Call Me

Kyle propped his weight against the door jamb, his hands clasped behind his back, presenting himself as ever the demure date. Champagne bubbles fizzed behind his eyes, but he valiantly fought off any lingering tipsiness from dinner. Nick's palm lay flat against the wall next to his temple, and he leaned in, stealing a quick nip from Kyle's ear.

"I know we already did the congratulations earlier, but... you're gonna be a doctor. That's huge. I'm proud of you."

Kyle smiled, feeling a blush lay siege to his cheeks. "Thanks," he said, dipping his head and biting his lip.

A strong finger lifted his chin and he was met with curious eyes. "Hey, I never asked how your first day was."

"Oh, you know." Kyle shrugged, his shoulders digging into the hard wood behind him. "Pretty normal."

"Really? You seem kind of keyed up."

"Eh, well..." His fingers nervously tapped the wood paneling behind him, but he couldn't make them stop. "I was doing my rotation in trauma medicine..."

"Yeah?" Nick always had a way of seeming interested, even when Kyle knew for sure the story wouldn't justify that interest.

"Remember how I told you about my, uh..." He pinched his thumb and forefinger together. "—my itty-bitty, snack-size law troubles?"

Nick bent his elbow, bringing his head down level with Kyle's, and smiled. "When you were a bad, bad boy?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper. He sounded almost... proud. And Kyle couldn't help but laugh—really laugh, deep down in the gut laugh.

"Yeah," he said. "That's one way to put it. Anyway..." He looked down at his shoes, then back up at that open, expectant face. "I had to treat Jared Banks today."

The face registered confusion, and then recognition. "He was the guy you blackmailed, right?"

Kyle crossed his arms in front of him. "The guy who offered me a bribe and then didn't pay up!"

"That's right." Nick grinned. "I forget the details."

"Anyway. Yeah, so I had to treat him for some minor injuries... It was weird."

"That it?"

Kyle shrugged, his gaze back at the floor. "Yep."

He didn't like lying to Nick, but he didn't want their date to be overrun by... the constant intruder, either. He'd snuck his way into too many of their dates already, and Kyle could tell that Nick was naturally tiring of the subject.

So Nick didn't need to know that he'd come upon Oliver in the hospital corridor. That Oliver was officially out of the closet. That Oliver had stared at him with those wounded-puppy eyes that did things to Kyle. That Oliver had asked if he could call later. That Kyle had told him yes.

Other than that, yeah. That was it for his first day.

But he was still pretty tired, and the thought of falling onto the bed and just drifting off was courting him like a Shakespearean lover whispering soft nothings in his ear.

He looked up, emphasizing his tiredness with an exaggerated droop to eyelids. "Nick, don't hate me."

"Uh oh. I don't like the sound of this."

"I had a great time tonight..."

"Me too."

"But—"

"There it is." Nick exhaled his obvious disappointment on a sigh.

Kyle let a finger play with the hem of Nick's jacket sleeve. "I'm a little beat. Really beat, actually. So I was hoping we could, y'know, rain check..."

"I thought we were gonna celebrate your first day." An eyebrow twitched up. "Together."

"We can! We will. How about—?" he trailed off, looking down the empty hall.

"I'm listening."

"In the morning? Come over for breakfast. We can eat in and..." He grinned and looked up at Nick through lowered lids.

Nick grinned too, albeit with an air of reluctance. Slowly, he brought his hand up to Kyle's face, then flicked his nose with his forefinger, making Kyle laugh.

"You are entirely too good at that look," Nick said with a pout.

Kyle batted his eyelashes innocently. "What look?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Tomorrow morning?"

Soft lips crashing against Kyle's were a silent consent. "I look forward to it," Nick said, pulling back only just enough to get the words out before diving back in.

Kyle patted him on the chest. "Come hungry."

"Oh. I will."

Laughing, Kyle leaned in and kissed him one last time. "See ya."

"Yeah."

Nick cast a dark-eyed farewell glance Kyle's way, full of promises for their morning date, and Kyle couldn't help but feel warm all over under that look. To be so openly wanted? It was nice, even as it was kind of scary, too.

He closed the door behind him and wandered into his room. Putting his wallet and phone on the nightstand, he stripped off his clothes and looked balefully at the bathroom. A shower would feel amazing, but he was afraid that along with the wears of the day, it would wash away the pleasant layer of drowsiness and champagne after-buzz that clouded around him in a soft haze. Instead, he pulled on a clean gray t-shirt and a fresh pair of boxers. It was good enough.

Sitting on the bed, he rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his phone caught his attention for no good reason whatsoever. He should turn it off. Interruptions were strictly forbidden. He'd shooed away the guy he was dating in order to get some sleep; if he threw that all away for a phone call? He'd be the dumbest guy on the planet. Which, considering his past mistakes, may not have been too far off the mark.

Lost in his thoughts, he had barely noticed that he had picked up the phone, absently checking for messages. A sudden disappointment coursed through him when he realized there weren't any new ones. Which was stupid, since he'd told Oliver to call him tomorrow. Which was doubly stupid, because he shouldn't be disappointed about lacking a call from his ex-boyfriend at—he checked the clock—12:30AM.

Sighing, he fell back against his pillow, the phone landing on his chest. He tried to ignore the weight of it there, how it settled a strange sense of comfort over him.

God, he was acting like a lovesick teenager. Which was a little more than embarrassing; though the embarrassment was doing a good job of masking his guilt. He and Oliver were over. A long time ago. "It's nothing," he said out loud, as if it would make it more true to tell it to the walls. They were friends. Friends could talk on the phone. Especially since Oliver needed to talk to someone. That much was obvious. And Cris and Layla were great, but they didn't know what it was like. Not like Kyle did.

Kyle laughed softly to himself, remembering their conversation at the hospital. Oliver was out. Out to his friends, to Layla, to his parents, even. Kyle could barely wrap his head around that one. He never thought he'd live to see the day. It was... amazing. Oliver, finally whole, finally his true self again. Out of the closet—after sleeping with yet another woman.

The sex must have been really, really bad, Kyle snickered to himself.

Then he sobered, his thoughts turning serious. It wasn't just bad sex; so many things had contributed to Oliver's revelation. Not the least was Nick and Layla fatefully sitting down next to each other at the gym. Happenstance—the hero of the hour. If Nick hadn't opened up to Layla, Oliver still would've been in the closet... and how long would he have stayed there? The rest of his life? If he'd had his way, yes. He never would have told Layla the truth. It took some freak-of-nature coincidence to shove him out.

Certainly nothing Kyle ever said or did had managed that herculean feat.

Kyle sighed, closing his heavy eyes. Oliver never would have come out just for him—to be with with him. He'd had his chances. He'd had seven long years since they were freshmen to make that choice. And he never did. He never chose Kyle.

Not that it mattered, Kyle reminded himself. He was with Nick now, and Oliver was finally his own man. Two really great things. It didn't matter why it happened; all that mattered was that his—his friend could finally be... happy. Be at peace. Kyle had wanted that for him, so badly, from the very start. He'd have to think of some way to thank Nick for his big, blabbing mouth.

Looking down, he realized his fingers had gripped his phone tight, his knuckles gone the palest of yellows. He was just about to shut it off when it buzzed in his hand. He didn't recognize the number, but he knew who it was. And if someone asked him to explain the smile that came over his face, he'd tell them to mind their own business.

He hit the 'accept' button with a steady finger. "Hi," he breathed out, resting a hand behind his head on the pillow.

"Kyle?" Oliver sounded surprised. Kyle snorted and rolled his eyes.

"You were expecting someone else?"

"No. Well... no. I mean... I thought I'd get—get voice mail maybe... because you had, um, plans?"

Kyle couldn't help but chuckle at Oliver's clumsy stammering; he could easily picture those familiar eyes and cheeks and mouth contorting this way and that, like a family of acrobats. "You've reached the man himself, pal. What's up?" He glanced at the clock. "It's a little late."

"I'm not, um, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Nah. I was just getting ready for bed."

"Oh. Okay. I mean, if you're busy..."

Kyle grinned to himself. Oliver was about as subtle as a charging rhino. He was obviously doing recon, trying to figure out if Nick was staying the night. Which should have been annoying, but somehow... wasn't. At all.

"I'm not busy," he said, reaching down and toying with the hem of his shirt with his free hand. "Actually, I've just been sitting here waiting by the phone, wondering if this mythical call from you was ever gonna grace my desperately lonely ears," he mock-pouted. "I mean, it is technically tomorrow."

Oliver chuckled. "That late, huh? I can... I can call back tomorrow—er, later—I mean, some other time."

"No!" Kyle said quickly—a little too quickly, and he pinched his brow in embarrassment. "No, it's okay. I'm just joking around. I'm glad you called. It's good for you to be able to talk to someone. You've had a big week. All the excitement and danger and medals..." He paused, biting his inner cheek. "And then the rest."

"The disowning, yeah."

Kyle sucked in a quick breath. "Still bad?"

"God, Kyle. I don't think I'm ever gonna see them again." He could hear the ache in Oliver's voice, and his chest felt tight, squeezed by emotion.

"I'm sorry. I wish it was better."

"I know. Me too."

Kyle bit his lip, took a deep breath. "Do you wish you hadn't told them?" As soon as it was out of his mouth, he regretted asking it. He knew the answer, and it was one he knew he didn't want to hear.

"I didn't really." Oliver sighed. "Tell them, that is. I hadn't planned on telling them. They just sort of... found out."

"Found out? Like before? Did they... did they walk in on something?" It made him feel slightly ill, bringing up that particular memory. He'd banished for years, but it seemed he couldn't stop bringing it up today, taking a razor to that half-healed scab.

"No!" Oliver said, his voice colored with shock. "No, of course not. I mean, there's, um, nothing to walk in on this time. They found this book, this silly how-to manual Cris bought me. Tips on how to come out to your parents."

"Wow. So you got outed by a book." Kyle tried not to sound overly relieved. Because, really, what his friend did and with whom was totally not any of his business. He cleared his throat, then grinned. "And it wasn't even something good like Ultimate Gay Sex."

A frazzled, choking azkhararrfgug! noise crackled through the ear piece. "Kyle!" Oliver finally spit out, his voice a full octave higher than usual.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry." Kyle tried not to laugh, but failed miserably at his impossible task. "Too soon, huh? But it's good, y'know. I mean, it's not good that your parents can't deal, but it's good that you're being... well, yourself again." He smiled, a familiar, comforting feeling coursing through him. "Y'know, I always really liked that guy."

"Yeah. I remember." Spoken softly, but with a confidence that seemed to have returned from a long sabbatical.

And Kyle forgot for a minute how to breathe. Silence overtook the conversation, broken only by the sounds of clothes shifting against skin as one or the other would fidget.

"God, this brings back memories," Kyle finally said, then immediately wished he hadn't.

Oliver exhaled loudly over the line. "I really... I really liked when we used to do this. Talk on the phone every night. When we weren't, y'know...." Kyle waited for him to finish the thought, but Oliver had already moved on. "It was... nice. I liked—I liked that the last thing I heard before sleep was—was your voice."

Kyle felt a lump to start to grow in his throat.

"Yeah, me too."

He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed this. Missed Oliver. Well, he'd always missed Oliver, but that was more of an abstract feeling, a memory like a dull ache that never went away, but was easy to ignore. Doing this—falling back into their old ways, yet still so far apart—sent something sharper through him, but he wasn't ready to define just what that something was just yet.

Because that pleasant feeling, that warm weight that fell over him like a blanket, it was there too. And it felt very good. Maybe it was just the lingering effects of the champagne. He didn't know. All he knew was that he was tired and comfortable and... content.

He heard Oliver clear his throat. "Though, those conversations could get a little, well... racy."

Kyle couldn't help but laugh. "No kidding. I'm pretty sure half the time we'd forgo polite introductions and get straight to 'What are you wearing?'"

"More than half the time," Oliver agreed, very quickly.

Then their new friend Silence butted its way back into the conversation. Kyle closed his eyes; the sounds of the city at night meandered through the window, rustlings and murmurs like white noise dulling his senses.

After a few moments like that, Oliver's voice snapped him back to attention. "So...?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you wearing?"

Kyle's eyes popped open and he barked out what could have been the distant cousin of a laugh.

"Oliver!"

"What?" Oliver said, as innocent as a novice in a nunnery.

Kyle chuckled. "I thought I had you figured out by now, yet you still surprise me."

"That's not an answer, you know."

"You're like a dog with a bone." Kyle blushed at his word choice, then looked down at his chest, fingering the hem of his shirt. "I'm wearing, uh, a t-shirt. And boxers. The usual."

"Socks?"

Kyle squinted in confusion. "No. Why?"

"Just trying to get the full picture here."

"God, Oliver." Kyle looked up at the ceiling and smiled. "You are something else tonight."

"I'm sorry. It just feels good to talk again, you know? I'm a little... I dunno. Hyper."

"Could've fooled me."

Oliver chuckled. Kyle's fingers were still working the hem of his t-shirt. He bit his lip, nervously, and grinned. "So... what are you wearing?" For a split second he envisioned Oliver in his uniform, the top buttons undone, a tuft of chest hair peeking through...

"Um, y'know. Undershirt—white. Boxer briefs. Like you said: The usual."

Kyle closed his eyes and tried not to inhale too loudly. The image made his heart flutter a bit in his chest. God, that body. It had been too long since he'd seen it. He balled his fist and pounded it softly against his forehead, trying to stamp out the uninvited vision.

What was he doing? This was a ridiculously bad idea. Only bad things would meet him if he kept on, traveling down that particular path. It was his voice—Oliver's voice—doing things to him. Making him feel things again.

"Well—" He tried to clear all the gravel out of his throat. "Now that we've got that out of the way..."

Oliver laughed. Again. Kyle hadn't heard him laugh this much in years. The transformation was amazing.

"I'm so happy for you," he said, though it sounded more like a sigh.

"What?"

"You sound so... free. It's just—it's nice to hear. Now that your life is your own again... I'm proud of you. Really, really proud of you."

"Thanks."

Kyle didn't know why, but for a split second he wanted with all his heart to hear Oliver say it back. That Oliver was proud of him. But as quickly as the thought formed, it vanished, like warm breath on a cold night.

"It... it means a lot," Oliver continued. "I thought—I was afraid... once I came out, once Layla and Cris found out about me, that I'd be all alone. That I wouldn't have anybody. I was so scared. I couldn't see past all that."

"I know." He remembered Oliver's fears all too well. "But even if they hadn't understood, y'know, if they hadn't been able to forgive you... you've got me. You've always—" He swallowed, trying to clear away the lump in his throat. "You've always had me. No matter what, Oliver, I'll always be in your corner. I meant it all those years ago, and I mean it now."

"Kyle, I—"

"Yeah?"

"Just... thanks. Thanks for listening. For... being there."

He closed his eyes. "Always."

"So..." Oliver cleared his throat, his voice deepening, and Kyle tried valiantly to steady his beating heart. "Um, anything exciting happen at the hospital today?"

"Like someone getting rebar pulled out of their guts in the ER? Nope. It's been slow going ever since I got reinstated. All the fun stuff happened while I was on the outs. You couldn't have waited a week to do this big drug bust? I mean, c'mon. Think of me, next time."

Oliver's laugh sent a shock of pleasure through Kyle's stomach. "Next time I'll be sure to run your schedule by the kidnapping druglords first."

"Good." Kyle paused. His fingers were starting to fray the thread on his shirt hem, and he consciously forced them to stop fidgeting. "So," he said, mostly to distract himself, "tell me all about it."

"About what?"

"The whole story. The big heroics." Kyle wasn't particularly interested in the details. He'd read it all in the paper... at least three times. But there was some deep urge inside of him, a need to hear Oliver's voice, to have it fill him and warm him and remind him that here was the man he used to love, the one who was sweet and caring and strong. The one who was happy. The one with fireworks in his eyes and passion in his voice.

That voice.

Oliver began speaking again and Kyle stopped fighting it, stopped fighting back his focus, and just let himself get lost in that voice, in memories of a time when all he ever needed was to hear it and he would know he was loved, was wanted, was someone's.

He closed his eyes and let the fuzziness of his desires, his champagne-soaked memories take over. And that's all the permission his free hand needed, because suddenly being touched was the only thing in the world that mattered.

His fingers languidly crawled up under his shirt, the nails scraping gently across his chest, teasing the pert little buds that were waking and hardening under his touch. He could picture it so clearly in his mind: those familiar bright eyes clouding over, darkening with lust, the mouth hanging open, those perfect lips begging to be bit and sucked, the little noises that struggled out, that couldn't be held back. God—those noises, low and desperate and demanding and craving, reverberating deep in his stomach as if someone had struck a massive bell inside him.

His hand moved lower, slowly—so slowly, the hard palm rubbing down his abdomen, the fingers sliding smoothly under elastic.

The soft murmurings of Oliver's voice urged him on. He had no idea what Oliver was saying, but he had to keep him talking.

Sucking in a deep breath, he grabbed hold of himself and little bursts of electricity hummed through him, and he couldn't hold back the quiet mmm of appreciation. He began pumping, keeping it slow, steady, trying to control himself. He couldn't do anything that would make Oliver stop talking. That would be the worst thing in the entire world.

So the mmm's masked themselves as interested mm-hmm's, encouraging Oliver to keep on with whatever story of heroism and do-goodery he was relating.

He remembered Oliver's broad chest, how it would hover over him, sweat-slick and impossibly warm, skimming his own chest with each strong stroke of the hand. How he would swoop down for kisses, the lightest of butterfly kisses, as if he couldn't allow himself to drink deeper or he'd never stop. How he would breathe out Kyle's name, over and over and over again. Kyle loved that the most—hearing Oliver say his name so desperately, whispering it like a prayer, like he would die if he stopped saying it.

Kyle pumped faster, harder. The electric buzz skated along each limb, each finger, each toe, and he felt hot and tense all over. With each syllable out of Oliver's mouth, his whole body twitched, the intense throbs circling out from his groin finding newer, deeper, untouched parts of him. He was close, so close, and he bit down on his tingling lips, sucking them into his mouth, teasing them with his tongue.

"God," he heard Oliver sigh out. "Talking like this... it feels so good, Kyle." His name, rumbled out, riding low on an exhalation, pushed Kyle over the edge. The phone fell from his hand and his fingers dug into the corner of his pillow as he lost himself in it.

"Nnggh—ahh!" He pulled the pillow out from under him, throwing his head back, then a clever, free-thinking hand was over his mouth, teeth clamping down on trembling fingers, muffling his excited groans as the near-violent spasms wracked his body.

He rode out the waves until his body fell limp against the mattress, his chest rising up with each breath like it had a pressing appointment with the ceiling. Blinking open his heavy eyelids, he heard a tinny voice from afar, like a distant echo. "What happened? Are you okay? Kyle? Kyle?"

Kyle absently reached for the phone, his sweaty fingers slipping over the smooth plastic. He finally managed to maneuver it close to his still-tingling face.

The barest hint of panic filtered out of the ear piece. "Are you there? Kyle?"

"Y—Yes," he rasped out, trying to hold back the last throes of desperate panting, but his chest was too confined for all his breaths. "Mm-hmm. I'm fine. I just... mmng... stubbed my toe on—on the furniture, and, uh... dropped the phone under—under the desk." A soft laugh slipped out of his lips. "Sorry."

"Oh." Panic deflated. "Okay. Do you need to, uh, tend to it?"

Kyle stared down at his mess of a lap and barked out a laugh. "Um, yeah. Give me a few. Stay on line, though! I'll be right back."

He willed himself to sit up, to stand up, to walk to the bathroom, but it was kind of a pain in the ass because all he wanted to do was drift away on the cloud of pleasure that had settled over his bed, but he knew it would be waiting for him when he got back, so he got down to business, cleaned himself up, stripped of his shirt, pulled on a fresh pair of boxers, and then he was back, the phone at his ear, his toes digging playfully into the soft mattress.

"Hi," he said, snorting a bit at how sleepy he sounded.

"All fixed up?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I guess it's, um, getting pretty late," Oliver said, in his hem-haw shucks-a-willikers way that always made Kyle smile. "It's probably best if we get some sleep..."

"Keep talking." Kyle felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier and he sunk just a little bit lower into the mattress.

"Oh, okay," Oliver replied, but Kyle barely heard him as his body completely relaxed into the sweet, warm darkness closing in around him...

* * * * *

Kyle rolled over onto his side and felt something hard against his temple, knocking him awake. And that's when he heard it—a noise so familiar to him, yet strange too, like something out of a dream or... or a distant memory. He glanced over at the clock—3:44AM—then at the object that had so rudely woken him.

His phone glowed in the darkness, casting the room in an enchanted blue phosphorescence.

It was still on, still broadcasting sounds from the other side of town. Oliver's side of town. Oliver's sounds. The rustle of sheets against skin, the soft snores of sleep.

Without a second thought for his phone bill, he hit the button for speakerphone, then placed the phone on the pillow next to his head. When he closed his eyes, he could imagine the sounds were in the room with him, that he was back in college, or that the past four years were only the shadow of a nightmare and he was finally in the life he was supposed to live.

Before he nodded off again, a quiet, comforting realization hit him. Unless Oliver had fallen asleep at the exact moment he himself had, he'd done the same as Kyle, kept the connection open, listened to him sleep.

A smile spread across his cheeks as the darkness hugged close again.

* * * * *

Someone was knocking on his door. Loudly. Or was that just the throbbing in his head? God, he didn't think he'd had that much champagne last night.

He sprang up off the mattress. Last night! His stupid phone call. His... other activities. He'd been so—so out of control. How was he supposed to explain himself to Oliver? Oh God... to Nick?

"Kyle, you up?"

Nick, who was outside his apartment door. Kyle grabbed his phone, quickly shut it off, threw it off the bed, then scrambled to the door, flinging it open with a loud whoosh! And there he was. Mr. Perfect, bedecked in his trademark teacher's sweater vest and short sleeve polo, looking Kyle up and down like a hungry tiger.

That's when Kyle remembered he hadn't put on a shirt, was still clad only in boxers.

"Wow," Nick said, releasing the word on a thin gasp. He looked as though someone had stolen the breath from his lungs. "You look... great."

Kyle smirked, rolling his eyes. "Just get in here, will ya?"

Nick pulled on his arm, dragging him a step outside the threshold instead. "You mean we're not going out to eat?" Their chests crashed together and Kyle grabbed at Nick's belt, trying to pull him toward the open apartment door.

"Come on," he whined. "People might be around."

"Who cares?" Nick leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his nose. "Who cares if they see me with my super-hot, super-amazing boyfriend, making out in the hallway?"

"Ni-ick," he said, stretching the name into multiple syllables.

"I wanna show you off. I wanna show everyone how proud I am of you."

Kyle felt something leap in his chest, something wild, and trembling, and fierce. He tilted his head up, caught Nick's mouth with his own, then yanked him back into room fifteen. "My place," he growled, slamming the door shut behind them. "Now."

Nick smiled, and it was somehow both sweet and predatory.

As Kyle walked backward, tugging Nick along with him, he felt something against his bare foot. Glancing down, he caught a glimpse of gleaming black plastic—his phone, discarded on the ground. Closing his eyes, he shrugged away all thoughts of the previous night. Or, at least he tried to.

Every time Nick whispered his name, he squeezed his eyes tighter, pretending he hadn't heard it.