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 pull
