Adaptations

 

A week later, the exams were over, and I was more than happy to put aside my red grading pen for the summer. I had chosen to not teach, but to instead finish the majority of my dissertation, and was quite looking forward to months of pleasant research, and equally pleasant company. Well, mostly pleasant. Peter in the morning can be quite disagreeable.

Both Peter and Raymond had passed their respective courses with flying colors. That Peter had done spectacularly in his Physics course was a point of considerable pride to me, although not because of my ‘tutoring’. Despite the considerable strain he was under, with his mother’s illness, our relationship, and difficulties with finding a place, Peter had bore up well indeed. It was one of the many things about him which I so admire.

Raymond had done equally well with his engineering course, and through a casual introduction Peter had made, was dating a young lady in his field named Hannah. They had similar interests, and Raymond was, as Peter put it, over the moon. His only moment of panic was caused when he discovered that she was one of the football team’s cheerleaders. Peter calmed him down, and when Hannah returned to her family home in Wisconsin for the summer, Raymond and she promised each other they would write.

Ray had cleared the dealings with the house over the last week, and we were to move in today. I had boxed all my things precisely, and with a small U-Haul in tow behind my car, I headed to Peter’s fraternity after lunch. I had only seen his room the once, but judging by its spartan appearance, Peter would have little to add compared to my collection of books. I drove up, and was met with sight of him, three shopping bags full of paperwork, a suitcase, and assorted odds and ends in empty Budweiser boxes.

“Is that everything, Peter?” I asked, my lips twitching with amusement.

He glanced around at the makeshift containers. “Yep, everything that’s important. I’ve donated the junk to the house.” I eyed his worldly possessions dubiously. If this was the cream of his belongings, I shudder to think what the dross might have entailed.

We loaded his things quickly, and headed for Queens. Raymond had moved there two days ago, with Peter’s help. I had unfortunately been swamped with end of term work, and unable to lend a hand. Although I had yet to see the place, Peter had refused to give details, chuckling maliciously whenever I asked.

We pulled up, and I saw why. It was… well. I placed my glasses higher up my nose to study the phenomena. I had no idea such a structure existed in New York. It was a house, a proper, if very eccentric-looking, house utterly surrounded by new modern office buildings. It was wildly out of place.

Peter turned to grin at me. “ ‘Parently it’s been in the Stantz family for generations, Ray said since the 1860’s. Ray could sell it, the land alone’s worth a fortune, but he didn’t want to sell the family home. Besides, though the lawyer was desperate to, Ray’s legal guardian is that crazy aunt of his. You know, the one that sent him the package of yak butter from Tibet as exam care package.” Peter covered his eyes in horror, an emotion that I seconded. “She’s never in the country long enough to sign anything, so here we are. As Ray says, isn’t it great?”

I chuckled at that as I got out of the car. If Raymond were to have a catch phrase, that would undoubtedly be it. Peter began to remove boxes from the back and place them on the porch. A porch. In New York. Good god. Shaking my head in disbelief, I assisted Peter, until all our belongings rested in the living room. Peter saw me gape at the enormous fireplace within, and burst out laughing.

“Spengs, you think that’s crazy, c’mere.”

Under the stairway leading presumably toward bedrooms, there was a door, with darkened stairs leading down. Peter flipped a switch, and holding my hand, led me in the basement with the anticipation of a child granting a special gift. He covered my eyes with a hand, and warning me to keep them closed, opened a door past the laundry machines.

“Okay, Spengler. Open ‘em.”

I did as he told… and stared. A laboratory. No, more a workshop. The entire space was packed with vast amounts of acquired scraps, much of it a decade old… ah. Raymond had said his father was an inventor. This must have been his.

I turned to Peter, and my assumption was confirmed by his nod. “Yeah, his dad’s whacko toy room. Ray told me how he used to come down here all the time, taking things apart and putting them back together while his dad puttered. While the house was being rented, this was the only room locked up.”

Peter wandered over, and leaned against me. “He never came back here after the accident. This was the first time he’d seen that room in seven years. It made him really happy, Egon.” He nudged my shoulder with his head, eyes dancing with laughter. “You’re in big trouble, he’s spent the last day down here figuring out how to turn this into a playroom for you two.”

I smiled down at Peter, and nudged him back. Then more seriously, I asked, “Where is Ray? I was expecting him to meet us.”

“Mm.” His smile grew wicked. “Aunt Lois called, thrilled about him returning home. Said she ‘read it in the cards’ or something. Anyways, she’s flying into Boston for some psychic conference and invited Ray to meet her and join the fun. Our boy Stantz leapt on it.” His fingers lightly tugged at the back of my suspenders, pulling me from the room. “It’s just you and me, Spengs.”

“You and I, Peter,” I corrected automatically.

“Us.” He murmured, breathing the single word softly against the small of my back as we climbed the stairs, his hands sliding around my waist.

I paused, absorbing the sensation, and huskily agreed, “Us.”

I looked down upon there, and turning around, ran my hands through his deep brown hair as he pressed his face into my stomach. He sighed happily, and then looked up at me, green eyes filled with amused affection.

“Got another surprise for you, Egon. Wanna show you something.”

Oh dear. Recalling the last time I heard those words, back in the library, I flushed and pulled him a little closer. He smiled, pressed his lips to my abdomen, and then hustled me up the stairs. We climbed to the top floor, and Peter pause outside one of the doors facing the front.

“Do I have to shut my eyes for this as well, Venkman?”

He paused. “Well…”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Really, Peter. I’m beginning to suspect you are into bondage.”

That drew a grin from him. “Nope, S and M. That’s why I’m on the football team.”

Considering the bruises he had after the previous week’s “practice”, I began to wonder if there’s an element of truth to that. He sighed. “I know where your thoughts are heading, Spengler, and no. I just like being chased.” He grinned wider. “And taunting those oversized slow-moving morons. It’s fun.”

“Peter, your definition of fun requires serious work.” I ran a hand leisurely down the side of his jaw. “Although some of your ideas are extremely worthwhile.”

He caught my hand and meshed his fingers with mine. “Yeah, well, I had a doozy of one. Take a look.” Opening the door, he bowed ostentatiously and waved me inside.

“Peter…” Dumbfounded, I turned to look at him. “It’s a bed.”

“Your powers of observation are as acute as always, Egon. More to the point, though, it’s -our- bed.”

Ours. I looked at it, standing between the two main windows. It was a gigantic four-poster, with a mahogany frame, and a mattress that would probably stand up to all of Peter’s fraternity jumping upon it. Other than it, the room was bare, with sheets hanging as temporary curtains on the railings.

I queried, “When did you purchase this, Peter?”

He shrugged. “Yesterday, when Ray was lost in laboratory la-la land. Because all we’re gonna have to pay here is the bills, all the money I’ve saved up for the summer rent this year, well…” He scuffed a foot idly in the thick carpeting. “I went to get Mom a new bed, the doctor recommended it. When I was there, the guy selling it to me made me an offer, buy-one-get-one half price. I haggled, and presto, a bed for two.” He smiled at me. “Just as well, considering I kicked you out of yours the other week.”

I started to speak, and he quickly moved over, placing his hand over my mouth. “Don’t, Spengs. Don’t offer to chip in, or go halfsies or something. This… This is my present to you.” He removed his hand, replacing it with his mouth in a quick solid kiss. “Got that?”

I smiled fondly at him. “Yes, Peter,” I replied, hugging him to me. I would find some way to return this thoughtful gesture, something he would appreciate. But for now…

“Peter. Shall we… test it out?”

“Maybe there is something in that psychic stuff after all, Spengs. You just read my mind.”

He reached up, and pulled my lips to his. Between our course work, my TA work, and his fraternity and sporting events, we’d had only scant time together. Those times had been incredible, but breathlessly rushed, even during Spring Break. Here and now, however, we were free of that, free of everything, and in a place that for once was our own. The realization of this was electrifying. I pulled him closer, and the conflagration that usually occurred when our lips met transformed into something slower and richer.

I ran a hand through his hair, marveling once more at the softness, the texture. I could do this all night, unhurried, just exploring him. Due to our schedules, most of our understanding of one another was purely mental plane. Now, however, I intended to take full advantage of the chance to rectify this imbalance. Over the past two months since we had begun, I had devoted some time to reading about the various things one could do in a relationship such as ours. High school PE and biology had made it clear what men and women did, but what men did with other men was left out of the educational process. It was difficult enough finding material here at university. I did however find some, albeit limited, and was ready to put at least some of my hypotheses to the test.

He must have reached a similar conclusion, for his hands took mine, and we moved leisurely toward the bed. We sank to sit upon it, still embracing. After an eternity, I pushed him back against the mattress, never removing my mouth from his as I lightly tugged his shirt from his jeans. He moved to assist me, and I pushed his hands down to the bed. After I thwarted his second attempt at unbuttoning my shirt, his eyes met mine in amused comprehension, and he let me undress him unaided.

I looked at him. I had seen him nude in the pale light of my old bedroom, inflamed with passion in the florescent lights of the library, and felt the shadowy length of him warm in the dark beside me. Now I saw him in the sunlight that streamed softly through the makeshift curtains, and I fell in love with him again. There is such endless variety, such a diversity of facets to him both physically and mentally, that I could spend the rest of my life with him and be constantly amazed. He lay there in equal bemusement, watching me look at him.

“Egon…” he began, his voice roughened, and I stopped him briefly with my own mouth before standing. He made a protesting noise, which came to an abrupt halt as I began to slowly remove my tie. I kept my eyes steady upon him as I shrugged off my suspenders with equal deliberation.

He swallowed hard, his green eyes wide at what I suspect was an entirely unanticipated strip tease. That he was affected by my actions was obvious given his current state of undress, and it was difficult not to simply tear off my clothes and pounce upon him.

I folded my shirt neatly. His gaze watched my hands with such fixed attention that I slowed further, letting my fingers run lightly over the nap of the material.

“Spengler…,” he said in a near growl that was new to my ears, and quite welcome. “Quit torturing me.” I chuckled in response, and followed his usual example of dropping the shirt to the floor before leaning in to take another long kiss.

I lowered myself between his thighs, resting the majority of my weight upon my arms to either side of him. My woolen trousers were the only barrier between our erections, the fact of which had him groaning in frustration against my mouth.

He tilted his head back, and said hoarsely, “Serious, Spengs, I was kidding about the S and M…”

I thrust against him once, slowly, and he gasped, reaching out to grab my shoulders. I kissed him unhurriedly before replying, “I know. This is my retaliation for what you pulled in the library last month.”

He rolled his eyes, with obvious amusement. “God, you do hold grudges forever, don’t you?”

Thrusting lightly again, I leaned in, placing my lips near his ears. “Well, turn-about is fair play, and all’s fair in love and war…”

He snorted. “So this must be love.”

I nipped his earlobe lightly. “Indubitably.”

Wrapping his arms around me, he muttered in teasing complaint, “I wonder if I’m the only man in the world who needs a dictionary during nookie.”

I sniffed haughtily, pulling my head back to look in his laughing green eyes, darkened with desire. “It is not my fault that your vocabulary needs expanding, Peter….”

One of his hands lifted to lightly brush my cheek before he grinned. “Spengs, when I’m with you, it’s not the growth of my vocab that concerns me.” He moved against me to prove his point in a manner that left little doubt. With effort, I pulled myself away from him, far enough that I could begin my exploration properly. I motioned for him to reposition himself further onto the bed, and eyebrows raised, he did so.

Restraining his now wandering hands to the bed again, I kissed away his complaints, moving my lips down the column of his neck to taste the hollow at its base. To my amusement, he began growling again. I ignored it, although my body did not. If Peter truly wished to hurry this, he was in fact stronger than I. He could easily wrest control from me. I smiled slightly to myself. That he hadn’t implied that I must be doing this right.

I removed my hands from his wrists, and traced the firm muscles of his arms, the sharp angles of his biceps warm and smooth under my touch. As my hands moved up him, I slid the rest of myself slowly downward, my trousered legs moving roughly over his bare limbs and torso. His breathing grew more rapid, and his eyes looking into mine were rapt and wide.

“What…” Peter cleared his throat. “What are you doing, Egon…?”

I resettled my glasses upon my nose before replying. “Research, Peter. A methodical, and comprehensive analysis of your person which hitherto I had been unable to carry out.” My fingers dropped from his collarbones where I had returned them, and brushed the flat copper-hued nipples on his chest. As he gasped, I told him firmly, “Now hold still,” as I moved lower still.

He bucked against me, unconsciously, and then with a rueful grin said, “Why don’t you ever ask for anything easy, Egon?”

“Because you never fail to exceed my already considerable expectations of you, Peter.” My honest reply made him blush, and he fumbled for a snappy retort that would allow him distance himself from the heartfelt compliment. I did not permit him the time, but moved still further back on the bed sit between his feet, my hands now resting lightly on his hips. This action drew his attention away from my words, and he breathed in a deep expectant breath.

I paused, then drew my hands down the long length of his thighs, raking them lightly with my nails. They were his most muscular feature, the years of being a quarterback had given them a strength and beauty that was enviable. The downy hair there, bleached light by exposure to sunlight, tickled my palms and shot a bolt of desire through me so strong that I shuddered and breathed deeply to regain control.

When I recovered, I looked up, and met Peter’s smiling, knowing look. I returned it. Neither of us were immune to the other, that at least was a certainty.

As we gazed at one another, my hands reached his feet, and he gave a startled yelp. I chuckled with delight. I knew he had to be ticklish somewhere. Before he could jerk them away, I seized one, and ran my palms down it in slow, soothing strokes. He stilled, and then, sighing, trusted me. Thus permitted, I studied his long slender toes, the surprisingly delicate arch and sturdy ankle, moving my hands slowly back upwards with less gentle caresses. Sweeping up his calves, I lingered at the soft skin behind his knees, leaning down to kiss one patella.

His hands lay to either side, tightly gripping the flat sheet that alone covered the bed. I reached over, and took one, exploring it as I had his foot, but this time with my mouth alone. He had ceased watching me now, his head thrown back and his breath shuddery. I rested my other hand upon his abdomen, caressing the flat planes of his stomach in slow circling patterns with just the tips of my fingers.

Panting with the effort of holding himself back, he spoke my name hoarsely, pleadingly… beautifully. I dropped a final kiss in his palm. That was all I had been waiting for.

I ran one hand over his hard length, still amazed at the indescribable softness of the skin overlaying its solidity. I lowered myself to take a closer look, for with our situation in flux I had previously been unable to do so, and heard Peter moan as my breath touched him. Smiling at his reaction, I continued. He and I had not progress beyond pleasuring each other with our hands, and while I had some misgivings as to what I was about to attempt, I had tasted him on my fingers and not been repelled. Holding Peter more firmly to the bed, I tentatively brushed his shaft with my lips.

His reaction was all that I dreamed. Electrified, he breathed out “Egon…” again, whisperingly, and his hands left their death grip on the bed to lightly caress my head. Encouraged, I nuzzled near the base, rubbing my slightly whiskered cheek against the sensitive length of him. His hands tightened briefly in my hair, and he swore softly. I turned my head, and ran my tongue slowly up him. The pleasant taste, the musky warm scent, and his whispered words and soft cries, overwhelmed my senses, and I retained my control barely.

Perhaps, I thought muzzily, I ought to have taken off my trousers.

Discarding the thought, I ran my jaw roughly down the other side then up again. He jerked unconsciously towards me, and pushing him down again, I finally completed my maneuver, and took him into my mouth. He cried out, but I was more aware of his physical presence now, the heat, the bittersweet taste overlaying the flavor that was Peter which I had grown to love. I used my mouth experimentally, attempting to take in as much of him as I could, a tricky enough thing with his instinctive writhing.

I hazarded that Peter, through my activities, was very close to the edge. Either I back off, or continue… and the latter seemed the more enjoyable venture. I began to move my head in a pistoning action, allowing suction and friction to work their way upon him. Looking at his face, I could see the results of my labors, his face flushed and hair damp with sweat, his chest heaving, his green eyes luminous and dilated as he watched me.

That gaze, fierce with such a swirl of emotions and love, nearly undid me. Fortunately, he reached his end of his limits first, and although I had expected, even anticipated, this, the sudden rush of liquid still came as a surprise. I took as much as I could, though I was sloppy, mostly I think due to lack of expertise, which would come in time.

Soon enough, he sank back into the mattress, panting. I snagged his shirt to clean up, as there were no towels to hand. Running my hands up him in soothing sweeps, I lay atop him and smiled into his still stunned eyes.

“Wow.” His voice was deep and ragged. “You really know how to do a house-warming, Spengs.” I snorted at that, and coiled a lock of his hair around one of my fingers. He reached up and kissed me, nibbling lightly on my lower lip. I raised a surprised eyebrow at him. I’d been anxious that he’d have qualms about such things.

He grinned in response. “Got to get used to it some time.” He shoved me over gently, and began to unfasten my trousers. “Besides, as you said, turn about is fair play…”

I ran my hand through his hair once more, fondly. "We are not having a competition, Venkman."

Green eyes met mine, still darkened with the passion I had instilled in them, and I swallowed hard at the intense gaze. He ran a light finger over my lips, then kissed me gently. "Egon."

That was all he said, in a tone that was so serious and full of the love he had so much difficulty expressing in ways other than wry humor, that I could not speak myself. Smiling at my comprehension of his feelings, he leaned in to kiss me once more as he slid off the remaining physical barrier between us.

My trousers joined the rest of our clothes in a heap on the floor. I could not have cared less, for Peter lay atop me, warm and solid, his strong flat chest resting upon my own. We lay there for a time, how long I do not know, simply embracing one another.

Finally, Peter pulled back, studying my face with concentration and then smiled. “I’m not gonna torture you the way you did me, Spengs.” He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on my brow. “Lemme know if this works.”

I snorted at the statement, and dryly replied, “I dare say you’ll know.”

He grinned at that, and then moved slowly down my body. Unlike my own methodical explorations, Peter's were far more of a blitzkrieg attack, touching me in brief searing flashes before moving elsewhere. One moment he would press open-mouthed kisses against my ribs, the next he'd be nibbling at my wrists. It was enough to drive one thoroughly mad.

I must have said something to that effect, for he laughed and kissed me hard on the lips. Then swiftly, he dropped to rest between my knees, and ran his nimble fingers in loving tracery over my inner thighs, all the while watching me. I'm uncertain as to which had my attention more, his fixed passionate eyes... or the powerful hands that were now encroaching even more personally to grasp and caress my buttocks and his warm breath that even now brushed my flesh.

I was unaware of how tightly I was gripping the bed until Peter's hoarse whisper. "Touch me, Spengs. I'm not gonna break." I did as he asked, grasping his strong shoulders with both hands. A moment later, I squeezed them tightly, for with no warning, his mouth enveloped me.

I'd been uncertain that I would ever persuade Peter into doing this. In fact, it was of little concern for I was more than happy with what we had. So I had never tried to imagine what this would feel like, and therefore was caught utterly off guard by the amazing sensation. Heat, a blazing liquid warmth, surrounded me. He was not quite cautious, and I could feel, lightly, his teeth rake both the sensitive underside and top. It did not hurt, instead it merely flamed the already powerful waves of sensation. I moaned his name, and slid my hands through his hair.

He chuckled, lips still around me, and the vibration caused me to gasp. And then...and then he somehow did something with his mouth, encompassing me entirely in such a way that the humming pressure combined with the heat…and I was lost to it.

"Egon?"

I raised blurry eyes to Peter's concerned face. The worry passed from his eyes, and then he grinned at me. "Musta worked too well. I think you actually blacked out."

I blinked at him. Good god, I had. Turning my head to face his nestled on my shoulder, I asked, "Peter. What did you do? I mean..."

He snorted with laughter against my neck. "You know how I told you about my summers with Dad and the traveling carnivals?" I grimaced slightly. That his father took a child along on his scams and would for all intents and purposes abandon him to strangers had appalled me. Peter mostly shrugged it off. Mostly.

He continued. "I used to try my hand at all the acts. Did some trapeze work, got to help with the animals, learned some neat things. Like how I hot-wired your car when you lost the key." He gave me a wicked look. "I did an apprenticeship with the sword-swallower."

"You...?" I gaped at him, and then could not restrain my laughter.

He nodded. "Go ahead, laugh, Spengler. But it worked pretty well, right?"

Regaining my breath, I admitted that it had. Then I smiled at him. "Do you think you could teach me? I would hate to deprive you of such an amazing experience."

"Sure, no problem. Just a matter of learning to control your gag reflex." His green eyes met mine filled with laughter. "With the way Ray cooks, that'll come in damn useful, I think."

Ruefully, I had to admit that was true. As wonderful a person Raymond is, his cooking was atrocious.

Peter leaned over the edge of the bed, and pulled a light cotton blanket from a nearby box. "You know what's the best thing about us both being guys?" I shook my head in puzzlement.

He yawned, and spread the blanket over us both before snuggling into my shoulder. "Means we can both fall asleep afterwards with no guilt."

I gave him a skeptical look. "Peter, in the entire time I've known you, I've yet to see anything stop you from falling asleep. As for guilt..."

He snorted, then kissed my cheek, before falling almost instantaneously asleep. I sighed into his hair contentedly, before joining him in slumber.

I dunno what woke me, maybe just the room getting cooler as the sun began to set. May had brought New York some warm spring days, but it was still chilly at night. I yawned, but felt too lazy to get up and snag some extra covers. 'Sides, I had a hell of a hot water bottle.

I leaned on one elbow, and looked at Egon. Not often that I woke before him and had the chance to watch him sleep. Then again, we'd never fallen asleep together in the middle of the afternoon... or had such a good reason to. As Ray would say, wow.

Egon lay on his side, his face half hidden under his arm. His blond hair was more out of control than usual, probably due to when I had messed with it. As I watched, he muttered something softly, and curled a bit tighter into a ball with the blanket. And he calls me the sheet stealer.

It had been two months since I'd gotten the shock of my life in the library. Nothing in the world coulda prepared me for that. With the shit my dad pulled on my mom and me, I didn't think there was a hope in hell of my ever falling in love. I figured on being a bachelor to the end of my days, one of those creepy guys who collect trains or something. And then I met Egon.

I smiled down on him. Yeah, I'd seen fitter guys in the showers at the gym, and there were ones in the frat that could give Hollywood a shot easy, if I'd wanted to pursue the flip side. I'd dated a lot of girls, gorgeous ones, smart ones, funny ones, the lot. But Egon... he had them all outclassed. Maybe he wasn't exactly the usual definition of handsome, but, god, he had something alright. He had all the things I admired, integrity, intelligence, and humor. His charisma, that voice, and those blue blue eyes, they were just icing on the cake.

I pulled him a bit closer, careful not to wake him up, and laid my chin on his shoulder. No, I'd never thought I'd fall in love, but I have. It scared me at the start, and although I was happy, there was a little voice inside of me gibbering away in terror.

What if I screw this up? I'd already done some damage, although I didn't find out about that until recently. I knew that Egon's dad had cut him off financially when he went to Columbia instead of MIT. A couple of weekends ago, Egon gave his folks his new address. When they grilled him, he did what he always does, talked about the situation in an up front manner. Told them about us... And that was that. His father disowned him, and even his mom, who'd been sorta helping, cast him off.

I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned against Egon, breathing in the scent of his hair to steady myself. I still couldn't believe it. Egon took it in stride, and was more worried about how upset I was. We talked about it, and he said it was all right, that they'd never really been family for him. But, god, they were his family, he'd had their help all his life, and then they just booted him out. At least my pop, godawful as he was, was consistent. I knew exactly where I stood with him, have done since I was four and he hocked my Christmas presents to pay off a gambling debt. Nah, he was a prick, but a predictable one.

"Peter." I jumped at the sound of Egon's voice. " Is something wrong?" Those blue eyes were open, and even with out his coke bottle glasses, he was studying me sharply. Damn, no way to bluff.

"Just thinking about happy families, 'gon." I tried smiling, but by the way he frowned I must not've been very successful. He disentangled himself from the blanket, and pulled me down for a kiss, then held me close to his heart. I closed my eyes and listened to steady comforting beating.

Finally, after a time, he spoke. "As I told you before, Peter, it truly is alright. I have you. I have Raymond as well."

My voice muffled slightly against his chest, I added, "My mom, Spengs, don't forget her."

His rumbling laughter filled my ears. " I doubt she would give me the chance to do so." I smiled ruefully against his chest. Yeah, my mom. Unlike Egon's folks, Mom latched onto Egon as the best thing that coulda happened to me. He had instantly gotten the approval not a single chick I'd dated had been given.

Lips pressed lightly on my forehead, and I looked up to meet his calm clear eyes. "I cannot say in all honesty that I am totally unaffected, Peter. But I can say that you mean far more. I will not change who I am for someone else's aspirations. That is why I came to Columbia, well before I knew you. I had already set myself on this path away from my parents." He hugged me closer. "You are not at fault, Peter."

I sighed, and leaned against him harder. I know what Egon means...but still. I buried my face in the almost invisible blond hair on his chest, and screwed my eyes shut tight. He ran his hands in long strokes across my back, and muttered, "Stubborn" into my hair with amused exasperation. I shook my head, and looked up at him.

"Stubborn, yeah, Spengs. But not over this. I just..." I breathed out hard, trying to think of a way to explain it.

He peered down at me, and I could see comprehension flash in his eyes. "Your father, Peter. He still does not know?"

Dammit, how the hell does he do that? Ray might be right about the mind-reading thing after all. I ran my hand over my face before looking at Egon.

"No. I mean, I don't even know where he is, probably running from state police somewhere. Whenever I do see him, 'gon, I'll tell him... I just don't know how he'll take it." Closing my eyes, I rested my head in the crook of his neck before continuing. "I love my dad, Egon. Yeah, he's a conman, and yeah, he's a two-timing bastard, but he is my dad. What if..."

"He disowns you as my father did me?" Egon rolled me over and covered me with his body, kissing me comfortingly. "Peter, it would be greatly to his loss. You are a very special man." He kissed me again in emphasis, and with enough passion that the rest of my body woke up and wanted to play. I gave Egon a slightly sheepish grin, which was return with an affectionate smile and a nudge that proved his body was on a similar one-track path.

Ah, hell with it. I reached up and pulled Egon even closer, feeling the same kind of wonder that I did that first time. More.



The psychic conference had been great, and getting to see Aunt Lois was even better. By the time I was ready to catch the bus back to New York, I had so many boxes of stuff that she’d brought from abroad that in the end that she rented a small car for me. We had lunch at a fancy restaurant, and then she waved me off, promising to send me a real shrunken head from the Amazon. Wow.

The trip back was pleasant enough, if monotonous. It gave me the chance to think things through, though, which I just hadn’t had time to do. I’d been so busy, with the exams, and seeing off Hannah… and, um, the moving in and everything. I was really looking forward to getting back and settling in.

It was weird, at first, going home. Nothing seemed the way I remembered. The wallpaper was changed, and the furniture gone. At some time, an entire new kitchen had been put in, and a tiny room had been torn down to make it larger. But when I went downstairs and opened the bolted door…. It was just like walking back in time. I could almost see my father, hunched over circuitry boards with a screwdriver in his teeth, smell the scent of burning plastics and wood that always meant security. I could imagine my mom shouting down the stairs for us to “get out of that dingy dungeon and get some dinner.”

I think that was the most painful moment of going back. But Peter was right there with me, and somehow he knew. He patted me on the shoulder, and asked all sorts of questions about what was in the room, and what each thing did. Before I knew it, I was telling him about all my dad’s inventions, showing him things and laughing as I recalled the occasional disasters that would have my mom racing down the stairs with a fire-extinguisher.

We started talking about Egon’s tendency to blow things up too, and then I began to draw up plans to change the room to suit us. Before I knew it, the basement wasn’t just a monument to my dad, it was mine. I smiled a bit misty-eyed, as I changed lanes.

I think I owe Peter big-time for that.

Yeah, I was going to be okay in the house. In fact, I think it’d make my mom and dad happy for me to go back. Aunt Lois and I talked it over, and when I graduate from Columbia, she’ll move in to keep an eye on the place while I go to grad school. She says she’ll be ready to settle down by then. I sorta doubt it, but chances are likely she’ll be happy there. Probably turn the place upside down, but happy.

As for the next couple of years… well, wait and see. I really like Peter and Egon, though they’ll be finished at Columbia next year. I was still a bit nervous about living with them, although not for the reasons I’d originally started with. When I first met them, I thought I was way out of their league. I mean, they were older than me for one. And Egon, I’d thought he was smarter than me by lots. I still think he is, but in a different way than I am, and I can hold my own. Peter…with him being a BMOC, and the star of the football team, I didn’t think I’d stand a chance. But he’s a great guy really, though the amount of effort he uses to hide that just flummoxes me. Why shouldn’t he let people know he’s really caring?

Nope, I think I’m equal enough to them. Different, but that’s good. Maybe the best thing in roommates, really. My big worry now was their relationship. Not that they're gay, though, I don’t think Peter is that precisely. Bi, maybe.

I chuckled. Peter had said that he was Egon-centric.

But there it was. I’d only seen them kiss, and that was just the once in the library. There’s probably more to it than that, and living with them…well, I was going to see it. I don’t really know how I’ll react, or how I should react. I don’t think I’ll catch them on the kitchen table or anything…boy, can’t picture Egon doing anything like that!…but I’m pretty sure I’ll see something.

I frowned. I can deal with that. My real concern was that they were keeping it secret. I know why, and really pity them in a way. It’s gotta be rough. Under any other circumstances, I think they’d be upfront about it, and probably will later. Until then…what if I blow it? Stupidly tell someone something with out realizing, and get them into trouble? I don’t think I will…but, gosh, they’ve trusted me with this. No one’s ever trusted me with something this big in my entire life.

One week later, and Raymond and I were both still at a loss. Due to my parental estrangement, I was forced to take a summer job after all, minor tutoring. That I had to do this infuriated Peter, who tried, unsuccessfully, to argue that he could afford to keep me. It was the first true argument in our relationship, though doubtlessly not the last. We both weathered it well enough. Peter did a considerable amount of shouting, while I argued in mild tones which he later said were a neon danger sign. In the end, we compromised. He accepted my job seeking, while I promised to take on only minimal hours.

The argument over, Peter worked on making life better for me, which seemed to entail for him quiet patience at the amount of time Ray and I put into the small downstairs lab. I attempted to concentrate upon my dissertation…but Raymond’s ideas in the field of parapsychology, or to be more specific the physics behind it, were highly distracting. He and I challenged one another in the lab, with Peter playing a cynical referee while sitting on a battered chair he’d scrounged up.

This, while highly enjoyable, merely increased Raymond’s and my desires to both prove the existence of the supernatural to Peter and to somehow give something to him.

 

It was Saturday, when all hell broke loose. Peter had gone to work at Boddingtons, and by 1pm, I was concentrating upon my own studies. The student I was supposed to tutor that afternoon had called with a cold, thus freeing my time.

“Egon!” The series of loud thumps and creaking wood were becoming a clear indication of Raymond’s approach. In his enthusiasm, he tended to barrel down the stairs with more alacrity than grace. Before his arrival, I pushed aside one of the more delicate experiments to a more stable section of the table.

Bursting into the room, he waved a book in the air, brown eyes ablaze in triumph. “I got it, Egon! I know what to do for Peter!” He beamed, and grabbed me in an enthusiastic hug. “Look, I’m going to run out and get it, I know just where to go. Think you can keep Peter occupied while I’m gone?”

A faint smile twitched my lips, before I answered amusedly, “I dare say I could manage, Ray.”

Grinning, he tousled my hair. “Great! I should be back around 6-ish.” He left, bounding up the stairs two at a time, and I was alone in the silence of the house. I returned to my work with a pleased smile. Raymond had made amazing progress in the past few months, and it was joy to see it.

Lost in my experiment, I was surprised when a couple of hours later the doorbell rang. Leaving it regretfully, I went upstairs. Could my student have changed her mind? Or perhaps Ray required assistance with his gift, whatever it might be. I opened the front door… and very nearly shut it again.

Good god.

I’d seen the man there once and only once in the small photo that Peter’s mother kept of his graduation. There could be no mistaking the slightly balding head, the ingratiating smile…or the shape of the chin and brow so like the man I loved.

Peter’s father. Charlie. Here.

With a well-honed speed, he deftly placed his foot in the door. If I wanted to shut it, I would have to do him injury. As Peter would say, Hell.

“Hello, why you must be one of Peter’s roommates, am I right? I’m Petey’s Pop, Charlie Venkman, howjado.” My hand was seized and pumped briskly, and as he shook, he slid into the foyer. My worry increased as I watched him, for lack of a better term, evaluate the property and its belongings. He turned and beamed at me.

“Fine place you kids got here, a fine place. So, tell me, where is my boy?”

Asking this, rather perfunctorily, he wandered into the living room. I shook my head. No, I must try to look upon this man at least neutrally. Until I have proof otherwise, I cannot allow the words of others, even those of Peter, to taint my opinions…. Although what colored my feeling about Charlie were the things that Peter did not say about the man.

I began to follow him, when the phone rang. “Excuse me. I must answer that.”

“Go ahead, my boy, go ahead, I’ll just make myself at home.” His cheerfully spoken comment made me wince as I strode the phone.

“Hello, Spengler here.”

“Oh, Egon!” Mrs. Venkman? “Thank heavens, is Peter there?”

“No, he’s at work…”

“Oh dear. Egon, you’ve got to have him call me. Charlie is in town, and Peter….”

I shut my eyes tightly. “Actually, ah, he’s here.”

There was a pause, then she spoke slowly. “Charlie’s there? Oh, no. Egon…” I could hear her anger humming across the line. “Watch him, don’t leave him alone. I’ll call Peter, he’s working at Boddingtons’s, right?”

“Yes.” With no warning, she then hung up. I placed the receiver back, and then realized that I had in fact left Mr. Venkman alone in the living room these past few minutes. I quickly went back in, and found him looking at the selection of Indian prints that were on the wall.

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Venkman…”

“Oh, no, please, “ he said with a wide smile that rang false for reasons I could not ascribe a cause. “Call me Charlie.”

I gave him just my first name, and then was at a loss for both words and action. Normally, the manners instilled in me by my mother would have me offering refreshments. However, that would necessitate going to the kitchen, and with Mrs. Venkman’s warning in my ears, I was loathe to either leave him again, or to show him more of the house.

Fortunately, he seemed to be unfazed by my lack of manners, and quite willing to speak enough for the two of us. I received a circuitous interrogation, one that led me to the conclusion that he knew nothing of Peter’s and my relationship. I also gathered that he thought Peter had done decidedly well in landing such naïve roommates. The man seemed to be under the misapprehension that his son was just like him. Horrifying.

He asked odd, rambling questions about the house and some of the strange furniture which Ray’s aunt had given us, about the pictures, about a number of things…except his son’s welfare. He moved around the room with nervous energy, something I had seen Peter do on occasion. Motion in the guise of being indolent. Peter proclaimed himself lazy, but in fact he seldom remained still for long. His father exaggerated this, in a dizzying fashion, and it became harder to watch him…something I only later realized was the purpose.

He had asked about my studies and me, and was proceeding to make inroads on the subject of Raymond, when I heard feet racing up the front of the house. Ray?

Seconds later, the door was thrown open. There stood Peter, panting heavily for breath, his bar uniform a mess. His eyes lit on me and flickered with relief at something, then latched onto his father with a fierce emerald scrutiny I had not seen him unleash on anyone. I spoke his name faintly, querying, but he did not appear to hear me.

“Dad.” If his glance at his father had surprised me, the stark fury hidden behind his neutrally expressed tones went well towards stunning me. His tenor softened the crisply snapped out word, but barely.

“Petey! My boy!” Charlie opened his arms wide, seemingly expecting an embrace from his son. It did not occur. Peter stood for a moment silent, and then he strode, no, stalked into the living room.

This was eye opening. I had seen him angry, particularly with Verbecke and Dean Yeager. But this was well beyond…

“How’d you get this address, Dad? Hmm? I know it wasn’t Mom, she won’t talk to you anymore. And I didn’t give out the address to too many people.”

“Now, son…”

“Skip it, Charlie. How did you find out where I live? And why’d you come here, huh? No way was it just to see me, I know you. Scam fell apart? Or are you just on the run like usual?” Peter had crossed his arms, and stood trembling with rage. “I told you I didn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore, not after what happened last time.

“Peter, honest, it was a mistake, a simple case of...”

“Dad, those guys knew damn well I was your son, and they tried to break my arm for your failure to repay them. If I told you once, I’ve told you a million times, don’t mess with the goddamn loan sharks. I got lucky that one of the campus cops saved my ass. What if they’d gone for Mom, huh? Did that ever occur to your self-absorbed little mind?”

I was aghast, and stared horror-stricken at Peter and his father. Fortunately, Peter seemed almost unaware of me. Charlie did know I was there, and looked to play me as a ruse to keep Peter from speaking further. I rose to prevent this, and Peter hit me with a quick glance that proved he was quite aware of me after all.

“Stay, Egon. I won’t keep secrets from you.” He spoke softer, although the anger still laced his tones. Sorrow and regret flickered in his eyes before he once again turned to speak to his father

“I told you that I didn’t want to deal with you, or get involved in your rackets, or save your bacon anymore. That everything was fine, just as long as you stuck to phone calls that didn’t involve police stations and bail. That I’d get over it if you sent Mom and me some mail every now and then just to say you were okay. And what did we get? Exactly what we expected, fucking nothing.”

“Peter… son…” Mr. Venkman swept his hands in a conciliatory fashion, and I could see tears forming in his eyes.

Peter’s eyes narrowed in response. “You wanna prove you’re here just to visit, Pop? Fine. Empty out your pockets.”

Mr. Venkman froze. I shot Peter a perplexed look that earned me a fond, pained smile. He nodded his head for me to look at his father, and I turned to look at the man questioningly.

The balding man gave me faint smile, tinged with pride. “Never could fool my son.” Sighing, he turned out his pockets, and soon on the table appeared any number of items from the living room. A silver lighter my grandfather had given me, several object-de-art from Raymond’s aunt, and other things of varying, but obvious value.

I had never seen them go, or even noticed their absence.

Peter had. Either his awareness of detail was higher than mine…or he simply knew what to expect with a visit from his father. He had warned us, but I had truly not grasped the nature of the conman. Nor had I heard the entire story.

“Out, Charlie. Don’t let me catch you around the house, got it? And leave Mom alone.” Peter walked to the front door and opened it. After a moment, Mr. Venkman moved past me, stunned and stumbling in shock.

“Peter…”

“Try again next year, Dad. Around Christmas time.” Peter’s lips curved in a sardonic, bitter way that I’d not seen. “It’s the season for forgiving, right?”

His father nodded. “Goodbye, son.” He clasped Peter’s shoulder lightly with a hand, and when Peter didn’t respond, moved slowly towards the sidewalk.

Peter turned to close the door, and glanced at me. Suddenly, he spun, and dashed into the street. I heard voices faintly in the air, and then Peter’s footsteps approached once more, slowly this time.

He entered and shut the door, leaning against it and staring at his feet.

“Egon…I….” A hand lifted, shaking, to move slowly through his hair. Then he stood. “Here.” On the hand he extended towards me…was my wallet. I didn’t take it, but looked at him in surprise.

“Dad. He snagged it off you when he brushed by you leaving.” When I didn’t move to take it, he set it down upon the small hall table. Then before I could act, he ran up the stairs.

I found him sitting on our bed, eyes fixed on his hands, which lay clasped together in his lap. “Peter…”

“You gotta think pretty badly of me now, Egon. Chucked my own dad out on the street just like your folks did you, kept things from you, have a fucking thief for a father...”

“Peter!” I grabbed his shoulders and shook him until his eyes flew up to meet mine. “One. You are nothing like my parents, you are my family, not them. Two, you are not the only one keeping secrets, I too have some things that I felt uncertain broaching. Three, I don’t give a damn about your father especially when he has apparently done you and your mother such considerable harm.” I shook him briefly in emphasis. “Do I make myself clear?”

He gaped at me a moment, shocked at the vehemence in my voice. Then warm arms wrapped around my waist, and his head dropped to fall against my chest.

“Sorry, ‘gon.” His voice whispered against my heart. “I just... hated you seeing me act like such a bastard.”

“It perhaps might have been easier if you were truly so.” I said it with wry amusement, and heard him give a real, if watery, chuckle. “I love you, Peter. That would never change on account of you standing up for yourself. Never.”

“What would make it change?” I barely heard the question muffled against me.

I held him closer. That his wretched father had made this sensitive man so afraid of desertion…I took a deep breath. “I might, conceivably, change my mind if you ever again sing that appalling fraternity song in your tuneless voice while we’re lying in bed. I cannot think of any other conditions, but if you wish to know, I’ll tell you if I discover any furth…”

Further wasn’t necessary. His lips met mine abruptly, and he pulled me onto the bed. We embraced for a long time, and then he rolled me over, leashed intensity burning in his dark green eyes.

“I know enough about psychology, Spengs, that I shouldn’t sublimate my anger in love-making but…” I stopped him with a kiss, and taking that correctly as my permission, he let lose the torrent of emotion that he’d held back.

I’ve never been a good sleeper under even the best of circumstances. I’d nap the whole day long if I could, but I never really sleep properly. That’s changed some. Egon’s been really good for me…in lots of ways.

It was well past 2am, and he and I were curled up in bed under a quilt he’d found in the attic. Carefully, I moved back so that I wouldn’t wake him up. He’s already pretty worried about me, no need to add more to it. He just sighed and shifted to take up the warm space I left behind, nuzzling the pillow some before falling into a more profound sleep. I waited until his soft snore began again before quietly getting out of the bed.

I haven’t really slept much at all since my damn dad came to visit. Three days and still no sandman. I’d dozed, but the minute I slid into deeper sleep, something would slip into my subconscious, and wham, I’d wake up. At this rate, I could probably provide enough data for Columbia's sleep research department to get funding for the next five years. Hopefully a glass of milk or something will help. I edged down the stairs carefully; last thing I wanted was squeaking floorboards.

A few minutes later, I had some milk warmed up on the stove. What the hell, might as well go for broke. I added some of Ray’s cocoa powder to it and some sugar. That and the caffeine won’t help me sleep, but warm milk really tastes pretty disgusting.

I filled a cup with it, and left the rest on the side. I should clean it up, but it can wait until morning. Now the problem. Where to drink it? Nothing on TV but infomercials and it’d probably wake up ‘gon. Man’s got a sixth sense where I’m concerned, and I’m doing pretty good not to have him up already. No sense in pushing my luck.

Steaming mug in hand, I went for our library. I’ll read one of my westerns, I know them by heart, should be just the thing. Some good old Dewey La Morte action, a bit of fictional daring-do, and I’ll be ready to sleep. Or at least be entertained for the next couple of hours.

I slid the door closed tight before I switched on the light, and headed for my favorite battered chair. Setting the mug on the top of my bookshelf, I reached down… What the..?

There was a box in the place of my westerns, wrapped in tacky paper that just screamed Ray. My name was on the top in his loopy wide handwriting. I hesitated. Am I supposed to open it, it’s not my birthday… but it’s here, on my shelf, not exactly hidden…

“Open it, Peter.”

I nearly shot out of the seat. “Je-sus, Spengler, you just about gave me a heart attack!”

He snorted and took the seat opposite me. “And your vanishing from bed without waking me was supposed to have what kind of effect?”

Touche. I smiled tiredly at him. “You got me.” Reaching over, I put my hand on his knee and squeezed it warmly. “Sorry, Spengs, didn’t mean to worry you.”

He sighed. “Peter, I know that. But I also know you’ve not been sleeping. If there was anything I could do to help…”

I mentally added in the “but there isn’t”, and released his leg, patting gently. Holding up the rather hefty box, I asked, “So, what gives?”

“Open it.”

Hmmph, some help he is. I started to unwrap it. Damn, Ray must have used an entire thing of Scotch tape on this thing. My fingers froze as the present revealed itself. Holy shit.

I shot Egon a surprised glance, but it was clear from the way he was craning his long neck for a look that he’d no idea what it was. I pulled it out and just stared.

A hardback first edition of Dewey La Morte’s first book, Bronco. I’d seen it once before, the cover was distinctive in the tooling on the leather. I ran shaking fingers over the bucking horse, gold against red, then opened it. Jesus, it was signed.

I shut the book reverently, and stared at Egon. I must have looked a bit stunned. No, make that extremely stunned.

“Egon… I… why?” My voice nearly broke. He got off the chair and knelt beside me, pulling me into a tight embrace.

“Ray wanted to find something that would have as much importance and meaning to you, as this house, which you helped him make his home, has to him. I take it he has.”

“Yeah…” I leaned my head against his shoulders, and breathed in the smell of him and the rich leather of the book in my arms. I shuddered and moved in closer. His hands threaded through my hair soothingly.

I spoke softly, holding the book against my chest. “I used to read these books all the time, with a flashlight under the covers, waiting for my dad to come home. The wild west, the horses, the code of honor, all the things I’d never seen, just like paradise.” I swallowed. “Dad used to give me the books, ‘cause he said he read them all the time when he was a kid. They’re the only books I know of, Egon, where the swindlers and card cheats always get shot for dirty dealing. I sorta wonder if he never got the point.”

“Peter…” His bass voice whispered against my ear and he held me even closer.

“He’s never gonna change, Egon. I know that. I’ve tried all the tricks they recommend in the psych books. Mom and I decided not to be enablers anymore. All it really did was make him stop using us, and use other people instead.” Like you.

He pulled back as if he heard my unspoken thought, and brushed his lips against my forehead.

“You are nothing like him. I think that what you and your mother did required great courage and great hear, but then I expect nothing less of you, Peter. You are one of the most generous people I have ever known. You willingly give the benefit of the doubt to people and places that I would discard out of hand.”

He took the book out of my hands, and set it neatly on my shelf before hauling us both to our feet. Running his hands through my hair, he kissed me again, then murmured softly, “Let’s see if I can exhaust you enough for you to fall asleep, hmm?”

I smiled back at him, feeling better already than I had in days.

“Sounds like a good idea, Egon. Lead the way.”


Peter kept bouncing back and forth emotionally days after his dad’s visit. It was a bit rocky. Egon and I just rode it through, I mean, that’s what friends are for. The worst bit was finding out about his part-time job.

Peter had gotten the call from his mom, and promptly told the manager there was a family emergency and he had to leave at once. The guy balked, and started yelling at Peter. Bad move. Peter said he just took off his Boddington's tie and nametag, and quit then and there. Spent all of his tip money to get a taxi home too.

I had gotten back from my successful hunt that evening to find out that Peter’s father had dropped by. Not a good thing, as it turned out. Peter was up front about it, going into detail about the kind of tricks his dad would pull. He even showed us how his dad swiped Egon’s wallet, a trick that fascinated me with its slight of hand and misdirection. It wasn’t until really late that night that I wondered how Peter knew how to do it.

It was a couple of days before Peter found my present to him. Knowing that he’d probably take it the wrong way if I gave it to him the day his father came, and not wanting him to think it was some kind of pity gift… I mean, I’d gotten loads of those when my parents died, and all they did was hang around my neck like a millstone. I would have preferred a hug…. Well, I put his present on his shelf. Bingo. When he did find it, it was just the thing. The next day, I got a huge hug from him that nearly snapped my back, and a smile that was so open from him that my heart just expanded like the Grinch’s. It was the best.

We speculated on how Mr. Venkman could’ve got the address. Egon came up with all sorts of theories; some so off the wall that Peter lost his grim mood he fell back into briefly. I met Egon’s eyes. They danced with laughter behind the thick frames as Peter lay gasping for breath on the sofa. Yup, he did it deliberately.

I snapped my fingers as a solution hit me. “I got it! Peter, it’s graduation time. I bet all he had to do was call up Columbia and ask. You had to give them your summer address because of the team, right?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah… and they’d be so dog-tired from all the calls from parents, that a ‘legit’ call about a junior would just breeze by.” He cuffed me slightly, and rumpled my hair, grinning. “Thanks, Ray. It was gonna drive me crazy until I figured it out.”

Things slowly settled down. Egon and I managed to blow up one of our experiments, and Peter raced down the stairs with the fire extinguisher just like my mom… though she never swore like that. Peter found another part time job to replace the Boddingtons’ one, and it even paid more. He got a note from his dad that apologized, and was clearly postmarked from out of town. That depressed Peter some, but eased the worry that his dad would pull something on his mom or us.

The next day, Egon and I had been already been up for hours, and were eating lunch when Peter finally lurched down the stairs. Boy, Egon hadn’t been joking when he said Peter was bad in the mornings. The past few weeks had really proved that. Not that he was nasty or anything, just really grumpy and inclined to glare at inanimate objects like they were to blame for something.

As he stumbled into the kitchen, I looked over at Egon, and said in a sepulchral voice, “Lazarus has arisen.” I’d expected Egon to add my comment, but instead both he and Peter froze… and then Peter collapsed against the fridge laughing. Egon buried his face in his hands, so that all I could see was bright pink ears.

I looked puzzled between them both. It wasn’t that funny… and I woulda thought Egon would be the one laughing. Finally, Peter gasped out my name. “Ray… god, Ray, sorry.”

Egon’s shoulders were shaking, and as he removed his glasses, I could see that he’d been laughing so hard that tears were pouring down his cheeks. “Peter.” His deep voice broke, and he ran his hands through his hair before continuing. “Peter, you’d better explain.”

“Uh-uh, Spengs, you do it, your joke.” Green eyes met Egon’s blue ones in a contest of wills, and then Peter caved in. “Okay, okay, if you make me a cup of coffee.” Clearing his throat, he grabbed Egon’s seat as Egon went to the coffee maker.

“Ray… um.” He fiddled with a fork. I could feel my eyebrows rising. Peter Venkman, embarrassed? Who’d have thought? “Ray, guy talk time.” Egon snorted, and Peter waved the fork threateningly. “You want to explain this, Spengs, go ahead.”

Egon waved his hands in surrender, and Peter continued. “Ray, do you or your girlfriend have a nickname for your dick?”

That wasn’t a question I’d been expecting, and I went crimson. He waited, and finally, I stuttered, “Yeah… my last girlfriend, um, well… she called it Big Red.”

Peter’s jaw dropped, and Egon leaned his head against a cabinet. After a pause, Peter said, “As in.. as in the chewing gum commercial?”

I nodded, and I could see that Peter was trying really hard not to lose it. After a deep breath, he went on, “Ooookay. Well. Um. My mom used to call mine Petey Jr, and that’s pretty much stuck. Most guys have names for their dicks. Spengs there, “ and he jerked his chin at Egon, “ was an exception. After shrugging off all my attempts…“

Egon interrupted, “Ludicrous attempts.”

“Shut up, Spengs. My brilliant ideas, Egon came up with one.” Peter grinned at me, cocking his head to one side. I made the connection.

“Lazarus?!”

Peter buffed his nails on his shirt. “Just call me Jesus.”

Egon choked, and whacked Peter across the head, while I turned an even brighter red and laughed. It was good to see things were back to normal. Well, as normal as the three of us ever got.

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