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Go Fish - 1

Games People Play: Go Fish

Copyright © 2009 by HT Murray

All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without

written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For

information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78650.

ISBN: 978-1-60370-869-2, 1-60370-869-3

Printed in the United States of America.

Torquere Press electronic edition / December 2009

Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78650.

www.torquerepress.com

Go Fish - 2

Go Fish

By HT Murray

In hindsight, moving in with his best friend and lifelong partner in crime might not have been

such a great idea -- a judgment that had nothing to do with Cal being gay. Well, maybe it had a

little to do with Cal being gay. Ian wasn’t sure if bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (and hence, likely

to impose upon the sleep of best friends and roommates) were card-carrying gay traits. Cal was

the only gay man he'd ever lived with, but none of Ian's straight friends or roommates had ever

awakened him at that time of the morning except to tell him that wasn't his bed and to get his

drunken ass out. Right about then, Ian would gladly have made concession for his ex-roommate's

moldy socks and half-empty beer cans if it meant he'd get to sleep in a little longer.

Instead, he lived with a Tony Horton/Martha Stewart hybrid mandroid who was… God, what

was
he doing?

"Caaalllll. Ugh." Ian peeked to see just what was so important that Cal needed to be in his room so early on their day off, and found out the hard way that it was well into mid-morning. The sun

at that spot in the center of his window reminded him of the list of things he needed to get in

order to officially finish his move in. Blinds were on it, solid lead if he could find them, dense

enough that friggin' Superman couldn't get through, and they were so going to the top of the list

just as soon as Ian dragged his ass out of bed. So, maybe tomorrow. For the moment, and likely

for posterity, considering how diligent he was about following his own to-do lists, maybe he'd

just stick the actual list up in the window to block out the sun.

Grunting against the light saber boring a hole in his eye and out his skull, he crammed a pillow

over his head, leaving just enough space over his mouth to keep whining. "What are you doing?

It's our day off."

"Shhhh. Oh, shit," Cal hissed, apparently realizing mid-shush that the dude he was trying not to wake was the one he was shushing. "Sorry, dude. Really. Go back to sleep. I was just doing some

laundry, and I figured since you grilled the steaks last night, I'd throw some of your clothes in

with mine."

Ian shifted the pillow over enough to uncover one squinted eye. Cal was bent over his clothes

hamper, one hip cocked, wearing nylon running shorts over black spandex leggings that went to

mid-thigh. Probably chilly outside that morning. There were still sweat stains under the arms of

his t-shirt, and it clung to his lower back in a way that really framed his ass.

Not that Ian had ever thought about framing Cal's ass.

"It's okay," Ian mumbled. "Just, you know, no mixing of the underwear. We don't want 'em

comparing notes in the dryer."

"I ain't touching your underwear, man; the skid marks would give me nightmares."

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"Then I won't mention that I bought 'em at Wal-Mart. Last time I mentioned Wally World, I

almost had to get you your Epi-Pen."

Cal laughed and stood up, clothes basket under his arm. "What can I say? I'm allergic to cheap

and ugly." He did a slow turn around, long brown hair falling across his forehead in sweaty

stringers, his eyes on the floor. "You got any more around here?"

"Um." Ian waffled for a second, having almost missed the question. Seriously, his brain seemed to have short-circuited, a transient ischemic attack due to his blood not being thinned with the

proper amount of caffeine. "Check behind the dresser."

Cal did, because he was way too gullible even after all those years, leaning way over to peek

down the wall. "Don't see anything else," he said.

Okay, so in hindsight, maybe moving in with Cal was the best idea ever. Ian hoped the pillow

covered most of the smirk spreading over his face. He so wasn't checking out Cal's ass. Just

seeing how gullible the dude actually was. He would've thought a guy who'd pulled as many

pranks as Cal had would have been a little less oblivious. "Then, that's it, I guess. You'll make

someone a good little wifey one day, sweetheart."

"Fuck you." Cal laughed even as he said it, dry and exasperated, like the time Ian decided to ease his 'coming out' by taking him to IHOP and ordering him the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity

breakfast.

Not finding anything of substance to chuck at Ian's head, Cal hmmphed and said, "This place is

bleak. Somehow, when I invited you to move in, I thought you'd bring a few more permanent

fixtures than your wardrobe, stereo, and that ratty Dame poster. Hair bands have been out for

over a decade."

"Hey," Ian protested. "I'll have you know that's a limited edition."

"Because they couldn't give the nasty things away and burned the rest. What was Scott thinking

with the white leather pants? You can totally see the roll of quarters."

Ian laughed. "Some chick put him up to it."

He neglected to admit 'the chick' was Ian. Scott had been under the impression that Ian knew

about things like wardrobe. Ian probably never should have mentioned that he'd done some

modeling as a kid. (His mom's idea, not his.) He never got why people fawned over his plump

lips and long eyelashes, even less why his mother knew people would pay to use his face. But

there was a reason he gave it up -- one too many photo shoots in yuppy pink shirts and workout

gear made entirely of spandex that required the waxing of hair he was just starting to grow. Scott

never asked about the details of the great Ian Jeffries' modeling career before he asked for the

wardrobe advice.

Go Fish - 4

"Figures." Cal took the basket and started heading for the hall, stopped, and turned around again.

"But seriously, you should get some… stuff. You're making me feel like a slumlord, here."

After he left, Ian lowered the pillow and took a look around at his bare walls and surfaces. He

wasn't really sure what the big deal was with having "stuff." Just more you had to move the next time your roommate got married and left you unable to make the rent, or sold your house out

from under you. But if Cal wanted stuff, maybe Ian would get some. Maybe. After a few more

hours of sleep.

He rolled over and shoved the pillow tighter over his head.

***

"Um, is that what I think it is?" Cal was tending the dog dishes at the wash sink in the laundry

room, meticulously scrubbing each one before filling them with water and setting them down

beside the dry food. He didn't wash his own dishes that well, an irony Ian found all kinds of

amusing.

And Ian didn't
have
to be standing there waiting to get to the sink. The one in Ian's bathroom

would work just fine. But then, Cal wouldn't be giving him that what-the-fuck look, his eyes all

wide so his bangs fell into them and he had to blow them off his forehead with his mouth

because his hands were too wet. Ian wouldn't miss
that
expression for anything. The way Cal's

nose and upper lip kept twisting in an attempt to dislodge the few stringers of hair was priceless,

even if it made Ian's nose itch by power of suggestion.

"It's a fish bowl," Ian said, hoisting it up on the edge of the sink. He grinned with one cheek and both eyebrows, because that sounded like a punch line. He just couldn't remember the joke.

"You bought a fish?" Cal smirked. He straightened up with that little flinch that reminded Ian just what a pain in the ass it must be to be so damned tall. "That's awesome. What kind?"

Ian wanted to tell him he had one little stringer of hair glued to his forehead that hadn't come

dislodged with the gust of breath. But what would be the point? Cal's hands were still wet, his

sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Ian did his best to ignore it, shifting his glance and then his

entire posture from side to side before caving and reaching up to brush it away himself.

Of course, he cleared his throat with a manly grunt at the same time. He wouldn't want to give

the wrong impression.

"No fish. Just a bowl." He shrugged. "You told me to get stuff for my room. Now I have stuff."

He didn't mention that he'd actually wanted to buy fish, too, but the dude at the pet store said he

needed to take the bowl home, fill it, and let the water cure for a few days before it would be safe

for the fish.

"Um..." And then Cal did that other thing-- the one where he quirked an eyebrow up really high without changing the shape of the rest of his face. That was no small feat. Ian had tried to imitate

Go Fish - 5

it, but his lips refused to be left out. They wanted to stay center stage in all his expressions, the

way Cal's hair probably would if it had the same muscle tone as the rest of his body. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why get a fish bowl but no fish?"

"I like the water. When the sun shines through, it makes little rainbows on the wall..." Now he was the one making the what-the-fuck face. He could not believe he'd just said that. He cleared

his throat again, because, what the hell, that couldn't possibly seem dodgier than the blush

already burning up his cheeks. "And, um, I get chapped in the winter. Thought it would be like a

humidifier." Oh, yeah, good save. Dermal hydration issues were way manlier than little

rainbows.

"Sure, sure, I guess." Cal finished with the dog dishes, now with both eyebrows at the tippy-top of his forehead.

"Yeah..." Ian hurriedly filled his bowl without taking the time to rinse out the store dust, and lifted it out of the sink with a hair too much oomph. Half the water sloshed back out into the

sink. He just shrugged and took it back to his room.

***

Next time they had a day off, Ian rolled over in his bed (the one Cal made him buy because Cal

had an obsession with making Ian spend money on himself) and pulled the sheets up a little

higher under his chin, intent on burrowing in for as long as the house stood. He cracked his eyes

open just enough to get an idea how late it was, smacking his lips together, because, yeah, they

didn't like to be left out (and, for what it was worth, they really were less chapped now that he

had a fish bowl). He blinked once to clear away the film over his eyes, blinked again, because he

couldn't figure out what was different, and then, "Yeesh!" He fell off the other side of the bed and hit his head on the wall.

Something had totally moved over there.

He was still rubbing his hand over the lump on his head and shaking the last trailing vestiges of

sleep from his limbs when Cal and both dogs came barreling through his doorway. The dogs

took his prone-ation as an invitation to play and pounced. Before he could sit up, he had paws in

his stomach and tongues up his nose, a tail tap-tapping a little too close to the family jewels.

Grant and Sherman were no lap dogs by any means, but someone had forgotten to tell them that.

Then again, with those long legs and a lap the size of Cal's, it was probably never an issue.

Great, now Ian was thinking about Cal's lap. And his legs. Long muscular legs, not at all

neglected like a lot of gym rats tended to do. Cal was definitely proportionate, on top, on bottom,

and, well, Ian had to assume, in between.

"Ian?" Cal was there, somewhere on the other side of the furry flailing appendages and cloud of
Go Fish - 6

doggy breath. "Dude, hey, you okay? C'mon you guys. Off. Let the man up."

Ian had to hand it to Cal. His dogs were actually pretty well-mannered, if a bit on the affectionate

side, and they backed right off when he told them to. Of course, not one but two paws managed

to land where the tail was only threatening to go, and Ian was curled into a pathetic little ball in

the corner by the time Cal leaned over him. He reached behind himself and pulled the covers

down, wondering if he could just go back to sleep and wake up again like this was nothing more

than a bad dream.

"Ian?"