Play It Again, Charlie (44 page)

Charlie
had
sort of surprised himself this morning. Will as well, judging from the groans into the pillow that he was
dying
and Charlie was
killing
him and
for the love of Lana Turner don't stop
. Will's hair was now flattened, and there were fading imprints of fingers at his upper arms, along his waist and hips, and he was still smiling that happy smile. If he'd looked like that last night... .

Charlie quickly decided he didn't want to think about what they must have looked like when they had stumbled back inside the bar, in the same way that he wasn't going to get riled; he was too exhausted to bother. He had slept soundly with Will once again at his back, but he'd woken early out of habit and gotten up, fed Sam, shaved, brushed his teeth, started coffee, and made breakfast before Will had woken up, too, and called him back by saying something about what Charlie had promised him last night and how Will could always remind him if Charlie had been too drunk to remember.

As Charlie hadn't been drunk, he'd remembered every word, and he'd shown Will that for the better part of the morning.

The sun creeping in through the window told him it was getting closer to noon, but he was still disinclined to move from the bed. Will, buzzing like a bee, had been the one to offer to finally get that coffee, though Charlie had a feeling that cold breakfast would be forgotten in favor of lunch.

But for now Will was sipping more coffee and then setting the cup down and giving Charlie a slyly amused look. When he spoke his voice was hoarse, and Charlie felt a stab of pleasure at knowing that he was the reason Will had almost lost his voice.

“Do you always leave your clothes on the floor? God, you're so lazy!” Will raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “Look at you! It's almost noon and you're still in bed, not even
dressed
!”

“I
was
up,” Charlie started to point out and was waved away for his trouble.

“Two little drinks and he's
out
. I bet you're hungover too. That's the last time I leave you alone with Buffalo or Dani. You're just lucky that I didn't take advantage of you in your inebriated condition.”

“I wasn't ineb— ” Charlie stopped there and took a long drink of coffee. “I'm so glad you restrained yourself,” he said instead. Will had put some of his lactose-free milk in the coffee for him, and it was cool enough to take another long drink in an effort to be slightly more alert. But when he put the cup back down and stretched, he caught Will's smirk. “And I'm not hungover.”

There was an ache in his lower back, a weight in his arms and legs, but he didn't mind. He was worn out in a way he hadn't been for far too long. But he
did
have to get up today. Those security-light timers really needed to get taken care of so they wouldn't start coming on while it was still daylight and wasting electricity, and he had to check his e-mail, and they hadn't gotten to all the flowers outside last weekend, and laundry was going to be a problem soon.

Will bent over, giving Charlie a nice view of the boxer-briefs that Will had put on when he'd gotten up. He rifled through Charlie's pants from yesterday and pulled out Charlie's phone, which was ringing loudly now that it was no longer muffled by abandoned clothing. Charlie stared at it for a moment, telling himself it wasn't an emergency, swallowing the guilt for taking the moment to himself.

“Ann?” Will read the caller ID right as it stopped ringing and put it on the nightstand instead of handing it to him. When Charlie didn't pick it up, he went back to poking at the mess on the floor. A moment later he was folding pants and sliding the closet doors open. “You can call her back. Don't mind me,” he said, his back to Charlie, and then he was pushing aside hangers and making critical noises.

“I don't think I will. Yet.” Charlie pushed out a breath, though he was beginning to feel restless from being in bed too long. He shifted and stretched again, only to end up rubbing the heel of his hand along his lower back, then over his hip, all the while waiting for Will to announce he had somewhere to be. But instead of leaving, Will was going through his closet.

“You won't call your
sister
?” Will turned long enough to gasp and then he was rearranging coats— by color, from what Charlie could tell. Charlie opened his mouth to tell Will he didn't need to do that, then shut it when he realized that Will probably
did
need to organize them. In general, Will didn't seem satisfied until everything was neat as a pin and in its proper place.

“Not yet. I have to be... .” Fortified. Charlie almost said it, but Will unexpectedly turned to look at him again. His small frown was bewildered. “It could take a while,” Charlie explained. That wasn't going to be good enough, but then, Will's relationship with his sister seemed to work differently.
She
took care of
him
.

Will seemed to need more information. He was staring, and when Charlie hesitated, he slowly rolled one wrist in a way that he probably thought was encouraging. Charlie sighed again.

“She's going to want to talk about her week. And once I'm done talking with her, I'll have to talk with Missy and Katia, too, because she'll call one or both of them and then they'll call me to talk about it.”

“And you don't want to?” Will asked, then he gave himself a little shake and turned back to the closet. “Not that it's any of my business.” The shelf at the top of the closet was full of boxes. Will touched one that was marked “Pictures,” then went back to organizing Charlie's clothes. Charlie imagined Will's perfectly color-coordinated closet for a moment until he remembered Will didn't have one, Grayson did.

He scowled at Will's back until he noticed the red mark at Will's shoulder, not quite a bruise but definitely shaped like his mouth.

“No, I'm in a good mood right now and I'd like to enjoy it.” His tone wasn't as calm as it could have been. He pushed back against the headboard and almost missed the sassy grin Will gave him. Will really needed to shave, but the heavier shadow on him didn't look bad. Charlie kind of liked it, how it had felt on his palms, against the skin of his chest, his thighs.

“Is it
What Happened to Baby Jane
? whenever they call?”

Bette Davis again. “No.” Charlie straightened out his smile. He loved his sisters, he really did, more than he could ever tell them. There had been times when they'd all been younger when they had run him ragged, and he still would have dropped everything if they'd asked. “I have to be... different... with them.”

“Should I ask why, or will you get a Charlie-frown?” Will tutted over Charlie's dress shirts and muttered, “Needs an iron” and “Synthetics?” before he stepped to the other side of the closet. “Ties!” he shouted abruptly. Then, “Oh my God. No wonder you only wear the same three.”

Charlie rubbed his cheek. “Those are gifts from my sisters.”

“From the same people who gave you those cat pillows? Do they know you at all?” Will yanked two from the rack and stroked them. “But I saw some in your drawer when I grabbed these.” He lightly smacked his thigh to indicate the underwear and then nodded to himself. “Ah, these are the ones you keep here in case your family sees. So they think you wear these awful things. They look like Dad Ties. You know, what kids get their dad for Christmas because they don't know what else to give him.” Will peered over his shoulder at Charlie's sudden silence. “And you keep them. You really
are
the sweetest thing, aren't you?”

Charlie grabbed his coffee. It wasn't nearly as hot as his face.

“They aren't that bad,” he said after swallowing way too much in one gulp, though most of the ties looked like Alicia had picked them out.

“Charlie, this one is purple! Not even a
nice
purple. And nothing about you says you'd
want
to wear purple. You should wear bold, not flashy. Sure, it's silk, but... .” Will slid the length of the offending tie over his skin one more time and then trailed off. He turned his hand, left the tie wrapped around his wrist with both ends dangling, and glanced over.

Charlie held his breath. He was still hot but a lot less restless. He looked up at Will's face, and then his eyes fell when Will began to hum and dragged his words out in that roughened version of his voice. “Not that purple silk can't have its uses.”

He pulled on it for one moment, pulled it tight, and Charlie swallowed. Will's hands tied, Will's hands tied with
that
, to anything, a chair, this bed; the images were clear and sharp. Will would beg the way he already did, except that he'd mean it, because he'd be tied up,
there
, as long as Charlie wanted him to stay.

Jesus. He didn't want to think he'd always been into anything like that, but maybe he had. Or perhaps it was simply Will he wanted tied to his bed.

“Will, you... .”
Are you sure
, he wanted to ask, which wasn't saying no, not by a long shot. He shook his head the tiniest fraction, and Will licked his lips before turning to the tie rack again. Charlie wanted to call him back. “You... .”

“Charlie.” Will let a tie fall to the floor, not the purple silk crisscrossing his wrist, and grabbed another one. Red, with tiny gold fleur-de-lis. Charlie straightened up. “Why isn't this one in the drawer?”

“It's from my abuela,” Charlie told him quickly before Will could loop it suggestively around his arm. “My grandmother.” He coughed. “I wear it when I see her... if I'm in a suit. For church.” Christenings, funerals, weddings. He'd say that too if it would keep Will from sexualizing it.

“Church tie from his grandmother,” Will repeated, patting the tie with a strange reverence before mercifully putting it back. “Okay.” He stripped another tie from the rack and dropped it to the floor. But then he touched the red tie again. “So she's the only one with taste?”

Will had a lot of questions this morning. Charlie shifted again, then decided to speak.

“She asked me.” His voice got as rough as Will's. He cleared his throat and watched Will pet that tie for another long moment. He finally nodded, then took a paisley tie and draped it around his neck before he turned around. It made his eyes seem very green.

“Now I really know what I want, Charlie. For the bet,” he elaborated when Charlie didn't say anything and wrinkled his forehead.

“I don't recall a bet.”

“Because you were ‘not drunk'?” Will didn't try hard to hide his smile. “Well, I do. I bet you that we could fuck outside and nothing bad would happen. And you said I could get anything I wanted if we did. Well, you didn't say it out loud, but you meant it.”

“Did I?” Will's words were actually vaguely familiar, but Charlie kept his face blank. He would have crossed his arms, but he was naked and sitting up in bed and that would look ridiculous. And pointing out that, by some definitions, he and Will
hadn't
fucked outside would have been about as effective as asking why Will was so curious about his clothes and his sisters.

“And what is it that you've decided you want, aside from rearranging my closet?”

Will froze guiltily at his question and dropped another tie in the process. He looked at the closet and then at Charlie, as though he hadn't realized he'd been prying. Then he rolled his shoulders and widened his eyes.

“I'm not rearranging. I'm looking for something to wear back upstairs. Not that I don't mind a good walk of shame, but
Mrs. Brown
could be out there.” He was scandalized.

“You want to wear my clothes?” Charlie asked before he could help himself, his chest suddenly tight. He swallowed, because the idea was almost worse than Will tied up. It had to be on his face, amazement, embarrassment, and a need that made him look down. Stupid when Will was already wearing his underwear.

“What did you want?” The more Will gave him, the more he wanted to take. He ought to at least try to give Will what he wanted in return.

“Your abuela.” Will pronounced the word slowly but turned to the closet when Charlie brought his head up. “I think I'd like to meet her.”

“No.” Charlie's heart was pounding. He sat up and pulled in a long breath. A hanger fell out of Will's hands and bounced on the carpet. Will bent to pick it up.

Damn it. Charlie saw the hurt on Will's face and shook his head. Will didn't understand just what Nana would think if Charlie brought Will home, how much hope she would have to meet him and what it would do to her when Will finally had enough. He had seen her face when she'd be with him in the hospital, how she'd probably been waiting for Mark, who had never shown up, and with Will... she would love Will, and when he was gone, she would be heartbroken.

When Will was gone... . Charlie rubbed at his hip, at the ache spreading down from his back, then tossed his head.

“She likes men who work with their hands,” he said. His stomach felt cold, empty as though he hadn't had any coffee. “And your hair. I lov— like it, but she'd wonder about it.” Will was busying himself putting the hanger back, taking way too long, but he paused.

“You love it, huh?” Will remarked softly, then he patted at a length of hair that he didn't have. “My hair is gorgeous. Haters to the left.” He twisted to frown at Charlie. “She didn't seem conservative. I mean, she knows about you.” His eyes went down, and Charlie looked over at the coffee cup with Mark's picture on it. Will firmed his lips, but though Charlie waited, Will didn't ask if she had met Mark.

“It isn't like I can't change it. Anyway, I've had way more boring hair than this.” Will ran a hand over his hair, and though what Charlie had said was true, he frowned. He frowned harder when Will shrugged. “Do you think I should change it?”

“Absolutely not.” A laugh burst out of Will, and Charlie's cheeks got warm. “Unless you want to,” he added, too late. Will ran a hand through his hair again and seemed to realize that the top was flat. He made an accusing face at Charlie, probably for not mentioning the state of his hair, then waved a hand.

“I don't know why you even pretend you aren't bossy.” Will toyed with the green tie hanging over his chest. “Are you always so sure?”