top of the list
just as soon as Ian dragged his ass out of bed. So, maybe tomorrow. For the moment, and likely
for posterity, considering how diligent he was about following his own to-do lists, maybe he'd
just stick the actual list up in the window to block out the sun.
Grunting against the light saber boring a hole in his eye and out his skull, he crammed a pillow
over his head, leaving just enough space over his mouth to keep whining. "What are you doing?
It's our day off."
"Shhhh. Oh, shit," Cal hissed, apparently realizing mid-shush that the dude he was trying not to wake was the one he was shushing. "Sorry, dude. Really. Go back to sleep. I was just doing some
laundry, and I figured since you grilled the steaks last night, I'd throw some of your clothes in
with mine."
Ian shifted the pillow over enough to uncover one squinted eye. Cal was bent over his clothes
hamper, one hip cocked, wearing nylon running shorts over black spandex leggings that went to
mid-thigh. Probably chilly outside that morning. There were still sweat stains under the arms of
his t-shirt, and it clung to his lower back in a way that really framed his ass.
Not that Ian had ever thought about framing Cal's ass.
"It's okay," Ian mumbled. "Just, you know, no mixing of the underwear. We don't want 'em
comparing notes in the dryer."
"I ain't touching your underwear, man; the skid marks would give me nightmares."
Go Fish - 3
"Then I won't mention that I bought 'em at Wal-Mart. Last time I mentioned Wally World, I
almost had to get you your Epi-Pen."
Cal laughed and stood up, clothes basket under his arm. "What can I say? I'm allergic to cheap
and ugly." He did a slow turn around, long brown hair falling across his forehead in sweaty
stringers, his eyes on the floor. "You got any more around here?"
"Um." Ian waffled for a second, having almost missed the question. Seriously, his brain seemed to have short-circuited, a transient ischemic attack due to his blood not being thinned with the
proper amount of caffeine. "Check behind the dresser."
Cal did, because he was way too gullible even after all those years, leaning way over to peek
down the wall. "Don't see anything else," he said.
Okay, so in hindsight, maybe moving in with Cal was the best idea ever. Ian hoped the pillow
covered most of the smirk spreading over his face. He so wasn't checking out Cal's ass. Just
seeing how gullible the dude actually was. He would've thought a guy who'd pulled as many
pranks as Cal had would have been a little less oblivious. "Then, that's it, I guess. You'll make
someone a good little wifey one day,
In hindsight, moving in with his best friend and lifelong partner in crime might not have been
such a great idea -- a judgment that had nothing to do with Cal being gay. Well, maybe it had a
little to do with Cal being gay. Ian wasn’t sure if bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (and hence, likely
to impose upon the sleep of best friends and roommates) were card-carrying gay traits. Cal was
the only gay man he'd ever lived with, but none of Ian's straight friends or roommates had ever
awakened him at that time of the morning except to tell him that wasn't his bed and to get his
drunken ass out. Right about then, Ian would gladly have made concession for his ex-roommate's
moldy socks and half-empty beer cans if it meant he'd get to sleep in a little longer.
Instead, he lived with a Tony Horton/Martha Stewart hybrid mandroid who was… God, what
was he doing?
"Caaalllll. Ugh." Ian peeked to see just what was so important that Cal needed to be in his room so early on their day off, and found out the hard way that it was well into mid-morning. The sun
at that spot in the center of his window reminded him of the list of things he needed to get in
order to officially finish his move in. Blinds were on it, solid lead if he could find them, dense
enough that friggin' Superman couldn't get through, and they were so going to the top of the list
just as soon as Ian dragged his ass out of bed. So, maybe tomorrow. For the moment, and likely
for posterity, considering how diligent he was about following his own to-do lists, maybe he'd
just stick the actual list up in the window to block out the sun.
Grunting against the light saber boring a hole in his eye and out his skull, he crammed a pillow
over his head, leaving just enough space over his mouth to keep whining. "What are you doing?
It's our day off."
"Shhhh. Oh, shit," Cal hissed, apparently realizing mid-shush that the dude he was trying not to wake was the one he was shushing. "Sorry, dude. Really. Go back to sleep. I was just doing some
laundry, and I figured since you grilled the steaks last night, I'd throw some of your clothes in
with mine."
Ian shifted the pillow over enough to uncover one squinted eye. Cal was bent over his clothes
hamper, one hip cocked, wearing nylon running shorts over black spandex leggings that went to
mid-thigh. Probably chilly outside that morning. There were still sweat stains under the arms of
his t-shirt, and it clung to his lower back in a way that really framed his ass.
Not that Ian had ever thought about framing Cal's ass.
"It's okay," Ian mumbled. "Just, you know, no mixing of the underwear. We don't want 'em
comparing notes in the dryer."
"I ain't touching your underwear, man; the skid marks would give me nightmares."
Go Fish - 3
"Then I won't mention that I bought 'em at Wal-Mart. Last time I mentioned Wally World, I
almost had to get you your Epi-Pen."
Cal laughed and stood up, clothes basket under his arm. "What can I say? I'm allergic to cheap
and ugly." He did a slow turn around, long brown hair falling across his forehead in sweaty
stringers, his eyes on the floor. "You got any more around here?"
"Um." Ian waffled for a second, having almost missed the question. Seriously, his brain seemed to have short-circuited, a transient ischemic attack due to his blood not being thinned with the
proper amount of caffeine. "Check behind the dresser."
Cal did, because he was way too gullible even after all those years, leaning way over to peek
down the wall. "Don't see anything else," he said.
Okay, so in hindsight, maybe moving in with Cal was the best idea ever. Ian hoped the pillow
covered most of the smirk spreading over his face. He so wasn't checking out Cal's ass. Just
seeing how gullible the dude actually was. He would've thought a guy who'd pulled as many
pranks as Cal had would have been a little less oblivious. "Then, that's it, I guess. You'll make
someone a good little wifey one day,
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