Calvin Sumner

     I miss Dres.

     But, I also really miss Dres's dick.

     Which he is stingy with. Like he was stingy with it before quarantine, and I can't help thinking that if he had just, you know, let me get my fill, this would be easier. But alas, here I am, utterly dick-deprived.

     It's been five weeks since I moved back home with my mom. She and I work on opposite schedules. It's purposeful as to lower the risk of cross exposure. So I've just gotten home from a night shift when she's heading out the door, leaving me with the house to myself for the next twelve hours. It's lonelier like this, but also safer.

     Three days into quarantine, we had this huge, monumental fight. I'd just come off of a double, had seen enough patients that I wasn't even seeing properly and pronounced more patients than I had in my entire career. I wanted my mom out of this. I was ready to move into a hotel for the rest of the pandemic, but she flat out refused to be sidelined. I pulled out a three tier argument, starting with logic ("think of your age, mom"), then with non-logic ("if something happens to you, you'll never get to see me grow up"), and then flat out desperation ("please, please, please, please.")

     It felt like I was constantly fighting with the people I loved to keep them safe, which was supremely freaking annoying. And exhausting.

     Mom won the argument, needless to say. The way she always does.

     "Calvin, I have no risk factors. I'm completely healthy. And my patients are pregnant moms not covid-positive emergencies. We're not even allowing family in delivery. And everyone's wearing masks. I have very little exposure. You, on the other hand..."

     She was right, of course. Which was why I said I'd move into a hotel, then, to reduce her risk of exposure from me. Which only further escalated the argument. She straight up body blocked the exit and wouldn't let me leave. Because what if something happened to me? Nothing's going to happen to me even if I do catch Covid and chances of that occurring are high and very likely. But I'm young, active, healthy. I'd likely be fine.

     "Likely isn't definitely," she'd said. "The coronavirus is a valkyrie. Do you understand what I mean when I say that?"

     "Uhm, no, should I? What the freak is a Valkyrie..."

     "I mean it chooses who lives and dies without reason, like a whim. You've seen healthy and unhealthy, young and old succumb to this disease. So don't be reckless."

     "I'm not reckless. I'm trying to keep you safe."

     "I've lived a long, fulfilling life Calvin. You, on the other hand — your life is just beginning. So maybe if someone needs to sit this one out..." She'd shrugged.

     It wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed my mind. I could be at home with Dres, in the sexiest, steamiest quarantine of my life. Stuck in a five by five space with absolutely no interruptions, no distractions, only Dres? Sign me up.

     That wasn't real life, though. I took an oath and I owed it to my colleagues, at the very least, to stay and help fight this battle with them.

     We came to an agreement eventually. Socially distanced living arrangements, opposite work schedules, minimal interaction. A different type of quarantine. A safer one, but a sadder one, too. You genuinely do not realize how much you'll miss interacting with people until you have to stop interacting with them, at least in person.

     You would think with all that's going on, all of the stress and exhaustion, I'd be lights-tf-out in t-minus five, but after I've decon'd and crawled into bed, I'm unable to shut my brain off. It's running its own marathon, a leg still in the ER thinking about magical cocktails of medications we haven't tried yet, anything that could help, that could postpone death just a little bit longer, something that will help people hold on.

     I've got another leg stuck in a memory, a good one, one where I'm at home with Dres and coronavirus is this stray comment on the evening news that nobody's paying attention to, not when Dres is lying between my legs and his hands up my shirt and I feel like I've just won the lottery, I feel like eighteen year old me stealing kisses in the hallway of Weston's as I'm about to clock in.

     And then there's my arms, deadweight, stuck here in this bed, restless. That's when I recognize the feeling for what it is. Maybe it's not just restlessness, but maybe I can ignore it.

     I manage about six minutes of trying before I make the decision to FaceTime Dres. Since he has me check in before work and when I get home, I know he's up. He answers my FaceTime nearly immediately. I try not to preen, but I'm preening just a little bit. He always answers my calls on the first ring. Makes a dude feel special.

     "Morning hot stuff," I say as I prop my phone up at the edge of my bed against one of the pillows.

     "Hey," he says distractedly. He's in the kitchen, and half in the frame so I can see the stove and the window above it. It's sunny outside. I think we're hitting high seventies today. It'd be a great day to take a drive.

     He steps into the camera, leaning on the counter so all I can see are his shoulders and face. Nice shoulders, nice face. I am certainly not complaining. He quirks an eyebrow. "What are you still doing up?"

     I'd amazon'd Dres a phone stand because on Day 8 of Quarantine, he dropped his phone so many times during our FaceTime he put a crack up the side. Now all he does is grumble that his thumb gets cut on his screen.

     I'm about to tread some deep ass waters. I have to go slow. So naturally, I start the way any good ask starts. I give him my best doe-eyed face. "You love me, right?"

     His eyebrows meet on his forehead. "Why are you — what, what's going on?" he asks slowly, confused.

     "Would you do anything for me?"

     His confusion turns to suspicion in an instance. "Depends," he says after a beat. "What do you want?"

     I keep my tone level. Clinical, almost. "Show me your dick."

     His expression breaks and he's smiling but it's a small thing. He may also be blushing a bit. "What, why?"

     That is not a no, which means we are nearly in business here. "Because reasons," I answer quickly.

     He lowers his jaw into the palm of his hand, resting it there. "Reasons like sexual reasons?"

     My face gets hot, which is kind of stupid considering everything. FaceTime sex wouldn't even be the most explicit thing Dres and I have done at this point. "Yes, Dres, sexual reasons."

     Dres's expression is thoughtful, like he's weighing the pros and cons. He taps at his cheek as he thinks. "Well," he says finally. "What do I get in return?"

     "What?" I nearly scream. I went into this call with a half-chub already and the teasing tone Dres has suddenly taken has me on a quick path to fully hard.

     He raises one eyebrow, smirking at me. "If I show you my dick, what are you going to do for me?"

     I flail and my phone falls over. Dres goes, "Cas?" I take a deep breath. I'm definitely hard now.

     I right my phone, saying, "There was a fly."

     His expression is coquettish, I think. No, yeah, definitely coquettish. "A big fly, I'm guessing." And that tone, don't even get me started on that tone. I realize I may actually be completely gone on sexual frustration now because the look he's giving me and the way his voice has lowered, it's all doing things for me. Or to me. To and for me, I think.

     "This a turn of events I was not expecting but I am also here for," I say shifting because my dick needs to breathe. I need to breathe, honestly, cause I'm definitely not right now.

     Dres laughs quietly. "It's a turn of events that took longer than I expected, honestly. I had money on week two of quarantine."

     I gawk. Two weeks? Does he think I'm some sort of animal. "I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable of sexual restraint."

     "Ah, right, the month of edging," he says, amusedly.

     "Exactly. Pillar of restraint over here. Pay some respect on my name."

     Dres blinks at me but it's like an intentional blink. A disbelieving blink, if you will. "Well, should we keep this string of restraint going then?"

     "Dres," I say, aghast. "My dick is so hard I could probably put up wood with it. I don't even know. There's actually no blood in my brain because it's all in my dick right now."

     Dres is laughing at me and it's actually not funny. Can you be sexually backed up? I think you can. It sounds like science. And I'm a doctor, I'd know.

     "Stop pouting," Dres says after he's done laughing. "I'm in. Let's do it."

     "You are?" I can't keep the shock out of my voice. And I'm suddenly remembering that thing Dres said once about the gift horse.

     Dres rolls his eyes, but it's playful. "Get your dick out before I change my mind."

     "Literally don't have to tell me twice."

Dresden Gibson

     Cas's dick is on my phone screen.

     For all intents and purposes, I am trying not to think about it because if I think about it, it makes me a little crazy. If I'm functioning on crazy, then I'm not functioning on logic. And logically I know that I cannot get into my car and go over there. Even though I desperately want to. So I'm both thinking about it and not thinking about it and looking at it and not looking at it.

     There's no reason the iPhone camera quality should be this detailed.

     It feels like I'm in Cas's room with him, lying beside him in bed. I've imagined watching Cas touch himself before. I always fantasized that he'd move slow, drawing it out, teasing himself, matching his pace to his soft pants. He's not moving slowly, now. He keeps his hand at the tip and fucks upwards into his fist, these fast, uncontrolled movements. I keep forgetting I have my own dick in my hand and that I'm not actually supposed to be watching because I can't stop watching. Cas marvels me.

     If I were in bed with him now, I'd hold back from touching him as long as I could but it wouldn't be all that long. Even my control knows it's bounds and will not hesitate to exceed them. And then I'd lean over, kissing his collarbone to start, licking at the hollow space above it. I'd suck his Adam's apple into my mouth, tongue pressed flat against it so I could feel it lift when he swallowed, catch the vibrations against my teeth as he moaned. I'd rest my head on his chest, drag my fingers along his hips, until I'd eventually reach over and join his hand.

     But I'm not in bed with him. I'm here, sitting on my counter, which is not the most ideal location for this. Cas wasted no time undressing and once his pants came off I didn't have it in me to relocate. He was already hard, didn't even need any lubrication to start, but that's always been Cas. It makes me wonder what he'll be like in another five years or twenty-five. If we'll be seventy, breaking hips in bed.

     Cas has requested I take off my shirt because "I gotta see dem abs" as he puts it. And then he's all surly, saying, "How do you still have abs when you've been out of the gym for weeks? This is unfair."

     I still have abs because all I've been doing at home is CrossFit workouts that are chipping away at my muscle like a hacksaw. I've literally never seen weight shed off my body so fast. Cardio is cutting down all the lean mass I'd worked to gain. Kind of absurd that five years of training can disappear in five weeks. I didn't even want to think about what my bench was going to look like when I eventually got back into the gym.

     I'm too in my head and by the looks of it Cas isn't going to last very long. I lean back on my left arm, tilting my head so I can watch my phone screen. Cas's chin is tucked against his chest. He's looking down at his phone and his hips have started thrusting off the bed so I know he's close. I match his pace. It's getting more vigorous as the seconds pass. Cas bites into his lip when he finishes, spilling over his knuckles. It's very quiet for Cas. I follow nearly at the same time. It feels like the kind of release that offers little actual release.

     I'm reaching for a napkin beside me when Cas makes this sound and I know it. I've heard it before. I turn back to my phone. Cas has thrown his arm across his face and his shoulders are shaking as he cries.

     "Ah, fuck, fuck no. This wasn't supposed to — fuck, I'm sorry. No, this was supposed to be good for us. Fuck." Cas is moving before I can even think of what to say, hanging up the call without ceremony.

     Cas hanging up on me is not a thing that happens all that often, or ever, really. So it takes me a moment to catch up with everything that's just occurred. I've got post-orgasm fog and the general confusion of the turn of events to work against. When it does finally register that Cas just hung up on me, I'm annoyed and angrily call him back. He doesn't pick up immediately, which serves to agitate me more.

     I'm back on the floor, tugging my pants on and Cas has moved his phone up close. He's lying down again, his face mostly turned into his pillow.

     "Sorry," he says after a moment, his voice raw. "That was not — that's not what I wanted to happen. I don't even know — like, I'm okay, so I don't know why that just happened."

     "You hung up on me," I say sort of stilted.

     "I didn't want you to see that," he says quietly. "Can we just pretend that didn't happen?"

     I frown. "No, no we cannot just pretend that didn't happen. Talk to me."

     He looks like he's going to cry again, which is not what I want. That is the opposite of what I want. And that small thread, that little bit of sanity left in me is trembling and weak and I just want to get into my car and go over there.

     "I just, I'm like overwhelmed with missing you."

     He gives me exactly zero seconds to respond to that, swiping at his cheeks again as he laughs nervously. "Which is crazy right. Like I've gone a whole five years without you. This doesn't make any sense. Just ignore me."

     "Please stop writing yourself off," I say quickly. "You're not — you're not alone in this, Cas. I'm wrecked. I'm wrecked every day without you. So if you feel like you're the only one who's overwhelmed, here, well, you're wrong."

     Cas is crying again. It's the kind of crying that hurts to watch, hurts to hear, loud sobs and snot coming down his face. I can't stand it, so I'm moving before I've even made the decision at all, grabbing my keys, getting as far as the walkway before Cas stops, staring at me all glassy and red-rimmed eyes.

     "You realize you're outside without your shirt, right?" he says.

     I halt, glancing down at myself.

     "I mean," he continues. "I love for the world to see what I'm working with but you know that one neighbor of yours is like super conservative Christian bible thumper. Public indecency may send her into cardiac arrest. And where are you even going?"

     My expression feels like a giveaway but I can't fix that as I'm too busy getting myself back inside. I don't have shoes on, either.

     Cas has paused, staring at me inquisitively. "Oh my god, were you going to come over here? Dres, you can't just — you cannot. No. Just no."

      "Cas, this whole thing is stupid. We can put an end to it any time we want. Like right now. Just come home."

     He's quieted and I think, I hope, that he's considering it. That he's weighing the risks, the pros and cons, and he's going to rule this in my favor. I go back to the kitchen, setting my phone down on the stand as I wait for his response.

     "Say you miss me," he says after a moment.

     Confused, I say, "I miss you."

     "And say you love me."

     "Cas," I say instead because this is stupid.

     "Just say it. Please."

     "Of course I love you," I say.

     He takes a breath. "Okay, I'm okay."

     I heave my own breath, loudly, leaning over to rest my head the counter. The stone is cold. It feels good. "Well I'm not," I mumble but it's soft enough that he doesn't hear me.

    "Dres," Cas says so I sit up to look at him. "I'm sorry I ruined it."

     "You didn't ruin it," I say quickly.

     "The first time I get your dick on my phone and I cry, like come on."

     "You didn't ruin it," I repeat.

     "I feel like, I don't know. I miss, you know, intimacy between us but I also just miss eating breakfast with you and sleeping in the same bed and our lives. I just miss our lives very much."

     I want to say that we'll have them back eventually but I don't, because he knows that and it isn't helpful. Eventually is a non-answer, its pie in the sky.

     "Why don't you go to sleep," I say finally. "And I'll stay on the phone."

    He squints at me, and he's smiling a bit. I'd like him to be smiling more but I'll take it. "What? We can't. Our phones will die and like, that's a long time to keep a FaceTime running."

     "Your chargers right there next to your bed. Plug in your phone. Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

     He nods. "Okay." He sits up, reaching behind his phone. He's upside down for a moment before he rights his phone.

     "Alright, good," I say. "I'm going to put myself on mute now."

     "No, don't," Cas says quickly. I halt. "I don't mind — I want the background noise. I'll just turn it down."

     After a moment Cas goes, "It's weird if you just sit here watching me."

     I laugh, quietly. "Okay, I'm gonna work some recipes anyway."

     "Mmm," he mumbles. "Vanilla base, peanut butter swirls, no icing but, hear me out, dip the tops in a white chocolate hard shell."

     I shake my head. "How bout no?"

     His eyes are closed and I give it five, maybe, six seconds before he's out. "That's it," he says dramatically. "I'm taking this brain to your competitors."

     "Take your brain to bed."

Calvin Sumner

     When I wake, Dres is there.

     He doesn't realize I'm awake, his back to me as he washes dishes in the sink. There's music in the background but it's low so I can hear him singing along. The sun's setting, and the kitchens this hazy orange glow. It's a good way to wake up. I feel rested for the first time in a long time.

     I lick my lips before putting them together and doing my best street whistle. Dres visibly jumps before he turns around, slinging the dish towel over his shoulder. He leans into his phone. "G'evening sleeping beauty," he says and his tone is way too playful for someone who is in bed with questionable sexual restraint.

     "If I'm the beauty, does that make you the brains of this operation? I think this is backwards."

     Dres moves, stepping away from the phone. He calls out, "Actually, you're the brains, too." When he returns, he's holding a saucer plate with a cupcake on it. The top looks like it's been painted white. A vanilla hardshell.

     "You didn't," I say slowly.

     He sets the plate down and then picks up the cupcake, breaking it open down the center. "Peanut butter swirls and all."

     If I hadn't already cried my eyes out, I might have started crying again. "I love you a ridiculous amount, you know that?" Dres flushes. As if he needed reminding. "Alright, do me a favor and take a bite but really slow. I need this for my spank bank."