Casanova

It could have been any Sunday morning. Miles woke up with an empty bottle of cheap bourbon cradled in his arms. His tongue felt furry and his eyes bruised. He struggled to his feet and found his way to the bathroom sink to down Advil, remembering to glare at himself in the mirror as he passed.

He had not shaved in a while. His hair was getting slightly too long, hanging over his ears and sticking up at odd angles. The permanent bags under his gray eyes. Miles could not remember the last time he had seen himself looking well rested and healthy. He sighed and brushed his teeth, gurgling and sitting down on the toilet.

Then Miles did what he always did when he was feeling ugly and low.

"Miles. I should be mad at you," said Waylon upon answering the phone.

"You're incapable of being mad at me. You love me too much," said Miles, resting his elbows on his knees while holding the phone and sitting on the motel toilet. It didn't matter where he was. Hearing Waylon's voice teleported him to a better place.

"You never texted me back that night. I sent you at least a dozen smilies wearing sunglasses and I haven't heard from you since Friday," Waylon said on the receiver.

Miles shook his head, chuckling to himself. "I'm still on the job. I was calling to inform you, actually, that I am going to be seducing the hell out of this source. I'm not sure it will exactly work though. I need a pep talk."

"Oh please, don't start that pity party," joked Waylon. "You're a very persuasive person Miles. Just look at all the things you talked me into."

"Yeah I did," Miles purred into the phone, laughing at the irritated noise Waylon made in response. "Too bad I didn't do it harder."

"Didn't do what harder?"

"Didn't fuck you harder," Miles clarified. "Maybe if I had fucked you harder, you never would have looked twice at Gluskin."

"Oh, stop being silly," Waylon said, dismissing Miles' statements. Miles was used to having his feelings ignored and dismissed by his friend. Being accustomed to it did not mean it did not hurt. It did. Then again, what kind of positive outcome could he expect from such a blatantly combative statement?

"How are things with the brute anyways?" Miles asked, trying to conceal his hope for discord.

"We're fine. And I really wish you wouldn't call him that. I need you and Eddie to get along," Waylon said.

"Fat chance."

"Well, good luck with your seduction, Casanova," Waylon said, disgust plain in his voice.

"You know, I called you for an ego boost because I am nervous about this source and my story, but now I feel like I couldn't seduce anyone," Miles grumbled.

"More ego? Any more ego and no one could fit in the room with you," Waylon laughed. Miles grumbled, obviously still displeased with the response. "Oh fine, what do you want to hear? That...you're handsome? I mean, you are handsome. You are funny. Sometimes. You're smart, and reliable..."

"Wow you make me sound sexy," Miles said, rolling his eyes even though Waylon could not see him all the way from Denver.

"And you've got a big dick," Waylon said, his voice getting lower and taking on a breathy quality as he phrased the naughty words. "Oh shit, Eddie. I gotta go. Good luck!"

Beep.

That filthy tease. Miles thought, for a brief moment, he could see why Eddie was always berating Waylon by calling him a slut and a whore in front of company. Did his friend behave this way with Eddie? Leading him on and teasing him terribly every second of every day? Is that the cause of their volatile relationship? The image of Waylon as a sex-obsessed deviant made it necessary that Miles take care of something before he could get dressed and worry about the story. Miles leaned back on the toilet seat taking himself in hand and stroking his aching cock.

There was nothing classy about masturbating on a motel toilet, but Miles was not a classy guy. He would have finished there until he remembered something and decided to move out of the bathroom and open his laptop. There it was, in the list of recently used files. Miles opened the video and skipped past the beginning. He skipped to the part just after he had readjusted the camera to a closer angle and both he and Waylon were sitting on the bed in only their boxers. Miles had to click backwards a few times until he started at the desired part.

"I've actually wondered what you were packing for quite a while now," Waylon said on the video, grinning mischievously at Miles.

"Really? This whole time we've been friends you've just been dying to know what I look like naked? Park, that's dirty."

"Not the whole time," laughed Waylon. "since we kissed after the...incident. That's when I started to wonder..." The Miles in the video just hummed and looked confused at the admission. The Miles watching a year later recognized the words for their true meaning. Waylon had been in love with him. Miles had been too stupid and self absorbed at the time to know it.

"Well, feel free to sate your curiosity my friend," grinned video-Miles, gesturing towards his clothed crotch. The camera went out of focus for a random moment as Waylon reached over and pulled on the elastic of Miles' boxers.

Waylon gasped loudly. "You're so big," Waylon said, staring down with wide green eyes. "I want to put it in my mouth."

Miles finished into a motel washcloth when video-Waylon said those dangerous words. Once his climax passed, Miles immediately felt the familiar tide of shame and self-loathing. The lethal combination of Waylon talking dirty and hearing his size complimented always pushed him over the edge, but he was a creep to use his best friend like that. What would Waylon say if he knew exactly how often Miles jerked off looking at him? Miles did not imagine it would be favorable. So why the fuck couldn't he quit?

An hour later, Miles was showered and headed out to Billy's house with a cup of convenient store black coffee in one hand and the steering wheel in the other. The drive had almost become familiar. He finished up his drink as he parked in front of the dilapidated ranch home.

"Morning, Billy," smiled Miles, holding up a baggie at the door. "I brought donuts. And coffee, but I drank it already. Sorry."

"That's alright," Billy said brightly, opening the door for Miles to come in out of the chilly weather. It was colder than usual for April. He was wearing a flannel shirt and jeans similar to the other days. "I don't drink coffee, anyways."

"Of course you don't," Miles said to himself. "So, was the old man alright last night? I had gotten used to thinking of him as Mustermann and got so carried away I forgot to ask his real name. Can I get that from you?"

Billy froze for a moment, staring at Miles in horror. "You uh, will have to ask him yourself. He actually wants to talk to you again."

Miles was shocked, but he was not one to question his good fortune. It came rarely enough those days. He followed Billy as he passed through the kitchen and into the old man's room. The life-support chair had moved, but the man's expression and pallor remained the same.

"Morning, Herr Mustermann," said Miles giving a friendly wave and smile. "I brought some donuts. Can I like, liquefy them for you somehow and shove 'em through a tube?"

"Billy," wheezed the old man. "Go to your room. I need to talk to Mister Upshur alone." Billy looked like he wanted to disobey the order, but then he left the room, abruptly.

"I apologize if that sounded sexual, I did not mean to make it sound sexual..." Miles started.

"Mister Upshur," continued grandfather, ignoring Miles' discomfort the way he ignored everything else. The old man just stared blankly. The heart rate monitor was the only telling sign of any changes in his demeanor and it beeped along steadily. "I sent Billy away because I do not want to burden him with hearing a conversation about sensitive matters. He is a good boy," the man struggled with each breathy pause, "he will not disturb us. Now, please, tell me what you know about Project Walrider and its current state?"

Miles considered his options. An immobile old man avoiding all detection was not likely to go to another news reporter. Plus, he seemed hell-bent on staying off of Murkoff's radar. Miles saw no reason not to offer a little trust in hopes he could win a relationship with this potentially valuable old man.

"I don't know anything, but I have my theories," Miles said, scooting to the edge of the wooden chair and dragging it closer to the man to allow him to lean forward conspiratorially. "Murkoff's official stance is that Project Walrider was shut down for being a failure? I think it was shut down for being a success. My source smuggled out pictures of decommissioned documents that were scheduled to be burned. Others were being sent to Mount Massive, the new asylum Murkoff acquired. I believe Murkoff is going to start the project up again using patients the way Wernicke theorized before his death."

The old man had no change, though the heart monitor had picked up noticeably. "Why do you care about this, Mister Upshur?"

"This thing is a weapon. It's being developed on American soil. It has to be stopped," said Miles, putting on his most patriotic expression.

"I repeat," the old man wheezed, "why do you care?"

Miles narrows his eyes as he considered how to proceed. A little more truth couldn't hurt, he decided.

"Someone I know was transferred to Mount Massive. Someone I loved. Love," Miles corrected, turning away from the cloudy blank stare. "I got on Murkoff's radar around the same time as my friend came back from Afghanistan and experienced severe PTSD and delusions...which turned into self harm. Horrifyingly so." Miles paused for a moment, unable to stop the intrusive images from his memory. He shook his head to clear it. "Anyways, he's at Mount Massive and Murkoff knew it. They made sure I knew that they knew. And then it was bought out, and my visitor's rights were revoked. Seemed petty to do that over an unflattering article. I started to investigate the matter, to make sure my friend was treated well. I still want to believe that he can get better."

"You are in a relationship with this person?" the old man wheezed.

"Look at you, gossiping like an old lady. No, I'm single," Miles gave an exaggerated wink at the old man who, as expected, did not respond. "I considered myself still with this person for far too long. It cost me...well, it cost me too much," sighed Miles.

"Would you say that you've had a hard life, Mister Upshur? Your childhood? Your parents?" asked the old man, a slight cough echoing and causing his oxygen tubes to whistle.

"Uh, I guess," Miles said, shrugging. It was a strange sort of interview and they were straying from the topic of Murkoff. Still, Miles did not see the harm.

"My parents died when I was young. Shuffled between foster homes. Dropping out and got my GED. Finally paid my way through college so I am saddled with debt, and writing boring corporate propaganda for a living. Not quite my passion. My luck in relationships is...well, I'm obviously alone..." Miles looked at the unchanged face of his companion. "Everyone's had a hard life though in some way or another. I'm not more affected than other people?"

The monitors began to beep louder until finally a droning alarm sounded the same as the night before. Miles stood up, already hearing Billy's approaching footsteps.

"Stay. Away. From Billy," the old man wheezed right before Billy rushed into the room.

"What's your name," demanded Miles.

The old man mumbled something in German that did not sound flattering.

"Don't worry Miles, it's just an oxygen issue. He isn't dying. You need to step out of the room, though. Now," instructed Billy, and once again Miles found himself in the living room, and then he heard it. The buzzing. He flicked his hand in front of his face a couple times wondering if it wasn't an insect, before the noise became too loud to belong to any insect short of a plague of locusts. As suddenly as the commotion started, it died down to nothing. Miles was still staring in wide eyed horror when Billy walked back into the room.

"Your grandfather is warning me to stay away from you," Miles said, giving Billy a confused look. "What does he have against me, anyways? Is it because I'm gay? He thinks I am going to convert his precious grandson to the other team?"

"No. He doesn't talk about it, but there were rumors in his youth that he was in a relationship with a male coworker. Grandfather never married or had kids of his own, and sexuality was never something he discussed much," Billy said. "And I don't care what he says, anyways. I don't want you to stay away from me. He's just worried that we have too much in common."

"Too much in common? What do you even see in me?" Miles asked, giving a baffled exhale. "You use that baby face to go after older men? Is this some kind of Daddy Complex?"

"What? I never really knew my dad, he went away when I was very young," Billy said, tilting his head in confusion.

"Never mind," sighed Miles. "Should I leave?"

"No. You should stay. I could use some help with the cows. Come with me?" Billy asked, standing up straight wearing a thick wool-lined leather jacket over a red flannel shirt and work jeans. His thick glasses highlighted the smoldering expression in those dark blue eyes. He reached onto the top of a cabinet near the door and pulled down an off-white cowboy hat he set on his head before giving a wide grin.

Miles had started the day considering himself an expert negotiator, and then ended up being convinced to go feed cattle by a cute kid in a sexy cowboy outfit. Good job, Upshur, he thought to himself. Billy drove the pick up and Miles understood why the boy never drove the thing off of the property.

"It gets the job done," Billy explained after the truck finally lurched to life and limped through a few gates on the way to the further pastures. Billy and his grandfather tended a large amount of land. Why did they live in such a dilapidated place? They could easily sell even just a small plot of land and afford a better house. Miles was full of questions when they finally arrived near the cows. The beasts milled about in the open pastures, all different manner of coloring from black to white and all shades of brown and gray in between, including many with spots. "You have any experience with cows?"

"One of my foster families had horses. I was learning to ride before I was transferred again," Miles said, eyeing the cows warily.

It was another gray day that threatened rain, but the animals still needed to be fed. Miles took a handful of strange brown cylinders and stared at them. He sniffed the strange cylinders, and regretted it. Billy laughed from behind him somewhere. "Don't eat it. It's for the cows," scolded Billy. Miles shot him a playful glare. The reporter approached a cow and held the cylinder out by the end. "Okay that might work, but it's better if you hold it in your hand and hold your hand flat. They don't have front teeth like a horse. They won't bite you."

Miles frowned as he lay the strange feed flat on his palm and offered it to a cow that had come up to the truck. There were more cows in the distance, all headed toward the truck to receive feed. Miles was nervous, but he allowed the animal to come close and gobble the feed. He pulled his hand back once the food disappeared from his grip.

"Ugh," groaned Miles, slinging cow drool off of his hand. Billy laughed even harder. "Dammit I didn't realize you brought me out here just to watch me make an asshole of myself."

"It's just a little drool. Wipe it on your jeans," said Billy. Miles responded with a wide eyed gaze of horror. "What?" Billy asked.

Billy systematically filled up the feed bins, hauling the heavy sacks as though they were nothing and lifting them up to empty them into the troughs. When Miles attempted to budge a single sack he found it almost immovable, and Miles was not a weak man. Billy had to be incredibly strong to heft them as though they were nothing. The cows could eat from the bins, but Billy still hand fed many of the beasts. He petted their sides as he passed, and rubbed their nose while feeding them. Miles was touched at how the boy treated his cows.

"Now are these cows for milk or for meat?" Miles asked.

"Do you see a dairy farm anywhere around here?" grinned Billy. "We raise them and sell them for meat yeah. We're not a big operation, it's mostly just local people looking for beef with that home loved flavor."

"So if I eat a steak at this house, you would know it's former name?" Miles asked.

"No, the butcher doesn't tell us who he's sending back cut into what. And I don't really name the cows. I make sure not to keep favorites," said Billy.

"I almost milked a cow one time," Miles said, sighing as he looked out over the sea of hungry cows occupying the fenced in area.

"Almost?" Billy asked.

"Yeah. Field trip in the third grade. Everyone in class was waiting in line to milk this cow and I was next, but the cow took a huge, steaming dump and the farmer said that was the end of the demonstration."

Billy looked at Miles for several seconds trying to determine if the man was joking before laughing so loud he started a nearby heifer. "My god. Poor Mister Upshur. I can see you as a child being told you can't milk the cow. If I had a nursing mom here today I would let you milk her," grinned Billy.

"That just might be the nicest goddamn thing anyone has ever said to me," Miles said, grinning. "And to think it's coming from some hipster cowboy."

"Hipster cowboy?" Billy pushed his hat up slightly as he scratched his head in confusion. Miles wrapped his arms around himself, silently thinking to himself. "Sorry Mister Upshur. We can head back now if you'd like?"

Billy started to walk back toward the truck. Suddenly, the gray sky opened up and freezing rain began pouring down on the pair as well as the group of cows. The beasts seemed unaffected while Miles shouted and dashed toward the nearest tin-roofed structure. Billy was laughing as he followed the wet reporter. Billy took off his wide-brimmed hat and revealed still dry hair, while Miles' brown locks were falling in his face and clinging to his skin.

"My string of great luck continues," Miles said, gesturing toward the wall of water between them and the truck. The rain probably would not make the cows smell better, either.

"Wish there was more I could do to help you," Billy said, speaking in a normal tone but the loud vibration of the heavy rain on the roof made it difficult for Miles to hear him, despite standing only two feet away.

Looking back and forth between their vastly different looks, including the dry versus wet hair, Miles was struck with a question. "What do we have in common? We look as different as can be, I am a decade older than you, I'm definitely not some kinda ranch hand, and you say we have too much in common. Like what?"

Billy glanced down at the ground, replacing his hat with the brim covering his face, successfully keeping his expression hidden from Miles. "Well, I heard what you said to grandfather. Some of it. I'm an orphan too. It was just me and my mother, but she died. Everyone said it was a heart attack, but I knew it was murder. Grandfather knew it too. That's why he adopted me and took me here after she died."

"That's sad but...also a little creepy. What exactly is your relationship with that old guy? It's not sexual is it?" Miles asked.

"What? God, no," Billy said, removing his glasses to wipe them. The warmth of his body and the chill of the rain had caused the lenses to fog. "Nothing like that. He's just protective of me."

Reporter-sense started ringing loud and clear. Billy knew much more about their relationship that he was not sharing with Miles. Well, Miles had gone there to seduce information out of the young man. What was he waiting for?

Miles took a step closer to Billy under the structure. He reached up and removed Billy's wide hat and began to scrutinize his face with narrow eyes. Billy stared with wide blue eyes as he carefully replaced his freshly cleaned glasses.

"You're so young," Miles said, his voice seeming to grow louder as the rain slowed slightly causing the deafening roar on the tin roof to subside to a more bearable level. "You take care of him and all these animals. You're a nice person Billy, but surely you realize it's holding you back from having your own life?"

"I owe him," Billy said, watching Miles' face carefully as the reporter closed the distance between them even further.

"Why do you owe him? He cares for you, but you are your own man. Why do you need to stay here caring for him when a professional could do it better, and he can obviously afford it? What other connection is there that you aren't telling me?" Miles pressed, his tone almost breathy despite his serious questions.

"He s-saved me," Billy stuttered and Miles could see that the boy's hands were shaking. He wondered how much was from the cold. Miles slid his arm around Billy's shoulder and pulled the boy into a hunched position to allow Miles to hold their bodies close together to share warmth.

"From what?" Miles asked, tilting Billy's chin slightly up. Instead of an answer, Billy launched himself forward to kiss Miles.

Bless the kid, he tried, but Miles had a hard time returning the sloppy, inexperienced exchange. Miles pulled away and worked his lips against Billy's, holding the boy still and repeating the actions until Billy began kissing back with soft caresses of his young lips. Miles felt his body respond immediately as the young man followed his lead, opening his mouth just enough that Miles slid his tongue past lowered teeth to taste Billy.

The rain seemed to subside all together when Billy moaned into the kiss. The sudden noise alerted a nearby cow who glanced over, bored, before going back to chewing cud. Without the noise from the rain, that strange humming sound seemed to be vibrating behind Miles' ears. Miles ignored the noise and pressed his body forward, grinding his erection into Billy's thigh. "Have you had many boyfriends?" Miles asked, his voice rough and low.

"N-no, n-never," Billy stuttered. Miles paused then pulled away from the young man with an audible groan of displeasure.

"Girlfriends?"

"N-no."

"Of course you haven't. That explains the kissing. You're a virgin?" Miles accused and Billy looked down at the ground, utterly embarrassed. "Well. The rain stopped. Let's get back to the house. I need to get back to the motel and rethink some of my life choices."

The first choice was which cheap bourbon to purchase before he walked back to the terrible motel and tried to write up some interesting captions for pictures to update for his clients. Miles had no problem seducing a source, but he was not going to pursue it too far with an inexperienced young guy. He could not give the grandfather a legitimate reason to be angry with him. No, he would have to tread much more carefully. Miles was dangerously lonely, but it was no excuse to take advantage of such an innocent guy.