Pipe Dreams

Paul woke to find the kitchen sink stopped up, filled with dingy, gray, stagnant dishwater.  Tossing a towel at the mess, he hollered for his roommate. "Corey!"

No answer, of course.  Last night Corey had sworn the sink wasn't clogged.  "Just give it a few hours," he'd said.

Paul should've known better than to believe him.  How am I supposed to clean this up? he wondered.  And where the hell was Corey, anyway?

As if in reply, the phone rang.

"Not now," Paul growled as he gingerly fished the towel from the water.  The phone rang again, shrill, insistent.  "I said not now!"

The answering machine clicked on, and Corey's bright voice filled the apartment. "Hey, Paul. I just wanted to tell you the kitchen sink is clogged "

No shit. Dropping the towel on the counter, Paul hurried to reach the phone before Corey could hang up. "You're right," his roommate was saying, "we don't have a garbage disposal. The plumber's on his way, if you could just wait 'til he shows up? Oh, and I'm out of cash, so if you could pay him and let me know what I owe you? Thanks."

Paul snatched up the phone. "Oh no you don't --"

But Corey was gone, and a steady dial tone hummed in his ear.  Paul slammed the receiver down in disgust.  Why did this shit always happen?

So now my day's shot, Paul thought as he replayed Corey's message. What a lovely morning it was turning out to be, and he wasn't even dressed yet. I should've stayed in bed.

                   

****

When the plumber arrived some time later, Paul still wore the paper-thin boxer shorts and threadbare T-shirt he had slept in.  Maybe he could pull on a pair of jeans real quick …

But the heavy knock on the front door demanded an answer.  The hell with it -- he could dress while the plumber worked on the sink. Snatching a clean towel to wipe his hands, he called out, "I'm coming."

He opened the door to find a young man on the step, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.  Paul's frustration and anger dispersed like a dandelion gone to seed -- he knew this guy, and that sunny smile brought with it a rush of memories that took Paul's breath away.  Ethan, that was his name.  It was written on his shirt.  "Hey, man," Ethan drawled.  "This the Bryant place?"

He used to be blonde back in high school, Paul thought suddenly. Short bleached spikes ... Ethan Randolph.  Captain of the basketball team, years ago.  How many home games did Paul go to, hoping this guy would notice him?  How many times did he take the back hall in the hope of catching a glimpse of Ethan at his locker?  How many classes did he daydream through, thinking up a myriad of ways the two of them would hook up?  Paul used to have the worst crush on this guy.

Used to?

In one hand Ethan held a clipboard; in the other, a small toolbox full of wrenches.  "You Mr. Bryant?"

Paul stared at the lean, tan legs beneath Ethan's tight denim shorts. His work shirt was tucked into the shorts, the sleeves rolled up over thick biceps, the front unbuttoned just enough to give Paul a glimpse at the white tank top underneath. A gold chain winked in the light where it hung around Ethan's neck, and a pair of sporty shades sat perched on the end of his nose like granny glasses.

"Bryant?" Paul asked, meeting those pale, coffee-colored eyes.  I thought I was over you.  But those silly schoolboy feelings blindsided him all over again. Damn.

Ethan frowned slightly. "Didn't you go to Stuart?" Paul's heart stuttered in his chest.  When he didn't answer, Ethan asked, "You're not Mr. Bryant, are you?"

"No," Paul managed. Twisting a hand free from the towel, he offered it to Ethan. "I'm Paul. I graduated a year before you, I think. Paul Jacoby."

"Right!"  Ethan grinned. "I thought you looked familiar. You look great, man." He pulled his sunglasses down a bit further as his gaze trailed over Paul's body, taking in the worn boxers, the slept-in tee.  A too-pink tongue peeked out from between those red, red lips.  "You look amazing."

Suddenly Paul wished he had taken the few minutes to pull on those jeans because Ethan was, in a word, gorgeous, and time hadn't dulled Paul's interest in the least. God.  The heat from that gaze made him hard and Ethan's smirk said he saw the reaction he caused. "You're the plumber?" Paul asked, trying to forget the sudden heaviness sinking into his groin, the sweet ache that would hurt all day and into the night. "Ethan, isn't it?"

"You remember!" Ethan cried with a laugh.

Paul laughed with him, stepping aside to let Ethan into his apartment. He couldn't help watch the way Ethan's shorts tugged at the curve of his ass when he walked by. How could I forget someone like you? he wondered, careful to keep those thoughts to himself.  I wrote your name in hearts on all my notebooks, Ethan Edward Randolph. I once told your girlfriend I thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. The first guy I ever fucked looked like you, I swear he did, and when I closed my eyes it wasn't him beneath me, it was you. It was always you.

And you think it's funny I remember your name?

As Paul shut the front door behind them, Ethan turned and smiled.  Suddenly the distance between them seemed to shrink -- Paul felt Ethan's breath on his face, could almost imagine those hands on his body, and when he looked up into those eyes his throat closed. "Which sink is it?" Ethan prompted, the smile never fading from his face.

"Sink?" Paul managed.  Then he remembered Corey and his 'let's see if we can rinse the spaghetti down the drain, won't hurt nothing' trick from the night before. "Oh! The sink. In the kitchen." Paul pointed and waited for Ethan to lead the way.

When Ethan didn't move, Paul flashed him a quick grin. "The kitchen," he said again. "The sink's in there."

Ethan's smile looked almost wolfish when he pushed the sunglasses up on top of his head, smashing his hair down.  "Show me."

Clearing his throat, he whispered, "This way."

He edged around Ethan and almost made it to the kitchen when he felt a gentle hand brush across his ass.  He could almost believe he imagined it if not for Ethan's sharp intake of breath and the way his own erection went from getting there hard to damn straight solid in three seconds flat. Thank God he now walked in front of Ethan, or he'd poke the guy's buttocks with the hard cock now tenting the front of his boxers.  Self-consciously he tugged at the hem of his shirt, hoping to cover his hard-on. "There," he said, pointing to the kitchen sink. "It's stopped up, or something."

"Or something."  Dropping his clipboard and toolbox onto the counter, Ethan laughed, an easy sound that filled the kitchen with a sudden warmth.  "What the hell did you do to it?"

Paul replied, "My roommate fucked it up." Blame it all on Corey. Serves him right. Never mind the fact that if he hadn't clogged the drain, Ethan wouldn't be standing here right now. "I told him we didn't have a garbage disposal and he still insisted on stuffing his food down there."

"Shit," Ethan muttered. Glancing back at Paul, he added, "This is going to be a bitch to clean."

"I can imagine." Paul leaned against the counter and watched Ethan open the cabinet under the sink.  Those jeans ... a voice inside his head reminded him, but when Ethan bent over to move aside the stuff under the sink and his shorts pulled taut against his butt like a second skin, there was no way Paul would miss the show. Ethan began to empty out the cabinet, setting the bottles of cleanser and dish detergent out on the floor, and Paul noticed the gold ring on the second finger of his right hand. Nothing on his left. "You still seeing that girl?" he asked before he could stop himself. "What was her name? Jennifer?"

Ethan laughed. "God, no." Leaning beneath the sink, he reached up and blindly grabbed one of the wrenches from his toolbox on the counter above him. "We broke up just after graduation."

"Oh?" Paul asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. "I'm sorry to hear that." And yes, I'm lying through my teeth.

Ethan eased out of the cabinet and winked at Paul. "Don't be." His gaze drifted to the ill-concealed erection at Paul's crotch before he turned back to the pipes beneath the sink.  "People change, you know?"

Paul nodded, distracted by that look.  Did it mean what he thought it meant?  What he hoped it meant?  Sweet Jesus ... "What about you?" Ethan asked as he fiddled with the pipes.  "You seeing anyone right now?"

"No," Paul admitted.

"What about this roommate of yours?" Ethan sat back on his knees and watched Paul carefully, waiting for his response. "Bryant? Is that his name?"

"No, he's not seeing anyone." At the confused look on Ethan's face, Paul realized that wasn't what he meant.  "Oh, you mean --" He laughed at the thought of getting with Corey, straight as a pin.  His best friend who always managed to annoy the living shit out of him. "God, no," he said, shaking his head. "There's no fucking way ..." He let the sentence trail off, unfinished, and met Ethan's frank gaze, hoping he'd get the hint.

Ethan's grin widened. "That bad, eh?"

But he laughed too, and Paul thought he saw a glimmer of promise in Ethan's eyes, a maybe he wanted to explore.

                   

****

Ethan lay on his back, the upper half of his body lost in the cabinet.  Paul watched him work and gave no further thought to getting dressed.  More than once he apologized for Corey's stupidity.  "I'm sorry about the pipe."

"It's cool." Ethan reached for his toolbox, now on the floor beside him, his fingers fumbling through the tools as he searched for a smaller wrench.

Now's my chance, Paul thought.

How long had he dreamed of a moment like this?  Padding across the room, his bare feet silent on the kitchen floor, Paul stepped up beside the sink and stared down at Ethan's crotch.  The plumber's shorts stretched taut across a bulge at his crotch that Paul suspected he had put there.  What was the worst that could happen?  Ethan could get offended and leave.

Somehow, Paul didn't think that would happen.

Blindly, Ethan riffled through the toolbox.  Noticing Paul above him, he asked, "Can you get me the ratchet?"

Paul sank to his knees and covered Ethan's hand with his own.  Lacing his fingers through Ethan's, Paul raised the hand from the toolbox and set it high on his inner thigh. "The ratchet," Ethan tried again, even as his hand smoothed up Paul's leg.  "You know, the one ..."

He found the front of Paul's boxers, and as his fingers eased experimentally into the puckered flap, brushing against kinky hair, his words disappeared.

Pushing the toolbox aside, Paul shifted until Ethan's hand slipped all the way into his boxers to cradle his throbbing cock. He moaned as he thrust into Ethan's palm, then crawled closer, straddling Ethan's legs. Sitting on his knees, Paul rocked back and forth as Ethan's fingers squeezed his thick length, working him harder. "What are you looking for, Ethan?" he asked softly.

"You." Ethan dropped the wrench he held, reaching for Paul as he tried to sit up, but his upper body was still inside the cabinet and he cracked his forehead against the top of the counter. "Shit!" he cried, falling back to the floor.

Paul laughed as Ethan rubbed his head with his free hand. "Are you okay?"

"God," Ethan groaned. "I finally meet a guy I want to impress and I knock myself out in the process."

Paul laughed again. Running his hand down Ethan's body, tracing the hard erection beneath the zipper of his shorts, he asked, "You want to impress me?" When Ethan started to answer, he pressed his fingers into Ethan's crotch, making his words dissolve into a thick moan. Unbuttoning Ethan's fly, Paul eased the zipper down. "Let me make it better."

Gently he tugged down Ethan's briefs and took his thick cock in both hands.  With slow strokes, Paul massaged Ethan's dick, working his fingers up and down and up again, his palm closing over the swollen tip as Ethan thrust into his hand. In Paul's boxers, Ethan clenched Paul's own shaft, his grip tightening each time Paul tugged on him. "Paul," Ethan moaned, his voice echoing slightly in the dark cabinet. "Oh God Paul, please --"

Paul leaned over and took the weeping tip into his mouth, kissing the soft skin as his tongue licked down the hard length. Ethan's hand slipped free from Paul's boxers and fisted in his hair, pushing him down as Ethan bucked into his hot, willing mouth.  His words were meaningless moans, rushes of air and sharp sighs, the language of passion and desire and need. Swirling his tongue around the length of Ethan's shaft, Paul kissed the trembling skin beneath it, then closed his mouth over Ethan's fuzzy nuts, nuzzling and sucking.  He took Ethan in as far as he could, tickling down the hard cock with his tongue and bringing the man beneath him to a breathless orgasm.

As Ethan's sweet juices filled his mouth, Paul drank him down.  Ethan cried his name out just as Paul had always hoped he would.  "I've waited years to hear that," he sighed, his fingers massaging Ethan's wilting erection.  "You don't have any idea how many times I wanted to hear you say my name."

Ethan's hands grabbed fistfuls of Paul's shirt and pulled him down, and this time he didn't bang his head on the cabinet as he sat up. His face shone with sweat, eyes large and pupils dilated, cheeks flushed with lust. "Paul," he breathed again, his mouth finding Paul's in a crushing kiss that left them both hungry and hard all over again. "Do that again and I'll scream your name when I come, I promise."

Laughing, Paul sat back on Ethan's legs and looked at the disheveled hair, the pale eyes.  "I've always liked you," he admitted.  "Back in high school I used to dream we'd hook up one day."

Pulling him down for another kiss, Ethan teased, "Who said dreams don't come true?"

THE END