EXCERPT (PG13 for language):

It had been a long hour, but the barman had been greatly comforted by his glass of fine whiskey. The dark-haired man hadn’t drunk much of his own, but he was calmer now. “It’ll be okay,” the barman said. He thought he’d probably said that a few times already, but it sounded just as unlikely as the first time around. “These things happen. Couples argue. All part of life’s rich tapestry.”

Matty glanced at him. There was gratitude in his look, but a fair amount of cynicism, too. “We don’t argue, that’s the whole issue. Or maybe not argue—just discuss. He likes to talk, and I don’t. So I told him to shut up, he said I was acting like a prick, and he left.” He sighed. “Sounds so straightforward, said just like that, right?”

“Right,” agreed the barman, knowing it was anything but.

“He does it all the time, though,” Matty mused. “Talks.” He stared down at the counter, his mind far away. “Even talks during sex. Talks about doing it—talks while we’re in the middle of it—talks about it after we’re done.”

The barman whistled, softly. His face felt a little flushed. Way too much information, but hey, the guy needed to talk. “So long as it’s complimentary, huh?”

Matty glanced up, confusion on his face. The barman remembered every joke of his that’d ever misfired, and this one looked like it was winning the gold award.

“It’s incredible,” Matty said, slowly. He was still facing the barman, but his eyes had slipped out of focus again. “He’s incredible. In bed, you know? Well, anywhere we do it, really, because it’s not like I had much experience before, of how good it could be. Or where you could do it—or how often—or how much fun it could be.” He was smiling now, very, very gently, lost in his own memories. “He’s done all that for me. And to be honest, I guess the words make it even more stimulating. But it was just that last personal comment he made—I was still trying to catch my breath, he’d got tangled in the sheets and yet he was still talking...” He focused back on his companion, maybe looking for support of some kind. “He caught me at the wrong time, you know? I didn’t want to joke. I wanted to hold him—to sleep—to think. To savor it all. I told him to shut up.” He winced at the memory. “And he left that night.”

The barman swallowed, curiosity loosening his extremely tight throat. “What did he say? Was it really gross? Was it...?”

Matty was gazing back at the bar. His eyes looked suspiciously damp.

The barman sighed. “Yeah, right, gotcha. So it was complimentary. That’s the worst thing, eh?” When Matty didn’t answer, the barman reached over and picked up Matty’s cell phone from the counter. He nudged Matty on the arm to get his attention.

“Call him,” he said, firmly.