placed four more tiles before getting up. "You've got great timing" he sprouted generously, though they both knew that half of the day was gone. There was beer in the fridge as always to ease themselves from the transition of work to play. There was ESPN and the occasional arousal of excitement from the Diamondbacks on the replay. The playoffs were just getting started, guys would be getting together for the games all over the fucking country, it became the bridge to cross until they (Chris hoped) no longer needed a reason.

As day fled the sky, sanguine dominated the room and gave Christoff a glow not too different from Silvio's. He was cutting a peace of flooring to round out the corners just under the edge of the cabinet when Silvio reached over and lined up their arms. "What are you doing" Chris pulled back, but then relaxed.

"I like the contrast." Sil felt himself smiling but couldn't help it, the coolness that he wanted to keep was escaping him and allowing itself to be raped by the new thrill of laying each individual square, watching the game and the sensation of working next to someone that turned him on. The excitement in him felt violent and pure.

"There will be time for that later." The work continued with dual erections and one knowing smile.

A few days later the floor in the kitchen was done. The cabinets had been gutted from the walls like honey from the inside of a brood box. Upon his return, Christoff's father surveyed the progress and eyed Silvio suspiciously. He started to promenade about the din collecting things. He picked up the TV remote, one of his deceased wife's dolls, a watch that had been sitting on the coffee table, thirty five cents change, a pack of cigarettes that he never smoked, and a reading light that could be clamped on the edge of a book.

"Dad what are you doing?"

"Boy I come home and find my stuff laying around with all kinds of people in my house, what you think I'm doing?"

"What people?"

"You know what I'm talking about. I watch TV. I come home and find all manner of evil up in here,” his father hissed trying to keep his voice low and dignified. "You lucky he didn't cut you and take my shit! You lucky I'm a Christian. How much you giving him out of my account anyway? You better not be going through all my savings."

"He's getting eighty dollars dad."

Chris's father's eyes grew, he surveyed the room and the stuff he'd collected in his arms. He looked around again with the idea rolling in his head. Chris could almost hear the echo like a coin being dropped into a well. Clink. Tink. Splash. "Eighty dollars" his dad finally managed. A shy quiver came across the old man's lips and his eyes widened and started to tear. "Eighty dollars" he turned toward his room dragging his feet and tossed everything onto the bed. Chris waited half expecting the door to slam. He waited for a dramatic pleading to God and the heavens to save a soul. He waited for the sound of the door locking and his dad not moving until the hammering stopped. Instead his father sauntered back to where he stood "does he paint?"

Always had been a cheap bastard.

On the day that the new nurse came, Chris had