Fic: Quality
Eric eyed a potted plant skeptically. “You’d better be one-hundred percent in charge of these things,” he said. “I’m pretty sure if I just look at them wrong I’ll kill them, and I don’t want be responsible for that.”
Sam pushed past the box he was taping up and took the jade plant from Eric’s hand. “Leave them until the end. I don’t want them crushed by the other stuff you put in the car.”
“Fine." Eric rolled his eyes. "Then let’s get to the heavy stuff. Or better yet, let’s just start throwing all of it in the car.”
“I don’t need all of it,” Sam rolled his own eyes right back. “Just the stuff I use most frequently.” Now that Eric was going back to work, he’d decided to bring more of his belongings over to the house so that trips back to his condo would not take away from the time they had to spend together. He figured if he took the rest of his clothes, his plants, and the law books he referenced most frequently he wouldn’t really need to stop by much at all. Maybe just once every two weeks or so, for a dusting, as he didn’t want the place to become cobweb-ridden in its abandonment.
“Alright, then tell me what to do.”
“Why don’t you get started on the clothes in the bedroom?” Sam suggested, then winced inwardly. That might not have been the best task to set to Eric.
Eric, however, did not seem to share his apprehension as he nodded obediently and started off down the hallway for the bedroom.
“But don’t wrinkle my shirts,” Sam called after him. He received a grumbled and mostly unintelligible response, but had a sinking suspicion it was something along the lines of “Don’t worry, I will.”
Resigning himself to an afternoon of ironing, Sam turned his attention to the bookshelf in his living room and began to sort through his texts. There was room enough at the house for them all, really, since Eric didn’t have many books. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to cut the tether to his old life entirely just yet, and leaving at least a few of them behind ensured the condo would in some way still be his home.
When he took the time to think about it rationally he was aware the place had become something of a security blanket, but that process had started before he had even met Eric. It was his one triumph from the whole debacle with his ex-boyfriend; the one thing he applauded himself on having done right. He’d stayed in control of that one crucial aspect of their relationship by having Mark move in with him rather than the other way around. That way, when it had all fallen apart it was Mark who’d had to pack his bags and leave, while Sam remained safely ensconced in his home. And as great as things were going with Eric, it was hard to leave behind that feeling of control, so he contented himself by figuring the arrangement they had was the best of both worlds.
The sound of wheels on hardwood floor preceded Eric as he came into the room dragging a large suitcase behind him.
“How’d you fold everything so fast?” Sam asked him.
Eric blinked at him a few times but seemed unable to come up with an answer.
Sam sighed, shaking his head. “At least tell me my dress shirts aren’t all bunched up in there.”
Eric gave him an only mildly guilty look. “Sorry, I was trying to hurry this along. You know there are other things I’d rather be doing right now.”
Rolling his eyes, Sam waved Eric on his way. “Alright, go on, put it in the car then,” he said as Eric grinned back victoriously and headed out.
He wandered into his bedroom to survey the damage and found a surprising amount of his closet and dresser had been emptied, meaning it was probably smashed beyond recognition in the luggage Eric had taken out. It was hard to be annoyed, though. Just the fact that Eric had offered to help was proof that the man really loved him, as left to his own devices he’d be spending the afternoon in front of the TV, catching up on everything that was happening in the world of sports since his forced retirement.
Sam instinctively stretched out a hand and smoothed the bedcover where Eric had rumpled it as he had packed away the clothes. It had been ages since he'd spent the night in that bed, and he smiled, realizing there was a chance he may never have to sleep in it again. The thought made him giddy but a little scared at the same time. He trusted Eric completely, but forever was a long time to think about, and neither of them had really broached the subject directly. He’d overheard a conversation once at Joan’s house that made him question how comfortable Eric was with the topic, and had decided to let sleeping dogs lie rather than force the issue.
Footsteps tracking in through the hallway caught his attention and he headed towards them, having concluded it would be best if he packed up the rest of his clothes with Eric so he could teach him how to fold properly.
But as soon as he rounded the corner he stopped abruptly. Tall, blond, and broad-chested, the man standing in his living room was definitely not Eric.
“Hey, the door was open,” Mark said.
Sam nodded, and Mark closed the gap between them, wrapping him in a hug. “It’s really good to see you, Sam."
Sam nodded again stiffly. “Uh, yeah. What . . . what are you doing here?”
“I saw your car outside and I thought I would see if you were in. I ran into your neighbor the other day and she told me she thought you’d moved out.”
“Well, I have, sort of,” Sam replied, startled that Mark seemed to be keeping tabs on him.
“Oh, okay. So we agreed when you moved out, I could get my TV back . . . but if you’re still in the process, I don’t need it right now or anything.”
Of course, the TV. What else would Mark be there for. The huge flatscreen monstrosity had been Mark’s idea, and Mark had been the primary user, as Sam preferred to spend his entertainment hours with a book. For all that he had used it since Mark had left he might as well have hung a curtain over it and made it a part of the décor.
“Right, sure,” he replied. He hadn’t wanted to keep the thing in the first place, but Mark had insisted, like it was some sort of parting apology gift. Though of course he’d asked to take it back when Sam no longer needed it, so it was a gift with strings, much like the rest of their relationship.
“What’s next?” Eric called out as he entered, freezing in the doorway when he caught sight of Mark.
“Uh, Eric, this is Mark. Mark, Eric,” Sam introduced them quickly, careful to keep his tone completely level. He saw Eric’s eyebrows twitch slightly with recognition.
“Nice to meet you,” Mark said, thrusting out his hand, and Eric took it, shaking it with an amused smile.
“Yeah . . . is that box ready?” Eric turned away, pointing to the open container of books in the living room. Without waiting for a reply he walked over and picked it up, his muscles bulging slightly with the strain.
“So, are you two . . . together?” Mark asked.
Eric paused on his way to the door and turned back to Sam as if he was waiting for his response.
“Uh, yeah,” Sam said, feeling his body go tight with nervousness. Eric shot him a grin from over Mark’s shoulder, and some of the tension drained away. Apparently Eric’s fears in exposing their relationship did not extend to gay guys. Good to know.
Mark turned around and looked Eric up and down very slowly, a lustful glint in his eye. Even after all the time that had passed, it was a look Sam remembered. “I didn’t even know you were dating again. Wow, Sam. You did really well for yourself. Really well.”
Eric’s face flushed and his forehead crinkled in obvious discomfort at being so openly ogled.
“I’m glad you got back out there,” Mark continued, turning back to Sam. “I was talking with Emily the other day and she’d said she was kinda worried about you for a while . . .”
“I don’t really hang around with her much anymore,” Sam interrupted, his frustration mounting. It was just like Mark to march into his home, cool as ever, acting like he’d never done a thing wrong-like Sam was the one with the problem and the one to be “worried about.” Like Mark’s sorry-but-gay-men-just-aren’t-built-for-monogamy bit wasn’t completely old and tired.
”So, moving into his place, then . . . or are you getting a place together? Must be pretty serious, either way. That’s good, Sam. I’m glad you found someone to do that whole domestic thing with. You were always so into that.”
By this point Sam had had more than enough of Mark and his insults-veiled-as-compliments. That was Mark’s specialty-with one hand he could encourage or flatter while with the other plant in his unwitting victims that tiny seed of self-doubt, insinuating that whatever or whomever he was praising was really not worthy. Sam wasn’t sure if he did it intentionally, or if it was just an inherent part of his nature. It was probably a large component of what made him a great lawyer-he was so quickly able to ascertain and push people’s little buttons, leaving them defenseless and open to attack-but it was definitely what had made him an imperfect lover, even before the infidelity.
“Well, you can go ahead and take the TV,” Sam said flatly, hoping that would move things along.
“Alright, cool, thanks.” Mark smiled, taking a few steps toward the offending object. Then he turned around and paused. “Hey, Eric, you want to give me a hand with this? You look like you keep in great shape.” He grinned unabashedly at Eric, who stared back blankly. “I kept trying to get Sam to join me at the gym, but I guess you can see he never did take to that.”
Before Sam had a chance to silently fume a loud crash interrupted his train of thought. Eric had let the box he was holding drop to the floor from his standing height, and the combined weight of the books made quite an impact. It even shook the floor slightly.
“That’s it,” Eric said, taking a few steps towards Mark. “Look, you don’t know me, so this is probably going to come off as a threat . . . but I honestly mean it as a warning. I don’t have the best temper, and if you say one more patronizing or insulting thing to Sam I’m liable to hit you, and it’ll probably be in the face.”
Mark threw up his hands, backing up defensively. “Whoa, whoa. There was no offense intended, I swear. Sam and I have known each other a long time. He knows I was only teasing.”
Eric crossed his arms, looking unconvinced. “Honestly, I don’t think you know Sam very well at all, since I’ve been with him less than half the time you have and I already know he’s worth changing my life for.”
Mark’s mouth dropped open stupidly and Sam lost his breath for a few seconds. When he finally regained his composure, with it came the crystal clear thought that he needed for Mark to be out of there, and he needed it now.
“I’ll call you and let you know when you can stop by and get the TV, but we’re busy right now,” he said firmly, laying a hand on Mark’s shoulder and pushing him towards the door.
Mark nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” He paused at the doorway and threw his head over his shoulder one last time. “Hey, I really am glad you’re happy, Sam,” he said as he left.
Sam closed the door behind him and turned his attention back to Eric, who for once didn’t look embarrassed or flustered at having said something so emotionally charged. Instead he was smiling proudly, like he knew he’d just done good. “And what exactly did you see in that guy?” Eric asked.
It only took Sam two seconds to cross the room and meet Eric’s lips in a desperate kiss, his nearly full-on erection crying out for the friction of Eric’s body. He tore at Eric’s clothing, and in a moment of lucidity was thankful that Eric was not wearing a button-up shirt because he had a feeling he would have ripped off the buttons in his haste.
“Well, look who’s in a hurry,” Eric teased, but it was the last thing he said before wrapping his arms around Sam’s shirt and tugging upwards.
They discarded their clothes where they stood and went at it right there in the living room, first pressed up against the wall and then tumbling down onto the floor. Sam covered Eric’s mouth and chest with crushing, wet kisses as they moved up against one another, growing impossibly hot and blindingly desperate for release in a frantic way that allowed little time for anything other than the pressure of skin against skin with the occasional aide of a grasping hand.
For Sam this flavor of lovemaking was just as amazing as the more slowly-unwrapped passion that he usually tended towards. Actually, any and all sex with Eric definitely had to top his charts. He came first against Eric’s toned stomach, releasing his breath with a sharp cry, and Eric followed less than a minute later, immediately wrapping both arms around him and pressing in close to trap the hot mess between them. They waited silently while the heat radiated off them in waves, and every once and a while Eric ghosted his hands over Sam’s back lightly, causing him to writhe and twitch as it tickled him and left goose bumps along his skin.
Eric pulled away after a while and rolled over onto his back. “These certainly are hardwood floors,” he remarked with a grimace.
Sam grinned at him. His lips felt slightly bruised, and he imagined the smile they issued must look sloppy and drunken. “Well, we could take this to the bedroom,” he laughed.
“Kinda pointless now, isn’t it?” Eric laughed back.
Drawing in his breath and letting it out in a deep, contented sigh, Sam felt like he probably could have fallen asleep right there on the floor and had one of the best rests he’d ever had in his life.
Eric rolled back over and laid a hand on his chest, tickling his ribs softly. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been meaning to apologize.”
Sam looked at him in surprise. For all the times he’d felt he was owed an apology from Eric, this was definitely not one of them. “For what?”
“For what you heard me say a while back . . . at my sister’s house. It was wrong of me to say that . . . and it wasn’t even true. You haven’t turned my life upside-down, Sam. You’ve turned it right-side-up.”
And there it was, Sam suddenly decided-Eric’s most amazing quality-the ability to self-reflect and to apologize sincerely and wholeheartedly. It took a strong person to admit when he was wrong, and not many people could take being continually humbled the way Eric seemed to be able to. Sam was fairly certain that he wasn’t even that good at letting go of his ego and conceding when he was in error.
“And, you know . . . the whole, uh, marriage institution is not exactly my thing . . .but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to make a commitment . . . because I do,” Eric continued.
He paused and brought his hand up from Sam’s chest to place it along his cheek, cupping his face gently. Though Eric was slowly becoming more physically affectionate he was still fairly reserved in that department, so any time he showed such tenderness it sent nearly as much electricity to Sam’s lower region as other more sexually-directed activities did.
“I’m sorry if I ever gave you cause to doubt that. You’re the only man-well, the only person-that I’ve ever felt this way about . . . and I’d like to keep it that way . . . permanently,” he concluded, searching Sam’s face and waiting patiently for a reaction or response.
For some reason, as Sam stared back into Eric’s hopeful eyes he found himself pondering his personal notion of repentance. He wasn’t exactly sure where it had come from-raised with a hodgepodge of his father’s Judaism and his mother’s Christianity, he’d ended up more spiritual than doctrinal. But what he did know was that it included a crucial factor so often left out by those who used the words “I’m sorry,”-- and that factor was action. When Eric said he was sorry, they weren’t just empty words. He didn’t use them as a band-aid to fix a situation, he used them as a means to open a door and reveal his mistakes-to others and to himself. Given enough time he seemed to be able to get to the heart of the harm his transgressions had done and he always took steps to make amends, proving he had the capacity to change. And as hard as the struggle of coming to terms with his sexuality had been for both of them, Sam had seen nothing but progress in their time together. Eric might be stubborn, short-tempered, moody and definitely a little insecure at times, but he was a man who was capable of self-improvement.
And maybe that wasn’t exactly the stuff that dreams were made of, but maybe it should be. After all, a perfect man was a fantasy, but a man like Eric was a rare and beautiful reality. His reality.
He nodded at Eric, mostly because he didn’t trust his voice to remain steady if he spoke. Eric smiled a bright, relieved smile and hugged him, murmuring “Sam,” gently in his ear in that way that Sam had come to realize meant I love you before kissing him deeply.
Sam could only imagine how many more wonderful moments with Eric lay ahead of him-after all, in the time they’d been together he’d gone from essentially using him for sex to making a verbal commitment to spend the rest of his life with him- so who knew what more was to come. Maybe one day he’d even be able to kiss him in full view of family and friends . . . or maybe even in front of strangers. And suddenly, Sam couldn’t wait for the journey to begin.
He shot up and pulled on his boxers, stretching a hand out towards Eric when he was done. “Come on, we’ve got a lot of work to get done if we’re gonna get this place ready to sell,” he said.
Eric’s face lit up, his blue eyes somehow shining even bluer as he took Sam’s hand and stood, but he made no move to get any of his clothes. Instead he wrapped his arms around Sam’s body again and kissed him softly and slowly while Sam felt himself getting a second wind.
“It can wait,” Eric said. “I think we should take this to the bedroom, after all.”
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