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"Oh, coffee, thank you," I managed, bleary-eyed and half asleep. I was about to sit up and take the steaming mugs from Mike when he sighed.

"Don't worry, Algy," he said, "I'll put them on the bedside table."

"Mmm, that's kind of you," I murmured, as he edged up the narrow gap between the bed and the wall and put the mugs down. "Thanks, mate."

"No probs, uh … see you at rehearsal," he said backing up. There was something wrong: something odd in his expression.

"Yeah, see you," I said, helplessly yawning as he closed the door behind him.

I'd just propped myself up on my elbow and put my finger through the handle of the mug -- enough so my knuckle was starting to complain at the heat -- when, like a proverbial light bulb, my brain woke up: I froze. There were two coffees - two!

"Fuck!" I bemoaned as quietly as I could, putting the mug down. "FUCK!" I was facing the wall and I really, really didn't want to know if the other half of the bed was occupied. Unfortunately Mike's attitude and the two mugs of coffee seemed to be hinting that it probably was. I sighed, unsure of what to do or say. I couldn't even blame a heavy nights drinking. And if I was honest with myself I'd wanted it as much as he had; if not more.

'He' was the problem. With a different pronoun I'd have been alright: in fact I'd have been dancing around the room, and the cups of coffee would have been celebratory rather than -- as I now thought of them sitting there gently steaming and minding their own business -- accusatory. I squeezed my eyes shut then gingerly re-opened them: there were still two cups of coffee.

The hand that snaked around my waist until it rested warmly over my tummy button settled the matter once and for all and caused me to blanch.

"Mornin'." His damp, warm, deep, breathy voice in my ear caused another bout of mental angst. On the one hand I wanted to melt back into his arms and relive the wonders of the night, whilst on the other I wanted to vaporise him, rewind time and arrive down for breakfast, triumphant, with a gorgeous long legged model type girl on my arm to the jealous glances of my friends.

"Mmph." I finally managed. His hand, whose thumb had been gently massaging my midriff, froze, matching my musculature. A long pause ensued, followed by the removal of his hand and the sound of him taking a deep breath. Then he tapped me on the shoulder.

"Algy?"

I 'mmphed' again and felt a tear trickle down my cheek. I was pathetic ... being pathetic. So what if Mike knew I was gay. He was my best friend and he'd accept me the way he always had ... wouldn't he?

I wanted to scream; I wanted to hide; I wanted to run away, and more than anything I wanted to tell everyone that mattered who I really was. I wanted .... The bed creaked as he got out and leapt over me, sitting down on the edge of the mattress by the bedside table. He was beautiful, and I was having to force myself not to grin: to keep a straight face as I pictured what we'd done together mere hours before.

"Yay! Coffee!" he said, grinning at me. "Which one's mine?"

"Either," I managed, looking at his clear blue eyes as they roamed over my face. He frowned, ran his thumb down my cheek and wiped away the tear, then picked up a mug and inhaled deeply before blowing across the top and taking a sip. Surreptitiously I watched as he drank half of it and then replaced the mug on the table.

"Algy, why are you upset?" Mouth half open I gazed at him. I wanted to look away, but the force of his character wouldn't let me. I tried to shrink into the pillows instead; that didn't work either.

"Mike," I said finally, swinging my legs out from under the duvet and sitting up beside him. "Mike brought the coffee. He knows."

"Oh," he said, pursing his lips. His nakedness and proximity were more than off-putting, they were doing things to me that I really didn't want -- or so I tried to persuade myself as I thanked God I was covered by the duvet. "I guess that's a bummer, but he knew about me anyway." He slid his arm around my shoulders and gave me a swift hug and a kiss on the cheek before letting me go and picking up his coffee mug again. I was astounded. How could he not know what I was going through? How could he not know my life was ruined? I was glancing at his semi-hard cock and wondering how fast I could pack and leave, when my brain caught up.

"Wait, he ... Mike knows about you?" "Yeah, and you too," he said, "and if you keep pretending not to look you'll do yourself a mischief," he chuckled. "You can touch if you want."

"No ... I ...." Now I was burning with embarrassment. "What do you mean he knows?"

"Mike's your oldest friend, Algy, he's always known. Besides, why should he be upset? He was the one who set us up."

We were late for breakfast. ;)

 

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