Copyright
Published by Dreamspinner Press 4760 Preston Road Suite 244-149 Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors‘ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Rainy Days and Star Charts Copyright © 2011 by Ellen Holiday Tutor Me, Love Copyright © 2011 by Ellee Hill Inspiration Copyright © 2011 by Claire Russett Second Beginnings Copyright © 2011 by Leora Stark Bug Boy Copyright © 2011 by Jeanette Grey Accismus Copyright © 2011 by Cooper West Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts Copyright © 2011 by Amberly Smith Learning After Hours Copyright © 2011 by Jamie Lowe Universally Gay Copyright © 2011 by M. Lee Literature and Lust Copyright © 2011 by J.J. Levesque Statistical Outliers Copyright © 2011 by G.P. Keith Surprise Me Copyright © 2011 by Dawn Kimberly Johnson Close Distance Education Copyright © 2011 by Dar Mavison Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses Copyright © 2011 by Eve Ocotillo Edited by Julianne Bentley Cover Art & Design by Catt Ford All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ ISBN: 978-1-61372-122-3 Printed in the United States of America First Edition October 2011 eBook edition available in Adobe PDF, MobiPocket and MS Reader formats eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-123-0
Table of Contents
Rainy Days and Star Charts by Ellen Holiday Tutor Me, Love by Ellee Hill Inspiration by Claire Russett Second Beginnings by Leora Stark Bug Boy by Jeanette Grey Accismus by Cooper West Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts by Amberly Smith Learning After Hours by Jamie Lowe Universally Gay by M. Lee Literature and Lust by J.J. Levesque Statistical Outliers by G.P. Keith Surprise Me by Dawn Kimberly Johnson Close Distance Education by Dar Mavison Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses by Eve Ocotillo
Rainy Days and Star Charts
ANDY was covered with freckles. From the crown of his head to the glimpses of his ankles between jean cuff and sweatsock, on each finger and between the eyes, he was spattered with them, like the sidewalk just before a cloudburst, speckled with little dots of possibility. A few stubborn freckles even made it in beneath the scruff of his overgrown mop of hair. Joel knew because Joel studied him in class, sitting behind him and trying to count or chart the freckles on that small strip of skin at the nape of his neck. Even there, they were countless; after a while Joel gave up on counting and instead began to connect the dots in his mind, drawing any number of famous works of art in his imagination, Picasso and Warhol and even Van Gogh. The back of Andy‘s neck also tended to flush red in anger or frustration. Once, Joel had seen it go pink after a long, incomprehensible lecture on parallax, and he‘d snickered when Andy turned to the guy next to him and asked, ―Are you getting any of this?‖ The rare profile view afforded Joel a good look at his freckled face. His first instinct was to start counting, but the shape of Andy‘s profile had stopped him, and instead he just stared at the angle of his chin, the noble lift of his
6 | Ellen Holiday cheekbones. There was nothing noble about Joel himself, at least, not in his own mind. He was the gangly, skinny, curly-haired Jewish kid you expected to come out of Long Island and plant himself upstate. He‘d purged the accent from his voice, but it still tended to sneak in when he was sleepy or angry or drunk and ruin what otherwise would have been an effective bit of ranting. Ranting was one of those things Joel was embarrassingly good at. Like understanding parallax. And staring at Andy‘s freckles. He managed to smile at Andy a few times when he walked by, and Andy‘s smile back was guileless, friendly and vacant, the smile of a guy who‘d forget your face the next moment. Joel had never harbored any hopes of knowing him. He was used to being a face in a crowd. He had no freckles to make him stand out; he was just the nerdy kid in the Astronomy lecture, and that was something he never expected to change. Until one day, when after a particularly painful lecture, Andy leaned back in his seat, slouching enough that his head flipped over and he was looking, listlessly, upside down, directly at Joel. ―I am so done,‖ he announced. ―Just stick a fork in me.‖ Joel looked down at him. A face full of upside-down freckles and pink lips and long eyelashes was peering up at him. It was like something out of Alice in Wonderland; any moment a sign would appear on Andy‘s forehead reading ―Eat Me.‖ Wouldn‘t that be a delicious instruction…. ―You all right?‖ he asked, his lip quirking involuntarily. Andy‘s eyes caught his—big green disks, like Neptune in a telescope lens. ―Just disillusioned.‖ He gave a short laugh and turned around in his seat, slinging his elbow over the back edge and looking at Joel right-side-up for once. Joel fought down a bit of disappointment at seeing the unusual, adorable pose give way to something more standard. ―Disillusioned, huh?‖ he said. ―How so?‖ Andy blew air through his lips, a halfhearted raspberry. ―I thought astronomy would be more learning about the planets and the stars, looking through telescopes and drawing star charts and crap. I didn‘t expect there to be quite so much physics. I hate physics.‖ He wrinkled his nose.
Rainy Days and Star Charts | 7 With his freckles bunching up against each other and his nose twitching, Andy looked like a disgusted bunny. Joel tried not to laugh out loud. ―I can see that,‖ he said. ―But you kind of need it, right? To understand why the planets are the way they are.‖ ―Pfft,‖ Andy said, and then cleared his throat. ―Sorry, I‘m being a sourpuss. You‘re Joel, right? I‘m Andy. I think we‘re in the same dorm.‖ Joel started. ―We are? I think… I don‘t remember seeing you.‖ He was going to say I think I’d remember you, but even Joel could manage a little tact once in a while. ―Pretty sure,‖ Andy said. ―I‘ve seen you in the dining hall. Unless you‘re eating breakfast in a different dorm.‖ Joel shook his head. ―That explains it. I‘m usually too bleary in the morning to see anything in front of my own nose.‖ Andy laughed. ―Sounds familiar.‖ Joel‘s heart went into overdrive. When Andy smiled, a perfect dimple formed at the left-hand corner of his mouth, and just for an instant, a cluster of freckles ceased to be, drawn into the indentation like stars into a black hole. Only unlike a black hole, this one loosened and let the stars live. Not so Joel‘s heart, which was being crushed into nothing by the power of that one dimple. ―I just want to know when we get to look through telescopes,‖ Andy said, drumming his fingers on the rim of the chair as though he was expecting that permission to come down from on high any second now. ―I want to do star charts. And see planets.‖ Joel gazed at him balefully for a moment, wishing he could do something, anything to lift his mood. Then it occurred to him all at once. ―You know there‘s an astronomy club, right?‖ he said. ―They go out on Monday nights and have star parties. Set up a bunch of telescopes and look at stars.‖ Andy‘s cheeks went past pink to red in an instant. He leaned forward, his neck craning over the back of the chair. ―Seriously?‖ he said. ―Are you a member?‖ ―Me? No,‖ Joel said. ―I‘m a little shy, I‘d feel weird going and not knowing anybody.‖ Andy out-and-out laughed, dimples and flush and freckles all
8 | Ellen Holiday fighting for Joel‘s attention on his face. A rabbit began thumping its way across Joel‘s heart. ―What?‖ ―Your problem‘s solved,‖ he said. ―Let‘s go over there together.‖ All at once the world burst into a dozen more colors than it had ever had before. ―Yeah, okay. Monday, right? What time?‖
BUT Monday it rained. The sky went hazy blue with the light refracted from every droplet in the heavy clouds; the shade was almost unearthly, the night alight with illumination that would have been swallowed by clearer skies. Andy sat with Joel in the dining hall, his head on an upturned palm, gazing out the window with a pout protruding on his lower lip. ―Guess there‘s no star party tonight.‖ Joel sat across the table from him—a small table, just the two of them, Andy close enough to touch—and said, ―We could go anyway, see if they do something else.‖ ―Like what?‖ Andy tilted his head. ―Math competitions?‖ He heaved a sigh. ―I‘m sorry, I‘m a killjoy, but… you wait long enough for this stuff and then it rains, and you get nothing.‖ Joel felt like he was fighting a losing battle. This wasn‘t how he wanted this dinner date to end. ―You know, the math part isn‘t so bad.‖ ―Oh, yes, it is. It is if you‘re me.‖ ―It‘s really not. The math part is why it all works. If you think about it, if the laws of gravity or physics didn‘t work the way they do, if the numbers were off by just a little bit, we wouldn‘t have planets and stars, the universe wouldn‘t work the way it works at all. We wouldn‘t even be here. But it is, and we‘re here, and we have the power to understand it, to calculate things, to figure out how it works, and that‘s amazing.‖ Andy squinted at him. Joel‘s skin crawled. He realized his palms were face up, that he‘d thrown his shoulders back and jutted his chin forward like he was a Shakespearean actor in a soliloquy. Ranting may have always been a forte, but self-control, not so much. But then Andy grinned at him. ―You‘re like a romantic.‖ ―I‘m a what?‖ Joel bit his lip.
Rainy Days and Star Charts | 9 ―That was just very… very poetic.‖ Andy‘s face was flushed. Encouraged, Joel broke into a wide smile himself. ―Like, for instance,‖ he went on. ―Did you know that the moon is moving away from the earth? It moves about an inch a year. And right now, it‘s exactly the same proportional distance from the Earth than Earth is from the Sun. Which means when it moves in front of the Sun, we get total solar eclipses. During a total eclipse, you can see stars during the day. You can see the sun‘s corona. If humans had been alive at any other geological age in history, a billion years back or a billion years forward, we couldn‘t have that. But we‘re here right now, so we can. The math makes it work. It‘s—‖ ―Amazing, yeah,‖ Andy said, his voice soft. ―Hey, do you wanna come up to my room? My roommate‘s probably watching football, we could sit, there might be drinks.‖ Joel bit down the curl of his lip at the word ―football.‖ He‘d sit through the international grass-growing competition if it meant going up to Andy‘s room.
THE roommate wasn‘t the only one watching the game. At least a halfdozen of his closest friends were there, filling the room with grunts, curse words, and beer bottles. Andy winced a little as he ushered Joel in. ―Sorry, I didn‘t realize,‖ he said, but Joel shook his head and smiled. Despite the sensation he was being stared at, he wedged himself onto the couch between Andy and his roommate, a giant tower of muscle named Derek, and sat forward to try to make sense of the action on the screen. ―You like football?‖ Andy murmured in his ear toward the beginning. Joel shrugged. ―You should. It‘s pretty poetic too. Lots of planning and coordination. It takes a lot of brain power.‖ A gigantic man tackled another gigantic man onscreen, and the room erupted in swears. ―Yeah,‖ Joel said, ―very intellectual, I can tell.‖ ―Well.‖ Andy gave a rueful laugh. ―Maybe not here. But watch how they move. It‘s coordinated.‖ It was hard to concentrate on the movements on the screen, though. Hard because Andy was pressed up against him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, and looking down Joel could follow the line of his arm,
10 | Ellen Holiday count a thousand more freckles that he hadn‘t seen before. He wanted to spend all evening looking down at that arm, slender and white beneath the endless orange speckles, and the long fingers that pressed unashamedly against Joel‘s knee. It was an effort just to keep his head raised. Sometime after a beer and a half had stained Andy‘s face and neck with a permanent pink flush, he patted Joel‘s knee encouragingly and forgot to pick his fingers back up. Or, at least, Joel thought he forgot. It seemed too good to be true that Andy would do such a thing on purpose, much less in front of a roomful of others. Joel gritted his teeth, swallowed the annoying lump in his throat, and tried desperately not to react—even when Andy got up to go to the bathroom, came back, and promptly plunked his hand back down onto Joel‘s knee. The team wearing red won the game, though if pressed on the subject Joel would be at a loss to explain how, and Derek‘s crew of friends slowly filtered out. Joel stood to go, too, and the minute he did Derek retreated into his bedroom with alarming haste. ―Subtle,‖ Andy said, rolling his eyes. Joel had no idea what he was talking about. ―I‘m sure next Monday will be clear,‖ he said. ―Try again next week?‖ Andy nodded vigorously. ―Only, if next Monday rains out, we‘re going to your room instead.‖ Joel‘s heart thudded in his chest. ―Uh….‖ ―Don‘t get me wrong, we‘re still watching football,‖ Andy said. ―But I‘ll buy the beer. I have to do something to pay you back for the homework you‘re going to help me with from now on.‖ ―What?‖ A laugh broke from Andy‘s mouth. ―I‘m messing with you. Sorry—‖and he flushed harder—―I think I‘m tipsy.‖ Gorgeous was what he was, Joel thought, all smiles and dimples and endless, endless constellations painted all over him. ―I‘m happy to help, though.‖ ―Yeah?‖ Andy reached over and patted him on the arm. ―You‘re really so nice. All right, maybe I‘ll take you up on it.‖ ―Sure. Good night.‖ Joel moved as though toward the door, but Andy‘s hand was gripping his arm now, keeping him close. ―Um—‖
Rainy Days and Star Charts | 11 Andy looked down at his own arm in surprise. ―Oh. Sorry.‖ But his hand traveled slowly down Joel‘s arm, brushing his fingers briefly, before he let go. His gaze held Joel‘s for a long moment before he finally said, ―Good night,‖ and opened the door.
JOEL wondered, later, if he‘d imagined that moment, or maybe the whole evening—the closeness and the touching, the sense of latent electricity waiting to spark. Maybe Andy had been tipsy, but maybe Joel had been, too, and casual touches might have seemed more than they appeared. But then Wednesday rolled around, and there was Andy in astronomy class, not sitting down in front of Joel but instead finding the seat next to him. They exchanged snarky little notes on their notebooks throughout the class, laughing at the professor‘s radiator-drone voice and the not-sosubtle way a girl was reacting to every text that came in on her phone. Andy doodled caricatures of their classmates, stick figures with ponytails and bugged-out eyes tapping furiously on touch-screens, and Joel had to bite back laughter that threatened to erupt loud enough to have him thrown out of class. By the end of the lecture, he was wiping tears from his eyes and grinning stupidly. He thought about asking Andy what he was doing for dinner, but it seemed greedy somehow. He liked Andy in class and pining for star charts and telescopes, but he really barely knew him, and Joel hadn‘t ever gotten what he wanted out of pushing too hard. There was almost a ritual to it. Like the proverbial uncaged bird. Joel thought that if it was right, it would fall into his lap.
MONDAY night rolled around again and despite a forecast of rain, the skies looked clear when Andy met him at the dining hall for dinner. ―This time it‘s going to happen,‖ Andy said. ―I know it.‖ ―Of course.‖ Joel smiled benignly, trying to keep from staring too hard. Andy had come from a jog and a shower, and his copper hair was matted down, his limbs still flushed from exertion. To make things worse, he was wearing shorts, baring skinny legs just as peppered with
12 | Ellen Holiday freckles as the rest of him. Joel felt the frightening urge to drop to his knees and examine each one, memorize them, draw his fingers across them. There was nowhere on Andy he didn‘t want to touch. How he kept up his side of the conversation Joel wasn‘t certain. Andy was asking him about his upbringing, how he got into astronomy, and Joel must have mentioned something about his parents because Andy sat back and laughed. ―My mom didn‘t give a shit how I did in school. She just wanted to make sure I was sufficiently manly. I‘m talking when I was six.‖ ―I was actually upset my parents didn‘t make me do more sports,‖ Joel said. ―It‘s never been a big theme in my family, we‘re all intellectuals, I guess, but I could have used some muscle.‖ ―Yeah, me too.‖ Andy pinched his own bicep, and Joel fought a rush of blood to the groin. ―You look like you‘re in good shape to me,‖ he said. Andy flushed. ―Mom was pissed because she couldn‘t stop me playing pretend. She figured after age six boys ought to give up on having imaginations. Girls get to pretend they‘re fairy princesses right up until their wedding day, but guys have to face reality.‖ ―What did you pretend?‖ Joel asked. ―Not that you were a fairy princess, I‘m sure.‖ Andy laughed aloud. ―Used to pretend I was a space alien, of course. I used to pretend I was seeing Earth for the first time, and I would make these observations in a robot voice, and Mom would get embarrassed.‖ A vision of tiny, freckled Andy walking like a robot and embarrassing his mother popped up in Joel‘s head, and he thought he would expire from the sheer cuteness of it. ―Observations like what?‖ ―Like ‗Small people inside a box are hitting balls with pieces of wood. Does not compute,‘‖ he said. ―Or ‗Many old females are in the room wearing long, multicolored curtains.‘ That one was for her book club. Everyone laughed but Mom.‖ ―I can get why she might be mad.‖ ―But the one that really got her,‖ Andy said, ―was ‗Humans go boy-girl boy-girl. Does not compute.‘‖ Joel caught his breath. ―Oh.‖
Rainy Days and Star Charts | 13 Andy flushed and shrugged his shoulders. Joel leaned forward over the table. His hand inched toward Andy‘s. Then the lightning struck. Andy leaped to his feet. ―Aw, no!‖ He plastered his palms to the window as the rain began to fall—the skies boiling over with clouds, now, a thick broth of gray-brown, obscuring any hope of stars through the darkening skies. Joel watched the hope that had been bubbling through Andy‘s body crash downward through his gut and fall puddling to the floor. Crestfallen for Andy‘s sake, he got up and walked around the table to join him at the window. ―I guess we‘re watching football again?‖ he asked. Andy continued to look up at the sky, his palms flat on the window. ―Hey.‖ Joel placed a tentative hand on Andy‘s shoulder. Andy started, and his gaze fell to Joel‘s. ―We could still look at star charts. So we know what to look for next week.‖ His fingers wandered upward to the crook where Andy‘s shoulder met his neck, from T-shirt to skin. He touched four freckles, the shape of Andromeda, and then dropped his hand. Andy gulped hard. ―Yeah,‖ he managed, ―that‘s a good… a good idea.‖ Joel‘s lips felt swollen and useless. He nodded his head toward the exit because he didn‘t trust himself to speak another word. Awkward, unspeaking, they made their way toward the elevator. Joel punched the button for his floor. The door rumbled its way closed. The air between them was thick. Joel could feel a buzzing in his limbs, a restlessness that grew with each whir of the elevator‘s gears, each silent second that passed between them. He could barely stand being around Andy and not touching him, and he couldn‘t see any way to keep it under wraps for one single second longer. And Andy‘s disappointment was palpable. Joel should not be pondering making things even worse. Clearly he should say something. He should warn Andy that he had feelings for him. He should explain that it was all right if Andy didn‘t feel the same way, that he still wanted to be friends.
14 | Ellen Holiday Under no circumstances should he press Andy up against the wall of the elevator and kiss him. Damn it. Andy‘s skin was hot under his touch. Joel couldn‘t believe the smoothness of it, the way the freckles lay just beneath the surface, like distant stars he could see but never feel. He gave a soft noise as they kissed, sucking on Andy‘s full lower lip, feeling excitement rise through him. Hands clutched at his chest, and he couldn‘t tell if they were pushing or pulling; either Andy wanted him to stop or he never did, and it didn‘t matter because Joel couldn‘t stop, couldn‘t tear himself away until he‘d tasted every corner and every angle of Andy‘s mouth, stained red with the juice he‘d had with dinner, tasting sweet and full like the burst of a fresh grape against his tongue. It took Joel‘s own voice echoing through his bones to tear him away. He heard first the smacking of lips, then a voiced exhalation, something like a sigh but shorter, more abrupt. Andy‘s hand had risen to his mouth, and he was standing there staring, eyes blank and round. Something was quirking at his lips that could have been a smile, or a curl of disgust. Joel couldn‘t tell the difference. And then the damn elevator came to a stop, dinging, at Joel‘s floor. The doors opened. Joel stepped out, held them open. ―Do you still want to—?‖ Still breathing shallowly, all his limbs flushed, Andy nodded, forced a ―Yeah,‖ through a slack jaw. He stepped out of the elevator. Shaking. His eyes were fixed on Joel‘s face. It took effort for Joel to turn away and start the journey to his room. Each step was punctuation to a raspy breath in or out, the constant questions—Do I turn my head? Do I look at him? Do I dare to touch?— sliding through his head with sickening speed. He‘d never had anything he wanted so badly, so close, so accessible, and been so scared to take it. The door to his room slid closed. Joel peered into the main room. No sign of his roommate. Good fortune. Or bad, depending on what Andy said next. ―So are we, uh—‖ Andy‘s voice came low and mellow, like the bass line under a melody. ―Are we doing star charts, then?‖ Joel met his eyes. A charge, a spark, kindling—something bright
Rainy Days and Star Charts | 15 and smoldering—hung in the air, hot enough that he could feel it in his breath. ―Is that what you want to do?‖ he said. ―Star charts?‖ A moment of breathless waiting, and then Andy shook his head. Hands slid onto his face; Joel‘s vision filled with bright orange bursts. Andy‘s lips found his, and Joel seized his shoulders, pushed him back against the wall of the small entrance area behind the door. Andy‘s whole body was hot under his, hard, athletic, supple, and when Joel skimmed his fingertips down Andy‘s arms he could feel the beginnings of gooseflesh, touchable bumps to match the smooth mottling of the freckles against his skin. Another smacking of lips. Joel‘s forehead met Andy‘s. This time there was no mistaking the smile on Andy‘s red-stained mouth. Joel watched it, felt his own smile unfold, lowered his eyes and kissed Andy again, once, trying to stay sweet. ―What about football? We could still watch football….‖ Andy‘s hands tugged on his cheeks again. Joel shut up. They began an awkward slow walk, laughing and heart-pounding, unsure footfalls and soft breaths guiding them through the room. Joel was going for the couch, but it was Andy who said ―You gotta have a bed in here somewhere,‖ and Joel‘s whole body went stiff with excitement and shock. ―I don‘t know much about… about how to—‖ ―I just wanna lie down,‖ Andy whispered, kissing him soundly, and Joel nodded, his jaw trembling, and backed toward the bedroom door. The bed wasn‘t much wider than the couch, but it was enough that Andy could fall onto it, dragging Joel over him. On his hands and knees, Joel looked over the expanse of Andy‘s body, shook his head and laughed. ―Is this really happening?‖ Andy‘s nose twitched. ―I hope so?‖ ―You have no idea—three weeks I‘ve been sitting behind you—‖ ―I‘m sorry I didn‘t turn around until last week, then.‖ Droplets pattered against the window. Joel felt as though his whole body were being doused in warm, enveloping rain. His fingers inched under the hem of Andy‘s shirt and hiked it up. ―Can draw star charts on your body,‖ he whispered, sinking his lips
16 | Ellen Holiday into Andy‘s neck, feeling the warm crescendo of skin exposed inch by inch. ―Daydreamed about it.‖ His finger found a brown nipple, and Andy shifted under the touch, biting his lip. ―Thought I could find every constellation on your arms, your face.‖ He nuzzled Andy‘s palm, made his way up his arm. ―Jesus,‖ Andy whispered, and his hands found a grip in Joel‘s hair. ―That‘s such a line.‖ ―What‘s wrong with lines? Lines work.‖ And to prove it, he licked one straight down, another across, drawing the Big Dipper with mottled freckles as points on the map. ―Makes me think—God—‖ as Joel‘s tongue drew a dash across his inner elbow. ―Makes me think you‘re good at this. Thought you didn‘t know much—‖ ―I don‘t.‖ Joel came up to touch their mouths together again. ―But I have a good imagination.‖ ―We have that in common,‖ Andy said. ―And here I thought you were all math.‖ ―I‘m pretty sure math has something to do with it.‖ Joel straddled Andy then, knees fitting around his hips and locking down. ―Rhythm, right?‖ One rock, gentle but astoundingly sure, and hardness found hardness in a white shock of sensation. Andy tipped his head back and moaned, the arch from shoulders to skull the most singularly beautiful shape Joel had ever seen. ―Oh, wow,‖ he whispered, and Andy nodded agreement, panting and laughing. Joel‘s mouth came down on Andy‘s, and for a long time they gave up on talking, just kissing and feeling, their hips rocking together in the perfect slow, deliberate rhythm. Just feeling the waves crest up between them. ―Joel,‖ Andy whispered, once, a single broken word in the midst of silent communion, and it was the most beautiful sound in Joel‘s entire world, the sound of his own name in that breathless voice. Lightning struck outside, and Andy seized up, petrified as though he‘d been struck. ―You okay?‖ Joel asked, hyper-concerned all of a sudden, sure that something would happen to shatter this moment. ―I‘m so good,‖ Andy said, a moaning lilt to his words. ―Hey, Joel?‖ ―Yeah?‖ Maybe this would be it, maybe this would be the moment it all went to pieces.
Rainy Days and Star Charts | 17 ―If I said I wanted us to be naked, what would you say?‖ He looked almost shy asking. Again, he was biting his lip, waiting for a response. Joel was all at once so hard he thought he might not make it through the answer. ―God, I—I would love that.‖ ―Yeah?‖ Andy‘s grin grew huge, waxing like the moon to fullness. ―Cause I don‘t know much either, I just—I want to try.‖ Clothes slipped away, fading and falling off the edges of the bed, and Joel gasped aloud as he ran his fingers down the white span of Andy‘s stomach, letting them catch on brown-flecked hipbones. The pressure drew from Andy an answering gasp, and, surprised at his own ability to make that happen, Joel took a deep breath and traced with a single finger a line down between his legs to pause, fluttering, at the base of his cock near his balls. ―You‘re so pink here,‖ he said. ―I‘m all brown, but you‘re pink.‖ ―I‘m brown everywhere else,‖ Andy said, and the way he said it made it seem like the most logical thing in the world. They looked at each other, and laughed, and glowed, running hot with currents of excitement. ―Can I touch?‖ Andy asked, his hand curled around Joel‘s thigh, straining upward but not daring to move. ―God, yeah,‖ Joel breathed, and without blinking there was Andy‘s hand on him, stroking up ruddy flesh, catching his balls in light fingertips. Joel gasped, a skyful of stars behind his eyelids, every last one of them exploding when Andy circled his cock in thumb and forefinger and drew a curved arc upward. ―Agh!‖ He lurched forward, breathing hard, his mouth coming down to latch onto Andy‘s neck. Andy‘s free hand landed on his back, a flat palm, calming his frenetically oscillating nerves. ―It‘s okay? It‘s good?‖ ―It‘s good.‖ Joel found his mouth, sucking a long kiss from it. ―Oh, God, it‘s so good, Andy—‖ Another stroke tore the words away. Joel clung to Andy‘s hips with his clawed fingertips, unable to do anything as Andy stroked him sure and easy, over and over. ―You—you‘re so good at this—‖ He kissed Andy‘s jaw frantically. ―You said you didn‘t know how—‖
18 | Ellen Holiday ―I don‘t,‖ Andy whispered. ―I swear I don‘t. I just—I have an imagination—‖ ―You don‘t understand. I‘m too—I‘m gonna—‖ A firm kiss to his mouth. ―Oh, God, Joel. Please do. Please.‖ Joel‘s vision went white. He heard himself cry out, felt his hips shift forward, and then pure release and bliss flooded him, overwhelming and potent as he came into the space between their stomachs. Andy‘s talented hand kept moving, kept milking him until he was shuddering and oversensitive, until he shivered at the merest brush of the pad of Andy‘s thumb against his sticky head. ―Oh,‖ he heard himself say. ―Oh. Oh.‖ Andy‘s other hand was on his back still, rubbing, gliding, soothing. Joel thought he‘d melt into the touch, go to all cool liquid. But now its sticky mate was easing its way up Joel‘s chest, taking hold of his shoulder to bring him close for lazy kisses. Andy‘s breath was quick, the search of his mouth insistent, and Joel felt inadequate, somehow, unfinished. He pulled upward to stare down at Andy‘s face, eyes raking down the length of his body and fixing on the proud pink jut of his erection. ―Let me do something for you,‖ he said. ―I want you to,‖ Andy said. ―I want you to draw those star charts on me… while I—‖ He circled his own cock with one hand. Joel‘s eyes widened. ―Really?‖ ―Really.‖ Andy blinked. ―Is that weird?‖ ―It‘s—oh, God.‖ Joel bore down on him. ―I love your imagination.‖ ―Yeah?‖ Andy shifted, moving up the bed. He grasped himself and started to stroke, his cock reddening from its gentle pink as his hand moved. Joel grinned and sat beside him, fingertips at last alighting on those gorgeous freckles and beginning to move. ―Orion,‖ he said first. ―His shoulders, one and two.‖ He dotted kisses on two brown flecks on Andy‘s cheeks. ―And his belt.‖ A licked stripe of tongue, across three. ―Right here, there‘s a nebula—bright stardust.‖ His fingers danced along the corner of Andy‘s mouth, then dipped under his jaw as he kissed Orion‘s two legs into being. ―Show me sometime,‖ Andy whispered between thin breaths. ―I wanna see.‖ His hips were jutting upward in short thrusts, his fingers
Rainy Days and Star Charts | 19 loose. Joel very nearly forgot what he was doing, so enticing was that brief glance downward. ―I will,‖ he said, forgetting his star charts for a moment and straining upward to touch his mouth to Andy‘s. ―It‘s bright blue. I‘ll show you.‖ ―Good.‖ Andy let his jaw hang open, breathing shallowly, muscles taut. ―More.‖ Joel‘s eyes searched briefly. ―Cassiopeia,‖ he said, finger coming down on a bright freckle at the ball of Andy‘s shoulder. ―One of my favorites. Shaped like a W.‖ He slid down, belly pressed against the bed, and kissed five bright points. Down and up and down again. ―I have a W?‖ Andy was half-laughing, shivering with each touch. ―You do. Here.‖ Joel licked a slow, wet trail between each freckle, and Andy moaned, hitched upward so fast he nearly shook Joel off him. Words tumbled from Joel‘s mouth, burned against Andy‘s skin. ―God, so hot. You should see.‖ Andy only said, ―More.‖ Joel moved down his body, depositing soft kisses on his stomach and watching, a delicious close-up, as Andy fucked his curled hand. He could have lost all his time there, but Andy lifted his other hand to push Joel downward. ―More,‖ he said again, a whine of desperation that extended the word out to its limit. Joel groaned himself, his cock twitching, burying his head in between Andy‘s thighs and breathing in the scent of him. ―Taurus,‖ he murmured, maybe too low for Andy to hear. ―The bull. Its body here.‖ He sucked a welt in the net cast by a cluster of freckles, passed his tongue over a stretch of white skin. ―Oh, God,‖ Andy was saying, ―oh, God, Joel—‖ ―Its head—‖ A stripe of wet tongue upward. Joel‘s mouth so close to the crux of his thighs now, the smell of him head-swimmingly dark and good. ―Here, his mouth—‖ ―Joel, I‘m close—‖ ―Its eye,‖ Joel breathed. ―A red giant called Aldebaran—‖ ―God!‖ Joel put his mouth around that bright red star of a freckle and sucked hard.
20 | Ellen Holiday Andy‘s whole body shook as he came; he nearly threw Joel backward, and it was only Joel‘s stubborn clinging that kept him connected to Andy as his orgasm wracked him. Joel had never seen anything so gorgeous as the white spatter of Andy‘s come land on his stomach, white freckles instead of orange against his skin for once. He crawled up Andy‘s body, kissed him until the last of the shudders was gone. Andy blew soft breath into his mouth. ―Oh my God,‖ he whispered. ―We‘re doing that again the next time we get rained out.‖ Joel‘s heart was a hummingbird beating frantically in his throat. ―Yeah, okay. But I‘m gonna start hoping it rains.‖
THE following week, the skies were clear for the astronomy club‘s star party. Joel and Andy held hands, steeled their nerves, and headed out to meet them. In the dark, at the hands of upperclassmen whose telescopes were carefully tracking Jupiter and Mars, the Big Dipper and its twin stars, Joel stood back and watched Andy look through each scope, watching his smile grow and his head bob up and down, mop of hair shaking even in the dim light. There was something to be said for clear days, too, he supposed. When Andy rejoined him, smile so huge his dimples were swallowing his freckles again, Joel beamed at him. ―Worth waiting for?‖ ―Oh, yeah.‖ Andy squeezed his hand. ―Didn‘t mind the wait, either.‖ Joel chuckled. It was strange, being here with Andy; he ought to be nervous, or embarrassed, about debuting themselves as a couple in public. But this wasn‘t about them; it was about learning to reach out and take a leap, to say hi to people they didn‘t know. Having Andy there was like having a center of gravity. Even if he fell, he would still have solid ground to land on. Maybe all he needed was to have that first success, that first saying-hi that didn‘t end badly. He walked forward to one of the telescopes and asked about its specs. The upperclassman grinned and began to show off her pride and joy; Joel nodded and admired. Somewhere behind him, Andy uttered a loud ―Wow!‖ Everyone
Rainy Days and Star Charts | 21 broke into laughter. Joel froze for a moment, afraid Andy would feel singled out, but a moment later Andy‘s voice joined in the laughter, the sweet tenor of it rising up over the group‘s. He shouldn‘t have worried; he knew well the joy of discovery. They all did. It‘s why they were here, and they were all still chasing it. Under clear skies, they were taking their first steps out into the universe.
22 | Ellen Holiday About the Author
ELLEN HOLIDAY started writing at the age of five and never stopped. Her passion has always been for romance, for the magic moment when words are no longer needed, breath stops, and the whole world consists of two souls connecting. Writing that moment, and all the madness surrounding it in every situation, remains her passion every day of her life. She works in Washington, D.C., where the mix of history, beauty, and politics keeps her constantly intrigued, and lives just west of the city with her husband, with whom she shares a love of science fiction, gaming, and all things geeky. They also share plenty of romantic moments of their own. Ellen Holiday can be contacted at
[email protected].
Tutor me, Love
THE band was good, the singer not so much, but the crowd seemed to love them. Zach wasn‘t really into the whole social scene at college; he couldn‘t afford to be distracted. The only things keeping him there were scholarships that needed a specific grade point average to be maintained, money he‘d saved from working at a grocery store since sixteen, and his job as a biology tutor. He‘d worked his ass off in high school and wasn‘t about to fuck it up when he‘d finally gotten out of Dodge and into a school that would guarantee he wouldn‘t have to go back to his hometown or his parent‘s house ever again. He leaned against the old oak tree that sometimes knocked on his dorm room window on windy days, scanned the crowd for his tutee, and let out a sigh when the singer began to make some kind of yipping noise that reminded Zach of the poodle Mrs. Mendez used to walk past his house. He couldn‘t stop his eyes from returning again and again to the guitarist on stage. He was cute for someone who was wearing a studded dog collar and Doc Martens. Blond, spiky hair that didn‘t move an inch as he jumped around while never missing a chord. He wasn‘t very tall— Zach figured at six-one he had at least four inches on the guy, even in the
24 | Ellee Hill boots. He wore a Marilyn Manson T-shirt and baggy jeans that looked like they were about to fall off if he kept bouncing around like that, and Zach kind of hoped he got to see it before he had to go. A quick look at his cell made him frown. Len was fifteen minutes late. Zach knew he‘d still get paid, but it pissed him off to be wasting his time like this when he had two papers to write and a quiz to study for. With a crashing, screeching, wailing crescendo, the music ended and the group of students crowded in front of the stage began cheering. Zach pushed off from the tree, gave a last appreciative look at the guitarist, and slipped his phone back into his messenger bag. Fuck it, he was going to the library.
THE following week, and two more missed appointments with Len later, Zach was in the Academic Resource office to meet with his supervisor. He was tired from pulling an all-nighter—again—frustrated with his tutee, and just looking to find someone else to meet with so he could keep getting a paycheck. Next year, he was pretty sure he would be able to snag a Residential Assistant position, which would cut back on his tuition, get him a stipend, and look good on his resume. For now, he had his tutoring, and he wasn‘t going to allow his reputation to be screwed with just because one stupid jock couldn‘t get his head out of his ass long enough to go over his biology homework. Zach looked up when his name was called and blinked at the guy standing next to his supervisor, Hillary. It was the guitarist he‘d seen playing at the De-stress Fest, minus the dog collar. Today he was wearing a Rob Zombie T-shirt with his baggy jeans and Docs. He had a black backpack slung over one shoulder and stood with his hip cocked, staring at Zach like he was a bug under a microscope. Annoyed, not just with the stare but because his dick decided to give a twitch hello to the other student entirely without his permission, Zach stood up and tried to smile at Hillary. ―Zach, I think I have a solution to your problem,‖ Hillary said, smiling and oblivious to Zach‘s mood. He‘d e-mailed her about why he wanted to see her, for this very reason, but not for this person. Unfortunately, before he could protest, Hillary continued, ―This is Deacon Anthony. He‘s a sophomore like you, and a Music major with a
Tutor Me, Love | 25 problem figuring out Doctor Hausen‘s bio class.‖ ―I don‘t—‖ ―Why don‘t you take the hour we were going to meet to discuss what Deacon needs and decide on a schedule. You can use one of the open testing rooms.‖ Hillary patted Deacon‘s shoulder. ―You‘re in good hands with Zach.‖ She smiled at them both before returning to her office. Aware of the secretary within hearing distance, Zach just muttered a sullen, ―Come on,‖ as he walked through the office area to the testing rooms. He didn‘t even know if Deacon was following him when he flipped on the lights and dropped his bag on the long table in room four. ―Zach?‖ said a low voice behind him. Zach jumped and looked over his shoulder. Deacon was standing so close Zach could feel his breath on his chin. ―Y-yes,‖ he stuttered, off-balance and hating it. He was the taller one, the tutor, in charge. ―Just how good are your hands?‖ Zach looked straight ahead, blue eyes wide and brain frozen. He felt Deacon move, heard the door close. What the hell was going on? ―I know I‘m not wrong, dude. Chill.‖ Deacon pulled out a chair and slid his backpack off his shoulder when he sat down, letting it fall with a thud on the floor. ―What?‖ ―You‘re gay,‖ the guitarist said slowly. ―Or do you really not know?‖ ―I know,‖ Zach hissed, embarrassment heating his face. He glared into laughing brown eyes. ―Not that it‘s any—‖ ―Of my business?‖ Deacon gave a soft huff of laughter. ―Man, you have one of Jonesy‘s drumsticks up your ass? Or, oh fuck, are you saving yourself?‖ Deacon made a face that almost made Zach smile. Almost. ―Shut up.‖ ―Got a boyfriend?‖ Zach sighed. ―Wanna fuck?‖ ―What?‖ Zach winced at how high his voice rose, not to mention
26 | Ellee Hill how loud. Deacon tilted his head back and laughed. ―Dude! Your face!‖ Zach sat down and shakily searched for his planner and one of the ten mechanical pencils he knew was in his bag. What was the matter with this guy? How could he just come out and— ―Aw, come on, I‘m sorry, okay? It‘s just, you‘re hot, right? Got that tall, dark, and fucking handsome thing going on.‖ A black nail tapped on the table near him. ―Dude. Zach. Look at me.‖ Zach sighed, something he had a feeling he‘d be doing a lot of over the next couple of months, and met Deacon‘s gaze. ―What?‖ ―We cool?‖ ―Whatever.‖ Zach opened his planner and clicked the green mechanical pencil. ―I can meet with you Tuesday at six.‖ ―Band practice.‖ Zach rolled his eyes. ―Seven then.‖ ―Nine.‖ ―I have a late class. Thursday?‖ ―We usually have gigs on Thursday at one of the Greek houses.‖ Zach noticed the change in Deacon‘s voice, but tried to ignore it. That flat disinterest bothered him. ―What about now? Wednesday at ten?‖ ―Fine. Ten.‖ ―Okay, we should meet here—‖ ―Fine, whatever.‖ Deacon got up, banging into the table and sending Zach‘s pencil skidding across the page. ―Wait!‖ Zach twisted around in his chair. Deacon stopped with his hand on the doorknob. ―I… I don‘t.‖ ―Don‘t what?‖ the guitarist asked, tone laced with impatience. ―Have a boyfriend.‖ Deacon speared him with an angry stare. ―I can see why.‖ Zach didn‘t have a retort, and no time to give one if he did. The door closed with a muffled slam behind Deacon, and that was that.
THE weird thing about living on a college campus is that you can pass
Tutor Me, Love | 27 by someone every day and not notice them until you do, and after that, it‘s like they‘re everywhere, and you wonder if you‘re the stalker or stalkee. Deacon should have stood out like a dandelion in the middle of a rose garden, but somehow Zach couldn‘t remember seeing him before the Fest, and even then, his face hadn‘t really stuck until their meeting at the AR office. As he watched the blond step into the elevator, Zach‘s heart sped up, a combination of embarrassment, fear, and anticipation setting his nervous system to buzz. Their eyes met and Zach swallowed hard, wanting to say hi, to make up for his stupidity from the day before, but Deacon‘s eyes narrowed and he turned around, leaving Zach to stare at the back of his head. The ride up to the 5th floor of the science building took roughly ten years in Zach‘s estimation, and he waited until everyone was off the car before making his own exit. Deacon was leaning against the wall, backpack at his feet, arms crossed, waiting for him. Zach stopped and sucked in a breath. He‘d spent a good hour after Deacon had left him alone in the test room the day before, trying to cool off after the jerk‘s parting words. How dare he? Deacon was the one being an asshole, and Zach got blamed for it? It hadn‘t even made sense! It wasn‘t until he was lying in bed that night, alone in the room because his roommate, Corey, was out with his girlfriend, that Zach had focused on the fact that Deacon had been flirting with him. Interested in him, and Zach had blown him off like it was an insult. Feeling like a total ass, Zach had replayed the scene over and over in his mind, thinking of all the things he should have said, could have done, instead of acting like an idiot. Deacon was hot; he‘d seen that when the guy had been playing on stage, and he was into Zach, and…. He‘d barely gotten an erection through the pity party he‘d thrown for himself, face mashed into his pillow. He always had a nice session alone when Corey wasn‘t around. He could make noise, draw it out, really get into the fantasy. Fuck fantasy, he could have had someone with him if he hadn‘t fucked it up! Now, standing across the hall, Zach cleared his throat, his gaze firmly set on the wall just over Deacon‘s shoulder. ―I… I‘m….‖ ―Dude, I can‘t be late for class. Spit it out.‖ Angry embarrassment made Zach‘s skin prickle with heat and he
28 | Ellee Hill glared. ―Fuck you.‖ Deacon rolled his eyes. ―Whatever, man. You‘re never gonna get laid with that ‗tude.‖ He bent down and snatched up his backpack. ―Later.‖ Zach stared after him for a second before his feet got moving. ―Wait!‖ ―Tell me on Wednesday.‖ Zach jumped ahead and stood in front of Deacon. ―I‘m sorry! Okay? That‘s all.‖ Deacon rolled his eyes. ―If that‘s all, can I get to class? The one I‘m failing and you‘re going to help me pass?‖ ―Oh, yeah. I….‖ Zach turned and watched Deacon walk away, wondering if he‘d ever dislodge the foot that seemed to be permanently stuck in his mouth whenever Deacon was around.
FINDING Deacon‘s e-mail address the next night was easy, though writing the e-mail wasn‘t. They should have exchanged phone numbers when they‘d set up the meeting, but Zach had been too busy alienating the guy to do something halfway as intelligent as that. Zach gave him another apology before typing his cell number with an invitation to text or call if their meeting time needed to be changed. He wanted to say something else, maybe try flirting a little, but he had the feeling it would be too little, too late. And besides, he really didn‘t need the distraction, even if he did want to get laid. After he sent off the e-mail, Zach gathered his books and notes to study. Corey was a new member of Sigma Something Something fraternity (Zach couldn‘t for the life of him remember the full name) and he‘d mentioned something about a late night. He hadn‘t bothered to invite Zach. They got along just fine, but Zach wasn‘t sure if they were actually friends, even after living together for going on three semesters. He‘d just returned to the room after a trip downstairs to pay the vending machine to feed his root beer addiction when his phone started vibrating from its spot on his bureau. He picked it up and crawled up onto his bunk, frowning at the missed text alert. The number was unfamiliar, and it wasn‘t until he hit ―view‖ that
Tutor Me, Love | 29 he considered that it might be Deacon and his stomach did some kind of acrobatic move that made him want to puke. He sucked in a breath and read the text: Dude. Zach blinked. ―Dude?‖ he said out loud. ―He‘s so….‖ My name is Zach, he texted back before quickly entering Deacon‘s number into his contacts list. Wanna sext? Zach considered actually calling Deacon to ask him if he was serious, but he had the sinking feeling he was. Breaking out into a nervous sweat was probably not the right answer to Deacon‘s question, so Zach texted back, Maybe another time. C’mon give Jonesy back his drumstick. It took a second for Zach to decipher that, and when he did, he flipped off his cell. Before he had a chance to text back, another message from Deacon popped up. U busy? Studying. Library? Room. What hall? ―What?‖ Zach stared at his phone. ―You‘re not….‖ His thumbs got to typing. Ur not serious? I’ll bring my Bio notes & beer. No beer. Dude. Drumstick. FU U keep saying no. Zach laughed and texted his dorm name before hopping down from his bunk and grabbing his room keys. It wasn‘t slacking off if he had a study partner, right?
ZACH watched Deacon coming towards him, hair pointing at the sky, same style clothes, but sneakers on his feet this time, instead of boots. He was wearing his backpack like he should, over both shoulders, loosely holding the straps with both hands. He grinned when he saw Zach
30 | Ellee Hill waiting by the doors. ―I have this bet going with myself,‖ Deacon said when Zach held his ID card in front of the reader. At the beep, he heard the door unlock and grabbed the handle. ―A bet?‖ ―How long it takes before you throw me out.‖ Deacon wiggled his eyebrows and bit the tip of his tongue. He looked ridiculous and Zach snickered, giving him a push through the door. ―I‘m not going to throw you out,‖ Zach muttered as they waited for the elevator. ―What about when I get drunk and develop grabby hands?‖ The elevator doors opened, and Zach waited until they were alone and on the way to the third floor before he said, ―I said no beer.‖ ―What if I pre-gamed? It is after eight on a Friday night.‖ ―Are you trying to piss me off?‖ Zach didn‘t ask why Deacon wasn‘t at some party or playing with his band on a Friday night. He… liked that Deacon was here with him. To study. ―Is it working?‖ Zach was still staring open-mouthed at Deacon when they arrived at his floor. Deacon stepped off the elevator and stopped the doors from closing. He pulled his cell phone out of his front pocket and checked the time. ―I lost. Unless you want to throw me out now.‖ Zach sighed. ―Down the hall, room 314 on the right.‖ He waved Deacon towards his room. Deacon was walking backwards, grinning. ―You‘re way too serious, dude.‖ ―Zach.‖ ―Gorgeous.‖ ―Would you turn around?‖ Deacon laughed as he turned and, unless Zach missed his guess, added a little extra wiggle to his walk. He really needed a root beer to deal with this. ―Did you bring your bio notes?‖ ―Yes, Dad.‖ Zach bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn‘t ask if being Deacon‘s dad meant he could spank him. Just thinking about it made his
Tutor Me, Love | 31 face heat up. Why did Deacon do this to him? It wasn‘t like he was a virgin. He couldn‘t claim slut status, but he definitely wasn‘t a virgin. So why did Deacon‘s open honesty make him feel like tucking his head into his shell like a turtle until the danger passed? He unlocked his door and let Deacon go in first, pulling in a deep breath and feeling his dick perk up at the clean, spicy smell of the guitarist. He let the door close behind him, noticing for the first time since moving in how really freaking small the room was. Deacon shrugged off his backpack and set it on the floor near the television Corey‘s mother had bought for the room. They didn‘t have cable, but there was a DVD player built into the set, and Corey had been steadily going through the library‘s movie collection while waiting for the next Netflix movie to arrive. Zach usually left for the library despite Corey‘s invitations to join him. The invitations had stopped this semester. ―Casa de Zach. Nice. I bet you‘re on top.‖ ―Do you have to make it sound so sleazy?‖ ―Yeah, I do. You get all pink, and it‘s really kinda cute.‖ Deacon crowded Zach against the door, not quite touching, but breathing the same air, and whispered, ―Do you really want to do homework or can I just suck your dick? ‘Cause I really,‖ Deacon slowly reached out and cupped Zach‘s thickening cock through his jeans, ―really want you in my mouth right now.‖ ―Why?‖ Zach banged his head against the door and squeezed his eyes shut. ―Forget it, I—‖ ―Are you a virgin?‖ Zach‘s eyes snapped open. ―No! I‘m just—you‘re—‖ ―Coming on too strong?‖ ―You think?‖ Zach looked down at Deacon‘s hand still holding him with a sure grip. ―I barely know you!‖ ―Wow, that hurts.‖ Deacon stepped back, letting his hand drop to his side. Zach immediately missed the warmth of his hand. ―Dude, you seriously don‘t remember me?‖ ―What?‖ ―Last year? Orientation? First year seminar?‖ Zach squinted as if that would help him remember, or see
32 | Ellee Hill something that might jog his memory. ―What are you—‖ ―I bleached my hair, but I don‘t look that fucking different. We worked on that stupid dog training project together!‖ Deacon was waving his arms in agitation. ―But that, his—your name? Isn‘t it Dean?‖ ―Deac, with a k sound, you dick. You got it wrong all fucking semester and I thought it was fucking cute because—‖ Deacon plowed his fingers through his hair and gave the strands a yank. ―This was a very, very bad idea.‖ He let go and bent to pick up his backpack. ―Dean—Deac, whatever. You‘re—?‖ Zach blocked the door, hands held out towards Deacon. ―You can‘t leave. I‘m not throwing you out.‖ ―I‘d rather make an ass of myself somewhere not here, dude. Move.‖ ―No, look, I‘m—I‘m not good with people. Faces. I—I‘m here to work, get my degree and—‖ ―Cool, move.‖ ―I jerked off last night thinking about you!‖ Zach, despite the tsunami of embarrassment washing over him, felt a fair bit of satisfaction at the way Deacon‘s mouth dropped open in shock. It was about time he got to turn the tables on him. ―You….‖ Deacon backed up a step. ―But….‖ ―I can‘t afford to let my grades drop, Deacon. I‘m on scholarships all the way.‖ ―So that means, what? No sex?‖ ―It means I don‘t pay attention. Fuck, my roommate tells me all the time, I just….‖ Zach leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. ―‗Go have fun.‘ ‗You need to get out more.‘ ‗You‘re too serious.‘ ‗Did you see that girl look at you?‘‖ he sighed. ―I hear it all the time.‖ ―He knows you‘re gay, right?‖ ―He does now, but he‘s not so good with scoping out hot guys for me.‖ Deacon lowered his bag to the floor again. ―You don‘t need him when you‘ve got me offering.‖ ―I‘m sorry I didn‘t remember you.‖ Deacon shrugged, but Zach could still see the hurt in his eyes, in
Tutor Me, Love | 33 the stiff way he moved. Like he was waiting to be rejected. ―I was kind of plain before….‖ He ruffled his hair. ―I… I doubt that.‖ Zach snagged a finger in the neck of Deacon‘s tee to pull him closer. ―I just wasn‘t paying attention.‖ ―Do I have your attention now?‖ ―Well, I do have that lit test to study—‖ Deacon‘s kiss was too rough, too wet, too deep for being the first one they shared, but Zach took it and gave it back in kind, grunting when he felt hands tugging at the button on his jeans. Deacon broke the kiss, panting. ―You—you fell asleep at the library once.‖ He stopped trying to get Zach‘s pants open and whipped off his own shirt instead, allowing Zach a moment to take in pale skin, lightly defined muscles, peaked nipples. ―You looked so….‖ He came back in for another kiss, this one gentle, questioning. Unsure. Zach almost asked about it, the library, being watched was just… weird, yet also weirdly flattering, but to ask would mean ending the kiss, so instead he sucked on Deacon‘s tongue and let his hands roam the smooth expanse of Deacon‘s back. He wasn‘t ashamed to say it had been a few months since he‘d had sex, or even kissed a guy, but somehow Deacon just felt better than anyone Zach had made out with. Tasted better. The way Deacon was so into him, maybe that was the difference, but Zach didn‘t want to think about it anymore. He pulled his shirt over his head, shuddering when Deacon pressed hard against him, hands back to work at his button and zip. ―Deac—‖ ―Shut up. I‘ve waited a year for this.‖ Before Zach could form a reply, his pants and underwear were around his ankles and Deacon was on his knees. Zach stared down at him, a little shocked at Deacon‘s eagerness, though he shouldn‘t have been, and a lot anxious to feel Deacon‘s mouth on him. Then there was wet heat, slight scrape of teeth, flutter of tongue; Zach‘s eyes dropped closed as his hands clenched in Deacon‘s hair, encouraging, begging, whatever it took to convey how much more he wanted of the perfect pleasure. Deacon used his hand when he pulled off, jacking Zach‘s cock slowly while he sucked on the head. Zach‘s legs trembled, and he bit his lip to stop himself from letting out the moan
34 | Ellee Hill building inside. His balls were drawing up, stomach clenching, back arching, but it was too soon. He pushed Deacon away, and tried to laugh a little, though it came out as little more than a wheezing gasp. ―Too much,‖ he managed to say, while he tried to convince his orgasm to fuck off until he was ready. Unfortunately, Deacon wasn‘t interested in letting Zach slow things down. ―Not enough,‖ he countered, licking his lips and pressing forward again. Not wanting to hurt him, Zach let go of his hair, fingers sticky with product. He didn‘t care, not with Deacon‘s mouth back on him, wet, hot suction, pressure, rhythm…. He knocked his head back against the door and grabbed the doorknob. Knees locked so he wouldn‘t fall on Deacon, he heard himself make a soft, weak noise before he was coming like he‘d never stop. ―Wow,‖ Deacon whispered hoarsely, a few fuzzy minutes later, face pressed into Zach‘s stomach. He was breathing hard, face sweaty. Zach concentrated on staying upright while his brainwaves swirled, and clumsily patted Deacon‘s shoulder. ―You?‖ he managed to say, though it sounded like a croak. He cleared his throat. ―Ah, did you…?‖ ―Almost. Won‘t take much.‖ Deacon gave a weak huff of laughter and looked up. His lips were red and raw, his eyes glassy like he was drunk. At some point, he‘d opened his jeans and his cock was peeking out, the tip flushed and glistening with pre-come. Zach swallowed hard. ―Stand up,‖ he whispered, giving Deacon‘s hair a yank. Deacon weaved a little when he was on his feet. Zach reached between them for the stiff dick poking his thigh, pushing Deacon‘s jeans and underwear down enough for a good grip. He got his hand around the hot length and kissed Deacon when his eyes squeezed shut. It only took a few strokes before Deacon was moaning into his mouth, hips jerking as he coated Zach‘s hand with spunk. Deacon slumped against him, hot breath tickling Zach‘s neck. Zach didn‘t let go of him, just loosened his grip and curved his other arm over Deacon‘s shoulders, hugging him close. Deacon licked his neck. ―Wow,‖ Zach murmured with a grin. ―Can you make it over to my bunk?‖ ―Yeah. Climb up? Not so sure.‖ Zach nuzzled the side of Deacon‘s head. ―I need to wipe off my hand.‖ ―You‘re ruining the moment,‖ Deacon grumbled, but when he
Tutor Me, Love | 35 leaned back, he was smiling. Zach kissed him, just a sweet peck, wondering how he‘d missed how cute Deacon was all this time, especially when he remembered how they‘d had a class together and worked on a project. Had he been blind? When Deacon licked his lips, Zach changed ―cute‖ to ―hot‖ and felt his dick stir. The come on his hand was cool and gross, but Deacon was still half-hard, which meant the fun was definitely not over. Then his eyes moved from Deacon‘s mouth to the bed where his books lay, and his stomach clenched. Shit, he still had to start that paper for Leiben. He had to— ―Zach?‖ Zach sucked in a breath and shook his head, sliding away until he could put some distance between them, and pulled his jeans up selfconsciously. Deacon was watching him, pants around his thighs, hand hovering to cover his junk. There was a furrow between his dark brows that Zach wanted to smooth out with his thumb. Instead he grabbed the back of his desk chair. ―I‘m sorry.‖ Deacon blinked. ―What?‖ ―Look, that was—it was amazing, and I want to—but I can‘t. I can‘t let my grades slip.‖ ―Are you shitting me?‖ Deacon yanked his jeans up and fastened them, movements jerky. His face was pink, anger or embarrassment, maybe both. He picked up his shirt and put it on inside out. Zach watched him, feeling like an asshole. Deacon liked him, had crushed on him all year, and what was he doing? Getting off and throwing him out. ―I‘m sorry,‖ he repeated, not knowing what else to say. He remembered Deacon, then ―Dean,‖ saying something about his parents having money. He wasn‘t at school on a scholarship. He didn‘t need the degree to prove a goddamned thing. Deacon stopped by the bed, his back to Zach, hands on the bunkframe. He was silent, body still and stiff, head slightly bowed forward. Zach could see himself walking over, sliding his arms around Deacon‘s waist, kissing the back of his neck. His grip on the chair got tighter. ―I knew there was something.‖ Deacons sighed. ―You were… disconnected at Orientation. So focused in class. It was like, getting you to see me was a challenge.‖ ―Or a game?‖
36 | Ellee Hill Deacon shrugged. ―Maybe. You‘re hot, even with your nose in a book. When I see you, I….‖ He fell silent and Zach stared down at the floor. What would have happened if he‘d taken a moment to really look at ―Dean‖ when they were doing that project together? ―I know Corey.‖ Zach looked up. ―What?‖ ―He‘s a sound tech for Student Activities, so he helps us set up for our gigs sometimes. He thinks you‘re gonna be up in the bell tower by the end of the year.‖ ―That‘s ridiculous.‖ Deacon shouldered his backpack and turned around, but he wouldn‘t look at Zach. ―All work and no play….‖ ―I won‘t go begging my parents for money for school. This scholarship? Tutoring job? I can‘t lose either of them.‖ ―You‘ve definitely taught me something.‖ ―Deacon….‖ ―I really don‘t get why it had to be you, but I‘m pretty sure I can get over it now. Thanks for the hand job, Z.‖ Deacon flipped him off with a big, fake smile and walked out the door.
ZACH spent the weekend hiding in the library, studying until he had a headache, stopping to scarf down something from the vending machine on the second floor, then returning to the back corner in the basement to study some more. If he kept his mind occupied, he couldn‘t think about Deacon. It was stupid anyway, mooning over someone he barely knew. So what if they‘d been in the same Orientation group? He barely remembered Orientation, there had been too much information being thrown at him to commit names or faces to memory. Who cared if they did some dog project first semester? He hadn‘t remembered Deacon‘s name, so obviously he hadn‘t been interested then. And now? He was just horny, and his ego liked Deacon‘s attention. That was all. Monday classes barely registered on his tired, overworked brain. Tuesday, he was late to meet his other tutee, Sarah, who kept asking him if he was okay. The urge to spill his guts made his stomach hurt, and they ended their session early so he could rush to the bathroom and dry
Tutor Me, Love | 37 heave. He woke up on Wednesday morning feeling like he‘d been dog piled by the whole football team, and he laid in bed staring at the pockmarked drop ceiling tile over his head until his eyes crossed and his bladder screamed at him to get up. Corey was gone, he realized, when he dragged his ass out of bed and down to the bathroom. Which meant it was after nine, and he needed to hurry if he wanted to take a shower before meeting Deacon. If he showed. Zach scrubbed himself hard and fast until his skin was pink. His dick, half hard since he‘d let himself think about Deacon, was ignored. He didn‘t deserve to get off, not today. Not knowing it would be Deacon‘s face he‘d see in his mind, Deacon‘s hands he‘d imagine on him… as he had each time he jerked off since Friday. He made it to the Academic Resource office with one minute to spare, giving the secretary, Cathy, a weak smile as he passed. It was crazy to hope Deacon would be waiting when he reached the study room, and when he wasn‘t, Zach had a hard time swallowing as he dropped down into one of the plastic chairs, bag hitting the table hard and falling to its side, books spilling out. Not that he noticed. Zach buried his head in his arms and just breathed, telling himself over and over again that it didn‘t matter, it was just a fucking blowjob, it didn‘t mean anything. Nothing at all. ―They pay you to sleep?‖ Zach sat up so fast the room tilted and he had to grab the edge of the table or risk falling out his chair. He stared at Deacon, who was standing in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, watching him with narrowed eyes. ―I….‖ I’m sorry is what he wanted to say, but his tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he could only watch Deacon as he entered the room and sat across from him, bag thumping on the table, nudging Zach‘s lit notebook. Deacon slumped back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. ―You look like shit.‖ Zach swallowed down the lump in his throat, and his right ear popped. ―Yeah, I…. You, you look nice.‖ Deacon shrugged. ―We gonna crack the books or just sit here
38 | Ellee Hill making awkward conversation?‖ ―Books, biology, right. I just….‖ Zach reached for his scattered books, noticed his hand shaking and snatched it back. ―Dude, you take something?‖ ―No! No, I just, I haven‘t slept—‖ ―I don‘t care.‖ It didn‘t hurt to hear him say that, voice flat, face expressionless. It didn‘t hurt at all. Zach was numb, his mind loud with white noise. He began methodically putting his books back into his bag, aware of Deacon watching him, of his heart pounding a hole in his chest. ―I need to go.‖ ―What? Oh, come on, Zach.‖ Zach shook his head. ―I—this is just—‖ ―Fucked up? No shit.‖ Deacon sighed and leaned forward, elbows on the table. Zach hated how much he wanted to crawl across the table and kiss him. ―Maybe… I should go and see if there‘s someone else—‖ ―There isn‘t anyone else. Not for this, not for—‖ Deacon stopped and shoved his chair back. He took two steps away before turning back and pointing at Zach. ―You are an asshole.‖ ―I know!‖ ―Good.‖ Deacon scratched the back of his head, gaze on his Docs. ―You busy tonight?‖ ―Just… studying.‖ Deacon looked up and rolled his eyes. ―Do you really think if you let yourself have fun for a few hours you‘re going to lose your scholarship?‖ ―And when a few hours turns into skipping class to recover from having fun?‖ ―Z, I‘m not asking you to chug a keg. Shit. Just, we‘re just practicing at Mike‘s. Jonesy brings his girlfriend.‖ Deacon‘s face flushed. ―Not, not that you‘re my—‖ ―Okay.‖ Zach blinked. He hadn‘t meant to say that. He opened his mouth to take it back, but closed it again as a tentative, happy smile lit up Deacon‘s face. The white noise receded, but his heart still thumped fast and hard, his skin heated.
Tutor Me, Love | 39 ―Bring your books, that‘s cool. Callie brings hers if she comes alone.‖ ―Do I have to talk to her?‖ Deacon chuckled. ―Maybe.‖ He stuck a hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone. ―Not enough time to bother studying. Want to go to the caf? I‘m starving.‖ So was Zach, but he was feeling guilty about not doing his job. He was very much not thinking about how this was the first step of a downward spiral. ―I don‘t—‖ ―We can study after practice.‖ Zach snorted. ―Right.‖ ―No messing around until after. Promise.‖ ―It can—‖ Zach bit his lip, wondering if what he was going to propose sounded too egotistical. ―What?‖ Deacon leaned a hip against the table near Zach. ―It can be a reward?‖ Deacon‘s smile was reassuring, but it was his whispered, ―Fucking awesome‖ that allowed Zach to breathe again. Deacon straightened, looked towards the glass window, then surprised Zach with a quick kiss to his lips, hurrying around the table before Zach had a chance to kiss back. ―Let‘s eat.‖
ZACH met Deacon at the student union at eight, messenger bag over his shoulder. Deacon hefted his guitar with an exaggerated grunt that made Zach smile. They hadn‘t said much while eating together that morning, Zach because he was pretty sure if he spoke he‘d say the wrong thing, and Deacon because he was too busy shoveling food into his mouth. He wasn‘t piggish, but the guy definitely had a good appetite. ―It‘s just over on East Street,‖ Deacon said when they‘d reached the sidewalk. ―Okay.‖ Zach shifted the shoulder strap of his bag. ―Deacon.‖ ―Hm?‖ ―If you‘d, I mean, if I was you… I was such a dick.‖ Deacon was quiet. Zach shifted his bag again in agitation.
40 | Ellee Hill ―Guess I‘m just hard up.‖ Zach almost stopped walking, but he forced one foot in front of the other. He wasn‘t sure what he was expecting, but that sure as hell wasn‘t it. ―Oh for—you‘re so thick, Z! I like you, don‘t ask me why, because you are a pain in the ass. No, you‘re not a pain in my ass, that‘s the problem.‖ ―My parents sent me to conversion therapy when I told them I was gay,‖ Zach said, staring straight ahead. ―Fuck.‖ ―I won‘t go back there. I won‘t take a dime from them, and I‘m damn well going to prove I can make it on my own. That being gay isn‘t bad or wrong.‖ Zach wiped at his eyes, annoyed at the moisture that gathered there whenever he thought about how his parents had let him down while telling him it was he who was the disappointment. ―Fuck. Fuck, Z. Stop, wait.‖ Deacon grabbed his arm and Zach stumbled to a halt, Deacon hugging him hard a second later. He let out a shuddering breath and hugged Deacon back. ―I could have gone to State, it would have been cheaper, but I—‖ ―Had to prove your point. I get it.‖ With a squeeze, Deacon let go, and Zach let him step back. ―But you‘re going burn out before graduation, man. Gonna go all The Shining, be running around with an axe.‖ ―I go for walks, or—‖ ―Alone, right?‖ At Zach‘s nod, Deacon sighed. ―I‘ve decided to be your boyfriend. You need someone to take care of you, keep you out of the bell tower.‖ ―Come on, Deacon, I‘m not that bad.‖ ―You saying you don‘t want to be my boyfriend?‖ Zach‘s breath caught in, a flash of fear kicking his heartbeat into overdrive. ―I didn‘t say that.‖ ―I‘m not a fuck up, you know. I‘ve got a three-point-eight GPA.‖ Zach blinked. ―But—‖ ―I just suck at biology. If my parents didn‘t have money, I could have gotten a full-boat scholarship, too.‖ Deacon shrugged. ―You ever heard of not judging a book by its cover?‖
Tutor Me, Love | 41 ―Shut up.‖ Deacon laughed. ―Make me.‖ Zach kissed him.
ZACH still didn‘t think the singer was anything special, but he had to admit that Deacon was pretty amazing on the guitar. He especially liked it when Deacon would play while looking at him, showing off with a sexy grin. Deacon good-naturedly took the ribbing from his friends when he missed a few notes when Zach stood up and stretched his arms over his head, doing a little showing off himself as his shirt rode up enough to reveal his flat stomach. He was stepping outside of his safety zone and liking it. He sat with Callie at the card table set up in the corner of the garage, both of them with their books open, both sipping from quickly warming root beers. He wasn‘t exactly comfortable talking to Callie, but she had warned him right away that she had a Macro test to study for and had barely taken her eyes off the textbook in front of her since she‘d opened it. Zach had snuck looks at Deacon for the first half hour, but soon he made the music into his studying soundtrack and got to work. He was deep into the inner workings of the human intestinal system when a hand rubbed his shoulder. Zach‘s highlighter flew straight up and he was almost out of his chair when someone threw their arms around his neck from behind, keeping him seated. Then Deacon murmured in his ear, ―Whoa, big boy. It‘s just me.‖ Zach‘s heart should have slowed, but with Deacon leaning on him, his hot breath against his ear, it just wasn‘t happening. He couldn‘t catch his breath, and he dropped the highlighter he‘d just picked up again when he felt the wet tip of Deacon‘s tongue on the shell of his ear, followed by a teasing nip of teeth. ―Deac—‖ A soft, breathy chuckle in his ear made Zach‘s eyes flutter closed. ―Let‘s go. I need a kiss.‖ Zach cleared his suddenly constricted throat. ―Um, okay.‖ He looked over at Callie, who was watching them with a smile. Face hot, Zach turned his attention to packing his books back into his bag. He paused when Deacon‘s arms slid away. ―Got to help Jonesy break down the drum kit. We‘re playing the
42 | Ellee Hill Delta House tomorrow night.‖ ―Okay.‖ Zach felt Deacon leave, and he sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly. A soft laugh made him glance up at Callie. ―He brought this guy to practice last semester, cute, smart, like you.‖ She rolled her eyes. ―And wow, did he know it.‖ Zach bit the inside of his cheek, but didn‘t speak. ―Deac‘s a good guy, Zach, and he‘s had a crush on you forever.‖ ―Yeah, he told me—‖ ―He didn‘t nibble Pat‘s ear.‖ Zach blinked. ―Okay.‖ ―You seem nice. I don‘t want to have to hurt you if you break his heart.‖ ―Did—did that other guy break his heart?‖ Zach asked, leaning back a little, away from the pretty girl who was giving off scary vibes. ―No, Deac just needed to get laid. Pat was good for that, and that was it.‖ ―I‘m concerned about my grades dropping.‖ Callie waved a hand. ―Deac would open a vein if he didn‘t at least make Dean‘s List every semester. He‘s a geek, like the rest of us.‖ Zach studied her, the blonde, cheerleader type that he‘d always deemed airheads, not worth his time. Don’t judge a book by its cover. ―What‘s your major?‖ ―Neuroscience. Ben, that‘s Jonesy, is studying forensic science, CSI stuff. Trey, the singer? He‘s a business major, but he‘ll be going to culinary school after getting his degree here. He plans on opening a restaurant. And Sean, the bassist, is a theatre major. He‘s going to waiter at Trey‘s place, I think.‖ She giggled and made shushing noises. ―The band?‖ ―For fun. We all met at Orientation, we were in the same group. With you, but Deac says you don‘t remember us.‖ ―Well, I—‖ ―Can‘t fault him for being a dork,‖ Deacon said, appearing at the table, carrying his guitar case. He ruffled Zach‘s hair. ―Nobody‘s perfect.‖
Tutor Me, Love | 43 Zach‘s brain was whirling with these new facts, his heart a little guilty for pegging Deacon and the band as slackers, even if he hadn‘t consciously thought it. How many other people had he done the same thing to since coming to school? What about Corey? He stuffed his books into his bag on autopilot and slung the strap over his shoulder. ―Are you coming to the gig tomorrow?‖ Callie asked as Zach turned to follow Deacon out of the garage. He stopped and looked back at her, unsure of his response. It wasn‘t like anyone had invited him, and Dr. Bennett had been giving quizzes every Friday since the beginning of the semester. ―Sure he is,‖ Deacon answered for him. ―We just need to hit the library first, right?‖ Zach‘s stomach filled with butterflies. ―Yeah, right.‖ ―Good,‖ Ben/Jonesy said, coming over to stand behind Callie. ―You can make sure no one hits on my woman.‖ Callie tilted her head back and blew him a raspberry.
―YOU really coming tomorrow?‖ Deacon asked as they walked back to his room. Zach had told him Corey wouldn‘t be around, but Deacon said he was in Mallard Hall, next to the library, which was also a shorter walk from Jonesy‘s place. ―Do you want me there?‖ ―Duh, Z.‖ Zach grinned. ―As long as I can study for my quiz, yes, I‘ll go.‖ Deacon didn‘t respond, his eyes on the sidewalk, and Zach wondered if there was something wrong, but then he heard Deacon laugh. ―Cool. So cool.‖ ―So, um….‖ Zach swallowed and took a deep breath. ―Is your roommate—‖ ―I have a single.‖ Zach‘s heart started thumping hard and fast. ―Oh.‖ ―We‘ll study, Z. I want my reward.‖ ―A kiss first, right?‖ ―With a lot of tongue.‖
44 | Ellee Hill Zach couldn‘t stop from chuckling when he met Deacon‘s sly sideeye look.
ZACH‘S jaw dropped when he stepped inside Deacon‘s room. He didn‘t even hear the door close behind him. The first thing he said was, ―It‘s huge!‖ Or at least it seemed so compared to Zach‘s room, which was shared by two. The second was ―You have a real carpet!‖ Which seemed a strange thing to notice, but Zach had always loved lying on the the thick wall-to-wall carpet in his bedroom at home and couldn‘t enjoy the same in his room at school with its hard, tiled floor that was freezing in the winter no matter how warm the room itself was. There was a bunk-bed like Zach‘s, but the bottom bunk was set up like a couch, not a bed, so he assumed Deacon slept on the top bunk, too. A desk was pushed against the wall under the window, books and notebooks neatly stacked on the surface beside a closed laptop, and on the wall hung a cork board covered with papers of various sizes and colors. A poster of some guy playing guitar was on the wall opposite the desk, but Zach didn‘t recognize the musician. He figured he wouldn‘t know who he was even if Deacon told him. ―I couldn‘t afford—‖ Zach stopped, face heated, but Deacon just gave a huff of laughter as he opened the closet door and carefully put away his guitar. He quickly took off his boots and set them inside as well before closing the door. ―Mi casa es su casa. When I‘m not here, I can give you my key. If, you know, you don‘t want to deal with the library.‖ Deacon stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and hunched his shoulders a little, giving Zach a smile. ―I‘d… yeah, okay. Thanks.‖ Zach returned the smile. He had the worst urge to giggle like an idiot. ―Were you serious? About, uh, being boyfriends?‖ Deacon stepped closer and began to slide Zach‘s bag off of his shoulder. Zach took a breath and let him, swallowing when it was on the floor and Deacon was pressing himself close, arms around Zach‘s waist. ―Yeah,‖ he whispered, kissing Zach‘s chin. ―And about needing a kiss?‖ He shivered at the feel of Deacon‘s hot breath on his neck.
Tutor Me, Love | 45 ―Mmmhmm.‖ ―About studying?‖ Deacon leaned back, frowning. ―Yes, okay?‖ Zach‘s brain was trying to override his libido, sending out mayday signals until he thought maybe Deacon could see them flashing behind his eyes, but Zach had a guy in his arms who liked him, who thought he was hot, and for the second it took to make his decision, that was all that mattered. ―I don‘t want to study,‖ he said, inwardly cringing at the words, but not backing down. Not when Deacon made a noise like ―yay‖ into Zach‘s mouth as he shoved his tongue inside. He had to be on his tiptoes, and when Zach rocked back under the force of Deacon‘s kiss, their mouths parted. Zach sucked in a lungful of air to gasp out ―Floor!‖ and they dropped down to their knees, the carpeting not much of a cushion, but Zach was beyond caring as he pushed Deacon over so he could stretch out on top of him. ―You better be sure about this,‖ Deacon said, then grunted as he did a half crunch to pull his shirt off, flinging it to the side. Zach pushed up to his knees and took off his own shirt, his gaze fixed on Deacon‘s six-pack. He was a little jealous, but more than that, he wanted to run his tongue over those ridges. ―Not at all,‖ Zach answered, his hands busy opening Deacon‘s jeans. Deacon laughed. ―I just don‘t want to be fuck buddies,‖ Deacon clarified, grabbing Zach‘s hands in a tight hold until Zach met his brown eyes. ―This isn‘t a hook up.‖ ―You said we were boyfriends.‖ Zach tugged at the hold on his hands. ―Was that a joke?‖ ―No.‖ Deacon let go and laid back, hands under his head. ―I do want to be together.‖ ―Then this isn‘t a hook up.‖ Zach gave Deacon a look. ―Can I get you naked now, or is there something else we need to discuss?‖ ―Homework? Studying?‖ ―After.‖ ―You‘re sure?‖ Zach sighed and grabbed the waist of Deacon‘s jeans and
46 | Ellee Hill underwear before knee-walking backwards, pulling as he went, easing over Deacon‘s erection, then tossing the bundle behind him. ―I am so very sure. A lot sure,‖ he whispered, staring down at his naked boyfriend. Deacon‘s face and arms were just slightly more tanned than the rest of his pale body, from being outside in a T-shirt, but Zach couldn‘t care less. He had a smattering of chest hair, and that six-pack…. Zach fell over onto his hands and licked one long stripe from belly-button to clavicle, moaning at the salty taste of Deacon‘s skin, the way he shuddered and his legs moved restlessly between Zach‘s. ―God, Z… why do you still have—‖ Deacon tugged on Zach‘s hair. ―Pants. Off.‖ ―Yeah. Right.‖ Zach pushed up again, then got to his feet, quickly toeing off his sneakers and almost frantically getting out of his jeans. He had a flash image of himself doing some kind of stripper move with Velcro pants and was still grinning when he lowered down to his knees. Deacon spread his legs, bending them so Zach had room, and it made Zach‘s dick leak a drop of pre-come. He‘d never had someone do that, want him so blatantly. Usually, it was something quick, a mutual need to get off, having nothing really to do with who they were as much as just having a hard cock. ―Shit, condoms!‖ Deacon did a crab scramble out from under Zach, who bit his lip in an effort not to laugh. He watched Deacon rummage through the top drawer of his bureau, a little happy that he actually had to look for them, which told Zach Deacon didn‘t make a habit of hooking up. ―Where the fu—oh, yes!‖ Deacon pivoted, a strip of silver foil condoms held triumphantly in his hand. ―Oh… wow….‖ Zach curled his hands into fists at his sides so he wouldn‘t hunch over and cover himself. He was slender and took care of himself, but he didn‘t have Deacon‘s definition. He wasn‘t sure about his chest hair either, dark and a little too thick for his taste—he liked the sparseness of Deacon‘s—but then he realized Deacon wasn‘t looking at his chest or stomach; his gaze was lower. ―I didn‘t really take time to just look,‖ he said as he knelt down, dropping the condoms and reaching for Zach. ―You sucked on it,‖ Zach reminded him, hearing the way his voice wavered.
Tutor Me, Love | 47 Deacon shot him a quick smile. ―It was over too fast, I was too nervous.‖ ―You‘re not nervous now?‖ Zach sighed when Deacon‘s hand closed around him loosely. ―Yeah, but….‖ Deacon shrugged. ―This is my room, you can‘t throw me out.‖ Zach snorted and bit Deacon‘s shoulder. ―Shut up and get on your back.‖ ―Look at you, all toppy and shit.‖ But Deacon was on his back so fast, Zach felt like he was moving underwater as he leaned over to initiate another kiss. He lined up their dicks and rubbed, almost sure he was horny enough to get off in less than a minute of just a bit of humping, but knowing that wasn‘t what he wanted. ―Lube?‖ he asked, kissing and nipping his way down Deacon‘s neck. ―Fuck.‖ ―I could….‖ Zach licked a tiny, pink nipple. ―Rim you.‖ ―Holy shit, no, uh, no, but, I want it, but, I‘m.‖ Deacon‘s babbling would have been cute except he was trying to move again and Zach just flopped down on top of him to keep him in one place. ―No rimming, got it, it‘s okay.‖ ―What? No, I love it, the one time I got it, but I haven‘t, it‘s just, shower? And—‖ Zach started laughing and tucked his face in that inviting space between Deacon‘s neck and shoulder. ―Shower first before rimming. Noted. Where‘s the lube, you freaking dork?‖ Deacon stilled. ―I‘m not the one who spends twenty hours a day studying, you nerd. Under my pillow.‖ Zach bit down just hard enough to make Deacon yelp before pushing himself up to his feet. Again. ―Like a fucking jack-in-the-box,‖ he muttered, feeling under the pillow until he found his slightly sticky prize. ―Do we need anything else while I‘m standing, because once I‘m back down there? That‘s it.‖ Deacon sucked on a finger and pulled up his legs, reaching down to circle his hole. ―Um, I don‘t think so….‖
48 | Ellee Hill Zach couldn‘t move, his eyes opened wide as he watched the tip of that teasing finger dip in, then out, in a little deeper, then out. He‘d never seen anything so hot in his life, not even in porn. He‘d done it before, watched his finger sink in like that, knowing he‘d be fucking that tight ring of muscle, but it hadn‘t felt like this, like his whole body wanted in, not just his dick. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, opening them as he breathed out. ―Zach?‖ Zach swallowed and nodded. ―I‘m, yeah, okay.‖ He almost tripped over his own feet taking the three steps back to Deacon, falling to his hands and knees so he could lean down and suck just the head of Deacon‘s cock, lick at the pre-come. He flicked open the bottle of lube with his thumbnail and let a little drizzle down over Deacon‘s fingers, getting him slick. ―Condom… on. C‘mon Z, get in me,‖ Deacon moaned, two fingers now opening him up, and Zach couldn‘t stop himself from slowly, slowly adding one of his own. Pressing his cheek against Deacon‘s knee when he heard a quick intake of breath from above, and near to coming when Deacon took it, so hot and tight it was almost unbearable. It was agony to pull away, find the condom, and get it on. His own touch had him panting, and as he shifted closer, knees nudging Deacon‘s ass as he lined up, he tried to think about the most unsexy things ever to make sure he wouldn‘t blow it before he even got inside. He couldn‘t think of anything except fucking Deacon. ―I‘m going to last two minutes,‖ Zach warned, watching Deacon‘s glistening fingers slide free, his hole squeezing shut, reddened and waiting. ―We‘re young; quick recovery time. Fuck me, now.‖ Deacon grabbed the back of his knees, pulling himself so open that Zach could only hold his breath and push forward, biting his lip at the resistance but not stopping, pushing, pushing until Deacon let him in, and he exhaled on a low groan. ―All the way,‖ Deacon whispered. ―Give me more.‖ Zach wanted to stay still, he knew if he moved he‘d come, but Deacon let go of his legs to curl up, one hand on the back of Zach‘s neck. They stared at each other as Zach began to move, slow thrusts that went a little deeper each time, until he was all the way in, balls deep, and Deacon‘s eyes were almost closed as he lay back.
Tutor Me, Love | 49 ―You—you have to—‖ Zach couldn‘t finish it, couldn‘t tell Deacon he had to jack himself because there was no way Zach could since it was going to take every ounce of concentration not to lose it before he‘d even pulled back enough to feel the drag. ―Whatever, just move.‖ Deacon ran his hands up Zach‘s arms, to his chest, pinched his nipples, and Zach had no control over his body any longer. His hips moved with quick snaps, back and forth, in and out, until Deacon was grunting with each upstroke, hand on his cock, staring up at Zach as if he‘d never seen him before. The tell-tale tingling at the base of his spine had Zach fucking faster, harder. He wanted to make Deacon come before him, but then he reached a point when it just didn‘t matter. He was so close, his balls aching, sweat pricking at his hairline. And then Deacon curled up, Zach‘s name gritted out like he was trying not to yell, and Zach‘s cock was squeezed so fucking good, he almost blacked out. He felt the first hot splash on his stomach and that was it. He‘d had a romantic idea of kissing Deacon as he shivered through his orgasm, but all he could do was press as deep as he could as he filled the condom, arms shaking from exertion, sparkles dancing behind his closed eyelids.
―THAT was longer than two minutes.‖ Zach turned his head to look at Deacon. They were side by side on the floor, on their backs and staring up at the ceiling. Zach‘s brain was still offline, and he blinked, hoping he could string a few words together soon. ―It was really good.‖ Zach grinned. ―You moonlight as a gigolo?‖ ―Mmm.‖ Zach snuffled a laugh into Deacon‘s shoulder before rolling to his side so he could fling an arm and leg over him. ―Tutor.‖ ―You‘re a sex tutor?‖ Deacon rubbed Zach‘s arm. ―Dork.‖ ―Nerd.‖ ―That too.‖ They were quiet, and Zach began to think about his homework,
50 | Ellee Hill Deacon‘s grades, the party he said he‘d go to. Could he really balance having a boyfriend with keeping his grades up and his job? He thought about Callie, the blonde neuroscience major, and wondered why he didn‘t know what Corey‘s major was. Wondered what he‘d been missing since coming to college. ―The conversion therapy didn‘t work.‖ Zach kissed Deacon‘s shoulder. ―I let them think it did. That‘s how I got out of it.‖ ―That really sucks.‖ Deacon got his arm around Zach, and held him in a loose hug. ―Do your parents know the truth now?‖ Zach remembered the day he got the final letter about the scholarships, the one that guaranteed he would be set as long as he kept his grades up and his nose clean. The look on his parents‘ faces when he told them the news; how proud they‘d been. The way his mother had dabbed at her eyes and his father clapped him on the back and said he‘d done well. ―Yeah.‖ Tears of joy had turned into sadness and horror when he‘d revealed that conversion therapy had not worked. That he‘d been waiting for graduation to tell them the truth. He remembered the slap from his father that had sent him to the floor. The yelling. Packing. Staying with friends until he‘d gotten permission to move to campus early for preorientation, taking part in a community service program he had no interest in but that allowed him to move into his room before he took even more advantage of his friends than he already had. ―I won‘t let you slack off.‖ Zach‘s nose itched, his throat tightened, and his eyes burned with the threat of tears. ―Okay.‖ ―Every point you drop is a day, no, a week we don‘t fuck.‖ ―Deacon.‖ ―Yeah?‖ Zach got an elbow under him and smiled down at his boyfriend. ―Thanks.‖ ―For what? Being a great distraction?‖ Deacon wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. ―Yeah, and for getting it. I didn‘t think you did, but….‖ ―I don‘t know how much I get, I just know I like you. If that means
Tutor Me, Love | 51 more studying? I‘m okay with that. I know my parents won‘t mind.‖ Zach kissed Deacon‘s cheek, his nose, then his lips before saying, ―And no slacking on your bio tutor sessions.‖ Deacon snickered and pulled Zach back down for another kiss.
52 | Ellee Hill About the Author
ELLEE HILL is a native New Englander who has dreamed of seeing her stories in print ever since winning the Young Authors contest in the fourth grade. It was her love of books, and her father‘s way with words, that began her journey into writing. A lover of travel, French fries, and Angry Birds, Ellee got over her fear of rejection by posting fan fiction while creating original works on the side. It‘s thanks to the support of her friends and family, and their amazing examples of courage and determination, that she made that final push to get her first story published. When told the good news, her mother said happily, ―Honey, it‘s about damn time.‖ Ellee couldn‘t agree more. Ellee lives with her partner of 10 years and two cats who rule the household. She can found on twitter as @ellee_hill.
Inspiration
ERIC‘S pen squeaks as he carefully writes out his equations on the smooth surface of the whiteboard. He adds the final variable and steps back, re-capping the marker and crossing his arms over his chest as he surveys his work. His eyes run over the neat, green lines of algebra, his brain working through each of the logical steps of the proof, checking and verifying. He spots his first mistake in the third line—a factor of two spuriously appearing from out of nowhere and unbalancing the symmetry of the calculation. He winces at how ugly it looks and steps forward quickly, uncapping his pen and grabbing an eraser, to correct it. The offending ink disappears easily under the touch of the soft felt, and he sighs in relief as he sets the equation right. He steps back again and continues to look through the calculation. There‘s still something wrong with it; it doesn‘t look quite right. When his calculations are correct, Eric knows it—can sense it in the inherent beauty of the algebraic expressions, in the clean and perfect lines of the math. The guys at Fermilab had been right, if not entirely practical, in their original naming of the third generation of quarks—truth and beauty, the perfect dual descriptors for the facts of hard science. But he can‘t see them in his proof at the moment—almost, he can see enough of their
54 | Claire Russett potential to know he‘s on the right track, but he‘s not there yet. He frowns at the whiteboard, closing his eyes for a moment against the glare of the lights reflected in its glossy surface. Sometimes he really misses blackboards. Well, that‘s not entirely true, because blackboards are harder to clean, the chalk often makes his nose run, and he somehow always seems to end up entirely coated in dust by the end of the day, but still, they are easier to stare at. He recalls with fondness the three months he‘d spent visiting the Erwin Schrödinger Institute in Vienna when he was no more than a lowly PhD student, working on the theory that would become his first landmark publication. The Institute had been full of blackboards, literally miles of them lining every corridor and hanging in every room throughout the building. You never know when inspiration is going to strike—there had even been blackboards in the toilet cubicles. Eric idly wonders what the scientists of the future will use, whether black or whiteboards will inevitably give way to tablets and SMART Boards. He winces slightly to himself at the thought. Computer terminals are all very well and good, but sometimes you need to write out an equation, stand back and just look at it. Monitors and pads of paper are no good for that. Even the big projection screens don‘t really serve the same purpose—it‘s so much easier to follow the flow of inspiration when you‘re fluidly writing out algebraic expressions by hand than when you‘re having to clumsily code them by keyboard. He supposes that SMART Boards come close, but somehow they just aren‘t the same. Perhaps in the future they‘d have some kind of funky mind-reading boards, the kind to which only the top labs would have access, and on which any formulae they wanted appeared automatically as soon as they thought of them. A small smile twitches at the corner of Eric‘s mouth— that would be cool. He‘d have to broach the subject next time he sees Matt, try to get the engineer‘s imagination fired up and see what happens. A thrill runs through Eric at the thought—inspiring Matt was something of a passion of his. Realizing that his thoughts are about to take a detour he certainly does not have time for, Eric gives himself a shake and forces his concentration away from thoughts of Matt and back to the board. He‘s currently working on an approximation scheme to predict particle masses, with the vague idea of using it to help redirect the Tevatron collider‘s search for the Higgs boson. The calculations involved are incredibly complex, and he has to account for an
Inspiration | 55 unprecedented number of different variables. It‘s not a vital project by any means. Europe‘s Large Hadron Collider is just about to start its summer run, meaning the entire project may very well all be in vain. But Eric is never one to back down from a challenge, and since he first had the idea, he‘s been working on it in his spare time. As a result, it will most likely be months before he‘s even ready to start the simulation phase, let alone book some time at the collider itself to make the necessary adjustments and run some actual collisions. He‘s still in the early phase of the approximation—trying to deduce the theory analytically before he moves on to the numerical calculations. But he won‘t be able to do any of that if he can‘t get this damn proof right. ―Okay,‖ Eric mutters to himself. ―So, if the first iteration of x is that, then it means that… ah….‖ He trails off to add another factor to the fifth line of the proof and then redresses the balance on the other side of the equation. Standing back, he looks over the results. ―That‘s somewhat better… hmm….‖ He continues to work through the algebra. He‘s lost in a maze of spiraling symbols when a soft voice echoes through the lab. ―Hey, Eric.‖ Eric smiles, but keeps his back to the door and his eyes fixed on the whiteboard in front of him. ―Dr. Wilkinson,‖ he says, trying his best to sound busy and snappish. ―Am I to assume from your presence here that you‘ve finished your project report for the faculty review?‖ He hears Matt groan in disgust behind him, and then a pair of strong arms close tight around his middle, taking him by surprise. ―Close enough,‖ a voice growls in his ear, and Eric shivers as Matt lowers his mouth to trail a line of kisses down his neck. Eric turns in Matt‘s embrace and pushes him back slightly. ―Are you insane?‖ he hisses. ―Not in the lab.‖ Matt grins at Eric and grabs him by the arm to reel him back in. ―Then let‘s go someplace else,‖ he suggests brightly as he wraps his arms about Eric again and goes back to sucking on his neck. Eric moans as Matt laves and sucks on his sensitive skin, letting his head fall back to give Matt more room to work. ―God,‖ he complains halfheartedly. ―You‘ve been stuck behind your desk for too long again, haven‘t you? You have far too much energy for this time of night.‖
56 | Claire Russett ―Yup,‖ Matt agrees, pulling back to waggle his eyebrows at Eric suggestively. ―Wanna come help me burn it off?‖ Eric can‘t help but smile back at Matt‘s infectious good humor. It‘s so rare that Matt allows himself to truly relax like this, and whenever he does, Eric is always amazed that Matt chooses to be with him. Of course, Eric knows that the only reason Matt is acting the way he is now is because he‘s gone a little stir-crazy from having spent the day doing paperwork. Plus, it‘s well past ten at night, so the entire Physics Department is deserted, and Matt has been sure to close and lock the door securely upon entering the lab—he is always cautious when it comes to protecting Eric and their relationship. As he looks into Matt‘s smiling face, Eric finds himself leaning forward to kiss him. Matt responds immediately, obligingly tilting his head and opening his mouth at the first flick of Eric‘s tongue against his lips. Matt‘s hands reach to clasp Eric hips, fingers digging in slightly as he pulls Eric to him. Eric moans into Matt‘s mouth as he feels Matt‘s cock, already half-hard, pressing against his thigh. For a moment, he gives in completely, allowing his arms to slip fully around Matt‘s shoulders so that their bodies are pressed tightly together. Matt deepens the kiss, twining his tongue around Eric‘s before thrusting fully into Eric‘s mouth. Matt takes charge of their embrace, his hands moving from Eric‘s hips around to cup his ass and grind his now fully erect cock against Eric‘s own. He starts walking Eric backward, and it isn‘t until Eric feels the solid surface of the wall against his back that he realizes that he‘s just about lost complete control of the situation. ―Hey,‖ he says, forcing himself to pull away from Matt‘s mouth. ―I… uh….‖ He loses track of his thoughts for a moment as Matt regards him with dark eyes, his mouth wet and red from their kisses. Matt‘s hands are braced on either side of Eric‘s head so that he is effectively trapping Eric in place with his body. ―You?‖ Matt prompts helpfully, raising an eyebrow in question. As a method of getting Eric‘s thought processes back online it fails miserably. Matt still has Eric pinned bodily to the wall, and he starts slowly grinding his hips forward, the movement rubbing their erect cocks up against each other in such a way that sparks off ripples of pleasure which run through Eric‘s entire body. ―I… ah… I….‖ Eric tries again for coherence, but his hips are already moving in small thrusts to counterpoint the movement of Matt‘s.
Inspiration | 57 Matt‘s eyes are growing darker by the second as he leans his head in toward Eric to take his mouth once more. God, Eric thinks hazily, this has to be one of the most perfect things in the universe—to be kissed so hungrily by Matt, to feel Matt‘s body press hard and heavy against his own, and to have Matt‘s hard cock rocking into his own leaking erection. Eric moans around Matt‘s tongue as one of Matt‘s hands slips between them to tweak a nipple, causing Eric‘s hips to buck forward convulsively. ―Yeah,‖ Matt whispers encouragingly into Eric‘s mouth. ―Yeah, Eric, that‘s it. God, you‘re so hot, I want you.‖ Matt‘s hands move lower still, one moving over the bulge in Eric‘s pants to palm his cock through the fabric, the other moving behind him to trail down the crack of his ass. Eric whimpers and then gives in completely, just lets his body go limp and relaxed in Matt‘s embrace, trusting Matt‘s strength to hold him steady, just as it always does. At Eric‘s capitulation, Matt practically growls his approval into Eric‘s mouth, teeth biting down gently on Eric‘s lower lip before smoothing over it with his tongue. Matt‘s hands make short work of Eric‘s T-shirt, and Matt only stops kissing him to pull it over his head. Then his mouth is back on Eric‘s, his lips and teeth and tongue all driving Eric to the point of absolute distraction. When Eric feels Matt‘s thumbs circle lightly over both his nipples, he throws his head back and arches into Matt‘s touch. Matt responds by licking his way across Eric‘s jawline and then making his way down to Eric‘s chest. Keeping Eric‘s hands pinned by his sides, Matt draws the tip of his tongue very lightly over the peaked top of Eric‘s right nipple. Eric shivers and tries to thrust his chest forward into Matt‘s mouth. ―Be good,‖ Matt warns in a low voice. ―I don‘t want to be rushed.‖ Eric moans at the promise of pleasure Matt‘s voice holds. Matt returns his attention to Eric‘s nipple—he licks a broad strip across it, just once, and then returns to his teasing, gentle lapping. He flicks his tongue over the peaked tip a few times, and then traces carefully all the way around the very edge. Eric moans and twists his head from side to side as the pleasure streaks through him, building steadily with every touch. His cock is full to bursting, pressed up tight against the zipper of his pants, and as Matt starts laving his nipple harder it feels almost as if Matt is tonguing his dick directly. Suddenly Matt
58 | Claire Russett sucks Eric‘s entire nipple into his mouth, biting down gently with his teeth. Eric lets out a sharp cry and thrusts his hips forward, so close to coming that he only just manages to stop from spewing all over himself before Matt has even touched his cock. Matt pulls back from Eric‘s chest, letting go of his nipple almost reluctantly and straightening up to look into Eric‘s face. Eric leans forward to kiss Matt, hard and needy, hips thrusting forward as his aching dick searches desperately for something to rub against. Matt releases his grip on Eric‘s arms, bringing his hands up to cup Eric‘s cheeks, angling his head to deepen the kiss. Eric groans into Matt‘s mouth, reaching around to fill his hands with the cheeks of Matt‘s ass and pull Matt‘s groin into his. At the contact, they both go a little crazy, kissing and humping and grinding up against each other through their clothes, both desperate for completion. Matt pulls back first, moving back out of Eric‘s reach, one hand gripping the bottom of his shirt. With his eyes never leaving Eric‘s, Matt pulls his shirt off one-handed, the sinewy movement revealing his toned chest. His hands then skim lightly over his stomach, drawing Eric‘s gaze down to his pants. Eric can clearly see the swell of Matt‘s erection through the fabric, and there‘s a small damp patch of fluid at the top of the bulge, from where Matt‘s cock is leaking pre-come. Matt slowly lowers his zipper and pushes his pants down. His cock springs free, hard and weeping, and the sight of it makes Eric swallow thickly and surge into action. He manages to get rid of his own boots, socks, and trousers, gasping a little as his dick is released from the confines of his trousers. By the time he looks back up, Matt has also finished stripping. He‘s watching Eric with eyes so dark they‘re almost black, and lazily pumping his dick with slow strokes. For a moment the movement of Matt‘s hand mesmerizes Eric— Matt‘s long fingers curled into a loose fist, his wrist twisting slightly on each down stroke, the red, wet head of his cock appearing and disappearing within his hand. Eric licks his lips, and he can already practically taste Matt, feel Matt‘s cock stretching his lips wide, sliding thick and heavy over his tongue to hit the back of his throat. Eric starts to lean forward, intent on dropping to his knees and swallowing Matt down; he needs Matt in him now. But before he can do so, Matt stops him with a hand—slightly damp from jacking himself off—on his arm, and dangles a tube before his eyes. Lube; oh, God yes—that‘s what he wants,
Inspiration | 59 Matt‘s cock inside him, hard and deep and pounding. As Eric‘s eyes fly to Matt‘s face, he‘s already babbling out his approval. ―Oh, yes, Matt. Please, need you….‖ His desperate flow of words is swallowed by Matt‘s mouth, Matt‘s tongue pressing inside him, Matt‘s cock nudging against his belly, his own cock sliding wetly over Matt‘s stomach. When Matt‘s fingers close tightly on Eric‘s hips, urging him to turn around and face the wall, Eric willingly allows himself to be positioned. Matt‘s arms stretch out over his own, Matt‘s body pressed tight to his back for a moment, as he braces himself against the wall. Matt pulls back slowly, trailing his fingers gently over Eric‘s forearms and biceps to clasp his shoulders. He darts forward once more, his breath hot against Eric‘s skin, to place a kiss on the bone at the top of Eric‘s spine. ―Perfect,‖ Matt whispers, his hands squeezing Eric‘s shoulders gently as he rocks his hips forward, once, twice, with slow deliberation. Eric shivers in anticipation as Matt‘s dick slides slickly up between his cheeks. Matt pulls back again, and Eric hears the sounds of him opening the lube. Eric bends over slightly, still bracing himself with outstretched hands, spreading his legs wider and pushing out his ass to make it easier for Matt. ―Yes, that‘s it.‖ Matt‘s voice is low and sounds as needy as Eric feels. Then Matt‘s hands are on his ass, palms cupping his cheeks and fingers dipping into his crack. Matt parts him with one hand, the other trailing down his crease, circling his hole and tugging gently on his balls. Eric moans and pushes his ass backward into Matt‘s hands. ―Come on,‖ he urges. ―Get on with it. Get inside me.‖ He hears Matt‘s broken laugh—half amusement, half desire—and is glad that he‘s not the only one teetering right on the edge. Then Matt‘s finger is slowly working its way inside his body, and all rational thought stops. He‘s tight and it burns a little, despite the lube and his own arousal. He breathes deeply, consciously trying to relax. Matt‘s still holding Eric‘s ass with his free hand, but he has moved closer and is now crooning praises and dropping soft kisses onto Eric‘s back, his lips and tongue caressing Eric‘s skin. Matt‘s finger is all the way inside him now, circling his channel, pressing, searching, there. Eric groans and pushes
60 | Claire Russett back into Matt, hard, as Matt‘s finger rubs over his prostate. The pain is totally forgotten now as sparks of pleasure run through Eric‘s body, and his cock pulses and twitches before his eyes. ―More,‖ he orders, his voice rough and shaking. He hears Matt‘s sharp intake of breath, and then a second finger is sliding into his ass alongside the first. Eric‘s eyes drift closed as Matt starts fucking him slowly with his hand, twisting and scissoring his fingers to stretch Eric‘s passage. Eric is vaguely aware that he‘s breathing heavily, panting and groaning with each release of breath, but he‘s far too lost in the pleasure of Matt‘s fingers to care. The withdrawal of Matt‘s fingers makes his eyes snap open; his ass feels horribly empty, and he feels the muscles open and close, as if trying to draw Matt back inside. ―God, Eric,‖ Matt grits, and then the snub head of his cock is pressing firmly against the entrance to Eric‘s stretched hole. They both groan as Matt pushes his dick through the first tight ring of muscle. Eric starts rocking backward, trying to get Matt‘s cock more fully inside him, wanting nothing more than for Matt to slam forward and start fucking him hard. Matt is holding himself very still. He‘s breathing heavily and his hands grip Eric‘s hips tightly. ―Wait, wait,‖ he pants. ―Now,‖ Eric orders, because he needs Matt to move before he goes insane. ―Come on, Matt, do it. Just fuck me.‖ That does it. Matt groans, long and low, and finally pushes his dick all the way into Eric‘s ass. Eric moans as he feels Matt bottom out inside him, Matt‘s balls slapping against his skin. Matt really starts moving then, pulling out slowly then slamming back in hard, the head of his dick pressing against Eric‘s prostate. Eric thrusts back in counterpoint to Matt‘s movements, fucking himself on Matt‘s cock just as hard as Matt‘s fucking into him. Matt moves his hands from Eric‘s hips, one reaching up to hold Eric‘s shoulder, the other moving around Eric‘s body to fist Eric‘s cock. Eric is seconds away from coming. Matt‘s hand on his dick is perfect, his grip tight and his palm slick with lube and Eric‘s own pre-come, and Matt‘s ramming into Eric‘s ass solidly, his cock putting pressure on Eric‘s prostate with every inward thrust. Eric‘s eyes squeeze closed, and he feels his ass clench down hard on Matt‘s cock, his hips stuttering as
Inspiration | 61 he feels his dick start to pulse and spew as he comes. He‘s vaguely aware of Matt shouting out his completion behind him and feels the hot, thick flood of Matt filling his ass. Eric trembles in the aftermath of his orgasm, Matt‘s body pressed tight up against his back. Matt is heavy and sweaty, and he is panting harshly into Eric‘s ear—and it‘s as close to perfect as Eric could ever have imagined. Matt‘s arms wrap themselves tightly around Eric‘s waist, and he starts trailing lazy kisses from Eric‘s neck down across his back. As he moves, his softening dick slips wetly out of Eric‘s ass, and Eric shivers at the loss. He can feel Matt‘s come starting to seep slowly out of his body, and it drips thickly down the insides of his thighs. The sensation is incredibly erotic, and part of him wants to follow it down so that he is nothing more than a melted puddle of pleasure on the floor. Matt sinks slowly to the floor behind him, pressing soft kisses down Eric‘s spine as he goes. When he reaches Eric‘s ass, Matt slides his tongue teasingly down the crack, sending fizzles of pleasure sparking through Eric, making his hips buck, and his knees finally give out on him. He collapses in a heap on the floor, cushioned somewhat by their discarded clothes and immediately enveloped by Matt‘s embrace. ―This is precisely why we don‘t do lab-sex,‖ he complains halfheartedly to Matt as he tries to find a comfortable position on the hard floor. Matt makes a noncommittal noise, his hand stroking over Eric‘s belly, pulling Eric close and spooning up behind him. ―Yeah,‖ he drawls at last, ―it‘s worth it though.‖ ―Hmm,‖ Eric replies, unable to argue with the sentiment. He grumbles to himself a bit more about the hardness of the floor and the lack of padding on Matt‘s body, but grabs Matt‘s discarded jacket to use as a makeshift pillow while he gathers up sufficient energy to pull on the rest of his clothes. ―And we should probably get dressed and get out of here before someone feels the urge to come back to work and finds the door mysteriously locked.‖ Matt grunts in agreement, but remains where he is, a warm and comforting presence curled up along Eric‘s back. Suddenly, however, Matt moves. He reaches up to grab one of the marker pens from the little shelf at the base of the whiteboard, and then hauls himself to his feet, uncapping the marker with his teeth as he levers himself up with one
62 | Claire Russett hand braced on Eric‘s shoulder. ―Hey, what do you think you‘re doing?‖ Eric asks, scrambling to his feet as well. ―Don‘t you dare mess up my equations. I‘m so very close to….‖ He trails off in favor of just watching as Matt stares at the whiteboard, his eyes narrowed slightly as he studies the equations, twirling the whiteboard pen around in his hand. It‘s like something out of one of his fantasies, Eric thinks—Matt Wilkinson standing naked in his lab, his cock still half-hard and wet from their shared pleasure, a pen in his hand, completing complex calculations. ―Ah-ha, there it is,‖ Matt says at last, a triumphant smile crossing his face and lighting his eyes. He reaches forward and scrubs out a few symbols with the bottom of his fist before quickly replacing them with a new scrawl of numbers. It takes Eric‘s lust-filled, orgasm-scrambled brain a good couple of seconds to realize what Matt‘s doing, and still a few more before he is able to actually follow the changes Matt is making. When his brain clicks back into action, his mouth falls open in astonishment. ―Oh, my God,‖ he says. ―You‘re right, you‘re totally right.‖ Matt smirks at him, resting one hand on his bare hip as he turns toward Eric. ―Yeah,‖ he drawls, nudging Eric with his shoulder. ―We lowly engineers do know a thing or two about math, you know.‖ Eric rolls his eyes at Matt, but otherwise his attention is still squarely captured by the equations on the whiteboard. Matt‘s subtle alteration to one of his substituted variables has brought the whole proof into perfect focus—so much so that he can almost see the graceful curve of the distribution it describes and feel the pulse of the potential energy it generates. ―It‘s beautiful,‖ he whispers, one hand coming up to hover over the final expression. Beside him, he hears Matt hum his agreement. From out of the corner of his eye, he sees Matt recap the pen and set it back down. Matt moves then, coming to rest behind Eric once more, his arms closing about Eric‘s waist and his chin hooking over Eric‘s shoulder. ―Yeah,‖ he agrees, his voice low and intimate in Eric‘s ear. ―It is.‖ Eric smiles and turns his face so he can kiss the side of Matt‘s mouth. ―As are you,‖ he says, feeling slightly mushy for saying it, but unable to keep the emotion to himself. He feels Matt‘s smile bloom under his lips.
Inspiration | 63 Matt tilts his head to meet Eric‘s kiss, soft and deep. ―Come on,‖ he whispers, his tongue flicking delicately over the roof of Eric‘s mouth. ―Let‘s get dressed and get out of here. After all, my work here is done, and I‘ve still got plenty of energy left to burn.‖
64 | Claire Russett About the Author
CLAIRE RUSSETT is a researcher who is lucky enough to live in the lively town of Brighton in the UK. She believes in exercising just enough to justify her love of baking, loves all things sci-fi and is a scientist at heart. The three most important things in the world to her are her daughter, her husband and her laptop. You can e-mail Claire at
[email protected].
Second Beginnings
AS PROFESSOR Braydon Rothfuss wound down the first lecture of the year, he looked out over the classroom, proud that the small lecture hall was filled to capacity again this year. His second year seminar, ―Vice and Deviance in Ancient Greece and Rome,‖ was always popular with students. He was under no illusions about the fact that at least a quarter of his students signed up because it fit their schedule and another quarter because they hoped the class would be mostly about sex (and they wouldn‘t be disappointed there—the ancients weren‘t bound by many of the stigmas surrounding sex these days). But the rest wanted in because they‘d heard he was a good professor, tough but fair, either through word of mouth or from his very positive teaching reviews on the popular web site ―Rate My Professor,‖ where he‘d also gotten three ―chili peppers‖ (not that he was counting) attesting to his status as a ―hot prof‖. As he switched off the mic attached to his blazer and powered down his laptop, a small cluster of students surrounded him. Most simply wanted to ask him which tutorial they‘d been assigned to, whether there was a midterm in the course, when his office hours were… the answers to all of the above were, of course, clearly spelled out in the course
66 | Leora Stark syllabus, but he was patient with each one. Others felt he talked too fast or the readings for that week were too long, too complicated. Many of them were new to college and still getting used to the idea that they had to figure things out by themselves, while others were simply overwhelmed and under-prepared. Most would adjust. Those who didn‘t would slowly stop coming to class and then quietly withdraw from the course. It was a difficult course—which many didn‘t expect, given the sexy title—and he prided himself on challenging his students. He felt strongly that most of them were up to it. After the crowd cleared and most of the students had filed out of the hall, Braydon noticed that one student remained behind. Tall, well-built, wearing a grey hoodie, kneelength shorts, and flip flops, with a well-worn backpack slung over one shoulder, he looked like your typical undergrad upon first inspection. However, as Braydon looked a little more closely, he re-evaluated his assessment. The guy was obviously older than most second-year students—he looked to be about twenty-two or twenty-three—and Braydon noticed the gleam of what looked to be army tags strung around his tanned neck. And his face, well, his face was anything but typical. Rough but beautiful at the same time: striking green eyes, strong jawline framing full, sensual lips…. ―Uh, Professor?‖ the student said hesitantly. Braydon started visibly, realizing he‘d been unabashedly staring. He cleared his throat. ―Sorry, long day.‖ He shook his head ruefully and smiled, trying to relieve the awkwardness. ―What can I do for you?‖ The student smiled and laughed along with him. ―Yeah, man. I bet. It must be tiring talking, or, I mean, lecturing, for that long. I mean, not that you seemed tired. It was great. You were great. I, ah, well, I guess what I‘m trying to say is I really enjoyed the lecture.‖ He finished with a laugh. ―I‘m Jay. Jay Mitchum.‖ Jay conspicuously wiped his hand on his shorts and offered it to Braydon. It was warm and lightly callused, and as he gripped it, Braydon felt a buzz of electricity shoot up his arm, sending warm tingles all down his body. Great, he thought, way to start the year off right, with a massive hard-on for one of my students. Fuck. ―Thanks, Jay. It‘s always nice to hear that not everyone is asleep during lecture,‖ he said, laughing. Braydon buckled his briefcase shut, and, as they walked slowly toward the door, he asked all the usual student-professor questions, inquiring politely about his major and other courses he‘d taken. Jay was well-spoken and seemed to have a genuine
Second Beginnings | 67 excitement about learning. Though he‘d enrolled in a wide variety of courses, his main interest was history, and he told Braydon he was thinking of becoming a teacher. As they reached the doors to the department, Jay paused and said, ―Well, I gotta get to my next lecture. It was nice talking with you. Um, I guess I‘ll see you in tutorial on Friday. I‘m in Group B—that‘s your tutorial right?‖ ―Right, Group B, 3:00 p.m. in the common room. I‘ll see you then. Nice meeting you, Jay.‖ As he walked away, Braydon cursed his luck. Of course he‘d be in Group B. The class was too big for Braydon to lead all the tutorials himself, so he had a team of three teaching assistants to help him out, each assigned to one fifteen-person tutorial group. The only tutorial Braydon led himself was Group B. Imagining sitting in a small, enclosed space with Jay week after week had Braydon groaning inwardly. He knew it would be torture. He‘d admired some of his students before, in a purely aesthetic way—he wasn‘t immune to the hordes of young, tight bodies displayed on campus every year—but he‘d never felt like this. Never actually wanted to do something about his admiration. Do lots of things, in fact…. And have them done to him. Fuck. Not only was Jay gorgeous, he seemed far more mature than most other students, even given the fact that he was a few years older. Braydon unlocked his office, deposited his briefcase, switched on his computer, and began idly sorting through emails. He knew it didn‘t help that it had been awhile since he‘d gotten laid. Quite awhile. He just hadn‘t had the energy the past few months to pursue anything, not since Anthony. Anthony had been his long-term partner of ten years, a journalist with a popular news magazine. He‘d been killed the previous October while investigating a drug trafficking ring in Brazil. Braydon had met Anthony when he was twenty-six at a mutual friend‘s house, and the two had fallen hard, moving in together a few months later. Braydon thought his heart had literally stopped the day that he got the call telling him Anthony had been gunned down, and he‘d often wondered over the past year if it would ever start again. Lately he‘d slowly begun to enjoy life again, able to go out to restaurants he‘d been to with Anthony without feeling his heart seize in his chest and his vision blur. He‘d started laughing again, seeing his
68 | Leora Stark friends…. He sometimes felt guilty about these signs that he was moving on, but he also felt grateful for the human ability to recover, to heal. He just didn‘t think he could have borne any more of the constant, aching pain. He still talked to Anthony‘s family, who had accepted him— accepted them—even when his own family hadn‘t. He knew they wanted him to move on and find happiness again, but it was hard. He‘d been out of the dating scene for so long that he wasn‘t even sure how to go about meeting someone. Some of his friends in the department who‘d been very supportive of him over the last year had tried to set him up a few times with guys they knew. But it seemed as if the only criteria that needed to be checked off was whether the guy was gay, and in one case, even that hadn‘t been clear. Needless to say, none of them had worked out. Braydon returned a few e-mails, gathered his papers, locked his office, and headed for the faculty parking lot. He tried not to think about Jay on the drive home. Tried not to think about what his mouth would feel like, what noises he would make as Braydon tasted him, what his lean, hard body would feel like pressed up against him…. Pretty soon he had a rock-hard erection straining the front of his khakis from not thinking of Jay. After a few hours tossing and turning in bed that night, his head filled with similar fantasies, Braydon knew he would both dread and anticipate Friday‘s class equally all week. He just hoped he could keep it together when the object of his fantasies was in front of him in the flesh.
FRIDAY afternoon came and Braydon thought he acquitted himself reasonably well during tutorial. He‘d managed to meet Jay‘s eyes without blushing and control his thoughts (and his cock, thankfully) throughout class, even with Jay sitting less than an arm‘s-length away. Jay had answered all of his questions thoughtfully and even pointed out a few things that Braydon hadn‘t noticed about one of the primary sources they were discussing. In short, Braydon was impressed. Once class wrapped up, Braydon half-hoped and half-feared Jay would stay behind to talk with him. He noticed the younger man stowing his notes and books away into his backpack very slowly, finally zippering it shut after all the other students had left the room. Braydon
Second Beginnings | 69 had been moving similarly slowly. In fact, he felt like he was moving through molasses as he reached for his blazer, shrugged it over his shoulders, gathered his papers, and slipped them into the folds of his bag. He looked up when Jay cleared his throat. ―So, is it always like that? I mean, it seemed like only half the class even did the reading. Why do people show up if they aren‘t going to say anything?‖ He looked genuinely puzzled. Braydon smiled. ―Yeah, it‘s pretty much always like that at the beginning. Some people find it hard to talk in a group but will open up as they feel more comfortable; others will just come and sit silently every week. It depends on the group of students. I find as long as you have a couple really good students in the group, everyone else eventually raises the bar to reach them.‖ He paused. ―Though I have a feeling, based on today, that you might be my only hope,‖ he said teasingly. Jay blushed. ―It‘s funny to be complimented by a teacher, sorry, I mean, professor. I… didn‘t do so well in high school. You know, the usual, in and out of trouble all the time. I didn‘t care about school, or about anything, really. I managed to graduate, but I don‘t think any of my teachers had much hope for me.‖ Braydon was surprised. The picture of the troubled, disengaged kid Jay described didn‘t match up at all with the man standing in front of him now. ―So what‘s happened to you since then? Because you certainly seem to take school seriously now.‖ ―Yeah. I do.‖ Jay paused thoughtfully, shifting his backpack higher on his shoulder. ―After high school, I didn‘t have much direction. I got into some trouble. I was… confused and angry. I‘m not proud of some of the stuff I did. I knew I needed a change, but I didn‘t know how to do it by myself, so I joined the military. They were certainly happy to have me, and it forced me to clean my act up pretty quickly. For the first time in my life I felt proud of what I was doing, worked hard, made friends. I did two tours in Afghanistan. On the second tour, I took some fire, two bullets in my shoulder. I lost a lot of blood and was shipped home with an honorable discharge. That was eight months ago. After I finished my physio, the army offered to pay for me to go to school, and I took them up on it. And… here I am.‖ Jay shrugged his shoulders as if to say the story he‘d just told was nothing unusual. Braydon‘s heart clenched thinking of what Jay must have gone
70 | Leora Stark through. He knew, from talking with Anthony over the years, what life was like for a soldier in Afghanistan, the things they saw, the choices they had to make. He took a deep breath. He knew the younger man wasn‘t looking for special treatment; he didn‘t need it or, least of all, pity. ―I see. I don‘t think anyone can say they understand what you went through unless they‘ve been there, but I can understand how that experience would change you. Make you reevaluate things.‖ His voice dropped and he paused, meeting the other man‘s eyes directly. ―I‘m… I‘m glad you‘re okay. Glad you‘re here.‖ He cleared his throat, embarrassed at how personal that sounded, at how much he clearly meant it. He didn‘t mean he was glad he was that Jay was at this school, or even in this class. He meant he was glad that he was standing here, with him, right now. Their eyes met, and Braydon thought he saw understanding there, he felt that the younger man knew. Knew what he meant, how he felt. In that instant everything else disappeared. Dropped away. Became unimportant. Braydon wasn‘t sure how long they‘d been standing there when there was a knock on the open door. ―Professor Rothfuss? Are you done in here?‖ It was one of his TAs, here to lead the next tutorial. Braydon tore his eyes away from Jay‘s and took a deep, steadying breath. ―Hi, Karie. Yes, we were just finishing up. It‘s all yours.‖ He nodded at the TA and greeted a few familiar students before following Jay out the door into the bustling hallway. He suddenly felt nervous, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. What had just happened? Had he imagined it? Had they just shared something powerful, or had he been standing there like a love-struck puppy while the other man squirmed? Jay slowed and turned to face him with a slightly panicked, uncomfortable look in his eyes. ―Uh, thanks, Professor Rothfuss. Class was really great,‖ Jay stammered, then turned on his heel and melted into the crowd of students coursing through the hallway. Shit. Shit. Shit. What did I do? Braydon cursed his own stupidity. God, it had been too long. He was so love-starved and horned up after all this time alone that he‘d misread all the signals. Jay wasn‘t interested, was clearly straight, and on top of that, was one of his students. What the hell was he thinking, staring at Jay like that? Fuck. Braydon had probably freaked the hell out of him and now he‘d drop the course because his professor was some pervy asshole.
Second Beginnings | 71
BRAYDON spent the weekend keeping himself busy, marking the first batch of assignments from his first-year course, stocking up on groceries, catching up with friends he‘d been neglecting in the start of term rush, and trying to burn off his excess anxiety by running double his usual distance every morning. It didn‘t work. Every minute of every day he spent thinking about Jay, alternately cursing himself for his asinine behavior and hoping that maybe he hadn‘t imagined that moment of connection, that maybe there was something between them. But then reality would come crashing in, and he‘d be forced to admit that even on the small chance he hadn‘t fabricated the whole thing in his mind, Jay was a student and was therefore off-limits. Wednesday came, and Braydon spotted Jay in lecture, sitting near the back, talking to a few other students. He was aware of the other man‘s presence throughout the hour-long class. By the time he wrapped up his lecture, Braydon was exhausted. He told the students waiting for him to send him an e-mail or come to his office hours if they had any questions, and rushed out. When he reached his office, he closed the door and took a deep breath. Coward, he thought, suddenly feeling silly for rushing away from his problem instead of confronting it head-on like the rational adult he usually was. I just need to talk to him, test the waters, smooth things over—show him I can be professional and act like a normal person. The thing was, even that quick glimpse of Jay at the back of the room had made his heart hammer and his palms sweat; he knew he wouldn‘t be able to act normal around him. So he‘d fled the scene. Jesus. How old am I? I’m acting like a fifteen-year-old with his first crush. Deep down Braydon knew this was more than a crush. It felt stronger, deeper, more real. In an effort to take his mind off things, he went to lunch with a few colleagues, nodding absently and occasionally grimacing in agreement at their stories of wayward and delinquent students. After lunch he returned to his office to find a student waiting for him. ―Hi, Professor!‖ she said brightly. ―Hi. It‘s Jemma, isn‘t it?‖ ―Yeah! Oh my God, you‘re sooo good with names! I‘m so glad you
72 | Leora Stark remembered me.‖ She smiled coyly and gave him a slow, appreciative once over. Great. This is just what I need. Every year around this time he had a student—usually female, though there‘d been one or two guys— come to his office and try to enact their ―forbidden romance with the professor‖ fantasy. It was always hard to turn them down without alienating them or making them feel foolish. He supposed he deserved this after how he‘d acted with Jay. He cleared his throat and sat down at his desk. Deliberately putting his blazer on the closer chair, he invited Jemma to take the chair farthest from him. ―So, what can I do for you, Miss Watkins?‖ She paused, clearly thrown off by his reserve and formality, and then gathered herself and shot him a dazzling smile. She really was very pretty, if one liked that sort of thing. But he didn‘t. ―Um, well, I just wanted to tell you how much I‘m enjoying the class so far. Really. It‘s totally interesting. But, thing is, I‘m having trouble with some of the readings, and my tutorial leader hasn‘t been very helpful….‖ She petered out. He‘d raised one eyebrow skeptically when he heard her excuse. He‘d had the same TAs for years and knew they went above and beyond the call of duty. ―So, um, I was wondering if maybe I could switch tutorial groups? Into group B? I just feel like I‘d really benefit from some more time with you. Or… maybe we could meet to talk about the readings after tutorial? I know you‘re busy and you can‘t spend one-on-one time with everyone, so I‘d keep it between us….‖ She looked at him suggestively, leaving no doubt in his mind what she had planned for those extra ―tutorial‖ sessions. ―Actually Miss Watkins, I‘m sorry, but tutorial B is completely full. And you‘re right, I can‘t afford to tutor every student one on one, so I make it a policy not to do it at all.‖ He met her eyes and spoke firmly but gently, trying to impress upon her that he meant what he said without embarrassing her. He knew what it was like to have a crush on a professor—in his second year at university he‘d fallen hard for his anthropology professor, Professor Brigson. He‘d spent hours fantasizing about running his hands through the man‘s shoulder-length hair. He continued, ―If you‘d like, I can send you some information on the school‘s learning center. They provide free one-on-one tutoring. Or I
Second Beginnings | 73 could direct you to some supplementary readings that might clear up some of the issues you‘re having.‖ Jemma‘s face fell, but she regained her composure quickly. Practically jumping up from her chair, she blushed—seemingly his pointed refusal of her advance had been noted—and said, ―No, that‘s okay. You know, I‘m sure if I just spend a little extra time going through them, I‘ll be fine. Um, okay. Thanks, Professor.‖ She turned and left the office, practically bumping into someone waiting outside the door. Braydon smiled, pleased that he‘d been able to send his message effectively without hurting her feelings. His moment of triumph was short-lived however, because when he raised his head, Jay was leaning against his doorframe, a look of amusement on his handsome face. ―Can I come in?‖ Braydon felt the heat rise in his face, but determined to regain his composure, he managed to sound reasonably calm and collected when he said, ―Yes, of course. Take a seat, Jay.‖ Jay sat down and leaned back in his chair, his long legs sprawled before him. He chuckled. ―You know, I know Jemma. D‘you want me to talk to her? Tell her she‘s barking up the wrong tree, so to speak?‖ Braydon felt his face grow redder and Jay‘s smile faltered. ―Sorry, I mean, I was just kidding. I mean, you‘re gay… right? Should I not have said that? Fuck.‖ ―No, no, it‘s fine. Honestly. And, yes, I‘m gay. It‘s not an issue.‖ He tried to smile reassuringly, but he knew the attempt was half-hearted. Having Jay tease him, seeing his easy smile, it did strange things to his heart. ―Um, so, I guess you heard all of that, then?‖ he asked. ―Yeah, sorry, I got here right after she did and was patiently waiting my turn outside the door. I kinda couldn‘t help it. Not very subtle, is she?‖ ―No, she‘s not.‖ Braydon couldn‘t help but laugh, feeling the tension ease out of him slightly at Jay‘s apparent ease around him. Maybe I didn’t freak him out. Jay leaned forward in his chair, closing some of the distance between them. ―I bet that happens a lot. I mean, I know a lot of students have crushes on you. Probably not many have the balls to come here and
74 | Leora Stark say so, though.‖ He met Braydon‘s eyes squarely and held them, as if daring Braydon to look away. ―Yeah, not many, thankfully. It can be… um, awkward.‖ He tried to come to terms with his warring desires—was Jay flirting with him? Did he want him to be? How could he be entertaining the thoughts he was having while talking about how awkward student crushes were? He cleared his throat. ―So, what brings you to my office, Jay?‖ he asked, trying to steer the conversation onto safer territory. ―Well, actually I just wanted to talk to you about something,‖ Jay said, his demeanor changing suddenly. He looked at the floor, and then, as if gathering his courage, took a deep breath and said in a rush, ―Look, I‘m not trying to get extra ‗tutoring sessions‘ or anything like that, but I would like to talk to you alone, off campus. It‘s… it‘s… personal. I‘d— well, I‘d really appreciate it.‖ He looked up and met Braydon‘s eyes, his eyes full of uncertainty and hope. Braydon felt the air go out of him. What could Jay possibly want to talk about? Was he going to bring up Braydon‘s inappropriate behavior the other day? Tell him he‘d made him uncomfortable? Maybe it was something else, totally unrelated. He knew what the smart thing to do was. Say no. Tell Jay it wasn‘t appropriate for them to meet off campus alone. But he also knew there was no way in hell he could refuse. Not when Jay was looking at him like that. So all Braydon said was ―Okay.‖ He took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair. ―How about O‘Grady‘s? At six? Does that work for you?‖ Jay smiled and exhaled, his relief palpable as he stood up and grabbed his bag. ―Yeah, that‘s great. I‘ll—well, I‘ll see you there.‖ And he walked out the door.
BRAYDON looked at the clock in his office for what had to be the twentieth time. Five thirty. Half an hour until he was meant to be at O‘Grady‘s to talk about… something. He‘d picked O‘Grady‘s because it was far enough off campus that he felt pretty sure they wouldn‘t see anyone he knew—he didn‘t know how to explain why he was having a drink with a student, a very attractive student, so he felt it was easier just to avoid having to explain it at all. After all, he couldn‘t even really
Second Beginnings | 75 explain it to himself. He knew it would take him about twenty minutes to get to O‘Grady‘s, and he wanted to be a little early, have a minute to compose himself before Jay arrived, so he locked his office and did a quick last-minute check in the mirror in the bathroom. He looked good, better than he had in awhile: lightly tanned, fit, healthy, a shadow of stubble darkening his jaw line, and his thick, dark blond hair swept off his forehead. He walked the ten or so blocks to O‘Grady‘s and entered the dimly lit pub. After his eyes adjusted, he looked around the room for a suitable booth. Then, as he glanced at the corner, he saw that the booth he would have chosen—the one in the most out-of-the-way, quietest corner—was occupied. Jay was already here. Braydon took a deep breath, readied his face with what he hoped was a relaxed smile, and walked over. ―Hey.‖ ―Hey,‖ Jay replied, smiling. Braydon sat down and the server approached, asking if he wanted a drink. He eyed Jay‘s almost empty pint glass and replied, ―I‘ll have what he‘s having.‖ Looking at Jay, she raised her eyebrows. ―And another for you, darlin‘?‖ He nodded assent. Neither of them said a word as she went to the nearby bar, pulled two full pints, deposited them on their table, and walked away. ―So, um, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?‖ Braydon asked after taking a long swallow of beer. ―Well, I guess I just wanted to ask you, um, Professor—‖ Braydon cut him off. ―Call me Braydon. Please. Just maybe not in class,‖ he laughed nervously. Jay smiled. ―Okay, Braydon.‖ He paused, as if searching for words. ―How did you know?‖ Another pause, and then he continued more softly. ―That… you were… gay?‖ Braydon was taken aback. This wasn‘t what he had expected. He looked at Jay and could tell how much this conversation meant to him, how hard it had been to ask that. Braydon had to answer honestly. ―Well, I guess I always knew, deep down. I just… I guess I didn‘t want to admit it, or I was scared to.‖ He took a swallow of beer. ―The town where I grew up wasn‘t very big. I didn‘t really know any gay people, and I
76 | Leora Stark didn‘t know how to tell anyone about what I was feeling. So I hid it. Denied it, really. Even to myself. I dated girls all through high school and for the first two years of university. It was okay. I mean, I liked them, I even liked having sex with them, but it felt like something was missing. Then I met Mark.‖ He took another swig of beer and met Jay‘s eyes. Was this what he was looking for? Encouraged by what he saw, Braydon continued. ―Mark was in one of my classes, and I had a raging crush on him. I knew he was gay—he was pretty open about it—and it drove me crazy seeing him, knowing that he knew what he wanted and he was going for it. So I gathered my courage and went up to him at a party, started chatting him up. One thing led to another and we ended up having sex. After that my ‗straight‘ life was pretty much over. For me, there just wasn‘t any comparison. And it wasn‘t just the sex—which, granted, kind of blew my mind. I fell in love for the first time.‖ He grimaced, clearly embarrassed. ―Unfortunately, Mark saw the relationship as more casual than I did, and my heart got broken, but after that I knew what I wanted and I felt more confident about going for it.‖ He paused, looking for the moral to his story. ―I guess, well, I think I knew all along, but I needed a push to confirm it to myself. Does that help answer your question?‖ Jay had stared at Braydon intensely while he talked. Now he looked down at the table, then back up, and said, ―Yeah, it helps.‖ He paused. ―Growing up, y‘know, I was in a rough neighborhood. Being gay wasn‘t really an option, if you know what I mean? I mean, if you felt things or thought things, you just shut it up. You hid it. Or at least I did. I had girlfriends, and I made a big show of sleeping around, trying to prove to myself that I was straight. That the thoughts I had about guys, my friends, strangers, that they weren‘t really me. Weren‘t real. But it didn‘t work. The more I denied them, the more I obsessed over them.‖ He swallowed. ―It was one of the reasons I joined the military. I thought I might be able to get away from myself, lose myself. But it didn‘t exactly turn out that way. I mean, I was surrounded by guys. Hot guys. Sleeping next to them, showering with them….‖ He laughed and turned red. ―It was torture. And ironically, I fooled around with a few guys during that time. I mean, I don‘t know if they were gay, or bi, or if they even knew themselves, but after that, well, it‘s like you said, I knew. For me, there was no comparison. But knowing and doing are two different things, and I still couldn‘t bring myself to fully admit to the feelings I
Second Beginnings | 77 was having….‖ He stopped, as if worried about what he was going to say next, and then took a big swig of beer and continued. ―Recently, I met a guy. A really hot guy. And I can‘t stop thinking about him. It‘s making me crazy. I‘m feeling things I‘ve never felt before. I can‘t sleep. I‘m up all night horny as hell.‖ He blushed. ―It‘s crazy. Crazy. And it kinda scares me. I don‘t know if I‘m ready to do anything about it, to finally really, you know, give in to it. So, I just wanted to talk to you, and well, I don‘t know, get your advice or something.‖ Braydon took a breath and tried to compose himself. Jay‘s story, so close to his own, struck a nerve in his heart. He could see the years of pain, struggle, and denial written all over the younger man‘s face. He wanted to reach across and take his hand, but he knew he needed to respond carefully. ―Okay. Well. I guess the first thing is admitting what you‘re feeling. Which you‘ve just done. Labels don‘t matter. I mean, I know they can be important, powerful even, but at this point I wouldn‘t pressure yourself to say ‗I‘m gay.‘ Just focus on discovering what, or who, would make you happy. I think you‘ll find that the more you talk about it with select, supportive people, the easier it will be and the clearer your head will become.‖ He cleared his throat. ―Have you talked about this with anyone else?‖ Jay shook his head and Braydon continued. ―I really appreciate that you came to me. That you trust me. I know this must have been hard.‖ He tried to think of how to approach the next topic, the one that was making his heart hurt with unreasonable jealousy. ―Um, do you know whether the guy you like is gay?‖ ―Yeah, he is. I didn‘t think so at first, but I asked around and he is. Definitely.‖ Braydon swallowed against the lump in his throat ―Okay, well, the next step would be to talk to him. You never know until you try, right? Maybe he… maybe he… feels the same way you do. Have you told him how you feel?‖ Jay laughed. ―Uh, well, actually, I think I just did.‖ He looked at Braydon expectantly, an amused smile on his handsome face. Braydon felt all the air rush out of him. Oh, he thought stupidly. He was talking about me. He likes me. He stays up at night lusting after me. Oh shit. ―Wow. Okay. Well,‖ he began, then stopped and let out a long breath. Jay leaned forward, grabbed his hand, and said in a rush, ―Look, I
78 | Leora Stark know I‘m your student, but I looked it up and there isn‘t actually any rule that says we can‘t see each other. I know we‘d have to keep it quiet anyway, that it‘s ‗frowned upon‘, but I think I can do that. I think we can do that. I‘m twenty-three, for Christ‘s sake; I think I can decide who I want to sleep with.‖ He paused, clearly embarrassed, and then pushed on. ―I won‘t expect any special treatment in class, I swear, or if it‘s a problem, I‘ll… I‘ll drop your class. I don‘t want to, but I will, if that‘s what it takes. Also, I‘m taking an extra course load and I‘ll be done in two years. Then we can be together without anyone saying anything. I mean, uh, if, you know, if things work out.‖ He stopped, seemingly playing his own words back to himself. Reddening, he let go of Braydon‘s hand that he had been gripping the whole time and said hesitantly, ―I mean, that is, if you, you find me attractive?‖ Braydon couldn‘t help but laugh shakily as he said, ―Yeah, Jay. I find you attractive. You‘re smart, funny, brave as hell, incredibly sexy…. Yeah, you could say I find you attractive.‖ He laughed again, amused by the understatement. ―But, like you said, you‘re my student, and while you‘re right, there might not be any hard and fast rules against it, I‘d definitely take some heat if people found out I was seeing a student. It could seriously hurt my career. More importantly, do you think that it might be possible you admire me just because I‘m your professor? I bet there are tons of guys, other students, that would fall all over each other at the chance to be with you. I just… I can‘t….‖ He faltered, knowing he was really trying to convince himself as well as Jay. The truth was he was having trouble breathing; he wanted so badly to smile, laugh, reach across the table and kiss Jay, but he couldn‘t. He knew he needed to be responsible here. ―I thought you might say that. Look, Braydon, I‘m at a point where I‘m ready to accept a part of myself that I‘ve been denying for half my life. I came to you because I like you and because I think you‘re crazy hot, but also because I feel comfortable around you. I trust you. I want to explore these feelings, these desires that keep me up at night, with you. But if you won‘t let me, then I‘ll find someone else. Someone who might not treat me as well as I know you would.‖ Jay had to be bluffing, hoping Braydon‘s jealousy or, at the very least, his protective instinct would kick in. It worked. Braydon knew Jay didn‘t mean it, but his thoughts turned violent when he pictured another man touching Jay, kissing him, helping him fulfill all the fantasies he‘d been denying himself all those years.
Second Beginnings | 79 Braydon took a shaky breath. ―You‘re a bastard. You know I can‘t let you do that.‖ Jay smiled and then leaned back. Their eyes locked across the table and Braydon knew he was in trouble. He felt his cock harden in anticipation as he watched Jay slowly and deliberately take a long swig of beer, his throat muscles contracting as he swallowed, and then stand up and walk toward the door. Braydon didn‘t waste a second grabbing his bag and following him out the door. When they emerged outside, Jay turned the corner, headed onto a quiet side street, and then stopped abruptly. Braydon nearly crashed into him, and when Jay turned around to face him, their bodies were tantalizingly close, so close he could feel Jay‘s breath on his face coming low and fast and smell the slightly woodsy cologne wafting off him. ―Jay.‖ Braydon half-groaned as he reached up to run a hand along Jay‘s jawline, feeling light stubble under his gentle touch. Never breaking eye contact, he swiped his thumb lightly across the younger man‘s lower lip and felt him shudder. Jay licked his lips reflexively, his tongue swiping Braydon‘s lingering thumb. That small, wet, exploratory touch felt intensely erotic, and Braydon‘s cock jerked in response. God, if it’s this intense before we even get started, what’s it going to be like later? Braydon moved his thumb tentatively, pushing the tip just inside Jay‘s slightly parted lips. Jay sucked it, cautiously at first, then hungrily. Braydon moaned breathlessly, and Jay chuckled through his mouthful. He pulled his thumb free with a wet slurp, looking at Jay with an equal mixture of amazement and desire. Jay brought his face closer, his breath coming hot and fast, and tilting his head, he kissed Braydon softly. Gently. As he pulled away, Braydon, unable to control his reactions at this point, let out a near-whimper at the loss of contact. Jay smiled and whispered in his ear, ―Do you know how often I thought about doing that while you lectured? Fuck. I‘d be hard all through class.‖ It was too much. Hearing his own fantasy repeated back to him had Braydon stretched beyond the limits of his control. He reached up and laced his fingers through Jay‘s hair, pulling him closer, kissing him roughly. Jay‘s lips met his with an equal amount of passion, driving his tongue deep, alternating firm probing thrusts with more gentle exploratory licks that reached every inch of Braydon‘s mouth and sent shockwaves down his body, now pressed firmly against Jay‘s. When he felt how hard Jay‘s cock was through the fabric of his dark jeans, he
80 | Leora Stark couldn‘t help himself; he moved both his hands downward, roughly caressing Jay‘s broad, muscled back. Kneading his firm ass cheeks and drawing his hips forward, Braydon thrust against him, grinding his erection against Jay. Jay shuddered, pulled his mouth away slightly, and met Braydon‘s eyes. ―Fuck, Professor. What are you doing to me?‖ As soon as they came up for air, the awareness of where they were, what they were doing, who they were crashed through Braydon. ―Jay. We need to slow down.‖ Braydon paused as if deciding something. Took a deep steadying breath. ―Look, I live near here. Why don‘t you come over and we can talk a bit more. I don‘t think we should rush into this… however much my body tells me otherwise.‖ He laughed selfconsciously, all too aware of the erection straining against the fly of his pants. ―Sure, yeah, I can do that,‖ Jay panted, still slightly out of breath. As they walked the five blocks to Braydon‘s house, he kept stealing glances over at Jay only to find the other man doing the same. Fuck, he’s beautiful. When they reached his steps, Braydon fumbled in his bag for his keys, and then, hands shaking, unlocked the door and stepped inside, moving deliberately out of the way to allow Jay some space to enter. Space is good. We need to slow this down. Even as he thought it, Braydon knew it was going to be hard. They were alone now, with no one to see them, no one to know what they did. He knew how dangerous it was, but he didn‘t care. Something that felt this good, this right, couldn‘t possibly be wrong. Braydon led the way into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and offered Jay a beer. He busied his hands opening the beers and pouring them into frosted glasses, trying not to meet Jay‘s eyes. He knew if he did, he wouldn‘t be able to control himself, and his whole mature ―taking it slow‖ speech would be shown for the lie that he knew it was. They both took a swallow of beer. The cool liquid did nothing to dampen the heat coursing through his veins, every inch of him on fire in awareness of Jay‘s proximity. ―So, I could, uh, give you a tour?‖ Braydon asked half-heartedly. ―Yeah, that‘d be great,‖ Jay replied, his voice sounding thick. As Braydon put his drink down, Jay grabbed his hand and held it
Second Beginnings | 81 with his own. Staring down at it intently, Jay began tracing slow, firm circles on Braydon‘s palm with his thumb. The simple caress sent shivers through Braydon‘s body, creating an awareness of nerve endings that had lain dormant for the past ten months. Braydon met Jay‘s gaze, trying to communicate with his eyes what he was feeling—he didn‘t think he was capable of words just now. He grasped Jay‘s shoulder with his free hand and pushed him roughly against the lip of the granite counter, pressing the length of his body against Jay‘s, crushing their hands, still entwined, between them. He began moving his body against Jay‘s, creating a torturous friction, and felt Jay‘s cock thicken and jerk against him. Braydon took that as a cue. He ran his hands along Jay‘s sides and pushed up his thin cotton button-down, revealing an expanse of firm golden abs dusted with fine light hairs that caught the last of the light coming in from the thickly paned windows, making him glow. Braydon eased Jay‘s shirt off, tossed it carelessly on the ground, and started exploring his chest. Christ, he thought. ―You‘re perfect.‖ Jay smiled sheepishly and said, ―No. I‘m not,‖ gesturing at the two thick circular scars marking his right shoulder where he‘d been shot. Braydon met Jay‘s eyes, shook his head, and said firmly, ―Yes. You are.‖ He kissed and licked the ridged marks gently, exploring the smooth scar tissue with his tongue, and then moved his exploration downward, taking first one small dark nipple into his mouth, and then the other, tracing lazy circles around them with his tongue until they puckered and hardened. He could hear Jay‘s breathing getting desperate above him, his hands clutching the counter on either side of him for support. Jay asked hoarsely, ―Does it always feel like this?‖ Braydon released Jay‘s nipple and came up for air. He didn‘t know what to say. He and Anthony had had a passionate relationship to the end, but he could honestly say he‘d never felt this desperate, this urgent, this overwhelmed by one person. ―No. It doesn‘t… I mean… not for me. God, Jay. I don‘t know what‘s happening between us, but I feel like I can‘t stop. I want you so bad.‖ His pulse racing, he kept eye contact with Jay as he moved his hand slowly down Jay‘s chest, along his hip, and gently kneaded the bulge in his jeans. Tracing his fingertips around the outline of Jay‘s thickened shaft, Braydon watched as Jay‘s pupils dilated and his breath grew broken and ragged.
82 | Leora Stark ―Fucking hell,‖ Jay moaned. Braydon‘s hands shook as he undid the button and slid the zipper down on Jay‘s jeans, pulling them to his knees and causing Jay‘s cock to spring free. Braydon stepped back a moment to admire the other man, still pressed against the counter, now almost entirely naked. His breath caught in his throat at the sight. Every inch of Jay was beautiful, tautly muscled and tanned. His upper thighs were slightly lighter than the rest of his body, the tan lines only accentuating the thick pink cock bobbing between his legs. Their eyes met, and Braydon could tell that Jay liked the attention, the naked admiration in Braydon‘s gaze. Jay leaned into the countertop behind him and thrust his hips forward subtly, pushing his cock out in front of him. Braydon took the hint. He dropped to his knees, pulled Jay‘s jeans and boxer briefs fully off him, and, gently pushing Jay‘s legs further apart, grasped the thick shaft and squeezed, making purple-tinged veins pop out along its length and causing Jay to moan and rock against him, trying to get the friction he craved. Braydon gave him what he wanted: using both hands to firmly but slowly milk Jay‘s cock, Braydon took the proud head, now dripping with precum, into his mouth. The salty musk of it exploded inside his mouth, and, unable to deny his own need, he reached down to knead his own cock, feeling its rock-hard length extended against his abs. He sucked on the head of Jay‘s cock, gently stroking along its length with his left hand, and then paused, the swollen, dripping cock head still resting on his lower lip. He took hold of Jay‘s hands, moving them to the back of his head. Braydon looked up at the younger man, wanting him to take control, to finally take what he wanted. Jay‘s hesitation lasted only a moment, years of wanting and denial overcoming any hint of shyness or uncertainty. He laced his fingers through Braydon‘s hair and rocked his hips forward, plunging his dick deep into Braydon‘s mouth in one smooth thrust. ―Oh God, oh God, oh God,‖ Jay moaned as he pumped into Braydon‘s mouth, the head of his cock bumping against the back of Braydon‘s throat with each stroke. Braydon could feel Jay‘s balls tighten as he began kneading and rolling them firmly, and he knew Jay was about to cum. His right hand, still pumping his own cock, was now slick with his juices, and he felt his own climax nearing. ―I‘m going to cum, Braydon, fuck, fuck, oh God, Bray—‖ Jay gasped, and Braydon felt the cock in his mouth swell and convulse
Second Beginnings | 83 before releasing stream after stream of hot juice. He swallowed quickly, not wanting to spill a drop even as his own orgasm had him shuddering, sending a jet of hot cream spurting onto his thigh and darkening the khaki pants he still wore. Braydon‘s knees trembled as he shakily stood up, grabbing the counter for support. As he looked into Jay‘s eyes and saw the wonder, the relief, the happiness there, he felt a rush of protectiveness and love wash over him, and couldn‘t think of anything he‘d rather do than give this man pleasure. He was depleted and full at the same time.
THE two spent the next several hours eating, drinking, and talking, totally absorbed in each other‘s company. Braydon told Jay about Anthony, the love they had shared, his grief, and the slow process of healing, and Jay in turn talked about his experience in Afghanistan, the things he‘d lived through, the friends he‘d lost. He spoke about his recovery, how he‘d woken every night with nightmares for months. The wracking guilt he‘d felt for leaving his unit and for feeling, deep down, grateful that he‘d been forced to leave. They shared stories, both funny and painful, Jay almost spitting his beer out onto the table at Braydon‘s detailed description of his agonized obsession with his junior high school soccer coach. After a while, Braydon felt Jay growing quiet. ―I was so scared today,‖ Jay said softly. ―I thought maybe you wouldn‘t show up. That you‘d reject me or, worse, laugh. That you wouldn‘t feel the same way I did.‖ He laughed shakily and confessed, ―I got there an hour early to pick just the right table, then downed two pints to try and build my courage.‖ Braydon leaned in and brushed his fingers along Jay‘s cheek. ―I was scared too. I wasn‘t sure why you wanted to meet. I was worried you were upset about… well… about the way I looked at you that day. What I said. You seemed so panicked afterwards….‖ He trailed off, a question in his eyes. Jay smiled and shook his head. ―God, no. I wasn‘t upset. I was reeling. I never thought any guy, or anyone period, would look at me like that. It was… amazing. But as soon as it was over, I started second-
84 | Leora Stark guessing myself, thinking I‘d imagined it. You see, I thought you were straight. I thought maybe I was just some lovesick kid with a crush on his teacher. I thought you were embarrassed for me. Being kind. So I panicked.‖ Braydon felt his heart lift even higher; he hadn‘t known how much it had bothered him thinking that the moment they‘d shared hadn‘t been real. Jay continued. ―Then I asked around a little, and I realized you were gay, and, well, I knew that I had to take a chance, had to gamble that the sparks I felt weren‘t one-sided. So I went to your office that day, and well, the rest… the rest has been pretty fucking fantastic so far,‖ he finished, a blush creeping up his neck and flushing his cheeks. Braydon smiled. ―Pretty fucking fantastic indeed.‖ He reached his hand out to Jay as he stood and pulled Jay to his feet. ―Come upstairs. I think we can do a little better than ‗pretty fucking fantastic‘, don‘t you?‖ Jay‘s answering smile was all the agreement he needed. After they ascended to the top of the stairs, Braydon turned and took Jay‘s hand, leading him down the short hallway and into his bedroom. He pulled Jay close and whispered hoarsely in his ear, ―Let me show you how good it can be.‖ He drew a shaky breath. ―I want to be inside you. Can I fuck you?‖ At Jay‘s wordless nod, Braydon‘s cock thickened in anticipation. ―Take your clothes off,‖ he instructed. Jay acquiesced, peeling off his shirt, pants, and boxer-briefs in seconds, desire plainly written on his face. Soon he stood naked once again, his thick cock bobbing between his legs. Braydon wasted no time in following suit and then led Jay gently to the bed. Laying him down, Braydon put the full weight of his body on top of Jay. He kissed him wetly and moved his body against Jay‘s. Jay arched his hips and rocked against Braydon, matching the rhythm and making small needy sounds in the back of his throat. Braydon reached down and started stroking Jay‘s cock languidly with one hand, using the other to prop himself up. Jay groaned low in his throat, his eyes half-closed, and Braydon‘s whole body reacted to the sight of him. He loved that he could do this to Jay. Make him feel this much. Braydon sat up, knelt between Jay‘s legs, and reached into the nightstand to withdraw a small bottle of lube and a row of condoms. He unsnapped the cap of the lube and poured a generous amount into his
Second Beginnings | 85 hand, coating his fingers and rubbing the rest into the soft skin at the tip of Jay‘s cock. He gently pushed Jay‘s legs apart, and Jay instinctively raised his hips, allowing Braydon to slip a slick finger inside him. Jay gasped. ―You okay?‖ Braydon asked. ―Yeah, it feels good. Fuck.‖ ―Has anyone ever done this to you? I mean, I know you said you had experimented a little….‖ Braydon was finding it hard to talk while his finger was pumping steadily in and out of Jay‘s tight hole, but he wanted to know the other man‘s level of experience. Jay felt tight. ―No. Never. Just a few blow jobs. Nothing like this… oh God….‖ Braydon began fucking him steadily, adding another finger and then a third, stretching him little by little. He groaned at the feeling. ―I don‘t think I can‘t wait much longer.‖ ―Fuck me. I want you to,‖ Jay gasped hoarsely. Braydon opened a condom with his teeth and put it on, coating it with a dollop of lube and rubbing along the length of his hard shaft, his fingers all the while continuing to fuck Jay steadily as his lover moaned and bucked beneath him. Braydon withdrew his fingers wetly, pushed Jay‘s knees farther apart, and lifted his hips, exposing his pink, puckered hole to Braydon‘s hungry eyes. He placed the plump head of his cock at Jay‘s entrance and started exerting a gentle pressure. Jay froze at the unexpected strain, and Braydon leaned forward, whispering in Jay‘s ear, kissing him, telling him to breathe, to relax and let him in. He pushed inside Jay‘s passage inch by inch, exerting exquisite control as he stretched the man slowly to capacity. Once he was fully inside, he froze. ―Oh God, you feel so good. So tight. So fucking tight. I‘m not gonna last long.‖ Braydon took a deep, steadying breath, squeezed the base of his cock firmly, and forced his impending climax to slow. Then he began fucking Jay, pulling his cock almost all the way out with each slow thrust, relishing the feeling of enveloping it anew in Jay‘s sweet, clinging hole each time. He began to build speed and intensity, thrusting harder and deeper into Jay, who met him with equal intensity, thrusting back against Braydon with his hips so their bodies met with a wet slap, both of them breathless and straining. ―Oh God, Braydon. I never knew it could be like this,‖ Jay gasped.
86 | Leora Stark He threw his head back and arched his back as Braydon began stroking his cock, massaging the head gently at first, and then roughly squeezing and pulling along its length. Jay gasped and came suddenly, spurt after spurt of hot cream landing on his chest as he bucked and writhed. ―Fuuuuccckkk,‖ he groaned. The sight was more than Braydon could bear; he felt his balls tighten as he blew his load into the condom. He collapsed, panting, on top of Jay, their bodies wet and dripping from a mixture of juices. He withdrew his softening cock, grabbed a tissue from the nightstand, and discarded the condom, then kissed Jay slowly and languidly, their tongues intertwining as their heart rates slowed. After several minutes, Braydon pushed himself up onto his elbow and gazed down at Jay, smiling. Their eyes met, Jay‘s glistening wetly as he said, voice thick, ―This is what I want. You’re what I want. Now. Forever. I can‘t imagine anything else.‖ Braydon smiled. He couldn‘t agree more.
Roughly Two Years Later
―JASON Henry Mitchum.‖ The voice over the loudspeaker called Jay‘s name, and Braydon‘s heart swelled with pride as he watched Jay walk across the stage and gather his diploma. They had spent the past two years breathlessly, hopelessly in love. It wasn‘t that it was perfect—it wasn‘t. They fought, passionately at times, but, luckily, the resulting make-up sex was just as scorching. The tension of having to hide their relationship from so many people had nearly broken them up many times. But that’s all over now, Braydon thought with deep-seated relief. Today Jay ceased being a student—well, until Teacher‘s College started in a few weeks—but today he ceased being a student in every way that really mattered. After today they no longer had to hide. They could walk down the sidewalk together, hold hands, kiss at the movies, go out to dinner. The thought of all the new possibilities ahead of them, alongside his ridiculous pride in all of his boyfriend‘s accomplishments these past few years, had Braydon grinning foolishly.
Second Beginnings | 87 As Jay stepped off the stage, he shot Braydon a dazzling smile, winking with mischief as he slowly and deliberately moved the tassel on his cardboard cap over to the left. Today marked a new beginning for them both. A second beginning.
88 | Leora Stark About the Author
LEORA STARK is a frequent insomniac who spends the wee hours of the night dreaming up sometimes sweet and always dirty stories. Recently, she decided to write some of them down, and now she just can‘t stop. Leora lives in Toronto where she makes her living as a professor of history. When she‘s not teaching, she can usually be found writing, reading, or fantasizing about her next story (what some might call staring into space, but she knows better). When she‘s not doing any of the above, she likes to spend quality time with her partner and her two cats, all three of whom are incredibly cute. You can visit Leora at http://www.leorastark.com/ or contact her via email at
[email protected].
Bug Boy
THERE was one in every third grade classroom, it seemed. In mine, it had been Jesse Milner. He hadn‘t been a bad kid. He had just been… yucky. No one could have told you exactly why, but there were all sorts of little things. He‘d rescue worms and threaten to fling them at the girls, and at some point, he‘d been caught picking his nose. Maybe he‘d had an accident and pissed himself, and maybe his clothes hadn‘t been that clean. Maybe he‘d just decided that it was easier to push everyone away with bugs than to let them get close enough to really hurt him. For whatever reason, Jesse was the Bug Boy, and everyone steered clear of him—even the run-of-the-mill uncool kids like me. Hell, especially the kids like me. Bug Boys were all we had between us and the bottom of the social pecking order, and we needed them. Goodness knew we were much too sensitive to just say fuck it all the way that Jesse did. Even after more than a decade, standing there, staring into a very different classroom at a very different Jesse Milner, I remembered the shame I had felt for him back when we were nine. When he‘d been all
90 | Jeanette Grey gangly limbs and greasy red hair and glasses. When I‘d been so scared of everything. I was still scared. Finally, I got my nerve up and knocked on the door, watching intently as he raised his head and looked up at me. He still wore glasses, and his hair was still red. But in every other way, he was changed. Gangly limbs had evolved into a sleek swimmer‘s build, and instead of a bowl cut, his hair was styled messily around his face in a way that screamed out sex. Thick, black-framed glasses showcased deep, hazel eyes. Then I looked at his hands. His long, pale, beautiful hands. And resting on the back of one of them was the biggest tarantula I had ever seen. ―Can I help you?‖ My eyes wide, I tore my gaze away from the monster in his hands, and back up to Jesse‘s face, only to find his serious mouth turning up into a smirk. My lungs were tight, and my eyes kept darting back down toward the spider. I fucking hated spiders. ―Yeah,‖ I managed, my voice embarrassingly high. ―I‘m Dan Holbrook. Professor Chen sent me. I‘m the new research assistant.‖ I was too preoccupied with staring at that thing on his hand to look up, so if there was any flash of recognition in his eyes when I said my name, I missed it. But for Christ‘s sake, those hairy legs were moving. ―Of course.‖ He paused briefly, gently stroking the spider‘s back. ―Her name‘s Lucy, and she‘s a Grammostola pulchra, if that‘s what you‘re wondering.‖ ―Oh.‖ ―Is she bothering you?‖ I couldn‘t fucking breathe. ―You could say that.‖ He chuckled, but I could tell that it was a sadistic sort of laugh. He knew full well that I was uncomfortable, and he was playing with me. After the way everyone had treated him when we were kids, I supposed it was only fair. I watched in rapt attention, my skin crawling with a million imaginary legs, as he opened up a terrarium and deposited the
Bug Boy | 91 thing inside. Only after the opening was closed and the latch sealed did I start to really breathe again, but even then, I felt nervous. ―You didn‘t need help in this lab, did you?‖ ―No,‖ he said, still laughing. ―I don‘t think that would be a good idea, do you?‖ I shook my head fiercely. I still had yet to take a single step inside. Fortunately for me, he didn‘t ask me to. After pushing away from the lab table, he strode over toward me, his legs long in skinny, black jeans and the lean muscles of his chest apparent through his thin, gray shirt. When he got within a couple feet of me, I watched, lips parted, as he slid the fingers of his left hand through his hair, pushing the strands away from his eyes. And then he held the right one out toward me. The one he‘d had the damned spider crawling on. Pushing down the part of me that wanted to scream like a girl, I took his hand in mine, the pleasure of warm skin on mine only slightly outweighing the shiver of revulsion as I thought about segmented legs and fangs. At my expression, his own face hardened. It was quick but unmistakable, and it made me feel like the world‘s biggest douche. ―Sorry, I just—‖ ―It‘s fine. A lot of people don‘t like spiders.‖ It sounded like A lot of people don’t like me. ―C‘mon,‖ he said stiffly. ―I‘ll show you the other lab.‖ Jesse led me down the hall in silence before stopping in front of one of the doors and gesturing for me to enter. When I saw that it was the sterile, arachnid-free laboratory I‘d been expecting, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. ―This is a little more my speed.‖ ―I would imagine so.‖ He gave a perfunctory description of what I would be doing as a lab assistant there. His standoffish tone didn‘t sit well with me, but I listened attentively all the same. As a junior, I‘d been lucky to snag this job, and I had every intention of giving it my all. ―Any questions?‖ I looked around the space, feeling as confident as a person could on his first day. But there was one question niggling in the back of my mind. ―How long have you been working here?‖
92 | Jeanette Grey Jesse straightened slightly, clearly surprised to have my only question be one about him. Stiffly, he answered, ―Since first semester, freshman year.‖ ―Wow.‖ He shrugged, but I had a feeling he knew exactly how big of a deal that was. We hadn‘t been thrown together very much back then, but I remembered how Jesse had changed in high school, morphing into a brilliant young man who was as far above everyone as he had once been below them. The effect, in the end, had been the same. He‘d still been an untouchable, a Bug Boy to his very core, but the random efforts to gross people out had faded into a quiet determination and an intense dedication to excelling. Like me and so many of the other people on the fringes, he‘d seemed absolutely intent on getting out. Out of that school. Out of that town. Clearly both of us had succeeded in getting at least that far. ―Well, if that‘s all,‖ he said gruffly, opening a drawer in a file cabinet next to the wall. ―I pulled a bunch of articles for you to go through to get up to speed.‖ He handed me a thick folder, and I took it with a nervous flutter in my stomach. ―Read as much of it as you can by next week, and then you should be able to get started.‖ He showed me to the door and then locked it behind us. I waited for him to turn around, and this time, when he did, I made sure that I was the one with my hand out. A strange, uncomfortable smile passed over his face as I gripped his palm confidently. I figured there couldn‘t have been too many spider hairs still lingering there. ―Thanks, Jesse.‖ ―You‘re welcome,‖ he said, his voice dipping slightly. ―I‘ll see you next week.‖ Without another word, he dropped my hand and turned on his heels. And even though he was walking, I had a feeling he might rather have run.
I
STOOD beside the printer, tapping my fingertips against my thigh in
Bug Boy | 93 agitation. It was already the twelfth week of the semester, and I was finally getting my first results from one of the minor experiments I‘d been helping out with. I knew full well that lab work was all about patience, but with finals coming up and my desire to impress someone in this place running high, my patience was wearing thin. At long last, the machine spit out my graph, and I reached for it immediately. It was exactly the same picture I‘d looked at on my computer screen, but holding it there in front of me, I noticed a little peak in the line that I hadn‘t picked up on back in the lab. I screwed up my eyes, but the data didn‘t change. One of the graduate students wandered into the office and said a perfunctory hello. I almost pulled her aside, wanting to ask someone for a second opinion, but I was nervous. As she was walking out, I realized that there was only one person even close to my level that I could go to. When I found him, Jesse was sitting in much the way he‘d been on that first day, his back hunched over a lab table in the room with those god-awful terrariums that made my skin crawl. I studied him for a minute from the doorway before knocking, and I was relieved to see he didn‘t have any of his… pets running free this time. I told myself that the spider was all I was looking for. But as my eyes lingered on his face, I had to admit that it wasn‘t. Had he been this attractive back when we’d been in high school together? It wouldn‘t have mattered if he had been, I reminded myself. I‘d been so firmly in the closet, and he‘d been positively asexual, so removed from everyone. I wouldn‘t have let myself notice him even if he had looked as good then as he did now. Raising my hand to knock, I cleared my throat. ―Excuse me.‖ When he looked up and saw that it was me, a guarded expression clouded his face, but he still invited me in. ―What‘s up?‖ I steeled myself before walking in. Trying not to look at the damn spiders and not to stare too much at the long line of his neck, I was left with nowhere safe to direct my eyes, and so they generally ended up on the floor as I made my way over to his table. ―I was wondering if you had a second to look at something with me quickly. Please.‖ His gaze moved between the paper in my hand and the array of books and papers spread out before him. ―I could come back another time,‖ I offered.
94 | Jeanette Grey ―No, no, it‘s fine.‖ He sounded frustrated, and his hand went to his hair in a nervous gesture I‘d started to recognize from watching him a little too closely during our group meetings. ―Have a seat.‖ I sat down on a stool beside him. Outside of shaking hands, though, it was the closest we had ever been. Trying not to betray my building attraction, I passed the graph to him and explained the axes before pointing to the part I was struggling to understand. He took it from me, lifting his hand above the surface of the desk for the first time. It wasn‘t a tarantula he was wearing on his wrist today. But the rainbow-colored rubber bracelet shocked me just the same. He froze when he realized what I was staring at, and when I glanced up, his eyes were hard. ―Is there a problem?‖ he asked roughly. He looked prickly. Like he was ready for a fight. I blinked a couple times before finding my voice. I wanted to tell him I was gay, too, but it seemed like that would just make things more awkward, and I was trying so hard to impress him and to fit in. ―No. Not at all. No problem.‖ As meaningfully as I could, I assured him, ―No problem at all.‖ He grunted and directed his attention back to the printout, but I didn‘t miss the way his other hand came up to fiddle with the bracelet, turning it around his wrist. Ignoring the awkwardness that had arisen between us, he asked a couple of clipped questions about the specifics of how the experiments had been carried out, and I answered them the best I could. Eventually, he set the paper down and looked up, but his eyes didn‘t rise above my chest. ―Well, I daresay you might have something here. You‘ll have to run it by Chen, but I think it‘s worth investigating. Do you feel up to designing the experiment for it?‖ ―Of course.‖ I knew full well how big of an opportunity this could be. I also knew how unprepared I was for it. ―Though, um… I might need some help.‖ He nodded stiffly. ―Anything you want, you can run by me.‖ ―Thanks.‖ I shifted on the stool and tried to make my posture and my tone as open as I could. ―It‘s just… I haven‘t worked on anything this involved before.‖ He glanced up for just a second. When he spoke again, it was tentative. ―It is a fair sight beyond Mr. Hector‘s tenth grade bio class.‖ My heart hammered in my chest, but my face broke out in a wide,
Bug Boy | 95 beaming smile. In all this time, he‘d never given any indication that he remembered our shared history. ―I didn‘t think you recognized me.‖ ―Of course I did,‖ he scoffed, and I caught a bit of wistfulness to his tone. It set a dull glow to something in my chest. Putting my hand on the table, closer to his than I would usually dare to, I responded softly, ―I recognized you right away too.‖ A dry sound escaped his throat. ―I figured it wasn‘t just the spider you were horrified by.‖ I couldn‘t decide what I hated more, his tone or his implication. ―Believe me, it was entirely the spider. I was… I was happy to run into you.‖ It was an exaggeration. I‘d been wary at the time, but now, all these weeks of secretly staring at him had added a glow to my memory. ―I think you and I both know that‘s a lie.‖ I wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but something told me he wouldn‘t accept that gesture from me. Still, there was something about the openness of the moment that made me want to be truthful with him. ―Not entirely. You… you‘re different from how you were then.‖ Looking down, he nodded. ―I thought I‘d reinvent myself when I came here. On some level it worked.‖ He gestured toward his clothes and his hair, but there was a disappointed edge to his voice when he continued. ―On others, I‘m still just… me.‖ ―Don‘t say that like it‘s a bad thing.‖ ―It is what it is.‖ He shrugged and turned back toward his books, effectively ending the conversation. ―Anyway, let me know when you decide on the parameters for the follow-up. You clearly know where to find me.‖ I stood, knowing he wouldn‘t show me any more of himself today. ―Yeah. Yeah, I do.‖ As I left, I wondered if I would ever really find him here. Or if he would always be hiding.
THAT Friday, I was buzzing with nerves on my way to our lab group‘s weekly meeting. After running it all through with Jesse, I‘d shown the
96 | Jeanette Grey preliminary results of my experiment to Dr. Chen, and he‘d agreed that a follow-up was in order. More terrifyingly, he‘d insisted that I present an update at the meeting. It was only a two-slide presentation, and it was just in front of a bunch of other students and graduate assistants. But it still had my palms sweating. As I slipped into the room, I saw the seats around the table were already full, and my stomach twisted, my eyes scanning for someplace to stand that wouldn‘t be too in the way. And then I saw him. Jesse was standing against the wall on the opposite side of the room, his usual space bubble projecting out a good solid foot on either side of him. He was staring right at me, and when our gazes connected, he tilted his head in silent invitation. Dr. Chen was already starting to gather everyone to order, so I snuck along the edges of the room. When I reached Jesse, he slid over to the side to make space for me. It put him so close to the other person to his left. And it put him so close to me. I probably missed the whole first half of the meeting, I was so distracted by the heat of his body. Long and lean, he radiated warmth, and facing the way we were, I had to stare right past him to see the front of the room. I tried not to stare at him, of course, but it was impossible to miss the tinge of pink around his ears or the texture of his hair, the stubble on his jaw or the cut of his chin. And God but he smelled good. Then suddenly he was turning, his bright eyes connecting with mine, his breath against my face, and for the briefest fraction of a second, I could have sworn his hand brushed mine. ―Good luck.‖ It was only then that I heard Dr. Chen calling my name. I made my way up to the front of the room while still in a daze. The first of my two slides was already displayed on the projector screen, so I cleared my throat and began. As I spoke, I made eye contact with every single person in the room, save one. When I reached the end of the slide, I nodded at the girl manning the laptop, and she clicked forward to the next one, where I gave a basic outline of the proposal Jesse had helped me draw up for a follow-up experiment. When I said his name, to give him credit for helping me, I thought I was the only one who caught how hard my voice hitched. But given the brilliance of the smile that spread across his face as I tried not to look at him, I couldn‘t be sure. A minute later, my presentation was done, and Dr. Chen was
Bug Boy | 97 stepping back up to the lectern. ―Thank you, Dan.‖ And that was it. I was done. I staggered back to my spot along the wall, with my pulse roaring in my ears. This time, though, when Jesse‘s fingers brushed mine, I knew that I wasn‘t imagining things. But I pictured a different kind of touch, all the same.
RIDING high that night and eager to unwind, I let my friends drag me out to the gay club downtown. It wasn‘t really my scene, but three neonblue drinks into it, I was ready to let go. Out on the dance floor, I let a pulsing beat move through me. Lights flashed and I couldn‘t hear myself think, and it was exactly what I needed. Right up until I saw what I needed even more. He looked exactly the way he always did these days, only there amidst the spotlights and the pounding bass, he was even more gorgeous—even more divorced from the awkward boy he‘d been back in grade school. The messy hair was drenched in sweat and plastered against his head, his long hands raised up in the air. That lean swimmer‘s frame undulated to the music, and for all that he was fully dressed, the way his clothes hugged his body just gave me more to ogle. I didn‘t even realize he wasn‘t wearing his glasses until his head whipped around. There across a crowded dance floor, our eyes connected. And for once, he didn‘t seem to wilt or stiffen beneath my gaze. If anything, his elegant neck elongated, his chin tilting up in both challenge and invitation. I was only too happy to meet them both. The whole club disappeared into nothing but music and light, darkness and motion as I slipped between bodies to the center of the room. Jesse didn‘t break his rhythm, still dancing sinuously as I made my way toward him. When I stopped just a foot in front of him, he oriented his body toward me, and it was only then that he dropped his gaze to rake it down the length of my body, looking back up at my face again with an expression of seriousness and intent. For a half dozen songs, we danced, both together and apart, never touching but never looking anywhere except at each other. When the tempo changed to something slower and slinkier, the tilt of his mouth
98 | Jeanette Grey changed, and at last he took one slow step forward. His hand fit to my waist like it was meant to be there, his palm hot and his fingers long. My own arm lifted up, tugging on his shoulder until he was almost as close as I wanted him to be. He smelled even better than he had earlier in the day, a scent of sweat mixing with the heat of him, and I had to fight the instinct to lick the damp side of his neck—to taste the salt of his skin against my tongue. As the music continued to pulse around us, we slowly gravitated closer and closer until I finally felt his hips brush mine, his body fitting to the template of my own. I let out a shuddering exhale at the relief of the contact, and I heard his groan when he pressed against me more firmly. Already semi-hard, the warmth of his body turned my cock to steel and my bones to liquid. Sliding my hand up to his neck and twisting my fingers in his hair, my mouth naturally fell against his throat, and this time it was impossible not to flick my tongue against his skin. His grip on my hip tightened, pulling me closer so our bodies rubbed against each other. I looked up to see his lips in front of mine, red and full, with a fine sheen of sweat making the top one shine. I wanted to kiss him, and from the way he was staring at me, I thought he might want to too. ―Dan!‖ It wasn‘t Jesse‘s warm voice in my ear, and the new hand on my shoulder wasn‘t his, either. Without letting go of Jesse‘s neck, I turned around angrily, only to find the friend I had come with standing there, tugging at me insistently to shout in my ear. I let go of Jesse with a finger held up and a look, begging him to wait as I stepped back. My friend screamed to me that they were all ready to go, but between the noise and my distraction, I scarcely heard him. All I was aware of was the way Jesse stepped even farther back than I had, his eyes darting between my face and that of my friend before settling on the floor. In one second, all the openness and all his body‘s promises of more were gone. The prickly man who always seemed to be pulling away from me in the lab was back. He wasn‘t the man who‘d just had his cock against my hip and his skin in my mouth. He was that unlovable kid I‘d known when I was a stupid nine-year-old—the one who knew exactly how untouchable he
Bug Boy | 99 was. The Bug Boy. I pulled away from my friend and reached for Jesse‘s arm, grabbing at him, but he just shook his head and turned into the crowd. He didn‘t give me a chance to catch up to him either, even though I followed his mop of sweat-soaked hair all the way to the front of the club. By the time I made it out onto the street, he was gone.
I DIDN‘T leave the club after Jesse did. Not right away at least. Just in case he showed up again, I stayed another hour, drinking my way through it and watching the door. The rest of the weekend passed in a haze of hangover pains and textbooks. I didn‘t know how to get in touch with Jesse, and even if I had, I didn‘t know if he would want to hear from me. By the time I finally went to bed on Sunday, my brain was exhausted, but my body was still thrumming. Every time I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, flashes from the club came back to me, only this time they weren‘t just of the feel of his warmth against my chest. This time, all I could seem to see was his retreat, his shoulders curling inward and his face falling, disappearing behind a wall. It was after midnight when I finally gave up, throwing off the covers before opening up my closet to reach into the very back. Beneath a pile of papers and an old jersey, I found my high school yearbook. The sea of familiar yet distant faces threatened to distract me, but I knew what I was looking for. Sandwiched between two other boys, the Jesse Milner gazing through the page at me was more or less what I‘d remembered, only seeing him through my newly opened eyes, I could catch glimmers of the beautiful man he‘d evolved into in the intervening years. There was something less confident to him, though, his hair shorter and ineffectively subdued, his smile tense, and the tie around his neck looked more like a noose than it did a symbol of power. I could sense the distance in that younger man‘s eyes. And as I stared at him, I wondered if I would ever get as close to him as I had a couple nights before.
100 | Jeanette Grey
I
EVENTUALLY fell into a restless sleep, but I still woke up early.
Dressed and distracted, there was only one place I wanted to be and exactly one person I wanted to see. It was a credit to my single-mindedness that when I found him, hunched over the same lab table he always seemed to be perched at, his face was all I could focus on. So I was already knocking, already striding across the room toward him before I saw the creature crawling on his arm. My neck instantly broke out in a cold sweat, and for a second I paused, irrational fear paralyzing me. But then Jesse looked up at me, surprise written all over his face, his mouth clearly turning down into a frown at my hesitation. It was all I needed to see. Moving again, I didn‘t wait for an invitation, and I didn‘t stop until I was right there, less than a foot away from him. And I swore that the damned spider was staring at me just as intently as Jesse was. In spite of the way my heart was racing, I managed to wrench my gaze away from all those hairy legs to meet Jesse‘s eyes. Before he could say anything, I choked out in a hushed whisper, ―Why did you run Friday night?‖ He visibly flinched, but he didn‘t break eye contact with me. It felt like he was searching for something, and all I could do was project out all the openness I wanted him to see in me. I didn‘t know if he found it or not, but eventually he looked down at the spider on his arm. ―They don‘t hurt anyone, you know,‖ he said. His voice was just as quiet as mine, and the hint of vulnerability at its edges made me ache. ―Even if they bite—which they won‘t, unless you threaten them—they‘re harmless. It‘s just how they look. They can‘t help that.‖ I swallowed hard before glancing down at it. ―I know. Rationally speaking, I know.‖ My eyes followed his hand as he slowly reached out toward me, bringing all those legs and all those eyes even closer to my skin. It wasn‘t a threat, though. I recognized it for what it was. An offer. ―Are you afraid?‖ ―No.‖ I tried my hardest not to make it a lie, but my voice still shook.
Bug Boy | 101 ―You are.‖ Lifting my eyes to his, I offered honestly, ―I don‘t want to be.‖ ―Do you want to hold her?‖ The very idea made me nauseated, the fear a thick blackness in my stomach. But I knew this was important. Shuddering, I ground out a quiet, ―All right.‖ So slowly, he reached out the rest of the way to touch the hand with the tarantula to my fingertips. When that first black leg made contact with my skin, it was just as horrifying as I‘d expected it to be, and the only thing that kept me standing was that Jesse didn‘t let go. Somehow, I held onto the warmth of his touch even when the rest of my body was icy with fear. A moment later, the entire awful, hairy mass of the spider was sitting on the back of my hand. ―You see?‖ he whispered. I saw Jesse. I saw his fear that no one would ever understand him and that, just like the nine-year-old boy he had once been, no one would ever want to touch him. But I did. ―I think so.‖ He only forced me to endure it for a minute. When he gently scooped the spider back into his hands, I sucked in a rough inhale, feeling my lungs expand for the first time since he‘d approached me with the thing. I followed it with my eyes the entire time as he deposited it back in the terrarium, and it was as if my whole body relaxed once that door was shut. It tensed again the minute he turned back to me. But then he reached for my hand, still shaking and extended out in space exactly how he had left it. Unlike the sickening motion of spider legs against the back of my palm, Jesse‘s touch was sure and smooth as he rubbed exactly where he‘d asked me to endure the weight of the tarantula—of his fears and of mine. The trembling in my limbs started to ease with the warm comfort of his hands, and before long I was relaxing into the pleasure of being touched. When he finally spoke, it was only to mumble a hushed thank you. ―I‘d say it was my pleasure,‖ I offered unsteadily, ―but we both know it wasn‘t.‖ I paused before adding, ―This is, though.‖ His fingers kept up their ministrations on my hand, the silence holding between us for a moment before he admitted, ―When I see you, it reminds me of how I used to be. Back in high school.... It makes me nervous. I hate that.‖
102 | Jeanette Grey ―I found your old yearbook picture last night.‖ I waited for his eyes to meet mine, reading the way he cringed in the furrows on his brow. ―You were gorgeous then too. Only no one knew it.‖ He scoffed and looked back down. ―Hardly.‖ ―You were.‖ He slowly moved to entwine his hand with mine, and my pulse rate shot up, but not from fear this time. ―I liked you back then.‖ I wanted to reciprocate, but I knew he‘d see through me. ―I didn‘t know you then. But I‘d like to now.‖ We‘d shifted closer as we‘d been talking, and when I looked up from the sight of our palms pressed together, fingers interlaced, it was to find him just inches away, his lips soft. Leaning in, I closed my eyes. As abruptly as I‘d registered our proximity and the heat of his body, he was pulling away, though, and my heart dropped as I opened my eyes to see him stepping backwards. But then I realized he hadn‘t let go of my hand. That he was tugging on it. Smiling now, I let him lead me to the stockroom at the back of the lab, watched him swing the door closed behind us. For a moment we just stared at each other, the air still and yet simmering with the expectation of contact. I wasn‘t sure who moved first. Maybe we both did. All I knew was that we ended up chest to chest, my hand rising to press against his heart while his moved to my waist. There were no flashing lights, and the silence was heavy. It didn‘t matter, though, as I found once more the way my lips fit to the long line of his neck. With the softest of touches, I ghosted kisses on his skin there, shivering reciprocally at his reaction. I heard his exhale and felt the way his fingers tightened their grip. Slowly, I opened my mouth, gently caressing his throat and drifting toward his jaw. Before I knew what was happening, his other hand wrapped around the back of my neck, lifting my head in the same motion that he dropped his. When our lips first brushed, it was nothing but softness, damp, sweet kisses that tasted so warm against my mouth. He hesitated, pulling back and opening his eyes, but I didn‘t let him get far, finally threading my fingers through his hair as I sought out his lips once more. The second kiss was deeper, and I felt the tentative tip of his tongue with my own as we tasted and explored.
Bug Boy | 103 The third kiss was full of hunger. In the midst of it, I felt myself being pushed back until I was up against the door, his body pressed to mine, and I groaned loudly when I felt his hardness against my hip. ―God, you feel good,‖ he breathed against my mouth, kissing his way down my throat even as he shifted his body against me, hissing, ―Yesss.‖ I returned his motions, meeting every forward pulse of his hips with my own. Before long, he was snaking a hand between us, palming where I was clearly wanting for him, and when his nimble fingers went to work at my belt, I felt my eyes roll back in my head. ―Fuck, Jesse. Here?‖ I immediately mourned the loss of his touch and his kiss. ―Do you not want to?‖ I searched his eyes for some assurance while trying to provide my own. Seeing his desire written all across his face, I answered him by reversing our positions and attacking his mouth. The door rattled with the weight of his impact, but neither of us could be bothered to care. My hands traced his body, taking in the subtle curve of muscle, the hollow of his waist. The long line of his cock. His own moan echoed through the room, and I was hungry for more. Wanting to give him something, to prove that I saw so much more than just the boy that he had been, I dropped to my knees at the same time that I started to unfasten his jeans. It didn‘t take long to get them open, to reach into his briefs and pull him out. And then he was before me, all swollen flesh and wet desire. Before he could so much as pant my name or touch my hair, I opened my mouth to him. His fist hit the door beside his hip in a loud bang, his voice erupting in a hoarse gasp as he bucked forward. ―You don‘t… you don‘t have to….‖ My only answer was to suck harder, pulling him deeper against my throat as our eyes met. Still bobbing my head and moving my tongue over the ridge of him, I listened to his noises of pleasure, watching as he lifted his hand to tug self-consciously at his glasses. It was the only time I released him. ―Leave them on.‖ His moan was even louder as he brought his hand back down to settle it tenderly on the back of my head. Not guiding. Just touching. His fingers moved to squeeze my shoulder at the same time that I tasted a low pulse of bitterness as it coated my throat. ―I‘m….‖ I didn‘t stop. A
104 | Jeanette Grey few seconds later, when he erupted against my tongue, I swallowed hard, stroking his hip and staring up at him, my own body on the edge just from watching. When he was done, I scarcely had time to wipe my mouth before he was beckoning me up and catching my face between his hands. It stayed there as he kissed my mouth, sweeping his tongue against mine. I pressed myself against his body, covering it and pushing him into the door. I knew it wouldn‘t take much to set me off, but the friction against his spent body made him spasm, and a moment later his hands left my face to move back to my belt. He had only just gotten my bare flesh into his hands, roughly pumping a half dozen times before I felt my own pleasure cresting. ―Come on me,‖ he breathed, his one hand lifting his shirt. I did just that, breaking the kiss and looking down, the intensity of my orgasm growing exponentially as I watched my release paint his stomach and his cock. We leaned against each other for a few minutes, catching our breaths before I pulled myself away. In and amongst the lab supplies all around us, Jesse managed to find a roll of paper towels, and we cleaned up in silence. More or less presentable, we stood there shuffling, and I felt the awkwardness settling back in around us. Unwilling to accept it, I reached out for him just as he was ducking his head and turning toward the door. I kissed him softly and captured his hand in mine before looking down at my watch. I was shocked by how late it was, but it played into my hands well enough. ―Have lunch with me.‖ His surprise was obvious. Flustered, his mouth opened and closed a couple times before he managed to get out a gruff, ―Where?‖ I didn‘t even have to think about it. ―The dining hall.‖ It wasn‘t romantic, but it was the most public place I could think of. ―Walk in there with me,‖ I insisted. ―Hand in hand.‖ A slow smile spread across his face. I wasn‘t sure if it was what he was thinking about, but all I could picture was how he had looked back all those years ago, eating at a table in the cafeteria, alone. I‘d never let him do that again. Not if I could help it. ―Okay.‖
Bug Boy | 105 ―Yeah?‖ More confidently, his grin less brittle, he repeated, ―Yeah.‖ On the way out, we passed all of his terrariums. I still suppressed a shudder, looking at them, but it was okay. My Bug Boy could have his bugs. But only if I could have him.
106 | Jeanette Grey About the Author
After brief, unsatisfying careers in advertising, teaching, computers, and homemaking, JEANETTE GREY has returned to her two first loves: romance and writing. For her, there is no story without a love story, and there is no better way to show the connection between two (or more!) people than through physical touch and intimacy. Her favorite parts of a romance are the transcendent moment when a person discovers that he is loved and that terrifying moment right before it when he isn't sure. When she isn't writing, Jeanette enjoys making pottery, playing board games, and spending time with her husband and her pet frog. She lives, loves, and writes in North Carolina. Visit her website at http://jeanettegrey.com/ or follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/jeanettelgrey.
Accismus
WHEN Charlie was a nineteen-year-old sophomore, he fell hard for a straight upperclassman—a frat boy, no less, who was also popular and a well-respected member of the soccer team. And even if the guy wasn‘t straight (and he totally was, with his cheerleader girlfriend), Charlie was hardly a catch with his too-slender frame, his floppy brown hair, and his androgynous features. More than once Charlie was mistaken for a baby dyke, and he figured he would have more luck trying to score with married celebrity heartthrob Jensen Ackles than the local sports star, so he tried not to humor his crush. It was an impossible goal, given that the object of his misguided affection, Lance Milton, was in his study group two semesters in a row; first in a Russian lit survey course and then, fatally for Charlie, in a lateVictorian literature seminar. Lance explained that he was a history major and his focus was the European Belle Époque era, so he wanted to take a variety of interdisciplinary courses pertaining to that time, including literature and art history. Charlie tried not to swoon. Working closely with the handsome, intelligent collegiate idol was, for Charlie, something akin to pouring salt on the wound of his
108 | Cooper West unrequited lust. By the end of the second term, Charlie recognized Lance by the way he smelled, and he knew that he was doomed if Lance didn‘t graduate soon and leave Charlie in peace. Miraculously before Charlie caved to desire and started humping Lance‘s leg in class, Lance graduated. He took his six-foot-tall frame of solid muscles and his golden-flecked hazel eyes and his supermodelesque cheerleader girlfriend and finally, finally left Charlie in peace. With his main distraction gone, Charlie focused like a laser on his rhetoric and composition studies, and spent his rare free time going through a series of short-term romances that counted as nothing more than stress relief. Charlie figured two years without Lance distracting him was more than enough time to get over him. He hoped. He tried, anyway. After graduating with his bachelor‘s, Charlie took time off to decide which graduate school to apply to for his master‘s. He took a summer job as a waiter at an upscale restaurant in a beach resort town down on the coast while he weighed his options, and never thought about Lance once. Maybe twice, but he wasn‘t counting, because he scored a lot of hot one-night stands with the tourists. In the fall he applied to the two top universities in his field, because he decided to aim high for a change, and waited through winter and spring for an acceptance. One came through, with a full tuition waver included if he agreed to teach two undergraduate courses when he started. He considered that a no-brainer, so when summer came back around, it found him taking the university‘s three-week teacher‘s assistant training program in preparation to be an English lit TA. He was ready to get the next chapter of his life rolling, eager to focus on his master‘s thesis and sharpen his pencils for a doctorate. What he was not ready for, at all, was Lance Milton.
LANCE, now three years ahead of Charlie, was of course a wellrespected doctoral student in the history department with a fierce reputation in the intramural soccer league. An old hand at the TA gig, he was the primary trainer for the program, meaning that Charlie would be subjected to him for hours every day for the whole three weeks. He was also (according to the comp-sci nerd who breathed on Charlie too much
Accismus | 109 as they sat next to each other in training) ―meat on the hoof.‖ When Charlie asked her what, exactly, she meant by that, the girl looked shifty and mumbled something about dating. ―If he‘s too good for me, he‘s wayyyyy out of your league!‖ Charlie hissed at her as Lance stood up at the front of the class to review pedagogical theories used in the classroom. The nerd gave Charlie a withering glare but shut up. It wasn‘t until the third day of the training course that Lance called on Charlie to stay after class. Feeling like a high school loser, Charlie shuffled up to the podium where Lance was packing up his briefcase. ―Charlie Harper, right?‖ Lance smiled. Charlie refused to go weak in the knees, but it was a close call. ―Yeah, Russian lit and late-Victorian lit.‖ ―Right, my senior year of interdisciplinary studies! I thought that was you. Man, how‘s it goin‘?‖ Lance slapped his hand into Charlie‘s, familiarly. ―Good?‖ ―You don‘t sound too sure of that, my friend.‖ ―Well, you know. Starting grad school, doing this.‖ Charlie waved his hand around airily, then realized it made him look even more effeminate than usual, so shoved the offending hand into his jeans pocket. Lance gave him a funny look, almost kindly or amused, but Charlie was not up to figuring out if the beautiful straight guy was making fun of him. ―I thought you were right on my heels, man. You‘re just now starting your master‘s?‖ Lance grabbed his briefcase and herded them towards the door. ―I was two years behind you!‖ Charlie squawked, clutching the grungy backpack, which made him look like a ripe undergrad compared to Lance‘s stylish, leather briefcase. The whole afternoon was not his finest moment, he thought dourly. ―Really? Huh.‖ Lance stopped in front of the elevator. ―Couldn‘t put it past me. You‘re smart. I thought you were a senior too. You talked like it.‖ ―Oh. Sure. Thanks.‖ Charlie grimaced. Better and better. He tripped over his feet as Lance grabbed him and pulled him into the elevator.
110 | Cooper West ―You aren‘t officially a student of mine, and we‘re in different programs anyway, so I don‘t think we have to worry about fraternization rules. Come get a drink with me. We‘ll laugh about old times and cry about the new ones.‖ Charlie stared at the closing elevator doors in desperation. He wanted, oh so badly, to go get a drink with Lance, but he did not want any reason to renew his hopeless, pointless crush on the guy. Although he suspected it was too late for that, so he might as well get a drink out of it. ―Sure.‖ Lance grinned and slapped him on the back in a manly, jock-like way. Charlie bit his tongue to keep from whining in pain. They ended up at one of the bars that ringed the campus. At three in the afternoon during the summer session, it was completely dead, and the staff was more interested in watching a basketball game on the televisions scattered around the walls than paying attention to customers. Lance knew the bartender though (of course) and they got a couple of drinks quickly despite the game. ―Hey, you driving?‖ Lance asked, raising his dark lager to his lips. Charlie eyed his melon sour, wondering if he could have possibly ordered anything more gay, although he figured he should be grateful the bartender didn‘t stick little umbrellas in it. ―No, my small, shitty apartment is near campus. I use the university bus system, mostly.‖ Lance nodded. ―It‘s convenient. I rent a house over off Campbell, near the stadium. Great location, although on game nights the yelling gets annoying.‖ ―Just like 30,000 neighbors having loud sex, right?‖ Charlie smirked for a second before becoming appalled at himself for making the dirty joke to a guy who had always struck him as pretty straight-laced and proper. Lance laughed loudly. ―Oh hell, just like that! Ha!‖ The afternoon went by with a few more drinks and a lot of talk about course work, thesis plans, and family life. Charlie learned that Lance broke up with his cheerleader girlfriend over a year ago and was enjoying being single, which Charlie tried not to daydream about too vividly. Charlie shared a few of his non-sex-related antics from his previous summer at the tourist resort, getting more loud guffaws out of Lance before he turned wistful.
Accismus | 111 ―Man, I miss the beach.‖ ―I miss the mai tais.‖ Lance laughed. ―Dude, you‘re funny as hell. We need to do this again.‖ ―Not sure we‘ll have time,‖ Charlie said into his glass of water, hoping to nip the idea in the bud. He really did not need the distraction of Lance looming over him again. The thought of Lance looming over him brought more unwanted images to mind, which Charlie had to kick back mentally. Lance nodded sadly. ―Point.‖ They parted ways in front of the bar, slightly tipsy and agreeing to stay in touch outside of the TA program, which for Charlie was a baldfaced lie. He was planning on hiding from Lance for the next two years, if that‘s what it took to keep his crush under control this time. For the most part, once the training course was over and the fall semester started, his plan worked. Almost.
―HEY! There you are!‖ Charlie tried not to buckle when Lance‘s strong hand landed on his shoulder. He was at one of the smaller coffee houses near campus, Jasmine‘s Coffee Pub, which served a house blend that was divine. Charlie needed it, as he had got back the first set of essays from his RhetComp 101 class, and the results were thirty papers of marginal undergraduate crap. ―Hi,‖ Charlie replied weakly, trying to smile. Lance was as beautiful as always, standing casually with his perfect body, his pressed chinos, and a green polo shirt that picked up the colors in his hazel eyes; as compared to Charlie who was feeling very skinny and faux-hipster in his second-hand pinstriped trousers and a worn RhetComp joke T-shirt that said ―I need to sit down, I‘m having a kairotic moment.‖ ―Jasmine has the best coffee in town, right? I love this place.‖ Lance sat down across from him and opened his briefcase to pull out his top-of-the-line laptop. ―Always grade papers here. I need the juice, you know?‖ Charlie nodded hopelessly, coming to terms with the fact that
112 | Cooper West Lance was simply inescapable. ―And it‘s cool to hang out with another TA for a change. I know most grad students prefer hiding in their apartments, but I have to get out a little, see other human beings.‖ ―You mean aside from undergrads?‖ Charlie sighed. ―I really don‘t count them as human,‖ Lance said seriously. Charlie laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. Lance grabbed his arm. ―Steady there, champ!‖ Charlie waved a hand at him. ―Oh, shut up!‖ Lance snorted, pleased with himself. He patted Charlie comfortably on the shoulder as he got up to get his coffee. Charlie tried not to stare at him, thinking that maybe it would be a lot more fun hanging out with Lance than avoiding him. Dangerous, but fun.
DESPITE all the one-on-one time he spent at the coffee shop with Lance, Charlie tried to date. Some guys liked the skinny androgynous look, so Charlie got offers when he bothered to go to the clubs, but nothing ever clicked. Even the few one-night stands he got through were lackluster, and of course Charlie blamed Lance. How was anyone supposed to compete with that, anyway? It was all made worse by the fact that Lance had become something like a leech, always at Charlie‘s elbow as soon as he walked in the door at Jasmine‘s. It would have bothered Charlie a lot if not for the fact that he had fallen head over heels for Lance, yet again. It was even worse than when they were undergrads together, because now they shared the woes of being TAs trying to work on their theses, a bond that Charlie discovered was thicker than blood. And Lance was perfect, lest Charlie ever forget. He was always dressed stylishly in business casual, or on the weekends in smart, fashionable jeans that were clean and hugged his ass the way Charlie wanted to. The one time he showed up at Jasmine‘s looking sweaty and well-used in damp sweats and a tight T-shirt after soccer practice, Charlie had to fold up and play solitaire for an hour because he could not think about anything but licking the sweat off of Lance‘s skin. Lance, of course, was always oblivious. Nearly always, anyway.
Accismus | 113 ―A hickey?‖ Lance‘s eyes narrowed as he inspected Charlie‘s neck from across their table. Charlie froze, horrified, remembering far too late the small, bruised sucker-mark near his collarbone from his most recent mistake. The guy he went home with the night before had kissed magnificently, but probably because he was terrible at everything else. It had not been something Charlie wanted a memento of, although he got one. ―You didn‘t tell me you were dating anyone,‖ Lance said, his voice surprisingly blank as he turned back to his laptop. ―I‘m not!‖ Lance looked back up and pointed at his neck. ―Hicky.‖ ―I was out with some friends and met this guy.‖ Charlie shrugged. If anything, Lance‘s face went even blanker. For a horrified moment, Charlie thought that, impossibly, Lance had never figured out that Charlie was gay. ―You know how dangerous that is? To just pick up strangers? You could get hurt, or get something nasty.‖ Charlie blinked at him slowly before the comment sunk in fully. ―Seriously? You‘re giving me the safe-sex lecture?‖ ―I‘m your friend, so yes, I am. Dude, don‘t slut around.‖ Charlie‘s jaw dropped. ―Slut around? What are you, the Church Lady? I‘m allowed to have a sex life!‖ ―I don‘t mean that! I just mean… don‘t make it cheap. You deserve better than shitty one-night stands with guys who don‘t care about you.‖ ―I never said it was shitty!‖ Lance rolled his eyes. ―Like you‘d be here at ten in the morning grading papers if you had a better offer in bed.‖ ―Maybe the better offer is here!‖ Charlie snapped. Lance gave him a long, shuttered look while Charlie tried really hard to die of embarrassment. Finally his brain kicked in. ―I mean the coffee! The coffee here is better than sex. We‘ve agreed on this.‖ A small smile that almost looked sad broke out over Lance‘s face. ―Yeah, the coffee is better than sex. Okay.‖ Charlie squirmed. ―Anyway, we‘re heading into the end of the
114 | Cooper West semester. I won‘t have time to go ‗slutting around‘ as you so delicately put it.‖ ―True. Good.‖ Lance looked back down at his laptop, and did not bring up the matter again for the rest of the semester. Charlie was pretty sure he was glad about that.
THEY stood outside of the coffee shop with matching expressions of bewilderment and dismay. The sign mocked them. Closed due to construction!fail next door! It went on in small print to explain a convoluted chain of events starting with a jackhammer and ending with the coffeehouse flooded by a broken water main. Many regular customers had written in comments of despair on the sign, but that did not change the fact that the shop was well and truly closed until further notice. Charlie clutched his backpack like a dying man. ―I… I need coffee.‖ He knew he was whining, and he knew it wasn‘t pretty, but he couldn‘t help himself—he had thirty finals to grade. ―This is a catastrophe!‖ Lance‘s hand landed comfortably on his shoulder, something Charlie had grown accustomed to over the last couple of months. ―No, it‘s not. I bought a pound of Jasmine‘s house blend last week. We‘ll go to my place and set up there.‖ Lance grinned. ―Hell, later we won‘t even have to leave for dinner. We‘ll get pizza delivered.‖ Charlie gazed at him in pathetic adoration, but he could not stop himself. Lance bounced one more time on the balls of his feet and turned. ―Let‘s go!‖ He marched off. Lance seemed overly excited about their change in plans, but it was a sign of how grateful Charlie was that he did not question it or feel anxious about being invited back to Lance‘s house. It was a small, time-worn bungalow only four blocks away, which finally explained why Lance apparently lived at the coffeehouse, lying in wait for Charlie—he probably saw Charlie walking to it out of his front windows. But aside from being old, the house was charming. Lance kept it clean, Charlie noted with approval, and the second-hand furniture that
Accismus | 115 filled it up gave it a warm, well-loved look rather than a cheap, inexpensive one. It was no surprise Lance had good design sense, because after all, he was perfect. Charlie would have been horrifically jealous if he wasn‘t so damn in love with the guy. Lance pulled huge sitting pillows out of a pile next to the couch, moving the heavy old wooden coffee table into the middle of the room to create their erstwhile ―workstation.‖ Charlie set up their laptops while Lance went to grind the coffee beans and make a fresh pot of the ambrosia, and soon enough they were settled on pillows like minor sheiks with steaming cups of coffee and dozens of papers to grade. The time, unfortunately for Charlie, did not fly. The papers were uniformly marginal and boring, and coffee could only do so much. He got up after an hour and a half to stretch. ―Bathroom?‖ Lance blinked at him in surprise. ―Oh hey, yeah, sorry, that hall, first door on the left.‖ Charlie nodded and went to pee. He almost didn‘t, though, when he saw the copy of OUT Magazine sitting in a small magazine holder in the bathroom. Lance lived alone. There was no reason for him to have that magazine in the house. Charlie packed himself up, washed his hands, grabbed the magazine, and marched back out into the living room. ―I didn‘t know you were gay!‖ He waved the magazine around. Lance looked up at him, nonplussed. ―Was that something I was supposed to tell you?‖ Charlie deflated at the lack of fight. ―No, I guess not… you just always had a girlfriend.‖ ―Annie. We dated for five years.‖ ―Right, that. I mean her.‖ ―We were dating exclusively. It wasn‘t like I went looking for anything on the side.‖ ―I don‘t mean that! I just—‖ ―I don‘t need to explain myself to you.‖ Lance sat back, looking pissed and crossing his arms defensively. Charlie raised his hands in surrender. ―Man, I just meant I had no idea.‖
116 | Cooper West Lance relaxed, but did not add anything else to the discussion. When Charlie sat back down, they returned to grading papers with their laptops facing off like a high-tech version of Battleship. Lance got up later to refill both of their mugs. Charlie thanked him, trying not to blush. Lance gave him a long, assessing look at that, but did not comment. Any of Charlie‘s brain cells that were not focusing on bad undergraduate writing kept trying to circle back to the fact that Lance was surprisingly gay, or bisexual, or at least flexible, and what that might mean, or not, and how he looked naked. Charlie couldn‘t take it—and be productive—so with a large swallow of too-hot coffee, he zeroed in on what he was supposed to be doing instead of daydreaming about the hunk sitting two feet away. It was a mixed success, and by mid-afternoon Charlie was cross-eyed and hungry and horny, although he refused to admit that last part. He looked over at Lance and whined. ―What?‖ Lance did not even glance up. ―Food? You promised me food.‖ ―I promised you pizza and beer for dinner.‖ ―In some parts of the world, ‗dinner‘ means lunch.‖ ―And by some parts of the world, you mean my living room?‖ ―Yes! Smart man!‖ Charlie slapped his laptop closed. ―I‘m so hungry I don‘t even want to check Facebook or surf for porn. C‘mon.‖ ―No surfing for porn on my wireless,‖ Lance said as he unfolded from his pillow. ―Oh, like you don‘t.‖ Charlie rolled his eyes. ―Yes, but it‘s my wireless and my porn.‖ ―Selfish.‖ Charlie mock-pouted. ―Maybe if you‘re nice, I‘ll share later.‖ Lance leered at him as he pulled out his phone. Charlie froze. After a second, Lance tensed up. ―Sorry. I didn‘t… I know you‘re not… just forget it. I‘m ordering pizza.‖ He punched at the phone viciously. Charlie jumped up and grabbed the phone, holding it away. Lance did not even try to fight for it, staring down helplessly at Charlie. ―You know I‘m not what? It‘s no secret I‘m gay, so that‘s not it.‖ Lance bit his lip, looking around desperately as if trying to escape. Then he sighed heavily and closed his eyes. ―I know you‘re not interested, okay? I get that. Just because we‘re gay doesn‘t mean we
Accismus | 117 can‘t be… friends. I‘m good with that. Really.‖ He never opened his eyes as the words spilled out. Charlie opened and closed his mouth about twenty times. Lance finally opened his eyes in the silence. ―Charlie?‖ ―Not interested? Are you fucking insane? I‘ve been in love with you for years! Years!‖ Charlie felt himself moving dangerously close to ‗shrieking queer‘, so took a deep breath. Lance looked stunned. ―Really?‖ ―Oh! My God!‖ Charlie threw the phone on the couch, reached up, and grabbed the back of Lance‘s neck. ―Come here!‖ He yanked Lance down to kiss him, a sloppy affair that was completely one-sided on Charlie‘s part. After a second he drew back, confused. Lance was still looking stunned, the addition of damp lips adding an irresistible sheen of ―adorable‖ on top. In his own confusion, Charlie tried to step back, but Lance finally reacted, wrapping his arms around Charlie in a strong, locked embrace. They were plastered together, so Charlie had to crane his neck to look up at Lance‘s face. He looked deadly serious, his early confusion wiped away. ―Don‘t rush me. I‘ve wanted this since I saw you in that damn TA training class, looking hot and smart in the third row.‖ ―Hot?‖ Lance grinned, but it was a little more evil and mischievous than Charlie was used to. ―Hot, in your stupid hipster pants and that pink button-down shirt and that damned ugly plaid blazer.‖ Charlie nodded. ―It‘s very ugly, it goes with everything.‖ He snapped his mouth shut to stop the stupid. Lance bent his head down so their lips nearly touched. ―Kiss me.‖ Charlie draped his arms up over Lance‘s shoulders and hung on, going on tip-toe to kiss him. This time it was fully reciprocal, Lance giving as good as he got. It was a kiss that was leading up to more, full of heat and anticipation, lush in its wet promises. Charlie did not let his tongue rush in, keeping his mouth barely open as a tease while Lance tried to completely envelope him. He curled down over Charlie, pulling him in closer to his embrace as his tongue whipped over Charlie‘s lips in-between soft kisses. It was overpowering, and Charlie lost his breath. ―Oh, wait, wait….‖ He stepped backwards awkwardly, Lance‘s
118 | Cooper West arms like steel bands around his back. ―No—‖ ―Stop it! I can‘t breathe!‖ Charlie grabbed hold of Lance‘s shirt, holding him in place. ―Wow.‖ Lance grinned down at him. ―Yeah.‖ ―Can we take this somewhere that doesn‘t have windows facing the street?‖ Lance twisted to look at the broad run of windows running across the front room, and without loosening his grip pulled Charlie with him. ―Huh.‖ The next thing Charlie knew, he was upside down in a fireman carry as Lance hauled him back to his bedroom. It was decorated as eclectically as the front room, which was the whole of Charlie‘s impression of it before he was tossed like a log onto the bed. ―This caveman thing? It‘s surprisingly sexy,‖ Charlie said, propping himself up on his elbows with his legs hanging over the edge of the mattress. Lance grinned again, as if he could not help himself, but instead of crawling up over him as Charlie thought he was going to do, Lance gracefully dropped to his knees between Charlie‘s legs and folded over the bed to push his face into his groin. Charlie whined as Lance rubbed his face like a cat over Charlie‘s cloth-covered erection. ―Oh, you bastard!‖ Lance raised his head at that, confused. ―What?‖ ―I‘ve been having wet dreams about this for fucking years! Oh!‖ Charlie grabbed at Lance‘s head and shoved it back down. Lance laughed, putting his hands on Charlie‘s thighs to hold him still. Charlie was used to guys who liked to top and wanted to be the ―man‖ in bed, but Lance‘s whole demeanor was different. His hold on Charlie was firm but not harsh, and his position on his knees, snuffling at Charlie‘s dick, was almost submissive. ―Lance!‖ Charlie could not stop himself from begging, even though he was not sure what he was asking for. Lance‘s hands drifted up until they were busily at work undoing Charlie‘s belt and unzipping his pants. He peeled the trousers open before stopping to sniff and rub his face over Charlie‘s erection, now with just the thin cloth of Charlie‘s boxers in the way. Lance‘s breath was hot even through the cotton, and Charlie whined. Laughing again,
Accismus | 119 Lance deftly pulled Charlie‘s cock out through the fly, flicking his tongue lightly over the tip. Gasping, Charlie used both hands to grab at Lance‘s short hair, tugging him where he wanted him. Lance followed, gently sucking Charlie‘s cockhead into his mouth. One hand strayed back to Charlie‘s thigh as an anchor while his other wrapped around the base of Charlie‘s cock, stroking lightly. Charlie closed his eyes and rolled his hips up, trying to get deeper into Lance‘s touch, Lance‘s mouth, Lance‘s anything. Lance hummed happily, sinking his mouth lower, sucking harder, and generally driving Charlie batshit insane. Charlie gave up with trying to hold on, clawing at the bedspread under him for traction even as Lance sucked Charlie‘s brain out of his dick. It was magnificent, the kind of blowjob that Charlie never got from one-night stands—slow, loving, and intense. Lance was serious about not hurrying things, which Charlie was fine with for about zero seconds. ―Fuck! Lance, I need to, I really need—‖ Charlie began pumping his hips up, feeling an orgasm swelling slowly and threatening to charge. Instead, Lance pulled off and stood up. ―Hey!‖ ―You look totally used.‖ Lance smirked, and then stopped the conversation short by whipping his shirt off over his head and dropping his pants. Charlie‘s brain short-circuited at the reveal, trying to absorb just how damn beautiful Lance was—muscled like an athlete, but not hard cut or intimidating, simply casual and confidant in his skin. Charlie wanted to drool in-between bouts of feeling self-conscious. Lance leaned over and deftly stripped Charlie out of his trousers and boxers. Charlie scrambled backward to get fully laid out on the bed, yanking off his shirt at the same time. Lance smiled as he got on the bed, resting on his knees with Charlie‘s legs spread out around him. He leaned over, holding his body high above Charlie as he bent his head to kiss him again. Charlie ran his hands over Lance‘s arms and shoulders, his back and his stomach, roaming and touching and reveling. As the kiss deepened, Lance fucking his tongue into Charlie‘s mouth, he moved one hand down Charlie‘s chest to his cock. Stroking Charlie slowly, Lance shifted back up on his knees, forcing Charlie‘s legs further apart. ―I want inside of you, please, Charlie… let me fuck you.‖ Lance pulled out of the kiss to ask permission. He looked desperate.
120 | Cooper West ―Damnit, yes. Yes! You think I‘m going to say no?‖ Lance closed his eyes, lowering his head so their foreheads were touching. ―They do it all the time, don‘t they?‖ ―What? Who?‖ Charlie pushed him back by his shoulders. ―Your dates. Those guys, you let them top you. You let them inside you. Fuck!‖ Lance grabbed Charlie‘s face with both hands and kissed him brutally, his body shaking. When Lance pulled back, Charlie was speechless and clueless. He stared at Lance, who was visibly trying to collect himself. ―I‘m sorry, I‘m sorry. I just hate thinking of you with them, imagining the way they treat you like some kind of twink, and now I‘m—‖ ―Shut up!‖ Charlie snarled, the tone in his voice stopping Lance cold. ―It‘s not the same, for fuck‘s sake. I don‘t know them. I don‘t want to know them. But I know you.‖ He reached up to pet Lance‘s overheated skin, stroking his cheek. ―I know you. It‘s not the same at all.‖ Lance closed his eyes at the gentle touch. ―I don‘t do casual, Charlie. I don‘t do cheap.‖ Charlie froze, trying to take that in. ―And?‖ ―And I don‘t want you to either. Promise me. Promise me you won‘t fuck anyone else, because I can‘t take it. I want you all to myself and that makes me a selfish bastard, but I‘m in love with you, and I don‘t want to share.‖ ―Oh my God,‖ Charlie breathed out, stunned. ―Really?‖ Lance nodded, his gaze direct and intense. ―Because, yes, yes, and yes! I can do that. I want to do that. With you, I mean, I want—‖ Charlie‘s babbling was cut short by Lance‘s grateful, smile-infused kissing. Charlie felt Lance‘s hand between his legs, massaging his ball sac, and he groaned. ―Oh yes!‖ Lance reached for lube and a condom from his bedside table. He slicked up and put the condom on first, giving Charlie teasing, sultry looks as he touched himself. ―You‘ve been teasing me for years, stop it!‖ Charlie smacked Lance‘s chest lightly. Lance laughed again before hooking one of Charlie‘s legs up over his shoulder then pushing one slippery finger into Charlie‘s ass. Charlie hissed with pleasure. Lance took his damn time,
Accismus | 121 rubbing Charlie apart from the inside-out, one finger at a time, until they were both shaking. With a deep breath, Lance pulled out his fingers and grabbed Charlie‘s thighs, holding them high and wide as he stared at his dick pushing slowly into Charlie‘s body. Charlie groaned and writhed under him, reaching up to grab Lance‘s arms to steady himself. Charlie felt like he should say something dirty to encourage Lance, but Lance didn‘t want cheap, and he sure did not want any of the tricks Charlie used with his fly-by-night affairs. Charlie wanted this to be between them, with nothing else but their new, raw passion, so he kept his mouth shut except to groan or cry out as Lance began fucking him. It was Lance who started talking. ―So tight, so beautiful, you are the most beautiful man I‘ve ever met… fuck, Charlie, you are so damn perfect, I thought you‘d never see me, oh, fuck.‖ He gasped, falling forward, the babbling surprise and awe continuing as he slammed into Charlie over and over until he ran out of words, thrusting mindlessly. ―Lance, oh, come for me, come in me, please, Lance, please!‖ Charlie felt the sweat dripping off of him as they worked against each other. At Charlie‘s words, Lance jerked twice and shuddered, biting off a loud shout as he came. Gasping and shaking, he grabbed Charlie‘s cock and pulled at it hard, which was all Charlie needed after the hard-core pounding. He climaxed with a surprised yelp, his hips stuttering up against Lance who was still coming, his orgasm long and pulsing inside of Charlie. ―You promise?‖ Lance pressed his damp face into Charlie‘s sweaty neck, nipping at his skin with his teeth. ―I do, I really fucking do. I love you back, Frat Boy.‖ Lance snorted and smacked Charlie‘s ass. ―You like frat boys, don‘t you?‖ ―No, just the one.‖ Charlie pulled Lance‘s face to his and kissed him. They did not grade any more papers that day.
122 | Cooper West *Accismus: A rhetorical term describing a form of irony in which a person feigns a lack of interest in something that he or she actually desires.(Ref.: coyness)
Accismus | 123 About the Author
COOPER WEST lives in Florida and wishes the weather was more like the Pacific coast, or maybe Hawaii, but is in graduate school to become a sexy librarian so is unable to make that real just yet. West has a cat and a lot of books and spends too much time reading slash fan fic when not riding a bicycle or doing yoga or napping. Visit Cooper at http://www.cooper-west.com. You can contact Cooper at
[email protected].
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirt
―YOU look very fuckable.‖ Since I‘d gotten to the costume party, I heard a few compliments about looking hot in the black miniskirt and trench coat. Even a few of the frat boys had catcalled and whistled. It didn‘t bother me. It just meant our win of the five-hundred-dollar grand prize was a lock. My roomies in their tight, red mesh shirts and dark kohl eyes were getting a lot of attention from the ladies. Which was great since the costume idea had been a tough sell. If we didn‘t win, which we would, they‘d still have a blast and hopefully get some play. Even timid Tommy looked good as one of my backup singers, and was chatting up a cheerleader. I turned my head slightly, smile on my face just in case the speaker had a judge ribbon pinned to his shirt. Not a judge. It turned out to be the activist from my psychology class. You know the type—recycles, won‘t wear leather, marches in protests, looks a bit like the male version of an earth mom. A hippie minus the peace signs and psychedelic clothes. I thought his name may have been Roger. In class he slouched in his seat and took up our whole row with his personality. He‘s cute, smart, and truth be told, I‘m a bit intimidated.
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 125 My friend Lorrie, who I‘d been talking to, stepped in for me. ―Really? I was going for gruesome.‖ Unless the guy was into the walking dead, no way would anyone say fuckable about her tonight. Normally? Totally. But with peeling flesh and bloody splatters… well, I‘d had to look her in the eyes when we talked so I didn‘t focus too long on the rotting flesh and get queasy. She was just giving the guy an out. I looked like a chick from behind, even with the top hat, because the black corset gave me an hourglass shape. But up close, even with the makeup and half veil, it was pretty obvious I was all male. ―Actually, I meant your friend.‖ I turned a bit more to eye Roger the Activist. He was dressed as a cop. The irony of it, a down-with-the-man free spirit buttoned into the blue uniform of a police officer, made me laugh. He touched the badge on his respectable pec and grinned, possibly knowing what I was thinking. ―It‘s my brother‘s uniform.‖ It looked good, but there were other cops at the party, just like there were other zombies, so I wasn‘t worried he‘d be competition. The smile and blush and the way he shifted under my leer, made me think he‘d spoken before he really got a look at me. I decided to ignore his earlier comment, like Lorrie, willing to give him an out now that he had seen me and would realize I was a guy too. Don‘t get me wrong, he looked plenty doable every day. Add the uniform and I was swallowing to keep the drool from ruining my lipstick. I have always had a thing for men in uniform. Recently I had the opportunity to try out handcuffs, and I definitely had a horny spot for restraints. So, rebellious hottie with a pair of cuffs on his hip? Hot, hot, hot. But you couldn‘t hold someone to something they said at some loud college party. This was the house party. The people who lived here promoted the monthly event all over social media. The place was huge. I‘d come to a couple parties last year and still hadn‘t made it to the backyard. ―Lorrie, Officer Do-Right is in my psychology class.‖ I figured it was close enough to an introduction that it covered the fact I couldn‘t remember his name. Now I‘d politely pull him into the conversation. I couldn‘t remember what we were talking about—the hottie had me distracted—but we‘d wing it. ―We were just talking—‖ ―I‘m serious.‖ He rushed to talk over me. ―You look good.‖ He
126 | Amberly Smith stepped close and let his hand brush across my exposed thigh, just above the thigh-high, black boots. ―Shania Twain? From that music video, Man, I Feel Like A Woman.‖ He sang the last part. He had a decent voice, and that touch had my cock twitching in the too-tight briefs I was wearing to keep my junk out of the way. How drag queens could tuck and tape, I don‘t know. I must have stared at him in shock because he started to backpedal. ―Unless you‘re not interested in guys.‖ He put his hands up in a placating way as he took a step back. ―It‘s not for everyone.‖ Either he thought I was a chick and not interested, or he realized I was a guy and thought I was straight. Dang, how good was my Shania? Lorrie pushed at my shoulder. ―Oh, he likes guys plenty.‖ Did she say it that way to clear his doubt or mine? I glared over my shoulder, which made her laugh, and she mumbled about getting a beer before wandering off. I turned back to Roger. He met my eyes directly and kept looking. His deep brown eyes dilated and slid to half-mast. He licked his lips and shifted his hips again. Dang, the guy was hot for me. I smiled and felt a clutch in my stomach and a pull of heat in my groin. I‘m young, got decent-sized junk, and I‘m not hard on the eyes, so when it comes to getting laid… well, it doesn‘t take a lot of work. But the flirting, the circling of finding a boyfriend, I‘m all about putting my foot in my mouth and a huge dollop of awkward. I had no idea what to say, but not saying something when he had paid me two compliments was a silent foot in the mouth. ―You look good too.‖ God that sounded lame. ―I talked my roommates into being the background dancers.‖ ―The ones that don‘t play instruments. Yeah, I‘ve seen them. They look good. I didn‘t even recognize Timmy.‖ ―Tommy.‖ ―Right, I‘m terrible with names.‖ I ignored the opportunity to admit the same and ask him his name. I almost asked him what his major was, and if he had grown up in town or if he, like me, had tried to escape his old life by going away for college. The typical college questions that sound trite after the first semester. I swallowed and wished I had a soda in my hand. It would give me a reason not to talk, which made me think of another way to fill my mouth. He brushed his hand against my bare thigh, just a trail of knuckles, and electricity coursed through my blood, making the fine blond hair on my legs stand up.
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 127 Suddenly, I couldn‘t not talk. ―The costumes are my idea. One of the judges is supposed to be a Twain fan, and all of them are music majors or something. I knew they‘d get the reference. We‘re going to use the winnings to pay for maid service for the rest of the year. Five slobs and no one willing to clean up after each other? Not good. This way, someone comes in to scrub and the dishes don‘t start to stink. I convinced the guys that girls would be freaked out by the bathroom if we didn‘t do something.‖ I ran out of words and had no freaking clue what to say next. I didn‘t think talking about the latest psychology reading assignment was the best topic. I didn‘t know how to go from ―hey, you look fuckable‖ to ―want to get some coffee‖ or even ―gee, you want to go shag?‖ It sounded easy, but I‘d be seeing the guy in class for the rest of the semester. There were so many ways this could play out. What if the sex was fantastic but only for me? Or only for him. Yeah, I‘d like to avoid the drama of that. ―I hope you win.‖ ―Thanks.‖ Neither of us said anything for awhile, and he shifted his hips again. He smiled a little. The strained facial contortion still made his single cute dimple pop out. He looked at the partygoers in a scan over my shoulder, not hard since he was as tall as me, even with the heels. ―Look, man. If you don‘t want to talk….‖ I rolled my eyes at his agitated tone. ―I was thinking you were straight until about two minutes ago.‖ He couldn‘t be upset that I hadn‘t immediately hiked up my mini and let him have at me. Maybe he was just as awkward when it came to flirting as I was. That made him all the more desirable. Maybe we could navigate the relationship waters together. Though suddenly going puppy eyed over this guy was probably just lust-induced logic. ―I can take the third minute to wrap my head around the idea that you‘re gay, and the fourth to decide if you‘re just some pansy-assed closet case who ain‘t worth my effort.‖ All the country I worked to repress came out over the last few words, and I frowned when he turned his eyes back to mine. They‘d lost their heat. ―I‘m out. Kind of.‖ I groaned and rubbed a thumb across my eyebrow. So not what I
128 | Amberly Smith needed. In fact that was what me and Lorrie had been yakking about. The last guy who asked me out spent so much time hiding it was impossible for me to enjoy our date. ―Look, let‘s not complicate this. We can go into the‖—he jerked a shoulder to the hall of doors behind him—―laundry room or something, and I‘ll let you suck me off.‖ He smirked and brought his hand up to touch my mouth. Was he trying to be funny? Let me? Like I should be honored or some shit? Jerk. I caught him looking at somebody over my shoulder again just as my cell vibrated. The outfit didn‘t have pockets, but there was plenty of room in the top of the corset. It was a text message from Lorrie. He was dared maybe frat pledge Oh, no freaking way. I lifted my eyes and met Roger‘s, and gave him the sexiest come-and-get-me grin.
I STEPPED into Roger‘s chest to whisper in his ear, and slid a hand down his lower back and onto his ass. ―Are you sure a strong man like you can handle little ol‘ me?‖ No one I knew back home talked like that, but it made me sound Southern, and men told me that was sexy. I would have gone for a kiss, but didn‘t know if he‘d play the part to that degree, and I‘d probably take a swing at him if he rejected me in front of all these people. A moment ago I thought he was boyfriend material, but now I realized all that cute awkward straining was just nerves. He just wanted to nail me so he could tell his pals that the queer gave it up for anyone. I let my hand come around his hip, headed to his cock, and blocked from view by our close bodies. He‘d closed his eyes and took a breath, his shoulders shuddered a bit, and he tipped his head to the side to give me better access to his neck. Which was damn sexy. That clean shaven, spicy-scented neck just above his buttoned-tight collar. Old Spice. I love Old Spice. ―Daaang.‖ I drew it out and said it just loud enough for him to hear. Even though I planned to screw this guy over, literally and figuratively, my body was snapping at the bit and ready to explode. I needed to keep
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 129 control of him and this situation. I turned my hand, inches from his dick, to capture his hand and pull him down the hall behind me. ―Come on Officer Do-Right. I‘ll let you frisk me.‖ The laundry room had the older top-load models, so with little more than a hip wiggle, I could shimmy up on top of the washer. I didn‘t though. I backed Roger into the white appliance and pulled two condoms and the small bottle of lube out of the top of my corset. ―I don‘t think we really need—‖ I stopped his sputtering by gripping his dick through his pants and pressing my semi-hard erection against his hip. He lengthened and hardened in my hand, and the ache in my pelvis shimmied back to a full hard-on. I considered kissing him again. He had a nice mouth. Though not very full, his lips looked capable, and I‘d heard him articulate and enunciate enough in class that I suspected he had a talented tongue. Kissing would distract me, and I needed to get a better measure of what he was willing to do first. What better measuring stick than the one he was packing? I chuckled at the idea of him ―packing heat‖ and scrapped my teeth along his jaw as I leaned into him. I whispered into his ear, ―You want me to blow you? Suck you so deep that the back of my throat caresses your dick? Make you come?‖ He groaned and his dick jerked in my hand. ―Or do you want to fuck me? Slide into my tight ass to the balls? Me bent over and begging?‖ I‘d dropped my voice, and he strained to hear me and whimpered. ―Begging for you to go faster, harder?‖ His hips jerked forward, and he pressed hard against my hand, eyes still tightly closed. ―Yes.‖ Gay or straight, if this guy had agreed to get a blow job or to fuck me for money or to get in some fraternity, that made him scum, and I wasn‘t letting scum come in any orifice of mine. But I had to play this right to get my way. I removed his utility belt, drawing out the sound of Velcro ripping open, like a stripper slowly removing a glove. I placed it behind him on the washing machine. We both reached for his pants. He chuckled and moved his hands out of the way. I finally took him in hand, and he gripped the edge of the washer until his knuckles turned white. He was wearing white cotton boxers. I didn‘t look at his dick too carefully. I focused on keeping him on edge. I grabbed the lube with my free hand, and his dick jerked as my own erection pressed further into his
130 | Amberly Smith hip. One hand came loose of his death grip on the white appliance, and he pressed my lower back to keep me close. Looked like the idea that I had a dick wasn‘t freaking him out, which was good. It meant that maybe he actually was gay or bi. I let the lube dribble a little into my palm, just a few drops. ―Why?‖ It took him quite a bit of effort to get the single word out. ―Make‘s you all nice and slippery. It allows my hand to slide up‖— I demonstrated—―and down.‖ I placed the lube back on the washer. I put my free hand on his dick so the slippery palm could slide around his balls. His thighs fell open and he shuddered. I pressed just behind his balls. The same action always sent a shock wave through to my prostate and made me quiver. The thought had me on my toes, and I worked hard not to come. His hand on my back slid up to the back of my neck and into my dark blond hair. He quested in for a kiss. He opened his eyes when he didn‘t find my mouth right away. His brown eyes were glazed and heavily dilated, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. ―Pretty eyes,‖ he slurred the words. I hadn‘t considered he might be drunk. I didn‘t smell alcohol on him, but what if he‘d made the bet and drank to gain some twisted courage. I let him have my mouth. We pressed too tight, our lips catching on teeth. His hips jerked forward in my slowly moving hands. We both pulled our mouths back to allow more movement, and our lips relaxed, became supple as they caressed, fretted, rubbed. I was just going to check for the taste of alcohol, but I got lost in the kiss. The way his teeth nipped at my lip, the way my tongue slid in and out of his mouth, the brush of his lips at the corner of mine. The whole thing caused a swirl of adrenaline in my head as I forgot to breathe. One kiss turned to several kisses and then into several minutes of just exploring each other‘s mouths. My hands had stopped moving on his dick, and my own hips jerked forward to press against his erection. He pulled our mouths apart and pressed his hand to the back of my neck. He tried to guide me down. His other hand pressed at my shoulder, trying to get me to drop to my knees. Damn him. No fucking way was this some drunken accident. It was a mistake that he‘d think twice before doing again. I pulled my shoulder away and shook my head. I leaned back into his neck. Call me a wimp, but there are some things I can‘t say above a
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 131 whisper. ―No. If I suck you, how will you be able to fuck me? I‘m not saying you won‘t get it up again, but it ain‘t like we got plenty of time to shag in here all night. Someone is going to want to come in and fold those towels in the dryer.‖ ―Yeah, I can… fuck you.‖ His husky tone sent shivers down my body. ―Good.‖ I stroked him a few times, pulling up and long so he had to reach up on his toes to stay in my hand. Dang that was sexy. ―But first you need to suck me off.‖ ―What?‖ I didn‘t know if he was gawping in shock or disgust or both. ―You‘ve got to loosen me up. It‘ll make it easier to fuck me if I‘m all relaxed.‖ It wouldn‘t. If anything, having just come made my ass so closed that hackers couldn‘t crack it open. I doubted he knew enough about anal sex or me to realize that. The man could kiss and wasn‘t opposed to letting me handle his junk, but if he had much experience past that, I‘d listen to nothing but country for a week. If he was straight or had experience with chicks, he‘d think an orgasm would make me more willing to take it up the ass. I switched places with him and shimmied the short black mini skirt up my thighs and removed the tighty-whities with a sigh. They‘d started to pinch, and as the blood rushed forward full into my dick, I bit my lip to keep from groaning. I hopped up on the washer and slid back. I felt the utility belt at my back and thought about those cuffs. My dick bobbed against my stomach. Roger stared at my dick and swallowed. I figured I‘d give him time to look and adjust to the idea, but I didn‘t want him talking himself out of blowing me. I stroked it with my clean hand, allowing the moisture at the head to slick it up just enough to smooth my hand‘s caress. I took his hand and wrapped his fingers around my length. His hands were smaller than mine, but he had longer fingers. He was shaking and still couldn‘t seem to look away. ―I could always suck you, and then you could let me fuck you with this massive stick.‖ I might have sounded a tad too innocent with that last remark. A shudder spread across his shoulders, and he finally looked at me. His eyes narrowed and he focused on my face as he squeezed my balls with one hand and started manipulating my dick with his other.
132 | Amberly Smith I gentled his hand and showed him how to slide his smooth palm over the tip. ―It‘s not a joystick, dude. Easy there.‖ I got a condom and opened it over his head as he bent to take me into his mouth. He licked at the tip, which had me biting my lip and wishing he‘d slide down. He wrapped his mouth around the head, and I felt his talented tongue. My head dropped back and I groaned. All that moist heat almost made me come. He chuckled and the smile pulled at his lips, flexing the pressure around my dick. The vibrations added to my pleasure. He seemed to like my response because he tried to go down further. Little bit, by little bit, he took more of me and got me all wet. I pulled him off and slid the condom on. ―I‘m clean, but I sure as hell don‘t know if you are. And you don‘t know that I am.‖ ―How am I supposed to with—‖ I pulled his head down. Startled, he put his mouth back around my dick with a chuckled gasp. He pulled off and I threaded my fingers through his soft brown hair. It was long and wavy, and I loved scrapping my fingertips across his scalp. He stretched cat-like into the touch even as he said, ―Green apple?‖ ―Better than the regular taste of latex.‖ ―Oh, I can still taste that.‖ He stroked a few more times with his mouth, loose on the up and tight on the way down. ―I like green apples.‖ He slid back down, sucking the tip and gripping my hip with one hand to keep me from thrusting deep into his mouth, using the other hand to stroke the remainder of my shaft. He moaned and continued to shake a bit, but seemed to be into what he was doing despite his inexperience. All the muscles in my lower back constricted making me arch my back as heat flashed in waves through my body. I used my hand in his hair to encourage him to speed up. ―Faster. Almost. Almost.‖ I got a bit incoherent, and I might have jerked my hips up hard because he wrapped hands into my hips and pinned me down to the washer. That restraint, the lack of motion, knowing he was strong enough to keep me still? Holy smokes, does that do it for me. I came hard and felt my head bang back against the wall, panting and reaching for the base of the condom so the semen wouldn‘t get all over the place. He lay his head on my thigh, breathless. His eyes pinched close. His hands still gripped my hips. I wiggled them a little, and he loosened
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 133 his hands but didn‘t let go. I figured he was trying to stave off coming in his boxers, but I couldn‘t let him gather his thoughts too much before I beat a hasty retreat. The plan, though it hadn‘t formed completely in my head, was to thank him for the blow job and leave. If he came after me all indignant about not getting access to my ass, I‘d make a scene in front of everyone. My roommates, though straight, could be trusted to have my back. We‘d been friends last year, and we were tight despite all our different backgrounds and my sexual preference. I pushed him back a bit and pulled the condom off and tossed it in the trash can full of dryer lint. I winced as I pulled the underwear back up and adjusted the skirt. ―Wait. I want—‖ ―Oh, I know what you wanted, asshole. To get into Phi Beta Assholes or whatever. If they want you pledging by having sex with some stranger, what will they want from you once you join?‖ ―What?‖ ―Lorrie told me you‘d taken a bet. I am not‖—I pushed at his shoulder. I‘ll admit it now and anytime asked in the future: when I‘m angry, I‘m an idiot—―someone‘s pity fuck or dare or… or….‖ I grabbed up the other condom and lube and put them back in my corset. I bent and picked up my top hat, not realizing that it had even come off. His hat was next to it. He pulled his pants closed as I stood upright. He glared at me as I pushed at his shoulder again. ―If you‘d told me, I would have helped you. Hell, you‘re dang sexy. I‘ve thought so since that first day in class. Instead, you come onto me and lie to my face.‖ I gripped my hands into fists and tried, honest I did, not to hit him. ―I don‘t know what you‘re talking about.‖ He wouldn‘t meet my eyes and pink flamed across his cheeks. I shoved him out of the way and left the room to find the bathroom and make sure my lipstick got repaired. I wasn‘t going to dwell on it. I was going to let it go. It had been a fun blow job, and I‘d add it to my spank bank and move on. They‘d announce the winners here in a second, and I‘d be able to make my escape, leave the boys to enjoy the rest of the party. I gave up on the bathroom once I saw the long line, but I used a hall mirror to make sure my hat and skirt were back in place.
134 | Amberly Smith ―Where have you been?‖ Lorrie grabbed at my elbow. ―I can‘t believe you went off with that guy. Didn‘t you get my text?‖ She wasn‘t concerned, she was pissed. I looked for worry in her eyes or in the feel of her hand on my elbow, but it wasn‘t there. And I got an odd aching suspicion that she was mad at me rather than Roger. ―Since when are you my mother?‖ I pulled free from her grip and straightened the black trench. It had kept my ass covered while I sat on that old washing machine, but had wrinkled in the back. I didn‘t doubt that those who‘d been paying attention wouldn‘t miss that I‘d left with Roger, if that was even his name, but it made me uncomfortable to know the wrinkle drew speculation. My stomach pitched in waves, and I felt a bit lightheaded. Guilt gnawed at my gut. I pulled a bottle of water out of the open ice chest. The table was covered in typical party munchies, and the large barrels on either side held water and soda. The alcohol was being distributed in the kitchen so the host could make sure only those who‘d been carded could partake. Not that it was a guarantee that someone underage would not get liquored up, but it did give the impression that an attempt was made. If the party got out of hand and busted, they could point to the effort. I drank over half the bottle in one go and recapped it before turning back to Lorrie. ―So are they about to announce—‖ She stepped too close and shoved at my shoulder. ―Cheap floozy move, letting that guy—‖ What the fuck was her problem? ―Floozy? Are you serious? And I didn‘t let him do anything.‖ ―When I sent that text, I didn‘t think you‘d go off with him.‖ ―What did you think I‘d do?‖ ―Hit him.‖ The of course was strongly implied. ―Or tell him off and then he wouldn‘t vote for you. You‘re an idiot when you lose your temper.‖ ―Vote for me?‖ ―He‘s a judge.‖ He wasn‘t wearing a ribbon. Now that I thought about it, I hadn‘t seen any ribbons, and it had been Lorrie who‘d said the judges were wearing ribbons. ―This is way better though because now you‘ll be disqualified. Roger‘s soft spot for Twain and you guys going off, totally proves—‖
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 135 I fuzzed out the rest of what she said. His name was Roger, and he was the roommate who loved Twain. Hell, he‘d sung that single line in a beautiful, well-practiced and confident voice. There had been no bet. Lorrie had set me up to fall. She saw my look and laughed her ass off, wiping moisture from her eyes. It was just a joke to her. Hell, we‘d pulled pranks on each other before, but I‘d used Roger and left him blue ballsing in the laundry room. He was an innocent bystander. I pointed a finger at her. ―So. Not. Cool.‖ I turned to head back down the hall. God damn it. I needed to apologize. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I‘d made such a mess of things. The guy had obviously been inexperienced. It might have been his first time, and I made it cheap. Shit, I was the asshole. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, but I blinked them back. Someone turned off the music. ―Hey, quiet down everyone,‖ a guy said. A couple of girls standing near the fireplace stuck their fingers in their mouths and whistled like freight trains. Several people jumped and everyone turned to see what was going on. It was the party hosts. The guy was dressed as a medieval minstrel and the ladies were in shaped foam, the type used to make those sports fingers that say ―we are number one.‖ The blond was a treble clef and the other was a bass clef. The male had a shit-eating grin on his face and plenty of mischief in his eyes. He made you want to smile, unless you had just realized you were scum and couldn‘t smile. All three of them had red and white ribbons pinned to their shoulders. The guy held up a check and waved it at his audience. ―Five hundred dollars. Almost a third of tonight‘s coverage.‖ They‘d charged everyone five bucks to get in and enter the contest. The large room opened into the backyard, and there was easily three hundred people spilling over the grass and upstairs leaning over the second and third floor banisters. Even with the cost of food and beer, they‘d made a profit. ―The decision was unanimous even with Roger abstaining from the vote. The winner, or actually winners, are Shania Twain and her Robert Palmer-style backup singers.‖ Tommy whooped and was joined by Mark as they jogged through the crowd to gain their reward. ―We want pictures with the winners. Good publicity for our next party.‖ The words were said almost in my ear. I turned to look at Roger.
136 | Amberly Smith His face was red, and he shuffled his hat between his hands. ―The parties pay our rent each month.‖ ―Roger, I am so sorry.‖ He flushed and rubbed his cheek on his shoulder. ―You were right, though. I was using you to prove something.‖ He swallowed. ―I don‘t want to talk about it.‖ Lorrie grabbed my arm and pulled me forward and handed me off to Mark‘s twin brother Lucas. The crowd had applauded our victory and then gone back to their party and ignored us. The girls introduced themselves, and everyone took a moment to shake hands and say hello, congrats, and thanks. Mark smacked my shoulder, the biggest smile I‘d ever seen on his face, and Tommy waved to his cheerleader in the crowd. I felt shocked and disconnected. My pulse thrummed thick and slow in my throat, and heat burned my cheeks. They shuffled us together, and we posed with Lucas standing at the baby grand piano I hadn‘t even noticed before, and Mark and Tommy held their Xbox plastic guitars. I buttoned my duster closed and swung out a thigh so the only skin visible was that small patch above my thighhigh boots. I tilted my face down and looked up through my lashes. If we were going on their website, the least I could do was make it a good one. As they handed over the check and did another round of congrats and thanks, I asked Roger‘s roommate when Roger had abstained from the vote. ―As soon as he saw you guys come in.‖ He laughed. ―He said you‘re the hottie from his psych class he‘d been drooling over, and now that you‘d walked in as his walking wet dream, he wouldn‘t be able to look at anyone else.‖ He thought that was hilarious and laughed again. I‘d already forgotten his name. ―I didn‘t think he‘d actually be brave enough to try and pick you up. If you‘re single, you should give my brother a chance. He‘s a nice guy.‖
ROGER was a nice guy, and I was a complete schmuck. He proved just how nice over the next couple of weeks. He didn‘t tell anyone what I‘d done, and when we crossed paths on campus or in class, he said hello. Distantly polite. A better man than I. I figured that I‘d messed up on a
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 137 great opportunity to have something more than just sex. That silent foot in the mouth had morphed into a whole shoe store in my mouth. His brother—his name was Brad—obviously loved and supported him. He was lucky. My family wasn‘t as supportive. My apology had been brushed away. I needed something equal to the mistake as a way to apologize. I thought about doing a different Twain or music costume at the next month‘s house party, but they‘d scheduled a pool tournament. Writing an apology seemed like a coward‘s way out, so I planned big. I ate ramen for two weeks and borrowed the rest of the money from my dad. It required a full explanation, which embarrassed us both, and then he said it could be an early birthday present and just to keep it. He just didn‘t want to explain it to Mom, a bit of hush money so we didn‘t need to talk about me being gay anymore. I used the money to rent the school‘s show choir. They called it a chamber ensemble or some such name, but it‘s a show choir. I donated the money to their travel fund. The conductor agreed, but only if I taught them a line dance called Blue Blazes. It‘s flashy and looks complicated but isn‘t. When Roger came into psych that third week, I had a green apple on his desk. He could have sat somewhere else, ignored the apple, but he didn‘t. He blushed, but didn‘t glance around to see if people stared at him. I sat at the end of the curved row and openly watched him. He tossed his backpack under his chair and slouched in his seat before picking the apple up. A note was tied to it with a shoe string. I hadn‘t slept well since the party. Every boy I came across wasn‘t quite tall enough, didn‘t smell quite spicy enough, their eyes weren‘t brown enough. They weren‘t Roger enough to hold my interest. I woke several times each night, guilt clawing at my throat and horny as a demon, wanting that responsive mouth back on me. The kisses haunted me. They made me throb. When I took my dick in hand to relax, guilt swamped me. I wanted the note to say all those things. I wanted his forgiveness, but much more, his friendship first and perhaps his passion. If we were lucky enough, we could figure out this whole ―boyfriend‖ thing together. Because, though I had more sexual experience, I was betting that Roger knew how to be a great boyfriend.
138 | Amberly Smith For an English major, sometimes I suck with words. I decided to keep it simple. The note said, Here is a shoelace to help me remove my foot from my mouth. He looked up at me, and I met his glance. He put the apple carefully on the empty desk next to him and dug out his notebook from his bag and a pen. As if I hadn‘t just pleaded with my eyes. As if my heart didn‘t lie open on his desk. The psych professor stayed behind her desk and stared at the door, waiting—same as me. When you bust your nuts to get a good grade in a class, it makes it easier to ask a favor. The show choir came in and paced off their positions and started the a cappella version of the song ―Addicted to Love‖ by Robert Palmer. They‘d adapted the lyrics to fit two guys. The men took the lead, and the girls acted as backup singers. I ignored them—I‘d seen it a hundred times in rehearsal—and kept my eyes on Roger. At first he was vaguely curious, until it became quickly apparent that they were not only singing to him, but singing gay lyrics as well. He jerked his head toward me and groaned and slid even further down into his chair. He placed his hand on his face until one of the singers playfully pulled it down. It was his brother Brad. One more reason I‘d been able to convince the choir to perform for me. It also had given me the chance to get the skinny on Roger. That big old house was his grandparents‘, who spent the school year in Canada and let their grandkids rent it as they went to college. Roger‘s whole family was talented. We both loved to dance, and he was still not talking to anyone about that night. They shook their butts and ramped up the energy to go for the final chorus. They finished with proper flare, and the stunned class erupted in applause. Word had gotten out, and several students had squeezed in the door to watch, and one of the singers had arranged for a friend to film the whole thing from the back row of the small auditorium. It would probably be on YouTube by lunch. I hadn‘t thought of the viral issue and hoped it didn‘t make Roger even more embarrassed. The show choir filed out. His brother, the last to leave, slugged Roger in the arm, grinned like he‘d just given his best pal a winning lottery ticket, and placed another green apple on the desk with the original. Roger didn‘t look at me or even touch the apples. He placed the green apple with the first one and flipped his notebook open. Ignore and soldier on. The psych teacher was calming the group down and
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 139 launching into her presentation as though nothing unusual had happened. Students tucked their phones away and got to work furiously trying to catch up as she scrawled longhand across the white board and then erased just as quickly. I couldn‘t write a single thing. My heart yanked and twisted in my chest. I was defeated. Nothing could make this moment worse. The choir director stuck his head in the door, and I lifted my hand to wave, maybe mouth a thank you, when he looked directly at Roger. Roger‘s face got, well, it got mean. Taut like he‘d just been told to piss off and was about to get belligerent. Even after all the shit I‘d pulled, he‘d never looked that way with me. The director asked the psych professor if he could talk to his son for a minute. She agreed absently, and I turned to see who his son was. Roger sighed so loud I thought his shoulders would come off. Then he stood and stalked toward his father. Maybe strutted or swaggered would be a better description. He‘d pulled his shoulders back, and he was glaring hate directly at his dad. Holy shit, I‘d just outed Roger to his dad.
I GOT up to go after them. I could say it was all a joke, and Roger with his anger would probably go that way, but Roger turned at the door and looked at me. I couldn‘t read his face. Maybe it was hurt or despair or anger, but the emotions tore at his eyes and made me catch my breath. He‘d even told me at the party that he was out, kind of. Hell, I hadn‘t even had coffee with the man, let alone a date; I had no business messing in his closet. I‘d been pushed out of my own closet back in high school before I was ready. I still hated the jerk for outing me even though my parents hadn‘t kicked me out. They wanted to keep it all a secret because they were sure it was a ―just a phase.‖ Things were still pretty damn awkward with them, but they loved me. Now I‘d gone and made Roger‘s life a miserable mess. That brother of his hadn‘t said a single word about the dad. If the brother knew and was okay with it, the father must be redeemable, right? How do you apologize for apologizing wrong? This was why Roger hadn‘t smiled at the song and dance routine. Why he hadn‘t melted and asked me out on the spot like I‘d been fantasizing from the start.
140 | Amberly Smith He turned and followed his dad out, and I tried to strain my ears into hearing. If there were loud voices, I‘d go out and make sure his dad didn‘t beat him up. But what if his dad freaked and kicked him out of the grandparents‘ house? What if he‘d been trailing false girlfriends along and the video ruined any chance of him getting another girl to decorate his closet? What if it broke some girl‘s heart? I should have gone for a more neutral song. A simple apology with no focus on Roger at all. He would have known without the apples. No, I should have just apologized without the song and dance or flare. My chest ached and my palms sweated, and though the professor continued to write and erase, I couldn‘t focus on any of it. The precursor of a panic attack arced like lightening across my shoulders. I breathed in and out, kept it from consuming me. Roger came back in looking like someone had jumped up from the pit of hell and surprised him. Beyond shell-shocked and into the realm of war-torn-survivor. He sat back in his desk and stared at the board like it was a blank video screen and he was waiting for it to say something intelligent, to explain life. I didn‘t see any bruises or red marks. Maybe his dad had only used hate-filled words to strike at him. The professor continued to drone on. It felt like a half hour, and maybe it was because she finally, finally, when I was about to just get up and walk out, favor or not… she finally sighed and turned to glare at me and then Roger. I ducked my head and rubbed the back of my neck. At this rate, blush would be my new permanent color. ―That‘s enough for today. See you all next week. Make sure you read chapter twelve. There will be a quiz.‖ Students poured out of the class. I gathered up my stuff and tried to decide if I should slink past him or wait for him to leave before I left. He took his time putting stuff in his own backpack, and I realized he might be dragging his feet in the hopes I‘d leave first too. I stood and took a couple of steps to the door, crossing in front of him. He called my name, and I stopped and turned to look at him. He looked me in the eye and kept looking. Holy smokes he is sexy. I sighed and my mouth took that as permission to open and dump words on his head. ―I am so sorry. I didn‘t know he was your dad or that you weren‘t out to him. Your brother should have said something. Not that that‘s an adequate defense for being a complete idiot, but he should have said
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 141 something.‖ I shook my head. ―No, it‘s my fault.‖ Roger stood up from his desk and stepped in front of me. ―Dad said that you taught the team the line dance.‖ I blinked. ―Yeah, I did.‖ ―I love to line dance.‖ ―Great for you! What the fuck about your dad?‖ As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I smacked the side of my head and groaned. He laughed and I realized two things: one, he had a sexy laugh, musical and unrestrained. I love men who can laugh. Two, I realized it was the first time I‘d ever heard him laugh. I wanted to make him laugh again. ―Can I just say that brother of yours has two left feet? We worked two hours just on the chorus steps. Two. I kept saying left, and he would step all over the chick next to him.‖ He laughed and took another step toward me. ―Sure the man can sing, but with moves like this….‖ I did a snazzy two-step tap with flaying arms. ―No way was he that bad.‖ ―Was.‖ ―Thanks for the apples.‖ I nodded and mumbled something about friendship and willed my cheeks not to heat. ―And your dad?‖ I looked back at his eyes, and he hunched his shoulders and flinched. I took his hand and held it. He had calluses that hadn‘t been there before, and I wondered what he‘d been doing for the last three weeks. My miscreant mind wondered what those hands would feel like on my dick. ―My dad said he loved me and that I needed to accept apologies from my new boyfriend without you having to rent the show choir each time. He said that if I didn‘t bring you to dinner on Sunday to meet Mom, he‘d have something to say about it.‖ Boyfriend? ―He already knew?‖ ―No.‖ He shook his head and it kept going like a screw had come loose and he needed an extra minute of shaking to knock it back in place. ―No. Maybe he suspected, but no, I wasn‘t out.‖
142 | Amberly Smith I went to apologize again, but he placed his hand over my mouth to stop me, and then slid it along my chin to pull me a step toward him. ―He didn‘t know it was me the song was for until today, but it gave him time to think about it. Having a gay son that liked someone who… well, who….‖ ―Who liked him enough to make a complete mess of things?‖ ―Yeah. He‘s a romantic and it allowed him time to what-if. But whatever. He knows and I feel incredibly free, light.‖ He swooped down and kissed me on the mouth, and then startled away, his eyes wide. ―Oh no you didn‘t. Come back here.‖ He smiled, kind of hesitant, and pressed his lips back to mine. Brief but oh, so powerful. ―At the party Lorrie told me you‘d taken a dare. I thought you were using me, but instead I used you. I really am sorry, Roger.‖ ―I‘m not sure what I would have done if I thought someone was using me to pledge a fraternity. And in a way I was using you. To prove to myself that I was gay and not just a late bloomer, like Brad keeps harping at me.‖ ―You’d let me suck you off. Sounded like a confident player to me. I wouldn‘t have believed Lorrie‘s text otherwise.‖ ―When I came up to you at the party? You were talking about not wanting to date, especially not some inexperienced, fumbling newb.‖ ―I was telling Lorrie that my last date had been with this guy in the closet, and he alternated between copping feels and hiding from his friends. He wasn‘t inexperienced, and I was the one fumbling in my haste to get away from him.‖ ―Oh.‖ Roger scrunched his forehead, and I could see him working out all the different angles in his head. ―So… you were acting that way to get my attention? So I didn‘t discount you?‖ ―We were both idiots.‖ I pursed my lips and nodded. ―I‘m good with that.‖ He brushed his thumb beneath one of my eyes. ―Such a pale shade of green.‖ He murmured the words to himself and then kissed my lips, lingering this time. ―Either way, the attraction seems pretty mutual.‖ I nodded. Mutual. Yep. ―Yeah, but I left you blue ballsing—‖
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 143 Roger laughed and I laughed, not sure what was funny, but feeling light with relief that his dad was okay, that his mom would be okay, that Roger was happy. He had a great laugh. It made his dimple sink into place and made me lightheaded. Like after you‘ve danced and you can‘t catch your breath. Your face tingles and stomach twists, but in a good way. I stroked my thumb against his rough palm. ―I‘m sorry, but… what the hell is your full name? It is Nate, right? I‘m bad with names and….‖ I couldn‘t let him take the complete blame for that either. ―I didn‘t know yours, at least not at first.‖ ―But you figured it out.‖ ―I thought it was Roger before, but—‖ His next words shut me up. ―I had your dick in my mouth and felt you pulse and come. What is your name?‖ ―Nate. Nathanial Martin Herctes.‖ ―Nikos Roger Klout. My family calls me everything from Nick, Nicky to Kos, and my brother calls me Roger.‖ Nick and Nate. Man, I liked the sound of that. I brushed my cheek into his palm. ―So since I left you all aching, I‘ll make it up to you. Want to have dinner with me and then…?‖ He shook his head, and I closed my mouth and tried to form complete thoughts around the looming rejection. Which was ridiculous. We were still holding hands. ―You didn‘t leave me hanging.‖ He blushed, glanced once to make sure we were still alone, and placed his hand on my ass to pull me in close. He kissed me again, deep with tongue, and had me gibbering mentally. Damn my dick was hard, and I was panting when he pulled away. ―Having you in my mouth? Head thrown back and you twitching and rumpled? Hot as hell. I came when you did. I thought you would notice, and I was embarrassed that I hadn‘t lasted longer. That‘s why it took me awhile to put your words and actions together.‖ ―Embarrassed? Freak! That‘s hot.‖ He flashed his dimple and shook his head at my pleased smirk. ―My brother, the older one who‘s the cop, had me doing yard work for
144 | Amberly Smith the last three weeks to pay for dry cleaning. I got spunk on his uniform. He probably thinks me and some chick were dry humping.‖ I laughed. ―The cop‘s blackmailing you?‖ ―He doesn‘t know I‘m gay. But I didn‘t want him telling Mom or mentioning it oh so casually during Sunday dinner. Speaking of dinners on Sunday….‖
I
LEANED over the pool table and lined up my shot. I pulled the pool
stick back and felt a hand, fingertips in my crease, stroke my jean-clad ass. I scratched and about gouged the table‘s felt. I groaned and then glared over my shoulder at Roger. ―Dude? Seriously? We‘re supposed to be teammates and trying to win.‖ He just laughed and pulled me away from the table to let the twins, whom we were playing against, take a turn. He put his right hand in the back pocket of my jeans so his arm was across my back. Lucas was pretty damn good. Maybe as a physics major he had an unfair advantage, but Mark sucked, which balanced it out. ―Nate?‖ Roger whispered in my ear. I held my breath, hoping Lucas‘s shot went wide. ―Yeah?‖ ―After everyone leaves, how about I bend you over the pool table and fuck you?‖ It made me blush when he talked like that. I turned and grabbed a quick kiss. I turned back to watch the table as I hummed Shania Twain‘s ―That Don‘t Impress Me Much.‖ He pulled me back to his side and waited until I looked him in the eye. My Roger is all about perfect timing. ―I brought my brother‘s handcuffs.‖ He didn‘t say it all that quietly, but I didn‘t care, because just like that, I was threatening the laws of physics with how hard I was. Slinging an arm around him to bring him in close, I said, ―Daanng! Time for everyone to go home.‖
Men‘s Shirts, Short Skirts | 145 About the Author
AMBERLY SMITH didn't learn to read until the fourth grade, when she was placed in special tutoring. At eleven she read her mom's romance novels, pausing every other page to have her mom read a unknown word to her, so she could memorize it. Back then, authors were mythical creatures and like unicorns, only existing in people's imaginations. It never occurred to her that she could be a writer. Amberly lives in the northwest with her husband, two children, motherin-law, and a cat named cat. She has a bachelor's in communications and works for a telecommunications company. She likes to read in bed, lurk in bookstores, and cuddle on the couch with her kids to watch TV, just to hear the beautiful sound of their laughter. Her husband is a computer addict who she lures away from the latest PC game with promises of a good story, sex, or food that she hasn't made. After many years and a lot of hard work, Amberly is an author. Now, to find that unicorn. Visit her at http://amberlysmith.wordpress.com or connect with her on Facebook as Amberly Smith.
Learning After Hours
―PLEASE, Greg? Please, please, please, please, please?‖ Greg Montgomery glanced over the top of his book to see Rose standing next to his table, begging with her hands clasped together. ―No. I signed up at the beginning of the semester to work Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays in the writing lab. Why should I switch shifts with you?‖ Rose pouted her glossed pink lips and said, ―Be-cause I‘m supposed to have dinner with this totally smoking hot guy tonight. I met him in the library, and he asked me if I wanted to go on a date with him tonight.‖ ―Why didn‘t you just tell him you had to work and reschedule for tomorrow night?‖ he asked, picking up the folded sticky note he was using as a bookmark and sliding it between the pages. ―Did you not hear me say he was totally smoking hot? You have to jump on guys—I mean chances—like that when you can. I would figure you of all people would know that.‖ ―Oh, right. Silly me, forgetting that homosexuality and sexual selectiveness are mutually exclusive traits. Where is my brain today?‖
Learning After Hours | 147 Rose stuck her tongue out, then said, ―Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?‖ Greg sighed heavily. It wasn‘t like he had plans that she was interrupting or anything. ―Fine. But I don‘t want to trade for tomorrow night. If I take tonight‘s shift for you, you owe me one—no fussing or complaining—any time I choose.‖ She squeaked a quick thanks and rushed off before he could change his mind. Greg turned back to his book, turning sideways on the loveseat under the blue and green abstract painting in the writing department‘s lobby. There were various chairs and tables strewn about, making getting into the building something of a maze, but that spot was his favorite because it kept his back to the wall and was right underneath the airconditioning vent. He lived in the dorms, so he could just as easily go back to his room during the two-hour break between poetry and his novel-writing workshop, but he liked the energy in the writing building. The only thing he didn‘t like was that every student on campus was required to have a full year of freshman composition, which meant that the crowds of serious writers were sprinkled with frosh. In fact, as Greg turned the page and his eyes darted up, he unfortunately made eye contact with a freshman he was very familiar with. Greg thought that gen-eds were the stupidest things in the world. When would he ever need to know something about biology that he couldn‘t look up? Or need to do math without a calculator around? So instead of loading his first year with classes he hated on principle, he had set up a spreadsheet on Excel (take that, stupid COMP 1300 class) that let him only take one or two gen-eds every semester he was in school. That was why, as a junior, he was stuck in a freshman World History class. For the most part, he didn‘t pay any attention to his classmates, but there was one he just couldn‘t ignore: Jordan Butler. Something about the kid just rubbed Greg in every wrong way. The girls in the class swarmed his desk before the teacher arrived, his textbook—new, of course—looked like it had never been opened, and he annoyed Greg throughout the whole class by texting under his desk. And now Jordan was invading his building. Jordan sauntered over, making a few girls swoon. Clinically, Greg
148 | Jamie Lowe could understand why they were attracted to Jordan. Jordan was six foot three with classic all-American good looks. His sandy-blond hair was shaggy on top and fell to brush the bushy eyebrows above icy-blue eyes. He had a good build—broad shoulders with a thin waist. Even Greg had to admit that he was easy on the eyes. Greg knew, with his limp black hair and the glasses hiding his mud-brown eyes, that he was invisible compared to Jordan. He was at least three inches shorter and skinny as a rail. That was why it intimidated him a little when Jordan walked right up and stood over him, pinning Greg between Jordan‘s body and the wall. ―Well, hello there. What was your name again… ah, Greg, right?‖ Greg raised an eyebrow. ―Yes. What do you want?‖ ―Just to say hi. This is the first time I‘ve run into you outside of history.‖ ―Imagine that. Today must be my unlucky day.‖ Jordan‘s blue eyes narrowed. ―Now now, play nice. Listen, you know that paper that Dr. Gerfried assigned us yesterday?‖ ―Obviously; I was there.‖ Dr. Gerfried had assigned them to write a three-to-five page paper about a famous historical figure and the effect they had on the course of world history. Greg had chosen Aristogeiton of the tyrannicide of Hipparchus as his topic; in fact, the book he was reading was the library‘s copy of The History of the Peloponnesian War. Jordan used his body to bully Greg to one side of the couch and sat down next to him, his usual charming smile on his face. ―Yeah, I suppose that‘s true. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about that. See, I‘ve heard that you‘re a really good writer, and I need to do a good job on this paper since I‘m not exactly…. Let‘s just say that history isn‘t my best subject.‖ Greg narrowed his eyes and scooted further away from Jordan, pressing his side into the arm of the couch. ―So what? Your problems have nothing to do with me.‖ ―Ah, but I was hoping that you would help me with my paper,‖ Jordan said. ―Isn‘t that what classmates do? Help each other out?‖ Greg was relieved when he saw his friend, Alex, from poetry class. He got up and turned to Jordan. ―It‘s not what classmates do. It‘s what friends do. And in case you missed it, you and I aren‘t friends. Don‘t bother me again.‖ He hurried off to talk to Alex, but he could feel Jordan‘s determined gaze on his back the entire way.
Learning After Hours | 149
―GREG? What are you doing here? Isn‘t it Rose‘s night?‖ Cameron, an uptight guy from the technical writing side of the writing department, asked as Greg entered the writing lab. Greg sat down at the second desk and logged onto the computer to sign in for his shift. ―She came begging and asked me to take over her shift tonight so she could go on a date.‖ ―Women are so irresponsible,‖ Cameron complained. Greg laughed softly and asked, ―When was the last time you even talked to a woman? Honestly, Cameron, you‘re the only guy in the writing department gayer than I am.‖ ―Fuck you.‖ They sat around for a while just chatting, since Tuesday tended to be a slow night in the writing lab with a lot of the once-a-week night classes taking place on Tuesday. Cameron was fooling around on the Internet while Greg continued to read his book, until finally Cameron scooted back from his desk. ―Watch the lab. I‘ve got to take a dump.‖ ―How charming,‖ Greg muttered, rolling his eyes. ―Go on.‖ Cameron left, leaving the door cracked so any students who came by could walk right in. Greg turned back to his book, but after a few minutes, the door opened. He expected Cameron, but the person didn‘t walk over to the second desk. Greg grabbed his make-shift bookmark and slid it between the pages. ―Can I help you?‖ ―Oh, so now you‘re going to offer, huh?‖ Greg‘s stomach fell to his butt as he heard that voice, and he turned to glare at Jordan, who was leaning casually cocky against the doorframe with a grin on his face. ―What do you want?‖ ―Man, and I thought you were smart. This is the writing lab. The writing lab is for students who need help with writing. I have a paper to do. Why do you think I‘m here?‖ Greg pressed on his temple, already developing a headache. ―Have a seat. Cameron will be back soon, and I‘m sure he‘ll be more than glad to help you.‖ ―Is this Cameron dude supposed to be in the bathroom? ‘Cause I
150 | Jamie Lowe just passed it, and let me tell you.‖ Jordan waved his hand in front of his face and grimaced. ―He‘ll probably be a while, and I‘m not very patient.‖ ―I don‘t have to help you,‖ Greg said. ―Really? Because if I remember right, this is a paying job. How do you think the department head would feel if he found out he was paying someone who was refusing to work?‖ Greg growled in frustration. Dr. Wynn was a total hard-ass and would dock his pay or fire him if Jordan really did rat him out. ―Fine. Give me your thumb drive and roll over a chair.‖ Jordan didn‘t even bother to hide a shit-eating grin that made Greg want to punch him in the face as he handed over the black flash drive. ―Who are you doing your report on?‖ Greg asked as he waited for the computer to read the files. Jordan pulled a rolly-chair over and sat down, scooting up next to Greg. ―Alexander the Great. I figure he‘ll be easy, right?‖ Greg clenched his jaw tight until his molars ached. He was obsessed with Alexander the Great, reading everything he could get his hands on about the man‘s life and military campaign. He just knew that whatever Jordan managed to produce would be painful. ―Alright,‖ Greg said, ―let‘s see what you have.‖ ―It‘s that one right there. ‗History Report—ATG‘.‖ ―Imagine that.‖ Greg double-clicked and his word processer popped up with the file. Alexander was a warrior who did a lot of great things. He was a good military man and conquered lots of places. Greg sighed and said, ―Really? That‘s all you have so far?‖ Jordan at least had the grace to look sheepish. ―So I need a lot of help. That‘s what you guys are here for, right?‖ He put his arm around Greg‘s shoulders and said, ―I‘ll admit, Gerfried threw me for a loop when he said we can‘t use the Internet. No Wikipedia or anything!‖ ―Of course you can‘t use Wikipedia,‖ Greg snapped. ―This is a scholarly paper, so you have to use scholarly sources.‖ ―Well, you seem really interested in all this ancient Greek stuff. Can you recommend any books?‖ Greg sighed and pulled up Amazon to make sure he suggested the
Learning After Hours | 151 right books. ―You want to focus on his military campaign? Fine. Try The Campaigns of Alexander by Arrian and Alexander the Great by Robin Lane Fox. Also, try Paul Cartledge and Peter Green. All four of those are in the library. You can look them up for yourself.‖ ―Alright, what else?‖ Greg raised an eyebrow and said, ―What else? I can‘t do anything more until you do your research.‖ Jordan looked like he was sulking a bit as Greg removed Jordan‘s flash drive from the computer. ―Fine. After I do the research, will you help me?‖ ―I would rather have hemorrhoids.‖
―GUYS totally suck!‖ Rose complained as she sat on the wall of the fountain with Greg during lunch on Wednesday. ―I even had to beg and beg so you would take my shift last night, and that guy had the nerve to stand me up for our date! Why are guys such assholes?‖ Greg used a plastic knife to spread a single-serving pack of mayonnaise on his campus convenience store egg-salad sandwich. ―Well, as a male—and one who did you the favor that allowed you to be stood up—I won‘t agree that all guys are assholes.‖ ―Fine, most guys are assholes,‖ she said with a pout. Greg could understand her being upset. Apparently, the ―totally smoking-hot guy‖ she was supposed to go on a date with had never even bothered to show up. It was a jerk thing to do, but Greg wasn‘t completely surprised that it had happened. After all, the guy had met her once and asked her out. ―Well, at least you didn‘t have to do anything terrible helping me out,‖ Rose said, picking a piece of sushi from her Styrofoam tray. ―You‘re kidding me, right? Cameron‘s bowels decided to declare war on him, so I was stuck working alone almost all evening, plus the King of all of Morontown decided to swing by and pretty much blackmail me into helping him with a paper he‘d barely started.‖ Rose giggled and said, ―What paper?‖ ―Gerfried from History assigned a biography. The dumbfuck had two sentences, and both of them were crap.‖
152 | Jamie Lowe ―Don‘t you hate it when people come in and haven‘t even written anything? Our job is to help people clean up their papers, not write them.‖ ―Right? Well, with any luck he won‘t bother me again.‖ Greg and Rose ate in companionable silence, only broken up by Rose pestering Greg for part of his cookie once her sushi was all gone. Once every last crumb was eaten, Greg relaxed on the cement and let it warm his back before he swung to his feet. ―Alright, Rose, I‘m taking off. I have history with that ignoramus from last night. Should be a laugh.‖ ―Have fun,‖ Rose said. ―Hey, take my trash.‖ Greg dumped their wrappers and entered the nearby building, which housed the sociology, English, and history departments. He climbed up the stairs and entered the classroom before even Dr. Gerfried got there. He slid into his desk and pulled The History of the Peloponnesian War out of his backpack, curling his legs up as best he could to be comfortable. He had only gotten a few paragraphs in when his solitude was interrupted by a bumbling moron at the door. And just because Fate seemed to hate Greg as of late, of course it was Jordan. Jordan walked up to Greg‘s desk and leaned against it casually, staring down, and Greg could feel the blue eyes locked onto his head. ―Do you enjoy pissing me off by ignoring me?‖ Jordan asked as Greg turned his page. ―No, but ignoring you is more satisfying than acknowledging you.‖ ―And here I thought you would be impressed that I actually took your advice and got all of those books about Alexander the Great from the library.‖ Greg raised an eyebrow. ―Really?‖ ―Yeah. I didn‘t know all of that stuff about his dad. Was Philip really stabbed by his ex?‖ Greg smirked and said, ―Oh yes. In front of a huge crowd of people, on his daughter‘s wedding day. I guess he shouldn‘t have dumped his lover for his new wife‘s brother.‖ Jordan laughed and said, ―Yeah, talk about dumb.‖ ―So you‘re really getting interested?‖ Greg asked, surprised that Jordan had bothered to get the books he had suggested, let alone read and liked them.
Learning After Hours | 153 ―I am! The only kind of history stuff I‘ve ever read before are textbooks and stuff like that. Boring enough to put an insomniac down for the night. This stuff is actually kind of interesting.‖ ―If you think that‘s interesting, then I have good news for you. You‘ve only skimmed the surface. Pausanias mentally tortured the kid Philip replaced him with, and the kid ended up killing himself. Attalus, who was Philip‘s uncle-in-law from his wife Eurydice, who was his new lover‘s sister, got Pausanias drunk and let a bunch of stable hands rape him. Pausanias complained to Philip, who knuckled-under to his fatherin-law, so Pausanias stabbed Philip for not doing jack shit about the rape.‖ Jordan‘s jaw was hanging open, and he burst out laughing when Greg was done. ―Man, and I thought our politics were a clusterfuck.‖ He was still laughing when Dr. Gerfried walked in, but his expression immediately melted back into a distant smirk. Greg wanted to smack that look off of his face as Jordan walked to his own desk and slid in with an arrogant grace that just screamed, ―Hate me, bitches.‖ As it got closer to time for class to start, more and more people drifted in, and a majority of them clustered around Jordan‘s desk. Greg watched and wondered what they would think if they knew that he and Jordan had just been discussing Greek history and that Jordan had seemed to like it. They would probably think I’m lying, Greg thought, or crazy. As Dr. Gerfried began the lecture and everyone sat down, Greg turned his attention to his notebook, not sure why the sound of Jordan whispering with the people around his desk bothered him so much more than usual.
FRIDAY night was the deadest night of the week in the writing lab, and that was part of why Greg liked it so much. Trying to get people to work on Friday night was usually hell, and it had been like pulling teeth to get someone to sign up to be the other half of the shift. Finally, Dr. Wynn had offered a junior girl named Andrea some massive bonus points to help out. Greg didn‘t mind working with Andrea much. She wasn‘t as pesky as Rose or as uptight as Cameron. In fact, she mostly left him alone,
154 | Jamie Lowe which was just how he liked it. He was perfectly content to be curled up in his rolly-chair with Edgar Allan Poe‘s ―Hymn to Aristogeiton and Harmodius.‖ He liked reading poetry—less than other forms of creative writing, but still. The only noise in the writing lab was the turning of pages, either from Greg‘s poems or Andrea‘s magazine. They were lucky to get one or two students on a Friday night, but Dr. Wynn insisted that the lab be open Monday through Friday each week. Greg didn‘t care, since he was basically being paid to sit around and read, just like he would do if he were in his dorm room. Around six, Andrea stood up and stretched her arms over her head and mussed up her own messy blond curls. ―I‘m going to run across the street to get a pizza,‖ she told Greg. ―Half-cheese, half-pepperoni as usual?‖ ―Yep,‖ he agreed. ―I‘ll pay my half when you get back.‖ It was how they always split Friday night dinner. Since Andrea was so quiet and good at staying out of his way, he hardly noticed that she was gone. He was completely absorbed in his poetry when someone walked into the lab and sat down next to him. ―Knock knock, you in there?‖ Greg looked up to see Jordan‘s grinning face right in front of him. ―What the hell are you doing here?‖ ―I‘ve been working on that paper,‖ he explained. ―I made a lot of progress between Tuesday and today, but I need help outlining the actual paper itself.‖ ―You know we aren‘t here to do the entire paper for you, right?‖ Greg asked, folding down his page. ―Well duh. Otherwise I would expect you to read all of those books I got from the library. Which are surprisingly interesting.‖ ―Talk about ‗interesting‘ things.‖ ―Huh?‖ ―You said, ‗which are,‘ instead of, ‗that are.‘ Even most of the writing students don‘t get that right.‖ Jordan blushed and shrugged, scratching the back of his head. ―Well, whatever. Help me outline this paper so I can start writing it.‖ Greg was tempted to snap back, “Say please,” but there was no point in wasting his breath, so he just opened a new Word document.
Learning After Hours | 155 ―I‘ve been using the same essay format since I was in seventh grade and have been getting A‘s on all my essays ever since. So pay attention; you might not have to bother us again if you really learn what I‘m about to show you.‖ ―Give me a minute.‖ Jordan rolled over to the main desk and stole a piece of paper and a pen before rolling back over, pulling his legs up and saying, ―Wheee!‖ like a four-year-old. ―Okay, let me have it.‖ With an annoyed sigh, Greg started explaining his winning essay outline. After a few minutes, Andrea came back, balancing a pizza box in one hand as she used her hip to bump the door open. ―Oh! Wow, we actually have someone in on a Friday night?‖ She set the box down and said, ―If you haven‘t eaten yet, you can get in on a pizza for three bucks.‖ Jordan looked up from his paper and said, ―Sounds good to me.‖ ―That‘s a good point,‖ Greg thought aloud. ―Shouldn‘t a guy like you be at some frat party hitting on the drunk girls and playing beer pong?‖ ―A guy like me? Now, that sounds a little judgmental,‖ Jordan pointed out. ―Shouldn‘t a guy like you be one of those ‗at heart, people are people‘ people?‖ Greg blushed a bit at being called out, and Andrea smirked at him as she walked over to the soda machine in the writing lab with a dollar. ―Sorry,‖ he muttered, embarrassed. ―Oh, relax. I‘m just picking at you. Man, to totally change the subject, there‘s nothing better than a professional greasy pizza, huh? Every now and then, I just get food cravings. Lately, this has been on top of the list, right next to chocolate-coated glazed donuts.‖ ―Food cravings?‖ Greg repeated. ―Are you sure you‘re not pregnant?‖ Jordan huffed and pouted. ―And to think, I was going to offer to take you to brunch tomorrow morning to thank you for all of the help you‘re giving me with this paper.‖ Andrea grinned and said, ―Time to start backpedaling, Greg. No college student turns down free food.‖ ―No student ever offers us free food for doing our job, either,‖ Greg said.
156 | Jamie Lowe Jordan shrugged and said, ―Then consider it payment for all of the other cool history stuff you‘re going to tell me while we‘re eating.‖ ―Huh?‖ ―I told you, that stuff about Alexander‘s old man was pretty cool. Any other awesome historical tidbits like that to share?‖ ―Naturally,‖ Greg said. ―Oh, fine. I‘m not going to argue with you if I‘m getting food out of it. Have you ever eaten breakfast in the cafeteria?‖ he asked Jordan. ―Nah, I never wake up early enough to catch it.‖ ―Lucky you,‖ Greg answered. ―I have just one thing to say about the caf‘s breakfast—grease-soaked meat byproducts.‖ Jordan made a face and gagged.
―I DIDN‘T even know this place was here,‖ Greg commented as he and Jordan looked over the glass-covered selection of donuts and other sweet breakfast treats. It was his first time in Paul‘s Coffee Shop, a small business run out of a house just a few minutes‘ walk from campus. ―But it‘s great, isn‘t it?‖ Jordan asked. ―All of the bedrooms upstairs are used for live band performances and poetry readings. They stay open until two, and are open every Tuesday night with nightbreakfast—like pancakes and stuff. Everything is made here in the kitchen.‖ ―Cool. Those bear claws look delicious, but they‘re huge.‖ ―Go for it. You can always take half of it home.‖ Jordan reached over and rang a bell, and a guy in a batter-spattered apron came out of the back to get their food. Jordan got six chocolate-glazed donut holes and hazelnut coffee, and Greg got a bear claw and a berry smoothie. Jordan paid for their food as Greg sat down on one of the worn couches under the window letting in morning sunlight. There was a coffee table with water stains on top in front of the couch, and Greg found it charming. ―So,‖ Jordan started as he sat down next to Greg, close enough that the outsides of their thighs touched, ―tell me interesting history stuff.‖ Greg rolled his eyes and took a sip of his smoothie. ―Any particular time period?‖
Learning After Hours | 157 ―Nope, just whatever pops into your head.‖ ―Wow, that‘s vague and useless. All right, give me a minute.‖ ―By the way,‖ Jordan cut in, ―totally unrelated, but how do you know so much of this junk? If someone held a gun to my head, I couldn‘t tell them anything interesting about history. I used to think the coolest thing about history is that it‘s over.‖ ―History repeats itself. Those who don‘t know history are doomed to repeat it. Today‘s future is the future‘s history,‖ Greg said, throwing out all the clichés their history teachers spouted off. When Jordan made a face, he laughed. ―I‘m actually really interested in history. I was caught between doing a history major and a creative writing major and stuck with the creative writing so I could get the job on campus working in the writing lab.‖ ―So do you just study all of this history in your spare time?‖ ―Pretty much. I don‘t particularly like doing things with people. Anyway, I‘ve thought of something. Have you ever heard of Liu Xin, who was also known as Emperor Ai of Han?‖ ―Um, I‘m about 99 percent certain I haven‘t. Newsflash, dude, I haven‘t heard of hardly anybody from history.‖ ―So I‘m realizing,‖ Greg said, stealing one of Jordan‘s donut holes before launching into the tale of the romance of the cut sleeve. Between talking about the tomb of Niankhkhnum and Khnumhotep and talking about the two-spirited Native Americans, they finished their breakfasts. Greg wasn‘t ready to load back into Jordan‘s car and go back to campus—especially since he got off campus so rarely—so Jordan suggested they walk a few blocks down to the park. It was a nice day with a soft breeze that rustled the color-changing leaves in the trees. It was still early in the day, so there were only two small families with children running around on the playground. By the time they rounded a line of hedges to sit on a bench, they might as well have been the only people in the park. ―Soooo,‖ Jordan interrupted, leaning back heavily against the bench. ―Can I ask you something?‖ Greg paused and crossed his arms over his chest. ―Yeah, sure. What?‖ ―Well, I‘ve noticed that all of the history you‘re taking the time to relate to me has one thing in common.‖
158 | Jamie Lowe Greg knew what Jordan was getting at, but he wasn‘t just going to give it away for free. ―An observation isn‘t a question. No wonder you need help in your writing classes.‖ ―Dude, shut up. I was trying to be subtle, but apparently you want me to just come right out and ask.‖ ―Not like I haven‘t been asked before. Fuck subtlety, just ask.‖ ―Fine, I will. Greg, are you gay?‖ Greg laughed and said, ―You obviously don‘t spend enough time around the writing building if you have to ask. Yeah, I am. Everybody knows about it. It‘s not a big deal. Are you going to freak out now?‖ Even though Greg was no wuss and could take care of himself, he still turned an ear to the other families, making sure people were around in case Jordan really did try to rearrange his face. But Jordan just shrugged and said, ―Okay. Just wanted to know. Anyway, don‘t worry about what I think,‖ he added. ―I‘m bi myself.‖ ―I couldn‘t care less what you think,‖ Greg replied. ―But I thought Mr. Popular was only supposed to hook up with Miss Populars. Isn‘t that the way it goes?‖ Jordan gave a sarcastic smile and said, ―I don‘t particularly care what most people think.‖ ―‗Most‘?‖ ―Well, of course if I like somebody, I want them to like me back. I‘ll do all kinds of things to impress them.‖ Greg smirked and decided to try to embarrass Jordan. It was a chance he probably wouldn‘t get any other time since Jordan was so good at controlling their conversations. ―What kinds of things?‖ ―Oh, ditching my friends on a Friday night just to spend time with them and their co-worker, taking them to breakfast at my super-secret coffeeshop.‖ Greg felt his ears turn pink, and he muttered, ―Shut up.‖ Jordan laughed and bumped his shoulder into Greg‘s. ―I mean it. You‘re smart, interesting, funny, and cute in a nerdy sort of way.‖ ―And you‘re a bad liar,‖ Greg accused. ―Either that or your porn on pay-per-view was down last night and you‘ve got some tension built up.‖ Jordan scowled and drummed his fingers against the wood of the bench. ―Hmph. Yeah, sure, whatever you want to think. So assuming I
Learning After Hours | 159 do have some ‗tension‘ to deal with, what would you recommend I do about it?‖ Greg squirmed uncomfortably but eyed Jordan. He had never denied that Jordan was a gorgeous guy with looks that could certainly get him a little excited. Would it be worth it to have a one-off with Jordan? It wasn‘t like the chance came along all that often. When Greg was propositioned by guys, they were more often guys like stick-up-his-butt Cameron than wild and charming Jordan. He would take the opportunity when he had it. ―I can help take care of that for you.‖ ―Even though you don‘t believe that I could like you?‖ Greg shrugged and said, ―Sex is sex.‖ ―Fine. Here. Now. Let‘s do this.‖ Greg nibbled on his bottom lip as he looked around, but the seating area they were in was well-hidden by the bushes. As long as whatever happened was quiet, it shouldn‘t be a big deal. He leaned over and gave Jordan a light kiss, testing the waters. Jordan put an arm around his shoulders and kissed back. It was a less demanding kiss than Greg had expected; his mouth wasn‘t instantly devoured. Instead, Greg was the one to deepen the kiss, parting his lips just enough for Jordan‘s tongue. Even ten minutes ago, Greg wouldn‘t have imagined that he would be making out with Jordan, but he couldn‘t deny—now that it was happening—that it felt good. Even the boldness of the hands that ―found‖ their way to his ass wasn‘t off-putting. Jordan seemed to know, somehow, the subtle difference between confidence and groping, only the former of which was appreciated. Greg wanted to touch as well, and he let his hands slip up under Jordan‘s T-shirt, feeling the warm skin underneath. Jordan‘s abs were lightly muscled under the flesh. Touching Jordan felt a little wrong, but at the same time it was so good. Jordan‘s lips moved from Greg‘s mouth to his neck, soft kisses countered by sharp nips, and Greg breathed, ―Don‘t leave any marks.‖ Jordan let out a soft murmur of agreement but kept kissing down Greg‘s neck until he was pulling down the collar of Greg‘s shirt to get down the front of his throat. Greg got up and knelt down in the dewy grass and unzipped
160 | Jamie Lowe Jordan‘s jeans, making a face when he saw skin underneath. ―No underwear? You‘re a cocky son of a bitch.‖ ―You‘ll have plenty to say about my cock by the time we‘re done,‖ Jordan crooned. Greg wanted to smack him, but it wasn‘t worth the effort. He pulled Jordan‘s pants down, leaving his bare ass on the wood of the bench, and leaned forward to take the head of Jordan‘s cock into his mouth. Jordan groaned and his fingers went into Greg‘s hair, but he didn‘t pull, so Greg didn‘t mind it. He took a bit more into his mouth, letting his tongue explore the intimate flesh. On either side of his head, he could feel Jordan‘s strong thighs tense. Jordan‘s deep moans and grunts— rough and animalistic—sent a tingle of pleasure down Greg‘s spine. He gently licked the underside of Jordan‘s cock as he slowly bobbed up and down on the length of it, utilizing an old urban legend to keep from choking. He had read somewhere that by making a fist with the left hand, thumb tucked in, the gag reflex was suppressed, and it was true for Greg as he took Jordan in so deep that his nose was being tickled by wiry hairs. ―Feels so good,‖ Jordan mumbled, hips rocking in and out of Greg‘s mouth. Greg squirmed with rising pleasure as he focused on giving pleasure to the arrogant yet arousing jerk. The situation wasn‘t the best, having to be self-conscious about the amount of noise they made and feeling the knees of his jeans get wet with dew and mud. But something about it was raw and hot. He sucked hard on the cock in his mouth, bobbing his head more as he heard Jordan‘s breaths turn ragged. Greg brought one of his hands up to grope at Jordan‘s balls, testing their weight with his palm. Jordan pulled his hair harder, sending tingles of pain that somehow didn‘t hurt along Greg‘s scalp. The protesting sound Greg made must have caused some great vibrations for Jordan, who hissed sharply through his teeth and snapped, ―Fuck!‖ Greg was tempted to laugh at what he was so obviously doing to Jordan, but doing that would just make the problem that much worse. Instead, he ran his tongue along the underside of Jordan‘s cock before he pulled back to taste the tip with a curious tongue. Musky. Delicious.
Learning After Hours | 161 Jordan‘s hands finally moved down from Greg‘s hair to do some exploring of their own. Greg felt the fingers gently tease his ears and brush over his cheeks. A single finger ran down the bridge of his nose then traced his thin pink lips where they were open wide around Jordan‘s cock. ―Shit, Greg, I‘m going to cum,‖ Jordan warned through clenched teeth. Greg nodded willingly and sucked harder, taking Jordan deep back down into his throat. Jordan let out a growl that went straight to Greg‘s groin, and he mentally planned exactly how he would enjoy Jordan‘s return-of-favor. He was so deep in thought imagining how hot it would be to get head from a guy like Jordan that he was surprised when the cock in his mouth exploded with release. Greg heard the sound of flesh on flesh and assumed Jordan had slammed a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. He managed to swallow a bit, but he pulled back and spat the rest onto the grass. Greg climbed back onto the bench and offered Jordan a grin. Jordan grinned back and patted Greg‘s cheek. ―Damn, that was good.‖ He offered Greg a look meant to rev him up. ―Ready for your turn?‖ He reached down to put himself away, but Greg put a hand over Jordan‘s and shook his head. He didn‘t want the eye candy taken away so soon. Jordan put his arm around Greg and yanked him across the bench, but both of them heard the sound of cloth ripping. Greg stood up and reached down, blushing when he felt a huge rip across the back of his jeans. ―Oh my God.‖ Jordan cracked up laughing and said, ―Something like that could only happen to you!‖ ―Shut up,‖ Greg muttered, trying to look over his own shoulder to check the damage. The jeans weren‘t new or expensive, so it wasn‘t that much of a loss, but he felt so awkward. Jordan wouldn‘t stop laughing at his misfortune, and after a minute, Greg took in the sight of Jordan with his junk hanging out, cackling like a hyena, and he couldn‘t help but laugh too. ―God, I‘m such a fail-boat.‖ Jordan opened his mouth to respond, but it was a voice coming past
162 | Jamie Lowe the bushes that replied. ―Greg, is that you? If so, yes, you are a failboat.‖ Greg‘s humor disappeared as he realized that he recognized that voice just as easily as the voice had recognized his. Jordan tried to tuck himself away again but seemed to be having trouble with his zipper even as Greg called back, ―Um, yeah, Rose, it‘s me. Give me a minute, and I‘ll come around. I‘ve had a… wardrobe malfunction.‖ She giggled, and to Greg‘s horror it sounded closer than her voice had. ―No, no, it‘s fine.‖ ―Rose, stay!‖ He looked at Jordan with panic, but Jordan was still fighting with the zipper of his jeans. ―Greg, stop being an ass. I‘m coming around, so I hope your malfunction isn‘t embarrassing!‖ Greg groaned and hid his face in his hands as Rose came around the line of bushes to catch him having a hookup in public. But he was surprised by the anger in her voice when she snapped, ―What the hell are you doing here?‖ He peeked through his fingers to see that Rose was glaring at Jordan with her hands on her hips. Greg was surprised by the pure ire in her gaze. He would have thought that with an all-American boy like Jordan, he would have to be cat-fighting her for him. But she was giving him a look usually reserved for biology homework. ―Um… do you two know each other?‖ Greg asked. ―Well, I can see just how well you know each other. Greg, this is the asshole who asked me out the other night and stood me up!‖ ―What?‖ Greg turned to look at Jordan, who had finally given up and tugged his T-shirt down to cover himself. ―Jordan, did you really—‖ ―Well, yes,‖ Jordan interrupted. ―But… I had something that I needed to do that night.‖ Greg scowled and said, ―What did you have to do? You spent all evening in the writing lab.‖ Rose gasped in indignation. ―So you ditched me on a date to spend the whole evening where I was supposed to be? You‘re such a jerk!‖ Greg didn‘t know what to think about the idea that Jordan had done that to Rose. He didn‘t care that Jordan had asked a girl out—bi guys were cool with him—but he did care that one of his few friends had
Learning After Hours | 163 gotten hurt. Rose looked torn between slapping the tar out of Jordan and tearing up. ―Look, just give me a chance to explain myself,‖ Jordan implored. ―I don‘t want to hear anything you have to say!‖ Rose snapped. She grabbed Greg‘s arm and said, ―Come on. Let‘s go.‖ Greg was kind of torn. Rose had come in like a whirlwind, and he didn‘t know what to think about the fact that Jordan had caused Rose pain. ―Greg, wait,‖ Jordan called, but Rose was pulling insistently, and Greg let her drag him away, too confused himself to even know what he would say to Jordan if he stayed.
MONDAY had certainly been a rough day for Greg, especially history, when he watched Jordan flirting with all those girls and had to pretend nothing had happened over the weekend. Before class had started, Jordan tried to come up and talk to him. But Greg wasn‘t sure he wanted to hear anything Jordan had to say. He was confused and Rose was hurting, and it was all this boy‘s fault. It had hurt, ignoring Jordan that way. But at the same time it was easier than talking to him. He was working his Monday night shift in the writing lab with Andrea, and even though she was quiet, he could sense the curiosity around her. He had tried to brush it off and focus on his mystery novel, but Andrea finally got fed up with him and walked up to his chair. ―What went on between you and that guy?‖ Andrea asked. ―Did you actually end up going out for breakfast with him?‖ ―Yeah, I went. But I can‘t say that things went all that well. You worked with Rose on Thursday, right?‖ Andrea nodded and sat down on top of Greg‘s desk. ―As I do every Thursday.‖ ―Was she bitching about some guy that stood her up?‖ ―She sure was. Apparently, you even took her shift for her so that she could go on her date, but the guy never showed. What a creep.‖ ―That creep was the same guy who asked me out to breakfast. Jordan was the one who asked Rose out and stood her up.‖
164 | Jamie Lowe Andrea blinked in surprise and said, ―Wow, he didn‘t seem like the type of guy to do that sort of thing.‖ ―I wish I had known he was before we hooked up in the park.‖ ―Whoa, you did what?‖ ―Not all the way, but enough.‖ Andrea let out a nervous little laugh, and said, ―Rose would kill you if she found out about that.‖ ―She did find out. She pretty much walked… well, not in on us, but you get the idea.‖ ―Did she hit the roof?‖ Greg shook his head. ―No, but I was pretty pissed off. I still am! I can‘t believe I went on a date with someone who would hurt one of my friends.‖ ―So are you ending things with him?‖ ―Ending? What started?‖ Andrea rolled her eyes. ―What are you going to do if he doesn‘t want to let it end so suddenly? Some guys don‘t take the breakup with that much aplomb.‖ ―He‘ll just have to deal with it,‖ Greg grumbled. Andrea was about to reply when a student walked in with a binder. ―Um, excuse me? I have a lit paper started, but I‘m really kind of lost on how to end it.‖ ―I‘ll take care of you,‖ Andrea offered, going back over to her desk and patting the chair next to her. A steady stream of students trickled in throughout the evening, finally slowing down about an hour after dark. Greg sent a sophomore who needed help with a sociology paper on her way, and finally got a chance to relax since there were no students waiting. He picked his book back up and tuned out the drone of Andrea working with some freshman as he dove back into the story. He almost didn‘t notice when someone else entered, until the person walked right up to him and gripped his shoulder. Greg looked up and blinked before putting a frown on his face. ―Jordan.‖ ―Oh, so you‘re acknowledging that I exist now, huh? I was trying
Learning After Hours | 165 to talk to you this morning, and you blew me off,‖ Jordan said, sitting down in the chair next to Greg and turning to face him. ―Well… you‘d know all about blowing people off after you stood Rose up.‖ ―Greg, please. Just let me explain.‖ ―No. Get out,‖ Greg insisted. He figured that Jordan would lie, and he wasn‘t ready to be lied to by someone he could really have grown to like. Greg had just gotten over thinking that maybe Jordan wasn‘t so bad—that maybe the arrogance and posing had been a desperate freshman‘s attempt at fitting in—when he‘d found out that Jordan could bully a slightly naïve but sweet girl like Rose. ―I‘m not leaving,‖ Jordan argued back, jaw set. ―Look,‖ Andrea called over, holding her hand up to quiet her freshman, ―I‘ll be the first one to agree that you two should talk. You seemed like an okay guy on Friday, Jordan, so I‘m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. But seriously, this is the writing lab and Greg‘s working right now. Don‘t make me be that bitchy girl who calls campus security to throw you out, okay?‖ Jordan frowned but stood up, looking down at Greg. ―This isn‘t over. I don‘t care if I have to pester you every day—I‘m going to make you listen to me at some point.‖ Greg turned to face his computer, giving Jordan a clear dismissal. He was already dreading the thought of having to resist wanting to let Jordan explain every day. He wanted to believe that Jordan wasn‘t a bad guy, but he had to remain firm. After a minute, Jordan growled and left, letting the lab door slam.
IF
THERE was one thing Greg could give Jordan, it was that the freshman was tenacious. Despite Jordan‘s threats, Greg had expected that he would only have to deal with him on the days they had history together or when Jordan thought he could get away with coming to the writing lab. But Jordan had found a way to pester him every single day. Jordan tried to talk to him before history, during history, after history, whenever they crossed paths between classes (which Greg noticed was happening more than it ever had before). Greg had taken to
166 | Jamie Lowe going back to his room between poetry and novel-writing instead of chillaxing in the writing department lounge, but on Thursday night Jordan had showed up at his room and only left when Greg‘s suitemate Corey—a behemoth of a man—had grown fed up with the noise. On Friday, Greg went to the writing lab and logged in, counting on Andrea to chase Jordan away if he came by on the deadest night of the week. Though, Andrea had seemed pretty sympathetic toward him when he came by on Wednesday. So he was surprised when Cameron walked in, lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance. ―Don‘t tell me you traded with Andrea,‖ Greg begged. ―Sorry, but I did. She said something about how she just ‗had‘ to talk to Rose tonight and bullied me into switching with her. Honestly, I‘m not brave enough to tell Andrea no.‖ ―That girl could slap the fear into a champion kick boxer,‖ Greg agreed. ―By the way, on Friday Andrea and I usually go half-and-half on a pizza from across the street. If you haven‘t eaten dinner yet, I‘ll even walk over and get it.‖ ―Fine with me,‖ Cameron agreed, getting his wallet out of his back pocket. ―Just cheese.‖ Greg went outside and listened to the rustling of the leaves, noticing that it was a bit cold out. Soon he would need to break out the windbreakers. He got one of the already-made large cheese pizzas and decided to splurge on a side order of breadsticks. He balanced everything in his arms and went back over to the writing lab, and was surprised that he could hear talking from outside the room. But when he went in, he was unsurprised that it was Jordan. ―Get out,‖ he demanded flatly as he sat the boxes on the table for himself and Cameron. ―Hey, I‘m here for a legit reason. I finished my Alexander paper and need to get it checked over to make sure it‘s good to turn in.‖ ―Well, I‘m not doing it,‖ Greg said. Cameron raised an eyebrow and asked, ―What‘s up with the animosity tonight, Greg?‖ ―Long story. You don‘t care that much.‖
Learning After Hours | 167 ―You‘re right. Fine, pull up a seat, guy, and I‘ll take a look,‖ Cameron said. To Greg‘s surprise, Jordan didn‘t fuss at being fobbed off on Cameron, but instead sat down and handed over his flash drive. Greg ate pizza and eavesdropped on Jordan and Cameron. Every now and then, as Cameron read the paper he would make ―hmm‖ sounds. Finally, Cameron said, ―It will do for a first draft. I can see some grammatical areas where you‘re suffering, though. Did no one ever teach you how to use a comma correctly?‖ ―I guess not, if I didn‘t.‖ ―Well, Greg is better at grammar than I am, but—‖ ―I think the two of us can manage,‖ Jordan said with his roguish grin. He was so handsome that it needed to be illegal. And Greg was suddenly reminded that Cameron was gay too, by the way Cameron smiled back. ―I‘m going to get some paper towels,‖ Greg said, standing up and licking pizza grease off of his fingers. How crazy was he? He had thought he would be relieved if Jordan gave up on pestering the piss out of him, but instead he found himself jealous. Was it Jordan‘s plan to go through the entire writing lab staff? Who would be next, the student-run emergency on-campus tech support? In the bathroom, he violently ripped paper towels out of the dispenser, taking his anger out on the graffiti-carved metal box. He knew that if anything did happen between Cameron and Jordan, he would be amazingly pissed off, but he would have to try and contain himself. Still, it would only be fair to warn Cameron that Jordan had been nothing but trouble for him. He went back and handed Cameron half of the wadded handful of towels before going back to his own desk to sulk. Cameron and Jordan were still working together on Jordan‘s paper and Greg sat there stewing in anger as he grabbed another slice of pizza. Suddenly, Cameron said, ―Ack. You used a semicolon.‖ ―Are you not supposed to?‖ ―You can, but they‘re the one punctuation mark I never got at all. You could use it completely wrong, and I wouldn‘t be able to tell you. Greg, look, I know you don‘t like this guy for whatever reason, but take a look, will you?‖
168 | Jamie Lowe ―Fine. Move so he doesn‘t have to remove his flash drive.‖ Cameron got out of the way, and Greg rolled over, but when he looked at the screen, it wasn‘t part of Jordan‘s history paper on the screen. I was an idiot. I’ve always thought you were cute and smart since the first day of school, and I wanted to actually have a chance to meet you. When I found out that you work in the writing lab, I thought it would be much easier to talk to you there than in class surrounded by people. But I had to study for a test Monday night and had intramurals on Wednesday. I couldn’t wait another week to do something with you— even just going out for breakfast. (What happened after wasn’t planned, just luck.) I needed a way to get you to the lab so I could talk to you on a night I was free. When I heard Rose mention in the library on Monday that she was working in the lab the next night, I just acted on impulse. I didn’t mean for her to get hurt. I even spent part of yesterday hunting her down so I could apologize. She slapped me, and she’s still mad, but when I explained, she’s the one who came up with this plan. Your friends Andrea and Cameron were in on it. They know I only want to apologize and get you to forgive me. So I guess what I have to ask is; will you give me another chance? Greg pressed his lips into a thin line as he read Jordan‘s plea. Jordan had liked him all along? He had gone out of his way to apologize to Rose? He turned to Cameron for confirmation, and Cameron nodded, proving that Jordan was right about him agreeing to this little plan. Jordan leaned in and looked at him hopefully. ―Well?‖ ―You used the semicolon wrong. In that situation, you should have used a colon.‖ Jordan drooped a bit and asked, ―Is that all you have to say?‖ ―Oh, no. I haven‘t even started to say everything I have to say to you right now,‖ Greg said. ―Get up and come with me.‖ ―Greg, where are you taking him?‖ Cameron asked, standing up. ―Somewhere private to talk. Dr. Stougher never locks his classroom, so we‘ll go there.‖ Jordan got up and said, ―Fine. Lead the way.‖ Greg walked out of the lab and to the stairwell, going up to the second floor and letting them into a classroom with rows of desks and an
Learning After Hours | 169 open area in front of the whiteboard. ―I guess I deserve whatever yelling you‘re going to do,‖ Jordan admitted. ―I was stuck, though. Whenever I would try to talk to you, you always blew me off. I got desperate.‖ ―So you came up with some convoluted plan that had the potential to backfire in a million different ways and actually did so?‖ Greg challenged. Jordan shrugged and scratched at the back of his head. ―Come on, we both know I‘m not all that smart. Foolproof plans are way out of my league. I just had to do something.‖ Greg scowled and paced a bit in a small circle. ―What do you want from me?‖ ―Um, at best? For you to forgive me and be willing to give me another chance? Maybe to agree to go on a second date, even though I‘m not getting my hopes up.‖ Greg considered it and admitted to himself that he wanted to give Jordan a second chance. Even though Jordan had been an idiot, it was kind of flattering that he would go through all that trouble for Greg. He really did want to forgive him, since it all seemed to be just a series of stupid mistakes rather than any real maliciousness. ―I just can‘t believe you got all of my friends involved in this mess.‖ ―Well… they all seem to think you should forgive me, since they helped me,‖ Jordan pointed out. Greg sighed and said, ―Fine. But I want you to do something for me before I‘ll give you another chance.‖ ―Anything,‖ Jordan offered willingly. Greg laughed softly. ―The other day in the park, I did something for you, but nothing was done for me in return. Make it up to me.‖ Jordan seemed confused for a second before he lit up in the brightest grin Greg had ever seen. ―You mean it?‖ ―I don‘t say things I don‘t mean,‖ Greg replied. ―Well, how about instead of doing something for just one of us, I do something that will make both of us feel good?‖ Greg blushed, knowing exactly what Jordan meant. And he was tempted to say no. But his body really, really wanted him to say yes, and—even though Greg wanted to be a writer—he knew there were
170 | Jamie Lowe times when actions spoke louder than words. ―You‘d better make it worth my time,‖ Greg warned. Jordan nodded enthusiastically and pulled Greg into a kiss, hands rubbing Greg‘s back as he gave soft pecks. Greg shivered a bit and returned the kisses, putting his arms around Jordan‘s neck. Jordan took a step forward and then another until Greg felt the metal of the whiteboard‘s marker-holder press into his lower back. ―That hurts,‖ he mumbled into the kiss. ―Sorry.‖ Jordan stepped back and offered Greg a rueful grin before grabbing the bottom of his T-shirt and lifting it off over his head. Greg moved his right hand and let his fingers touch Jordan‘s chest, stroking the warm skin and feeling the hard muscles underneath. ―Your turn,‖ Jordan pointed out. Greg reluctantly removed his own shirt, embarrassed by his own skinny torso. But Jordan‘s large hands found his skin and stroked firmly, palms rubbing at his nipples. ―Stop playing around,‖ Greg demanded. Jordan laughed and asked, ―Do you always hate foreplay, or are you just particularly needy right now? I would think that since the point of this is to pleasure you, you would enjoy this.‖ ―Yeah, well, I enjoy other things more,‖ Greg admitted. ―And… it‘s been a while.‖ Jordan grinned and took Greg‘s hands, moving them to his belt. Greg released the buckle and unbuttoned and unzipped Jordan‘s pants, pushing them and his boxers down. Jordan toed out of his shoes and socks and stepped out of his puddle of jeans until he stood naked in the front of the classroom. Greg envied the confidence it took to stand there in nothing but skin, with arms crossed and a daring look. He took the dare and removed his own pants and shoes so that he was as bare as Jordan. Jordan eyed him up and down, and said, ―I don‘t usually find skinny this sexy, but you‘re pretty hot for a little thing.‖ Greg blushed and scowled a bit, turning away from Jordan. ―Aww, come on, it was a compliment. How about you and I find out just how comfortable the carpet is in here.‖ ―The carpet?‖ Greg repeated. ―I figure it will be more comfortable—and sanitary—than a desk.‖
Learning After Hours | 171 ―You‘re probably right,‖ Greg said with a groan. He got down onto the carpet and frowned at the scratchy knit. They would have some redknee trophies from this encounter. But hopefully it would be worth it. Jordan knelt down next to him and reached over to his jeans, pulling two things out of his pocket. ―Lube and a condom?‖ Greg raised an eyebrow. ―Did you go into this with high expectations?‖ ―Hey, I‘ll have you know I used to be a Boy Scout.‖ ―Always prepared.‖ ―Exactly.‖ Jordan unscrewed the cap and squeezed a glob of the cherry gel on his fingers. He pulled Greg in for another kiss with his other hand, then moved his mouth next to Greg‘s ear. ―Ready?‖ ―Just go ahead and do it,‖ Greg said, trying to relax as much as he could. Jordan reached down with a digit and slipped inside of him, pushing to open up the tight muscles. ―Oh yes,‖ he hissed. ―This is going to feel so good.‖ Greg blushed and turned his head to avoid Jordan‘s burning gaze. The digit slid along his inner walls, setting the nerves on fire, and he moaned, pushing back as best he could to get the most pleasure possible from the intrusion. He could feel his own cock stirring in curiosity of the slightly painful but still pleasurable feeling. ―Uhn, God, that feels good.‖ ―I‘m glad,‖ Jordan replied, ―since you probably wouldn‘t be as merciful if the sex sucked.‖ ―You‘ve got that right,‖ Greg panted. ―If the sex is bad, I‘ll have to go back to being mad at you.‖ ―Then I‘ll have to use all my skills to make it great,‖ Jordan joked. Another finger entered Greg, and he felt his insides stretch. Greg moaned and spread his legs a bit further apart. His toes clenched and unclenched in the carpet. He leaned in and nibbled lightly at Jordan‘s neck and shoulder. ―Do you need something?‖ Jordan‘s breath hitched as Greg‘s teeth nipped his ear sharply. ―Jordan,‖ Greg begged, ―please, just go inside of me. I can‘t wait much longer.‖ Jordan nodded and handed Greg the condom wrapper. ―You put it
172 | Jamie Lowe on me,‖ he said with a cocky grin. Greg took the wrapper and opened it, putting the condom on Jordan‘s cock. ―You want this just as bad as I do,‖ Greg pointed out. ―That was never in doubt. I‘ve been wanting you for weeks. I‘m fully planning to enjoy this. Get on your hands and knees for me.‖ Greg did as Jordan bade, scratching his fingers through the carpet. Jordan‘s hand came to rest on his hip, and Greg felt Jordan over him. He took a deep breath as he felt Jordan‘s cock against his entrance and let it out slowly as Jordan pushed inside. ―You‘re big,‖ Greg admitted through clenched teeth as he tried to get used to the feeling of someone inside him. It had been far too long since his last boyfriend. ―Breathe through it. I‘ll wait a minute,‖ Jordan promised. Greg focused on relaxing until finally some of the ache went away. One of Jordan‘s arms went around his waist, and Greg felt lips against the back of his neck. ―You can move,‖ Greg said. Jordan squeezed Greg with the arm around him, then pulled back slowly before sliding back in. Greg‘s cheeks turned pink and he moaned at the feeling. ―You okay?‖ Jordan breathed against his shoulder. ―Yes! Go!‖ Jordan laughed and started moving faster, and Greg loved it. Greg braced his arms and pushed back in counterpoint to every thrust. ―Harder,‖ he demanded, and he clawed the carpet hard as he was obeyed. Jordan‘s thrusts were rough in a way that sparked something primitive in Greg. Greg grabbed Jordan‘s arm around him, moved Jordan‘s hand down to his own aching length, and made Jordan stroke his cock. Jordan held him confidently in his hand and pleasured Greg from both the front and the back. Time seemed to crawl at a snail‘s pace then rush forward at an amazing speed, blurring the lines between Greg‘s senses as his mind filled with nothing but sex. He felt a coil tightening in his lower belly and warned, ―Jordan, I‘m going to cum.‖ ―Good, do it,‖ Jordan replied. Greg hissed sharply and thrust harder into Jordan‘s fingers, until
Learning After Hours | 173 the tension in his lower belly snapped like a spring, and he let out the least manly squeal ever and came over Jordan‘s hand and onto the carpet. Jordan hammered him even faster until Greg felt Jordan twitching inside of him. Jordan hissed and clamped his teeth down on Greg‘s shoulder, making him yelp in pain. By the time his shoulder stopped stinging, it was over, and Jordan was breathing hot air onto his skin. ―Get out of me,‖ Greg muttered, and Jordan slowly got off his back. ―Was that okay?‖ Jordan demanded, sounding like a puppy hoping to be praised after rolling over for the first time. Greg ignored him and got up, using his hands to rub out the pattern of the carpet pressed into the bottoms of his knees. He glanced down and cursed. ―Damn. Look at the carpet.‖ Jordan turned and laughed at the sight of Greg‘s cum on the floor. ―Well… that‘s what a janitor is for. Here, we‘ll cover it up for now.‖ Jordan got a table from against the wall and dragged it over the stain. Greg surveyed Jordan‘s work and deemed it good enough for a half-assed cover-up. ―We should go back down,‖ he said finally. ―Not like we won‘t get enough hell from Cameron, but it will only be worse the longer we‘re gone. Jordan smirked and said, ―Worth it,‖ as he pulled his underwear back on. They got dressed in silence, but it wasn‘t heavy or uncomfortable. Suddenly, Jordan asked, ―So am I forgiven?‖ ―For now.‖ Jordan laughed. Once he was done getting dressed, he straightened up his hair. ―Let‘s go.‖ Greg nodded and followed Jordan downstairs to the writing lab. He checked his reflection in the window pane of the door before opening it and stepping inside. ―So… you two made up?‖ Cameron asked, sitting back at his desk with a piece of half-finished pizza in his hand. ―Something like that,‖ Greg agreed. ―Good. I don‘t want to get dragged into your relationship bullshit ever again,‖ Cameron said.
174 | Jamie Lowe ―Please,‖ Greg scoffed, ―you haven‘t had a boyfriend in the last two years. Living vicariously through my drama is the most excitement you‘re going to get.‖ ―Asshole,‖ Cameron grumbled. ―Besides, I could have Dr. Wynn fire you.‖ ―Really now? For what, dare I ask?‖ Greg challenged. ―It‘s our job to teach writing to the students who come in here.‖ ―Yeah, so?‖ ―By my count, you just spent the last half hour blowing that off to study anatomy.‖ Jordan laughed as he went over to the pizza boxes and opened up the breadsticks. ―Whoa. Dude, did you eat half the box?‖ ―Cameron!‖ Greg chided. ―Call it payment,‖ Cameron justified. Greg rolled his eyes and went to sit down in his chair, but before he could, Jordan swooped him off his feet. Greg yelped and found himself in his chair, on Jordan‘s lap. ―What are you doing? Let go of me!‖ ―Never!‖
Learning After Hours | 175 About the Author
JAMIE LOWE is the pen name for a full-time student/part-time writer with plenty to say and only limited creative outlets. Though writing will always be her first love, Jamie‘s career interest is in teaching collegelevel composition and creative writing courses, which she hopes to start with a TA position following the completion of her undergraduate degree in May 2012. Jamie loves to read, and her bookshelves are overflowing; she considers reading to be the only thing in the world better than writing. Other interests include music (particularly the French horn, which she fell in love with during high school band) and anything having to do with her historical idol, Alexander the Great. Jamie currently resides in Arkansas but is looking forward to making a world changing move to Seattle next fall, following a trip to Germany. You can contact Jamie by e-mail at
[email protected] or check out her burgeoning writing blog at http://fulltimemusings.wordpress.com.
Universally Gay
THE last few weeks of high school were torture. Mark figured it must be easier for everyone else, considering all the high-spirited laughter and slacking. Hiding the biggest secret of his life made it worse. He would hold out, though; there were only a few months until college. Mark had known he was gay since the summer before his sophomore year, when a wrestling match in Davey‘s swimming pool had left Davey wet and grinning and Mark not fit for company. Their friendship of five years would probably have survived him coming out. Davey was cool like that. And maybe, if there hadn‘t been a call from the house that pizza had arrived, Mark would have spilled the beans right there. Even three years later, Mark couldn‘t decide whether that call had saved his life or ruined it. It had only taken two minutes of reflection to realize that Davey, while a nice guy, couldn‘t keep his mouth shut about anything. Mark‘s father would have found out within the week. He had been increasingly drunk and angry since Mark‘s mom had died. Mark couldn‘t stand the thought of making it worse. His dad would have
Universally Gay | 177 handled the news that Mark was gay badly. Instead, Mark spent the next three years trying not to look at guys. He worked himself into exhaustion every summer to save for college, because he worried that his dad might disown him; that was how badly he expected his dad to handle it. So high school? Not much fun for Mark. It was somehow harder once he became aware there was a Gay Straight Alliance on campus, one he didn‘t dare go to. There were happy homos and pretty lesbians walking around his school. Mark was afraid of coming close to them; he was frightened they would somehow sense his gayness. He probably came off as homophobic. It drove him nuts. In his sober moments, his dad tried to bond with Mark. Mark laughed at his jokes and steered the conversation toward football, on which they agreed, or the plight of the working man. His dad didn‘t call it that, obviously; twenty years in the steel industry hadn‘t left him with much enjoyment of class theory. He was proud of Mark for working, though he always said he would find a way to send Mark to college anyway if Mark wanted to take some down time. But the last thing Mark wanted in the summer, when men ran around sweaty and half-naked, was to be trapped at home. He‘d work seven days a week if he could get away with it, just to be out. Girls were never really a problem. Mark had plenty of girl friends, and if his dad assumed the frequent mentions meant they were Mark‘s girlfriends, well, so much the better. He flirted with them in any case; he enjoyed flirting. Once, when he was drunk, he‘d ended up with a girl‘s hand down his pants, which had just confirmed his sexual orientation for him. So he wasn‘t lying, exactly. Except he was. He really was.
THANKFULLY, high school passed, and so did the summer before college. While he had turned eighteen in March and could have moved out, Mark figured it was less suspicious to wait out the summer and move into a dorm room like every other college kid. It sometimes left him feeling ready to burst, like his urges were going to explode out of him in some sort of rainbow. Every time he thought something like that, he wanted to bang his head into a wall. His control might leave him raw, but that was life. A deep-seated desire to be out was never going to make
178 | M. Lee him sparkle; he‘d have to do it the hard way. His dad helped him move. They packed everything into the back of the pick-up and drove for twelve straight hours. After a night in a motel, Mark and his dad were practically the first ones on campus, signing him in and getting his room key before the hordes descended. Mark had looked at a bunch of colleges, because good grades meant there were plenty of possibilities. In the end, Oregon University suited him. Half an hour later, Mark was sharing a manly goodbye hug with his dad and waving him out the door. He squelched an urge to open up his new laptop, a surprise graduation gift from his dad, and download gay porn. The freedom was making him giddy. He was shaky with how much he suddenly craved everything. Mark laughed at himself as he brushed his collar-length brown hair out of his eyes. He could find something, if he really wanted to. (He really wanted to.) But he also knew it wasn‘t the most productive use of his time. Three years of hard work, in school and out, had trained him out of lazing. Though maybe now that he was at college, he could laze a little…. Still, he ended up walking out the door to finish registering first. He got his picture taken for a student ID and signed up for the first orientation, scheduled for the following day. After, he took a walk around to find all his classrooms. By the time he got back, his roommate had arrived. The door was open and there was a pile on the bed Mark hadn‘t claimed. Mark‘s bed was made neatly, a box containing his toiletries the only thing out of place. The mess of boxes and bags slipping slowly off the other bed made quite a contrast. Just as he was wondering if he should go again, a thick-bodied blond man walked in, arms full of a box. ―Hey,‖ he said cheerfully, juggling the box to extend his hand, ―I‘m Nate. You must be the roommate?‖ Mark shook hands, a cautious smile on his face. ―Yep. Mark.‖ Nate nodded and set the box down. ―Well, that‘s the last of my stuff. Just said goodbye to the old lady.‖ Mark nodded. ―Yeah, my dad‘s gone already too.‖ Nate sat down on top of the duffel that was perched on his bed. ―I figure they put us together ‘cause we both said we like football and don‘t care about loud music as long as it‘s not in the morning.‖
Universally Gay | 179 Mark relaxed a little and sat on his own bed. ―Mm. Something like that. Is now too early to pull out my speakers?‖ Nate laughed a big, booming sound. ―Dude, go ahead. Except maybe we should figure out the stuff you can‘t really talk about on a college survey first. Um, drugs?‖ Mark had a moment of worry, wondering what he‘d got himself into. ―I don‘t do them,‖ he said. Nate ran a hand up to his short crew cut. ―Pot?‖ Mark fought a smile. ―That—well, as long as everything I own doesn‘t end up smelling like it, and you‘re not running a business out of here, I don‘t care.‖ Nate let out a whoosh. ―Oh thank God. I was worried they might put me in with someone super straight-laced. We‘re going to have to figure out something about sex too. I don‘t know about you, but I‘m planning on getting some while I‘m here. And, look—‖ Nate stood and nudged the door shut, ―—they asked me if I cared if my roommate was gay, so I‘m assuming?‖ Mark swallowed and thought of the hastily penned line he‘d added to his roommate questionnaire. This wasn‘t quite how he‘d meant to come out. ―Uh,‖ he said. ―Yeah.‖ He must have looked terrified, because Nate came over and patted his shoulder. ―Hey, no big deal. Seriously, man, my little brother is gay. If anyone gives you shit, you tell me and I‘ll pound their asses for you.‖ Mark laughed. ―Thanks.‖ Nate laughed too. ―You could probably take ‘em, but backup never hurts, right? Anyway, I‘m figuring you want to see me having sex about as much as I want to see you, so we‘re going to have to work something out. How late is too late to be barred from your room?‖ Mark considered. ―I‘m fine until maybe one thirty, unless I have something way early the next morning. All my classes are nine o‘clock classes or later, so I should be good. Just don‘t lock me out every night.‖ Nate made a thoughtful noise. ―No picking up chicks at parties and bringing ‘em back after, then. Sometimes I‘ll be out until three or four in the morning, just so you know. And I‘m not going to freak if you keep someone over, as long as there‘s no sex while I‘m in the room.‖ Mark took a slow breath, flushing with the idea of having someone
180 | M. Lee to go to bed with, much less sleep all night with. He mustered up a smile that he hoped didn‘t look too weird. ―Yeah, likewise. I mean, I‘ve been to parties; I‘m not going to expire if I catch a flash of tits or anything.‖ Nate punched him in the arm. ―Right on!‖ He turned and rustled through a bag. ―Here!‖ He flashed a glaringly red sock. ―If you‘re busy, put this on the doorknob on the outside, and I‘ll come back later. Just don‘t forget to take it off after.‖ He set the sock down on the bookshelf that had been installed along one wall. Mark drew up one knee and looked at the mess of crap Nate had brought with him. ―Want a hand?‖ Nate smiled. ―Sure. Thanks.‖ Mark couldn‘t tell him that his easy acceptance was worth three times the amount of effort he‘d spend helping Nate unpack. ―No problem.‖
THE first time Mark saw the signs for the Club Faire, he rolled his eyes at the self-conscious E. It sounded like some sort of convention for those people who liked to dress up like it was the Middle Ages. He hadn‘t really thought he‘d go, but then Nate got excited about it, and everyone in his mandatory orientation was talking about it, and somehow Mark had changed his mind. It was packed. Tables filled the room and spilled outside to Time Square, so named because of the clock tower overlooking it. There were live demos going all over. The Cooking Club had someone with a mockup of a chef‘s hat vigorously flipping some batter in a frying pan over a gas stove. When Mark drifted closer, he saw plates full of crepes being sold. His eyes skated over tables for puppet-making, dancing, debate, and more. The debate table was drawing a crowd as two women faced off over immigration law. Mark wandered out of earshot, plunging through a science experiment that was bubbling away, a robotics display, and past Auto, whose banner said We go fast. He paused near two tables displaying signs for sports. ―What‘s the difference?‖ he asked the curly-haired guy on the right. ―Depends what you‘re looking for,‖ he said with an easy smile. ―Anyone on scholarship or who‘s been recruited goes to the official
Universally Gay | 181 tryouts. That—‖ He jerked his head at the other table ―—is for people who still want to play competitively, but maybe can‘t quite make the cut or just don‘t have the time. We‘re more like ‗the guys went down to the park and kicked the ball around‘. Though obviously girls are welcome too.‖ Mark hovered. ―I‘m pretty competitive,‖ he admitted. ―But… I think maybe I should tone it down a little.‖ The guy laughed appreciatively. ―I‘m Ben,‖ he said, reaching out to shake hands. Mark shook. ―Mark.‖ ―So, Mark, what can I do for you? We‘ve got soccer, basketball, and football pretty much year-round, baseball in the spring, hockey in the winter… I could go on?‖ Mark laughed. ―Soccer and football.‖ He stuck his hands in his pockets. ―When and where?‖ Ben handed him two different clipboards. ―Just put your name, email, and phone number. We send out reminder e-mails, but soccer is every Friday at four on the field nearest the quad, and football‘s in the same place Tuesday nights at seven. You can come to both whenever you want.‖ Mark blinked and obediently put down his contact information in the appropriate boxes. ―Uh, thanks. Guess I‘ll see you around?‖ Ben waved a distracted goodbye, already zeroing in on a group of women approaching. The door to the quad opened and Mark heard the sound of gasps and scattered applause. Curious, he headed out. A crowd had gathered. Mark followed the sounds of clapping and looked up just in time to see someone leap off the clock tower. He stared, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. People were climbing the clock tower. There were ropes and harnesses involved, and off to the side, someone in an official-looking shirt was explaining what was happening. A woman standing next to him was modeling the harness as he pointed and told rapt listeners where the rope attached and fielded questions. ―Crazy,‖ he heard someone say behind him. Watching someone belaying down toward the crowd, still a good four stories up, Mark was inclined to agree. Definitely not for him.
182 | M. Lee Mark wiggled his way out of the crowd, intending to peruse the clubs who had tables set up out here, and was caught by a huge rainbow flag. He took a step toward it and froze, mouth going dry. Crap. Someone banged into him and he muttered a quick apology. Flushing, Mark eased to the side, feigning interest in the first table he came to. As he flicked through an explanatory pamphlet, not taking in a word, he swore at himself. He thought he was over it. College was supposed to be about something new. No more hiding; he‘d sign up for the GSA and get a boyfriend. The thought of walking over to that big gay flag where other people could see him was not supposed to make him sick to his stomach. His eyes flicked over again. Maybe if he just sort of eased toward it? ―So, are you interested?‖ With a jolt, Mark realized he‘d been standing in front of some table for a few minutes. Apologetically, he signed up, not bothering to check what he was signing up for. He shuffled sideways to the next table, swallowing convulsively. He couldn‘t really stop looking, though. Two girls, hand in hand, walked up laughing and signed themselves up. A gorgeous boy with spiky blond hair and glitter signed up too. Mark was only a table away now, shoulders hunched as he stared a hole into the ground in between glances at the flag. Desperately, he wished someone would rescue him. ―It‘s not contagious, you know.‖ Mark looked up to see the African-American man running the rainbow table staring at him, lips pursed, eyebrows arched cattily. Not exactly the welcome he was hoping for. If possible, he flushed redder. ―I know.‖ He took a few shuffling steps closer. ―I, uh, I actually wanted to sign up.‖ The eyebrows came down, the mouth softening in surprise. ―Oh! You‘d think I‘d learn not to judge,‖ he said, shaking his head. As Mark approached, he saw the man was wearing a nametag that proclaimed Damien, under which, in smaller print, it said, Ask me about being gay! Watching Mark inch closer, Damien‘s eyebrows arched again. ―Is this your first time?‖ Mark laughed, nerves fizzling at the gentle flirtation, and before he could think, he was responding, ―Oh, is it obvious?‖
Universally Gay | 183 A smile flickered over Damien‘s lips. ―Don‘t worry, darling, I‘ll be gentle.‖ Smiling, Mark took the last step to stand squarely in front of the table, which was not, he saw, a GSA, but called University Gays. He was surprised at how easy it was, flirting with a man. He wondered how Nate would respond if he ran back to their dorm and announced he‘d flirted with someone. ―Promise?‖ The way Damien looked him over made Mark feel reckless. ―Oh, darling,‖ he said, ―they are going to be simply swooning over you.‖ ―I take out my frustration by hitting the gym,‖ he admitted, reaching for the sign-up clipboard. Damien‘s mouth formed a moue. ―You must have been terribly frustrated.‖ Enjoying the flirtation, which he was fairly sure was harmless, he dead-panned, ―Terribly.‖ With an appreciative laugh, Damien sat back. ―Feel free to take one of anything you need,‖ he said, gesturing at the table. ―Except the cupcakes. Those are for us hard-working volunteers. Sorry.‖ Propped against the rainbow-sprinkled cupcakes, someone had added a decorative sign. Now with 100% more gay! Smirking, Mark began to look over the colorful pamphlets that covered the table. Some of them had titles that were fairly mundane, things like Coming Out and So You Think You’re Bisexual. Some of them, though, were a lot more explicit. Mark grabbed a copy of Oral Sex and STIs, All You Need to Know About Lube, and How to Find a Prostate. He also grabbed lube and a condom from the basket of them sitting to one side. He waved a quick goodbye as Damien called after him, ―Have fun!‖ Pamphlets firmly in hand, Mark hurried for his dorm. It was about time he figured some things out.
ONE thorough midday shower, one red sock, and three downloaded adult videos later, Mark was ready for some exploration. He spread his towel under himself and booted up his computer. Setting the first video to play on ―mute,‖ he grabbed the lube and the pamphlet entitled How to Find a Prostate. The pictures were pretty instructive, but he read through the text anyway.
184 | M. Lee On screen, things had progressed from kissing to shirtless groping. Mark licked his lips and trailed a hand down his body. He‘d been halfhard since he‘d spotted the pamphlet. Now he was filling, blood pooling in his lap and making him stand out from his body. He gave himself a quick squeeze, slid his hand up and down once, before moving lower. Tentatively, he paused to touch the spot behind his balls, gasping at the spike of pleasure it caused. He moved his finger lightly over his asshole. He shivered, surprised at the sensitive skin there. His eyes flickered to the video, where a close up was showing one man‘s full lips playing with the head of the other man‘s cock. Mark gulped and pressed harder. He took a careful breath, stopping to luxuriate in the sensation. Something hot and big snaked down his spine. It wasn‘t as though he was in any doubt about his sexual orientation. Somehow, though, this felt like the ultimate test. If he liked it in the ass, he was definitely gay. Wanting this was more gay than a hundred rainbow flags could ever be. Biting his lip, he reached for the slick and got some on his fingers. He rubbed against his hole, wet and wanting, and then he was in. His eyes slammed shut and he couldn‘t breathe; stars filled his vision. When he could open his eyes again, his finger was still in his ass. It was wrong and exhilarating and perfect. He moved a little, surprising himself into a whimper. He did it again. After a minute, he was able to slide his finger in and out of himself. It was like fucking, and the idea of some guy‘s cock in him like this sent Mark‘s head crashing back into his pillow. Strained and hungry, he tried two fingers. The fullness felt so good he almost couldn‘t wait to adjust, the stretch a wicked promise of what would come. After a few teeth-gritted moments of desperation, Mark pushed his fingers deeper. He found his prostate almost by accident. ―Oh,‖ he said, unable to stem the words flooding his mouth and lying thick on his tongue. ―Oh fuck.‖ He squirmed, mouth falling open to pant. ―Fuck.‖ He grabbed for his cock and got in a few jerky strokes, balls tightening and cock pulsing. Mark swallowed a cry and came silently, only remembering the laptop when a flopping arm nearly knocked it to the floor. Well. That had been successful.
Universally Gay | 185
WITH a drink in his hand, music cranked up loud, and a guy to talk soccer with, Mark figured his first kegger as a college student was set to be a success. Joe seemed nice enough, though nothing like Nate. Nate was some sort of party magnet; he‘d been out three nights a week, starting their first full day on campus. As he‘d warned Mark, he sometimes stumbled in drunk at four in the morning. No red-sock nights yet, though. The parties Mark had been to in high school had generally been at someone‘s house when their parents were out of town. This was just as loud, but a lot more crowded. He was actually a little amazed at how many people were squashed into room A125. The door was open and people spilled out into the hall, which attracted more attention and thus more people. In the hour Mark had been here, the party had easily doubled in size. ―Yes,‖ Joe said, raising his plastic cup triumphantly and splashing beer out the side. ―Did you see that?‖ Mark twisted to where the flat screen TV was now flashing a new score. Commentators exclaimed over instant playback, and Mark watched the slow motion image of his favorite forward scoring. He grinned at Joe and took a swallow of his drink. ―That was awesome,‖ he agreed. ―They‘re really doing well this year.‖ Joe nodded vigorously. ―It‘s their new goalie. I thought he was going to be a fucking disaster, but he‘s pretty good. Stopped a penalty shot in their third game.‖ Mark gave an impressed ―Huh.‖ The music changed, and he was in motion by the third chord. ―This is my favorite song; I think I‘m going to go dance.‖ He chugged the rest of his drink and set his cup down. ―Maybe I‘ll see you around.‖ He threw himself onto the dance floor. Or, well, the part of the small room where the most people were dancing. He was greeted with disdainful hoots, but Mark didn‘t mind. They would change their minds quickly enough. He was good at dancing. Mark had never understood why guys weren‘t supposed to like dancing. There was all this hype about guys and sports, and dancing was
186 | M. Lee pretty damn athletic. Also, it was sexy. Moving your body, everyone close together, all that rhythmic thumping? He was surprised more straight guys didn‘t see the benefit. By the end of the song, people were taking notice. By the time the second song came to an end, he found himself sandwiched by two girls. He laughed easily and let them use him as a prop. He was used to girls dancing with him; Mark thought he‘d worked out a pretty good balance of dancing without leading them on. Indeed, when one drunken girl started pawing at him, her friends pried her off. After a few more songs, he was surrounded, but everyone was dancing close without the more aggressive grinding he‘d seen them direct at someone they were interested in. Finally, he tired a little and went in search of another drink. As soon as he stepped out of the crowd, Joe found him. ―Hey!‖ He pressed a drink into Mark‘s hand. ―Saw you out there. Nice work.‖ He winked. Mark took a few gulps. ―Thanks. I love dancing.‖ Joe smiled at him. ―Yeah? Lot of hot babes out there all over you.‖ Mark shrugged. ―So, want to go out together?‖ The offer was so out of the blue that it took Mark a minute to process it. Was Joe asking him out? ―We could draw the ladies in and—‖ Joe winked again. Ah. That kind of ―out.‖ His stomach heaved unpleasantly for a moment. ―Not really my thing.‖ Joe‘s face twisted in confusion. ―What, you some sort of fag?‖ Mark felt his heart skip a beat. He almost brushed it off, but dammit, wasn‘t this what he came to college for? To have some place where he could be himself? He shoved his shaking hands in his pockets. ―Actually….‖ He raised his chin, defiant. Joe took a shocked step back from him. ―Fucking queer!‖ When the punch came, Mark had no way of blocking it. He went stumbling back, hand to his eye. Anger thrummed in his chest and he readied himself to fight. Instead, he looked up to see Joe beat a hasty retreat. Mark blew a harsh breath from his nose. What an asshole. Self-
Universally Gay | 187 recrimination crawled up his chest. Great. His first party and he‘d ended up talking with a homophobe. He sighed and went in search of ice.
NATE was up when Mark crept in two hours later. He hadn‘t wanted to let Joe ruin his night, but he wasn‘t really in the mood for a long night out either. Everyone kept peering at his eye and asking what had happened. It put a damper on things. Nate looked up and popped his earbuds out, pushing his laptop to the side. ―Hey! What the fuck?‖ Mark waved him off. ―It‘s just a black eye. No big deal.‖ Nate got up and poked at it. ―‘Cause you‘re gay?‖ Mark winced away and shrugged. Nate scowled. ―You didn‘t suck his cock first, right?‖ Mark laughed. ―No! What? Why would you ask that?‖ Nate crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot against the floor. ―Happened to my brother.‖ Mark blinked, incredulous. ―Wait, really? Some guy punched your brother after he sucked his cock? That‘s just… wrong. Who does that?‖ Nate ignored him. ―You punch him back?‖ Mark shook his head. ―He ran off. Probably afraid it‘s catching.‖ He felt an unexpected swell of misery in his throat. Like he needed any more of that crap. Suddenly, he found himself enveloped in a bear hug. ―I‘m not a girl, you know.‖ Nate pulled back enough to smile kindly. ―Naw. But you still want a Prince Charming.‖ Mark blushed. ―Shut up.‖ Nate thumped him on the back and let him go.
IT TURNED out that the sparkly-haired boy Mark had seen signing up for University Gays was in his Lit 101 class. His name was Seth, and in addition to being very pretty, he was also kind and intelligent. Mark had
188 | M. Lee seen him talking to Ian, a terminally shy guy, just before he‘d had to give his first presentation. Ian had obviously been terrified, but Seth sat right up front and Ian looked at him the whole time. Seth kept smiling encouragingly; it made Mark wish he could paint or something. He wanted to capture Seth‘s beauty. His raging crush on Seth came to full force by the end of their first week of classes. It was the first time that Mark was so keenly aware that he had a type. A skinny, swimmer type with blue eyes. Crushing on Seth had also made Mark aware that he had quieter flashes of attraction all the time: a few guys that showed up for soccer, his lab partner in chemistry, even the cashier at the student-run coffee shop. He was a little amazed to discover how much he thought about guys, once he allowed himself to do so. The hormone-flooded years of high school hadn‘t quite prepared him for this. When it was Mark‘s turn to give a short presentation on reversals in Shakespearean plays, he reversed Ian‘s technique and completely avoided looking at Seth. It wasn‘t until the normal polite applause that he let himself glance over. He was flustered all through the Q&A. He sank hurriedly into his seat, feeling himself blush. He wanted badly to talk to Seth, but he felt completely stymied about how to do it without being obvious. And then Seth presented on bisexual poets in the Harlem Renaissance. Afterwards, Professor Jones led them off. ―Excellent topic choice, Seth. What led you to choose the Harlem Renaissance?‖ ―A couple of things,‖ Seth said. ―First, I knew I wanted to talk about sexual orientation, so I was looking for something that would be a good frame for that. And I‘m actually a big blues fan, so I was familiar with some of the music. What I really found interesting, though, was the time period. This is a time when a lot of breakthroughs are happening— the Populist movement, the beginnings of psychology—and here is a scene where the music and art of the African-American community is suddenly pushing forward and becoming central. And at the same time, sexual orientation, though it isn‘t being called that yet, is getting talked and sung and written about openly for almost the first time in the history of the United States.‖ There was a flurry of questions after that. ―Do you think sexual
Universally Gay | 189 orientation becoming more visible is what led to it being classified as a mental disorder?‖ ―Why bisexual poets instead of gay poets?‖ ―How did the African-American community of the time respond versus everyone else?‖ Mark even managed to slip in, ―Did you run across differences in women and men when it came to writing about their sexual identities?‖ (―Yes, just like today, more people were open to bisexual women than bisexual men.‖) In fact, despite the usual reluctance over asking questions, they ran five minutes over the end of class. Mark loitered while everyone rushed to pack up their bags and get to their next classes. He approached Seth as the other man was getting the last papers into his bag. ―That was a great presentation.‖ Seth zipped his bag and looked up. ―Thanks! I was kind of nervous, actually.‖ Mark nodded and followed him out the door. ―I‘ll bet. Did you do presentations like that in high school?‖ Seth grinned. ―Once. My senior year. It didn‘t go over so well.‖ Mark laughed. ―Gutsy.‖ Seth laughed too, ducking his head. Mark swallowed, fixated on the long, clean line of Seth‘s neck. He couldn‘t think of a thing to say. Before he could get too stuck, Seth looked sideways at him. ―You don‘t usually come this way, do you?‖ ―Oh! Um, no. I don‘t have class now.‖ ―Lucky bastard,‖ Seth teased. His smile was relaxed when he turned to Mark. ―I‘ve got two hours of French.‖ Mark winced. ―Ouch. I took a semester, but I couldn‘t wrap my tongue around it. Switched to Spanish.‖ Seth sniffed. ―French is the language of love,‖ he declared, nose raised in the air. Mark couldn‘t help smiling. ―Yeah? Say something for me.‖ Seth arched an eyebrow, and Mark realized how flirtatious that had sounded. He didn‘t have time to panic, because Seth was speaking, voice light. ―J’aime tes mains.‖ Mark blinked. ―Nice. What‘s it mean?‖ Seth gave him a mischievous smirk. ―You‘ll just have to learn
190 | M. Lee some French.‖ Mark laughed. Seth stopped, clearing his throat. ―This is me,‖ he said, nodding at the door. ―Wait! Um.‖ Mark braced himself. He could do this. ―Are you going to University Gays this week?‖ ―I was planning to, yes.‖ He sounded a little surprised. Mark gulped. ―See you there?‖ Seth‘s lips parted. ―You—oh!‖ Slowly, he smiled. ―Yeah. I‘ll definitely see you there.‖
DESPITE nearly a month‘s worth of email invites to COME JOIN THE GAYS! Mark hadn‘t worked up the nerve to come to a University Gay meeting before now. They had taken over the campus Club House for the night and turned it into a rainbow-clad haven. There was a table next to the front door as he entered, manned by Damien. ―Darling,‖ Damien exclaimed when he entered, ―I wasn‘t sure you were coming back! Thought we might have scared you off.‖ Mark smiled sheepishly. ―No, just busy getting settled in.‖ He scanned the room, but Seth wasn‘t there yet. When he looked back, Damien gave him a knowing smirk. ―Uh-huh. Met a boy, have we?‖ Mark wanted to deny it. Shouldn‘t he be here because he wanted to join the gay community, or something? Except he wasn‘t sure he ever would have had the courage to come to a meeting if it weren‘t for Seth. ―Well. Sort of?‖ Damien chuckled. ―Hoping you‘ll see him here, then?‖ Mark ducked his head, feeling himself blush. ―He might‘ve said he‘d be here.‖ ―I see how it is,‖ he said. ―Well, go on in then. Donation bucket‘s up here with me if you can spare anything. Pizza and drinks on the main table. Give it another fifteen minutes and someone will hop up to announce the plan for tonight.‖
Universally Gay | 191 ―Uh,‖ Mark said, ―right.‖ He retreated, slowing to take in the crowd. The Club House seemed decently full. Uncertain, he edged toward the food. That seemed a logical place to start. Just as he had settled in with a slice of pizza and was about to awkwardly introduce himself to the couple on the couch next to him, someone called his name. A second later, Seth was perching on the arm of the couch beside him. ―Hi! You‘re here. I wasn‘t sure you were going to come.‖ Seth‘s smile was wide and genuine. Mark looked up at him, charmed by his exuberance. ―Hi,‖ he said, nerves fluttering in his stomach. ―How was French? Do you want some pizza?‖ He held up his slice in demonstration, then immediately felt stupid. Seth blinked at him. He caught Mark‘s wrist in one hand as he ducked down and took a bite. Mark felt like gaping. Seth was eating his pizza. Seth swallowed and licked tomato sauce off his lips. ―Mm. S‘good.‖ Before Mark had figured out how to respond to that, a short woman with buzzed hair stood and climbed onto a chair. ―Hello, all you lovely queers!‖ Her voice was much louder than he had expected from her size. ―And how are we this week?‖ A chorus of responses, varying from cheerfully lewd to lackluster, greeted her. She grinned and clapped her hands together. ―Excellent, that‘s what we like to hear. For those of you who are U-Gay virgins—‖ she paused for a hoot of laughter, ―—I‘m Lydia and this is the part where stuff gets done. Or not. We‘ve got four break-outs today. First, we‘ll be showing In and Out, a romantic comedy about some poor shmuck who‘s been deluding himself about being gay right up until he leaves his bride at the altar. The couches go to our weekly check-in, so if you feel like you need to sit and talk about your feelings, head that way. Round table on the left goes to the group planning presentations for the local high schools, long table on the right is for anyone helping with next month‘s dance, funds raised to be donated to local HIV/AIDS resources.‖ She clapped her hands again. ―Go!‖ Mark cast a helpless look at Seth. Seth shrugged. ―What do you want to do?‖ Mark stood up. ―Well, not the, uh, feelings one.‖ Seth lips
192 | M. Lee twitched, amused. ―And I‘m barely out, so talking to high school kids seems like a bad idea. Maybe the dance?‖ ―Okay,‖ Seth said. ―I‘m actually going to stay here and talk. Or help other people talk.‖ Mark bit his lip. ―Oh.‖ He could hear the disappointment in his voice. ―But—‖ Seth curled up, tucking his feet up on the cushion with him. ―Look,‖ he said, ―maybe we can talk more after?‖ Mark hovered for a moment, but there was no reasonable objection he could make. ―Sure.‖
IT BECAME something of a routine after that. Mark sat with Seth in class and walked him to French, where Mark tried hard to pretend he hadn‘t spent a bunch of time looking up what Seth had said. (Seth liked his hands? That certainly sounded hopeful.) Then they met again on Wednesdays for University Gays, which it turned out was mostly called Universally Gay or U-Gay by its members. The dance committee was fun. Mark had worried it wouldn‘t be his thing, but it turned out he had an eye for color and a talent with words. ―You‘re calling it what?‖ Seth laughed, sweet and clear, as they wandered along the path back toward the dorms after a meeting. ―Please tell me you‘re serious.‖ Mark brushed against him. ―What? Members‘ Ball is a perfectly respectable name.‖ Seth snorted, and Mark tried not to find it adorable. ―For a dance being held by a gay club? You don‘t think people might read into that?‖ Mark held his face perfectly straight and said, ―I don‘t know what you mean.‖ Seth laughed again and leaned in, twining his fingers with Mark‘s. Mark held his breath. Despite plenty of flirting, this was the first time Seth had done anything so overt. It made him feel like he couldn‘t think straight. He squeezed lightly and risked a glance to the side. The moonlight made everything dreamlike, painting Seth in shades of white and pale blue, like a Nordic god.
Universally Gay | 193 ―So, do you have any duties at the dance itself?‖ Mark shook his head. ―The last thing I‘m part of is set-up earlier that day.‖ Seth scooted closer to lay his head on Mark‘s shoulder. Mark‘s heart pounded. He wondered if he could get away with steering Seth off the path and feeling him up against a tree. Probably not. As a compromise, he released Seth‘s hand and put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close. Seth‘s voice was soft, just under his ear. ―Do you want to go together?‖ It took Mark a minute to drag his mind back to the conversation, but when he did, his heart leapt. ―Yeah,‖ he said, ―I‘d love to.‖ Seth turned his head, and he was right there. ―You would?‖ Mark couldn‘t keep from dropping his eyes to Seth‘s lips. ―Yes.‖ Seth‘s mouth curled in a slow smile. ―Hm.‖ He leaned in and closed his mouth over Mark‘s. His lips were silken. The first touch of wet heat made all the blood rush from Mark‘s head and he pulled back panting. ―Come here,‖ Seth said, tugging him into the woods. Maybe not so impossible, then.
SETH was a tease. Despite Seth‘s obvious experience, Mark hadn‘t expected that. He also hadn‘t expected that the sight of Seth in skintight jeans and a delicate white slip would make him want to lick Seth all over. He had never considered cross-dressing and didn‘t think of it as something he was into. But Seth wore the thin piece of satin as though it was both perfectly normal and incredibly sexy, and that somehow made it both. Mark felt overdressed in his slacks and button-down green top. Seth appreciated it, though, if the way he‘d untucked it and kept running his hands up Mark‘s chest every time they danced was anything to go by. Meanwhile, Seth sipped his sparkling cider in a plastic wine glass and complimented Mark on a well-planned event. He also fellated his food in the most distracting manner possible.
194 | M. Lee By the time they stepped out onto the dance floor for the final slow dance of the evening, Mark had kissed Seth‘s lips a bright red and left an incriminating mark on the curve of his neck. One of the straps on Seth‘s slip kept falling off his shoulder. Mark was pretty sure he had nail marks on his back from Seth‘s wandering hands. He pulled Seth close and kissed him again, licking the taste of apples and cider from his mouth. Seth‘s hands wandered on a newly familiar trajectory, first smoothing over the material of Mark‘s shirt, then sliding under it. He didn‘t use his nails this time. Instead, he caressed Mark‘s side and soothed down Mark‘s back, letting his hand come to rest at the base of Mark‘s spine. That hot weight, reassuring and a little possessive, made Mark want to melt. Without thinking, he found one hand tracing its own path up Seth‘s back, stopping with a hand curled over his neck. His thumb swept in small circles. ―Mmm,‖ Seth said into his ear. ―You feel fantastic.‖ Mark murmured soft agreement, tightening the arm around Seth‘s waist. Seth gasped and hitched his hips forward. Mark bit back a moan, suddenly aware of just how hard all the teasing had made both of them. The final notes of the song faded and the lights began to lighten. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Lydia head for a mic. ―Let‘s get out of here,‖ he said, impulsive and hungry. ―Yes,‖ Seth said.
THEIR coats made them just barely presentable. Damien winked at them as they made their escape, leaving them both laughing. Mark didn‘t have enough blood left in his brain to make intelligent conversation. Thankfully, Seth seemed content to hold his hand and walk briskly. It was only when they were both stumbling into Mark‘s room, thankfully empty of Nate, that Mark realized there might be a sock issue. He dithered for a moment, debating as they shed their coats and shoes. If he put the sock out now, Seth would know what he was doing. It wasn‘t like a sock on the door was the subtlest sign. On the other hand, if things got any more serious than they were at the dance, Mark didn‘t want Nate walking in. All this was new enough, difficult and terrifying and amazing all at once; he really didn‘t need to add any stress.
Universally Gay | 195 Seth looked at him, eyes crinkling in a confused way, obviously wondering why the fuck Mark was still standing by the door. Mark sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ―Look, don‘t take this as—we can do whatever, just—‖ He grabbed the sock from its hiding place on the bookshelf, opened the door, and stuffed it over the knob. He shut the door and turned back to Seth with a sheepish smile. Seth laughed. ―Yeah, I‘d prefer if your roommate stays out for a bit.‖ Mark swallowed, trying not to infer too much from Seth‘s response. He could still just want to make out. The idea that he could be about to lose his virginity sank straight to his cock, though, hardening him with a dizzy rush. Seth closed in, sliding his arms over Mark‘s shoulders. Mark leaned in for a kiss, pulling back to pepper soft kisses over Seth‘s mouth and face. His arms came instinctively around Seth‘s waist. Seth smiled softly. ―You‘re sweet.‖ Mark huffed and bit his earlobe, soothing the sting with his tongue. ―Sweet?‖ He dropped one hand, palming Seth‘s ass, adoring the curve of it. He sucked his way down Seth‘s neck as he listened to Seth‘s breath hitch and shudder. He scraped his teeth over Seth‘s throat. ―Mmm?‖ Seth gasped. ―Oh—maybe not sweet—just—‖ Mark filed away Seth‘s twisting, his voice going high and needy as Mark played with the join of his neck and shoulder. He wanted, badly, to find every sensitive spot on Seth‘s body. He was so focused that Seth‘s hands coming up to his collar were a surprise. ―Can I?‖ Mark raised his head, already blurry with lust. Seth was toying with the top button of his shirt. ―Sure, yes.‖ He went back to what he was doing. The shirt dropping to the floor barely distracted him, but then Seth pinched his nipple. Mark yelped, drawing back. Seth blinked at him. ―Okay?‖ ―Uh.‖ Mark hadn‘t really considered his nipples before. ―I— dunno.‖ Seth shrugged and leaned forward, dragging his tongue over
196 | M. Lee Mark‘s nipple. ―Fuck. Okay. Yes, okay.‖ ―Mmm.‖ Seth switched sides, hands rubbing wide circles over Mark‘s chest. Mark watched mesmerized, sure his erection had to be obvious. Seth licked at the center of his chest and nipped, sinking slowly lower. Mark gulped, brain fizzling out at the picture Seth made on his knees. He was looking up at Mark, sultry eyes made vivid by eyeliner, lips parted temptingly. He rubbed his cheek over the shape of Mark‘s erection. Mark lost his breath. He had to close his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, Seth had his hand on Mark‘s belt. ―I want to open this up and suck you off.‖ ―Nngh.‖ Mark tried again, nodding his head vigorously. That sounded brilliant. Some far-off corner of his mind spoke up. ―Condom?‖ Seth nodded. ―Mhm. But first—‖ He eased Mark‘s belt open. Mark felt shaky, moving to cup Seth‘s face with one hand. His slacks were open, then around his ankles, and Seth was urging him to step out of them. A pair of red briefs was not what Mark would have chosen if he knew he was going to get naked tonight, but Seth seemed pleased by them. Or maybe by Mark‘s cock stretching them out of shape. Seth nuzzled Mark‘s cock again through the thin cotton, breathing hotly. Mark saw himself twitch. Seth grinned and licked over the spot where wetness was seeping through. Mark shouted, hand flying to grip at Seth‘s hair. The soft, wet pressure against his cockhead felt better than he‘d ever imagined. He wanted that without the barrier of clothes with an urgency that sent his heart pounding. He staggered back from Seth, reeling toward the bedside drawer where he kept condoms and lube. Seth stood, adjusting himself. ―Bed?‖ Feeling suddenly foolishly selfish, Mark nodded, dropping the condom onto the bed. He kissed Seth‘s gorgeous mouth, tongue plunging hungrily, unable to quite wrap his mind around what was about to happen. Seth moaned, hands clutching at Mark‘s shoulders. Mark bit his bottom lip, running a hand between them to grope at Seth‘s crotch. Seth cried out into the kiss, pushing into Mark‘s hand. ―Please,‖ he said, quiet and desperate. Mark leaned back. ―Get this off you, yeah?‖ He popped the button and eased a hand down Seth‘s front. He grinned. ―No underwear?‖
Universally Gay | 197 Seth smirked. ―Would‘ve ruined the lines.‖ ―These are tight,‖ Mark agreed. He squeezed Seth‘s erection for emphasis, getting another moan in reward. The zipper scraped the back of his hand as he pushed it down. He watched the sight of his hand on Seth, lost to everything else. ―Fuck,‖ Seth breathed, ―get these off me. I‘m not going to be able to stand in a minute.‖ Mark started, and then peeled the jeans down Seth‘s thighs. He paused at the calves. Seth snorted, and with a mutual glance, they both sat down on the side of Mark‘s bed to remove their socks. Seth plucked at his slip. ―Off or on?‖ Mark eyed him, his cock a slender length against the soft bottom of the silky white material. ―Um.‖ He blushed. ―On.‖ Seth waggled his eyebrows teasingly. He pushed Mark back on the bed, spreading himself out in a graceful sprawl between Mark‘s thighs. ―So,‖ he breathed, ―how about that condom?‖ Mark scrambled around his head, locating the foil package he‘d dropped on his pillow and handing it down. Seth placed it by his hip. ―Up,‖ he ordered. Mark arched his hips awkwardly and Seth pulled his briefs down. In a lightning quick gesture, Seth rolled over Mark‘s leg and pushed them off entirely. Before Mark could quite recover, Seth was back between his thighs, ripping open the condom. Mark propped himself up on his elbows. He was hard and red, precome glistening a little in the harsh dorm light. He‘d put a condom on a few times before, out of curiosity, but he was still dismayed to see his erection wilt when Seth rolled it on. Seth just shot him a wicked look and said, ―Bet I can fix that.‖ With no more warning, Seth darted his tongue out and licked across the head of his cock. It was so much wetter and rawer than through his briefs. It felt like electricity, snapping synapses that Mark had been only vaguely aware of before. His cock filled. Seth did it again, and Mark‘s head tilted back without permission. His eyes closed. Seth mouthed up the side, pressing his face into the hair at the base. Mark felt something wet and strong move up the underside of his cock, right along the vein, and grasped that’s his tongue. He moaned, helpless, shoulders going tight. Seth lipped at the head, and then moved down slowly. Light flared behind his eyes and he cried out. He let himself collapse back onto
198 | M. Lee the bed, lost in the glorious feeling of Seth sucking him, slow and sure. Seth‘s head bobbed. He couldn‘t see it, but Mark was sure from how tight it felt that Seth‘s cheeks were hollowed. He was already as hard as he‘d been in his life, as hard as the first time he‘d seen gay porn or the first time he‘d played with his ass. Seth paused and did something delicate with his tongue, right behind the head of his cock, which sent Mark spiraling off. ―Wait,‖ he sobbed, ―wait, wait. Stop.‖ Seth pulled off. ―Are you okay?‖ Mark gasped for breath. ―Just too—I‘m—‖ He forced himself back up onto his elbows, feeling shaky and exposed. Seth dropped a soft kiss on his inner thigh. ―Close?‖ When Mark nodded embarrassed agreement, Seth rested his head on Mark‘s thigh. ―It‘s fine. Good. I want you to come, yeah? Kind‘ve the point.‖ Hearing that was like a jolt to the gut. His uncertainty melted away. He made a soft sound and guided Seth back onto his cock. ―Oh.‖ He collapsed back. He gripped the blanket, eyes screwed shut. He felt floaty and focused, everything narrowing down to the heat surrounding his cock. Seth inched a hand forward and stroked his balls, a soft, perfect counterpoint, and that was it. All the muscles in Mark‘s body tightened, his hips arching impossibly high. He came on a gasp, ears ringing with the intensity of it. The world faded back in as Seth moved off. Mark‘s cock made an obscene sound coming out of his mouth. Mark felt limp, unable to move as Seth took care of the condom and crawled up his body to kiss him. It was sloppy and just right. After a minute, Mark revived enough to wrap an arm around Seth. ―Perfect.‖ He kissed him again. ―What about you?‖ ―Mm.‖ Seth wriggled a little. ―Can you sit up?‖ Mark moaned in protest, but at Seth‘s urging, he got himself arranged, sitting with his back propped against the headboard. Seth straddled him. Mark looked at the picture Seth made, the shift sweat-soaked, face flushed with pleasure, and wondered how fast he could get hard again. He gripped Seth‘s ass, kneading. ―Like this? Or do you want—‖ He moved his hand to the front, caressing Seth‘s pulsing erection. Seth whined. ―Here, like this.‖ He grabbed both of Mark‘s hands
Universally Gay | 199 and dragged them to cup his ass, shifting to take himself in hand. Mark burned, lust drowning him. Seth made short, abortive thrusts, knuckles brushing Mark‘s belly. Mark dug into the taut, smooth skin under his hands, thumb tracing daringly down Seth‘s cleft. ―Oh fuck,‖ Seth choked out, eyes wide. His free hand came up to clench on Mark‘s shoulder as Mark brushed his thumb over Seth‘s hole. ―Please,‖ he said, pushing back. Mark swallowed and jerked Seth into a kiss that was too fast, too hard, their teeth clicking. He pressed more firmly with his thumb, drinking in the sounds Seth made into his mouth. He felt powerful, consumed with the pleasure he was drawing out of Seth‘s body. Mark left Seth‘s mouth to bite into his shoulder. Seth whined, doing his best to squirm his way onto Mark‘s thumb. The grasp of Seth‘s body had Mark‘s cock filling, more slowly this time, imagining what Seth would be like doing this on his cock. He crooked his thumb. Seth shouted, tilting forward. Mark felt wet heat splatter over their bellies and seized Seth‘s mouth in a passionate kiss. They stayed like that for a long moment, panting into each other‘s mouths. Mark kissed Seth again, trying to convey how much he‘d enjoyed that. Seth tucked his head down on Mark‘s shoulder and became a deadweight. Mark ran a content hand down his back. Too soon, Seth shifted. ―Squishy,‖ he said, wrinkling his nose. Mark laughed and grabbed a wipe out of the still-open drawer. Seth took the wipe in silence, cleaning the cooling liquid from their bodies. He got up and tossed it to the trash, peeling his clinging shift off. Mark watched with admiring eyes, noting that Seth‘s chest was as lean as the rest of him. He flicked the lights off, and Mark could feel Seth‘s weight on the bed a moment later. He waited until Seth was even with him and wrestled them both under the sheets. Seth laughed sleepily. ―Guess it‘s okay for me to stay, then.‖ ―Yep.‖ Mark kissed him. The bed was too small, not meant for more than one person. They were pressed up against each other, Seth practically on top of him. Mark fell asleep with a smile on his lips.
200 | M. Lee
MARK woke abruptly, flailing a little in the dark. It took him a moment to figure out why he‘d woken up. There was a steady, quiet knocking on the door. ―Dude? Are you guys done yet?‖ Nate sounded plaintive. ―It‘s four thirty in the morning.‖ Mark jolted. ―Shit!‖ He remembered to whisper, trying not to wake Seth, at the last second. He eased himself up and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist. ―Sorry,‖ he whispered as he opened the door. ―I fell asleep.‖ Nate rolled his eyes. ―I‘ve been wandering around the hall for the last hour.‖ Mark ducked his head. ―Sorry,‖ he said again. ―That would be more believable without the I-just-got-laid smile.‖ Nate seemed more exasperated than angry. Mark grinned. ―I really am sorry, though. Won‘t happen again.‖ ―Um.‖ They both turned toward Seth. ―Do I need to go?‖ Mark hurried back to the bed, a denial on his lips, but Nate beat him to it. ―No, you‘re fine. Just let me get some sleep.‖ Across the room, there were the sounds of Nate fumbling around, probably shedding enough clothes to sleep comfortably. Mark ditched the towel and crawled back under the covers. Seth curled against him, sliding a leg between his. ―Your roommate‘s pretty cool.‖ Mark nuzzled Seth‘s neck. ―Yeah, he‘s great.‖ ―Sleeping,‖ Nate grunted. They giggled and settled down. Everyone slept.
MARK stirred to wakefulness slowly. He was hotter than usual for October, sweating under the covers. In slow pieces, he realized that he was in bed with Seth. He blinked his eyes open. Seth was looking at him,
Universally Gay | 201 his eyeliner smeared and his hair flat on one side. He was biting his lip, trying not to smile. Mark felt a shock of sweetness in his chest and smiled back. Once Seth saw that he was awake, he whispered, ―Does your roommate always snore like that?‖ Mark paused, listening to Nate‘s vigorous chainsaw snoring. ―Yes.‖ Seth pushed his face into the pillow to muffle his laughter. The movement brought their bodies into contact and Mark gulped. Seth was still naked under the covers. He felt just as good as he had last night. Morning arousal shifted into something else, leaving him breathless. He leaned in and nuzzled Seth‘s shoulder. ―Mmm.‖ Seth turned to kiss him. The momentary fear that this would all be gone in the morning eased. Mark let himself melt into the kiss. He pulled back, noting the way Seth‘s eyes had darkened. Seth licked his lips, a quick, compulsive gesture that sent blood rushing down to Mark‘s groin. Mark looked at him regretfully. ―I think we‘d better get up before we do something stupid.‖ He jerked his head back at Nate‘s prone form. Seth grimaced. ―Yeah.‖ He briefly rested a hand on Mark‘s hip. Mark leaned over the edge of the bed and began fetching clothes, handing Seth‘s to him. Seth looked at the silky, sticky shift in bemusement. ―I don‘t suppose you have anything I could borrow?‖ Mark, who had wriggled back into his briefs, gave him a surprised look. ―Sure.‖ He tiptoed across the room to the dresser, pulling out a clean pair of jeans for himself and shirts for him and Seth. ―This okay?‖ He held up a grey tee. Seth held his hands out and Mark tossed it. The shirt didn‘t fit Seth right at all, but it still made Mark feel soft inside to see him in it. The glow lasted through dragging Seth to the bathroom so they could at least wash their faces and brush their teeth (which made kissing much more pleasant). It persisted as Mark dug out his emergency stash of cinnamon rolls from his floor‘s kitchen and warmed them up. Seth made appreciative noises and licked the gooey sugar off his fingers. Sometime past noon, Seth rubbed his face against Mark‘s and said, ―I have all this homework that I‘ve been too distracted to do for the last
202 | M. Lee three days.‖ Mark sighed and kissed him. ―Yeah, I should probably get stuff done too.‖ They stayed, arms around each other, exchanging soft kisses. ―All right. I—see you Wednesday, yes?‖ Seth smiled against his mouth. ―Yes.‖
MARK stared at the phone in his hand, not sure what he was doing. Slowly, he brought the list of contacts up. Even more slowly, he scrolled down. The screen blinked at him. His heart raced as he pressed the call button. On the other end, the phone rang. Someone picked up. ―Dad? Hi, it‘s Mark. I have something important to tell you.‖
Universally Gay | 203 About the Author
M. LEE is both radical and domestic, brushing up on queer theory in between bouts of gardening and composing protest songs as she folds the laundry. After reading too many sad endings in gay classics, she set out to write as many happy gay endings as possible.
Literature and Lust
JAMIE escaped the monotonous lecture of Professor Milton and breathed a sigh of relief in the hall. ―Why is it the most interesting course on campus is taught by the worst professor?‖ he asked his friend Sadie, who caught up with his long-legged stride. ―Because the department chair didn‘t want huge numbers? I mean, think about it. If that class was taught by Jones or Peterson, the class would fill the first hour that course selections opened.‖ ―Maybe, but the class is open for English majors only. So it wouldn‘t be that big of a deal.‖ Sadie considered this and then shrugged. ―I guess you‘re right. But hey, we got in, didn‘t we? I‘ve been looking forward to this class since last semester, and there‘s no way in hell I‘m letting Professor Milton ruin it for me. Have you seen the reading list? Classics! Contemporary! I love it!‖ ―You would,‖ Jamie laughed, sliding an arm around her shoulder. ―What do you say we go and get these books before the rest of the classes get out and we‘re stuck at the Student Center all day?‖ ―Think we could get away with sharing books?‖
Literature and Lust | 205 ―Don‘t be so cheap.‖ Sadie laughed and smacked his stomach lightly. ―I‘m not cheap. I‘m frugal. There‘s a difference.‖ Tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder, she shoved her hands deep into her pockets to protect them from the biting wind howling between the buildings. Jamie mimicked her after pulling the hood on his sweatshirt up, protecting his face from the chill. Central University was not the largest campus in the area in terms of size, but had a population of just over ten thousand undergraduate students. Most of them were commuters, but Jamie was happy to have a dorm directly on campus, which gave him a lot of extra hours to sleep. He could return to his room between classes to work or nap. It was perfect for him. Sadie, on the other hand, had to commute over half an hour. There had been times when he had to sneak her into his dorm room for the night, like their freshman year. A blizzard had hit and the Dean hadn‘t cancelled classes until it was too late. To avoid being stranded on the highway, Jamie had her move her car to a garage and slipped her past the RA. They still joked about it whenever it snowed, which it looked like it was set to do. With the syllabus tossed into their nearly empty bags, the two juniors made their way to the campus bookstore inside the Student Center and found a mass of student bodies crammed into the small space. ―Damn, looks like everyone had the same idea,‖ Sadie muttered, pushing her smaller body through the sea of people. Jamie followed in the wake she left, reaching out once or twice to grab the strap of her purse. He ran his free hand through his short, brown hair and pushed the hood off his head. The English books were tucked in the back corner of the store, which was thankfully a little less crowded. Scanning the shelves they soon found ―ENG 431 – MILTON‖ written on a small card with a few stacks of books on the shelf right above it. ―Ten books. Not bad for a full semester,‖ Jamie said, and Sadie nodded agreement. Just the past semester, one of their classes had required eighteen assigned novels, and that wasn‘t including all the articles the professor had handed out. ―All right, well, let‘s load up and get out of here while we can.‖ Sadie started grabbing the first book from each pile, stacking them on an arm and balancing them with a precision only the most experienced
206 | J.J. Levesque student had. ―Get the newer ones,‖ Jamie advised, taking his time in order to look through the stack of books before grabbing the best looking copy. ―Why? Only you, Jamie. I swear. You really are a nerd.‖ Sadie laughed and shook her head. ―If I‘m going to be spending the money here, I might as well get one that‘s a decent copy. See? Here‘s one that looks like the last owner never even cracked it. And yet I get it cheaper than a new copy, and I don‘t have to worry about someone making pointless comments in the margins or highlighting the entire book.‖ Sadie rolled her eyes. ―And we know how much you hate that,‖ she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. Jamie ignored her and reached for a second book that looked almost new. He dropped his hand onto it just as someone else reached for the same one. ―Sorry, did you want that copy?‖ a deep voice asked from behind him. Jamie turned and stared up the guy behind him, heat creeping into his face. ―Yeah,‖ Jamie managed, taking in the deep blue of the stranger‘s eyes. Blue Eyes smiled and grabbed another book. ―You‘re taking Vice in Literature with Milton?‖ ―Uh huh.‖ All speech and thought left the usually eloquent Jamie as he stared at what he assumed was the equivalent of a modern Adonis. Maybe a little less built, and a little older looking, and his hair probably wasn‘t the right shade of gold, but what did it matter? Maybe he was more like Ganymede. What other mortals had he learned about in that Greek literature course last semester? ―You‘re staring,‖ Sadie stage-whispered into his ear, and he jumped. Blue Eyes grinned and reached for another book from the same pile. ―Uh, yeah, we‘re taking Vice.‖ ―Should be a fun class. Would be better with Peterson instead of Milton, but what can you do?‖ Sadie nodded in agreement. ―That‘s exactly what I thought. I even told Jamie that just a few minutes ago. So you must be an English major.
Literature and Lust | 207 My name‘s Sadie, this is Jamie. I haven‘t seen you in any of my other classes.‖ Jamie went back to grabbing his books, embarrassed at having been caught staring at the gorgeous man, but he listened to their conversation. ―Ethan. I changed majors last semester. I was taking chemistry.‖ ―Wow, that must have been difficult.‖ Ethan laughed. His voice was thick like caramel and it sent shivers down Jamie‘s spine. ―It was. That‘s why I switched. I liked chemistry in high school, but I guess I don‘t have the capacity for it at this level. Literature was a secondary interest, so I figured I might as well.‖ More students were starting to flood the area, some looking for other English courses, others crowding around the Engineering section. Ethan was knocked into Jamie, and Jamie felt the warmth of the taller man‘s chest against his back. He bit his lip and focused on the books. Lolita? Check. Lady Chatterley’s Lover? Check. Maurice? Got it. ―We‘re reading Maurice?‖ Ethan asked. ―I love that book. I‘ve worn out my own copy. I guess it would be okay to get another copy for class.‖ Jamie looked back at him, eyes widening. Ethan stared at him pointedly. ―It‘s one of my favorites,‖ Jamie said softly, grabbing the last book on his list off the shelf. He held up the copy of Giovanni’s Room and waved it a bit. ―But this one is better.‖ ―That one is good,‖ Ethan admitted with a half shrug, and he added that book to his stack as well, ―but E.M. Forster is, in my opinion, the better writer. He was way ahead of his time with Maurice.‖ Jamie heard Sadie sigh and she collected her books. A quick glance at her revealed a small frown that pulled at the corners of her eyes. ―You boys have fun. I‘ve got to buy these books and get home. Work tonight,‖ she said by way of explanation and the frown turned to a pout. ―I thought we were getting coffee after this.‖ Sadie waved a hand. ―Rain check?‖ She added a sly wink and tilted her head towards Ethan. ―Nice meeting you, Ethan. See you in class on Thursday.‖ Ethan waved as she sauntered away, slipping easily through the
208 | J.J. Levesque crowd while leaving her bewildered friend staring as she disappeared. ―She‘s good,‖ Ethan said, and the rich tones of his voice startled Jamie out of his reverie. ―What?‖ ―I said she‘s good. So, since your friend ditched you, how about I get you a coffee instead? I don‘t have a class for another two hours. We could continue our discussion on Forster versus Baldwin. What do you say?‖ Ethan had his arm propped on one of the shelves, the stack of books tucked neatly under the other arm. Spending the afternoon discussing literature with this good-looking man? Jamie allowed himself a rare grin and nodded. ―Sure.‖ Sadie had left the door open for him, apparently, and he might as well go with it. The two discussed their courses while they waited in the long line to checkout. The only class they shared this semester was Vice in Literature. They did have a few of the same classes, but at different times of the day and with different professors. And Jamie, having been an English major all along, was taking more advanced classes, while Ethan still needed some of the basics. After finally paying for their books, they made their way to the Starbucks counter on the other side of the Student Center, ordered drinks, and found an open table toward the back of the building. Nearly every table was filled, and students were laughing and joking all around them. Jamie rarely spent time here; it was too loud and he much preferred the quiet of the library. ―So… chemistry?‖ Jamie asked, sipping his mocha. Ethan‘s face split into a wide grin. ―Ah, you were paying attention. I was wondering if you were listening. Yes, chemistry. It wasn‘t as easy as I thought it would be. I was nearly put on academic probation last spring, so I decided in the fall to switch to my backup plan. I figure after this I‘ll get a teaching degree or something. You?‖ ―Majoring in English,‖ Jamie said softly, but had to repeat himself to be heard over the crowd. ―I want to get my master‘s in library science.‖ ―You want to be a librarian?‖ ―Yeah,‖ Jamie admitted. ―I love books.‖ ―That‘s cool. I saw you were grabbing the clean copies. Your
Literature and Lust | 209 friend seemed to think that was a silly idea. Sorry, I was listening in.‖ Jamie waved a hand and shrugged, a thrill sliding down his spine with the thought of Ethan interested before they had noticed him. ―Sadie thinks I‘m crazy. I collect books. It was painful for me to take notes and highlight in them my freshman year, but I got over that part after my first semester. But they still have to be in good condition, you know? If they‘re all trashed, I‘ll just buy new. You must think I‘m nuts, huh? If I‘m rambling, you can tell me to shut up, sometimes I—‖ Ethan cut him off with a gentle touch on his free hand and shook his head. ―I think you must care about your books. I don‘t blame you. I love them, too. There‘s nothing quite like the smell of a new book. And trust me, you‘re not rambling. Much,‖ he added with a laugh. ―Do you collect books?‖ ―I have a bit of a collection, yes,‖ Ethan admitted. ―Most of them are at home in New York, but the books I‘ve accumulated during school are at my apartment. They might not be worth much to some people, but they are to me. I go for what I like to read.‖ ―Where do you live in New York? The city?‖ ―No, I‘m an upstate boy. Way upstate.‖ Jamie nodded. ―I live here in Connecticut, but down at the shore. I‘m living on campus.‖ ―Which dorm?‖ ―Liberty. I‘m lucky. My roommate is majoring in partying, so he‘s rarely in the room.‖ Ethan laughed and Jamie had to smile. It was an infectious, pleasant sound that resonated all the way down to his toes. He could grow used to it. ―You‘re lucky, then. At least he doesn‘t bring the ‗studying‘ to your room. I share an apartment with a guy majoring in accounting. He takes night classes and works during the day, so he‘s rarely home with the exception of weekends. But we get along well enough, so I can‘t complain. Having an apartment is great, though. My freshman year I had a dorm with some guy that snuck his girlfriend in all the time. We had our beds bunked; I took the top. It was a mistake.‖ ―Why?‖ ―Because he didn‘t care if I was in the room while he was with her,‖ Ethan said, making a face as he sipped his coffee. The look on Jamie‘s must have mirrored it, because Ethan laughed again.
210 | J.J. Levesque The two slipped into a companionable silence and finished their drinks, then stood to leave. Jamie had a class to get to. ―Hey, if you‘re not busy later, you should give me a call. Maybe we can hang out. You can stop by my place and check out my books.‖ Jamie couldn‘t help the laugh that burst from his lips as he took Ethan‘s offered phone and put in his own number. ―Is that like asking me to come and see your etchings?‖ Ethan took his phone back and winked. ―Maybe it is.‖
―YOU haven‘t called me yet, Jamie, how come?‖ Ethan‘s voice was unexpectedly close and Jamie jumped, knocking into Sadie as they walked out of class. ―Watch it!‖ she huffed, stomping ahead of them. ―Sorry, I‘ve been busy with classwork,‖ Jamie offered sheepishly, staring up at Ethan. ―We‘ve had so much to read.‖ ―Isn‘t that the truth,‖ Ethan muttered, shaking his head. ―I wasn‘t expecting nearly as much as I‘ve gotten. I guess every professor thinks you‘re only taking his class. Jerks. They could be a little more considerate.‖ Jamie laughed. ―That‘s not the point, Ethan.‖ ―Well, it would be nice, wouldn‘t it? Hey, do you want grab a coffee? We haven‘t had the chance in a while….‖ Glancing ahead at his friend, Jamie bit his lip. ―Yeah, that would be okay, I guess. Sadie, you want to come with us?‖ ―I‘ve got work to do in the library,‖ Sadie replied, waving a hand over her head. ―I‘ll catch up with you later.‖ Ethan paused and watched her walk away. ―Well, guess it‘s just the two of us again. Just like the first time we met,‖ he added with a grin. Jamie fought to keep the color off his cheeks. It had been over a month since they had met and despite sitting next to each other in class and going for coffee multiple times after, he still found it difficult to talk to Ethan sometimes. His eyes were deep enough to pull him in and even in class Jamie had to be careful not to stare at his full lips. What he wouldn‘t give to kiss them just once…. Outside the snow was falling, and the wind whipped it around buildings. The two men burrowed into their thick winter jackets as they
Literature and Lust | 211 hurried to the Student Center, neither saying a word. The Center was quiet, with only a few students lounging around on couches, though the line for coffee was longer. As they stood to wait, Jamie blew on his hands to warm them. ―It‘s so cold out there.‖ ―Tell me about it. Are your hands okay? Let me see them,‖ Ethan said, not waiting for a response before taking his classmate‘s hands in his and rubbing vigorously. Jamie‘s cheeks were already pink from the cold, and for once he was grateful for it. ―I‘m fine, thanks.‖ He pulled his hands away and shoved them in his pockets, pretending to search for his wallet. Ethan tried to pay for Jamie‘s drink, but he waved it off and gently nudged him out of the way. Ethan laughed and carried his coffee to one of the open couches. Jamie followed and watched him sink down gracefully, stretching his long limbs out along the length. He took the seat across from him, dumping his bag in the open one next to him to keep it empty and pulled a table between them. ―I‘m struggling with Lolita,‖ Jamie admitted after a few moments of silence. Ethan‘s eyes were closed, sipping his coffee and leaning back. Jamie allowed his eyes to run the length of his body. ―It is a difficult book.‖ ―Content-wise, I mean. It‘s not difficult to read so much as the content is….‖ ―Disturbing?‖ Ethan offered. ―Yes,‖ Jamie agreed. ―Disturbing. I just can‘t really stomach it. The thought of an older man with a girl so young….‖ ―Well, that‘s why it‘s in the course, right? Not everything we read is going to be appealing to everyone. I mean, look at the reaction from Giovanni’s Room.‖ Ethan sipped his coffee, focusing on Jamie‘s face. The stare was so intense Jamie felt it warmed him more than his coffee. ―I liked Giovanni’s Room,‖ was all Jamie could manage. Ethan chuckled. ―Me, too. Very much so.‖ He learned a little closer, knees bumping into the small, round table. Jamie leaned in as well, expecting him to say something else, when his bag violently flew onto the floor and a body flopped into the chair. Jamie jumped back, his coffee sloshing around and nearly spilling out of
212 | J.J. Levesque the top. ―The library is too cold, and I needed coffee,‖ Sadie loudly proclaimed, breaking the quiet. Jamie could have strangled her. ―Was it necessary to throw my bag like that?‖ ―It was in my way.‖ Ethan laughed and leaned back, resuming his languid pose on the plush cushions as Jamie and Sadie continued to argue.
―BALDWIN, Baldwin, Baldwin,‖ Jamie muttered to himself, scanning the shelves of the narrow stacks in the library, searching for a particular book on the writings of James Baldwin. Midterms were coming up, and his paper was on Giovanni’s Room. He wanted to do something with pastoral imagery, but so far his search had turned up nothing. There were plenty of books by Baldwin, and quite a few about him, but none that seemed to discuss his book of choice. Pulling a possible candidate off the shelf, he placed it on the floor by his bag and kept up his relentless search. Saturday nights at the library were generally quiet, and it was his favorite time to go. He could wander the rows in silence and just breathe in the scent of books. Stack Two, his personal favorite, even had a nice pair of couches to relax on, and in his three years at the school, so far he had only seen library workers down there replacing books he had borrowed, and even they were infrequent visitors. He kind of understood why no one went there. Half of it was filled with books donated to the school written completely in Polish. It was the best school in the area for those doing research on Polish history, and it was all thanks to those books. But even better than that was the ―diversity‖ collection, as they called it. There on that nearly forgotten floor were books on every topic a gay teen in college could want. When he first came to this college at eighteen and discovered that stack by accident, he marveled at the treasures. Embarrassed at first by the books he was taking out due to the many shirtless men on the covers, he became bolder until he felt he owned that floor. Pulling himself out of his musing, he was about to reach for a book on the top shelf that seemed promising when he heard a noise at the end of his row. Glancing quickly towards the end, he was surprised to see
Literature and Lust | 213 Ethan approaching. ―Ethan. Hey.‖ ―Hey,‖ he replied with a grin on his face. ―Getting some late night studying done?‖ Jamie shrugged, pulling the book down and setting it with the others. ―Nah, I‘m trying to find something for my research paper. What are you doing?‖ ―The same. I got everything I needed, though.‖ He held up a small stack of books. ―Most of what I need is online in articles. Makes it easy to just research from home.‖ ―You‘re lucky, then. The articles I found didn‘t have what I wanted. I‘m hoping something here is useful.‖ As he reached up to grab another book, Ethan‘s hand covered his and pressed it against the shelf. The cool metal bit into his palm and he glanced back over his shoulder at his friend, eyes wide. ―Ethan?‖ ―The library is nearly empty.‖ ―So?‖ Jamie swallowed roughly and licked his suddenly dry lips. ―So I think we could take advantage of that.‖ A quick glance between the shelves showed an empty stack as far as Jamie could tell, and the air was thick with silence. The small, celllike windows to the outside were dark. ―Here?‖ He could hardly believe what Ethan was suggesting. ―Of course,‖ came Ethan‘s soft reply. ―There are cameras in the library.‖ Ethan‘s lips descended on the back of his neck; they were smooth as silk and heated. Jamie shivered. ―Only in the lobby and the rare collection room. We‘re fine here.‖ God. The thought of doing anything with Ethan had been the subject of many fantasies for the last few months, but the library was a location that never made it into those dreams. The images that flashed through Jamie‘s mind left him painfully aroused, and he could tell Ethan felt the same way from the hard press against him. ―Put your hands on the top shelf.‖ Jamie complied, glancing around nervously. The elevator onto this stack was on the opposite side, and there were no entrances other than
214 | J.J. Levesque the staircase in the center a few rows over. They would hear or see anyone coming before they were caught. It will be okay, Jamie told himself silently, not wanting to give up this opportunity. Who knew if it would come again? A warm, large hand slid down his chest to the hem of his gray Tshirt. The hand slid under it and worked its way back up. Jamie bit his lip to keep from making any sound as the tips of fingers ran over one nipple, toying with it until it formed into a tight peak. Ethan‘s first hand was joined by his second, repeating the process until Jamie let out a shuddering breath he had been holding. ―Don‘t forget to breathe, Jamie.‖ Soft lips slid over his ear and a warm breath sent chills running down his spine. The hands against his chest skimmed his stomach as Ethan‘s lips moved down to his neck. He sucked lightly and Jamie closed his eyes, a small groan pulled from his lips. ―Ethan….‖ Ethan kept up his journey south. His hands briefly slid beneath Jamie‘s jeans and into his boxers, giving him a light squeeze before they worked the button loose and the zipper down. Cold air hit Jamie‘s skin when his flesh was exposed. Heat flooded his cheeks, but before he could say anything, he heard the noise of foil being ripped open. He came prepared…. Was he expecting me or does he always carry one around? Jamie wondered. One large hand smoothed over his back. ―Spread your legs more,‖ Ethan instructed, holding onto his hip. Jamie did as he asked and glanced through the space between the shelves. At any moment someone could come up those stairs. A large digit pushed against him, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Ethan kept working the finger in until Jamie relaxed. He continued to move it slowly in and out, and on one pass he hit that spot deep in Jamie that made his fingers spasm around the shelf and pulled a harsh gasp from his throat. The first finger was soon joined by a second, and Ethan continued to fuck them in and out of his body, twisting as he did so. Jamie could hardly stand by the time he pulled them out; his knees were starting to buckle and he had to hold onto the shelves to support his weight. Damn, he wasn‘t going to last long at this rate. His cock throbbed and just the slightest pressure from his hand would set him off. ―Ready?‖ Ethan asked, his voice rough in Jamie‘s ear. The sound spread like wildfire down his body, making his aching shaft twitch.
Literature and Lust | 215 ―Yeah,‖ he replied, shifting his stance wider while taking another surreptitious glance around the stacks. Above them the lights dimmed once, then twice, signaling that the library would be closing in half an hour. Ethan anchored Jamie‘s hips with his hands and pushed into him slowly. He was much larger than his fingers, and it stung despite having been prepared. He didn‘t stop until he was completely inside him, and then he waited. The waiting nearly killed Jamie. Here was the man he‘d fantasized about since that first day he‘d met him in the bookstore. Since then they‘d become friends. Jamie had known since their first conversation that Ethan was gay, but not once had he hinted at any interest in Jamie other than friendship. And to approach him like this in the library? Jamie‘s face flushed again at the thought of them being caught. What would happen to them? They‘d be expelled for sure, maybe arrested. But despite those thoughts, they only served to make him grow harder. Jamie pushed back against Ethan, silently signaling that he should begin to move. His partner didn‘t hesitate but merely shifted his grip on his hips, muttered for Jamie to brace himself, and began to move. The shelving in the library was sturdy, and for that Jamie muttered a quick thanks to the book gods. Ethan pushed into his body roughly, rocking him forward. The sounds of their fucking started to increase. Jamie‘s pulse began pounding in his ears and Ethan‘s breathing grew ragged. ―Fuck,‖ he gasped, leaning over to press his chest against Jamie‘s back, making Jamie wish they had discarded their shirts before this began. ―So close,‖ Ethan added as he reached down and wrapped his hand around Jamie‘s weeping cock. He was so far gone he was almost beyond thought, but one flitted through his mind quickly: What if I come on the books? The thought was lost when Ethan added a twist to his wrist, and Jamie groaned loudly. The sound seemed to echo in the room and he had to bite down on his lip to keep from making it again. That sound was apparently enough to send Ethan over the edge, because a second later he heard his taller partner grunt and felt a quick stab of pain as Ethan bit down on Jamie‘s shoulder while his body shuddered. The hand on him tightened almost painfully and Jamie came with a low groan. His seed spilled into Ethan‘s hand and he caught most of it. Only a few drops fell
216 | J.J. Levesque to the ground, but the air smelled like sweat and sex. Anyone coming up here would surely be able to identify it. ―Damn,‖ Ethan muttered, still holding onto him. ―I should have done that months ago.‖ He stepped back and slid from Jamie‘s body. ―Why didn‘t you?‖ Jamie murmured. ―I thought you weren‘t interested….‖ Ethan chuckled softly. ―I was interested. You didn‘t pick up on it. You‘re very smart, but kind of oblivious.‖ Jamie kept holding onto the shelving to steady himself and heard the snap of latex being removed. Ethan‘s body heat disappeared from behind him, and he glanced back to find he was alone. With a frown, he managed to pull his pants back up and get them zipped and buttoned when Ethan reappeared at his side, wiping his hand clean on the T-shirt under his hoodie. ―Hey, you okay? I didn‘t hurt you, did I?‖ Ethan asked, kissing the side of his mouth. ―No, I‘m fine,‖ Jamie said, turning his back to the books and leaning against them. He placed a hand on the shoulder Ethan had bit and winced slightly. He would definitely have a mark there soon. ―That was great,‖ Ethan said softly and pulled him in for a kiss. ―Mmhmm,‖ Jamie murmured against his lips, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and using him as a support. ―Why don‘t you grab those books, check them out, and we‘ll head back to my apartment. Roommate‘s working all night tonight, so we won‘t be bothered.‖ Jamie‘s eyes lit up with his smile and he tilted his head to the side. ―Are you finally going to show me your etchings?‖ ―That and more.‖
Literature and Lust | 217 About the Author
J.J. LEVESQUE grew up in New England in a family that encouraged her reading and writing. Now she is an avid book collector who compulsively buys anything that looks remotely interesting. Aside from books, her other obsessions include tennis and ballet, which her family finds odd since she is neither graceful nor athletic enough to do either. When not reading or writing, she can sometimes be found at the bookstore where she works. It is a very dangerous place for her to be; her overloaded bookcases are begging for mercy. You can contact J.J. at
[email protected].
Statistical Outliers
―SO ANYWAY, boss, I decided that the only way I was ever going to pass my stats course was to find out whose dick I needed to suck, and then suck it.‖ The speaker was Dylan, a burly young man with blond hair and a playful, good-natured disposition. I looked up at him from my lectern, where he sat in the upper row of seats, a big grin on his handsome face. There was scattered laughter from the other students. I shook my head. The class was all male, so the rules of polite decorum had been left behind some time ago. I saw no reason to be stern with my students, and I have never liked rules for the sake of rules. Anyway, these kids were basically harmless. The course was Statistics for Non-Science Majors, colloquially known as ―Jock Stats‖ because the non-science majors taking it tended to be the athletic students. Since our college focused on arts and science, and we didn‘t generally have strong collegiate teams, our athletes tended to be more scorned than idolized. This gave the jocks a slight air of insecurity and a real need to be liked, which when combined with their natural playfulness, made them a lot like overgrown puppies. I found them irresistible. And they, realizing this, basked in my goodwill, becoming more openly mischievous in a slightly fawning
Statistical Outliers | 219 way—again, just like puppies. On the other hand, I knew there had to be limits in acceptable classroom behavior, and I regarded Dylan stonily, considering whether he had stepped over this limit. Dylan just grinned back at me, eyebrows raised impishly. His friend Tom was seated next to him, and he wore a slightly uneasy expression, as though he too thought Dylan might have crossed the line. I was still deciding whether or not to respond with censure, but instead found myself saying in a dry tone, ―Oh, that doesn‘t always work.‖ Dylan wasn‘t going to let that one go. ―Why not?‖ he asked. ―Everyone loves getting their dick sucked, right, boss?‖ The question was followed by a tense silence in which I could feel my face beginning to heat up. I hesitated again, but was unable to resist the challenge posed both in terms of the educational opportunity and just from the sheer outrage of the situation. ―Well,‖ I said, leafing through my notes and pausing to cough in order to clear my tightening throat, ―it‘s all subjective, isn‘t it— individual. One man‘s food is another man‘s poison.‖ I paused before adding, ―Uh, that is, some people prefer to do the sucking.‖ I looked up and gave him a tight ―so there‖ smile. His mouth fell open, but one second later a grin returned to his face, broader than ever, and now accompanied by a slight air of masculine aggression. ―That so?‖ he almost shouted. ―You mean people like you, boss?‖ There was a collective intake of breath from the other students, followed by a dead silence. My face was really burning now. I shook my head in dismissal rather than negation. ―Touché!‖ I countered. ―Good one, Dylan.‖ Lifting my notes decisively, I began the lecture. ―Today we are dealing with statistical outliers—‖ ―But you didn‘t answer, boss!‖ interrupted Dylan. I frowned. ―Uh, what was the question?‖ ―I asked, ‗You mean people like you?‘‖ This, then, was to be a sticking point. But even now I found myself unwilling to back down. And I was getting annoyed. I hesitated, closed my eyes for a second, leaning on the lectern, then looked Dylan straight
220 | G.P. Keith in the eye and said quietly but clearly, ―Perhaps.‖ A murmur passed through the class, and Dylan himself looked triumphant. The other students showed various reactions, mostly variations of surprise and puzzlement. Dylan‘s friend Tom, however, showed a severe reaction, his face registering complete shock. When he saw me looking at him, he hastily lowered his gaze. ―Okay,‖ I said firmly, ―enough horseplay.‖ I suppressed my slightly frazzled nerves and began the lecture. ―Today we deal with statistical outliers.‖ A semblance of studiousness returned to the class as the students got out their notebooks. ―The first thing it is important to remember,‖ I continued, ―is that in every sample where each element possesses a number of properties— people for example—virtually everyone is an outlier in some property. Let‘s take the sample of this classroom. As you have probably realized, in one aspect at least I am an outlier—I am different from the rest of you.‖ There was some uneasy shifting among the students. They looked discomfited by this admission, and I realized that the previous exchange with Dylan had set their minds toward one specific property. But I had prepared the lecture in advance and wasn‘t going to change it to skirt this. I brought the first figure up onto the screen behind me. ―These are the ages of the members of this class. I got them from the questionnaire you filled out in the first lecture.‖ I then brought up the mean and standard deviation as vertical and horizontal red bars respectively. ―As you can see, the mean is twenty point two years old, and the standard deviation is quite narrow—since you are all pretty much the same age.‖ I indicated the single dot further to the right. ―And here I am, as you can see, more than three standard deviations from the mean—which makes me, in terms of age and the sample in this classroom, a statistical outlier, an old fogey.‖ There were murmurings at this, some in amusement, some in outrage. ―But the graph says you‘re only twenty-six,‖ one student observed. ―That‘s not old.‖ I nodded. This was true enough. Although I had been given my
Statistical Outliers | 221 own class to teach, I was still just a post-doctoral researcher rather than a professor. It was something my students had found reassuring, as though my not being a professor made me somehow more likely to be on their side. ―That is my point,‖ I said. ―I might not be old in terms of the entire population of human beings in this city, or even this campus—given the ages of the teaching and support staff. But in this classroom, in terms of this sample, as you can see I am an outlier. I am old.‖ They chewed this over. Then I discussed the usefulness and interpretation of outliers. Evidently the idea that each one of them was in some way an outlier both intrigued and disturbed them. I had some idea of the cause of that disturbance. In terms of the college student populations, the jocks were indeed outliers. And, given the natural desire of the young to ―fit in,‖ I thought it would be instructive to point out that everyone in some sense did not—that this would reassure them. After the lecture, when the class was packing up, there were several remarks addressed to my self-identification as an outlier. ―You‘re not old, sir!‖ said one of the students. ―You‘re not a fogey anyway!‖ offered another. ―You‘ve got a sense of humor.‖ I noticed, however, the tall, quiet dark-haired figure of Tom still appeared to be withdrawn and brooding. As part of the course, I gave tutorials in addition to the regular lectures—for students who wanted a little extra help. Tom had always showed up for these—he was struggling with the material—even though he never said much in them. Since he seemed disturbed by my exchange with Dylan, I wondered whether he would be there that week.
ATTENDANCE in the tutorials was sporadic. Even though the tutorial room had a whiteboard and projector, when only one or two students showed up, I would sit next to them and go over the material on a pad of paper, which one of them inevitably wanted to keep afterwards. It turned out that only Tom and Dylan showed up that week, so I accordingly sat between them at the large table. I noticed with a twinge of annoyance
222 | G.P. Keith that both young men sat rather further away than they usually did, and with a distinct air of unease. ―Okay,‖ I said, ―which question do you want to start with?‖ Dylan brought up question two on the problem set. My policy was to work out a problem that was similar to the assigned question but with sufficient differences that I wasn‘t just giving them the answer but demonstrating the principles behind the problem. ―Well,‖ I commented lightly, making an effort to be encouraging, ―at least we seem to have mastered question one.‖ The two young men grunted their slightly amused acknowledgment of the praise. I started working out the bits of the demonstration problem, explaining as I went and pausing at each major step to ask whether they understood. I found myself becoming irritated by the restraint both students continued to demonstrate. When Dylan asked a question that showed he hadn‘t seen what I had written down, probably because he wouldn‘t sit close enough, I felt my blood begin to boil. ―Look!‖ I said. ―I may be an outlier, but I‘m not uncivilized. I‘m not going to bite. If you feel uncomfortable sitting next to me, you can leave. I‘m paid to do my best teaching you oafs, but if you don‘t want to be taught by me—for whatever reason—then feel free to leave!‖ Dylan glared at me, then got up huffily and stalked out. I watched him go, but even then had to admit how startlingly attractive he looked when angry. I turned to Tom, who had remained seated but was sporting a beet-red face. ―That goes for you too,‖ I said. Tom‘s dark good-looks struck me in that moment as more attractive than those of his blond friend. He looked down and shook his head. ―I‘m sorry,‖ he said quietly. he shifted his chair closer, so that our shoulders were actually touching, which made a frisson of sexual excitement pass through my body. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, took a deep breath, and resumed my treatment of the statistical problem. ―Do you understand this step?‖ I asked in a calmer voice, pointing to the penultimate line in what I had written. Tom shook his head. ―Could you go over it again, please?‖ he said almost meekly. The tutorial proceeded rather well after that point. Tom‘s evident
Statistical Outliers | 223 efforts to show he was not shying away from me resulted in numerous moments of physical contact, which I found a pretty severe distraction, but quite pleasurable nevertheless. We went over a lot of points, even though I sported an erection the whole time, which was thankfully hidden by the table. In fact, we stayed long after the assigned two hours of the tutorial, and when we finally packed up—me having to turn away to adjust the front of my trousers—Tom approached me shyly and asked if I wanted to go for a beer with him at the campus pub. I don‘t generally drink beer, but I would have drunk almost anything to hang around with this big, gentle man just to have more opportunities to look into his deep brown eyes. At the pub we sat down on one of the big couches. I asked Tom about how his studies were coming, simultaneously taking the beauty of his long, muscular legs, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. He admitted that he was struggling academically. I didn‘t want to focus on the negative, so I changed the topic, asking how the varsity football team was turning out this year. Ask a football player about his training and games, and you can pretty much sit back and relax for a while, which gave me a great opportunity for just basking in his physical beauty while the beer mellowed me out. The beer, it turned out, also loosened Tom‘s ordinarily reluctant tongue, and I found myself savoring the baritone of his voice, which was a bit gravelly, something like a bassoon. The combined visual and auditory stimulations made increasingly pleasant sensations wash through my body. The details he told me about the team were a bit beyond me, though it did sound like they had an especially good group of players this year. After some time Tom asked me about my research. I was flattered at what seemed to be genuine interest on his part. I told him of the research I was doing in kinesiology, the science of biological movement, where I was examining the force relationship in arms and legs when flexing under unexpected loads. Tom asked if I needed subjects, and that if I did, he would be happy to volunteer. Again, I was flattered. That night I felt myself lying in bed a long time, mooning over this young man six years my junior. There was something about him that was at once so solid and strong, and yet so gentle, that really attracted me in a way that was more than sexual.
224 | G.P. Keith
IN THE lecture of the following week, I was surprised to discover very little change in the behavior of my students. Several of them did rather swagger more than before in the manner of ―I know I got what you want,‖ and I caught one or two self-consciously preening when I looked at them. With such magnificent bodies, however, I found this behavior arousing and amusing rather than offensive. Dylan remained somewhat hostile, but I afterwards learned that this merely had to do with my speaking sharply to him. ―Hey, look at the outlier!‖ This became the occasional phrase with which I was greeted by my students around the campus. Since the tone was playful and friendly rather than nasty, I didn‘t object, even though on occasion I heard the same phrase used by others toward students who might have been gay. This bothered me a little, but I knew that these things have to run their course, and that attempts at intervention frequently backfire. Being greeted in this fashion, I would laugh and wave, sometimes replying with phrases like, ―Greetings outliers!‖ or ―Who are you calling an outlier, outlier?‖ I also discovered that the entire class had put their names down as volunteers for my kinesiology study. Tom must have passed along my need for subjects. I was touched by the generosity of the gesture and found myself liking the big lugs even more. At some point during all of this, I decided to try and make sure that they all passed. This came up in the next lecture, when one of the students expressed a frustration at one of the few formulas that the course material contained, saying something about never being able to get it. ―I promise you,‖ I told them, ―that if you are willing to put in the work, I will bend over backwards to see that you all learn this stuff. Don‘t buy into the guff that jocks are dumb. I know you, and you are not stupid, any of you! You can do this!‖ There was some grateful applause in response to this, and I felt a strengthening of our bond of mutual goodwill—even though Dylan couldn‘t resist shouting during the applause, ―What about bending over forward for us?‖ I did pay a price for my offer. I had to extend my hours of tutoring
Statistical Outliers | 225 to accommodate everyone, and so ended up going over and over the material for each small group, usually two or three students, often into the evening hours. It wore me out. I found out that when I‘m tired, my libido tends to work on its own, and I would sometimes be nearly submerged in lust as my being was overwhelmed by an acute awareness of the virile masses and curves of the muscular young bodies sitting next to me. There were even surreptitious offers from several of the students, but these were made discretely enough that I could ignore them. As much as part of me wanted to respond to them, such behavior goes directly against the ethics of the college, and my own as well. I shuddered at the thought of word getting out that I was having it off with my students. On the other hand, I did have numerous wet dreams about this. Over the following weeks, my students really began mastering the material. They also made excellent subjects for my research, even if they did skew my sample by being larger and fitter than the general college population of young men. Watching them take off their shirts and trousers so that I could tape muscle and heart-rate sensors to their torsos, arms, and legs was a heady experience. I felt well-repaid for all my work. They were also eager to be of any other use. One time I had to move some equipment between rooms, and casually asked if a couple of students could help me do this after the lecture. Virtually every member of my class showed up, and it was an impressive sight to see them eagerly showing off their physical strength by making short work of the move. As the bond between us continued to strengthen, I even began to view the football players in my class as in some sense my own personal property. I attended all of their home games and encouraged colleagues to do the same. The improved turn-out to these games increased the confidence of our team, which might have helped their wins become more frequent. Sitting through the games even on windy and rainy afternoons was not unpleasant, especially when several of the players would trot over at some point each game just to say hi. Watching my students in their uniforms giving healthy expression to their masculine aggression gave me a real thrill. I was still hoping that I could keep my promise to ensure they would all pass my course. Then in early November, Tom broke his leg during practice—a real tragedy for both him and the team, since he was
226 | G.P. Keith one of our star runners. He didn‘t attend class that week, and when he showed up the following week with crutches, he looked almost a broken man. The class was awkward. Everyone looked worried to the point of distraction. After the lecture, Tom didn‘t leave immediately, so I went up and sat down next to him. I saw that he was on the verge of tears. I asked him how he was coping, which brought some actual tears, and he lowered his head in shame. ―I‘m sorry,‖ he mumbled. ―It‘s just a big deal. It‘s hard, like this.‖ After a momentary hesitation, I put my hand gently on the back of his bowed head. ―That‘s okay,‖ I said. ―I know it‘s hard.‖ Then he began to sob silently, his shoulders heaving. I supposed he didn‘t get, or perhaps wouldn‘t accept, emotional support from other quarters. Then, in another moment, he turned in his chair, not away from me but toward me. I pulled his head onto my shoulder and held him gently as he continued to sob. The experience was both embarrassing and moving. I was also somewhat aroused by the physical contact, but more than that, I felt a real pull toward this gentle man. When after several minutes he recovered, I got out my handkerchief—the fact that I had one was something my students found amusing—and gave it to him. ―Sorry about that,‖ he said after wiping his face and blowing his nose. ―Don‘t worry about it,‖ I reassured him. ―It‘s a big blow. You‘re still young after all, and these things come hard.‖ I paused and then added, ―But you‘re only in second year. You will be in fit shape for next season I‘m sure.‖ He looked up shyly, and I smiled encouragingly. ―You know,‖ I said. ―I‘ve got a suggestion. Why don‘t you treat this as an academic opportunity?‖ He had given me back my handkerchief and now wiped his face again with those big, wonderful hands. He looked so boyishly vulnerable that I reached forward and put my hand on one of his, gripping it. He didn‘t move his hand away. ―How about we really work on stats this year, and get you a top mark in it?‖ He looked incredulous. ―What me? You know how dumb I am.‖ Then, after a pause, he added wretchedly, ―I‘m a statistical outlier, even in our class.‖ ―Nonsense!‖ I said. I banged my hand on his desktop so hard that
Statistical Outliers | 227 he jumped. ―I know you, and I believe you can learn this stuff. It‘s just very dry, that‘s all. As I said before, no one really likes stats—but we have to take it, like medicine.‖ A slight look of hope came onto his face, which made him look especially beautiful. ―Come on,‖ I said. ―Let‘s agree to this here and now. Let‘s prove to everyone that you‘re not just a piece of eye candy.‖ I hadn‘t realized, until I had spoken, all that that phrase implied. I colored and Tom looked momentarily surprised. But in another second, he was firmly focused on the daunting prospect of really tackling stats. ―I‘ll work with you,‖ I continued. ―We‘ll get this thing done. You‘ll be my prize student.‖ Tom laughed. ―That would be something,‖ he said. ―Okay,‖ I said, reverting to a brisk attitude. I got up quickly, finding that sitting next to him was just too distracting.
WE
BEGAN with open-ended, one-on-one tutorial sessions twice a
week. Tom really benefited from repetition and going over more examples. He wasn‘t stupid. He was just a little slow at learning—which is not the same thing. When I realized that he found getting around campus difficult with his crutches, now that the weather was turning at times to snow or sleet, I offered to come to his dorm room. I was impressed when I saw that he occupied one of the relatively few suites in the dorm—with its own bathroom and kitchenette. ―They know how to treat their football stars,‖ I said, grinning. He smiled sheepishly. Then he looked a little unhappy at the thought of his injured status. ―Hey!‖ I said. ―You‘re still a star player. And right now, you‘re going to become a star statistical student.‖ He smiled gratefully, and I became business-like to cover the excitations I was having at the sight of his bed on the other side of the room. We sat down at his desk, thighs touching, and started to get down to work. When we had worked for perhaps an hour, Tom got up and started moving around his kitchenette. He got out some really nice bits of food:
228 | G.P. Keith crackers and cheese, cake, even a bottle of Bailey‘s Irish Cream. ―I‘d better go easy on the Bailey‘s,‖ I quipped. ―It turns me into a real slut. I‘d better have coffee.‖ He laughed a bit uneasily at my joke, but it changed his energy, and after this the atmosphere became a bit heady. When we broke off for the day, Tom insisted that we celebrate with a glass of Bailey‘s. We talked and joked, at first with him lying on the bed and me on his study chair. Then he threw one of his pillows toward the bottom of his bed and told me to make myself comfortable. We half-sat, half-lay facing each other from opposite ends of the bed. At one point Tom decided to tickle my feet, which led to a bit of playful roughhousing. I found this sufficiently exciting that afterwards I had to position myself carefully so as not to display my excitement. After several weeks, the intense work began to pay off, and as Tom came to realize this, his mood improved. I found it necessary to whackoff before our meetings; it allowed me to be more relaxed around him, and to enjoy the sexual heat he gave me without worrying. He became more open, and I felt we were becoming something like friends. One afternoon Tom broke off suddenly, turning away, just after we had achieved a major breakthrough on the topic of parametric versus non-parametric measures of sample distribution. I heard him sniffing. ―You okay, big guy?‖ I asked, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. He didn‘t respond for a moment, then gulped. ―No one ever really helped me like this before,‖ his said in a quiet voice. ―I think they never thought I could do anything.‖ I knew what he meant. I too had suffered, although differently, in gym class. While I was a pretty good runner, I lacked physical coordination, and during high school I had been the last chosen in any team sport. I kept my hand on his shoulder. When he turned back to face me, we smiled at each other. I reached out to hold his head and leaned forward, placing my forehead gently against his. ―Well, we‘ll show them now, won‘t we?‖ I said. He chuckled gratefully. I felt an overwhelming desire to kiss him because he was looking so divinely vulnerable, his beautiful face shining with gratitude. I could see something else there, a kind of doubt, but
Statistical Outliers | 229 there was no sense of aversion or warning. Without further comment, we resumed our lesson.
FALL turned to early winter, and the Christmas holidays approached. To my surprise, Tom told me that he had decided to not go home for Christmas, that he wanted to study. He said his family would be driving up and would take him out for Christmas dinner, hand out presents and all that. I was a bit concerned. ―Are you sure?‖ I said. He nodded. ―For the first time I feel like I‘m getting somewhere,‖ he said, and then added shyly, ―because of you.‖ ―Well, I‘m really glad to help,‖ I said, ―You‘re turning into a real bookworm, Tom.‖ He stared at me for a few seconds. Then suddenly he grinned and flexed his biceps. Seeing him preen like this was really hot, and I knew he saw that I was impressed. ―Does this look like a bookworm?‖ he said, his voice sounding challenging. ―No, Tom, no it doesn‘t.‖ We both laughed as he lowered his arms, though my head was swimming with lust. Then Tom‘s expression changed. ―Not just a piece of eye candy then?‖ he said, more quietly. I looked into his eyes, which were regarding me curiously. ―Not just,‖ I said, and reached out and ruffled his dark hair. He was letting it grow, and I found it more attractive than when it had been military short in the fall. ―Okay,‖ I said. I had told him that I would be around during the holidays and that we could get ahead on the spring term material.
OUR final tutorial of that term was two days before Christmas. I brought a book I had been saving up for him. It would help with the next term‘s work. Not imaginative perhaps, but I didn‘t feel free to give him
230 | G.P. Keith anything else. He unwrapped it, groaned, and then laughed. ―It will help you,‖ I said. When he had recovered, he insisted on giving me a hug thank-you. It was heartfelt and perhaps longer than it might have been had others been around. He almost broke my ribs, and I got a hard-on so that when I sat down again I had to do so strategically. Then he reached down beside the desk and handed me a present. I laughed. ―Bribing the teacher?‖ I joked, but he only smiled. His eyes were bright, and he shook his head. It was one of those photo cube paperweights, six sides, a photo on each side. One picture was of the entire football team in their jerseys, another of the university itself, a third of all of the members of my stats class in regular clothes. There was one just of Tom in his football gear, a fifth of him making a spectacular catch on the field, and the sixth… well, my heart skipped a beat when I saw it. It was a beefcake photo of a muscular guy posing in the skimpiest pair of Speedos I had ever seen. I felt my face burning and momentarily was scared to look up. When I finally did so, however, I saw that Tom wore a part-impish, partsheepish expression. ―I couldn‘t resist,‖ he said. I looked at him. He gently took the cube from me. ―Don‘t you see who it is?‖ he said. He held the photo up so that I could look at it. After a couple of seconds, I realized that it was Tom himself. ―Wow!‖ I said. ―You oiled yourself for this?‖ He nodded. ―It was someone in visual arts. He asked me to do a session posing.‖ I looked up. ―No nudies,‖ he assured me, his face reddening. ―Just ‗artistic‘, as the guy said.‖ I looked at the photo, feeling myself harden. Then I looked up at him, and we both regarded each other with slight shyness and some amusement, but also something more. He shrugged.
Statistical Outliers | 231 ―Eye candy?‖ he suggested. I laughed. ―Without a doubt.‖ But I didn‘t say the one word that I really wanted to say—beautiful! He was so beautiful! With the current festive air, we didn‘t get down to studying. Tom got the Bailey‘s Irish Cream from the fridge, and we made a toast. Then we both lounged on his bed and talked and joked. We got a bit giddy after our third glass each. Things started to get physical, a bit of playful shoving and then wrestling. He had just gotten me pinned beneath him when there was a knock on the door. I froze. ―You‘d better answer it,‖ Tom said, rolling off me. I got up, adjusting myself in my trousers, and went to the door. It turned out to be a delivery guy from Swiss Chalet. He was holding two Christmas dinners, with Christmas pudding for dessert. I got out my wallet, but was told it was pre-paid. I was feeling so good that I gave the guy a tip that seemed to make his day. Tom was grinning when I turned with the booty. ―Merry Christmas, boss,‖ he said, brandishing his glass. I set the table, and we ate in an air of contented companionship. Tom got a bottle of champagne from his fridge, and we toasted Christmas and success—and friendship. After that we both lay on his bed listening to music. I discovered we had similar tastes and that he had some CDs I didn‘t have. Sharing them when we were both pleasantly blitzed was heaven itself, warmed by the feelings of closeness, both physical and emotional, and with even my smoldering passion a tolerable disturbance. We fell asleep like that. I woke up sometime later to discover that Tom was lying, pressed warmly against my back, his one arm around my waist. I worked through my uneasiness with this, finally arriving at a state of happy acceptance that I savored. At last I thought it best to shift, but when I tried to do so, Tom made an irritated noise, halfway between a bear and a sleepy child, and pulled me firmly back against him. At that point, I passed from semi-hard to really hard. What really amazed me, however, was how right and good it felt lying next to him. I‘d dated and slept with other guys, but never had I felt such a strong sense of completion merely from their physical contact. So it was with a blissful feeling of contentment
232 | G.P. Keith that I sank back into a pleasurable doze. Sometime later Tom began to stir. He made a rumbling noise in his throat that sounded like pleasure. The big hand pressed against my chest began to move slowly, fingers spread, wandering over my chest. Then it drifted down to my stomach and belly, and finally the fingers pulled at my tucked-in shirt, lifted the tails out, and began to run warmly over the skin of my belly and chest. I felt a rising tide of passion that overwhelmed my anxiety. The room was warm, the way Tom liked it, and the skin of my stomach was slightly damp with sweat. The result was that Tom‘s large fingers slid erotically over my skin, up to my nipples then down past the belly button. At last they began to work at my belt buckle in an unhurried fashion, and now I could feel his hard-on pressing against my ass. The sense of being leisurely undressed by this big man was exquisite. I was full of tingles. When he had opened my trousers, his hand slid down and into my shorts and grabbed the shaft of my cock firmly, and I almost came right then. He began to stroke me, slowly, so that I started to groan and finally had to reach down and hold his hand still. ―I‘m almost there,‖ I murmured. He let go of my cock, took firm hold of my hand and moved it up and away, placing it on the bed and holding it there for several seconds. Then he moved back and grasped my cock again and recommenced the slow stroking. I laughed. ―Okay,‖ I said, ―but just don‘t be—‖ That was as far as I got. I came violently and bucked for several seconds while he continued stroking. When things got sensitive, I reached down again and held his hand still. This time he acceded. He slid his hand up along my belly as he continued to push against me. Then he seemed to be sinking into somnolence again. I murmured, ―What about you?‖ The only response to this was a sleepy movement of his hand up to cover my mouth, so that I tasted my own seed. He put one beefy finger against my lips as he whispered, ―Shhhh.‖ We fell asleep again for several more hours. When I next awoke, I saw from the bedside clock that it was after midnight. I was alone on the bed, and I could hear the shower going. I
Statistical Outliers | 233 lay there for several minutes, my mind dully going over the situation. The shower continued, and I reflected that it was a good thing that the residence was deserted—he must be using up a lot of hot water. Finally I began to feel the need to pee. I got up and went into the washroom. I peed, then before flushing, called, ―I‘m going to flush now.‖ ―No problem,‖ came Tom‘s voice from the shower. ―They‘re not connected.‖ I flushed and washed my hands, stomach and privates. ―Why don‘t you join me?‖ came his voice. I hesitated. ―Water‘s warm.‖ ―What the hell,‖ I muttered. I shucked my clothing, pulled aside the curtain, and stepped carefully in. Tom had his head under the water, his back to me. The sight of his magnificent body made me instantly hard. Then he turned slowly and smiled shyly at me. ―Hi,‖ he said. ―Hi,‖ I replied. He stepped toward me, pulled me into an embrace, and for the first time, kissed me full on the mouth. What a kiss! We stood there long minutes, our hard erections trapped between us. Then, without breaking the kiss, Tom started to shift to one side while guiding me in the other, so that our positions in the shower rotated, and I found myself under the spray of warm water. We broke the kiss at last and stood there, foreheads touching. He motioned me to turn and held me from behind as I stood facing the spray. I could feel his cock pressing hard between my thighs. I reached back and grasped it. He groaned. I turned and lowered myself to my knees so that the swollen cockhead was poking me in the face. I took it into my mouth and heard Tom groan again. Slowly he pushed forward so that the cock‘s shaft slid deliciously through my lips until he filled my mouth. I let him do the stroking, enjoying my passive role. In less than ten seconds, he came like a stallion. The taste was salty but not unpleasant. For the first time in my life, I found myself wanting to swallow a man‘s seed. When I stood back up, we embraced and then started to soap one another, moving slowly around under the spray of water. My favorite
234 | G.P. Keith position was him holding me from behind. We didn‘t speak, and everything seemed easily in synch. Finally he shut the water off and reached for towels. Once dried and again in his main room, we looked at each other. ―Surprised?‖ he said a bit shyly. I laughed. ―I suppose so. You?‖ He shook his head, still smiling. ―Really!‖ I said, astonished. Tom laughed, a warm, comforting sound. We tied the towels around our waists. Tom put on one of his quieter CDs, Beethoven‘s Sixth Symphony, in fact. We sat side by side on the bed, shoulders touching, and ate cold pizza from the fridge. Then we lay down together, spoon fashion. He began to nuzzle my neck, and I could feel his renewed interest pressing against my thighs. He put his big hand under my towel and took stock of my own interest. I started to feel the need to have him inside me. I shifted position until his cockhead was pressed against my ass. There was a pause. I felt his arm move up above my head. I heard the crinkle of plastic, and he pulled away momentarily. Then I felt the tip of his condom-encased cockhead press against my ass, and I pushed back. The entry was very slow and with minimal pain. Soon I was pushing back against him, and he began to thrust in long, steady movements. I was gasping in about a minute, but he kept things slow, and I seemed to spend forever on the brink of orgasm as he bit my neck and shoulder. Finally he sped up, and I could feel the real heat of his passion in his breathing. We both came with a considerable amount of noise, which didn‘t bother me at the time, but afterwards worried me a little. We lay there for a while, then got up and had another shower. I went down on him again in the shower, letting him push me back against the tiles and tease me, dragging his swollen cockhead over my face. I pretended to avoid his cock, turning my head away, so that he had to reach down and firmly turn my head back. The feeling of being mastered was so potent that I came without even touching myself, even as his cock pulsed forth his load into my throat. After the shower, we lay down to sleep in earnest, both sexually satiated for the moment.
Statistical Outliers | 235
THE next day was Christmas Eve. We got up late, breakfasted, fooled around a bit, and then ordered another large pizza. Conversation was minimal; we were both still a little shy, and I think amazed at how wonderful this experience was. After the pizza, we sat up on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, my left leg over his right, at which point things began to heat up again in earnest. I pointed at his straining cock. ―What?‖ I said in mock amazement. ―What is that? Four times?‖ He grinned sheepishly. ―I guess I‘ve been saving up,‖ he said. ―You don‘t mean that,‖ I said. He nodded solemnly. ―Ever since my accident. The pain pills took away the urge for the most part. Then when you said we would work over the holidays, well, I decided to wait.‖ ―Well,‖ I said. ―I‘m more and more impressed with you all the time.‖ He smiled and pulled me to him and kissed me. ―Me too,‖ he said, pulling his head away finally. ―What?‖ ―You‘re really amazing, I mean, generally, but especially‖—he grinned—―down there.‖ ―What?‖ ―At what you do,‖ he said, grinning. I laughed. ―Well,‖ I said. ―You inspire me. And I‘ve had practice.‖ We both laughed, and he head-butted me gently. ―Outlier,‖ he said. I chuckled and butted my head back against his. ―I‘m an outlier too,‖ he added. ―I guess we‘re just a couple of outliers.‖ We savored the peaceful sense of connection for several seconds, before a thought occurred to me. ―Say,‖ I said slowly, ―how do you know how good I am?‖ He smiled mischievously. ―You don‘t think you‘re my first?‖ he said, raising his eyebrows. I smiled back at him and felt my face heating up. ―No, sorry,‖ I said. ―I guess that would be ridiculous. It‘s just that you‘re so quiet. And you‘re just a kid.‖
236 | G.P. Keith Tom snorted. ―I‘m nineteen.‖ Then he stretched languorously in an obviously preening manner. ―You think you‘re the only one interested in this?‖ ―No,‖ I said, laughing. ―So, what was it, guys or girls?‖ Tom grinned. ―Both. High school kids are just horny—and accommodating.‖ ―I had no idea,‖ I said weakly. He shrugged. ―It‘s no big deal,‖ he said. ―It‘s better than whacking off. Anyway, it was just practice.‖ ―Practice?‖ He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against mine. ―Practice,‖ he repeated firmly, ―for this, here, with you.‖ Again a thought struck me. ―What are you saying? You planned this?‖ He grinned. ―You were the one who said I wasn‘t stupid,‖ he said. Then he began stroking my arm. ―You had me right in the first lecture. You were always so kind, so open. And you wanted to help us see things.‖ He shook his head. ―I‘d never had that sort of lecturer before. Just watching you talk about the stuff, you burned, man! Somehow you made it—I don‘t know—interesting.‖ Tom laughed and shrugged. ―Well, almost,‖ he said. ―But anyway, I fantasized about you all the time after that.‖ I stared at my companion, and quite suddenly felt tears filling my eyes. ―Thanks,‖ I said quietly, and kissed him. ―You know that my family is coming tomorrow,‖ he said sometime later. ―You want me to clear out?‖ I asked. That seemed to annoy him. He swatted me gently. ―No!‖ he said. ―I want you to meet them, and them to meet you.‖ ―Oh.‖ ―They‘re pretty cool,‖ he said casually. ―Anyway, I think they would be impressed.‖ ―What?‖ ―Well, you are a post-doc. I think they would like the idea of me going out with someone with a PhD.‖
Statistical Outliers | 237 I hesitated, then asked seriously, ―So, are we ‗going out‘, then?‖ Tom colored and looked shy again. ―I hope we are,‖ he said. ―Me too,‖ I said, and then decided to confess. ―I‘ve had a crush on you from the first day too, when you wore that striped sweater to class.‖ He kissed me.
HE WAS kissing me the following afternoon, after another twenty-four hours of closeness and passion, when there was a knock at the door. He jumped up. ―It‘s them,‖ he said. I got up hurriedly, feeling a momentary stab of panic. When he saw this, Tom came and kissed me again, unhurriedly, until I didn‘t feel panicky anymore. There was another knock. We broke apart, and Tom hobbled to the door. I think we must have looked a little disheveled, for although his family was joyful at seeing Tom, his mother‘s expression had something extra in it, a kind of figuring-things-out look. Tom introduced me simply as his friend, Ben. They had presents for him, and he brought out presents for them. Tom‘s mother clucked over him, his father looked immensely proud, and his sister seemed to never stopped talking, asking questions and telling us about the important recent events in her own life. We went out to dinner with them. Tom‘s sister, on finding out that I was a post-doc, was at first a little awed and was silent for a few minutes. When she had gotten over this, however, she began bombarding me with questions about the university, telling me how she wanted to become a nutritionist, and asking about different courses. Despite her misconception that I must know everything and how everything worked, I found her as likeable as her brother. At one point during the dinner, when the others were talking together, Tom‘s mother, who was sitting next to me at the table, leaned over. ―I really am relieved,‖ she confided. ―One hears such troubling things about this sort of thing. He‘s a good boy, our Tom, but too trusting. I‘m glad he‘s found someone who‘s a nice person.‖
238 | G.P. Keith I was so stunned I couldn‘t say anything. Women have the ability to say the most direct things sometimes, mothers in particular. I spent the rest of the dinner in a state of partial shock. His mother disappeared at one point. I thought she had gone to the washroom, but when she didn‘t reappear for half an hour, I began to wonder what had happened. No one else seemed in the least concerned, and when we had returned to Tom‘s rooms, I discovered that she had bought me a present—and had it wrapped. I felt quite touched. It was a copy of James Joyce‘s Finnegan’s Wake. It turned out that Tom‘s mother was a reader. ―I always wondered what it was about,‖ she confided. ―Everyone says it‘s a great book, but whenever I try reading it, my head hurts. I thought that maybe you could read it and then we could talk about it.‖ I thanked her for the book and felt warmed by the gesture. I didn‘t say that I had already tried to read it and also found it completely impenetrable. The thought occurred to me that possibly talking parts of it over with her might help us both. It made me feel almost a part of the family already. When they were leaving, Tom kept his arm on my shoulder for the last five minutes of the at-the-door good-byes. His mother even hugged me. After they had left, we grinned at each other. ―That went rather well,‖ I said. ―Didn‘t I tell you they were cool?‖ he said as he moved forward to embrace me. We hugged, but I was a bit distracted. Tom sensed this and pulled away. ―What‘s up?‖ he said. I sighed. ―You know there are a couple of issues we need to work out, right?‖ He looked uneasy, then went and sat down in his study chair and looked at me expectantly. I sat down on the bed. ―First, there‘s the ethical issue of my ‗dating‘ one of my students,‖ I said. ―I could get into trouble with the college administration if things got found out.‖ He grinned and shrugged. ―Well, we just won‘t tell anyone then.‖ I shook my head. ―It‘s not that easy,‖ I said. ―I‘m not comfortable with the idea myself.‖
Statistical Outliers | 239 ―What?‖ he said, looking fearful and outraged. ―Are you saying we should break it off until the course ends in May?‖ I regarded him for a few seconds. ―There‘s another option,‖ I said quietly. ―You could transfer to the other introductory statistics course.‖ ―But that‘s for science majors, isn‘t it?‖ I nodded. ―It‘ll have tons more math.‖ ―Well, not ‗tons‘,‖ I said, ―but it will have more math.‖ Tom‘s handsome face screwed itself into an expression of tortured confusion. After a minute he sighed heavily. ―What do you think?‖ he said. ―Do you think I could pull it off?‖ ―You‘re really doing well with the concepts,‖ I said. ―The formulas aren‘t actually that difficult.‖ I hesitated, and then said, ―Yes, Tom, I think you could do it.‖ Tom nodded and then looked at me piercingly. ―What‘s the second thing?‖ I smiled and pointed to his bed. ―Your bed‘s too small,‖ I said. Tom laughed with relief and also looked at the bed. ―Yeah,‖ he said. ―It is, kind of, for the two of us.‖ I hesitated and took a deep breath. ―What do you think about the idea of moving in with me?‖ His mouth opened, but he said nothing. ―I have an extra bedroom, complete with a guest bed,‖ I offered. ―What‘s the mattress like?‖ he asked. I grinned. ―Like you‘ll ever find out.‖ He grinned back, but then became serious again. ―What about our first fight?‖ he said. That took us both aback, as the full ramifications of what we were planning registered. ―I guess you‘ll have to wait and see,‖ I said, and started to tickle him. He grabbed me and we fell onto the bed. Lying on top of me, he said teasingly, ―If we have a fight, you‘re the one who‘s going to use the spare bed.‖
240 | G.P. Keith I laughed, but then became serious. ―No,‖ I gasped. ―Shift slightly, I can‘t breathe.‖ He did and I sat up. ―How about this. Even if we do have a fight, we never sleep apart.‖ That brought a torrent of hugs, which turned passionate. Afterwards, Tom commented, ―Okay.‖ ―Okay to what?‖ I asked. ―To everything.‖ And Tom passed the other stats course, not with the highest marks, but plowing his way through a math intensive course did a lot for his self-confidence. The news of his transfer puzzled and offended his football classmates, and when the reason for the transfer came out, there was a time that was difficult for both of us. Most painful to Tom was Dylan‘s hostility. This was finally resolved, however, when he and Tom had a knock-down brawl that I only heard about afterwards and saw the black eye and bruises it produced. Dylan got the worst of it, and the idea that he could be bested by an ―outlier,‖ as he continued to use the term, seemed to change his attitude. It‘s been more than two years. Tom is ready to graduate, and Dylan has come around as friends usually do, even going so far as to offer to be best man at our wedding if and when we decide to marry. In all that time Tom and I have never slept apart, even once. I call that auspicious—for a couple of outliers.
Statistical Outliers | 241 About the Author
G.P. KEITH was from the start a very curious person. His curiosity about the fundamental questions of existence initially led him to study physics. Unsatisfied with the answers provided by cold science, he got a ―real job‖ developing engineering control systems (essentially a grownup variation of the childhood play activity of building things that do stuff). During his several years working in an office environment, G.P.‘s curiosity turned to the question of why people behave as they do. This led him to go back to school to study psychology, where he found himself much happier (although poorer). Since then he has found a niche doing research in neuroscience, studying how the human brain turns perception into meaningful actions, which combines his interests in psychology, mechanisms, and the physical world. G.P. has always had a strong love of reading and story, and he has from time to time made forays into the world of writing. His interest in the romance genre arose from his increasing suspicion that the real ultimate questions of human existence are those related to the mysterious operation of the human heart and its ability to grow when broken. Contact him at
[email protected].
Surprise Me
RUBÉN Tocker squinted into the flickering light secured above the entrance of the science building. He thought he could hear the buzz buzz click buzz buzz click above the car‘s air conditioner as the light winked at him. But he quickly decided he was only imagining that. He wasn‘t, however, imagining the tap tap tap t-tap tap of Bert Anderson‘s ring finger on the steering wheel of their campus police vehicle, nor was he imagining the incessant popping of the man‘s gum. Their evening had begun with a drive around campus, followed by a walk-through from one end to the other, shining their flashlights into alleys and crevices between buildings. They‘d broken up a mild fight in front of the library, and a young woman‘s shriek had sent them rushing toward the student community center only to find her giggling delightedly as her boyfriend heaved her over his shoulder and twirled her around. They had stopped for dinner and now were killing time before their last walk-through of the night. ―So, what kind of name is Tocker?‖ Bert asked out of the blue. ―I mean, where you hail from?‖ ―Here.‖
Surprise Me | 243 His colleague paused in his staccato serenade for a moment, blowing a bubble as he pondered that. ―Really?‖ ―Yep. You‘re surprised?‖ Bert grinned. ―Well, you don‘t seem like someone homegrown… no offense.‖ Tock ran his hand over his buzzed black hair, sighed, and looked out his window and across the now-quiet campus. ―None taken.‖ ―You don‘t exactly have that… Texas lilt, if you don‘t mind my sayin‘. And from the size of ya, I‘d think you woulda played ball, and I woulda heard of ya.‖ Those comments had become quite familiar to Tock since he‘d returned to Marcia, Texas. In fact, after being introduced, the very next thing most people came out with was ―Who‘d you play for?‖ About a month ago, he‘d officially joined the Marcia College Police Department, an independent entity staffed by state-certified police officers. While training, he‘d been paired up with a number of officers and taken through the campus procedures. It was his first night with Bert, but it looked as though they‘d be partners from here on out. Might as well get most of it out of the way, Tock thought. Bert can pass it on to the rest of the team. ―Tocker is my mother‘s maiden name. I was born Rubén Soto, but I took on Tocker when I was fourteen. That‘s when Ma and I left Dad to move to New York. I played ball up until then—my dad‘s thing—but after, I wasn‘t much interested in the game.‖ ―You got your law enforcement training up North?‖ ―Yup.‖ ―Why come back here?‖ Tock looked back at Bert and raised an eyebrow. ―I mean,‖ his partner said with a grin, ―who leaves New York for this town? There‘s nothing here but the college and a couple refineries.‖ Tock chuckled and nodded thoughtfully. ―Come back to see your dad?‖ ―Nope, not interested,‖ Tock said, his face grim. ―Mom and I left for a reason.‖ He turned to gaze out the window again. ―As for me coming home….‖ ―Yeah?‖
244 | Dawn Kimberly Johnson ―I needed some different, yet familiar, scenery, but I guess I came home for the same reason Ma left.‖ ―Breakup?‖ Tock nodded, then gripped his door handle, eager to change the subject. ―Maybe we should make our rounds, huh?‖ ―Uh, yeah. Okay.‖ They hustled out of the cool car and into a typical humid Texas night to begin their final circuit of the campus for the day.
AS HE grunted, flipped his pencil, and erased—again—Professor Bishop March questioned his habit of writing lesson plans and lectures longhand rather than on a laptop. But not long after that, the letters began blurring on the page, and he stopped to rub his eyes—again. ―Late night, professor?‖ Biz‘s head jerked up to find Linus leaning in the doorway with his mop, his bucket, and a quizzical expression. ―Oh, uh… yeah. Just revising some experiments for Monday,‖ Biz said. ―I came in here to inventory the items we‘ll need and to doublecheck the safety shower, first-aid kit, and fire extinguisher. I‘d like everything to go as smoothly as possible.‖ ―I get that,‖ Linus said with a grin. ―Wouldn‘t want to blow up anything, especially since I‘ll be the one to clean up after you.‖ Linus laughed, and Biz joined in. ―But do you think it‘s wise to work on plans for volatile chemicals when you‘re exhausted? It‘s the weekend. You should be out having fun, young man.‖ Biz sighed and leaned back in his chair, stretching all five foot ten inches of himself until he felt something pop. ―I promised myself I wouldn‘t leave campus tonight until I was satisfied with these lessons.‖ He yawned, and when his face was relaxed again, he saw Linus smirking at him. ―Hey, am I in your way? I can move to my office now.‖ Biz began hurriedly collecting his paperwork. ―My eyes are starting to desert me anyway.‖ Linus held up his hands to calm him. ―You‘re not in the way, professor.‖ He tapped the top of his head with two fingers and said, ―But
Surprise Me | 245 maybe you ought to have your glasses in a more useful location.‖ Perplexed, Biz stared at the older man for a moment, and then his eyes closed, and he grinned as he felt the top of his head and discovered his glasses. He waved them at Linus and slid them on in their proper place just as his blond hair flopped down, almost covering his eyes. ―Thanks,‖ he said, running his hand through his hair, sweeping it up and out of his eyes. ―Anytime.‖ Linus almost turned away but stopped himself, turning back to face him. ―Uh… you‘ve been here nearly two months, right?‖ he asked, and Biz nodded. ―I know the kids enjoy your classes. Hear them talking about it.‖ ―Yeah?‖ Biz smiled, ridiculously pleased to hear that. ―I hesitate to mention that the young ladies in your classes find you endearingly disheveled.‖ Biz‘s smile faltered. He wasn‘t terribly happy to hear that. Linus fell silent for a moment. He seemed uncertain about whether he should continue, but deciding he should, he said, ―I‘ve heard some instructors talking too.‖ Biz frowned, having some suspicions about what his colleagues had been saying. ―No, no,‖ Linus said quickly. ―It‘s nothing bad. They just noticed you don‘t talk much, and you‘re not much of a joiner.‖ ―I don‘t feel… comfortable in groups, crowds,‖ Biz said. Linus frowned in confusion and glanced to his left at the numerous lab stations throughout the room. Biz followed his gaze and grinned. ―That‘s different. When I‘m in front of a class, I know exactly what I‘m doing.‖ He gestured to his notes. ―You‘ve seen how I am about getting everything planned out ahead of time.‖ ―Don‘t like surprises, huh?‖ ―N-not really.‖ Biz glanced at the floor. His last surprise had been finding Antonio in bed with Marla. He shuddered at the memory. ―I don‘t think on my feet well, I‘m afraid. And a party or dinner—so many people, all talking… Well, I tend to get… flustered, tongue-tied.‖ He toyed with his pencil a bit. ―I mean, the other instructors are great—I‘ve been invited to lunch, church, even tonight‘s ballgame, but….‖ ―Can‘t control the situation?‖ Biz chuckled sadly and nodded. He‘d never been good at letting go, which had been one of Antonio‘s chief complaints as their relationship progressed. Biz suspected moving in together had also exacerbated the
246 | Dawn Kimberly Johnson problem. But not once in his thirty-one years had spontaneity worked to his advantage. Linus smiled knowingly. ―Well, if I may, professor, living like that isn‘t really living, is it? Tick tock, tick tock. You only get one pass through this life. Might as well spend it jumping in with both feet, I say. My Edith taught me that thirty years ago. The day we met, she grabbed me by my hair—I had a lot more of it then—and dragged me off to her cave.‖ They both laughed at that image as Linus steered his bucket back out into the hallway. The last time Biz had jumped in with both feet had left him in Seattle, in a job he hated, and, eventually, minus the man he‘d moved there to be with. Nope. Despite Linus‘s excellent advice, Biz figured playing it safe was the least painful route to take. That‘s how he was made, and he was old enough to accept that gracefully. ―I‘m headed out, professor. Try to have a good weekend,‖ Linus called as he walked away. Biz sat there listening to the squeaky bucket wheels growing more distant and wondered why he hadn‘t heard Linus approach. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly eleven, and he didn‘t exactly relish the idea of returning to his tiny, empty apartment just yet. One more hour, then I’ll head out. Maybe I’ll try jumping in with one foot and stop for a beer on the way home. With a reward in mind for his efforts, Biz grinned as he returned to his notes, his eyes virtually revitalized with the assistance of his glasses. He worked steadily for forty-five minutes or so. The only sound was his pencil scratching unerringly along the paper until the sound of breaking glass broke his concentration. He paused and listened but heard nothing further, so he slowly turned back to his writing and tried to recapture his train of thought. The moment the lead touched the paper, however, Biz heard a distinct squeak. Not a mop-bucket-wheel kind of squeak. More like a sneaker-on-a-wet-floor kind of squeak. Biz put down his pencil and slid off his chair. He walked toward his classroom doorway. The hall beyond was dark, and he hesitated. But he reassured himself, knowing that the weekend lights were on and spaced at intervals along the hallway on each floor of the science building. He almost called out to Linus, but his brain rebelled, overriding his throat and trapping the sound within him. He paused at the door, his
Surprise Me | 247 hand on the door frame. I’m being silly, he thought as he leaned out quickly, taking a glance up the hall—but forgetting to take off his reading glasses. He leapt backward into the lab. Okay, none of those big, blurry shapes up the hall is Linus.
―BERT?‖ A casual, ―Yup?‖ broke through the static on Tock‘s radio. ―I got a jimmied lock on the ground floor, east wing of SLB.‖ ―On my way!‖ As Tock had rounded the science and lab building, he‘d detected the familiar aroma of marijuana on the night air and checked the door, finding the lock scraped and bent. He entered and headed slowly up the stairs, stopping at each floor and briefly stepping into the hallway, eyes open and ears tuned for any odd noise in the supposedly deserted structure. On the third floor, the aroma of pot was stronger, and he saw movement to his right. Lights illuminated the long hallway at intervals, creating a striping effect. Probably just a couple students getting rowdy after the game, he hoped. He inched down the hallway to his right, hugging the wall as he went. He heard voices and laughter coming from a lab/classroom on the left side of the hall, but before he could cross to the other side, a man rushed from an open classroom right next to him. Tock froze, speechless as he watched the man approach his classroom of interest with as much stealth as he himself was employing. The man had wavy, honey-colored hair (like something out of a shampoo commercial) held out of his face by a pair of glasses. He wore a checkered button-down shirt, jeans, and sneakers. A professor, no doubt, Tock thought. His eyes flicked to the door of the classroom the two of them were stalking. Unsure of when the offenders might exit, how many there would be, and whether or not they would be armed, Tock moved silently to the left side of the hall. Standing next to what he presumed was a utility closet, he took a position directly behind the mysterious and nosy professor. Tock watched the man closely and considered how to get him out of a potentially harmful situation. The man was listening intently to the
248 | Dawn Kimberly Johnson voices in the classroom and could probably make out more than Tock could from his position. Tock wondered if he was the type to scream if startled. The professor was slender, fit, nicely muscled, if those jeans and those shoulders and that back were any indication. Tock shook his head to clear it. Whoa, I’m losing focus here. He and Edward had split a year ago, and there hadn‘t been anyone since. Whacking off in his apartment every night didn‘t really cut it, but he hadn‘t been ready to find out what gay community there was in Marcia—if any. And suddenly here was this attractive professor in his line of sight. The peace officer in him sought to protect, but the man in him…. Tock grinned wickedly. ―Teddy, quit fooling around, will ya?‖ a voice shouted from within the classroom, snapping Tock back to his duty. Teddy. Good to know. Tock was surprised by how loudly they were talking and figured they must really think the building was deserted. That, or impatience and intoxication are twisting their volume knobs. ―Fuck you, Ramos. I‘ve almost got it open.‖ Ramos. Check. Struck by an idea, Tock took a step backward and slowly twisted the knob on the closet. It wasn‘t locked, and he swung the door open carefully, hoping the hinges were properly oiled. ―Step aside. I‘ll take care of it,‖ a new voice announced. He saw the professor‘s posture change as if he was about to confront the thieves, and Tock stepped quickly forward as the man took a hesitant step himself. However, both men froze when they heard a gunshot. ―Leo, are you out of your fucking mind?! The stuff‘s volatile!‖ One of them laughed. ―I don‘t think Leo knows what that word means, man.‖ ―Tock! Tock, you okay?!‖ Bert‘s voice squawked out of Tock‘s radio, the sound seeming to reverberate throughout the hallway. He turned the volume down on his radio as the professor swung around to see Tock behind him, his eyes wide and bright with fright. The classroom had gone silent, but then— ―Didju hear that?‖
Surprise Me | 249 ―Check it out!‖ The sound of a scuffle drew the professor‘s attention back to the classroom. Shadows loomed in the doorway as the thieves headed their way. Tock moved swiftly, rushing forward and wrapping his arms around the startled professor, dragging him backward and into the utility closet. He closed the door with a click, enveloping them in black silence. ―Don‘t move or breathe,‖ Tock hissed, even as he felt the man beside him begin shaking. He carefully unholstered his gun and thumbed off the safety, then reached up to the radio on his shoulder, and whispered. ―At least three suspects, armed. Third floor labs. I have a civilian with me. Get backup. Don‘t come up here alone.‖ The last two instructions were unnecessary. Bert knew protecting a civilian came first, and by Tock‘s whisper, his partner would know they were hiding and to let Tock contact him from this point on. Through the door they heard a muffled discussion. ―Come on, man. Let‘s finish this. There‘s nobody out here. Everyone‘s partying after the game.‖ ―I want to look around!‖ This voice was right outside their door, angry and nervous and aggressive. Probably the guy with the gun. Tock held his breath when he felt the man at his side shift slightly, reaching past him. Then he heard an almost imperceptible click, followed directly by someone violently jiggling the closet‘s doorknob. ―Come on, dude. Let‘s get this done. Someone might have heard that shot!‖ ―I thought you said the place was deserted!‖ After the jiggling stopped, they heard an ―Aw, fuck it!‖ as the angry thug stormed off. Then there was only silence. ―What are you doing here so late on a Friday, professor?‖ Tock finally whispered into the darkness. ―Biz.‖ ―Huh?‖ ―My name, it‘s— Call me Biz. Oh… and uh, my apartment is on Beasley, surrounded by student rentals, so….‖ ―So your classroom on a Friday night is much more conducive to getting work done?‖
250 | Dawn Kimberly Johnson ―N-normally, yes.‖ Tock found and gave Biz‘s shoulder a quick squeeze of reassurance. ―I‘m Tock. Nice thinking with the lock.‖ ―No problem.‖ ―Listen, all hell‘s about to break loose up here. Any idea what‘s in that lab?‖ ―Uh… as far as I know, the same thing in all the other—hold on…. I‘ve used that lab once. There‘s a small safe against the back wall on the right. Professor Micah stores….‖ ―What?‖ ―I don‘t know. She‘s the only one with the combination, as far as I know.‖ ―Well, these guys have some idea of what‘s in there. Let‘s assume it‘s something horrible, okay?‖ ―Deal.‖ Tock smiled into the darkness. He could sense that Biz had calmed. And he smells really good. Oh God. Tock shook his head again. ―Bert?‖ he whispered into his radio. ―Yup?‖ ―All set?‖ ―We‘re at either stairwell, waiting for your go-ahead.‖ ―Suspects are trying to break into a safe in room….‖ ―Three-twelve,‖ Biz said softly. ―Room 312, left side of the hall, just past a utility closet. Could be volatile stuff inside… uh… inside the safe, not the closet.‖ Biz chuckled at his side, and Bert said softly, ―Yeah, I kinda figured.‖ ―Professor, I want you to squat down in here while we take care of those guys, you understand?‖ There was no response, and Tock grinned. ―Are you nodding your head?‖ ―Oh… uh, yeah. Sorry.‖ Tock laughed softly and said, ―No worries.‖ He unlocked the door and slowly turned the knob. ―Be careful, Tock.‖
Surprise Me | 251
AFTER Tock closed the door behind him, Biz was once again blanketed in darkness. He squatted in the closet, knees drawn up to his chest, and tried not to freak out. Expecting to hear gunfire at any moment, he instead focused on Tock—as he had from the moment he‘d seen the big man standing behind him in the hallway, up to the glimpse he‘d gotten of Tock‘s handsome face as he left the closet. Tock had been standing in a crouch at first, as if about to tackle someone; he must move like a cat, because I didn’t hear a thing until his radio went off. Biz recalled those big arms wrapping around him, practically lifting him off the floor, and moving him like a piece of cheap furniture. When he was standing in pitch blackness next to Tock, Biz had felt his warmth, the scent of their fear mixing with a light, vanilla-and-spice aftershave, their adrenaline pumping into their blood. Biz thought fear was supposed to shrink your junk—not that there hadn‘t been a significant reduction when he‘d heard that gunshot—but while in that cramped, dark space with that powerful, tanned, buzz-cut officer? Biz‘s junk had done the opposite. Maybe because I felt safe with him. ―Freeze!‖ a voice in the hall commanded, and Biz thought his heart had stopped. But it stuttered quickly to life again when he heard two gunshots, more shouting, cursing, something slamming into his door, followed by a low groan, and then silence broken only by an occasional squawk of a radio. He stared into the blackness, trying desperately to see something. After what felt like forever, the door was jerked open, and Biz was blinded by the hallway lights, all of which were on now. He squinted up at the massive silhouette before him. ―Biz? You okay?‖ Tock asked, reaching in to help him to his feet. ―Y-yeah… I‘m okay.‖ He stepped into the hall. ―Is everyone else alright? You‘re not hurt, are you?‖ ―I‘m good.‖ Tock smiled at him, his dark eyes seeming to sparkle as he looked Biz up and down. Biz felt his face flush and hugged himself as he looked around at the crowd of officers in the hall with them. He watched as one handcuffed thug was dragged to his feet and led away,
252 | Dawn Kimberly Johnson soon followed by the other two. ―Listen, that officer there,‖ Tock said, pointing to a scrawny, Barney-Fife-looking fellow, ―that‘s Bert, my partner, and he‘ll want to ask you some questions. You up for that?‖ Biz nodded, and Tock placed his hand on Biz‘s shoulder, steering him toward Bert. ―After he‘s done with you, and I‘ve changed….‖ Tock paused until Biz looked him in the eye. ―I‘ll take you home, okay?‖ Biz nodded as a tingle spread through his body and settled in his cock.
TOCK pulled his truck over in front of an older, two-story house that could use a paint job and looked decidedly haunted. Pounding music, shouts, laughter, and general rowdy behavior swirled like a storm on all sides of them. ―Well, this is home,‖ Biz said sadly. Tock watched the chaos outside in abject horror. ―Uh, yeah…. Why is that, exactly?‖ he asked, turning to Biz. ―I needed a place quickly. I was fleeing a bad situation and had to take what was available. I‘ve only been here for two months and haven‘t had time to find something more suitable.‖ ―My building is quiet,‖ Tock said suddenly. ―The apartments are nice—roomy.‖ They fell into an awkward silence as a young man staggered up to the truck and leaned on it. Tock tapped his window, and the kid looked up to see a badge pressed against the glass. The kid staggered backward in horror and puked on himself, and then a bottle shattered in the street near the truck. ―Listen, Biz, tonight was intense, and it‘s early yet for the weekend. How about we go somewhere and have a beer?‖ ―Somewhere?‖ ―My place.‖ During the few seconds of silence that followed, Biz reflected on his careful, safe life, a life that had hardly spared him any pain. He glanced out the window at his dark, spooky apartment and the victoryfueled, student idiocy surrounding it. He considered that he could have easily been killed tonight. Then he turned and smiled at the big, gorgeous man on his left and simply said, ―Yes, please.‖
Surprise Me | 253
BIZ and Tock had dropped all pretense and propriety by the time they stumbled through the door of the officer‘s third-floor apartment, tearing at each other‘s clothes and locking lips. Biz surprised himself by backing the big man up against the sofa and pushing him over onto it, then jumping aboard. He straddled Tock as he fought to undo the man‘s belt and jeans, never once losing contact with his mouth and tongue. ―I want you to know… that I never… do this sort of thing,‖ he panted as he finally got a glimpse of Tock‘s swollen manhood poking out of his briefs. ―Then why now?‖ Biz looked into Tock‘s dark eyes. ―A wise, older gentleman told me tonight that I should be more spontaneous,‖ he said, grinning wickedly, ―and I decided he was right.‖ Tock gasped as Biz gripped him through the cotton fabric. ―You‘ll have to introduce… uh… us so I can thank him.‖ ―Deal.‖ Biz watched Tock‘s eyes flutter shut as he massaged him slowly. ―Besides, you were right. Tonight was intense. We could‘ve been killed.‖ Tock‘s eyes popped open. He stared up at the eager, beautiful man straddling him and, grinning, ran his fingers through Biz‘s floppy hair, pausing to cup his face tenderly. Biz‘s eyes closed at the sensation, and Tock smiled. ―So is this just a reaction to the danger we were in? Will I be history once you feel safe and settled again?‖ ―Not at all,‖ Biz said indignantly. Tock watched Biz for several moments before saying, ―You said you never do this. Well, neither do I, Biz. My last relationship lasted three years. In fact, I moved back here after a messy breakup. I just needed a—‖ ―Change of scenery?‖ Biz asked, and Tock grinned. ―Ditto, Officer.‖ Tock unbuttoned Biz‘s shirt and placed his big palm in the center of Biz‘s chest. He could feel his heart thumping within. ―Why‘d he let you go?‖ Tock asked.
254 | Dawn Kimberly Johnson ―Huh?‖ ―You‘re beautiful,‖ Tock whispered in preoccupied wonder as his hand slid down Biz‘s front, over his hard abs, slowing only to play in his sandy-blond treasure trail. ―I can‘t imagine anyone letting you go.‖ Biz leaned in and kissed Tock in a way that made both his gratitude for that statement and his desire crystal clear. Tock groaned, gripping and kneading Biz‘s bottom before suddenly lifting and rolling the smaller man onto his back and straddling him. He gripped Biz‘s jeans and quickly stripped them off his body along with his briefs. Biz‘s swollen cock flopped back against his stomach heavily, and he began to squirm in anticipation. He watched the magnificent play of muscle beneath Tock‘s tan skin as the officer stretched above him, pulling his own T-shirt off over his head. Then Tock hovered over Biz, taking him in hand and kissing him. Biz whimpered, and Tock smiled, breaking the kiss only to reach into the shallow drawer of the coffee table on his left, drawing out a condom and a small tube of lube. ―That‘s handy,‖ Biz said, narrowing his eyes. ―I haven‘t been with anyone for a year, Biz, but a man can plan with hope, can‘t he?‖ Tock tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth. ―Do me a favor?‖ ―Anything,‖ Biz said, taking the offered condom. The professor took hold of Tock and rolled the condom over his length, stroking him a couple times for good measure and drawing a hiss out of him. Surprisingly, Tock didn‘t fumble the lube and managed to spread a good amount on his fingers before pressing them between Biz‘s lovely, firm cheeks. His finger entered Biz as Tock kissed him, making the professor moan deliciously. Tock added another finger, then another, and Biz‘s body jerked beneath him. ―You okay? I didn‘t hurt you, did I?‖ Biz bit his lip, and then licked them as he stared into Tock‘s eyes and shook his head. ―I‘m good,‖ Biz whispered. ―Don‘t stop.‖ He reached up and gripped Tock‘s shoulder, encouraging him to continue. ―I want to feel you, feel you filling me, stretching me.‖ Tock‘s cock twitched at those words and the vision of Biz wanton
Surprise Me | 255 and eager beneath him. He removed his fingers and guided himself to Biz‘s entrance, pressing forward slowly and kissing the professor as he moved beyond that tight ring of muscle. He swallowed Biz‘s groan with deeper kisses and slid home.
LATER, after moving to Tock‘s big bed for another round, Biz lay in Tock‘s arms and ran his fingers up and down the officer‘s front. With one leg thrown over Tock‘s thigh, their groins kept rubbing against each other, sending the occasional shock through their systems. Exhausted and sated, they both fought sleep to keep talking and learning about each other. Biz listened to Tock‘s history in Marcia, his move to New York, and his breakup with Edward. Tock learned of Antonio‘s poor judgment and Biz‘s hesitancy to take chances. ―I guess I blew that out of the water, huh?‖ Biz laughed. ―The best laid plans….‖ ―Thanks for coming to my rescue,‖ Biz said. ―You‘re welcome. Have dinner with me,‖ Tock said. ―What?‖ ―I‘d like to take you out, maybe dinner and a movie?‖ Biz rose up on one elbow, searching Tock‘s face and wondering if he‘d exhausted his supply of spontaneity, but there was no nervous flutter of fear in his chest, no mental run-through of all the horrible scenarios this might produce. He simply smiled and said, ―I‘d like that,‖ then quickly, happily snuggled back down into Tock‘s arms. ―Also, there are a couple apartments opening up in this building in a couple weeks. It‘s a good place, nice neighbors, quiet, perfect for thoughtful-professor types.‖ ―And cops needing to decompress after a hard day?‖ ―Speaking of decompressing….‖ Tock said, rolling over onto Biz and cupping his bottom possessively. He ran his hand through Biz‘s hair and grinned. ―What?‖ ―Nothing… you just….‖
256 | Dawn Kimberly Johnson ―Yeah?‖ Biz asked, furrowing his brow. ―Have you ever thought about doing a shampoo commercial?‖ Biz chuckled and ran his hand over Tock‘s buzzed head, marveling at how his hair felt so soft one way and prickled his palm the other. He smiled up into Tock‘s dark eyes. ―You are a most welcome surprise.‖
Surprise Me | 257 About the Author
DAWN KIMBERLY JOHNSON is a graduate of Marshall University in Huntington, West Virginia, where she grew up and still lives. For eight years she worked as a copy editor at a daily newspaper before heading west to Oregon in search of adventure. After eight years there, five of them good, she returned home where she is trying to regain her health and still hoping for the best. Visit her LiveJournal at http://dawnkj63.livejournal.com/. You can contact her at
[email protected].
Close Distance Education
“I WOULD very much enjoy making your acquaintance in person.” Who the hell talks like that? And does anyone really write like that? Online? Gavril Dalca did. And what kind of name was that anyway? Cassidy Donne stared where he‘d been told to stare and pondered his latest emails with his strange classmate. “I will be journeying to your fine metropolis next week.” Though Writing for Business was not Cass‘s first distance education class, it was the first one for which Cass had to take part in a group project. The teacher had organized them alphabetically and instructed them to put together a complete business plan for a fake business. He and Gavril were responsible for compiling all the research and writing the proposal. Not being too comfortable with writing in a group with people who lived in different cities, and not entirely trusting Gavril‘s abilities in the English language, Cass suggested Gavril email his ideas in point form
Close Distance Education | 259 notes. Cass would handle the final edit. But Gavril wanted more involvement. Cass was impressed by the amount of thought and effort Gavril put into the project, but he still couldn‘t figure out what Gavril was doing in the course in the first place. Shari Curray, the single mother from Barrie who had come up with the idea of a pet-sitting service, obviously wanted to start her own petsitting business, and probably planned to change a few details and take the whole project to a bank to get a loan once the semester ended. Ram Darzi, who handled the financials and wanted nothing to do with any actual writing, needed an English credit to fulfill his degree requirements. Gloria Diaz had made it clear from the start her primary interest was in owning her own tourism agency, but had still done an admirable job researching the pet field and all the licensing and insurance details. Writing for Business was almost an afterthought for Cass—he‘d chosen it because it was available in the summer session and wouldn‘t tax his brain too much while he worked on the third year of his historical studies program. Gavril was just weird. To start with, he was already in business and already knew about all the types of business correspondence and communication. He was older than anyone else in the group by at least ten years. He seemed to travel a lot for his work, which had something to do with importing. In his introduction, when the groups were first announced, he mentioned that he wasn‘t working on a particular degree. If he wanted to improve his language skills, why not take a conversational English course? Plus, a pet-sitting service seemed way below his pay scale. ―Cassidy, dear, look straight at Bruno. I need full extension.‖ Cass craned his neck and stared harder at the painting of a middleaged man bundled against a fall storm, collar up close to his ears so the tips of his curled, pencil-thin moustache almost touched it. Cass wondered if that was what Gavril Dalca looked like. He could almost picture the Bruno of the painting saying things like what Gavril wrote. “Is there a convenient location for meeting? I will be staying at Intercontinental Hotel. I will be occupied about business until three of the afternoon.” Distance education was nothing new to Cass. He‘d been taking an extra course that way every semester, trying to shorten his time at school
260 | Dar Mavison to cut expenses. Cutting expenses was also why he was lying semi-naked on a chaise longue, with his head tilted at the awkward angle that was starting to make his neck hurt. Or maybe his head hurt from trying to figure out the man he was going to meet in a few hours. No, it was the angle. It was awkward enough to cause stress. Cass was posing in the semi-nude for his landlady, which was not as kinky as it sounded. Margarita Hall was certain that her paintings of Cass would land her a solo show—something she‘d been determined and failed to do for an unknown number of years. Her paintings were not bad. They were just… slightly dated, reflecting her glory days in New York City as a young bohemian. Or was that beatnik? She‘d been there some time in the fifties. Margarita had given up the artistic life to care for her ailing mother, and when she inherited the family home after decades of selfless nursing, she went back to her first love. Of course, by then she was a fifty-something woman with a decades-old portfolio, whose only artistic reputation was that her father had made his fortune painting stuffy portraits of business leaders and politicians. Now she was a sixty- or seventy-something eccentric with a portfolio of nearly naked student tenants. To Cass, looking at Margarita‘s pop art-ish paintings of him were like looking at himself as a cartoon character, with all his angles emphasized and limbs slightly elongated. By her hand he had the neck of a swan. Margarita loved to paint young, lithe, beautiful people and chose her tenants accordingly. She rented out rooms for a pittance, considering the average rent in Toronto, asking only that her lodgers pose at least once a month. For Cass, who was on an exceptionally strict budget, this was ideal. Some of his housemates were a little vain, but they were a nice enough bunch, and his own huge sunny room in the Annex, so close to the university he didn‘t need to buy a bus pass, for half of what it would cost to share a dingy room in residence, was well worth the minor discomfort of the posing sessions. “Of course your suggestion of the Reference Library is totally acceptable to me.” There was no way Cass was inviting a stranger into Margarita‘s home, and even less way he was going to the hotel room of a middleaged businessman he barely knew. What did he really know about Gavril? The man could afford the time and money to take a credit distance education course he did not need to take. He traveled. He knew
Close Distance Education | 261 exactly what information was required to get a loan from a bank. He was Romanian. (It was Shari who had got that bit of information, although Cass could have figured that from the name.) He was familiar with the poetry of John Donne. “No man is an island. I know this wonderful poetry.” Cass stole a glance at his watch, which sat on a spindly coffee table next to his outreaching hand. In two hours and forty minutes he would meet Gavril Dalca. “I am tall Caucasian man with dark hair a little gray at the temple. I will be wearing business suit.” Something about it felt dirty, in a good way, like it was an illicit assignation, as if he‘d answered a personal ad instead of agreed to meet an out-of-town classmate to work on a boring group project for a Mickey Mouse course. ―Cassidy, darling, you aren‘t trying the way you usually do. Is there a problem?‖ Cass looked at Margarita. She seemed such a harmless old lady, with her soft silvery hair and birdlike dark eyes. Her spindly fingers held the brush as if it was a cocktail fork and she was at a garden party about to sample some insubstantial delicacy. ―You have an erection,‖ Margarita pointed out in a mildly dismayed tone, because it ruined the line of his arched torso and legs. ―Sorry, Miss Hall. I can‘t imagine why.‖ ―I can,‖ she said, placing the brush on the palette. ―You have a date this afternoon, don‘t you?‖ ―No, nothing of the sort. I‘m meeting a classmate.‖ ―Is this a handsome classmate?‖ It had been a relief to discover that his landlady had no issues at all with him being gay. “We didn’t call it that back then, even though everyone was gay in New York. I never had a boyfriend, but I had plenty of men to go shopping with.” But she showed an almost prurient interest in his social life, and had scrutinized the few boyfriends he‘d had time for with an appraising eye. ―I don’t like that one. His arms are too short for his torso.‖ Cass had not had a problem with the arm length, but he had been disturbed by Gary‘s short attention span.
262 | Dar Mavison ―What’s wrong with that boy? Shouldn’t he be here to take care of you when you have a cold?‖ Lawrence had not been an attentive boyfriend either. ―Now that one is trouble. Wandering eye.‖ Margarita had been dead right about Troy. Cass had no idea why he kept attracting and being attracted to these shallow, selfish men. He knew why they liked him; he was pretty, with a nice, slender body and long blond curls that Margarita had made him promise not to cut until after he got his degree, because she loved to paint them. In her paintings they were even longer and thicker and ridiculously lush. All his boyfriends had said they loved his hair. Some of them had seemed to love only that. Cass was not shallow. He wasn‘t vain. He wasn‘t mean, or selfish, or a bad person. He was hard-working, focused on his schooling but still interested in others. He liked having a boyfriend, someone to sleep close to and depend on, someone to share things with. The problem was that they never wanted to just spend time together or, God forbid, cuddle. They wanted sex. They wanted to take him out and show him off. And they wanted him to want the same thing. It didn‘t matter what he wanted. He had no time for a boyfriend, not after school and work and studying and posing semi-naked for his landlady. ―I don‘t even know him. He‘s from my distance ed class.‖ Margarita tsked and shook her head. ―I don‘t like the idea of you meeting with a stranger.‖ ―We‘re working on a group project.‖ ―So where is the rest of this group?‖ ―Barrie, Orillia, and Ajax.‖ Cass had been disappointed to learn he was the only one who actually lived in Toronto, but that was the nature of distance ed. ―It‘s okay. We‘re meeting in a public place, at the Reference Library.‖ On the fourth floor, next to the Maps Collection. He wasn‘t sure why he‘d chosen that spot, except that he‘d been sitting there with his laptop when the email came from Gavril. Margarita‘s face screwed up, the way it always did when she was worried. Or being nosy. With a house full of young, beautiful students, she said she could not help but get interested in their love lives to some extent. ―Indulge an old woman who missed out on most of the fun in
Close Distance Education | 263 life,‖ she would say when she wanted all the details about a date gone wrong, or right. Mostly right. Cass knew damn well that she lied about the boyfriends in New York—she‘d had her share of romance in the few years she‘d managed to escape her mother—but he still gave up the odd tidbit. Just to keep her satisfied. ―Honestly, it‘s not like that, Miss Hill.‖ He thought of her as Margarita, but he couldn‘t call her that. She had to be at least forty-five years older than him. Maybe fifty-five. She was always a bit vague about dates. ―Still, there is a danger. Nice young man like you.‖ ―He‘s a businessman, and he‘s a good student, and we‘re putting together a business plan for a fake business. What could possibly be dangerous about that?‖ Cass could say that at the time, because he‘d never met Gavril Dalca.
AS
IT turned out, Gavril Dalca was not only tall, dark-haired, and
wearing a business suit. He was really tall. Also broad-shouldered, ridiculously handsome, and wearing something that looked as if it had been designed with him in mind. The rich gray fabric, dove gray in one light and then steely when Gavril moved closer or leaned back in his chair and stretched his long arms over his head, moved with him, not against him the way a cheaper suit does. The cut of the jacket emphasized the breadth of Gavril‘s shoulders without looking tight or stretched, and the legs, oh, the legs. The legs went and went and kept on going. Yet Gavril looked comfortable folding those miles of leg under the table that had looked like an ordinary table until Gavril stood next to it. When had they installed doll furniture in the library? The other amazing thing about the suit was that it was a hot day, but Gavril had arrived unruffled, not a hair out of place—but no hair product visible, as if his hair simply did what he told it to do, just enough longer than it should have been to make him more beautiful, with a day or two‘s worth of dark, very manly stubble—and he looked perfectly comfortable wearing a suit on a hot summer day. Must have cost a fortune for something that covered that much skin without raising the temperature inside the fabric.
264 | Dar Mavison Outside the suit it was blazing hot. Cass wasn‘t sure if the air conditioning was malfunctioning or if the summer sun was too much for it to handle. He didn‘t remember this part of the library ever being so warm. He wished he could lose half his clothes, but he already felt underdressed in cargo shorts and an old University of Toronto shirt. ―This is very good business plan, dependent on demand,‖ Gavril said in an implausibly sexy accent. When Cass thought of Romania he thought of vampires and Bela Lugosi. Of course Lugosi had been Hungarian and his accent somewhat put on for the movies, or at least Cass hoped it had been. Gavril sounded nothing like that. He sounded a little like his suit—rich and complex and supremely competent and custom made. Slightly guttural at times, lightly rolled Rs and surprising vowels, never quite what Cass expected. It was a great voice, low but not too low, husky enough to make Cass wonder what it would sound like first thing in the morning. So stupid of him. Gavril was obviously a big-time businessman, if the suit and the expensive briefcase and the laptop to die for were anything to go by. Razor slim laptop with a huge screen and brushed metal finish. Cass didn‘t know much about expensive computers. His laptop was the cheapest and slowest of all his friends‘, the same one his dad had given him when he graduated high school. His best friend Jenni periodically replaced parts in it, which would have violated the warranty if the warranty hadn‘t expired over a year ago. Gavril had the kind of laptop computer geeks like Jenni drooled over. His cell phone was the same: top of the line, no expense spared. Gavril leaned across the table and tapped Cass on the back of the hand. ―You are daydreaming?‖ Hell, yeah. What was there not to daydream about? Gavril had deep gray eyes. He must have had the suit made to complement then. Full lips with a slight pout. A bit boyish, a bit serious, a bit dirty. All ingredients combined to create undeniable sexiness. Cass wished he‘d worn something more… more unlike what he was wearing. He looked exactly like what he was—a poor student on a budget. There was no way an attractive, sophisticated, rich older man would be interested in him, even if Gavril were interested in men. ―Cassidy?‖ ―Yeah, I guess I‘m tired.‖
Close Distance Education | 265 ―You work night shift?‖ ―No. Early morning. But I was studying late last night.‖ ―Is hard to get through university on budget. I remember.‖ ―Really? Where did you go to university?‖ Gavril sighed. ―In my country. We were not allowed to travel abroad in those times.‖ So he‘d been in university before the wall fell, in the eighties. Cass hoped it had been the late eighties. That would make Gavril twenty years older than Cass. Not insurmountable. ―Now I travel always. Canada is very welcoming country,‖ Gavril said. Cass could not help thinking about how much he‘d like to give Gavril a proper Canadian welcome. ―And here I sit, in library with bright young man, working on my Canadian business writing. Wonderful. I hope to open office in Toronto. There is a large population here that I could work with.‖ Cass was sure there were many who would want to work with Gavril. He was also sure it had been far too long since that awful scene with Troy in the parking garage. He hadn‘t been laid in… he counted the weeks. No, months. Damn, Gavril smelled good. Manly, but not in a dirty way. What were dirty were the things Cass was thinking as he watched Gavril‘s lips wrap around the unfamiliar English vowels. ―What is your main area of study?‖ Gavril asked. Cass couldn‘t answer right away. That probably made him look a little stupid. Damn. He pulled himself together. ―History.‖ ―That is broad field.‖ ―Twentieth century China.‖ ―Ah, much more specific, and interesting coincidence. I, too, studied the glorious Chinese revolution and transformation. This is why I wish to have office in Toronto, for large Chinese population.‖ Of course he would have an interest in the large market, especially if he‘d studied China at university. Although Gavril probably had not been given much choice. There had probably been limited areas of study
266 | Dar Mavison in Romanian universities back when he was in school. Back when Cass was a kid. Perhaps before Cass had been born… probably before Cass had been born. Twenty-five years. Cass had to stop thinking the way he‘d been thinking. The age gap was too much. ―What do you do, exactly?‖ Cass wasn‘t sure he wanted to know. It might spoil the illusion that he was seated opposite the perfect man. Not that he entertained the notion that Gavril was perfect, other than the way he looked. And sounded. And smelled. ―Import. Export. I deal in antiquities.‖ That sounded a bit seedy. ―There is great deal of business in Chinese market.‖ Possibly sleazy as well. And exploitative to boot. ―At the moment, I make good success locating Chinese artifacts and returning them to China.‖ That didn‘t sound quite so sleazy. ―Terrible that so much national history and treasure was taken away, do you not think?‖ Cass was thinking that he may have stumbled upon a rich, international businessman with a conscience. That was too good to be true. There had to be an angle. Maybe it was only the profit. ―Do you travel to China often?‖ ―As often as I can. You have been?‖ Cass only wished. He shook his head. ―That is shame. You cannot appreciate China until you travel there. The view from my apartment in the former French Concession is….‖ Gavril looked suddenly sharp, almost predatory. He blinked and the sharpness receded. ―If you ever go to China, my home is at your disposal.‖ ―I wouldn‘t want to intrude on you,‖ Cass said, no matter how much he would want to. ―Your family.‖ Gavril made a huffing sound. Irritated? Or was he literally blowing off the question? ―Are we finish with this?‖ Gavril spread his hand across the notes on the table. It was a large hand, somehow too large and strong for a
Close Distance Education | 267 business man, but the skin looked soft, the nails clean and well-shaped. Did Gavril get manicures? Hell, he could afford them. ―I think so. We have all the components. I can take them home and put them all together tonight.‖ ―Due date is not until Wednesday, is it not? You need not work tonight. I had hoped you would allow me to take you out for dinner.‖ Would he?
MARGARITA stared at Gavril, and Cass understood the term ―cougar‖ for the first time. He‘d only been up in his room for three, maybe four minutes, only enough time to find his good pants—still in the dry-cleaning bag since after his father‘s funeral—and a clean, ironed shirt, a smoky green that would look good next to Gavril‘s suit. It wasn‘t a date, but Cass still wanted them to look like they belonged together. Silly fantasy. By the time he got back downstairs, Margarita had Gavril crammed into the corner of the couch while she draped her arm along the back and smiled at him. She looked hungry. The age difference between him and Gavril was bad enough. Between Margarita and Gavril it was obscene. ―I‘m ready to go,‖ Cass announced loudly. Gavril looked up, eyes wide with relief, perhaps even a little fear. Big, round, dark eyes. The kind that make you want to make them open even wider. He bolted upright, straightened his jacket, and picked up his briefcase. ―It is charming to meet you, Miss Hill. What a lovely house you have.‖ ―And lovely tenants,‖ Margarita added with a wink. As Cass followed Gavril out the door, Margarita gave him a discreet pat on the bum. ―Go for it, kid. He‘s ripe for the picking.‖ The vulgarity of it would have been shocking if the idea had not stunned Cass‘s brain into submission. He followed Gavril out onto the street meekly.
268 | Dar Mavison ―It is not too far to walk to Opus Restaurant. It is around the corner from my hotel,‖ Gavril said, maneuvering himself between Cass and the traffic edge of the sidewalk. Opus? Holy crap. Gavril was either trying to impress him or money really was no object. Maybe that was the way Gavril always ate and one more person on the bill would hardly be noticed. Gavril had made it clear on the subway over that he was paying, so Cass just said, ―Not far, no.‖ During the walk, their talk centered on the project. It was so strange, hearing this sophisticated man of the world talk about dog sitting. He spoke earnestly, taking every detail as seriously as the next. As they neared the restaurant, Gavril gave a casual shrug of his huge shoulders. ―I am certain Miss Curray will have no problem finding financing for her future business with this plan we have written. I wish her all the luck. My mother, bless her, was single widow. Is not an easy road to travel.‖ So Gavril had Shari figured out all along. Plus, that was the first piece of personal information Cass had heard from Gavril. He‘d had a single mother, probably not well off, and she was, judging by the past tense, deceased. Cass also had no parents. That wasn‘t much in common, but it was something. Okay, that was way too gauche. It was past time to get a grip on reality. ―Such a lovely setting, so quaint.‖ The restaurant was in a Victorian mansion, not so different from the one Cass lived in from the outside. Gavril held his hand out, gesturing that Cass should enter first. It was an odd, almost Victorian gesture. The smile on Gavril‘s face was personal. Attentive. Very gentlemanly. Either Cass was imagining things, or he was being wooed. Preposterous! He was merely horny, and in the presence of a gorgeous man. Though it was natural to jump to conclusions, Cass would resist the temptation to flirt. Not an easy thing to do when he noticed the dimples lurking beneath Gavril‘s stubble. They hadn‘t been there in the library when Gavril smiled in greeting. They had to be something Gavril did on purpose. But you couldn‘t control dimples, could you? That would be impossible. It would defy physics. ―Thanks,‖ Cass said, trying to sound as assertive as possible. Even
Close Distance Education | 269 if Gavril did want him, Cass wasn‘t going to fall for another beautiful but masculine, shallow but controlling man who thought he had pretty eyes and nice hair. Not that he didn‘t have pretty eyes and nice hair—terrific hair, in fact—but there was so much more to Cass than just his looks. Wasn‘t there? When the sommelier give Gavril an approving smile when he chose the wine, Cass knew he was way out of his league. The name, the year, those were details Cass forgot as soon as Gavril announced them. Cass‘s idea of choosing wine was getting whatever was on sale. The wine was French, as rich and detailed as Gavril‘s accent, and Cass tried not to get carried away by it, by the beautiful setting and the whole experience, he really did. He asked for the cheapest appetizer on the menu, at which Gavril made a tsk-ing sound. When Cass tried to do the same thing with the main course, Gavril shook his head. ―No, that will not do. You must try the lamb.‖ The cost of the lamb was what Cass normally spent in a week on groceries. Gavril frowned at the menu. Cass thought he might be wishing this really was a Victorian establishment, and that a menu with no prices could be furnished for his ―date‖. ―And forget mixed baby lettuces. Instead, we will have one order of poached prawns and one of foie gras.‖ Who was Cass to argue with poached prawns and foie gras? Gavril grilled him about his studies and the campus and his odd landlady. Cass wondered why Gavril wanted to know if Margarita was ―fully aware,‖ but before he could question Gavril about it, the conversation would veer to something else, almost always about Cass. Gavril did let it slip that he swam every day and enjoyed surfing where there was a good beach and waterskiing where there was a fast boat. That might account for the excellent shape he appeared to be in. He also did yoga, which Cass had a hard time picturing, if by hard you meant ―getting hard‖, because the image of Gavril on the floor in snug clothing with his back arched or his legs spread did the trick for Cass. He really wanted to know what Gavril looked like out of that suit. Gavril urged Cass to try a bite of his entrée, which felt more intimate than it should have. By the end of the meal, there had been three kinds of very good wine and a delectable dessert involving pears and some sort of cheese. Cass felt downright pampered. Gavril leaned back in his chair looking satisfied. ―Good food is the perfect way to end the work portion of the day,‖ he said.
270 | Dar Mavison Cass agreed. How could he not? Everything that hadn‘t been meltin-your-mouth delicious had been just-the-right-crisp and bursting with perfectly spiced flavor. He would have to be careful not to mention the lamb and the foie gras to Jenni. (Vegetarians don‘t like to hear about such things.) Cass even allowed himself to imagine there might be another aspect of the evening he would not be able to discuss with Jenni. (Lesbians don‘t like to hear about such things.) Nice as it was to think about, it was impractical fantasy. But what the hell? After all that wine, Cass decided to do more than imagine. He would outright pretend, just for a minute. He gave Gavril what he hoped was a seductive smile. Gavril responded by flicking his hand in the air in a sharp and impatient gesture. The waiter appeared instantly with the check. The rich get such good service. Cass tried not to look as if he were a kept man as Gavril paid. The street was much darker than when they‘d arrived. Cass once more found himself on the inside of the sidewalk. His grandmother had taught him to always stand between the lady and the traffic, so she would not be splashed by passing cars. There were no passing cars, no puddles for them to splash through, and Cass was no girl. In protest, he tried to slip to the other side of Gavril. A careless miscalculation wedged him between Gavril and a wooden lamppost. Gavril turned quickly, which pinned Cass against the pole. Gavril was all long limbs and warm breath and expensive suit. Something was missing. ―Oh, crap,‖ Cass said. ―Your briefcase!‖ ―I had it sent to my hotel.‖ Wow, the rich really did get great service. ―That‘s a relief,‖ Cass said. But there was no relief from the closeness. Gavril leaned even closer. ―I have been pretending all this time,‖ he said quietly. Pretending what? Cass wondered. Pretending to be a foreign businessman? If that was the case, his accent was impeccable. Pretending to be rich? Impossible, since he‘d just bought dinner at Opus. Pretending to be Cass‘s classmate? A total stranger could never feign such knowledge of dog-sitting services and their somewhat lazy instructor.
Close Distance Education | 271 ―I have been pretending,‖ Gavril repeated, breath hot on Cass‘s cheek and smelling of wine and pears and sex, ―that I have been on date with most stunning young man I have met ever.‖ Oh, God, he wasn‘t some twisted stalker, was he? That would be so disappointing. Not to mention dangerous. ―I am sorry. It must be wine,‖ Gavril said. ―I was to be content to merely look at you over dinner, to have a harmless fantasy, but when your landlady….‖ Crap. What had Margarita said to him? ―What?‖ ―She intimated…,‖ Gavril whispered. Intimated? Had Gavril learned English with the help of a thesaurus? Probably a leather-bound thesaurus, in a well-appointed den, with the help of private tutors. Why the hell had he taken a distance education class anyway? What did he want with Cass? ―…you might be amenable to….‖ He breathed in, as if testing Cass‘s scent. More like savoring it. Fucking landlady had probably told the handsome rich man that her young, pretty, penniless tenant was queer and randy. What a busybody! ―You were pretending we were on a date?‖ Cass said, trying to keep his cool. ―I could not help it. You are so….‖ Gavril shrugged. ―I do not know the word. I think it might be appealing, but more so. Enticing? I apologize. Did I do harm?‖ ―God, no. I was doing the same thing,‖ Cass admitted. Gavril planted his hands on either side of the post so Cass was trapped in a cage made of six and a half feet of suddenly inhibition-free Romanian sex god. Those full lips brushed against Cass‘s hair, the top of his ear, very close to his cheek. ―It is safe for man to kiss other man on street in this neighborhood?‖ Gavril asked in a voice suddenly lower, huskier. ―And if so, may I kiss you?‖ Cass looked up and down the street. Practically deserted. Not quite. Close enough. He strained up and kissed Gavril, trying for a slow, alluring brush of the lips, but one taste of the wine and pears and sex, one burning touch, and everything turned fast and a little desperate and so very delicious.
272 | Dar Mavison He could tell Gavril was trying to remain a gentleman, not pushing too much, keeping his hands off, his tongue in his own mouth. Cass would have none of that. The whole meal had been one big long comeon, and Gavril was not going to get away with delaying things any longer. Cass all but sucked Gavril into his mouth. The moment their tongues touched, Cass was plastered, top to bottom, against the post, with Gavril pressing against him just enough to take his breath away. So fucking sexy. Cass let his legs fall open when Gavril moved a thigh between them. He slid his hands under Gavril‘s jacket to feel smooth fabric stretched over firm sides. Gavril twisted a little and muscles bulged and Cass slid his hands back to feel the arch of Gavril‘s spine and the curve of his lower back. Cass yanked him forward, breaking the kiss, and a hard cock pushed into Cass‘s stomach. Gavril groaned against his temple. ―I hope to hell you are not tease,‖ he said. ―Hell, no,‖ Cass said enthusiastically. ―You‘re too sexy for teasing.‖ Gavril huffed in his hair, again, like when he‘d been asked about his family. ―What?‖ ―That is not….‖ Gavril took a deep breath. ―Not the way I think of self.‖ ―Get out.‖ Gavril stood up and away from Cass. Cass pulled him back down. ―No, not get away. I meant ‗get out‘, like ‗you‘re kidding, right?‘‖ Gavril moved one hand from the post to Cass‘s waist, fingers curved around his hip. It burned in the best way possible. ―I do not joke, Cassidy. I never joke.‖ ―You‘re totally sexy, man. You have to know that.‖ Gavril looked down at Cass with frightening seriousness. ―You are not tease?‖ ―Why would I tease?‖ ―I am old for you, and not of your culture.‖ ―You‘re mature, not old, and trust me, guys my age, in my culture,
Close Distance Education | 273 are no fun. They‘re shallow and they‘re vain. And all they want is sex.‖ Gavril smiled, dimples and all. ―But what if I want sex?‖ ―I would certainly hope you do, after this!‖ There was no way Cass could take Gavril home. He wouldn‘t be able to enjoy himself knowing that Margarita was probably listening at the door. Also, he didn‘t want to risk Gavril getting up and running into Ron, who liked to wander around nude at night, or Amanda, who wore honest-to-God negligees as if she were in a sixties sex kitten movie, or Marko, the dance major, who was the closest thing Cass had ever seen to perfection, at least from the waist up, since Marko refused to take his pants off for Margarita. ―My hotel is very close, if that does not intimidate you,‖ Gavril said. Such a gentleman. ―What‘s the room number?‖ Cass texted the number to Jenni. ―She‘ll call me at some point tonight, and if I don‘t answer….‖ Gavril frowned. ―It‘s not that I don‘t trust you. I‘m going to your hotel with you. I just, you know. Better safe and all that.‖ ―You have routine?‖ Gavril asked warily. Cass laughed nervously. ―No, not a routine. More like a pact. A girl in our Modern European History course got attacked, back in first year, and we promised we‘d do this if the occasion ever arose. It‘s a safety plan. I‘ve never done it before, honest.‖ ―I did not mean to insinuate. It is more that you are so very beautiful, and I cannot believe you have never required this plan.‖ So very beautiful. Cass was flattered, not because no one had ever told him he was beautiful, but because Gavril said it with such forthrightness and honesty. It was even sexier than the way he‘d been holding back. If Gavril gave good head, he might be the most perfect man in the universe. What a relief it was to know that Gavril was not insulted. He‘d only frowned because he thought Cass did this all the time. ―I‘m usually not this fast,‖ Cass said. ―I‘m not saying you are fast….‖ Gavril let out his breath. ―This is unusual for me as well. I am
274 | Dar Mavison much more careful. I mean… I am not saying correctly.‖ He cleared his throat. ―I feel at a disadvantage. I am very taken with you. Or am I taken by you?‖ Who cared? As long as Gavril wanted Cass to take him. Or wanted to take Cass. ―Let me try again,‖ Gavril said, charming in his boyish earnestness. ―Mr. Donne, I have very much enjoyed this evening and I do not wish it to end. This is not the way I operate usually, but I am entranced by you, and it is making me somewhat tongue-tied.‖ If that was what Gavril was like when he was tongue-tied, Cass couldn‘t understand why he needed to take any English courses. Cass was about to respond when he was once again pinned to the post by every inch of Gavril. ―I want you,‖ Gavril growled in his ear. ―I want to take you to hotel room and taste every inch of your body. You would be perfect dessert.‖ Cass melted against Gavril‘s body. ―Oh,‖ he said. ―Um, yes. Yes, please. As long as I get to taste every inch of you.‖ He could feel Gavril‘s smile against his throat, right before a hot tongue swept up to his jaw. ―That would be most acceptable.‖ ―Acceptable‖ was about to set a new standard for understatement. The hotel room was a great idea, but first they had to get there. The journey was drawn out by frequent stops against lampposts, in the shadow of a hedge, under construction scaffolding. The back of Cass‘s head thunked against the plywood hoarding. ―I am sorry.‖ ―I‘m not. Fuck, Gavril, anytime you want to kiss me, it‘s okay.‖ Gavril obliged, kissing him with enough force to make Cass dizzy. Cass‘s phone rang. Jenni. Maybe she was worried. Maybe she took some secret lesbian delight in cockblocking him. Maybe he was engaging in truly risky behavior. It didn‘t feel risky. It felt right. Now that they were on Bloor Street, there was traffic—a lot of traffic—someone yelled, ―Get a room!‖ from an open car window, but Cass felt perfectly fine. He snapped his phone open. ―Well?‖
Close Distance Education | 275 ―Well, what, Jenn? We haven‘t even got to the hotel yet.‖ ―But you were right around the corner!‖ ―We got… distracted.‖ Gavril slid his fingers into Cass‘s hair. ―Call me in the morning,‖ Cass said. ―That good, huh?‖ ―I‘ll call you.‖ Cass shoved the phone in his pocket. ―Your friend is worried?‖ Cass didn‘t really know. ―She should not worry. I only wish to make love to you all night.‖ Cass was glad he was leaning against the plywood. It kept him from falling over.
THE room was more than exquisite, but then everything about Gavril seemed to be ―more‖. When Gavril slipped his jacket off, Cass saw more evidence of what was to come. When Gavril slid his tie off, Cass wanted him more. When Gavril started to unbutton his shirt, Cass got more hard. More more more. Gavril‘s shirt was half-unbuttoned when he stepped closer. ―I would like to take your shirt off. Is that acceptable?‖ ―Very.‖ Cass unbuttoned a cuff. ―No, please, allow me.‖ Gavril bent his head and carefully pushed the button through the hole. He lifted Cass‘s wrist to his mouth and kissed gently. Cass could feel his pulse throb against Gavril‘s lips. Fuck. What if that whole Romanian vampire thing wasn‘t just a legend? Unreasonable thought, but he was alone in a room with a man, almost a stranger, who was considerably larger than himself, and why had he told Jenni not to call him back? He shivered. Gavril dropped his wrist. ―You are not comfortable.‖ ―No, I am.‖ Ambiguous, but true. He wasn‘t sure how he felt. Cass looked at Gavril closely. He was stunning, but beyond that he was totally open. No games, no bullshit. He hadn‘t lied about anything. There was his briefcase on the dresser with an Opus card on top. The
276 | Dar Mavison concierge had greeted him by name and asked if he wanted anything sent up to his room. The suite was beautiful, tastefully decorated, and had an amazing view of the museum across the street. The business writing textbook sat on the bedside table. Everything was perfectly legit. Almost too good to be true. ―Why me?‖ Cass asked. Gavril frowned. ―Why? I liked you from moment we start online project, Cassidy. You are intelligent man. When we met, I must admit to you, I was somewhat… taken back. I was expecting you to be young and pleasant, but not so striking. Then we worked, and you are not only intelligent but resourceful. All qualities I admire. I think to self, here is man I would like to know more.‖ Always more, Cassidy thought. ―So I ask you for dinner to learn more. And, yes, I pretend to be on date, because who would not be proud to go out with such beautiful young man? Then your landlady threatens to cut off my personal parts if I dare to cause you harm. She assumes I am taking you on date. She says she sees how I look at you like I am wolf. But I am not so much of a wolf. Then she says men are dogs. I am not sure what she means. Can you tell me?‖ ―My last boyfriend was a bit of a dog. Margarita didn‘t like him stepping out on me.‖ ―Nor would I. This saddens me that you have this dog of a boyfriend. A man such as you should be treated well and with great thought and care.‖ Cass stood perfectly still as Gavril lifted his wrist again, kissed it once more, and rebuttoned the cuff. ―I will not be a dog,‖ he said solemnly. ―Would you like to go out for drink? Coffee, perhaps?‖ Hell to the no! ―I thought you wanted to… you know.‖ Cass tilted his head in the direction of the bed, which was king-size, of course. Gavril glanced at the bed, and then stared into Cass‘s eyes. ―More than only one thing, and that thing is for you to be comfortable.‖ That was the perfect answer, as far as Cass could tell. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and yanked it over his head, without busting off a single button. He was proud of that for a second, until his hands got caught in the sleeves. Gavril gallantly untangled him without even trying
Close Distance Education | 277 to maul him, even after Cass rubbed up against him. Gavril was back to restraint and Victorian modesty. The semi-naked ploy wasn‘t working. Cass would have to think of some other tactic. He dropped to his knees and rubbed his face against the bulge in Gavril‘s pants. That did it. Gavril grabbed the back of a chair and made a noise like a wolf. He did not stop Cass from sliding his belt off, or unfastening the waistband, or pushing the zipper down. Cass was seconds from having a mouthful of cock when he was yanked to his feet. ―You need not,‖ Gavril said harshly. ―I want to,‖ Cass did. He really, really did. Gavril pressed his face into the crook of Cass‘s neck. ―It‘s not payment for dinner, you know. Jesus, Gavril. I‘m here because I want to be. Don‘t you know that?‖ Gavril shook his head. His stubble scratched deliciously. ―It‘s not the dinner,‖ Cass said. Gavril kissed his jaw. ―It‘s not the fancy hotel room. Or the suit. Although….‖ Gavril pressed his lips to the skin above Cass‘s pulse and sucked lightly. ―You‘re going to think I‘m totally shallow, but you‘re gorgeous.‖ There was that huff again. Cass pulled away. He held Gavril‘s face in his hands. ―Hey, what‘s wrong with me saying you‘re gorgeous?‖ Gavril closed his eyes. ―Is illusion. It is the money you see.‖ ―I don‘t think so. I don‘t give a shit about your money. Well, I loved the dinner and the fancy hotel room is fantastic, and that suit… I‘m going to have dreams about that suit for the rest of my life. But I‘m here because you are smart and sexy and I want to feel your mouth on every inch of my body.‖ ―Excellent,‖ Gavril said, smiling again, dimples even deeper, changing moods again so fast Cass was dizzy again. Gavril‘s grin might have been described as wolfish. ―I shall endeavor to do that.‖ And he did, meticulously, even methodically. Left side first, then
278 | Dar Mavison over to the right. Up and then down, over every inch of Cass‘s torso, up and down his arms. Cass had to lie down some time around his right elbow. He started squirming when Gavril licked his nipples, left then right, a quick swipe, then a longer, more thorough tonguing, then light sucking. Gavril certainly liked to suck. They both still had their pants on when Gavril pushed Cass onto his front and stretched out over him. ―God, yes. I want you to fuck me,‖ Cass blurted out. He always let stuff like that slip. One boyfriend had called him pushy. Cass preferred to think of it as being very clear about his needs and desires. Gavril groaned. ―I would like very much, but I do not think that is good idea.‖ ―But you said you wanted to make love all night.‖ ―I do not know you well enough for such activity.‖ That was insane. They‘d already talked about it, done the whole ―I don‘t usually do this‖ routine, although in Cass‘s case it was totally true, and he certainly hoped it was for Gavril too, but he wasn‘t going to be picky. They were semi-naked, writhing on the bed. Cass had been licked and sucked and nibbled everywhere above the waist, and had done his best to cover as much territory as he could on Gavril, who had at some point wriggled out of his shirt and was now displaying the vastest and most delectable expanse of upper body skin Cass had ever been in a bed with. What more did he need to know? ―I am afraid to control self if I do that.‖ Ah, the old ―I‘ll lose control if I fuck you‖ ploy. Wait, that wasn‘t an old ploy. It wasn‘t a ploy at all. Most guys were more than eager to fuck Cass, often before Cass was fully willing to do so. They never refused, once he said he wanted it. ―I must learn your body more,‖ Gavril said. Cass twisted and flipped himself onto his back, still underneath Gavril. He spread his legs wide. ―What do you need to know?‖ he asked. Gavril wore a look of intense seriousness for a moment, but the wolfish grin could not be contained. ―First, if you like to be bottom.‖ Cass nodded. He loved to be bottom. ―That‘s my favorite thing to be,‖ he said.
Close Distance Education | 279 Gavril sighed. ―You could be perfect man. But I need to know what happens when you get ready to come.‖ ―Why?‖ Gavril didn‘t answer. His mouth was trailing down Cass‘s stomach by the time Cass finished the question. He tugged Cass‘s pants down and caught Cass‘s cock in his mouth as he freed it. God, yes, he gave great head. Cass tilted his head back and let out a moan. Gavril did not let up, not for a second. He attacked Cass‘s cock with the same diligence and attention to detail that he‘d shown in the business plan. His plan, in this case, seemed to be to bring Cass to the very edge of orgasm as fast as possible, and then nudge him this way and that, memorizing every response, every reaction. There was the odd noise from Gavril, a grunt or ―mmm,‖ as if that would help him remember. As if there was going to be a test. Cass wanted to yell something. He was, in a way, grateful that all that came out of him were noises, loud and potentially embarrassing as they were, because what words could anyone say in that situation that wouldn‘t sound like a bad porn movie? The moans were only potentially embarrassing because none of them lived up to that potential; each one only spurred Gavril on to even better head, until Cass had no choice but to urge Gavril to let him go all the way. He dug his heels into Gavril‘s broad back and managed a single word. ―Please.‖ Gavril acquiesced. He stopped his wandering hands and planted them firmly on Cass‘s narrow hips. He pressed his nose against Cass‘s stomach, taking Cass‘s cock all the way into his throat. His throat muscles moved, squeezed, milked, and the edge disappeared. Cass was in a freefall. Gavril held him until he was safely on the ground again. ―Jesus, fuck,‖ Cass mumbled. Gavril crawled back up his body and lay next to him. ―Very interesting,‖ he said, smile never fading. ―Fuck, Jesus,‖ Cass said. ―I said you would be perfect dessert. I like to prove to be correct.‖ Cass melted into the mattress. The plush expensive mattress in the plush expensive hotel room. This wasn‘t his, but he sure was enjoying it. Was this how a gigolo felt? Not a bad way to feel at all. It was his turn to
280 | Dar Mavison do some work, though. He struggled to regain control of his limp limbs. ―No, you lie down.‖ ―But it‘s my turn….‖ ―There are no turns. I have great satisfaction from this,‖ Gavril insisted. He licked his lips. ―Really, best dessert.‖ He spread one hand over Cass‘s chest and pressed him down on the mattress. ―You rest.‖ ―I don‘t need rest.‖ Gavril laughed. ―I think you do, after what I did.‖ Maybe if things had been reversed, if Cass had been the one doing the blowing, Gavril would have been done in for the night. Fine, Cass could accept that. Youth has its advantages, after all. But he wasn‘t done in, not at all. His legs were a bit noodly and his arms were floppy, but he had it in him to give as good as he‘d got. He surged up off the bed and flipped over so he lay on top of Gavril. ―You promised.‖ ―I said I make love to you all night. I have not spent near enough time on your legs,‖ Gavril said, running his huge hands up and down Cass‘s thighs. ―You haven‘t spent enough time between my legs,‖ Cass corrected him. ―And I haven‘t tasted nearly enough of you.‖ He slid down as gracefully as he could. Gavril was still trapped in his pants, and it looked like an increasingly uncomfortable situation. He tugged the pants down and was rewarded with the sight of a perfectly proportioned cock. Given Gavril‘s height, that made it a bit larger than average, but Cass didn‘t care about averages when a cock like that presented itself, curved gracefully enough to make Cass do a visualization experiment. The length, the girth, the curve, Cass‘s body, the location of Cass‘s prostate…. ―Jesus, fuck,‖ Cass said. ―You say that often.‖ ―You‘re fucking perfect.‖ Gavril shifted his hips, maybe from tension, maybe from nerves. ―Perfect for fucking,‖ Cass said. It would be. He leaned closer and licked up the length of it. There was a lot more to do, a lot more to taste. Chest and arms and back and ass and legs and belly. They would have to
Close Distance Education | 281 wait. Cass was not ordinarily so cock-oriented—he preferred a wholebody experience—but he also knew what he liked. This cock was shaped as if someone had taken a mold of Cass‘s body and constructed Gavril to order. ―It must be fate,‖ Cass said. ―Fate?‖ ―You, me. We take the same class. We‘re in the same group. You‘re in my city. It‘s some kind of fate.‖ ―I do not believe in such things.‖ ―If you have a condom, I‘ll prove it to you.‖ There was a condom in Gavril‘s suitcase, a single condom, along with a small tube of lube, which Cass wasted no time smearing on himself, slipping a finger inside while Gavril watched, not smiling now—more like gaping. ―I told you I love to be bottom,‖ Cass grinned. He gave Gavril‘s cock a quick suck before unrolling the condom down the length of it and smearing some more lube around. ―You lie back….‖ Cass straddled him and positioned himself. ―Fuck! Jesus!‖ Gavril yelled as Cass lowered himself. ―Cassidy!‖ The stretch was intense, but Cass had enough experience to know exactly how fast he could move and how hard he could push. Sure, it would have been nice to have a little more play before the main event, but he wanted so badly he didn‘t want the wait. ―Need it now,‖ he said, settling down. His calculations had been absolutely correct. Gavril was the perfect size, the perfect shape. Cass only had to rise up on his knees a few inches to get a delicious, exquisite, breath-taking sensation that made his body ripple from tip to toe. ―Fate, yes, I understand,‖ Gavril said. Cass arched his back to change the angle. ―Jesus! Fuck!‖ Gavril moaned. Cass wanted to shout with joy when Gavril sat up with his arms wrapped around Cass‘s back, mouth secured to his neck. He was going to have one hell of a love bite in the morning. He rocked, gently at first, gaining speed and intensity. Cass‘s cock was rubbed and scraped by
282 | Dar Mavison Gavril‘s stomach and hair, lush thick body hair, solid thick muscles, hard thrusting cock hitting him in every spot that felt good and a few he hadn‘t known he had. Yes, fate. Fate wouldn‘t let this last too long. Gavril would leave town, Cass would start a new semester, and life would go on as it had. But for one night everything would be perfect. And when Cass got close to coming, Gavril recognized the signs and held him closer, thrusting up inside him harder, faster. Perfect.
CASS heard a strange sound, so much like Gavril‘s voice but with more varied tones. He squinted at the morning sun and made out the shape of Gavril, wrapped in a thick robe, standing at the window and talking on the phone. In Mandarin. How was that for international man of mysteryness? Gavril gestured against the sunlight and went silent for a moment. He turned and looked at Cass. He spoke sharply into the phone and hung up. ―I did not mean to wake you.‖ Cass sat up. ―I had shower. I was somewhat….‖ Sticky. Probably crusty by morning. Yeah, Cass had come all over his belly, and they‘d ended up wrapped around each other for a while before Cass disposed of the condom and cleaned himself up. Gavril was still lying on his back with a half-smug, half-blissed out grin on his face when Cass went back to the bed, and there had been no reason to disturb him. Now it was morning and Gavril had business to take care of. That‘s what he did. He was a businessman. ―I should probably go,‖ Cass said. He wondered where his pants were. ―No, please,‖ Gavril sat next to him. ―You do not have to leave. It is Saturday morning, beautiful day outside. We can have breakfast or do whatever you want, yes?‖ It was a tempting offer, and Gavril looked just as good today as he had yesterday, and Cass could easily see wanting him again and again
Close Distance Education | 283 and again, but Cass didn‘t see why he should delay the inevitable. It would be easier to end things sooner rather than later. Crap. Gavril pulled the sheet down and exposed Cass‘s hip. He leaned down and kissed it. Great lips. Great everything, really. ―I learned much last night, but there is so much more to learn.‖ ―Don‘t you have to leave town?‖ ―In a few days, yes. In that time, I will conduct business and purchase home. I will travel back in September for more business. I believe condominium will be available by then.‖ ―Condo?‖ ―Yes, I told you I want to do business here. I was speaking on phone to business associate Mr. Zhen of Richmond Hill, north of this city.‖ ―I know where Richmond Hill is.‖ ―Then you will know there is prosperous community and many contacts eager to return treasures to homeland. I will be working from Toronto perhaps thirty percent of time, perhaps forty.‖ Thirty-five percent of the time. A third. Every third week. Or on weekends. Long weekends. ―I wish I can see you when I am here, but I cannot ask of you yet. You do not know me enough to make such decision. I want you to know better.‖ ―You want me to… go on dates with you?‖ Men liked to show off Cass as their date. ―If you like to go out. I think you like to stay in as much.‖ Of course Gavril wanted to stay in. That was the other things men wanted to do with Cass. ―You want me to have sex with you.‖ ―I will not lie to you, Cass. I want sex with you, but that is not my only goal. I want what you want.‖ ―What if I want to end this right now?‖ Cass asked, in what he could only attribute to a nervous reaction to unaccustomed honesty. Gavril frowned. ―That would make me very sad.‖ The last thing Cass wanted was to make Gavril sad, but he also
284 | Dar Mavison didn‘t want some rich businessman breezing into town whenever he felt like having sex. Jenni would say that if that was Cass‘s worst problem, he should shut the hell up and enjoy himself. But then, Jenni was actively looking for a sugar momma so she could pursue her dream of being a world-famous computer-based artist. Not that Gavril had made any sort of proposition along those lines. ―I don‘t want to end it,‖ Cass said quickly. ―Don‘t be sad. I just need some time to adjust my thinking.‖ ―Adjust to what? It is age, is it not? A problem.‖ Gavril looked down at the floor. ―I spend so much of my life doing what is expected of me, and I finally get free of bad marriage and lousy job, I get freedom and money, and I am too old to enjoy.‖ Whoa! Hold the phone. Bad marriage? ―So you do have a family.‖ Gavril huffed. ―Wife from hometown who hates me. Now ex-wife. Sleeping with my brother, can you believe it? While I travel for work! I never want to marry her in first place, but one has to do right thing.‖ Shit. She must have been knocked up. The kid could be Cass‘s age. ―Our fathers promise we will marry back when we are babies. After my father died, it was like a part of will. But we do not get along. She is… well, she is a she, and I do not want woman, but there is family honor at stake. She is married with my brother now, and I talk to none of them.‖ ―Wow.‖ ―Wow?‖ ―Yeah, wow. I mean, that‘s heavy.‖ ―I do not understand.‖ ―How long were you married for?‖ ―Twelve years. And you know what? We sleep together four times.‖ ―Once every three years?‖ ―No, all in first month. She doesn‘t like me. She likes my brother. He is tall and handsome.‖ ―Gavril, I don‘t know how much more tall and handsome you could be. Honestly.‖
Close Distance Education | 285 Gavril opened the top of his robe and looked down. ―I was scrawny young man, Cass. Slender, like you, maybe even more. I did not get fit until after divorce. I look like this only for past ten years or so, when I decide to live life as I want.‖ Cass stared at the broad chest and dark hair and firm stomach and the bulge of cock under the white robe. Ten years of working out and desire. ―Now is too late?‖ Gavril sighed. ―You‘re not old. You‘re mature,‖ Cass said. ―I already told you that.‖ ―But too old for you.‖ Cass calculated. Twelve years married, approximately ten years of working out and, presumably, being out. Twenty-two years. That was exactly as long as Cass had been alive. ―How old were you when you got married?‖ ―Twenty-two,‖ Gavril said gloomily. Forty-two. Twenty years older than Cass. ―Wow.‖ ―Yes, wow indeed. You said it, Cassidy.‖ ―How many men have you… never mind. That‘s none of my business.‖ ―Not as many as you think. My first was older man, very knowledgeable. He taught me things like I do with you. Since then, a few, but no one I trust.‖ ―And you trust me?‖ ―Should I not?‖ ―I could be after your money.‖ ―So many are. They do not care for me. They like my money.‖ ―You have a lot to learn about picking up young men, Gavril.‖ Gavril sighed again. ―I know.‖ Cass slid his hand into Gavril‘s robe. ―I think you should practice. On me.‖ ―You?‖
286 | Dar Mavison ―Every single day.‖ Gavril‘s face broke into a grin, more boyish than wolfish. ―Really?‖ ―You have a few days left in town. I say you should start by taking me out for breakfast. But no fancy restaurant. We go where I hang out. Dress casual. I don‘t think anyone has ever walked into the Future Bakery in a suit that costs as much as a laptop.‖
WHILE Gavril did not quite fit in with the students and bike couriers and local artists scarfing down cheap omelets and rye bread at the café, he did not look entirely out of place in a pair of soft, well-worn jeans and a grey t-shirt. Everything he owned was soft blue or grey, which went so well with his smooth tanned skin and his dark eyes. Jenni‘s eyes went a mile wide when she walked in the door. Cass got up to head her off. ―That‘s him?‖ Cass nodded. ―Wow. Even I can tell he‘s hot.‖ ―He thinks he‘s too old for me.‖ ―Fuck age, Donne. He‘s a hottie. And rich, if he‘s staying at the Intercontinental.‖ ―I don‘t care about that.‖ ―You will when he spends it on you.‖ He wouldn‘t. He wouldn‘t care at all. Of course, Gavril had paid for breakfast. The whole thing had cost less than an appetizer the night before, but he insisted. Cass had prayed he wouldn‘t pull out a hundred and need change, but Gavril had a twenty and a five. (Most generous tip they‘d seen at the counter in years.) He sat by the window, sipping coffee and looking like a regular guy. He could have been an architect on his day off. Then he got up, gave a slight bow and kissed Jenni‘s hand. ―Ah, the computer expert. So charming to make your acquaintance.‖ Jenni giggled and leaned over, pretending to reach for a napkin. ―Old world charm,‖ she snickered. ―Donne, I need coffee. Get it for me, or I tell Gavril embarrassing first-year stories.‖
Close Distance Education | 287 There was a line-up. Cass seethed, hotter than Jenni‘s coffee, while she chatted with Gavril. She kept gesturing toward Cass, and Gavril kept looking over and smiling. Why had he agreed to meet her here? By the time he got back to the table, Jenni had her hand on Gavril‘s forearm and was leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Gavril looked up with the boyish grin. ―It is so wonderful to meet your friend.‖ Oh, crap. They were bonding. ―He‘s convinced me his intentions are honorable, and I give him my seal of approval.‖ Jenni mimed stamping Gavril on the forehead. Cass imagined letters spelling out ―grade-A beef.‖ Gavril excused himself to answer his cell phone. He walked to a corner of the café where he would not disturb anyone. ―He‘s terribly polite,‖ Jenni observed. ―He‘s terribly everything,‖ Cass said. ―I think I may be falling for him.‖ ―Well, he certainly fell for you, Donne. In his mind, he‘s got a few months of wooing to go and you‘ll move into his condo.‖ ―He said that?‖ ―Not in so many words.‖ ―Oh, no. I don‘t want to be that guy.‖ ―What guy?‖ ―Young man with sugar daddy.‖ ―Relax. He‘s not into you for the sex.‖ ―Oh, I suppose he said that not in so many words.‖ ―No, he said it in those exact words. He said he‘s dazzled by your beauty and can foresee himself becoming a slave to your every desire, but first he wants to read your thesis.‖ ―What thesis?‖ ―You know, when you go for your PhD.‖ ―Who said I‘m doing a PhD? Who said I‘ll even be able to afford graduate work?‖ ―He says you‘ll have an unparalleled opportunity to do research
288 | Dar Mavison when you go to Shanghai. Something about an apartment in the former French Concession. You didn‘t tell me you were planning to travel.‖ ―I wasn‘t….‖ Cass was torn between being angry and being thrilled. It wasn‘t Gavril‘s place to decide such things. But then, it was an amazing opportunity. And Cass knew Gavril would offer it, even at the risk of that being Cass‘s sole motivation. And who could argue with a slave to his every desire? Gavril returned to the table. ―Condo is mine at end of September,‖ he said. ―Wait until you see. It has marble bath and view of downtown.‖ On the other hand, if Cass decided he didn‘t want a condo with a marble bath and view of downtown, didn‘t want to go to Shanghai, didn‘t want to have a slave to his every desire, he could just say no. Gavril would accept that. He‘d be sad, but he wouldn‘t force Cass to do anything he didn‘t want. He knew for himself how miserable that made a person. Cass was free to say no. But on the other hand… he could always continue his distance education in Shanghai. With Gavril, who knew the city, and would take him out and show him off, or would entertain him at home and see to his every desire. There was a lot more to learn about Gavril. A lot more to explore. A lot more to taste. ―Sounds wonderful,‖ Cass said. He moved his chair closer to Gavril‘s. There were a lot of things to look forward to.
Close Distance Education | 289 About the Author
DAR MAVISON lives and writes in Toronto in a household full of punks, animals, books, musical instruments, and subversive attitudes. Sex has always been a common, not to mention favorite, writing theme. As a proud Canadian, Dar probes issues of identity in just about every tale. Dar has worked in construction, copywriting, health care, the psychic industry, mainstream pornography, and web retailing but always returns to writing. First love, last love. Visit Dar's blog at http://darmavison.wordpress.com or send e-mail to
[email protected].
Brazos Mud and Horn Rimmed Glasses
―WILLIE all right?‖ TJ stuffed the last of a Stop-n-Go pizza roll between his teeth and shrugged off his faded jean jacket. Piss-poor excuse for dinner, but a last-minute lumber delivery meant he‘d had to come straight to this job from the worksite. ―I reckon.‖ Duncan scowled. ―Knocked the safety on his nailgun— drove a spike through his kneecap. First thing this morning.‖ He shuffled a page of the housekeeping schedule. ―Dumbass motherfucker.‖ ―Well, hell.‖ Wincing, TJ hung his jacket on a breakroom peg and picked at a loose thread along the collar. Could‘ve just as easily been him. A cascade of two-by-sixes, the twitch of a power tool—hell, a misstep along a crossbeam—construction sites were accidents waiting to happen. At least TJ didn‘t have three boys, appetites growin‘ to be as big as their daddy‘s. ―Lynda just got laid off, you know.‖ ―Yep. He‘ll get comp, but it ain‘t gonna be easy.‖ Duncan lifted his dingy Astros cap and scritched at the sparse hair on his scalp. ―Right. So I‘m moving you to Dougall Hall, third, fourth, and fifth floors. More rooms, but labs and offices mostly. Reckon you‘ll handle it just fine.‖ ―All right, then.‖
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TURNED out Dougall Hall was physical chemistry. TJ‘d have to google exactly what that meant next chance he got, but science, hot damn, that was beyond cool. In the month he‘d been moonlighting here, he‘d always done the poli-sci wing. Not that TJ had anything against that, just chemistry was Discovery Channel sweet, and as he wheeled the utility cart into the carpeted hall, he wondered what the brains here were researching. The next plastic maybe. He‘d seen where running out of oil meant running out of plastics, which was medicine and computers and plumbing, and damn, but a man was surrounded by plastic, and it was chemists who were going to fix that. Or maybe that Professor—TJ squinted at the nameplate on a door—that Professor Hach there, maybe he was figuring out fusion, going to solve all the energy problems of the future, and global climate while he was at it. Maybe. And here TJ was, touching it all, drinking the same water, breathing the same air. ―Horseshit.‖ Had to laugh at himself. Just like a little kid sometimes. Bathrooms. He liked to get that done right off. He knocked at the ladies‘ room door. ―All clear?‖ It was empty, the whole damn building seemed empty from the third floor, and he sprayed and swirled and flushed and wiped, then checked paper and mopped, and that wasn‘t too bad, now was it? Get away from the crush of students and lecture halls, and the toilets didn‘t stink like public port-a-potties. He finished the men‘s room, then the two at the other end of the building, and only saw the occasional person—graduate students, he thought, banging in and out of laboratory doors at odd intervals, with white lab coats, goggles hanging from a button hole or perched on a head. Faded jeans and sneakers. Some gave him a wave or a nod. One gal said hello, asked his name, where Willie was. He told her, but didn‘t make a deal of it because it wasn‘t as if she really wanted to know. Just, got hurt, he’ll be back, and she seemed satisfied with that. ―Carol, Carol, Carol,‖ he muttered as he let himself into offices and emptied waste cans. Paper in one bin, trash in the other, pick out the soda cans to put in
292 | Eve Ocotillo with recycling. Committing her name to memory so he could say it if she was friendly again. Of course, most of the traffic ignored him entirely, and that was all right. Better that they concentrated on their studies than waste precious time jawin‘ with the dumb hick in housekeeping. About halfway down the hall, he keyed an office and let himself in. The light snapped on as he entered. That was usual. ―Good evening,‖ a voice said. And because that wasn’t, TJ damn near jumped out of his shorts. ―Oh hell. I‘m sorry. Just emptying the trash.‖ TJ glanced over to where a man sat behind his desk. ―Sorry to bother you.‖ ―It‘s not a bother.‖ Voice like rich suede, pretty and masculine all at once. He was a Black man—which went against all of TJ‘s notions of genius chemists, but what did he know? And young—could‘ve been a student himself. Except here he was, and he was dressed nice—tan chinos, blue button-down with the cuffs rolled up and the top button undone, white undershirt peeking out the top. Pristine, not a wrinkle or sweat stain to be seen. And he just had that look—a cool grace. Something that said he belonged there. ―Uh,‖ TJ said, at a rare loss for words. He‘d never seen science and brains as a sexual fetish, but just now, there was no doubt in his mind that his bedtime wanks were about to take a sharp left into the classroom. And Jesus H., but that was so wrong. ―The light was out?‖ ―Yeah.‖ The man smiled self-consciously and glanced up at a light fixture. ―They have these motion sensors, and I get tired of waving….‖ Oh fuck, that was hot. So swallowed by deep thoughts that the world went away. TJ grinned. ―Well. Not like you need a light for the computer, right?‖ A boner, TJ had sprung a damn boner. ―I‘ll be out of your way in just a sec.‖ ―Thanks.‖ The man flashed a quick smile then looked away, back toward his monitor, blinking owlishly. Even white teeth, brilliant set against skin like cinnamon, smooth. TJ scooped up the waste bins and carted them outside. Emptied them, brought them back, set them down where he‘d got them, then snicked the door silently shut as he left. The man‘s eyes followed him all the way.
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DR. D.A. Garza. Or would it be Professor Garza? TJ squinted at the nameplate, wishing he understood how the formalities went. Professor, he decided. This time, he gave the door a quick rap with his knuckles as he inserted the key. Probably vacant tonight, but just being sure. As he turned the key though, the smooth voice filtered through. ―Yes? Come on in.‖ ―Just picking up the trash.‖ TJ stepped in, toed the wedge under the door. ―How you doing this evening, Professor Garza? Stayin‘ late again?‖ ―Oh. Yes.‖ The professor made as though to stand up, then seemed to think better of it. ―Behind on grade sheets.‖ In chinos again, but the shirt was a deep, thick red, and Christ, but it looked damn good with those eyes—dark brown, like hot spiced coffee, a little tilt to them, which yeah, ―Garza‖ meant he was Hispanic or something, right, so that kind of made sense. TJ picked up a bin, took it to the door. ―You work late a lot?‖ ―Usually.‖ Professor Garza blinked, then ran a palm along the black crop of his hair. ―Can‘t seem to get the hang of all this as fast as I should.‖ ―You new here?‖ He nodded. ―First semester.‖ ―Well, welcome then. And as to that….‖ TJ nodded toward the man‘s work and grinned. ―Better you than me. You take care of yourself now, hear?‖ He eased the door shut again. Wasn‘t going to talk the man‘s ear off. Just a little taste of candy when he could.
IT CONTINUED like that for a while, easy howdy-do‘s exchanged until one night, a couple weeks down the road, Professor Garza said, ―What‘s your name?‖ ―Me? Well now. If you‘re looking to report me for yappin‘ my trap, I‘m Tracy Jamison. But most folks just call me TJ.‖ ―You don‘t yap.‖ TJ laughed. ―You just ain‘t got me started yet, Professor Garza.‖ He generally tried to talk all squeaky clean and smart for the professor,
294 | Eve Ocotillo but some comments just called for letting the hick out to play. Must have worked because Professor Garza smiled. Looking all cool, except that his long fingers were sort of tapping at his keyboard like he was anxious to get back to whatever he‘d been doing. But maybe that wasn‘t it, because the next thing he said was, ―You should call me Danny.‖ TJ frowned, serious again. ―Doesn‘t seem right.‖ It didn‘t; TJ wasn‘t just bullshitting the man. Hell, he‘d worked damn hard to get where he was, made sacrifices TJ couldn‘t guess at. He deserved respect for that. ―You‘re not a student, right? You‘re not my student, anyway. More like—‖ He stopped, then said, ―Call me Danny.‖ ―That short for Daniel?‖ ―Yeah. I guess. I mean, yes. It is.‖ ―Okay. Daniel, then.‖ Daniel smiled.
AYEP. The fantasies grew like wild hairs. Hard not to take each facial expression and imagine what it‘d look like with Daniel on his back, or stretching over TJ. Or squatting between TJ‘s legs. That dazed expression that he got when TJ interrupted a hard concentration. The way his brow furrowed sometimes, that line between his eyes. The secret smiles, as though he was trying hard not to laugh, to stay cool when TJ cut up. Some nights, TJ‘d fall asleep conjuring what was beneath those perfectly pressed clothes. Bet his prick was gorgeous. Like him, maybe, long and slim—pretty, silken, and smooth. Hard, guh. Cut, he thought. Cut and clean, with a neat thatch of crisp black hair that curled at the base. Flat stomach, maybe just the hint of a belly, and tight brown nipples in a chest smooth as a baby‘s, brown as milked coffee. It‘d look pretty with pearl beads, that he knew for sure, and the rest? Well, the rest didn‘t really matter. Hairy, smooth, cut, uncut, beer can or longneck, fuck yeah. It was all good. All TJ wanted in life was a chance to crack that cool and turn that concentration into a shuddering groan.
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―HEY, so, I heard this show today.‖ Daniel looked up from his work, and TJ felt a little bad about cutting into his concentration. But not too bad. He could be selfish that way. ―Show?‖ ―Yep. On the radio. It was about smell. And what it is. I guess science doesn‘t really understand how it works, right? But, it‘s all about chemistry, and apparently our noses have these sensors for different parts of molecules. And then our brains can put the different parts together and identify a smell.‖ TJ paused, thinking he was probably just making an ass out of himself, but it was something to talk about, and hell, he‘d started now, so he pushed on. ―And they said that something like two percent of our DNA is devoted to smell. Which seems small, but I guess if you figure all the other stuff our genes have to hold, that‘s a lot.‖ ―It‘s a lot, yeah.‖ ―So you know all about that?‖ Whoa. ―No. Just, yeah, two percent would be a lot of a gene‘s encoding, but no, that‘s not really my field. Sorry.‖ And Daniel looked sorry, as though he‘d let TJ down. Which was all kinds of sweet, but all TJ really wanted was something to break the ice. ―So what is your field?‖ ―Uh. I look at really simple molecules. Ions really, which is sort of like pieces of molecules, or sometimes just atoms.‖ ―With charges, right? I remember that from TV. It‘s electrical, and it‘s because of an imbalance of electrons and… those other thingamabobs… positrons.‖ ―Protons,‖ Daniel corrected, and TJ figured that smile was the one he gave his students when they got something right. ―It is. Yes, exactly.‖ Daniel leaned back a little from his computer and grabbed his coffee cup. He made like to drink from it, but realized it was empty and set it down. ―So yeah. Compounds that dissolve in water—they do that with certain rules, and predicting those rules is part of what I study. Aqueous chemistry, it‘s called.‖ ―That‘s cool.‖
296 | Eve Ocotillo ―Well. Nobody‘ll be doing a show on it anytime soon. I‘m afraid it‘s pretty dull.‖ ―You don‘t think so though, do you?‖ Ah. The smile, a restrained twitch at one corner of his mouth. ―No, I guess I don‘t.‖ ―Yeah. Well, I know that scientists can‘t just study the stuff that makes the money right away. Or that gets everyone all excited. If you want to invent new drugs, you have to have the background knowledge to do it. So that‘s what you do, right? You‘re like the guy who pours the foundation. Or the framer.‖ ―That‘s… fair.‖ For a moment there, TJ wondered if he‘d sprouted a new head, the way Daniel stared at him. But the moment broke, and TJ figured he‘d embarrassed himself enough. Comparing science to carpentry, what a maroon. ―Okay. Well. I just thought that was cool.‖ He emptied the trash bins and let himself out.
MOST Saturdays, TJ worked, picking up odd jobs here and there, padding his safety net for the day it all went south. Not today, though. He‘d woken up to rain spoiling a patio lay, and that was fine, really, because Christ, he could use the break. He‘d spent the morning in the main university library, because it was close to home and he had privileges, and you needed Internet access to do any kind of business these days. He‘d looked over the university openings first, hoping that one day soon, a position would open in facilities. That would be cherry—benefits, security, surrounded by rarified air. Rarified air. Where‘d he get this shit? In the Union cafeteria now, TJ popped the last of his bear claw into his mouth, washed it down with the tepid dregs of twice-baked Folgers, and dug back into his book. He‘d been reading for a while, thinking that the middle was slowing down, but by God he‘d get through it, because Chris had warned him when he‘d loaned it, said the end made the middle worth the hike. He put a finger in-between the yellowing pages, careful with the taped
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 297 spine, and gazed across the quad. A slow drizzle now, and the air was all pearly and soft around the edges. Cool out there, but damn balmy compared to weeks past—spring was just around the corner. A figure approached, sprinting between buildings, then in the cafeteria door, cutting through to avoid the worst of the wet. Muscle shirt, face hidden by the terry of a towel rubbing his scalp dry, but TJ knew that frame, the hunch to his shoulders, the butter-smooth tone of his skin. ―Professor Garza!‖ TJ raised a hand as he called, using a formal address in this public place. Almost looked as if Daniel‘d been hiding from TJ, though that didn‘t seem like him at all… but no, Daniel gave him a smile and approached. ―Hi, TJ.‖ TJ couldn‘t hide the way his gaze travelled up Daniel‘s body. Disrespectful, he knew, but damn—what the man had been hiding. Shoulders and arms that were spare, but with a tight, sensuous curve, and veins that stood sharp from a recent workout. TJ coughed, and tore his eyes away. Been a while, has it? ―You just come from the gym?‖ ―Yeah,‖ Daniel muttered. He sat across the table from TJ and crossed his arms in front of himself, like he was cold. Or hiding. ―Too skinny. Trying to bulk up a little.‖ ―You don‘t need bulk. You look good, streamlined.‖ TJ wondered now, just how old was Daniel? The way he‘d shrunk in on himself just now, it was like he wore an adolescent scrawniness in his head. Christ, the man was fucking beautiful; he couldn‘t see that? ―Armor? What‘s that?‖ Daniel reached across the table, nudging TJ‘s book up to get a peek at the cover. A badass dude with a badass gun. ―Science fiction?‖ ―Yeah.‖ Now it was TJ‘s turn to feel sheepish. ―I know it‘s trash, but—‖ Daniel flashed a quick smile. ―I like trash too.‖ He traced a finger along the table. ―Mystery‘s my favorite flavor.‖ He let a puff of air go, small and breathy, but TJ reveled in it. Was the first time he‘d heard Daniel laugh. ―I like those ridiculous who-dun-its with old ladies and nerdy mystery writers with badass cop boyfriends.‖ TJ thought about that for a moment, and let it go. ―Hey, you want coffee? My treat.‖
298 | Eve Ocotillo They got coffee—out of a fresh carafe this time—and Daniel grabbed one of those pancake-sized raisin cookies to go with it. TJ dumped little cartons of no-cream creamer in his coffee and watched as the heat stirred it, thinking of Daniel‘s skin. Daniel drank his black. TJ said, ―You work on Saturdays?‖ Didn‘t seem right. Here all night and on weekends too. ―Yeah. Running experiments. Weekdays are consumed by classes. Pretty common for young faculty, you know.‖ He tore a piece off his cookie, placed the rest on a napkin. All fastidious and proper. ―How about you? You work on Saturdays?‖ ―Naw. Just using the library. Job hunting.‖ ―What do you do?‖ Daniel sucked the sweet and crumbs from his thumb, and TJ watched his full lips pucker, his tongue flick out. ―I mean. You don‘t really look like a janitor type. Um.‖ His cheeks darkened a little, and he cast his eyes back down to his cookie. ―I just mean, you look strong, you know. Like, I don‘t know. You lift more than my wastebasket.‖ TJ grinned at Daniel‘s obvious discomfort. Guess everyone‘s foot lodged in their mouth on occasion. ―Carpenter. I frame houses, mostly, but pick up other work when I can find it. Help make ends meet.‖ ―Other work?‖ Daniel wrapped slim fingers around his paper coffee cup, brought the rim to his lips and sipped. ―Handyman stuff. House repairs, remodels, cabinets. Was supposed to be putting in a patio this weekend.‖ ―A patio is carpentry?‖ ―Well, no. But I‘m not quite that much of a specialist.‖ ―So why‘re you job hunting?‖ ―Oh. Well, framing‘s hard work. Damn near crippled my uncle by the time he was fifty. I hurt my back last year, and it hasn‘t been quite right since. That and hitting thirty, I figure it‘s time I found something a little easier on the bones.‖ ―Besides carpentry….‖ ―Oh. Carpentry‘s fine, but hard-core construction—that‘s a young man‘s job.‖ TJ stripped the band from his pony tail, scritched his hair out, then pulled it back again. Daniel watched him from beneath lowered
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 299 lashes, and TJ pretended not to notice. Couldn‘t say he wasn‘t pleased, though. Kind of enjoyed preening for an appreciative audience, even if it did make him feel like a damn peacock. ―I‘m hoping to pick up a position here,‖ TJ confided. Not like it was some big, dark secret, but he hadn‘t told anyone that yet, and was surprised that he told Daniel now. ―Yeah? Is this a good place to work?‖ ―Well. It‘d be more secure than what I got now. And it comes with retirement and health insurance. Be needing that someday.‖ And surrounded by brains, not the good-old-boy bullshit and bigotry that ran in his circles. People he could learn from when he watched. ―You have kids?‖ ―Naw… nothing like that. Just me.‖ Yes, I’m gay. Come sit on my lap. ―That helps a lot.‖ ―Oh.‖ Daniel fell quiet and picked at his cookie. A good half of it remained. TJ took a sip of his coffee. Was nice, sitting here, talking to Daniel, like friends. ―You take classes here?‖ ―Me?‖ TJ damn near choked on his laugh. ―Hell no. I‘m not college material.‖ ―Of course you are. You‘re smart. And curious. Even a few courses in business and you could—‖ ―Naw. Hell, Daniel, I can‘t hardly read. Still move my lips, you know.‖ ―But—‖ ―Fetal alcohol or some shit, I swear, ‘cept Ma swears she wasn‘t drinking back then….‖ Daniel looked horrified. Not getting that, damn, bud, was a joke, really. Ah hell. ―It‘s all right. I‘m good with it, you know? I know people like you are picking up the slack. I build y‘all‘s homes, make sure y‘all can do the heavy thinking the rest of us need.‖ ―I—‖ ―You gonna finish that cookie or what?‖
300 | Eve Ocotillo
THE week of spring break was dead, students off terrorizing South Padre, giving the town a break of its own. For facilities, it was a time to do the carpets, scrub chairs and desks, stairs and walls. A different schedule and a break in the routine. It was Wednesday before TJ trawled the third floor of Dougall Hall again, this time with a vacuum cleaner and squirt bottle of a cleaner that smelled like Tang. Daniel‘s office was dark, of course, but it was also empty. Visiting family, probably, or just recharging at home. TJ gave it some TLC, feeling a bit Suzy Homemaker about it, but giving the clear surfaces an extra swipe, making sure the vacuum picked up the lint in the corner, sucking mummified roly-polys and gnats out of the window sill. Then he shut the door and moved on. Offices done, he started on the labs. Not much to do in those, empty the trash from the anterooms, that was it. Labs were sacred space, and the scientists—students and faculty alike—didn‘t want the rabble mucking with it. That was just fine by TJ; cabinets festooned with colorful numbered diamonds made him nervous. He reached the lab with the double doors and taped-up window, and tugged one open just when someone was coming out. And the evening grew significantly brighter. ―TJ!‖ Especially with that smile. In a pressed white lab coat, carelessly unbuttoned, Daniel just—dick like a piston, from zero to sixty in one-point-o-two. Blue glove on one hand, stripping the latex from the other, a pen behind one ear, and—TJ drew a breath. ―Well, howdy.‖ Play it cool. Jesus H., he needed this image imprinted on his wall. ―This your lab, Professor Garza?‖ TJ wanted a pinup calendar of twelve Daniels for Christmas—hell, last Christmas, and this snap right here would be January. ―It is.‖ Daniel gave a broad smile, openly proud, and TJ picked up the waste bin, held it in front of himself. Jesus. ―You wear glasses? I didn‘t know you wore glasses.‖ Horn-rimmed and rectangular, triple-X searing, man, could he fuck Daniel in those glasses, get fucked by those glasses? Down, boy, down.
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 301 Daniel flushed. ―I do,‖ he said, removing them. He rubbed at his eyes. ―Allergies, I think. I had to take out my contacts. Hate these things.‖ ―You look good in them,‖ TJ said. ―Right,‖ Daniel laughed, then replaced the glasses self-consciously, slender fingers spread to the hinges to adjust them on his nose. Geeks in glasses, who‘d‘a thunk it, but Daniel‘d just hit a kink square on. More likely created one. ―No, you do. Hot.‖ Then TJ retreated quickly, because he hadn‘t meant to be quite so bold, as if this were some seedy pickup joint and Daniel was hawking his wares. TJ dumped the trash, turning his back to Daniel for a moment, willing his randy prick to settle the fuck down. ―Surprised to see you here.‖ He set the bin back inside the lab. The lock clicked as the door shut. ―Figured you‘d be off with family, gone to the beach or something.‖ ―No.‖ Daniel leaned back against the wall, smiling vaguely. ―My parents are in Germany right now. Dad‘s doing his sabbatical there. Anyway, I have experiments running. And I like it here.‖ ―Do you?‖ TJ was unaccountably pleased to hear that. ―Don‘t think I ever met a Yank didn‘t complain about it.‖ ―The people are nice.‖ Daniel was staring at the floor, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his slacks. ―The winters are warm. Compared to Michigan, anyway.‖ The hall was silent for a moment before TJ remembered. ―Hey. Brought something. Wanted to show you.‖ He dug into the front pocket of his denims, extracted a handful of show-and-tell. He held out his palm. ―A weekend hobby of mine. In warm weather, anyhow.‖ Daniel bent over to look. ―Shells?‖ ―Fossils.‖ Daniel poked at a spirally one. ―That one‘s called exogyra. It‘s real common.‖ TJ rolled another with his finger. ―This one here‘s an ammonoid. They look like snails, but they‘re really more like squid. They went extinct with the dinosaurs.‖ ―Where‘d you get these?‖ Daniel had picked up a bryozoan, and was peering at the lacy structure through his glasses. ―That one‘s from ‘round about El Paso, but most of ‘em are from closer. This part of Texas is chock full of fossils—road cuts, cricks. Hell,
302 | Eve Ocotillo construction sites is one of the best places. That‘s how I got started.‖ Daniel placed the specimen he‘d been holding back in TJ‘s hand, then smiled self-consciously and rocked back on his heels. ―That‘s a pretty cool hobby.‖ ―Good excuse for sunshine and cold beer, more like.‖ TJ stuffed them back into his front pocket. ―Maybe I could show you sometime.‖ ―Maybe so.‖ Daniel frowned as he said it, wary-like, which splashed ice water on the rosy feeling of accomplishment that had begun to grow in TJ‘s chest. Stupid of him, thinking that nodding conversations meant anything more than friendly acquaintance. Really, when you got down to it, there wasn‘t a whole lot a man like Daniel would see in someone who cleaned toilets to get by. Then again, TJ considered as he wheeled his cart toward the elevator, it wasn‘t as if he‘d said no.
THAT Friday, Willie returned—leg still splinted, but mobile enough and desperate enough to pick up his night shift. Duncan‘s subsequent reorganization landed TJ in the math wing, which was fine, really. Math was no less amazing than science—he‘d seen some pretty cool shows on chaos and primes and other weird shit. But Daniel wasn‘t there, and though by and large faculty were pretty friendly to ―the help‖ all over campus, he‘d begun to think of Daniel as a friend. That first week, TJ passed by Daniel‘s office one evening at the end of his shift. As expected, Daniel was long gone. The next week, a downpour at the current jobsite brought quitting time early. Not good for the paycheck, but TJ got to campus early enough to pop in and say hello. Got a nice surprise when Daniel suggested coffee at the Union, though TJ hadn‘t been quite early enough to do that before his shift. But still. That Daniel‘d suggested it at all pretty much perked up TJ‘s day. Frustrating. The school wasn‘t huge—nothing like UT—but clearly big enough that for the next week, TJ didn‘t see hide nor hair of the man. He spent Friday night slouched on his sagging couch, playing Xbox and drinking Shiner ‘til it tasted like piss. Feeling sorry for himself, was all. Saturday morning came the epiphany. Or at least he hoped it was. He slept in a little and then nursed a mild hangover with potatoes, store-
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 303 brand breakfast links, and coffee. He was out of eggs. Around nine, he drove on over to Chris‘s workshop and spent a couple hours sanding the pieces of the play tables he was building for a daycare on Southside. Eleven thirty arrived and he bugged on out of there. Ran by Clarita‘s for a bag of the best damn Mexican food north of the Valley. The line was long, but moved quickly enough, and TJ pulled into E-Lot by twenty ‘til noon. Daniel‘s office door was open. Score. ―Professor Garza,‖ TJ announced as he entered. ―You really should take a weekend off now and then.‖ Damn glad he hadn‘t though, or TJ‘d be eating these things by himself. ―You ready for lunch?‖ After the initial start and bewildered squint, Daniel flashed a surprised smile that thoroughly dazzled TJ. He stood, said, ―Smells great,‖ and then peeked into the plain brown bag. A greasy spot had started to darken one side. ―What is it?‖ ―Gorditas,‖ TJ said. ―Clarita makes a picadillo filling that‘ll knock you off your feet.‖ Still smiling, Daniel said, ―What‘s a gordita?‖ He said the word funny, like it didn‘t quite fit on his tongue. ―You don‘t know what a gordita is?‖ ―Um. No?‖ ―Oh.‖ Didn‘t matter at all, just…. ―I‘m not Mexican, TJ.‖ Daniel frowned. Not like he was pissed, more like he was trying to work something out. ―Did you think I was Mexican? That this would be like, home-food or something?‖ ―No.‖ Actually. He hadn‘t thought at all. Just sort of assumed. ―I mean. Yeah, I guess I did.‖ Daniel didn‘t seem particularly annoyed, but it was hard to tell. He just plucked one of the pastries out of the bag. ―The ‗Garza‘ is Puerto Rican, but even that—I‘ve never been there. I only speak a little bit of Spanish.‖ ―Shit. That was stupid. I‘m sorry. Just, around here—‖ But Daniel laughed, an easy, friendly sound. ―It doesn‘t matter. I was just surprised.‖ ―I bet you get tired of—‖
304 | Eve Ocotillo ―No,‖ Daniel said. And now he reached and took a hold of TJ‘s wrist. Just a loose wrap, like a reassurance. ―It doesn‘t matter,‖ he said again, enunciating each word this time. ―All right. Okay.‖ TJ glanced down where Daniel held him. All his senses converged on that touch. A moment passed. Maybe two, and then Daniel seemed to realize what he was doing and snatched his hand back as though he‘d been burned. ―Sorry,‖ he said, lowering his eyes. He turned back to the table, embarrassed now, and TJ‘s mind raced, thinking of what to say, because the moment seemed significant, but he‘d never been much good at this kind of thing. ―No…,‖ was all he ended up saying, some mild protest of Daniel‘s apology. TJ still felt Daniel‘s touch, and realized he was rubbing that spot with his thumb. He caught Daniel‘s eye, saw a tentative smile, and then Daniel bit his lip. God, TJ wanted to lick that spot. But Daniel turned away. ―Gorditas, huh? Little fatties?‖ He tucked the one he‘d removed back into the bag. ―Why don‘t we go eat in the sun?‖
LUNCH was pleasant. A little nervous, a lot easy, warm sun, cool breeze, and meaningless conversation about food and families, South Texas and Michigan and the Caribbean. Driving back to the shop, TJ thought about the earlier exchange, the fingertips against his pulse, warm and alive. Been a long time since he‘d been touched quite that way. Like a promise venturing out from shadows. Thought about it again that evening in bed. Okay. So, more than thought about it—relived it, embellished it, let the touch spread until he creamed hot and thick on his belly. Yeah. Sunday, too, both the thinking and the jerking, until he‘d talked himself into doing something about it. Because it wasn‘t just him, couldn‘t be. For whatever reason, Daniel wanted TJ. TJ‘d been around enough to know. And maybe it was just slumming, or a chance to indulge some roughneck fantasy. Cowboy, maybe—TJ‘d run across that before. If that was all it was, then by God, TJ‘d grab his battered Stetson
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 305 and his tooled Tony Lamas and take Daniel two-steppin‘ at Rusty‘s, play it up for all it was worth. Even though TJ was beginning to think there was more to it from his end than a cross-class fetish. So by Monday, he had himself a plan and a speech, and all it came down to was waiting for one of these spring deluges to give him the time. That day was Thursday, as it turned out. Good, because whereas TJ didn‘t think of himself as particularly impatient, once his mind was made up on a course of action, by God he wanted to do it, and this waiting around was making him jumpy as a jackrabbit on acid. The rain started a little after two, just spitting on things at first, and the job supervisor kept them around, doing make-work under cover, waiting to see if it‘d let up. But the clouds rolled in, thick and dark, so that by three, rain was coming down in sheets, and the dusty ground had turned into a thick lime mud that was slicker than goose shit. The supervisor finally waved his hand in disgust. Whereupon TJ bolted to his truck, tossed his cooler in the back, and slid and shimmied his way on out of there, on home because he reckoned he had enough time for a shower and a change to something dry and presentable. A clean cotton button-down that was the same blue as his eyes, and nice Levi‘s, but not too nice, because he didn‘t want to look all Sunday supper, only someone presentable enough that a man with culture might not mind standing next to him. Ayep. He had it all planned out, the words, the gestures, even Daniel‘s responses, and the minute he ventured into that office, it all dried up like a new sprout in a west Texas drought. Head buzzing, hands trembling, a real mess. He bluffed his way through. ―Hey, Prof!‖ A pretty natural greeting he thought, so why did it sound more brash than casual today? ―TJ.‖ Daniel looked up from his monitor and smiled. Immediate this time, no look of confusion, like he was getting used to TJ just popping in. ―Rained out again?‖ He glanced toward his window and said, ―Wow. Guess so.‖ ―Yeah. Bet we‘ve had a couple inches in a couple hours. Low water crossing on the drive in is up six inches already.‖ Yammering again about nothing at all, something TJ was damn good at when he was putting shit off.
306 | Eve Ocotillo ―Huh,‖ was all Daniel said, and then the room fell silent but for the patter of rain on glass. TJ realized it was him who usually kept the ball rolling, and all of a sudden that worried him—made him question again whether this was all him. ―See,‖ TJ said, determined that he‘d get through this. ―I came to ask you somethin‘. Not just a howdy.‖ ―All right.‖ Daniel sat still for a moment, then squinted up at TJ and frowned. He got up, went to his office door, and closed it. ―That better?‖ he said. How he knew, or what he expected, TJ didn‘t know. Nerves must be showing through. ―Yeah. That‘s good. Thanks.‖ TJ glanced at Daniel as he sat, saw Daniel was chewing on his lip. Brows knitted. TJ sat too, on the edge of the chair that he imagined anxious students would sit in, and wiped his palms on the thighs of his pants. ―See,‖ he said again, then cleared his throat. ―I don‘t know if you wonder why I‘m coming around all of the time. I mean. To talk to you. Maybe you just think I‘m real friendly. Or a little crazy.‖ There‘d been a smooth lead-in in there somewhere, but damned if TJ could remember more than splinters of it now. Daniel shook his head fractionally, but stayed silent. He tapped his thumb against his knee. ―And maybe this is outta line, for all kinds of reasons, but….‖ More silence, and TJ was struck with this paralyzing fear that he‘d read Daniel all wrong, that he was just big city hip, metro or some shit like that. Or worse yet, closeted and repressed, and that possibility managed to pale the worry that Daniel might not be interested in pursuing something with an unsophisticated hick…. TJ took a deep breath. Ah hell. This was stupid. ―Look. I like you. I mean. A lot. Maybe I could take you out for dinner. A nice one, I mean.‖ Ha. Not nearly as nice as Daniel was accustomed to…. ―Or a movie‖—a fuck—―or something.‖ There. He‘d said it. And now Daniel was staring at him, wide-eyed, looking, oh shit, scared. He jerked his gaze away from TJ‘s back down to his keyboard, and mumbled something unintelligible. TJ, nerves strung high now, punched down the impulse to snap at him to, for fuck‘s sake, speak up. He said only, ―What‘d you say?‖ Daniel thunked his elbows on his desk and scrubbed his face
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 307 through his palms. ―Why?‖ he said, voice low. He looked out the window, where rain continued to spatter the panes, droplets running in meandering paths. ―Why?‖ TJ repeated. ―What do you…?‖ What the hell kind of question was that—why? Daniel turned to TJ, and his voice seemed to have gone up an octave when he said, ―Why would someone like you be interested in me?‖ So it was like that. TJ supposed he should feel some relief that the response wasn‘t a horrified freak-out, but all he felt was that sharp pang of a bone-deep disappointment, an affirmation that yes, Daniel saw the difference between them, and yes, it did matter to him. An angry shame sprung up in TJ, an undignified response, but he heard it escape from his lips anyway. ―I‘m not stupid, you know. I know I‘m not all educated and city cultured, but—‖ ―No!‖ Daniel said, more forcefully than TJ had heard him speak, ever. ―Not like that—‖ He cast a glance back at TJ, slid his eyes once up his frame. ―That‘s not what I meant. Just… geez, look at you. You‘re gorgeous, cut muscle, tattoos and work boots, blue eyes… a walking wet dream. And you‘re nice, and funny, and I‘m skinny and awkward and I just don‘t….‖ Daniel squeezed the bridge of his nose. ―Daniel, that‘s not—‖ ―Is this a trick?‖ A wha…? ―Like, is someone fucking with me… having a joke?‖ Daniel tapped at a key on his computer, as though he could hammer it in. ―Setting me up to look like a chump when I—‖ ―Daniel.‖ ―I mean, I don‘t get how, but—‖ ―Daniel!‖ Daniel stilled. TJ modulated his voice, kept it low, and tried to plug it with as much ―easy now‖ as he knew how. ―I don‘t do that to people. Would never. Maybe you were those things when you were growing up, and maybe you knew the kind of assholes that‘d pull that kind of shit. But
308 | Eve Ocotillo that ain‘t me, never was, and it ain‘t you anymore, neither. You are the hottest man I‘ve known in a long while….‖ He stopped, thought a second, then decided to simply be blunt. ―You know, every time I get around you, I spring a boner that could drive nails. Ain‘t you seen me hidin‘ them?‖ Daniel had been quiet, focused intently on his hands, but now the corner of his mouth crooked into a grasshopper-sized smirk. Well, good. This was getting far too somber for TJ‘s liking. ―And if you give me the chance, I‘ll tell you all of the reasons that‘s true.‖ ―Okay,‖ Daniel said, in barely a whisper. Then, stronger, he continued, ―I‘d like that. Going out, I mean… you don‘t have to—‖ ―Want to.‖ They fell silent for a moment, and TJ took a chance, reached over, and drew Daniel‘s hands into his, holding them loosely. Daniel‘s hands were trembling, but that was okay—so were TJ‘s. ―Look, I have to git.‖ He glanced up at the clock—five minutes to sprint across campus. He stood. ―Can I kiss you? Just a little one. An aperitif.‖ He‘d probably pronounced the word wrong, but what the hell, he liked it. Daniel‘s shoulders shook in a quiet laugh, and TJ grinned. He bent down, and Daniel tilted his head back. TJ took that as a yes, and kissed those full lips, warm and plush, opening just a fraction as Daniel relaxed and kissed back. No tongue, nothing like that, not yet anyhow. Just a slow, gentlemanly sealing of a promise. Five minutes later, when Duncan groused about his skidding in late, TJ just grinned, flicked the bill of Duncan‘s cap, and clocked in.
SATURDAY morning broke sunny and warm. TJ stumbled into the kitchen a little after eight and grinned as he poured water and a load of whole-bean into his hotshot new-fangled coffee machine. Still stupidhappy, despite the fact that on Friday, he‘d finally realized that he‘d never set up anything specific with Daniel. Somehow that detail had gotten lost in the weeds of the general plan. TJ drank his first cup with a bowl of instant oatmeal, sitting on the steps of the skinny little porch of his single-wide, blinking into the bright sun. He thought how pretty it was, how calm, with the insects chittering and grass rustling against brush. Good day for—
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 309 Oh, hell yes. He swallowed the rest of his coffee down, wincing at the burn, and darted back into the house, letting the screen door slam behind him. Didn‘t have a phone number even, and wasn‘t that stupid. No e-mail—hell, no Internet here anyway, and what the fuck, easiest thing was to just drop by. He poured another coffee, black this time because he‘d just run out of milk, then started up a fresh pot for the thermos. He showered and dressed, passed a quick razor over his jaw and swiped on some antistink, then packed up a spare change of clothes and flip-flops. Took a few minutes to find the big ice chest, but there it was, up high in the spare bedroom closet, and he tossed that and other gear in the back of his pickup. Out the door just shy of nine, trying not to whistle, because for all he knew, this‘d be the weekend that Daniel wouldn‘t go in. He parked in the loading dock, snapped his hazards on, and took the stairs by two. Realized as he let himself into the hall that his fingers were crossed, in a private expression of please, please, please. Daniel‘s door was propped open, and TJ knocked as he entered— more to slow his own ass down than out of politeness. ―Daniel.‖ ―Hey, TJ.‖ Daniel smiled wide, and boy howdy, didn‘t that look nice, now more than ever. ―What‘s up?‖ ―C‘mon. Let‘s go fossil hunting.‖ ―Fossil…?‖ ―Yeah. Place I know along the Brazos, a couple-hour drive from here. Best time to go is after a hard rain.‖ ―Couple of hours?‖ ―Yep.‖ TJ smiled, using his best charm—used to work on his Ma. ―We‘ll spend the day out there. I know a good place to camp. Can drive a little further and find petrified wood on Sunday before we come back. Or not, if you‘re in a hurry.‖ ―Camp? Like in a tent?‖ His eyes were big and round, and his voice gone a little soft. ―Naw. Back of my truck. I got an air mattress. You‘ll sleep like a baby. And now that I know you never camped before, I won‘t take no for an answer.‖
310 | Eve Ocotillo ―But….‖ He looked around his office, at a pile of papers on his desk. ―I‘ve got an experiment running.‖ Damn. ―Can you stop it?‖ ―No. Not really. Not without starting over, but….‖ Daniel chewed at his lip for a moment, and TJ kept his mouth shut, hoping. ―Are there snakes?‖ TJ laughed. ―No more than around here.‖ When Daniel frowned at that, TJ amended, ―Been going out there for years, and I‘ve never seen one. You want to see a rattler, we need to head up into hill country.‖ ―No, no. That‘s okay.‖ Daniel grinned, then he nodded once and said, ―Yeah, okay.‖ An enthusiasm began to light in his eyes. ―I can explain to Carol what to do. Time she learned it, anyway.‖ They didn‘t get on the road until noon. TJ made a supply run to the local H.E.B., grabbing sandwiches, chili fixings, ice and beer, while Daniel did his thing in the lab. A quick run by Daniel‘s for a change of clothes, and they were off. The day grew warmer still, inching up into the eighties. They pulled off for Slim Jims and a piss, then continued on until the turnoff that TJ knew. Another mile and a half along a rutted old farm track that paralleled the river, then left through the scrub and on until TJ found a clearing that looked friendly. ―Whose land is this?‖ TJ opened the ice chest, cracked a couple of Shiners, and passed one to Daniel. ―Some out of town developer, I expect.‖ He took a long swallow, liking how the cold burned at his throat, then sat to tie on his ratty old wading shoes. ―Don‘t worry. Been coming here for years—me, other fossil hunters. Even if they knew, I don‘t think they‘d care unless they started getting complaints about parties or guns.‖ Muddy was the word for it, no question about that. Squelching along the bank, Daniel grimaced with each step, jumping at each bug that flittered past him, his jaw set the whole time, like it was a test he was determined to pass, and TJ had just about lost heart, thinking that maybe he should have thought this through a little better. Then Daniel found his first shark‘s tooth. From there on out, it was fine. More than fine, really, as Daniel got sucked in, pawing through the crumbling shale, determined to find one of each that TJ‘d said was out
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 311 here, asking TJ questions about how old they were, what kind of place had been here, and how did they die. Then it was fish in the river, what kind and how big, and did TJ ever fish, and where did the river go to, until TJ started getting some idea of why Daniel had gone into science. And Daniel never once stopped hunting for fossils. Then it got good. Real good. It went like this. TJ‘d been interested in bringing down a teetering shelf of crumbling shale a couple feet above him. No good reason, just one of those ideas that you get in your head that you want to do, so you go off to do it. So he‘d stretched up, balancing one foot on a steep part of the bank, and pulled. Which was fine, except that the stuff was more ready to fall than he thought, so he slid in the wet clay, backward. Ended up doing that arm-twirly thing, like a Saturday morning cartoon, trying to keep his balance, but of course that never works as well as the old lizard brain thinks it should, and so he… fell. Sliding through the mud. Into the river. With a godawful squawk. Splat. And Daniel, the fucker, laughed. Not a chuckle. No. Wheezing, in a Sunday-school fit of sidecramping gales. TJ got up, shit-brown mud smeared up his side, and glowered. Which only made Daniel laugh harder. At that point, TJ realized that if he didn‘t want to start laughing too, he had to do something about it. So in one replay-worthy lunge, he brought Daniel down with him. That was one way to get his hands on the man. Daniel squealed—yes, squealed—as he dropped, but then gave damn near as good as he got. He didn‘t have TJ‘s strength, no, hauling two-by-sixes was a little different from shuffling test-tubes, but he was agile and quick, and so they squirmed on the bank there, and TJ was puffing before he finally got Daniel pinned, flat on his back and arms overhead, shirt riding up to reveal his belly. A flat, wet, belly. Or maybe Daniel just let him. TJ just didn‘t care how exactly it happened, only knew that when he ground his crotch against Daniel‘s, there was an answering hardness there, and an answering push. TJ flexed and dropped, slanting his mouth over Daniel‘s, and Christ, for an instant there, he‘d been determined to make this kiss gentle and slow, but
312 | Eve Ocotillo something in the way Daniel responded—in that moan, in the way he craned his neck to meet TJ—and all sense of sweet and light fled the coop. Hot, hard, teeth and tongues and long suppressed thirst, tasting skin, tasting Daniel and sweet beer and spring and sex and need. ―Jesus, Daniel,‖ TJ gritted out, just as Daniel whispered, ―TJ,‖ on the wings of a groan. And that was pretty much all the talking they did, unless you counted grunts, cries, the gnashing of teeth, and maybe, just maybe, the occasional curse. Wet Levi‘s, sticking like glue to damp skin, and while Daniel‘s fingers clamped onto TJ‘s ponytail like he might get away, TJ tackled their flies. Daniel‘s first, peeling back the denim and the cotton of his briefs, and God yes, his cock was fine. Dark and heavy and thick, cut, so that the crown stood proud and exposed. TJ fisted it once, drawing a wet bead into the slit, then wiped with his thumb and tasted, no longer smiling or laughing, just needing. He joined Daniel‘s cock with his own, side by side, slim lager next to stout, and he didn‘t think he‘d ever seen anything so damn hot in his life. Maybe Daniel agreed, because as TJ started stroking, both of them together, he stared down between them, wide-eyed and captivated, mouth parted, tonguing his lower lip. Sounds surrounded them, sex and not, insects clicking and buzzing, brush whispering, the river‘s soft slap at the banks. Skin scraping skin in a quickening rhythm, Daniel‘s breathing, his own, growing more insistent, more hoarse, more wet…. When Daniel stiffened, in that split moment before the crest hit, TJ bent, locked his mouth on Daniel‘s and captured his cry, eating the sounds of his climax, breathing him in, until Jesus, his own peak swamped him and he spurted, groaning, heat searing through limbs and out his prick to join Daniel‘s and mingle between his fingers. Took a minute. To catch his breath. Feel his legs again. Forehead tucked against Daniel‘s. ―Jesus,‖ Daniel said. ―He ain‘t here.‖ Damn. The water was cold. ―Left me in charge, though.‖ Daniel huffed a laugh. TJ rolled to one side, pushed himself up to kneeling. ―Christ. I‘m fucking freezing.‖
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 313 The sun was getting low, the sky all rosy. Daniel struggled upright. ―Yeah,‖ he said, his voice a little unsteady. TJ looked him over, saw he‘d started shivering, but Daniel grinned and said, ―You‘re a nut, you know that?‖ ―So I been told.‖ TJ snorted. ―C‘mon. Let‘s clean up and fix dinner.‖
HAMBURGER and chili powder and onions and canned pintos, slopped into a pan over a Coleman stove. Didn‘t get much easier than that, didn‘t get much better, especially when you added an ice-cold brew, dry socks, and more stars in the sky than you ever saw back in the I-35 corridor. TJ leaned back into the tire of his truck, enjoying the quiet backdrop, the static buzz of a country evening, enjoying even more the way Daniel‘s velvet-rough voice layered over it. ―Says here these are Eocene fossils.‖ Daniel‘s face, lit by the pearl glow of his fancy little smart-phone, furrowed in concentration. He wore his glasses now, said he‘d gotten mud in his eyes, and TJ couldn‘t say he was sorry, because the man looked so fine. ―Eocene, that‘s around… forty million years ago. Except that… wait… connection is slow….‖ Daniel‘s fingers poked at a button, slid a finger across the screen. TJ watched him, growing hard again as Daniel squinted, then turned the phone sidelong. Tipping back his bottle, TJ took a long cold swallow. ―That‘s not so old, not geologically. But sea level was higher, so the coast was around here. See, I have a map….‖ Daniel leaned forward to share the screen. Daniel looked up, saw TJ grinning at him. TJ couldn‘t see the flush, but could infer it easily enough as Daniel clicked off his phone and adjusted his glasses. ―Sorry,‖ he said. ―Guess that‘s not real… um. Romantic, is it?‖ ―No.‖ TJ pulled himself up to a crouch, set his longneck down, and then dropped to his knees, straddling Daniel, looming over him. The beer tipped over. ―I think it‘s hot, though.‖ ―Hot, huh?‖ Daniel laughed nervously. ―You telling me you have a thing for the socially inept?‖
314 | Eve Ocotillo The socially inept. Good Christ. Damn near as good as rarified air. ―Guess I do,‖ he said, and then muffled whatever wiseass comeback Daniel had with his mouth, hard, stabbing between those sweet lips with his tongue, holding Daniel‘s head between his palms, wanting to just rape this mouth, searing and wet, devour it whole. Daniel‘s groan rumbled from deep inside his chest, pained and needy, and his fingers scrambled at TJ‘s back, pushing up his shirt, tucking one hand down the waistband of his pants. No sound but the slap and slurp of mouths fucking, an occasional grunt. TJ pushed him back onto the ground and settled across his hips. ―Jesus, Daniel.‖ Spreading his fingers, he grasped Daniel‘s waist and ran his thumbs up the centerline of his torso. ―Snakes,‖ Daniel whispered, and then louder, while TJ was still trying to find the sense in that word. ―I‘m sorry, just, there might be snakes….‖ Fuck. TJ was just having no sense at all right now. He snorted. ―Glad one of us hasn‘t squirted all his brains out his dick.‖ He stood, held out a hand for a lift-up. ―Come on. Let‘s get comfortable.‖ They had to put it on hold while they rolled out the air mattress and waited for it to fill. TJ used the time to stow the dinner dishes. He set Daniel to the sleeping bags, unrolling them and shaking them out, and before they‘d gotten that done, the mattress was plump. TJ popped another beer, took a swallow, and handed it off to Daniel. Daniel accepted, settled on the tailgate, and TJ watched as he drank, tracking the lump of his apple as it rose and fell. Crossing his arms to his back, TJ grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. He liked the effect that had on Daniel‘s expression, so he followed that action with a flick to the top button of his Levi‘s. He tugged the zipper down a bit. No underwear this time, because why the fuck bother, so that what showed was all skin and a blond line of hair. Strutting. And there went that Adam‘s apple again, a hard bob, except this time the beer bottle had been at Daniel‘s side. ―You like?‖ TJ said. No secret to TJ that he got off on being admired. Was a turn-on when so much of your life was spent hiding. He liked the way a man‘s eyes could eat you alive, not coy, just hormonefueled animal, raw and blatant. Liked that he could do that. Liked that Daniel‘s eyes were transfixed, liked the tight nod.
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 315 TJ tucked a hand down, letting the fly drag down a little more, then pulled his cock up, long and hard, letting the tip peek out of the V in the denim. Daniel‘s gaze followed, dark and focused. ―Now you.‖ TJ moved in, tugged at Daniel‘s shirt, and pulled it off. ―Get on up there,‖ TJ said, referring to the mattress, and then followed on his knees. He pushed Daniel back, then went for his fly, fingers fumbling, wrenching the button, scraping down the zipper, and then tugging the denim down over those fine prominent hipbones, long legs. Fucking gorgeous, skin flawless, proportions like a god, fine, sleek muscle draped like silk over bone, dark nipples that pebbled in the night air. Cock tight and hard, resting across a gentle definition of abdominals. ―You took your glasses off.‖ ―Uh. Yeah. It‘s okay. I can see okay.‖ ―Naw, man. It‘s not about your vision. You gotta wear the glasses. Where are they?‖ TJ found them, and Daniel put them back on, laughing selfconsciously, but it wasn‘t funny, just dammnnn. ―Do you have any idea…,‖ TJ began, then paused as he ran a palm down Daniel‘s torso, tracing the curve of his waist, the swell of his ass, ―how goddamn sexy you are?‖ The burst of air was another anxious titter, TJ recognized the sound, but he had no room for teasing just now. Just wanted. Wanted. ―Want you.‖ Lips on that skin, warm, smooth. ―I brought stuff.‖ Biting gently at his pecs, needing to mark him, but some vestige of sanity telling him no. Not yet. Not cool. ―Can I fuck you? That okay?‖ Say yes, say yes. But God, Daniel had stopped laughing, started moaning, and now those long, strong thighs wrapped around TJ‘s waist, heels at his ass, dragging him closer, and if that wasn‘t a yes, then the, ―Yeah. More than okay,‖ hot and wet at his ear, was, and the ―Fuck me, TJ.‖ Yeah. That worked. TJ stretched over to one side. It took a few frustrated pats to find his duffle, where he knew he‘d put it so he‘d find it fast in the dark. In the end pocket, an accordion of slim packets and a fresh unopened tube, then up again, sitting back onto his heels. Daniel opened his legs and let them drape over TJ thighs as TJ prepped, tearing a wrapper and setting it
316 | Eve Ocotillo to one side, then a squirt, while Daniel ran one hand across his chest, another down TJ‘s arm. Tapping at the tight ring of muscle, coaxing it to relax, baby, relax. He rubbed a little more, watching Daniel, eager, the lizard brain wanting to just stab his dick in and fuck hard and deep, but also wary, beginning to feel protective, a bit awed at this chance. Didn‘t want to fuck it up. He breached, one finger, watched how Daniel sucked in a breath, felt the walls tighten around him. But only for a moment, and then Daniel‘s hole relaxed, and he opened his legs, clawing at TJ‘s arm, tilting his hips up, asking for more. Not a virgin then, thank fuck. He slid two more fingers in, wrapped his free hand around the base of Daniel‘s cock, then dropped and closed his mouth around it. A hoover move, sucking Daniel in toward his throat, then flicking his tongue up the base, toying at the slit. Finger-fucked him while he did that, warming Daniel up but good, ensuring he‘d be starving for dick by the time TJ impaled him. Fingers hooking, stretching the sphincter while they danced up walls and flirted with Daniel‘s gland. Listening to his body, feeling when it tightened, when it groaned, learning what did it for Daniel, until— ―TJ.‖ Daniel voice had gone rough and tight. ―Not now. In me.‖ Tugging at his balls while he pushed TJ away. Well, all right then. ―I aim to please.‖ Didn‘t take but a couple seconds to roll the latex on and grease himself up, then he gripped the base of his cock, lined up, and pushed. ―Guh.‖ Daniel‘s head went back, his eyes squeezed shut. His legs dropped back, and he lifted his hips, accommodating, finding that angle. TJ looked down, squinting a little, because it was pretty damn dark, but it was such a captivating sight, seeing the contrast of their skin, watching his ruddy prick get swallowed by Daniel‘s sweet coffee ass. ―All of it,‖ Daniel breathed. ―Want your dick in me.‖ Daniel‘s voice sounded steady enough, sure enough, that TJ complied, sliding into the snug warmth of home. ―Ah, fuck, Daniel.‖ Balls against ass. ―Feel so good.‖ Wanting to fuck, fuck, but waiting until the clench of Daniel‘s body let go, until Daniel said, ―Go.‖ And kicked at TJ‘s ass with his heel. ―Do it.‖ Good thing he didn‘t wear spurs.
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 317 ―Yee-haw,‖ TJ said, and did. Pulling out, feeling that resistance, the way Daniel‘s body sucked greedily at him, and back in, smooth. Nice long strokes, easy like a ballad. ―Harder.‖ Daniel was pulling at his own cock, squeezing tight. Christ, if that wasn‘t the hottest— ―Pound me.‖ No, that was. TJ did, letting go, fucking Daniel into tomorrow as sweat slicked them up, had them sliding together like the afternoon‘s mud, and TJ had to dig his fingers into Daniel like claws, looking for purchase. He reached for Daniel‘s cock, wanting to take him the rest of the way, but Daniel batted his hand away and growled. Growled. ―Harder, TJ,‖ his voice like gravel. ―God damn it.‖ And with a last tug on his cock, his body froze, and his ass clenched around TJ, fucking pulsing as spunk shot out of his dick, stringers of translucent cream draping his skin, over his chest, damn near up to his chin. Feeling the warm pull at his dick, watching how the tension shattered through Daniel‘s body, hearing the low whimpers between gulps of air… too much, and maybe TJ should‘ve waited ‘til it passed, but fuck, one and two, balls deep and grinding for more, and he crested, crashing on that shore with Daniel, tumbling down into the ultimate know-nothing-but-this.
―WAS never like that before.‖ Daniel wasn‘t swooning or anything, just talking matter-of-fact. Like he‘d been analyzing things in his mind for the last several minutes. ―Like what?‖ They were lying on the mattress, propped up against the cab, Daniel‘s head on TJ‘s chest, and sharing a new brew. Watching the stars. Or at least, TJ was watching the stars. They didn‘t move much, so it was relaxing. ―So… easy, I guess. And crazy. Where it just worked.‖ ―Other day, when we were talkin‘… I wondered if you might be a virgin.‖ TJ smiled to himself. ―You cured me of that notion right fast.‖ ―Disappointed?‖ ―Hell no. Relieved.‖ He took a swallow of the beer. ―Don‘t need that responsibility. Besides, I‘m hoping you‘re past the cattin‘ around
318 | Eve Ocotillo stage. Like to keep you to myself a bit.‖ ―Yeah?‖ Daniel squeezed at TJ‘s thigh, and TJ took that as a good sign, that that wasn‘t out of the question. ―Tell me about before.‖ TJ handed the bottle off to Daniel. ―If you want, I mean….‖ ―Okay. Yeah.‖ Daniel drank, and then was quiet for a moment. Getting his thoughts in order, TJ reckoned. ―I haven‘t done that much, really. I mean, you pretty much nailed what high school was like. Good part of college too. And I was a loner… I focused on studying. Living up to Mom and Dad‘s expectations, you know? Went clubbing a couple times, but I always ended up feeling a little bit sick after those kind of hookups. I don‘t know. Anyway. Aaron came along in grad school. He‘s a computer geek.‖ ―Sounds hot to me. He wear glasses too?‖ Daniel laughed, then wrapped his fingers around TJ‘s wrist. Just holding it loosely. ―He wasn‘t really. Just… he was there. Available and lonely. Think maybe he could say the same about me.‖ ―Doubt that.‖ ―The sex was… stilted. I mean, it‘s like the whole relationship was neurotic. Aaron had to be even, he‘d keep count of shit, who owed who a blowjob, who pitched, who caught. Everything had to be talked about and agreed on….‖ Daniel laughed all of a sudden. A real laugh that bubbled up and out of his chest. ―I mean, really. That mud down there, he‘d have had a hissy-fit.‖ TJ snorted. ―He doesn‘t know what he‘s missing.‖ ―Once I made the mistake of suggesting some playing around, and I got this whole Buddhist lecture on respect and equality and past trauma and stuff.‖ ―Buddhist?‖ TJ stole the beer back. ―No. Not really. I mean, he fancied himself like that, had books stacking his shelves, but that? That was just rationalizing his hang-ups.‖ ―Good thing we don‘t have any.‖ Daniel laughed again. TJ liked the sound, wanted to keep pulling them out of him. Daniel said, ―Aaron‘s okay, really. Just two misfits who needed somebody, so we made it work for a while. He got a job in
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 319 Detroit. Then a boyfriend. We still keep in touch.‖ Apparently done with his story, Daniel sat up and faced TJ. He reached for the beer, upended it and took a couple of swallows while TJ watched his throat work. ―So. What‘s this playin‘ around you were askin‘ for?‖ TJ dragged a knuckle down Daniel‘s sternum. ―You have a kinky side I should know about?‖ Daniel voiced a grunt of discomfort and drew his knees up to his chest. ―I guess. I mean. Not really. Just….‖ Daniel ran a tentative hand down TJ‘s arm, then traced a finger along the Eddie tat on his delt. Following the blue lines of the bandaging. ―Like when you wrestled me down. I mean, don‘t get the wrong idea—you hit me, I‘ll leave. But….‖ ―Anybody ever hits you, I‘ll kill the son-of-a-bitch,‖ TJ growled. ―And that includes me.‖ Daniel‘s faint smile signified amusement, TJ‘d guess, but TJ didn‘t care, it was the truth. Daniel said, ―Anyway. Aaron‘s probably right. Daddy issues or something, but damn, when you pinned me, I nearly creamed in my shorts.‖ TJ didn‘t bother masking the leer that he knew split his face. ―Oh yeah?‖ He pushed Daniel onto his back and followed him down, propping on an elbow to loom over him. He ran a flat palm up Daniel‘s warm torso, then flicked at a nipple with his fingernail. ―Roughneck forces the professor to blow him?‖ ―Geez,‖ Daniel breathed, and his hips bucked involuntarily skyward. Good thing to know. Smiling, TJ let his hand glide down to cup the evidence of Daniel‘s arousal. ―You know, just because you like a little power play now and then doesn‘t mean you‘ve got issues. Could be you just accept the animal part of ‗human animal‘, you think?‖ ―Maybe.‖ Daniel breathed a laugh, this one a little nervous again. Couldn‘t have that. TJ bent, slanted his mouth over Daniel‘s, and kissed him, all rough and domineering, until Daniel groaned and opened, selfconsciousness gone the way of spit on a hot skillet. TJ let up, trailed fingers over warm skin. Kind of nice this, with bodies sated by a couple good turns, enjoying the casual play of lovers. TJ drained the beer they‘d been sharing and tossed the bottle into a
320 | Eve Ocotillo corner. ―Think you could turn it around now and then?‖ ―Turn…?‖ Daniel‘s gaze lifted to TJ‘s, brown eyes questioning. ―Mild-mannered professor takes a ruler to the wiseass roughneck.‖ Those eyes widened. Guess he‘d never considered that before. ―Hell, I might take a few classes if it‘d get me that.‖ TJ plumped his pillow, then lay down on his side. ―Get bent over your desk, taking a few whacks before you plowed me.‖ Daniel hissed. ―Yeah,‖ TJ said, pleased to no end, even feeling a bit giddy. ―This could go somewhere. We can play fucked-up together, if you keep me around.‖ He pulled Daniel‘s back toward him, lined his half-hardened cock up against Daniel‘s crack. Daniel hummed his pleasure at that, pressed that sweet ass back against TJ. ―Come on,‖ TJ said. ―Let‘s get some sleep. Petrified wood tomorrow.‖
Brazos Mud and Horn-Rimmed Glasses | 321 About the Author
In the mundane world, EVE OCOTILLO plays a scientist. She escapes from the grind by conjuring tough and conflicted men and then throwing them at each other in romantic and not-so-romantic situations. Her stories range from alternate history to contemporary to science fiction and are influenced by her interest in diverse social issues, her fascination with the natural environment, and her fundamentalist upbringing. She doesn‘t much like TV, but her Xbox and a new RPG can suck her in for weeks at a time. Visit Eve on her web site: http://eveocotillo.com/ or her blog: http://ocotillo-dawn.livejournal.com/
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