Rewriting Singularity Ch. 19

Author's note: Sorry to all my readers that this chapter took so long to post. Real life turmoil came into play and I've been occupied mentally and physically. This chapter has some hot sex and part of the mystery begins to become revealed. A few more chapters to go. I look to finish the rest of the story in the next two months. Thanks again for waiting.

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I woke up with Hec's right arm laced under mine and his cheek placed like a gift on my pillow. My own eyes drooped from lack of sleep over our late-night antics. I turned my head and admired the contrast of that noble nose sprinkled with kiddy freckles. I loved the way he looked in the morning, all stubble and curls with dozy lids-- made me wonder how I got so damned lucky. Who gets dropped off by some old cab driver at this of all places? Me! I did! Just when did my luck turn for the better? Guess it was the moment the cab door opened to The Grande Lodge Bed and Breakfast. Yes, my luck was with me that day-- good luck being something I never had boatloads of like some other people. After all the stellar stuff the night before with music of the spheres and messages written in the stars, I got to thinking about lucky stars. And thanked mine: for once in my life, those stars were shining bright and high in the sky--

for me.

Yep, I was lucky. We could have been like Johann and Henry, separated. Or worse, that cab driver might never have let me out here. I might never had known... God, was he fun to gaze at, better than the stars above my head in the bed. I wondered what he'd think if he found me just gazing at him: Hec was a romantic sort in an unconventional fashion, which I appreciated. He'd blush and get all fidgety, but he'd done plenty of romantic things for and to me-- and, he was always thinking about what he could do. The mistletoe on the headboard was fun, and I know that saltwater taffy and Oreos aren't aphrodisiacs to some people, but it's amazing what an imaginative person can do with them in their mouth--

well, it was a bit messy but fun.

I gazed at him and savored memories of those two, incredible magic lips in gentle sleep, moving them as if he were testing tiny sips of wine-- aw-w, another romantic Hec-moment. Yeah, I was a lucky guy, and he was my big win, like I'd slammed the hammer down and rung the bell at the county fair. This winter wonderland was part of me now. And to think, a couple of months ago I was back in the real world, an unlucky guy who'd never won at anything, not at raffles or at cards or at Bingo. A couple of months ago I was back with Austin, listening to him bitch at me about socks and dirty laundry. I stayed stuck with what I knew: I never gambled, because why try? Austin took me once to this casino. Lost my shirt, of course. Those slot machines had "I hate Jake" as icons. Shit, I should have known-- as a kid, I never won at any of those board games like Candy Land or Sorry. I never even sank the battleship (unless I counted that other game of Battleship I used to play with that neighbor boy-- but he told me that had nothing to do with luck: it was all skill).

I guess skill in one area upsets the balance. Writing was my skill. It saved my soul. I liked to think it saved Hec's, too. In a way I was lucky when it came to writing, or else I made my own luck-- I suppose there are many talented people who are never lucky enough to get a sitcom. Although it was my misfortune to have a greedy SOB partner the first time around, life gives us second chances. Now I had my second chance. My luck had turned: my soul was saved. But like any past, unlucky soul, I waited for the proverbial rabbit's foot to drop: thus far, Peter Rabbit was staying out of Mr. MacGregor's garden. I guess that coming here, I'd found my lucky charms-- the magic of this house had changed my luck like a talisman. I had the rings, the music box, the bed (special emphasis on the bed) and Hec. All inside this home. And it was home to me. Yes, I sure had a heap of Lucky Charms. I was contemplating my new place in the universe along with the marshmallow cereal when I felt Hec's eyes on me.

"Morning, handsome," he said, kissing me with those wine-testing lips.

I groaned, "Morning." His lips skimmed along my chin. "Y-yellow m-moons...," I stuttered as he flicked his tongue across my lips.

"What?"

Those dreamy lips slipped lower, traced down my neck, then tickled the hairs on my chest.

"G-green clovers," I stuttered. "P-pink hearts..."

"Huh?" He seemed very distracted. I don't think it mattered much what I said at that moment; his tongue was on a mission as it slithered into my belly button in an arc-- like it was following a rainbow. I lifted my head up a bit to get a better view.

I think he found the pot-o-gold-- and the golden nuggets.

"Always after me lucky charms," I hissed.

He rolled one of my balls in his month, then let it go with a pop. "They're magically delicious..."

Then he winked. I guess he was paying attention.

I was trapped. A good trap. The kind you don't want to escape from. "Ah, fuck."

"Now," he continued, "let's see if I can get you to see those yellow stars you like so well."

Who was I to argue?

He reached under the pillowcase and pulled out the hidden condom and tore it open with his teeth. I was up on all fours with his lubed fingers shoved inside, making room for his fat cock. I'm not too proud to beg. He pushed inside me and fucked me hard.

Yep, I'm a lucky son of a bitch.

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"How much do you know about the Big Bang Theory?" I asked Jorge and Linden later at breakfast.

"It wasn't really a bang, more like an expansion. Well," Hec said, raising his eyebrow at me over his coffee mug, "I know something about it too."

Hec set down his coffee and crossed his arms. Oops, I guess I nicked his ego. Someone's been Googling...

"Ok, handsome," I said, dousing my pancakes with maple syrup, "tell me what you know."

"Infinite density," he snapped back.

I'd heard that term before-- either on Star Trek or in reference to Darwin Awards, not sure which.

"Our universe began as a singularity," he explained. He uncrossed his arms, then picked his coffee mug back up and took a sip. "At the center of a black hole, matter is compressed so tight that it becomes infinite. Somehow, it inflates: it goes from really small and hot to what we have now in our own universe-- there's really not a bang."

Big Bang always sounded like a sex act to me. Yeah, I came back from the club and he gave it to me, the old Big Bang.

I must have been in la la land or maybe la la bang-land, because Hec cleared his throat and everyone at the table was staring at me. It was one of those moments when you know someone was either talking to you or asked you a direct question, and you hadn't answered. All eyes were glued on me.

"Forget it," Hec said, waving me off.

"What?" The only recourse a person has in a position like this is to re-navigate the conversation. Not circumnavigate, but try to start over and see if it's possible to find your way back to the stream of thought you missed. "Infinite density," I tried, then it came to me. "So if there's no bang-- isn't that an argument for Johann's work too? I mean, if it's really not a bang, but he used the term--"

"You really weren't listening," Hec said. "That's exactly what I said."

So much for re-navigation. Right up there with la la bang theory.

"Ok, I admit it-- I was day dreaming. Guilty!" Maybe my blush gave me away, or maybe Hec could see Mr. Happy from where he sat. Thankfully, he left it alone-- I mean left the topic alone-- although Mr. Happy always likes attention, now was not the time to encourage Mr. Happy. I decided that to save face, I had to choose a new route. I turned to Jorge. "You really think this William Ding at Cornell can get this info out?" I asked. I had my doubts. With a name like Bill Ding, he had to have some issues.

That's when the phone rang. Another kind of ding, or ring. Kate picked it up in the hall.

"It's for you, Jake," she called out.

I got up from my pancakes. I hated cold pancakes. I hoped this wouldn't take too long.

Kate handed me the phone, one of those old black wall phones that had the rotary dials with a two foot cord so you had to stand there and talk like a dog on a short leash, which sucked because I liked to pace when I talked on the phone.

"Hello?" I asked. Kate waved to me, then left to give me some privacy.

It was my new agent, Hirum. That was odd-- I wasn't expecting a call from him. "Hello, Mr. Grey. What's up?"

"Sit down."

"Um, there's no place to sit. What's wrong?"

Then he told me.

Remember the rabbit's foot? Good luck? Time ticked back: Austin flinging the release papers at me, Hec telling me to read them, me skimming them far too hurriedly, then signing. Well, damn Beatrix Potter, Peter's tail was snared and mine was--

Did I say how much I hate cold pancakes?

I hung up the phone more pissed than I think I'd been since Thanksgiving day. Austin was at it again, only this time he was trying to get his hands our new sitcom. Hirum told me not to worry: the papers were legal and dissolved our past partnership. This snag would hold up production of the sitcom and possibly put the whole show on the back burner-- not something that a writer wanted to hear, and it can be death to a new sitcom. Without a doubt this was Austin's new way to fuck with me. Hirum said that if we got Austin to drop it, we might have a chance to keep the pilot on schedule. That meant I'd have to talk to Austin-- something I didn't want to do. I wasn't even sure if anything I'd have to say would change a thing. Hirum promised he'd be there with me. I'm sure Hec would want to be there, too, but that would probably exacerbate the problem.

I sat back down to cold pancakes. I guess the metaphorical thunderclouds looming above my head were evident: never could hide how I felt. I explained the mess to Hec-- he got that look on his face, the same look Captain James T. Kirk gets before he orders the Enterprise over the neutral zone.

Then something happened inside of me: I remembered this morning, Hec in bed all dreamy, the stars above him. Suddenly Austin, the sitcom, and everything else didn't matter. I had my own lucky charms.

They all thought I'd lost my senses-- I smiled like a crazy man as I shoveled a forkful after forkful of cold pancakes into my mouth. I played imaginary dot-to-dot with the hottest freckles that ever graced a face. At last I knew what to thank my lucky stars for. What was really important surrounded me: Hec, this kitchen, the sun pouring in, my friends around the table.

The sitcom would happen.

Austin?

He wasn't worth worrying about.

What is it about love that makes the world look like a big piece of German chocolate cake with whipped cream and cherries on top?

I admit that I liked to fixate on problems, so dropping the whole thing about Austin was a major accomplishment for me-- after all, I loved chocolate cake, and I figured if I could let go of the anger and hate, I would have so much more room in my heart to hug Hec and partake of his double-deluxe frosting center. I wasted a hell of a lot of time in my life saying what-if and why-me; it was time to stop.

I did it.

Let them eat cake. Or let me eat cake, or Hec. Slathered with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

We took it upstairs-- or should I say, he took me back upstairs.

He turned my key and wound me up along with the music box.

Love makes the world go round-- round and around and around. Yes, love-- that eternal, intangible magic like the tiny tintinnabulations from our box. I could spend time drawing sappy hearts on napkins with my chest clanging or hum along with the ring-a-ding-dinging of Chopin in a box.

Great sex with my heart keeping time.

I was ready, and nobody does it better-- or me better-- than Hec. I expected slow and sensuous andante, but Hec the unpredictable did me fast and hard allegro.

Slam, bam on the bed. First we wrestled, then raced to get naked. Already aroused and ready to go, I jumped the starting gate: I thought I was winning. I pulled off my shirt, and Hec reached out, then ran those long fingers across my chest and belly. We lay, gazing into each others eyes. I toed off my shoes while Hec flicked the button on my Levis, then unzipped me with a flick of the wrist.

Yeah, I was winning alright.

He looked at me from head to my toes. "You're overdressed," he said. "I really gotta do something about that."

"Me first!"

I unbuttoned his flannel shirt while he shimmied his too-tight jeans over those sharp hip bones. I licked my lips-- no underwear. He pulled me to him, and I fisted his cock. God, I felt empowered, seeing him moan and gasp and writhe. He kissed me hard, then reached inside my loose Levis and grabbed my cock; I shuddered with each tug. On our sides, face-to-face, we both rutted into each other's hands, rubbing our cock heads together, pre-come mixing and making us slick. God, I loved the feel of his dick in my hand, loved to watch our cocks together. Only thing hotter was watching Hec's face: I loved to look at it-- the way he closed his eyes tight, how his mouth twitched and his forehead creased. We pumped harder in rhythm, then I felt that tipping point. Shit, too soon, too soon. I spilled over his hand, gasping and sputtering. Hec didn't follow: he held off. I grinned at him, giving him that after-sex, stupid-lusty-in-love look. He brought his fingers, sticky with my come, to my mouth. I poked my tongue out, tasting bittersweet-self; I felt a twinge of disappointment when he pulled his fingers away, then a rush of excitement when he flipped me on my back.

Face-to-face. No more I've got rhythm. Instead, he held me still. Yeah, he pinned me good, his cock bobbed hard and insistent against my belly. I bit my lip and whimpered as he rolled his cock oh-so-slow against mine in lazy, tantalizing circles-- I was still tender from coming, but my ache for him was always there. I trembled under him, and he shot me a hot, lopsided smile-- kind that makes my insides turn. His chest rumbled in a laugh as he shifted delightfully around, letting his fingers work their magic, slipping down, down, passing my abs, around my cock, pulling on my sac, pushing around that hard ridge that was oh-so tender behind my balls. God, how his fingers skittered and teased until he touched my center.

I couldn't believe I was rock-hard again. I watched him tear open the condom and roll it over his cock. "I'm gonna fuck you good," he whispered. "That is unless you're too sore from earlier." I shook my head emphatically as he wedged his cock between my legs. The head of his dick brushed over my pucker, and I gasped.

My mind screamed, yes, yes, yes! My head nodding each time.

"What is it? No, yes? What do you want, Jake?"

"No, I'm not too sore! Yes, I want it!" I nodded my head again, and on the third nod, I whacked the back of my head against the headboard.

Hec smirked and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Come on, Jake-- how much do you really want it? Tell me--"

Damn, that smarted. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"Come on," he coaxed. "Tell me--"

"M-more than," I stuttered.

"More than what? Come on..." He nudged his cock against my tender hole. I gasped.

"More than big bowl of Cheerios with three spoon-loads of sugar and a cup of whole milk," I blurted out.

"Is that all?" His dick pushed against my pucker harder: knock, knock, knockin on heaven's door.

Ah, hell.

I reached under the pillow for the K-Y and tossed it to him.

I had to do better.

"More than the meanest roller coaster at Cedar Point," I offered.

He shook his head, but I knew he was crumbling. He popped the top off the lube.

"More than skinny dipping in the moonlight with a cold Heineken." I cocked my eyebrow and looked longingly at the lube clutched in his hand.

Didn't work yet, so I tried doing the sad puppy dog eyes.

Almost.

Then it hit me.

"More than double-stuff Oreo cookies."

I had him.

In one swift move, he grabbed both of my legs and lifted them over his freckled shoulders. I shuddered as his fingers pushed inside me. True, I was a bit tender from before, but I liked the edge to this; I clenched instead of opening up, which made him work those long fingers until I was begging for his cock. I went crazy the way he bumped against my prostrate.

I was disappointed when he pulled out his fingers but watched, panting, as he slicked himself up, then took those same fingers that had been inside me and slipped over my dick, squeezing clear drops from the tip and massaging them in with the lube. I didn't give a fuck about how sore I was. I was worked up and hot for him to be inside me. And what a great free show, too. He should sell tickets.

He took his hands off me, and those talented fingers guided his dick. I felt myself give. So full. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, then pushed inside me the rest of the way. His eyes met mine, so filled with love and desire.

I loved him. I never knew what love was until him. With him, to be vulnerable was to be strong. He was steady. A tender force. I know I was taken with this room, this place, but it didn't matter where we were as long as we were.

I felt that familiar glow, saw the same in him. His long, deliberate strokes sent me over the edge, keening, begging, saying his name with all the I love yous.

I could see him gritting his teeth to keep from coming even as I clamped down on him-- but he was lost and let himself come. He fell on me and hugged me to him-- we were two halves of one heart, our physical bodies connected. We held each other close.

Oreo cookies had nothing on him.

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We stayed up in that big bed for over an hour before dressing and making an appearance downstairs. The music of Chopin played below, and we followed the soft notes to the living room. There sat Jorge behind the piano, and everyone lounged around the room, listening. Hec smiled sheepishly at Kate as we came through the door, and I ducked my head as she chastised us with a wagging finger-- we'd left our guests hanging. Ah, but it was worth it. We took seats next to her on the sofa. Char sat forward in the old tub chair, fingers pressed to her lips, gazing at Jorge's charming countenance with rapture. Everyone was swept under his spell.

Jorge played almost as well as my sister, certainly much better than I did. Linden came in behind us, and whispered, "I had a phone call." Hec nodded back, then turned to listen, as did Linden, who looked on with love and adulation. I noted a smile on Isadora's lips as her head kept time.

Through the music, I couldn't help but think that the room seemed bare, all the sparkle and tinsel gone with the Christmas tree. The little boy in me felt the letdown of Christmas past, but I felt the gentle nocturne return some magic to this corner of the room.

As Jorge finished, we applauded. Jorge spun around to face us, making the old cherry piano bench creak and groan. He smoothed out the creases in his suit. He was like a two-door paradox: one door remained locked, neat and pressed like his suit. Only one person was allowed to open the second door, and that was Linden. During those times when that door was ajar, I'd see a different Jorge-- free, easy. Even after this private, intimate recital, that deep, pensive smile swept us in while his dark, serious eyes held us back.

"That's beautiful," Char said. "What was it?"

"Chopin. Nocturne in C minor," Linden said.