Note: I am British and try to write in language and grammar that is universal, but essentially use British English in my writing, however, if you get stuck on something, let me know and I will explain.
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Twelve Months, Chapter Six
I lay awake, worrying. You know me by now, not happy unless I'm worrying, and if I'm not worrying I'm worrying about why I'm not worrying.
1.45 in the morning. I can hear the rain thrashing against the skylight, I can hear the gentle, regular breathing of the nearly-naked teenage boy laying next to me. I can hear my own heartbeat, pounding away, an unwelcome bass beat in my ear drums.
Of course I'm lying next to him. To be fair, I did make the effort of following through with my initial hissy fit and demanding a separate bed. But I mean... It all felt a bit mad, after we'd... Well. You know. I mean we did go down and have a look in the spare bedroom, and yeah there was a mattress. A big one. Too big to get through the hole in the ceiling - we reckoned - like a couple of inept, adolescent removal men - we decided this. Nor could we be arsed trying, that bastard thing weighed a ton.
FUUUUUUUCKING HEEEEEELLLLLL!
In what possible bloody way could I have known Ed Miller would get a job delivering pizzas, round here. (Miller had a job?! That didn't involve drug dealing?!) It's possible I suppose. It's only about eight miles or so from school to here, so maybe he lives round here too. Like Simon. Nearly-naked Simon. Sleeping Simon. Six-inches-away Simon. Sexy Simon... Shit. Shit. Shit.
My new friend makes a noise like a cat sneezing.
Crap. I've woken him up with my worrying. No. I haven't. He's just turning over. One sculpted, bony, smooth shoulder now visible above the grey duvet.
Anyway, he didn't say anything else. Thank God. Ed Miller. He just rearranged his cock in his joggers, said `Thanks lads,' did the head tic thing, grinned at me and turned round and walked back down the path to the road. Meanwhile I was trying not to hyperventilate and Simon was saying something about something. In my idiotic, rabbit-about-to-be-flattened-by-an-HGV, jibbering state I had told Miller to keep the change as I had handed over the three ten pound notes. So he got a ten quid tip for his £20 pizza delivery. Turns out Simon was trying to tell me this while my brain was melting and handing over the cash. He couldn't care less who Ed Miller was. He was just some chavvy lad delivering pizza. He just didn't' think a ten pound tip was right. Hush money. I don't think he even realised we knew each other. Surely he heard him use my name? Surely? Urrrrggghhh. This is such a fucking mess.
And now I need a piss.
Silently and stealthily I peel back the duvet, revealing my body to the cooler air. My orange lycra boxers seem unnaturally bright against my skin in the moonglow. A tiny flutter in my balls reminds me that the sleeping lad next to is wearing the exact same boxer briefs. I still can't believe we bought the same ones without knowing. What the bloody hell is that all about? Weird.
Padding over the carpet, the moon lights my way to the bathroom in the corner and the tiles send shivers through my bare feet as they make the bathroom threshold. I pull down my boxers and hook them under my nuts and let go. As I am standing there peeing, a waft of warm citrus reaches my nose, the now unmistakable smell of Simon. I turn my head back toward the door, clenching to stop myself mid-stream, fully expecting him to have crept up behind me to scare the crap out of me - just the sort of mental thing he'd do. But he's not there. I unclench. The lemoniness is still there. Instinctively I kind of bend over, sticking my bum out, head down towards my junk. It's me! I smell of boy and citrus and cock and balls. I smell like him. I smell like Simon.
My sex-worn, middle of the night, teenage anxiety-strewn, horny brain has fathomed it. Of course it's me. Of course I smell like Simon. We had a shower together. He soaped me up good and proper... Shit it. My dick is remembering and now chubbing up, whether I've finished pissing or not, I have now. I give it a gentle tug and milk the last drops out and stuff it and my now cooled balls back in their neon pouch. I don't bother washing my hands, nor do I flush. It was only a wee, right?
Blearily making my way back to the bed I try to slip back under the duvet without waking him up. One foot and leg in, one arse cheek on the edge and the slide in, that's the perfect way, isn't it? Well yeah, unless you're me, obviously, as not enough of my slender butt is on the bed and I drop onto the floor with a thud and a too loud `aw shit'. Now he IS awake.
`Adam?' he mumbles through sleepy pink lips.
Aw, shit. Sorry mate, I fell out of bed,' climbing back into bed, we are face to face. I didn't want to wake you up, needed a piss.' I hiss, whispering, like we all do in the middle of the night.
Well, you made a shit job of that.' He smiles. Teeth gleam in the darkness. Did you go?'
`Go where?' Idiot.
`Huh? Pizza Hut. What? Did you go and do a piss Adam, you twat?' He asks it sleepily still.
Then before I can answer his lips touch mine and I taste him once again, as our tongues meet and dance together. Spearmint with a very faint savouriness. He raises his right leg and throws it over me, drawing us closer together, our smooth chests resting against each other, the sole of his perfect foot runs down the back of my leg. I gasp into his mouth. My cock responds and starts stretching my boxers. Simon runs a hand up my bare back and into my hair, which he grabs and gently pulls my face away from his.
`Go. To. Sleep. Adam.' he says quite lucidly, barely open eyes, wild hair, then drops his face down and away and snuggles into me, his head on my pillow, with me.
Within what seems like half a minute he is snuffling away like a puppy, breathing so slowly I wonder how he stays alive. His breath falls over my chest and I can feel the slightest movement of air across my right nipple. Another minute and I am matching his breathing. Another minute and my heart quiets, as does my brain. In my boyfriend's arms.
Something brushes my stubble-less cheek, a feather on a breeze. I move my hand to my face, away from my balls where it's been protectively cupping them, unconsciously hiding myself - force of habit I suppose - but there is nothing on my face. I roll my lanky frame over and drift back off to sleep.
In my dream I can hear music playing, a bright, tinny, artificial tune. It just goes on and on, the high pitched noise, barely music, just noise. It stops. It starts. It stops. It starts. Jesus, what a pain in the arse...
No, Adam, you idiot... You're awake... Opening my eyes and raising myself like a zombie, back from hell, a fit zombie, obviously, wearing bright orange boxers don't forget; I pad over to the heap of clothes we discarded last night. The ringing of my mobile phone is now continuous. All sorts of nightmare scenarios flash through my half-awake head...
Mum must need me: The house has burned down. Amy has her head stuck in a bucket (wishful thinking). She's crashed the car while parking in an empty street. Ed Miller has found out where I live and knocked and told her son is raving gay boy who is right now in his boyfriends bedroom with a solid morning boner. Where is the bloody phone?!
Finally it's in my hand, I refocus my sticky, sleepy eyes enough to see the screen. It's Simon. It's bloody Simon! Like a complete nutter I swing round to look at the bed. It's empty of course.
`What. The. Fuck. Simon?' I say it very slowly after swiping right on the green dot.
`Morning sleepy head,' he sounds very chipper. Annoyingly so for stupid o'fucking clock on a Sunday morning. I twirl around, to see the clock, desperate to quote the ridiculous time at him.
Simon, it's...' there's no clock in the room, not as far as I can see. I pull the phone away from my head and squint at it. Ah. Shit. It's 10.55...' I trail off, my annoyance slipping away.
`Yeah, so get your arse down here for breakfast, young man, I'm bloody starving.' Bleep-bleep. He's hung up. Wanker.
I guess I should be grateful he chose that way to wake me up. I would have literally shit the bed if he'd done his folks trick of banging on the ceiling with a broom handle. I chuck my phone back into the pile of mine and his clothes, a tiny frisson of something sparking in my belly realising that our clothes are all mixed up. Together. A millisecond and it's gone.
I move over to the corner, I need a wee. I stand before the toilet and stretch my arms up above my head, pushing my crotch out and standing on tiptoe, my fingertips just about brushing the angled ceiling. I've still got a seven-out-of-ten horny teen morning boner going on so I peel my boxers down to my ankles and sit like a girl and push the offender down under the seat so I can do a piss. As soon as I start going, it deflates a bit and I sigh with relief.
Something changed in the night. Remembering I had to get up and go then. I couldn't sleep. Simon woke up. I was in a state. And then I felt better. I felt right. It felt right. He felt right. Simon felt right. I needed him. I needed to be with him. Feel him. Be together. Be safe. Be happy. Be me.
My phone ringing again breaks me out of my little toilet-based mind-wander.
`Alright! I'm just having a piss!' I shout out of the door to the empty room, generally toward my phone.The phone, or rather Simon, stops ringing.
Man, he's annoying. I'll show him. I can do annoying, I can do weird. I'll finish up and just wander down there in my pants. Just my pants. Nothing else. Like it's nothing. Normal. Yep, just coming down to brekkie in my undies. Yep, there is dried spot of pre-cum on them, but who the fuck cares?! Just two nearly seventeen year old lads. All boys together. Yeah, we're just lads. All men together. Right? Hmm...
I squeeze out the last drop and give my now deflated cock a shake into the pan and pull up my Superdry's and press the flush button.
Turning to the sink, I look in the mirror and see my bed-head hair and decide to leave it. I run my hands under the tap, run them through my hair and dry them off, wandering out of the tiny bathroom to stand and look at my clothes on the floor. I'd never do it at home - breakfast in my boxers. My cock twitches. I would never go downstairs in my pants at home - not unless I was certain mum and Amy weren't there. Absolutely certain they weren't. Feels a bit wrong though. I mean this isn't even my house. And just my pants...? I can feel my face reddening a bit. Fuck. Get a grip! My phone rings.
`Finally,' says the nearly-naked boy, stood at the hob.
Once again my friend has called my bluff. He is just in his boxers too. He is standing side on to me as I walk down the short hall and stand in the kitchen doorway. His identical orange boxers are skin tight, and the contrast against his pale skin glares in the watery Sunday morning light. I can't help but focus first on his crotch, a distinct bulge there, not as pronounced as my earlier woody but he's not exactly relaxed in there either. Maybe this is new for him too. Wandering about in his undies downstairs I mean.
Man, I just can't tell with him. One minute he is shy, emotional, awkward, then next he is pure, filthy mischief.
Adam! For fucks sake!' My head snaps up. Staring!' he trails off into a smile.
He has a spatula in his hand, raised like a weapon. He looks ridiculous. He looks gorgeous. His nipples are hard.
`I know, sorry. It's just... Anyway, nice boxers!' I say, putting a finger into the elastic waistband of my own matching underwear, I pull it out and let it snap back against my smooth belly.
A grin splits his face and mine too.
`I still can't believe we have the exact same pants. Did you look in my drawers when you came here last time and try to get the same ones? Did you Adam? Do you want to wear my clothes? Be like me?' He's winding me up. A whiny little voice and his head to one side.
`Fuck off, you dick Simon.' As I get close enough I slap his arse with the back of my hand, seeing as he is now preoccupied with the pan that looks like it might half a ton of scrambled eggs on the hob.
`Ouch you bastard!' he squeals like my sister.
`Serves you right. Of course I didn't go through your pants. I am not some kind of perv.' I add, sitting down at the table, wondering if I am some sort of perv...
Well, good. But I wouldn't have minded,' he says casually. I am assuming you eat scrambled eggs, pervy boy?'
I say I do and he finishes up, gets two plates out of the cupboard and as he puts them down the toaster flicks up 4 slices of perfectly browned toast.
He could be talking to me, he may not. If he is I don't hear. If he is, I am obviously able to respond, but maybe I don't. Because I am transfixed. Watching him move around the kitchen. Watching his bum cheeks move under their protective, hi-viz cover. Watching his shoulder blades, sinuous underneath the lightly freckled skin of his smooth back. Watching his calf muscles flex and shape-shift as he treads lightly. Watching his perfect feet, the tendons ridged on the top of them. Watching his toes, his ankles, his knees. Why do I want to lick the back of his knees? Oh my fucking God!
`OK. I'll let that all go, matey. Your blatant fucking stare-fest, as I assume you are delirious with hunger,' Simon says brightly and with just a hint of sarcasm as he lands a massive plate of food in front of me with one hand and pushes my head nearly off of my shoulders with the other.
My face begins to roast.
`What?' Defensive. Crap. What the hell is wrong with me?
`Hmm...?' He fetches his breakfast and sits opposite me at the small round table. Opens his glittering eyes wide.
I am suddenly very aware of my own existence. Sat here, almost naked. In Simon's kitchen. Opposite another boy my age. Similarly almost naked. Who I have just sat eyeing-up for the past 5 minutes. My cock has deflated like a popped balloon. What possessed me not to put my clothes on?
`Sorry, Simon,' I say to the scrambled eggs piled eight inches high in front of me - what did he do, use a whole dozen? Picking up my fork I start loading it. He is right, I am starving.
`Mmm,' a typical non-verbal, teenager reply. The eggs are good. What, he can cook as well? Perfect. Of course he can. I expect he can do everything...
I am stuffing my face, these are seriously the best scrambled eggs I have ever eaten. Mum makes them, but she always microwaves them. Simon had a pan and was cooking them on the hob - they're amazing.
`Worked up an appetite yesterday then, did you?'
I look up for a moment to find him doing a bit of the staring now. Neutral expression. He is looking right at me. We are the same height and merely a couple of feet away from each other, sat at the small, round, pine kitchen table. Something suddenly feels a bit weird... A tiny knot of pain in my guts.
`Huh? Yeah. Maybe. What do you mean?' Cautious. Wary. Unsure. A boy.
`Well Adam... You're more or less inhaling your breakfast.' He smiles. Thank God. The knot unravels.
`I'm hungry, yeah. Aren't you?' Seriously, how can he not be? Mind you his plate is as full as mine was - he hasn't touched it yet. Knife and fork still either side of it on the table. Something IS wrong. Instant re-tying of the knot in my stomach.
`Yes. I dunno. Probably.'
He rests his elbows on the table and sits his chin into his upturned hands. Slender, pale fingers framing his face. His eyes are boring into me. This is now getting a bit uncomfortable. I put down my fork slowly. I can't eat another mouthful. I might throw up.
What's going on Simon? Has something happened?' I am tense now. Have I done something wrong? Are your parents coming back early? Has my mum phoned you?'
What!? No. None of that,' irritated Simon, waves away with one perfect hand, all of my questions. Nope. Can I ask you something?'
Aww fuck. Here we go. Ed Miller. I knew he heard what he'd said.
`Look. I'm sorry. I really didn't know what I was doing. He's just some fucking chav from school. I had no idea he'd be bringing the pizza. I didnt mean to given him all the money.' Quickly and quietly and desperately and apologetically.
`What are you talking about? Pizza? Chavs? Just shut up. I need to talk to you.'
He really doesn't know. Thank fuck for that. But what can have him so serious. Both ends of the knot are pulled tighter. The fleeting relief of Miller-gate being averted literally a millisecond. I involuntarily put a hand on my belly. Skin against skin reminding me I am shirtless - what did I think was going to happen - we'd be all over each other on the kitchen table, like a couple of horny teens? Oh, wait... we are a couple of...
`Are you gay Adam?' Flat. Neutral. To the point. Jaw dropping. My mouth actually drops opens, so I can I can inhale.
Oh...' Fuck. Simon,' Fuck Simon,' Fuck Oh.'
He is just looking at me. His eyes are wide. There is not a hint of a smile. Just nothing. He is just sat there. Bare chest rising and falling steadily. Smooth skin, coral nipples, crazy foxy bed hair.
Suddenly I need to cough. A tiny nugget of black pepper that he must have put in the eggs, migrates to the back of my throat and catches. I splutter like a chain smoker, convulsing my body. Simon is snapped out of his nothing-trance and grabs my hand which I have placed on the table top to stop me falling off the chair in my coughing fit.
`Ugh, Adam, are you OK?' he is genuinely concerned now. But I am OK... I think.
`Yeah, sorry. Pepper corn?' As I graciously spit it onto the back of my other hand and show him.
`Oh fuck! Yeah. I put black pepper in them. You're not allergic are you?' Real worry passes across his face.
`No, nope. Just got stuck in my throat,' My eyes are streaming. His hand is still on mine. I feel a squeeze. Takes me back to my bedroom. That day.
`Adam I'm sorry. You're upset,' he gets up, my hand naked without his, and tears off a strip of kitchen paper and hands it to me as he sits back down.
`What? No. Just coughing made my eyes and nose run,' I clean the wetness from my cheeks and under my nose. Clean up complete, I smile at him. Well, I say smile, more like grin-slash-grimace. I get a beaming one back. Damn your perfect teeth boy...
`I thought I'd upset you. Asking you what I did?' He is asking me again now. Right here. Right now. In just my boxers. Him in just his.
Si, look,' Eye to eye, his hand back on mine, I dunno. I could be.'
A small release of tension in my guts. He blinks. Quite slowly.
I can't say that this thought has never entered my head before this moment. Before now. Before the boy I had sex with yesterday asked it outright. No. I'd be lying to myself. But. But. But. Shit it. But it had been there before I met him. Before Dad's... Oh fuck it! Where is that kitchen paper...
My hand is being squeezed again. Harder this time. An electric shock runs up my calves, thighs and into my nuts and dick as Simon lays his bare feet neatly on top of mine. My head snaps up. He is an inch away from me, leaning across the rapidly cooling eggs on our plates. He blinks very slowly again, gorgeous eyes...
I know I am,' calmly, to me. He breathes out, I can taste him, Is that OK?' His eyes are glistening now. A tiny, sparkling teardrop rests in each of his eyes, ready to descend.
`What do you mean? Is it OK? I don't get it...' and I don't get it. He hasn't raped me or anything. I've been a very willing player in our games.
`I AM GAY, Adam!' Loud and proud, albeit in his own kitchen. Very loud, so close-up.
I KNOW SIMON!' Equally loud. Good job this is a detached house... AND I DON'T CARE!'
Before he can speak again, I rescue my crushed hand and pull his head towards mine the inch nearer so I can kiss him, both half-sitting, half standing. I scrunch his hair and massage the back of his head, pulling him as close as I can, singled-handed, my tongue inside his mouth, tasting him, (very vaguely minty - good boy brushed his teeth before he came downstairs). My other hand slams down onto the table, to stop me falling over... Only my hand doesn't hit the table - it hits the plate of scrambled eggs. Slap bang in the middle of the plate. Almost cold egg flies up and hits my belly, making me gasp. I pull away from him.
`Shit!' It's the shock, more than anything else.'Look at the state of me...'
`Yeah..' Barely controlled straight face...
`Don't you dare...' I am just standing like a lemon, looking down at my eggy belly and hand.
What?' Simon innocent is so fucking sexy. What?' He asks again.
`I can't believe I did that...' He looks me up and down, and licks his lips. Who is the dirty perv now then Simon?
I can't believe it! He's growing a boner in those orange boxer briefs! He is still leaning across the table, whereas I am now half a pace back from it. Oh, hang on...
Simon pushes himself upright and walks very slowly, very deliberately tow two paces to stand in front of me. He stands on my feet again... Fuck me, that feels so amazing, why does he weigh nothing? His straining dick rubs against my crotch.
`Mate. What the fuck?' I am not usually lost for words, but this takes the biscuit on the wierdness scale - even for him.
He raises his right hand to my belly and touches my left nipple, it's hard of course. Then the right, a small nub on my pec, upright and begging for attention. I look down and see his chest rising and falling, little belly with that ghostly trail of fox fur, expanding and contracting.
Simon reaches down behind him and puts his hand into the eggs on my plate, where the is a cartoon style handprint left by me. He grabs a handful of the rapidly congealing yellow mess and picks it up.
`Simon!' I can see how this is going...'Don't. You. Fucking. Dare' A wicked grin forms on his face. Only a few inches away from mine.
`Don't you trust me, Adam?' More shit-eating grinning.
`Nope.' Matter of factly. He is squishing the eggs between his fingers, some of it hits the floor.
`Simon, the floor! It's going on the floor.' My mum would go spare - what is he playing at?
In a heartbeat he has deftly put his hand on my already messy chest and closed the gap between us by grabbing my arse with his other hand and pulling me into him. His lips are locked to mine as well. Somehow.
`Ooof! Si...' I can't speak as his tongue is between my teeth, searching for toast crumbs in my mouth. The dirty fucking perv.
He pulls off momentarily, licking his lips...
`You look so hot covered in scrambled egg,'
All the while his smooshes egg over my belly and chest and now over his own, our bodies stuck to each other. I can't move away - he is still standing on my feet like a bloody toddler.
`What?!' I can't process this through my addled brain.
Information overload so early in the morning. I mean not five minutes ago he came out to me and I... And now this... Hang on his cheeks are going red.
`Sorry, but you looked so sexy and cute, with eggy mess on your chest and down your pants...'
He steps off of my feet - thank fuck. But now looks genuinely worried. Are his eyes... Oh no, not again...
`Hey? What's the matter?'I grab him by both shoulders and pull him to me, his boner all but gone. Oh my... Skin on skin on skin on egg, on skin. He rests his chin on my shoulder and sniffs very loudly.
`Adam. I need to tell you something else...' Quietly, nearly a whisper into my ear. I feel every word.
I try to pull him away to be able to see his face for this next revelation, but he is attached to me like a sloth on a favourite branch. OK, so what the fuck is this about...?
`OK, mate. Tell me anything. I mean it. Anything.' Adult. Sane. Man of the house.
`Getting messy get's me off.' Whoa! Holy crap.
`Huh? What do you mean?' What the actual...?
He still won't let go, but I feel something stirring between us, just about where our cocks are hiding together under their dayglow.
`I'm into it. I mean when you got the egg all down you, it really turned me on.' I see... I think...
OK,' I think... Well, it was pretty funny I guess. But it turned you on? I saw you got a boner, but I thought it was the relief after you came out to me. And we were kissing...?'
Yeah, but...' Finally he lifts his chin and moves to face me. It was you getting messy that really made it leak...' He looks down to his crotch.
I look down and sure enough there is a dark spot on his trunks. Wait...
I drop my head a bit more and look across the egg strewn boy belly of my own body and see there is also a new dark spot on mine... Simon sees me. Sees it.
`I just wondered if you're...?' Simon asks, head to one side.
`Into it?'
`Hmm,' He licks his lips, pulling his top teeth over his bottom lip. His left hand wanders towards orange lycra.
I look down and witness my dick betraying me. I make a grab for it.
`I dunno. I could be...'
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