Date: Sun, 13 Oct 2013 06:47:56 +0700
From: Robert Glass <robxglass@gmail.com>
Subject: The Virgin Joseph part 7

All right reserved. Any unauthorized use is prohibited. This is a
fiction. Any resemblance to people and/or events is coincidental. If
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PART 7


Halloween was a hoot. The whole office went to a party hosted by Lucy and
her husband in their house. They didn't have kids so they weren't worry
about all the booze and the noise. Lucy had always been the queen of
Halloween and she dragged her husband with her. She always loved any kind
of costume party. Overall, the party was a fun little replica of the
Comic-Con. People used comic books, video games or sci-fi movies references
for their costumes. Saving for Joe who came as an Australian, basically
dressing like he usually was every day.

Everybody was trying to get Tom drunk, and he did. By the middle of the
night Tom was wasted, eventually showing the sexual facet of him. He had a
similarly drunken woman feeling him up while he gyrated uncontrollably on
the chair, just like a cheap stripper. Joe began to wonder if Tom started
to hit the gym just for this occasion.

The aftermath wasn't pretty. Everyone was miserable the next day, except
for Lucy. Tom eventually slept with the girl, and ended up having the worst
sex in his life, a hangover that could last for a week and a lifetime's
worth of embarrassment. Alice and Nick were forced to sleep in Amy's
apartment since Tom was the only one who brought the key to theirs.

The worst yet: Joe fell sick; he caught a cold. Stubborn as he was, Joe
worked anyway. Sadly, after three days the flu wasn't going away. If ever,
it was getting worse. On Thursday he couldn't get out of his bed despite
waking up precisely at seven. He couldn't sleep longer. After a short
deliberation, he called Amy to let her know that he wasn't coming that day.

He got up and miraculously made it to the kitchen. He just wanted to
drink. Unfortunately for him, he only liked cold water, even if it was tap
water. It wouldn't help his healing, if healing was ever going to happen.

He officially chose the couch as his death bed. He was freezing and he
didn't want to walk the length to the bedroom to get his blanket, or the
end of the living room to turn on the heater. He was that weak, or that
lazy. It was the first time he was alone when he was sick, no one was there
to take care of him. With that in mind he took his blanket from his bedroom
and turned the heater on. Then he moved back the couch to catch some
sleep. His mind was obviously not clear. He went so deep in slumber that he
didn't hear his phone went off, or the buzzing for his permission, or the
sound of a man calling him from outside his door, or the fact that someone
broke into his house.

"Joe. Joseph! Are you okay?" Sam nudged him out of his sleep; feeling
completely scared of Joe's well-being. Joe only groaned and
mumbled. "Joseph. Wake up." Sam put his hand on Joe's forehead.  "Oh my
god, you're burning up." He then noticed how pale Joe was. "Joe, did you
have breakfast this morning? I didn't see you at the diner."

"No." Joe was still half asleep. He covered his head with a pillow.

"I brought you breakfast; it's from the diner, the usual. You have to eat,
man." He set up the meal, putting what he bought on a plate.

"I don't want to. I want to sleep."

"Shut up and wake up." Sam was a little harsh, but it was for Joe's own
good. "I told you for the past few days that you have to take a rest, but
you didn't. Now look at what it's done to you."

"Don't yell at me," he complained, still sounding weak and
semi-unconscious.

Sam walked back to the couch and put the plate and the glass of warm water
on the table. "I'm sorry, but you have to eat and take your medicine." This
time Sam was calmer.

Joe revealed his face like a sick turtle. He looked into Sam who seemed so
serious. He backed down and sat up, still covering himself in
blanket. "Thank you," he said with his nasally voice.

"No problem."

"This thing tastes worse when I'm sick." Joe laughed, and then coughed.

"Just finish it. Where are your meds? I'll get them." Sam offered. "Do you
need a jacket or something? You seem cold."

"Yes, please. My jacket is in my closet and the meds are... somewhere in my
room."

Sam marched like a soldier on duty. He found everything in place. He also
pulled more blanket and dry towel just in case the jacket could not do its
job properly enough. When he came back Joe was halfway done.

"Thanks," Joe said as he took whatever Sam handed him.

Sam smiled, most of it was genuine, but some just to distract him from the
view. The view of Joe's dying, deep brown eyes; the eyes that the owner
himself cited as banally colored, bland and visionless. "You're welcome."

Joe covered himself in that jacket immediately. He continued to eat in
silence, Sam let him be. Joe ate with all the appetite he had left. Sam was
right, he had to eat. He was hungry as hell and Sam brought just what he
wanted.

"All done," Joe proclaimed weakly. He took the meds and drank it with the
depressingly warm water.

"Good." Sam took the dinnerware with him to the kitchen.

When Joe heard that Sam was going to wash the dishes, he had to stop
it. "Don't wash that. Come here and sit down. You've done enough."
Wordlessly Sam came back to the living room, bringing another glass of
depressingly warm water with him and sat it on the coffee table as he sat
himself on the other end of the couch from Joe. Finally. Sam didn't
realized he had been standing and running around Joe's apartment all this
time.

"Hug me, I'm freezing," said Joe. Even the multiple layers of fabric piled
on him couldn't give enough warmth.

Sam certainly did not expect that. He would be glad to. He didn't even mind
if he caught the disease.  He just wanted to comfort Joe, do whatever was
best for him. He scooted in and pulled Joe into him.  Sam clutched onto
Joe's arms from behind.

Joe sighed, released himself from Sam's clutches, spread his leg and sat
between them. "You're playing with me." Sam said, more like a question than
a statement.

Joe gave him a serious glare and said, "I wouldn't." He proceeded by taking
Sam's arms and wrap himself in it.

"Better?"

"Certainly," Joe said.

"I like your nasal," Sam snickered, "and your choice of word." With one
hand he beckoned Joe's head to lie on his chest.

"Shut up," Joe, too, snickered. "You're warm. This is nice."

"Don't hesitate to fall asleep. You're small and scrawny, you don't weigh
much," Sam said, strangely sincere.

"Okay," Joe said. He was swayed, basking in the comfort of care. His head
fell to its side, even when fully awake. Resting on the left side of Sam's
chest, he could hear Sam's heart beating through the ample pectoral
muscle. The regular pulse soothes him. So comfortable.

His mind began to wander to the times before. He remembered how he and Sam
met and almost did the unthinkable. Joe smiled to himself. That man was now
here, closer to him than ever, taking care of Joe. Joe knew that Sam used
to like him, more than platonically. Used to. Joe was convinced. After all,
Sam is now under him, with his heart beating normally and his dick was not
reacting badly. No sexual thing there, right?

Why, then, was Joe flustering? Why was his face burning up beyond his
fever? Why did cold sweats pouring more aggressively? Why did his heart
beat faster? The strong arms that covered him over his linens were
wonderful. The rise and fall of the chest's breathing was hypnotizing. The
warmth Sam added was terrific. The quiet between them was comfortable. So
comfortable. Too comfortable?

"You should leave," Joe abruptly said to Sam. "I need to sleep. On my bed."

"Let's get you to bed, but I'll stay." Sam readied his hands between Joe,
in case he wobble or fall on his way up.

"No, just go do your thing." Joe stood up, ignoring Sam's hand and shooing
Sam out. He freaked out.  Somehow things with Sam were confusing him, to
say the least. It felt too good and so wrong.  Where he got that notion
from, Joe had no idea. It just felt like so.

"You can't even get yourself a meal."

"Just go, I'll be fine." Joe physically pushed Sam to the door. Mid way to
the door he slipped and almost fell to the floor.

Sam swept Joe off his feet before he fell on the floor, and carried him to
the bedroom like a groom to his bride. "I'm staying."

"No!" Joe protested. "Put me down, I can walk." Sam didn't listen. "I
tripped. Big deal!"

Sam put Joe down to his bed and tucked him in. Joe protested still.

"Sam, just go. I can take care of myself. I can order something for lunch
and I'll take all the meds. I can walk to the door and pay for the food, I
can get my own water, I can dress myself, I..."

"I got your point." Sam gave up. Joe was clearly not going to back down. "I
will call you if you need anything. If you don't pick up the phone, I will
come here myself and whoop your ass. Call me if you need anything. Okay?"

"Okay," Joe said. He needed Sam to leave, right away.


***


The afternoon was quite warm. By two o'clock, Joe was still on his bed,
soaking his jacket with sweat. He woke up to the smell of something
good. He sat up trying to summon his soul back from the demons that were
torturing him. After he regained composure, he removed his jacket to find
that the air felt pretty cold without it. He pulled his blanket and covered
himself in it like a stupid Halloween ghost costume. He could have worn it
to the party a week before and looked like at least he made an effort. When
he walked out of his room he saw Sam standing in the middle of the kitchen,
cooking something that smelled heavenly.

"What are you doing here?"

Sam turned around. "I called you like ten times, you weren't answering."
Joe didn't respond, seemed like he did not have the power to think of any
smart comeback. "I'm making your lunch, chicken soup and rice."

"Sam, you didn't have to."

"I said it before: if you don't answer I'll come here and whoop your ass."
He looked at Joe who seemed to be ready to decline the kind offering. "Joe,
drop it," Sam said as he turned off the stove.  "You're sick. You slept
through the morning and then some. You wouldn't have eaten or taken your
meds if I didn't come earlier. You are falling apart. If I said I'm going
to take care of you, I will. Now the soup is ready and the rice is
done. You will eat and I will watch you finish it. Understood?"

Joe's face went still for a moment. Why, at a moment like this, did Sam
have to be caring? Very caring. He hoped it was not part of the
crush. "Understood."

"Good." Sam took a bowl, filled it half-way with his perfectly cooked rice
and poured a ladle of soup over it. "Eat!"

"Thanks, Ginger-boy." Joe smiled, easing his own weariness. The soup tasted
fantastic. It was very Asian; rich, with perfectly formulated spices. It
wasn't really Indonesian, but it was closer to home than he'd
expected. "Wow, where did you learn to cook? This is fantastic."

"My mom owns a restaurant. I picked it up from her."

"This is fantastic," Joe repeated. In his mind, he began to bargain. Sam
could actually make a great boyfriend. He was caring, he was good in the
kitchen, he was vastly knowledgeable, and even if it was self-proclaimed by
Sam, he was supposedly good in the sack. Joe smiled at the thought.

"What are you smiling at?" Sam said, somehow expecting a smartass insult
coming.

Joe was taken aback by the question. He didn't realize that he was being
too obvious. "You know, if you made the effort you'll make an excellent
boyfriend." Joe presented the half-truth.

"Shut up." Sam's face reddened

"I didn't even know you cook. This rice is perfect."

"Don't get too comfortable. I'm not doing this every day for you."

Joe finished it fast. His appetite was getting better. Or maybe it was the
simple, humble but highly delightful meal Sam had prepared. He finished it
with a smile. He took his medicine down with cold water. Sam just couldn't
stop Joe from drinking that.

They moved to their domain, the place that they both dwelt: the couch. They
were sitting far from each other; Joe on one end and Sam on the other. Joe
didn't want Sam to be infected, seemingly forgotten that they had been in a
closer proximity before. The couch held a lot of meaning to them.  Two
almost-intercourses and countless of discussions was held there. It was
natural for them to retreat there, turning on the TV and not actually
watching it. They would add the number of discussions the count. They never
ran out of topic. Today, however, the topic had Sam feeling a tad nervous.

"Why haven't you got a boyfriend yet?" That question started it all. Joe
wanted to know why Sam hung around instead of trying to find a guy that
actually likes him back. A part of him also wanted an answer to his
confusion. "Or a husband. You're a husband material. You have two high
paying jobs, you're a good caretaker, you cook like a motherfucker and you
look like you gave up," Joe joked.

"Funny," Sam said plainly.

"Seriously, Sam, you have to start finding one instead of just running
around for some free hole. Or hanging around here." Well, that was a bit
obvious.

Sam almost coughed in surprise. "I'm not running around for some free
hole."

"I've noticed," Joe said. "So... what then?"

"So, I don't know." Sam sighed. "I could say I haven't found the one but
that would be a dumb answer. I could say that I just don't want to get
attached, but I do. Busy with career and stuff would be an excuse, not a
reason. So, I don't know. I'll find one when I find one."

"Maybe you just haven't stayed around long enough with a guy to know him
better," Joe shrugged on his own hypothesis.

"Oh trust me; I've had my share of longer relationships. The more I stayed
the more I realized that he wasn't the one." There was silence for a
moment, which Sam took as an opportunity to revert the attention away from
him. "You? You said you didn't want it because you were busy. I don't think
you're that busy anymore. You've been going home on time lately."

"Actually..." Joe paused, trying to find the words. He trusted Sam enough
to share something this personal. "Actually I'm just scared."

"Of what?"

Joe became physically limp. Lying on the couch, he looked like a pile of
dirty laundry. "I don't know."

"Want a hug?" Sam offered, seeing that Joe was turning vulnerable in an
instant.

"No thanks." As much as Joe needed someone's touch, he resisted. He got
used to comforting himself. Besides, the last time he did it with Sam, he
felt something inexact. "I'm scared that I might get hurt or that I hurt
someone. I'm not prepared for that. I know it's unavoidable, but I also
know I wouldn't be able to handle it. I don't want to be hurt anymore."

"You've been with someone?" Sam asked.

"No." He paused for just a moment. "I've just been hurt." Joe became quiet,
so did Sam. They stayed wordless for a moment. Joe wasn't a fan of the sick
version of himself. His guards went down and things like this would
happen. It happened a lot lately, but being ill made it worse. He hated to
look at Sam's eyes; it was full of sympathy. Or pity.

Despite Joe's wish, Sam moved closer to Joe and hugged him. Joe couldn't
help but hate it and love it at the same time. Like an open wound, a
treating hand stung severely even if it was soothing.

"This is nice." Joe suddenly commented. "I should tell you sad shit every
day now. I get free hugs."  Joe chuckled, with his growingly dozy voice
narrating.

"You're a dick head." Sam said softly and affectionately behind Joe's
ear. He hugged Joe still.

At one point during the afternoon they moved to Joe's bedroom. Joe didn't
want to sleep but Sam made him. He insisted that Joe needed as much rest as
he could get. He even carried Joe to the bedroom like he did hours
before. Joe struggled to no avail.

"I'll be on the couch. You go to sleep. Call me if you need anything," Sam
said.

"Yes, mom."


***


Somebody buzzed, it awoke Sam. He rushed for the intercom, worrying that
the noise would wake Joe up. "Who's there?"

"Joe? Is that you?"

"No. He's sleeping. Who's this?"

"This is his friend Tom. Who are you?" Tom shot back, sensing the
hostility.

"I'm his neighbor." He cut off the conversation and unlocked the gate.

Joe came out of his room; awaken by the buzzing and Sam talking. "Who are
you talking to?"

"Well, apparently Tom is coming."

There was a knock on the door. That was fast. "Tom?" Joe called still not
believing the information.  Sam opened the door. Tom walked in. "Tom? What
are you doing?"

"I brought you chicken soup." Tom smiled at Joe, barely noticing Sam.

"Thanks, but Sam already made me chicken soup." Joe was still hazy so he
sat on the couch.  "Anyway, Tom this is Sam. Sam, Tom."

The two men shook hands. Tom's gesture was gentle and all normal. Sam,
however, felt the need to overpower Tom. He clenched Tom's hand into one of
those obnoxious businessman hand shake.  Tom didn't flinch. Perhaps Sam
felt intimidated by this man. He was once a competition. Joe had a crush to
this man once, something that Sam didn't have the privilege of. This guy is
huge.

"Wow, you look a lot shorter next to him, Sam. I thought you were taller,"
Joe said as though he read Sam's mind.

"I'm 5 foot 10. I'm kind of tall," Sam said.

"He's 6'1"," Joe shrugged. Sam looked at Tom, the guy smiled. Either in
victory or just regular, Sam couldn't tell. Either way, it annoyed the hell
out of Sam.

There was awkwardness between Tom and Sam. Awkwardness so thick that even
Joe can feel. "Tom, this is the Sam that tried to fuck me. Sam, this is the
Tom that wanted to kill you." He tried to break the ice; both guests were
stunned by the remark. "Sorry, I'm always harsh when I'm sick and sleepy.
Seriously though, Sam is a good man, don't kill him Tom." He then said to
Sam, "Tom here thinks he's my brother, so he was just protectively
bluffing. No worries."

Both men chuckled and mumbled, still awkward.

"Tom, if you don't mind we can keep your soup for tomorrow. Sam made
chicken soup enough for two days. Maybe we all can have that for dinner
tonight and I can have yours for tomorrow." Joe spoke again, knowing that
the other two would not initiate anything yet. "I'll have a hot shower, you
two, mingle!" Joe stood up. Sam assisted him by holding his arm. "I can
stand up, Sam, and I can walk too. You don't have to carry me again." Joe
walked swiftly to his own room, and a moment later, to his bathroom.

"You carried him?" Tom asked Sam.

"I kinda did. He was quite weak this morning. He could barely move."

"Did you stay here the whole time?"

"Not really. I went to work. Then I called him around ten but he didn't
answer. So I went here. I was sure he hadn't eaten yet. So..." Sam
shrugged.

"He's so stubborn. He's been sick for three days and he kept on coming to
the office. I told him many times to just stay at home. He never listened."

"I know," Sam said. He retreated to the kitchen to reheat the soup. Sam was
stirring, his soup and his mind. He wondered what to talk about with
Tom. Joe had coldly left him with a stranger, one that once wanted to ruin
his bone structure. Weather? That would be lame. He would rather burn the
place down than talking about weather. The weather is fine, a little cool,
but fine. Not much to say about the weather. What else?

"I heard Joe has started working on his very first architecture
project. How's he doing?" That would be a good starter.

"Great. He's very passionate about it. He has all these ideas that he just
doesn't know how to apply to the project, or even express." Tom smiled with
a sense of pride.

"He's such a nerd, isn't he?"

"He is. He gets very excited every time he thinks of something cool, or so
he thought." Tom chuckled. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a software architect." He emphasized the word 'architect' with an
air-quote.

"Ah, a programmer." Tom said.

Sam wanted to explain to Tom about the whole classification of computer
programmers but he halted himself. There was no point. He was a little
annoyed by the whole generalization to a mere 'programmer.' But it would be
hypocrite of him. He never told Joe what he actually did; only saying that
he was a code monkey. "I look dumb for a programmer, don't I?" Sam said
jokingly.

"No, no. Not at all," Tom said politely.

Sam could see why Joe liked him. He was a very decent man; so fucking
decent that it made Sam wanted to punch him in the face.

"Are you guys, you know, hooking up?" Smooth segue, Tom.

"What? No!" Okay, that reaction was a little too panicky.

"It's just you two seems to be real close."

"You two are close too."

"I know, but you're gay too. Also you guys have a... history. So I thought,
maybe..." Tom should've never brought that up.

"No. We're friends. Totally platonic. I'm not going to sleep with your
brother, if that's what you were asking." Sam said.

Tom chuckled nervously. He was just concerned for Joe. Sam was a good
man. He was good enough to take care of Joe when he was sick. Maybe a
little too good to be purely platonic.

"Well, the soup is almost ready." Sam clearly wanted to end the
conversation.  He moved to the steamer, to see if the rice was hot enough.
It was. Joe also came out of the bathroom fully clothed. It was obvious
that Joe was self-conscious.

Joe stood there, in front of his bedroom door, looking at the two men that
stared at him. He eyed each of them one by one with a look of annoyance.
"Stop staring at me," he said.

The other two men jumped a little. They were caught in their blatant acts.
Tom looked away to nowhere in particular while Sam returned to his
cooking. "Dinner's ready," Sam announced.

___

I'm planning for a Thanksgiving chapter. I don't know if I can submit it on
time though. I hope I will.

As usual, you can email me at robxglass@gmail.com or visit my dowdy tumblr
page at manlyneeds.tumblr.com. I wanted to change the handle name and the
title but I went too long with it. Oh, well.