I don't write RPS (Real Person Slash) or RPF (Real Person Fiction) but this story (and sequel) was written for a friend who loves the stuff. These two stories are the exception to my real-person rule.

A Dog's Life

"Mr. French. Mr. French?"

Craig finally realized the voice was speaking to him so he looked up from where he sat in the waiting area. An elderly looking man in a white coat with matching hair, Craig presumed he was the vet, stood next to the receptionist who was looking directly at Craig and calling him Mr. French. Before he could correct her about the name, she smiled. "You can come on back."

As Craig dragged the two agitated bulldogs past the desk to the examination room, he explained. "Mr. French is my friend Jack who owns these dogs. I'm just doing this errand for him. He called and made sure it would be okay." And again he wished he'd never agreed to it, as one of the dogs decided to go the opposite direction, wrapping its leash around his legs. Jack had begged him to do this. Something, or rather someone came up at the last minute, and the dogs were scratching themselves to death, and would he please. . . ? Craig had agreed, even though he had a presentation to prepare and much cleaning to do before his sister came to visit.

The receptionist nodded. "Oh yes, that's right, he did call. I'm sorry, Mr. . . ?"

"Just Craig is fine."

Yes, he is, she thought as she looked him up and down as covertly as she could. "Right in here. . . Craig. He'll be in a minute."

Craig was oblivious to the way she said his name, as he was too busy trying to untangle himself and make the dogs behave. "No, no. Bad doggies. Very bad. . . ." He hoped whatever the vet did caused the dogs to sleep on the way home, instead of them deciding they might like to drive a while as they had attempted on the way there. He hadn't realized how hard it was to turn the steering wheel with fifty pounds of curious bulldogs intent on squirming in your lap.

When he heard the door open behind him, both dogs, which he had just calmed down, lunged for the door, spinning him around. He barely kept his balance as they pulled and jumped up on the vet's legs, eager for attention. Craig actually found himself slightly amused. That's it, he thought. Jump and slobber on him for the big old SHOT you're probably going to get, you silly--

His gaze moved up from the dogs to the vet. This wasn't the elderly man he'd seen behind the desk. This guy looked to be in his mid-thirties, was lean and well-built, had reddish-blond hair, a gorgeous smile. . . and as he looked at Craig he could see the man had blue eyes, the most amazing shade he'd ever seen. Craig saw blue eyes in the mirror every day so he was rarely bowled over by someone simply having eyes that color. But this man's were. . . different.

The vet chuckled at the eager affections of the dogs and held his hand out to Craig. "Mr. French?"

"No, no, these are my friend's dogs. I'm Craig," he said, as he shook the man's hand. Their hands seemed to remained clasped for an unnaturally long period of time, and Craig finally pulled his away.

"I'm David," the vet said, as he pulled his own hand slowly back to himself. "If you can wrangle one of them while I examine the other?" He washed his hands, before picking up one of the dogs and putting it on the table.

During this time, Craig managed to wrap a leash around his hand to hold one of the dogs close to him. Just watching the dog scratch, scratch, scratch was making him itch. He absently scratched his neck as he watched David look the dog over, noticing that the man had very nice hands.

"So, Craig, what seems to be the problem?" David asked, looking up at him.

Craig stared at him for a moment before realizing he was simply staring and scratching and the man was waiting for answer. "Oh! I--I think I have fleas," Craig said.

David's eyebrows shot up and he grinned, obviously trying not to laugh.

Craig realized his slip. He shook his head, flustered. "I mean these fleas have dogs." As he watched David's face, he made some indeterminate sounds of frustration and sounded out a few beginning consonants that never seemed to become entire words.

David bit his bottom lip and made a soft snort, clearly trying to hold back laughter.

"I mean that the dog's fleas are. . . these dogs scritch. Itch. They scratch," he finally managed to get out, as he stopped scratching his own neck and sighed, feeling the blush already creeping up his face. "They scratch. A lot." He looked at David with an apologetic expression, thinking he'd just made an incredible ass of himself in front of the best looking man he'd ever met.

But when David finally gave in to laughter, it didn't bother Craig at all. It didn't seem like the man was laughing at him for being tongue-tied, but instead it was truly one of those I'm-laughing-with-you laughs, judging by the look in his eyes. Craig found himself laughing, too.

David hadn't expected to work today, he wasn't in a good mood, he had a headache, and couldn't wait to go home. He'd been training at the office to take over for John when he retired, and with the emergency calls over the weekend, he'd been there tending to animals every day for the last two weeks. He loved his profession, but he had hoped to have just one day to himself.

John had called though, explaining that he needed to pick his son-in-law up at the airport. He'd had to take an earlier flight, so he'd either have to call and cancel his afternoon appointments, or. . . .

So David had agreed. He'd just gotten in, and the French bulldogs were the first appointment of his day. He hadn't dealt with them yet, which was always a little bit nerve wracking. It would just make his day even more dandy if he got bit by a reluctant patient first thing.

When he opened the door and was greeted happily, if a bit messily, he was relieved. And then when he looked up and saw the owner, he was nervous for a whole new reason. Gorgeous blue eyes, dark hair, an amazing smile, like he'd been waiting all day just to smile for him. His well worn tee shirt and jeans hung perfectly on him, and David could imagine how nice he looked underneath.

When he introduced himself and shook the man's hand, he found himself looking into his eyes, forgetting to let go. He was glad for the distraction of washing his hands and actually being a professional for a moment. God, he thought, I'm acting like a teenager.

When Craig said he had fleas, however, it took everything David had not to start giggling. Then the man's attempt to correct himself only made it funnier, until David couldn't stand it anymore. The blush that crept from Craig's neck to his hairline charmed David, and he found himself wondering if Craig was flustered for the same reasons he felt nervous. Did Craig find him attractive, too? Or was he just frazzled from taking care of these dogs?

David's laughter finally slowed. "So they scratch," he said, still chuckling a little. "I think I see. . . ."

As he examined the dog, he kept glancing up at Craig, who was still blushing, though smiling. David cleared his throat. "So these are your friend's dogs? Not yours?"

Craig nodded. "Yes, they're Jack's dogs. He had some dramatic last-minute boyfriend crisis and begged me to do this for him before the dogs peel their own skin off."

David looked at Craig, a bit surprised. He wasn't used to hearing such things talked about so casually. No one in his family knew of his own relationships, and if he'd ever said anything about another man's boyfriend in front of them he could only imagine the scene it would cause. He noticed that Craig seemed suddenly uncomfortable, as if he'd realized he said something he shouldn't.

Wanting to set Craig at ease and let him know he hadn't minded, which seemed to be what Craig was worrying over right now, David shrugged and tried to speak just as casually. "Well, we all know how those last-minute boyfriend crises can be." He smiled, and wished he could have a moment alone to smack his own forehead. I just sounded like a complete bleeding moron.

But the look Craig gave him made him feel less stupid. Craig stared, shuffled his feet a bit, fidgeted. "I guess so, though it's been so long since I had a boyfriend to cause a crisis that I hardly remember."

David smiled broadly. In fact his face was starting to feel strange from the constant smiling, and he wondered at how he should answer.

Craig was pleased the man didn't seem to think he was an idiot. In fact, he was so pleased and relieved at David's reaction to his inability to speak coherently, that he forgot himself for a moment, and mentioned Jack's boyfriend troubles.

Craig inwardly cringed. Over the last several years he'd managed to surround himself with people who simply lived their lives as they chose, and believed that everyone had the right to do the same. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone was so accepting of other people's lifestyles.

So when David spoke, Craig was stunned speechless for a moment. Instead of just nodding and saying no more about it, he'd said we all know how those boyfriend crises can be. We, as in us, as in him? Surely that's what he'd meant. Few straight men would say something that could in any way be taken to mean that they were gay. At least. . . not intentionally. Maybe he's just accepting, and was trying to seem friendly.

Craig made a decision, and begging the butterflies in his stomach to perch somewhere already, he said, "I guess so, though it's been so long since I had a boyfriend to cause a crisis that I hardly remember."

He watched David smile, which was encouraging. And then felt his heartbeat quicken just little when David said, a bit thickly, "I still remember the crises, but it has been a long time."

Yes!

Then it was time for more hand washing, switching dogs, that's what they were for anyway, the dogs, mustn't forget them. . . Craig's mind was racing as he tried to figure out something else to say. But the two of them just sort of smiled at one another each time one would catch the other watching. The only sound in the room was panting, and Craig was about to speak just to hear a noise besides heavy doggy breathing. He was desperate to say something, anything, just to hear a voice.

Wouldn't that be charming, he thought. David, tell me, is it really true that if people could jump as well as fleas, we'd be able to jump the length of a football field? And will you have dinner with me? That'd charm him, sure.

Craig was relieved when David spoke. Those blue eyes trained on him and the man raised just one eyebrow this time. "If you don't mind me saying so, when I walked in you looked a little. . . hassled. Not used to dogs?"

Craig shook his head. "No. Not used to them. Not used to them trying to commandeer my car while it's moving." He patted the dog he held near him. "This one even honked the horn. Twice."

David laughed again, before patting the dog he had on the table and putting him on the floor. He washed his hands and then in a move that surprised, and pleased, Craig, David put his hand on Craig's shoulder, smiling as if he might laugh again. "I have good news. You don't have fleas."

Craig laughed and wiped his hand across his forehead. "I'm so relieved."

David kept his hand on Craig's shoulder as he led him out into the hall. "If you'll come out to the desk, Vicky will take care of the paperwork and I'll get the cream from the supply room. It's just a skin irritation common in this breed this time of year. Your friend will have to rub it on the affected areas twice a day for a week, or until they stop. . . scritching."

Craig watched him flash a smile at that word, before he disappeared to get the dogs' cream. By the time Craig had paid, all the while trying to keep the dogs from hauling him over backward, David was back with the little tubes which he put in a paper sack. After the receipt printed out, David wrote some instructions on the bottom and folded it in half before handing it to Craig.

Craig was panicking. He couldn't ask the man his number in front of the receptionist, and he couldn't just stand there. He'd missed his chance. Though he supposed he could always call the office and ask him that way. But he knew once he left, he'd probably never work up the courage to do it. He shook David's hand again and thanked him.

And was shocked that as he turned to go, David came round the desk and told Vicky he'd be right back. The man smiled brightly and took one of the leashes from Craig's hand, saying rather loudly, "I want to show him how the seatbelts hook into their harnesses. It's too dangerous to have them loose in the car."

Once out the door, he said, "I'd hate to see on the news that you were carjacked by two canines."

Now's your chance, Craig, he thought. Why did he have to be so. . . shy about these things? The guy obviously liked him, at least a little, at least enough to be very friendly. The worst thing he could say would be. . . .

Craig debated to himself like that the whole time David was showing him how to safely buckle up the pooches. When David opened his car door, Craig got in, still wanting to ask, but unable to.

". .. it's dangerous for them, and you, especially if they interfere with steering or get down around the pedals. Or try to pick up hitchhikers." David winked.

Craig smiled. He WINKED at you for God's sake. Ask, you idiot! Ask for his--

David spoke before Craig worked up the courage. "So the office number's on the bottom of the receipt if he should have any problems with the cream, which he probably won't, side effects are minimal. Have him call if they're still scratching in a couple of weeks."

Craig nodded, and neither man spoke for a minute. Then they both spoke at once.

"I--"

"So--"

"Go ahead."

"No, that's all right. Go ahead."

Silence again. Then Craig watched David take deep breath before he spoke. "Umm, my number's on the bottom, too. Feel free to call me. In case of an. . . emergency. Emergency. . . scritching. . . or if you suspect you might have fleas again, or sudden onset of rabies. . . " David smiled, and said softly, ". . . any dramatic crisis. . . things of that sort. Call me."

Craig smiled, relief and happiness all mixed into one. He tilted his head to look at David more directly and scratched himself under his chin. "I think I might feel something coming on. . . good thing I have your number. Those dramatic crises, they pop up when you least expect them. Thank you."

David said, "You're very welcome." Then he patted the top of the car and stepped away, watching as Craig drove off, determined that if Craig didn't call him in the next 24 hours he'd call Mr. French and explain that Craig had left something in the office and that he needed his number to let him know.

God, he thought, I'm so glad I got called in to work today.

The sequel, omg.

The Best Laid Plans (or See Spot Scritch)

Craig was frustrated.

He sat at his desk and tried to concentrate on coming up with a slogan that would ensure hordes of twenty-somethings would feel compelled to buy more life insurance, but all he could think of was how badly he wanted to see David. As soon as he'd gotten home from the vet's office the day they'd met, he had called back to find out when they closed. Then he'd given himself an hour beyond that before he called David's number, and had gotten his voicemail. He kept trying, and finally just before bed he got through. David had been thrilled to hear from him, he was sorry he'd missed his calls and sounded really excited about them getting together to do something. They'd chatted a bit and made plans for the next evening.

Plans that promptly fell through.

Every time they'd planned to meet over the past week-and-a-half, either Craig had to work late on the current 'urgent' campaign, or David had emergency calls or other obligations. Craig would never have dreamed that so many people called vets after hours over so many different things. More often than not they ended up playing phone tag, getting a hold of each other only right before they both planned to go to bed, and neither of them, he guessed, wanted to come across as so bold to suggest they get together that late at night. Though he'd have loved to, he didn't want to give David the wrong impression and possibly turn him away before he even had a chance.

Craig had thought of nothing but David since they'd met. He'd been so tempted just to show up at the clinic to see him, but he didn't want to possibly cause a problem at his workplace. More than twice he'd thought about showing up at his door--but again, he didn't want to drive the man away before they'd even had one date.

Their phone conversations had been fantastic though, easy, lots of laughing and then silence in just the right places, as if they were both thinking the same things, both possibly starting to feel the same things. Get a hold of yourself, Craig, he thought. A little soon for such thoughts. And yet, somehow, it didn't seem so. They knew a lot about each other just from their talks. Craig knew that the receptionist at the clinic knew David was gay, for instance, and that David's family for the most part did not. And David knew how most people around Craig were completely accepting and supportive, or he simply didn't keep them in his life. Craig's sister, though, was his biggest supporter, having often tried to set him up with men she liked before she'd moved to Missouri, following her job.

Craig's sister. Saira would be arriving day after tomorrow and she planned on staying at least a week, which would seriously dampen efforts to see David. And Craig still didn't have everything arranged--his extra bedroom still seemed more a storage room. He'd been so preoccupied with work, and wishing he could get together with David, he'd left his final cleaning to the last minute.

Another week--Craig desperately didn't want to have to wait that long. He was too afraid too much time would pass, and one or the other would stop calling as much, and then they'd stop altogether. That just couldn't happen--Craig wanted to get to know this man--he hadn't been this attracted to anyone since. . . well, ever.

After an hour of staring at a logo that just wasn't coming together the way he wanted, inspiration struck. Not for the insurance campaign, but for a way to see David that he hoped the man would. . . appreciate. He called and made an appointment at the vet's office, explaining to Vicky, the receptionist, who he was (she remembered him) and what exactly he was trying to do, because if she wasn't on board, there was no way he could do this without making an ass of himself, and possibly David.

She told him she was disappointed he wasn't doing all this for her, to which they both laughed, but said that she was glad to see someone take such an interest in David, and that she'd be thrilled to be part of the plan. She told him that David would be working late tomorrow night because the John had a bad cold. She told Craig to be there at 8:15 pm.

On his way home from work that night, despite stay late to finish a design, he felt excited and happy, and stopped at the local mall to visit Abracadab, a little magic-joke shop where he'd been harangued into taking his nephew when the boy had first discovered the adolescent joys of plastic poop and squirting flowers.

He hit the shop right before the mall closed, and by the time he got home he was pleased to find a message waiting from David. Unfortunately, it explained he had to work tomorrow evening--on Thursdays the clinic stayed open until 8 pm--because John wasn't feeling well. Maybe they could meet the next day?

David's voice sounded as defeated and disappointed as Craig had felt before, and it was damned hard to call him and put off their meeting even further. But he did. As they talked, Craig turned his magic-shop purchase over in his hands and smiled, though he kept that out of his voice. The next day was no good, he explained, and he was really tired right now, almost ready for bed, but he would call David before the weekend was out.

He sounded suitably disappointed, and was almost alarmed to hear how down David sounded, but reminded himself that it would be worth it, he hoped, to see his face tomorrow.

David hung up the phone, resisting the urge to use it to crack himself in the forehead.

This is what he was afraid of, when they could never seem to get together. At least they'd managed phone contact every day. But now it was Wednesday and Craig would 'call him before the weekend was out.' David knew what that probably meant. Hasta la vista, baby, don't call me, I'll call you, only I won't, not really.

Damn.

Why had the fates conspired against him, after they'd seemed to be so on his side, letting him unexpectedly meet such a gorgeous, funny, interesting man, who obviously was attracted to him. Why, why, why? Every time David was free, Craig had to work late. Though David hadn't been free much. It seemed like every emergency call that could have come all year had been saved up and sprung on him this past week-and-a-half.

Why did Mr. Parish's poodle just have to try to eat a bee after office hours. Why did the Fulton Dane have to get his head stuck this week? He'd probably walked up and down those stairs a dozen times a day for the last 3 years, why did he pick now to wedge his noggin between the spindles? Some strange urge to see if he could get his head stuck, just for fun? And why, for God's sake, did Mr. Cray again decide his cat Friskers' eyes looked crossed, and wait until 6 pm on a night he and Craig had planned to have dinner and maybe see a movie to decide that somebody should have a look at the kitty, again, and see if he might need emergency eye-uncrossing surgery. For the tenth time David had explained to the elderly man that Siamese cats' eyes just look like that sometimes. Friskers wasn't going blind, or cross-eyed, he didn't have tumors or cataracts or a seriously bad headache, which was what the man though might be going on, when the more devastating options had been ruled out.

And now he had to work late tomorrow, because John was sick. He knew John couldn't help it, but still it was disappointing for everything to go so suddenly wrong.

David sighed, his hand still on the phone. I should call him and tell him again how much I really want to see him, ask him to be more patient, promise a time when I know we can get together. . . but then would I just seem desperate? I don't want to drive him off by seeming desperate. . . . Sitting there, thinking of ways to make sure he didn't lose his chance with Craig before he really had one, David fell asleep and didn't wake until morning.

Craig could hardly wait until evening, but when the time finally came to go to the clinic, he wondered if his entire idea wasn't stupid, and would make David think he was psycho. But despite his temptation to back out at the last minute, call and tell Vicky never mind, he went.

She was a good co-conspirator, it turned out. When Craig walked in, she took one look at him and laughed.

"He's in the back doing paperwork. I wanted to make sure the regular patients were gone when you got here so we were supposed to close at 8, but I explained that there was an emergency appointment coming in soon. But he's a bit. . . irritable. I think he was looking forward to getting out of here. . . so he could go home and call you."

Craig beamed as he was led into an exam room, thanking her at least three times.

"No problem," she said. "It's kind of fun. I can't wait to see his face afterward."

She giggled and left the room, leaving Craig to become even more nervous, hoping David took this all the right way. He decided to simply be as casual as possible. He hopped up on the exam table and sat there, swinging his legs slightly, holding his magic-shop purchase in one hand, and chewing on his other thumbnail, like a little boy waiting nervously waiting for a check-up.

"That emergency call-in's here, David," Vicky said as she walked by his office. "Spot. Dalmatian. Serious skin condition. Room 5. I don't have a chart yet, I'll get it ASAP." She looked at him sympathetically.

David looked up and frowned. "The condition wasn't serious before we closed, but now suddenly warrants an emergency visit?" He sighed . "All right, I'm going, thanks, Vick."

David's mood had grown more sour throughout the evening, because he felt like his chances with Craig were slipping away by the hour. And then, another after-hours appointment.

He opened the door, already speaking. "So what seems to be Spo--"

David stopped in the open doorway, stunned, looking from the floor to the man sitting, smiling sweetly, on the exam table. He looked back and forth about three times before his smile grew to match the huge one on Craig's face.

Craig sat there holding a dog leash attached to a harness. The leash was formed to look like it hung with a bit of slack, and the harness was stiff as well, to the give the appearance of the shape of a dog inside. David had seen them before, mostly used in practical jokes, but seeing Craig sitting there holding it and now moving it slightly as if the dog were trying to reach David, sent him into peals of laughter.

"Down, Spot, down boy," Craig said, moving the leash to give the appearance that the dog had now jumped up onto David's leg, as if begging to be petted.

David was still giggling, and raised his eyebrows at Craig as he reached down and pretended to pet the dog-that-wasn't.

"Umm, so. . . what seems to be his problem, Craig?"

"He got into the spot remover."

David groaned at the bad joke then burst into laughter again and walked over to the table, standing so close he almost touched Craig's knees.

"Do you think you can cure him, doctor?" Craig was laughing as well.

"I don't know, it looks like a very serious problem he's got there." And then without really thinking about what he was doing, David laid his hands on top of Craig's thighs. "You're insane," he said, softly.

"Probably. I've been driven that way, because I wanted to see you." Craig took a deep breath. "What are you doing? I mean, what are you going to do, right now, when you leave here?"

David leaned in a little more, letting the weight of his hands more fully rest on Craig's legs. "Come home with you?"

Craig took a deep, relieved breath. "Good choice. I think Spot needs a house call, anyway." He seriously needed to clean that room, but if nothing else, Saira could sleep on the couch and he'd take the floor. Nothing was going to interrupt them this time.

"Didn't you say your sister was coming tomorrow and you'd been putting off clearing out that bedroom?"

"Mm hm."

"Did you ever get it done."

"Ummm, not quite yet, but--"

"I'll help you. Between the two of us it'll take no time, and then you'll have plenty of guilt-free time for. . . other things." David smiled and gave Craig's legs a slight squeeze.

"I appreciate the offer, but it's not necessary, it's a bit of a mess and--"

"No, I insist. I'm a bit messy myself, you won't shock me. . . you haven't seen my office. I'll feel better about taking up your time if I know that's done first. How about you. . . and Spot. . go home. I'll stop by on the way and get pizza and a six-pack, or wine if you'd rather. . . we'll get that room cleared out in no time, and have the rest of the night to ourselves. Once. . . we figure out Spot's predicament, of course."

Craig smiled. "That's an offer I cannot refuse." He started to lean forward to kiss David, he didn't think that was too forward a move anymore, when Vicky knocked at the door, startling both men. David opened it, to find John was on the phone.

Craig hopped down from the table, but he waited near the counter for David to finish on the phone. When he was done, David eyed Vicky meaningfully, and Craig, realizing he wanted to talk to her, said, "I'll be outside. . . Spot has to pee." And smiling, he went out the door.

Once Craig was gone, David turned to Vicky. She cringed, though she was smiling. "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

David grabbed her and kissed her full on the lips. "When's the last time you had a raise?"

When David finally made it out the door, he laughed to see Craig holding the leash so that the harness 'floated' in the air next to a tree. When he saw David coming, he explained, "He drank a lot before we left."

David wanted to kiss him badly, but it was different out in the parking lot than it had been in the relative privacy of an exam room. If only John hadn't called. . . but they were going to spend the evening together. Hopefully, he'd kiss him many times. So they got in their cars, Craig heading home, David heading for food and beverage, and then to Craig's for their first 'official' date.

Pizza and wine in hand, David knocked and was shocked to see not only Craig opening the door, but apparently. . . his sister, as well.

Craig smiled, if a bit tightly. "David, this is my sister, Saira. Saira, David."

Saira threw her hands up happily. "Come in, come in! Let me take those to the kitchen. Lovely to meet you, David. I've heard so much about you."

While she was in the kitchen, Craig whispered to David. "I'm sorry. . . she got here right before you did. Day early. I'm so sorry about this. . . . "

"Craig, don’t be sorry, it's ok. You two enjoy the pizza with my compliments and I'll just head home and let you visit, you said you hadn't seen her in almost year, we can--"

"No! No, I want you to stay. I can visit with her and spend time with you, too. Please, David, I really, really want this to work out."

David was thrilled to hear Craig say that the way he did, but he still felt uncomfortable. "I'll feel like I'm encroaching on your time with your sister."

"She'll be here at least a week, I'll have plenty of time with her. I want time with you. I know it may be uncomfortable for you, though, so I'll understand if you don't want to stay." But Craig grabbed his shoulders, giggling. "Please please please stay anyway?"

David reluctantly gave in. It would be awkward, trying to get to know Craig better with his sister there. But they drank wine, ate pizza and talked and laughed, and before David knew it he was having a great time. They played Monopoly, and decided that Saira was an evil slum lord who took great pleasure out of bankrupting lesser business people. He liked Saira, she was easy to talk to, and she and Craig seemed to have a great relationship. She made proper fun of him when she saw the cluttered bedroom she was supposed to sleep in, and then all three of them quickly straightened it out.

Everything was going as well as David thought it could while a third person was there, and then he and Craig were talking and laughing about something, sitting next to each other on the couch, when David got the feeling that Craig was about to lean over and kiss him.

His slight smile, how close their faces were, the way he kept looking from David's eyes to his lips and back. . . it was the perfect moment. So before it could happen, David stood and stretched a little and said it was lovely to meet Saira and that he really should get home and let them have some time to themselves.

The evening probably couldn't have gone better if they had been alone, as far as Craig was concerned. They had great conversation, David and Saira clearly liked one another, and every now and then when David's head was turned Saira would give her brother a look that said HE'S PERFECT, along with a big toothy grin and a wink.

And then David said the wittiest, funniest thing, and the moment was just right so Craig was just about to lean in and give him a kiss when David suddenly stood and said he had to go. Craig popped up and put a hand on his arm, assured him that he didn't have to leave, stay a little longer, we'd love for you to, but David was insistent and then he was gone, before Craig could even consider offering to walk him out.

Craig stared at the closed door for a moment, and then walked back to the couch. He plopped down and looked at Saira. "What the hell just happened?"

"He likes you very much," she said cryptically, crossing her legs underneath herself in the big overstuffed chair.

"Then how come he shot up like a rocket when I was about to kiss him?" Craig ran a hand quickly through his hair. "I must have done or said something. . . . Maybe after spending some time here he's not as interested as he thought he would be--do you think he simply didn't want to kiss me?"

"I think he wanted to kiss you."

Completely frustrated, Craig stood. "What do you mean? Then why. . . .that?" He gestured toward the door.

Saira stood and pulled her brother back down on the couch, putting her arm around his shoulder and squeezing.

"He just didn't want to kiss you in front of me."

Craig blinked a few times as he looked at her. "But he knows that you know. . . ."

"Craig," Saira said, and then she sighed. "You're so used to people accepting who you are, you don't think twice about some things that people like David have to think about every single day. You told me yourself that his family members who do know, don't approve. Do you think he's ever kissed a man in front of someone else? And honestly, how awkward would that be, even if he had. The first kiss--in front of your sister?" She shoved the back of his head. "Ya big dope."

David was frustrated.

His day was almost over, mercifully, and yet another emergency had arisen that should be at the clinic right about now, closing time. He sighed. All he wanted to do was get home and screw up his courage to call Craig and apologize for running out last night. David figured the way he'd acted, leaving so quickly and awkwardly that way, he'd pretty much looked like a high-caliber ass in front of Craig and his sister. But still, he hoped he could explain it to Craig--if he could muster himself to even call.

Maybe after acting that asinine it would be better just to let it go, and if Craig never called him, he'd know he'd blown it.

Swallowing the lump in this throat at that thought, David put his hand on the doorknob of Exam Room 3, and examined the patient file. This was the emergency, and he hoped to hell it was the last one for a while. He scanned the paper for the dog's name, the nature of the emergency. . . and when he found it, he had the urge to run to the reception desk and plant another big one on Vicky. . . but then he decided he would save that urge, for at least a minute or two.

As he walked in the room, he smiled. "How nice to see Spot again, or. . . to not see him again." He looked at the file. "Emergency. . . scritching? Hmmm. I don't know, what with his other more obvious problems. . . ." He walked over the to exam table, where Craig sat, holding the invisible dog leash.

Craig smiled brightly. "Spot's problems are the same, actually. I'm the one who's been scratching and itching and scritching," Craig started scratching his chest to illustrate, "and it's driving me crazy. It started last night when I tried to do something at the wrong time. . . and I think until I make up for it I'm going to have this maddening itch that I just can't scratch. Do you have a cream or a pill or something. . . ."

David's smile faded into something more serious as he stepped closer. "I think I have something that might help," he said softly as Craig's knees parted, letting David move between them. He rested one hand on Craig's thigh, and raised the other to Craig's face where he lightly scratched underneath his chin.

Craig laughed and closed the distance between them. He dropped the leash and wrapped his arms around David as they kissed. The kiss was slow and soft and thorough, and David was glad he had Craig and the solid support of the table to lean against.

When their lips finally parted, they rested their foreheads together as they caught their breath. Craig ran a hand into the hair on the back of David's neck.

"I'm sorry about last night. Saira explained to me what a dummy I was. Just because I'm comfortable with something. . . it never occurred to me that it might bother you, I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry I left the way I did. Afterward, I realized maybe I should have just taken you aside and explained. If nothing else, I could have taken you in the kitchen and told you I was uncomfortable. . . and kissed you then." David straightened and looked him in the eyes. "Instead, I've worried about it all day, and figured I'd heard the last from you. I'm so glad I was wrong."

Craig leaned forward and gave him another quick kiss, a nibble on his bottom lip. "You were very wrong. All I've thought about all day was how I missed my chance to kiss you. And how I hoped that you weren't put off because I was going to kiss you in front of--oh! Saira! David, please tell me you don't have plans tonight."

"I don't have plans tonight."

"Good. Because Saira's doing the town with an old friend who wants her to stay over so they can go shopping early and then to some fancy little café for brunch. She won't be back until tomorrow afternoon sometime." Craig's smiled faltered a little. "I mean. . . she's going to be gone all evening since she won't be back until tomorrow so we'd have the place to ourselves. . . tonight. . . but I'm not implying that you would necessarily want. . . to stay all night or anything. . . though you could. . . I mean, if you wanted--"

David stopped the stream of words by kissing him and then pulling him into a warm embrace, just because he was trying so hard not to say or do the wrong thing. David found it endearing. Though he had no doubt he would want to stay, no doubt at all.

"I understand what you're trying to say, Craig, it's fine." He chuckled at Craig's nervousness, and before he released him, he whispered into his ear. "I hope you don't let Spot sleep in the bed with you. I don't want to get covered in dog hair. . . even if it is invisible."

They were still kissing several minutes later when Vicky knocked, and said she'd really like to lock up and go home.

Craig let himself into David's with his key, hmmm-ing at the aroma. Dinner was apparently almost done, or done and waiting, and David already had the table set--crystal, china and candles. Craig smiled at the trouble he'd went to, and wondered what the occasion might be. They'd been dating for close to six months, and he wracked his brain trying to figure out if today was something significant--it wasn't.

Though to call what they did 'dating' was a bit misleading. They'd fallen for each other, hard, and neither had ever considered that they weren't an exclusive, committed couple. It had only taken a few months for them each to admit to the other that they were in love. They hadn't moved in together officially, but they would in a few months when Craig's lease ran out. Still, every day after work, they spent their time together. And they spent every night together, at one place or the other.

Still wondering what the occasion might be, Craig made his way to the living room, where David was stretched out on the couch. He smiled as he saw Craig and started to sit up.

"Don't get up. . . I'll get down," Craig said as he stretched out on top of David and kissed him. "Mmmm, smells good, fancy dishes. . . it's not an anniversary, a birthday, a bar mitzvah, Christmas or Flag Day, so. . . .have I forgotten something?"

"Nope."

"Then what's it all for?"

"Just for you. No reason. Just because I love you," David said. He handed Craig a small package off the coffee-table. The flat square box was wrapped in shiny silver and blue paper adorned with a little silver ribbon. "A token of my aforementioned affection." David grinned.

Craig sat up and turned the box over in his hands. "It's lovely."

"You haven't opened it yet!"

"I know, but just the idea." Craig giggled at himself and David's bemused expression.

As Craig tore at the paper, David sat up, leaning into him. "I know it's not a 3-carat engagement ring or your name tattooed on my behind or anything, but . . . ."

Craig took one look at the white coil of flea collar and threw his head back with laughter before pushing David back down onto the couch again.

"It's the deluxe model, Hartz 2-in-1," David said, between kisses. "I spared no expense."