Disclaimer: Story characters belong to the author, any resemblances to real people are entirely coincidental.
Content Advisory: Adult situations, language, sexual references
Copyright, 2010, Anyta Sunday
I hope you enjoy it. Please comment to: anytasunday@gmail.com
This story will continue to be posted on Nifty. It is COMPLETED, however, and can be found also at http://www.gayauthors.org/author/anytasunday
Enjoy! (sorry if there is funky formatting, have no clue why it does that!)
Chapter Six
Warm, slightly dizzy, and more than a bit tired, I smiled at Trey sitting on the floor across from me. I drained the last drop of whiskey from my fifth glass, and eyed up the half bottle next to Trey's jiggling knee. We had on some pop channel, it wasn't my favorite music, but it was tolerable and a compromise. By the looks of Trey's knee though, he more than thought it was "okay".
"You want another one, man?" Trey asked. "Gimmie your glass then."
I passed it over, and Trey's fingers touched mine as he took it from me. I looked from my hand to Trey who was staring at me with the slightest of frowns. "What?" I brushed a hand over my smooth cheeks expecting crumbs from the cookies we'd gobbled.
Trey poured me another shot. "You really don't look or act anything like your sister. Except for this little squirm thing you do. June does that too.
My mind was too fuzzy to think properly, and the way Trey said `squirm' made me laugh. "Yeah, we do that when we're nervous or uncomfortable." Then, because my inhibitions were on hiatus—thank you whiskey—I added, "Think it's cute like my toes?" And then, because I wasn't so drunk I couldn't register embarrassment (unfortunately), I quickly covered it by saying, "Jeez, you two must have been together like three years now. You two are really in love, huh?"
Okay, so it was possible I might have also been fishing here, but—but—damn alcohol and crazy hormones!
Trey nodded. "Yep. Almost three years, and yeah, I do love her. I love her a lot," he frowned and avoided my gaze, "it's just—" He stopped and shook his head. "You want to go for a walk?"
"Sounds great. But fuck, I don't know how good my legs are working."
Trey grinned, jumped up, and in one graceful movement pulled me off the floor. I clumsily stepped forward, losing my balance as I tried to avoid knocking over the whiskey bottle. With one yank in his direction, Trey stabilized me; our bodies pressed together, only jeans and t-shirts separating us. I could feel his warmth as if it had hands and were embracing me. If I rested my head against him, it would fit perfectly under his chin. "Don't worry, you can lean on me."
"Dammit, why'd you have to say that?" I said, and Trey gave me a puzzled look. I cracked a smile. "Now that song is in my head."
It took him a moment to click, but as he did he grinned. Did he look relieved? "You're so lame, you know that?"
"I am not!" Okay I was, but he didn't have any right to say it. I pulled out of his grip, and ignoring my lightheadedness grabbed the keys and left the room, with Trey at my heel. The hall loomed ahead dimly lit, and I struggled to walk straight. I did—but it took extra effort on my part. As I stepped outside, a cool breeze sidetracked me, and—"oh shit!" I cried as I stumbled.
"Watch the step there, man," Trey said, way too late and with a chuckle in his voice.
I pushed myself off the concrete. I didn't feel any pain, although my palms were grazed. "Well now, how stupid was that?"
"Very, now let's keep moving." Trey tugged my arm and off we went across the parking lot and down the road until we reached a large sports ground surrounded by tall narrow trees. Poplars?
I shook my head, and concentrated on the feel of the wind blowing back my hair. Funny how I didn't feel chilled at all, yet it refreshed me, helping me sober up. Not completely, but enough. I pointed to a field of artificial turf, lit up with floodlights. "I signed up for hockey, at the end of last week. I'm looking forward to getting back into it."
"What team did you join with?"
"Social A team."
Trey smiled. "Me too."
"What? When did you sign up?"
"Well," Trey said, moving closer, "if you'd been around at all last week, or read any of my notes, you'd know."
"Oh." This was awkward. Did he know I'd been avoiding him? I looked at the field, totally aware of Trey staring at me.
"Ah, don't worry about it," he said, taking my hand and leading me across the grass field. "But I have to say, I'm glad to be on your team and not against you. We'll kick some major ass together."
His words brought back the memory of that hockey final, Sophomore year. I suppressed a shudder, and ignored the slither of fear that came with it. Why had he done it? Did he ever think about it? Feel bad about it.
A still angry part of me wanted to break contact with him—but it was harder to do than I thought, because my hand nestled in his felt pretty much perfect, like it belonged there or something. And, I mean—whoa, was this normal drunken behavior? He was holding my hand! I stopped moving, frowning at our hands before quickly pulling mine away, thoughts whirling through my mind.
He faced me, frustration evident on his face. "What?"
I straightened my back, and concentrated on his broad right shoulder. "I'm just...I mean... Doesn't it bother you being around me? Touching me? I mean you know I'm gay." Although he already knew it, it still made me nervous to say.
"No," Trey said almost staunchly. "It doesn't."
I looked up to search his expression for sincerity or something, but he averted his gaze. After a moment, he coughed, and spat on the grass. "Let's head back, man. It's getting cold."
After walking the long way back (we were avoiding the brick paths), it'd just passed midnight. Since the sports ground, Trey hadn't touched me once and I missed the contact. I shouldn't have said anything, I'd made him think about it now. Or maybe he thought I didn't like it and was just respecting that? God I hoped...so, or not? I shook my fuzzy head as if it would bring me some sense and clarity. No such luck.
Back in our room, I did a drunken clean up, chucking the rubbish in the bin and moving the whiskey onto Trey's side table. Then, exhausted, I made a quick trip to the bathroom before stripping to my boxers and sliding under the bed covers.
Trey flicked off the lights and his bed groaned as he jumped in. I tried to get comfortable to sleep, but—do I have to spell this out? Trey was right there and awake.
"Shane?" he whispered, and I flipped onto my back.
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something?"
You already are. "Sure."
"It's personal."
I hesitated. "Uh, okay?"
He took a deep breath. "How did you know?"
I stiffened and exhaled slowly. I was pretty sure I knew what he meant, but just in case--"Know what?"
"You surely can be doofus sometimes," Trey said, humor evident in his tone before it turned serious. "I mean, how did you know you were gay?"
Why did he want to know? Why wouldn't he? I'd have been curious too, if I were him. Sure, I could tell him, it was no big deal. But—I probably shouldn't tell him exactly how I knew. "I, uh...Well..." I took another breath and started again. "Guys turn me on?" Was that enough? "And I, ah, have never got hard with a girl unless I was thinking of a guy."
"Hmmm."
Hmmmm, what the hell did that mean?
"So you've been with girls before?"
I twisted in the blankets and faced Trey. As I'd only hurriedly pulled the curtains, enough light from outside filtered in to outline Trey's profile. He stared at the ceiling, his arms hooked under his sleeping pillow (the others were piled on the floor). Without moving, he flicked his eyes in my direction, acknowledging the fact he was aware I watched him.
I rose up on one elbow, but the room began to move so back down I went. "I've been with one girl before. I thought maybe I just needed the opportunity and something would click. It didn't."
"And what about that friend fella of yours?"
I swallowed the excess saliva that pooled in my mouth thanks to my nerves. Although why I should be nervous of this conversation I had no idea. Or maybe I did have an idea, but couldn't admit it? Jeez, none of my thoughts were making sense.
"Do you mean Ryan?" My cheeks burned as I recalled the incident. I didn't particularly want to talk about it.
"Yeah, that's the guy. Did you like him?"
I said nothing for a while, then very softly admitted it. "I was attracted to him. Turns out more physically than emotionally though." I laughed weakly.
"He was a right jerk."
I smiled, but it quickly disappeared. "You looked pretty disgusted that day too, Trey."
A moment's silence. "I was..." He paused and turned in his bed so his back was to me. "It just took me by surprise."
We said nothing more. Within a few minutes Trey's light snores filled the room. Somehow the regularity of it comforted me, and not too much later I drifted into a deep sleep.
When I woke, sun poured into the room, bathing me in warmth. Groggily, my eyelids unsheathed my sight. The two things I was first aware of was one—my spinning head, and two—my raging morning hard-on. As if on automatic I stuck my hand into my boxers and stroked.
Trey stirred and I quickly removed my hand. Shoot, where were the blankets? I peeked over the side of the bed and saw them in a tangled mess on the floor.
"Don't stop," he said, and yawned. "I mean, come on—we know we both do it. So let's just stop with the trying to hide it, yeah?"
I was speechless. Even my thoughts were stuttering. What the..? He had a point. Right? But Trey was right there. It wasn't just a friend I'd be jacking off in front of.
"Anyway," Trey continued, leaning out of the bed and fishing for something in draw of the side table. "I got my own that really needs taking care of right now, and I'm not going to wait for you to leave."
He pulled out at towel. Oh, oh. I should have averted my eyes, but they seemed to be magnetized to him. With a rough flick his blankets came off. A wonderfully large tent had me drooling. (If I wasn't already). Fuck. I was turned on. So hard it almost hurt. So suck it up and do something about it! It was just jacking off, nothing criminal.
Trey stuck his mouth watering-ness out of his boxerbriefs, the elastic over his base, and began working. Soon he moved his hips in a circular motion. Shit it looked sexy. I could have cum just watching him.
Unable to hold back any longer, I took my own throbbing dick and worked it slowly. As Trey got vocal, I got lost in my pleasure. His grunts made me moan and that just made him louder. Which was too much—ahhhh—ropes of seamen unloaded onto my stomach. At the same time I heard Trey cum too.
Far out that was good.
After mopping myself up with some tissues, I got up. My head pounded as I grabbed a towel, my clothes and shower bag. Trey acted like nothing just happened, stretching his torso while looking at me. I on the other hand did everything to avoid his gaze. "That was great," he said. "Now I really need to pee."
I headed toward the showers slightly nauseous, but maybe it was hunger? Trey trundled behind me, and I fastened my stride. Why couldn't I get rid of him? Couldn't he tell I wanted to be alone? He should. Dammit.
He nipped to my side and shook his head. What was that for?
"This taking your clothes to the showers to dress. That's gotta stop." I opened my mouth to interject, but Trey continued over top of me, "No one does that. Especially not when they don't even shower." I thought I'd snuck out quietly those mornings. So how did he know I did that? I scowled. Thank God the bathrooms were just up ahead, I could finally leave him. "I'm just saying man," he finished quickly, "you've got nothing to be ashamed of."
But he was so wrong. I was deeply ashamed. Because I didn't just lust after Trey and his freaking hot bod; I lusted after knowing him. I wanted to learn who he was, because everything I knew so far, I liked. Really, really liked.
"Big lunch," Syd said, sliding into the chair next to me, his tray carrying a milkshake and what looked like a pumpkin and feta ciabatta. Yum.
I finished a mouthful of omelet, and speared a piece of fried chicken. "Yeah, I'm so hung." I slurped on some coke. "And this heat is not helping my head any."
Syd grinned, but there was something strained about it. We'd only known each other just over a week, but I we seemed to just click. I could have known him for years.
I studied his posture as he bit into his ciabatta. His shoulders slumped forward more than usual, and he kept tapping his leg. Every now and then while I chatted with him, his eyes would cloud over and he stare into the distance. After it happened the third time I took his milkshake and began drinking. He didn't even notice!
"Okay, what's up? Are you dreaming about the guy you met yesterday? And why haven't you told me anything already?"
Syd focused on me, biting his lip. "Um..."
I decided to help him out. "What's his name?"
"Lucas."
"And who is this Lucas? What do you know about him?"
Syd snapped more into his usual animated, confident self. "Ohhh, he's amazing. He studies classics and art history, and speaks Spanish and French fluently, and is apparently not bad at darts." He continued giving me the low down on what seemed like his dream guy. "Oh, and did I mention he's in a band? Shit he's hot."
"Okay," I said, lowering my voice, "You're forgetting some important details."
"Like what?"
"Like a description."
"Oh you know, slightly taller than me. Black hair—natural, grey eyes, button nose, wicked smile." Syd sighed. "Does a bit of sport, eats wells—I didn't see under the clothes, but he felt pretty fine through them."
"This Lucas guy sounds like a looker."
Syd scowled. "Yeah, but hands off! He's mine. Well, maybe." He went quiet and contemplative again.
"Maybe?"
"Well, he's perfect, but—"
I held my breath, hoping it wasn't the same but I'd had about him. "Are you into him that way?" I asked, raising a brow.
"Maybe. Well, yes, I think so." He frowned, and stared over my shoulder. "I don't know."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Yes. But I'm not sure I can." He stared intently at his milkshake still in my hands. "I just need to figure some stuff out. It'll be right, I'm sure. And I—I do like him."
I took another sip of his shake and handed it over. "Thanks. And if and when you do need to chat about it..."
Syd gave a short sharp nod in understanding. "You got classes this afternoon?"
"Nah, today is a cruisy day for me. Had two earlier. It works out perfectly because I'm working Tuesdays back at home."
"Really what do you do? Is it a big trip?"
"I run an afterschool care club at my old grade school. Twenty-five, six to seven-year-olds. It's only thirty minutes by car, not long at all. And so worth it to see my little buddies."
"Twenty-five of them?" Syd said his eyes wide. "That's a handful. More than a handful."
"I have someone help." I pushed the remains of my lunch away and leaned back in the chair. "Actually, I'll be working with Trey."
"You seem to be getting on better with your roomie than I am with mine."
Yeah, unfortunately. What wouldn't I give to have a plain hate-my-roomie situation? Life would be so much simpler. I sighed.
"What was that for?" Syd asked, looking at me suspiciously out the corner of his eye.
Did I dare tell Syd the truth about how I felt with Trey? I searched his face. Open, honest, receiving. I probably could talk to him about it. But not today, not right now, and certainly not in the middle of the cafeteria.
I pushed a stray lock from my eyes. "After work I'm going to tell Mom about me."
With a small comforting smile, Syd patted shoulder. "I'll be thinking of you."
"Yeah. Thanks. I feel ready."
"And if you need to talk..." He mimicked the look I'd given him earlier. "Okay?"
I playfully punched him in the shoulder. Smirking, he got up from the table. "I've got to get to biology now. How about a run tomorrow?"
For a moment I flashbacked to yesterday, the run, the race, the drinking. Trey had said he wanted to run again, but it was a bad idea. I couldn't risk my constraint spiraling out of control. I looked at Syd. Surely if he came running too, Trey would back out? Or if not, there'd at least be a barrier between us. "Yeah, let's," I said, internally relaxing, "Say around six?"
"Perfect."
Well, it wasn't perfect, but it was something.