A bouquet of roses and lots of thanks to Solo and SHaron for all their help scanning and proofing these classic stories of Constance Collins! This story originally appeared in the zine It's Love Cap'n which can still be obtained from In Person Press.

Comments about this story can be sent to: VenicePlaceAngel@aol.com

Fever Pitch
Clandestine Report #104
by
Constance Collins

So I called. H was asleep, but not too deep -- not in this heat -- & he said he'd come over, in that 'this better be important or I'm really gonna be pissed off at you' tone I knew so well.

I've never been so nervous. Would you believe I changed my clothes 4 times before he got there? Not even on my first date was I that bad off. Well, I wanted to look right, you know? Like that was gonna make some kinda difference.

Of course, when H did show, I was in between changes & wearing only my red & white t-shirt & black underpants: I dunno if he didn't knock or if I didn't hear, but all of a sudden he was standing in the doorway, looking all tousled & sleep & sweaty & annoyed & beautiful-as-hell. "You going someplace?"

"No, uh --" I grabbed up my loosest jeans & quickly pulled them on. "I need to talk to you."

"Yeah, you said that on the phone. I didn't know we were supposed to dress for the occasion." He was wearing wrinkled white shorts & a black t-shirt, deck shoes, no socks. I wanted to lick every inch of exposed skin. "What's so important it couldn't wait till daylight?" He sat down cross-legged on the bed, watching me with a concern that was almost painful to see.

With my jeans on (barely -- I was aching), I felt a little more secure. I started to sit down next to him, but I couldn't -- that unwavering gaze wouldn't let me open my mouth. And I had to get out of the bedroom. "C'm'on, let's go in the living room." H followed me out there, sat on the sofa, watching as I paced back & forth. "There's something I need to talk to you about." I glanced at him -- still that same look of caring mixed with confusion. "You -- do you remember yesterday?"

"Yes." I could hear in his voice that he was trying to keep the sarcasm from coming through. "What about yesterday?"

As I organized the words I had to say, I had a blinding moment where I thought I was going into shock -- my skin was prickling, blood was pounding in my ears, & there was a sparkling in front of my eyes. So I sat down at the other end of the sofa.

"Starsk? Are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine -- listen, yesterday, when we --" I had to stop to take a deep breath "-- kissed, uh - well, I've been thinking about it, &, well, there's something that's been on my mind for a long time, something I have to tell you." Still he was looking at me with that tender look, & the confusion was gone, which confused me. Because I certainly hadn't suddenly started making sense or anything. Then he took my hand -- to hold it? What had I said that could make him want to hold my hand all of a sudden? Then he dropped something into it. For a moment I was really baffled, then I recognized the turquoise cord: his life guard's whistle. What the hell? I looked up into solemn blue, understanding blue, & I knew -- he knew. How could he know? What in the hell had I said? I tried to say something -- I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"I read your clandestine report, the one I thought would be about Colby... You wouldn't talk about it & I needed to know what you were going through..." His voice trailed off. There was a trace of guilt in his eyes, with the worry. "You used to let me read them sometimes; I figured if you wouldn't show me, you must really be upset..."

"You've been sneaking through my things?" This was incredible. Close as we've been, we'd always respected each others' privacy. And he'd known all along -- all those obscene thoughts I'd had & he knew --

My face was in flames. Still holding the whistle, I got up & walked out of the room. I don't know how I didn't walk into a wall, because I didn't know where I was going -- just away. I'd planned on embarrassment, but not this total, annihilating humiliation. The next thing I knew I was laying on my bed, trying to breathe with my face in a pillow.

"Listen --" I felt the bed push down as H sat next to me. I didn't want to hear anything he had to say, I just wanted him out of my room, out of my house, out of my life, forever -- it felt like it would take at least that long before I could face him again. And suddenly I was furious.

"Get the hell out of here!" I was swinging on him, with no leverage at all, and all I managed to do was throw us both off the bed. I was trying to punch him, but I couldn't get back far enough to really hit him, and he was grabbing me, holding my arms to my sides, yelling at me while I yelled at him, trying to shut me up with his mouth. "What the hell gives you the right to go through my personal private papers?"

He'd rolled on top of me & was trying to get me into one of those stupid wrestling holds he knows. "Shut up, will you, before somebody calls the cops." And he kissed me.

"Get the fuck --" And he kissed me again. "-- out of here!" And again. It was kinda slowly dawning on me that this wasn't H's usual way of keeping me quiet. So I shut up & just looked at him.

"You going to shut up?" His voice was soft.

"You gonna get offa me?"

He didn't, but he did shift his weight so I could breathe easier. And he kissed me again.

That one lasted a long, long time. I put my arms around him & I thought I was going into sensory overload -- actually having his lips against mine, actually having his arms around me, actually having his dick pressed against me --

After that things went a little haywire -- I guess I went a little haywire. I couldn't keep my hands off him, & it felt like the feeling was mutual. We went on like that for hours; nothing heavy, just touching & kissing. Not even talking, which for us is pretty unusual. We both of us talk a lot.

I don't know how long we laid there, just holding onto each other. It's funny, but even though we'd just been-making out, I guess -- more physically intimate than we'd ever been, it didn't feel sexual, it felt companionable, friendly. And unreal, like we were caught up in a dream, & we both knew it.

"You wanna spend the night?" I whispered. I don't know why I was whispering, except that it felt like we were alone together in a secret. H smiled at me conspiratorially, like whispering made sense to him, too.

"Yes, I'd like to spend the night, if I can spend it in your bed."

"Where else? You think I'd make you stay here on the floor?" But I didn't want to let go of him.

Neither of us moved for a few more minutes, then H kind of nudged me. "You still awake?"

"Mmmm." Not much of an answer, but I was feeling lackadaisical. The next thing I knew, he was getting off me, grabbing my hands & pulling me to my feet.

"Get up, get undressed, & get into bed, I'll go close up."

The loss of physical connection left me cold & lonely. I wanted to ask him if he'd be back, but I couldn't; it sounded, even to my own ears, like a truly pathetic question -- especially if he planned on leaving. And if I asked, he'd stay, whether he wanted to or not. So I undressed, listening to him moving around the living room, turning off the tv, locking the door, turning out the light...

Once the living room light went out, the whole house was pitch dark. I stood still, holding my clothes, listening hard. It didn't make any sense to lock the door if he was going to leave, but logic was the last thing I trusted at that moment. Finally a creak told me H was coming back to the bedroom. I just stood there, feeling like I'd somehow been set adrift by reality.

He bumped into me in the darkness, swore, then asked just how long it took me to get undressed. He was still whispering, & he sounded as pissed off as he usually did when I did something that aggravated him, & reality rushed back over me like the tide: this was H, my partner. I waited, watching his movements in the darkness, & when he'd finished undressing I did something I'd wanted to do for a long time: dropping my clothes, I tackled him, knocking him onto the bed with me on top of him.

"What the hell are you doing?" He sounded so outraged, I burst out laughing, & I could feel H laughing too. "You're dangerous, you know that?"

"Uh-huh. You got any complaints?"

He stroked my cheek the way he had earlier in the day. "No, no complaints. But we've got a funeral early tomorrow morning, remember?" His tone was so gentle, & his fingers on my cheek were so tender, I couldn't say anything. All I wanted to do was snuggle against him. "Babe? You awake?" 

"Yeah, I'm awake."

"You haven't been to sleep at all tonight, have you?" 

"No."

"And last night?"

I knew what he was getting at. "Yeah, I got insomnia, so what else is new?"

"Jesus. I've never known how you function on so little sleep."

"I'm a superior person; my below-average is better than most people's terrific."

"Oh, yeah, how could I forget." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. Then, under his breath, but so I couldn't miss it, "Talk about delusions of grandeur." He pulled the blankets up around us, sort of cradled me in his arms, & kissed me. "You may be terrific, but I think you should get some sleep." Then he started stroking my dick, kissing all over my face. I was primed practically to overload, & it only took a few minutes -- I came like I was never gonna stop.

When I finally caught my breath I tried to say something, but H put his hand over my mouth. "Shhh. We can talk anytime; right now, just let yourself go to sleep."

He took his hand back & just sort of wrapped himself around me, his chest to my back. He'd done it before, lots of times, when I was sick, or hurt, or hurting in my heart, but never with us both naked, never just after sex, never like this. I was on a post-coital high (a term H coined, I think) & sleepy & safe, & then asleep.

~~~

I hate funerals. But I guess that kinda goes without saying -- I don't know anybody who likes them. Anyhow, Johnny's was something else -- it looked like the whole LAPD had turned out, in uniform -- including H & me. I'd forgotten how wholesome & pure H looked in his uniform -- good old Truth, Justice, & The American Way.

I saw Peter Whitelaw at the cemetery. He stood next to his car, away from everyone, while the prayers were said & the casket lowered. Respect for Maggie, I figure, & it raised my opinion of him. I don't know how many people saw him standing there, but nobody acknowledged his presence, & it made me a little sad, & a little scared. H & me have our socially acceptable partnership: his presence at my funeral -- or mine at his -- would be assumed, but if anybody knew about last night, would he end up watching from a distance to spare my relatives the embarrassment of his presence? I made a mental note to tell him later that I fucking well expect him at my funeral no matter what. And to hell with anybody's embarrassment.

I spoke to Maggie briefly after the service, & she invited H & me back to the house. She seemed so lost & alone that I couldn't say no; I'm not sure I could've said no anyway. It kept playing over & over how many times I've done this: stood around someone's immaculately cleaned house, making polite conversation after someone I loved had been put in the ground. So much normalcy in such insane moments. It looked to me like half of LA had crammed itself into Maggie's house to express their condolences -- & it felt like it, too; the air conditioner couldn't fight the outdoor temperature & all that body heat, not to mention the doors being opened & closed over & over as people came & went. But it still felt empty without John. I think even a year ago I'd have cried, but somewhere along the way whatever it was in me that cried at times like this either grew up or gave up. So I made polite conversation with everyone & watched H. He'd've made a terrific funeral director, with all that smooth, polite concern. We'd been there about an hour & I'd lost track of him (in all that blue, sometimes all I could find was his hair, shining above everyone) when suddenly he was behind me, grabbing my arm. "Come on, we're going home." I started to say it wasn't time yet, but he was shaking his head. "You look like you're going to pass out any minute. Maggie will understand."

I don't know what was said between H & Maggie -- they talked about me like I was too young to understand what they were saying, & my mind kinda wandered off. Maggie hugged me, kissed me, said she'd see me soon, then H was leading me out the door.

~~~

We ended up at The Pits, where the air conditioning was halfway decent & the beer was icy. I don't remember what we talked about -- what they talked about, really; Huggy sat with us & he & H talked, I just drank a lot -- but I remember H holding my wrist (not my hand, my wrist. Weird, huh?) across the table. After a couple hours we left, went back to my place. It all seemed like a mirage: Johnny was dead, the case was over, we'd solved it all, & once again we were the heroes of the day. And I couldn't've cared less. I'd read the account in the paper, & except for the names not one damn thing sounded familiar. Maybe John wasn't exactly the person I'd thought I'd known, but he wasn't the person in that article, either. Unless you knew The Blue Parrot, it could've been a lemonade stand that got shot up. Sugar was an 'entertainer' (no gender was even mentioned!) And I was beginning to wonder if all that was covered up with lies & red tape, was I? Who the hell was I? Not the guy they wrote about in the paper -- not even the person I'd been a week ago, when I never thought I'd ever tell H, let alone -- 

Someplace under the numbness a real, dangerous anger was forming, & I didn't even know who I was mad at. I didn't want all of Johnny's secrets printed in the newspapers -- Maggie, after all, was still alive -- but all of this was so wrong. Last night seemed further away than my childhood, & I didn't know how to talk to H about it.

I pulled into the driveway & shut off the engine, still absorbed in my own thoughts. H touched my arm. "You know, it's a good thing you can drive on instinct; otherwise I don't think we'd've made it here."

I glanced at him, only half aware of what he'd said. "What?" He repeated it. "What're you talking about?"

"Where are you? I've been talking to you for the last 10 minutes, & this is the first thing you've heard."

If I denied it, he'd quiz me on what he'd been saying & I didn't know. So I just shrugged. "Sorry."

"I don't want an apology!" He sounded thoroughly exasperated; somehow that made me feel safer. "I want to know what's up. Is it just the funeral, or is it something more?"

I wanted to tell him that I felt like I was losing my identity, but I couldn't. So I got pissed, though I'm not sure at who. I know who I yelled at, though. "What the hell do you mean 'just the funeral'? John Blaine --"

"That's not what I meant, & you know it." Very quiet. He wasn't gonna fight back. Terrific. "I've never seen you quite like this before. Is it last night?"

I couldn't think what to say, so I didn't say anything. Finally he got out, came around to my side of the car, opened the door, & pulled me out. "Get in the house, we have to talk."

You don't argue with my partner when he's pissed off. I mean, I've tried it, but he tends to get a little physical, & a person can get bruised. So I just went inside. After all, it's my house; where else was I gonna go?

So we sat on the sofa, just looking at each other. Finally H got up, giving me a look that said if I moved, I was in trouble, went into the kitchen, & came back with a couple of beers. I didn't open mine; I'd had enough at The Pits. H drank his beer, then mine, then he just looked at me, like he was waiting for me to say something. Only trouble was I didn't know what to say.

"Now look, I knew about those reports, & the way you clammed up about Colby worried the hell out of me, & I wanted to see if you'd written anything...that was the only one I read, I swear --"

"You don't have to swear." He hadn't even had to tell me, I'd figured that out for myself. H's scruples are above reproach; he wouldn't've knowingly pried into anything so personal.

"Well, if you're not still mad at me, what's up?"

Too much beer, too much kindness in H's voice, made me answer honestly without thinking. "Look, if anything happens to me, I expect you to come to my funeral."

That confused the hell out of him. "What?"

I couldn't bring myself to explain. So I kissed him instead.

It was our first kiss in the light, & it was terrific. After a while he leaned forward & kinda pushed me down, laid on top of me, & kissed me.

It was like flicking a switch in my brain, scrambling all my thoughts. Only one part of my body was thinking coherently at all -- if you could call that thinking.

It's weird -- for all the times I've thought about kissing H, about making love with him, I never had any real idea what it would be like. I don't know what I expected -- something really different than anything else I'd ever tried, I guess, but not what happened. It feels like I've known H my whole life -- much longer than I really have, because somehow everything that happened before I met him seems like it's been changed by knowing him. I know I know him better than anybody else I know -- sometimes better'n I know myself. And I've known a long time how gentle he can be, how tender, how --

Startin' to sound like a fucking Valentine. But if I know all that -- & I do -- how come I didn't expect it when I felt it?

Rambling. Let me start again. How was it different than being with a woman? More dangerous. I was scared, really scared, besides being turned on. Maybe because I didn't know what to expect, but also because of the possible repercussions. It was all I'd thought about all day -- all the changes in us, & how even after only last night, how I couldn't possibly let go now.

So what it was like. Gentle. Deceptively gentle. Like if I didn't know better, I could've believed that gentleness was all there was. But I know better; I know the softness, the tenderness is real, but I also know that last night he held me down & kissed me to shut me up because I was pissing him off. And because he's bigger than me, & because he can. I've never been in a more vulnerable position in my life, & like I said, I was scared. Not of H, because he may be bigger'n me, but whatever he can do, I know him. An' I know what he would do. And what he wouldn't. No way he'd force me into anything I didn't want, no matter what I'd said or done. But the capacity was there, and the hunger -- I know that hunger; I've felt it. But I've never been in what you might call a passive position like this, & what was scaring the shit outta me was how much I liked it, how much I wanted it. There wasn't any turning back; H had called my bluff, & I had to follow through -- not 'cause he'd make me, but because I couldn'ta said no to him. I was in no way prepared for this -- I'd never expected him to say yes, let alone to do something like this.

He was undressing me, & himself, slowly, tossing our uniforms on the floor, still kissing me. "Your funeral! Yeah, I'll be at your funeral; it'll probably be a double funeral, dummy! Where else would I be?"

I took his mouth back. "Tell you later." It was like I was playing Russian Roulette & I couldn't wait to pull the trigger.

I don't know how long we made out; I lost all track of time...I lost everything. I was lost in the summer blue of his eyes & the shimmer of his hair; lost in his hands & his mouth & the hardness I couldn't resist touching; lost in the touch & the taste & the smell of him...

I don't even know what he used to grease me up, or when or where he got it, but I pulled my knees up to my chest, offering myself to him, & he pushed into me.

I wasn't ready. All those nights I couldn't sleep for thinking of him, all those nights when I did sleep, & dreamt of him, all those nights I'd spent with someone else, pretending it was him, hadn't prepared me, but there I was, practically begging H to take me.

I'd've said fucking on my sofa was impossible, there was so little room, but that's where we did it. It was the most tender, loving, terrifying act imaginable, & I was completely outta my mind. My soul was filled with a panic that had me achingly aroused, & my body was filled to overflowing with my partner, my love. At some point I must've started yelling, because H tried to shut me up, first with his hand, then with his mouth: He took me & he kissed me & he stroked me to a climax that shattered my heart.

~~~

I nearly always fall asleep right after sex (I've had a few complaints about it, but I can't help it. The only thing better'n a good fuck is a good fuck followed by going to sleep with the other person in your arms. If the whole thing needs a critique, it can wait till morning.) But that time I didn't. H did -- on top of me -- well, where else was there, on that sofa? -- & I just stayed still & waited & thought.

If I'd thought my thoughts had been spinning around in circles for the few days before, the thoughts I had that night made the earlier ones look like they were standing still. There was no question how good the sex had been -- good! Try exquisite -- delicious -- miraculous. Yeah, miraculous just about covers it. Every muscle in my body ached like I'd carried H for a couple of miles insteada being under him for a couple of hours, & I was sticky ~ sweaty inside & out, & I was pretty sure I was bleeding some...& I couldn'ta cared less. I'd never felt better in my life. H had his head resting on my chest, his arms around my waist, & he was sprawled between my legs. It felt like he was mine.

Only question was, did he feel the same way? And what if he didn't? Or if he did? That was what kept me from sleeping -- either way, we were in one hell of a lot if trouble.

~~~

I guess I slept some, because I woke up & there was H, still on top of me, still asleep, still holding me like I belonged to him. Most of my body had gone numb from the weight of him on top of me. Anyhow, I shifted a little & he started to wake up.

I'd forgotten how beautiful H waking up can be -- like the dawn of a perfect summer day. How I could have forgotten that I don't know, but I was overwhelmed, seeing his eyes open, feeling his body shift & stretch with awareness. Then his eyes focused on me, & he smiled at me like everything was terrific, & everything was terrific. "How are you feeling?"

I just grinned at him, not trusting myself to talk. Suddenly he was up off me, sitting on the floor next to me. "Jesus, I didn't mean to fall asleep on top of you." It was weird; I knew he was talking to me, but he sounded so polite I couldn't quite take it in -- it was like he was talking to his date. Then it hit me that I was his date, sort of .

I guess it struck H weird too, because he started laughing & sorta threw himself on top of me, grabbing my face & kissing me, still laughing. "Are you all right?" He was talking to me again.

"I think the lower half of my body's gone to sleep, & I could use a hot shower."

"The shower sounds good, & maybe it'll help wake up the lower half of your body..." He was running his fingers up the inside of my thigh, & I could feel myself waking up. "Is there room in your shower for two?"

"If we stand really close." I liked the way this conversation was going, & it led me to say something I hadn't planned on. "I love you."

He looked at me kinda surprised, smiling like I'd said the secret word & won a zillion dollars. Then he kissed me again, very gently, sorta the way he kissed me when I woke up in the hospital after he'd found out what was in that syringe Bellamy shot me up with, only that time he kissed me on the forehead & now he was kissing me on the mouth. I'd recognized it at the time as pure, unadulterated love. Then he sorta slid offa the sofa, sitting on the floor & resting his head on my thigh. The next thing I knew he was stroking & kissing my dick. At first I couldn't even focus on how terrific it felt because all I could think about was the fact that H was doing this. Then my senses took over & all I could think about was how I felt...

I don't wanna go into details, but it was without a doubt the best blow-job I ever had. Afterward he put his hands under my thighs & pushed my knees up to my chest. For a minute I thought he was gonna fuck me again -- an' let me tell you, I wouldn'ta stopped him -- but then he real gently started examining my ass -- real careful, real loving. "There's a little blood." He sounded worried.

Oh. He'd shifted into his nurturing mode. Nice, but I liked the sex better.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel like I wanna take that shower & try this again in this bedroom." I wish I didn't know why I said it -- I wish I knew that I wouldn't've said it if he hadn't kissed me like he did. But, hey, I'm not so stupid that I don't know that I'da said it even if he'd just woke up & wanted to fuck me again, because if there's one thing I know about myself, it's this: sex or no sex, I'm a pushover for H.

He was grinning at me from between my knees, a really weird position to be in. "If you're sure you're ok," he said very seriously.

"I'm sure I'm ok." I answered, just as seriously.

So he helped me up off the sofa & to the shower (truth is, I was a little sore) & we washed each other, & kissed a ' lot, & dried each other off, & went back to my bed, where we made out for a couple of hours & finally I fell asleep in his arms.

None of which solves anything, except that now I know H feels pretty much the same way I do: confused. But we're gonna keep messing around, at least until we get this figured out.

And while I'm thinking about it, I've gotta find a new place to keep these reports. Not that I don't trust H, but there's no point tempting fate. And even if I do love him like crazy, I got a right to a little privacy.

end