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Dale was the only one in the alley until he arrived. Old friend, he was. Dale was a welcome sight. The red cooler was full. That in of itself was an invitation.
“Hey man.”
“Boonhauer! How’re ya?” To which he met with a nod.
“Yo.”
He tossed him a beer and they commenced the tradition. A pack later, they’d snuck over to his place. It might have been a domicile or something of the sort, but it was mostly just Gribble in there. They came in right through the front door. It reminded him of the times when they were teens and would sneak to each other’s houses to drink when they were the only ones home.
The two raided the fridge until they were adequately smashed, and then collapsed on either side of the couch.
“Nancy man,” He started, to the shock of the other man. “How’d I get so lucky?”
He felt a pang of something dull but mighty pernicious right above his stomach. There was something wrong about it. Boomhauer knew that telling him would obliterate the little guy. It would wreck the group, no less his marriage.
Much as he detested keeping the wool over his closest friend’s eyes, he had to keep quiet.
Too bad Dale hadn’t gotten the memo. No doubt he was preparing to launch into a heartfelt spiel about her importance in his life, which would somehow circle back to aliens and popular American conspiracy. Anticipating this, he frantically groped for the T.V. remote.
“And if you suspect your partner is hiding something from you-“ voiced the woman with the bouffant hair on channel 9.
Next.
“The truth will set you free,” said the preacher on channel 10 “and if you lie, yer goin straight to the flames of hell.“
The third time, they landed on formula 1 racing.
For a time this did the trick and silence won its rightful place amongst the living room.
On the commercial break however, Dale took another beer and continued again with his romantic professions for his wife, which took a sour turn of personal inadequacy.
“Man man alright enough of that shit I say, I feel near enough damn like I’m in a damn catch 22 listening to you.”
“What?”
Ah. He’d already said too much. Though paranoid and dramatic, the other man was no idiot. In fact, when his deductive skills did function they betrayed a careful intellect. The man was a live wire, always looking for connections between things. The only problem was that he seemed to have a blindspot in the matters of love.
What could he do to deflect this situation? He looked around the room, then to Dale. Of course. “man wont you look at that damn maneuver!” The second his attention averted to the television he stole Dale’s beer and began to work on it.
“Hey!” Dale remonstrated, trying to wrangle the can back. His negligible upper body strength failed him, and resulted in the other man collapsing near on top of him. Looming over his longtime pal, Boonhauer gripped the side of the couch with one hand and finished the drink with the other. After chucking it behind him, he grew aware of the way his friend looked; breathless, and staring up at him.
They found their seating again and awkwardly averted their attention back to the race cars on the television.
“I wasn’t like you, you know.” He continued as though it hadn’t happened, “Girls thought I was weird. Never thought I’d have somebody who liked me for me alone. I won the lottery with her.”
“Goddamnit man.” He muttered. The last of his restraint was crumbling. If he didn’t resort to something drastic soon, the secret would be out. Could it even be a secret if everyone knew it but one person? Most damn simultaneously paranoid and obtuse man alive Dale was.
His longtime friend looked at him inquiringly. Without even thinking about it, Boomhauer leaned in and pressed his lips to his.
Dale rebuked it fiercely, nearly flying off the edge of the couch. “What!!! That’s not funny man. Not funny at all. Is this your idea of a joke?“
“Man. Say the word and I ain’t wont do it again,” He whistled emphatically to demonstrate his sincerity. “Never.”
Dale swallowed hard, looking more panicked than he’d ever seen him. For a long time, the only sound was his labored breathing.
“Listen, I’m not gay, alright?”
He nodded. He knew that. Similarly to how he knew most things about him. What he didn’t know, or really expect was the sensation of his buddy recanting and closing the gap between their lips. Boomhauer gripped his waist urgently, deepening the kiss. He did not make any noise of shock. It was more of a surrender. It had been something long awaited, a list of daydreams absentmindedly rehearsed in the back of his head… what they’d do in the unlikely and compulsory case that this very situation occurred. A more deductive man than Gribble might have wondered why he’d had such thoughts. Rather than this, Dale gripped the back of his black tee unrestrainedly, pulling their bodies closer. Friction began to build between their enmeshed forms. A small low sound choked its way out of his throat when he bucked up against his thigh. “Man, damn careful. Im talking about gonna damn kill a man with a move like that.”
Dale chuckled. Unable to resist, he pulled the conspirator into another embrace. At first it was clumsy, and striving for dominance, but it slowly fizzled into something more passionate. He gripped the other man’s hips tightly and placed a slow ardent kiss under his ear. He sighed indulgently, which Boomhauer found encouraging. He wasted no time unbuttoning his shirt and descending with his touch. When he reached down to palm his buddy he felt himself getting excited at the evidence that his ministrations had been thus far effective.
Then, abruptly, Dale tensed up.
Shocked by the sudden change, he pulled away from him slowly. Without his sunglasses, Dale’s currently panicked eyes were a nondescript shade of light brown. The tan on his cheeks around where his aviators were, in his estimation, sort of mesmerizing. Boomhauer didn’t want to stop. He wanted to say something big at that moment. There were a few things he could’ve said; to ask why, to tell the truth about Nancy, or to express how he had felt. Time was limited. He parted his lips and searched Dale’s eyes for guidance. In the end he hesitated. With the speech quirk his response wouldn’t contain the sobriety the moment required. Well, better to let sleeping dogs lie.
Instead he went to the fridge for another drink. When he returned with two beers he fixed Dale’s cap back on his head and slapped his cheek with the back of his hand.
The dim glow of the tv regained its hold over them as either cracked their beer.