It's Friday and I'm fidgety and in a bad mood. Part of it may be that I haven't had a chance to confirm with Crispin. Saving him from bullying is mostly keeping Jay and them distracted from that crowd, which means a lot of clowning and talking loudly about random shit whenever Crispin or one of his friends walk by. I can't get close to him, but I have this hyper-sensitivity to his presence. It's fucking exhausting. I keep waiting for someone to notice the hickey in gym. I want to yell, Hey, look what I did! However, I know that would turn out worse for Crispin than for me. He doesn't look at me. Maybe Crispin thinks that I'm going to tell him that this was all one big joke, or that I'll make googly eyes at him and get us caught - whatever it is I find it frustrating. He's not the only one who's nervous. I'm so glad when the day is over. I've been making my excuses for staying home all week. "A family thing," I repeat to anyone who asks. It has happened before, when Mom and Dad wanted me to stay home on a weekend night to play board games with them and my sisters and brother. This time it's a lie. I tell my parents that I'm expecting a friend, and that we'll just be playing video games. They let me move to the pool house after my older brother left for college, so Crispin and I will have maximum privacy for...I'm not sure what to call this. Is it a date? Is it a pre-determined booty call? Will he leave tonight or in the morning? Anticipation is turning my stomach almost inside out. Crispin and I did exchange phone numbers when I emailed him how to get to my house. He'll probably only call if he gets lost, I tell myself as I check my hair in the mirror again. There's a fucking pimple forming on my chin. I put some cream on it and pray it doesn't take over my face before Sunday, at least. Opening the mini fridge I confirm that there are sodas and water waiting. In the cabinet is a bottle of scotch that my parents won't realize is missing. Pizza just arrived a minute ago. I made the bed, the bathroom is clean, and I have DVDs in case we take things slowly. Things will be fine. I'm fine. Everything's okay. My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter and I nearly jump out of my skin. "H'lo?" I growl, trying to slow my pounding heart. "I left my battering ram at home. How do I breach this fortress?" comes Crispin's amused tenor. "Right, I'll buzz you in. Hang on a sec." I run over to the door and press the button for the front gate. "Do you want to meet my mom, or just come straight back here?" "What, gonna introduce me as your boyfriend?" he teases. Before I can responds he adds, "My parents gave me a bottle of wine for your folks. I'll ring the doorbell like a good boy." He hangs up. Exhaling, I toss my phone on the couch before wiping my palms down my thighs. Breathe, Aaron. I sail in the back door just as my mom leads Crispin into the kitchen, complimenting the wine choice and telling him how thoughtful it is. God, but he looks like a fucking fairy today. He's wearing these shorts that don't come down to his knees, suspenders, a tight white button-up shirt with a damn bow tie, and fucking knee socks with saddle shoes. His hair is even in a high ballerina bun. I'm petrified that my mom will smell all the gay in the room before I can pull him back to the pool house. I do kind of want to fuck him while that bow tie is still around his neck. The bow tie, the socks, and the saddle shoes. "Now, are you and Aaron in the same grade?" Mom is asking. "Yes, ma'am," Crispin answers. "We're in the same math and P.E. classes." My mother finally notices me. "Oh, Aaron, honey, your friend Crispin just arrived." "What's up?" I ask, macho-like. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I lean against the kitchen island. Crispin looks confused for a moment, but then grins hugely; he's onto me. "Nothing, bro. Just hitting on your gorgeous mom." Rather than be shocked at his forwardness, my mother is completely charmed. "Oh, you're a rascal," she chuckles. "Do you want something to drink?" "I have sodas and stuff," I say quickly. "You and Dad home tonight?" Mom shakes her head. "No, we're taking Lacey and Allison to Madison's sleep-over, then we're out for dinner and a late movie." Good. Good, good, go away. I grunt something appropriate and motion Crispin out the door. He calls, "It was nice to meet you, ma'am," like he's going to take me to a fucking sock hop. I think I exhale in relief once we got into the pool house, because Crispin bursts out laughing. "What?" I ask. "I've never seen you so addlepated," he chuckles. "Did you think I was going to start singing show tunes? And here I was convinced that nothing ever got to you." "No, I just..." I'm embarrassed at being so transparent, but Crispin doesn't seem offended. "Sorry. You're not the usual friend I bring over, I guess." Crispin steps forward like he's about to do something cute and boyfriend-y, like put his arms around my neck or kiss my cheek. Or maybe that's just what I want him to do, because I'm disappointed when he looks like he's changed his mind and strolls past me into the open room. "This feels like a different world," he comments, checking out my trophies and looking out at the blue pool. "I forget that there really are people this rich." I shrug and sit on the couch. "I'm a blessed boy." Crispin smiles lopsidedly. "And my dad had to drop me off in a delivery van. I made him leave before I called you." I need something to do with my hands, so I put the pizzas on the coffee table and hand Crispin a paper plate. "What did you tell him we were doing?" Flopping down beside me, Crispin groans. "I told him we were playing video games but he was totally not fooled. Like, he asked me if you were a nice boy, specifically if you were nice to me at school, and told me very seriously to be careful." He kicks off his shoes and folds his legs underneath him. Taking a plate from me he grabs a couple of slices of pizza and dabs at it with a paper towel. "Ugh, grease. Just looking at it makes me fat." I snort. I couldn't have picked a more effeminate guy. It's part of his charm, though. There are other hot guys at school, but Crispin's the kind of guy who just oozes sex, even if he doesn't know it. It's in the way he walks, how he sucks on the end of his straw, and how he checks guys out from head to toe as they walk past, looking at them from under his long lashes. Crispin may talk like a girl and dress like a 1930s schoolboy, but his build and face are all male. The room is too silent, there's too much pressure to say something good, so I turn on the TV. There's a mixed martial arts match; I leave it on. I don't know how Crispin reacts to violence, but at least there are two fit, mostly naked, sweaty guys throwing each other around. "You know," Crispin comments eventually, wiping his mouth, "the best fighters in these matches have usually trained in a particular style before moving to the mixed arts." "Really?" "In my opinion. It's like, always knowing what your body should do, and adjusting for the show of it and these cage matches. Brazilian jiujitsu is really useful, and the tae kwon do guys are really fast and fun to watch. They do all those tornado kicks and what have you." I look at his body again, remembering how firm it was under my fingertips. "What do you do?" He grins, still watching the fight. "Muay Thai and capoeira." That is fucking hot. "Why the hell do you not bust that out when someone tries to stuff you in a locker?" Crispin finally glances at me. "Because the moves I know could kill them." He watches my face, then laughs. "You don't believe me." "I do, 'cause you totally weren't kidding." I have goosebumps, both from excitement and the realization that he could have kicked my ass that time in the shower. Holy shit, I am so glad he didn't punch me. Crispin is silent for a moment. "I'm going to, er, get ready," he blurts, and runs into the bathroom. Damn sweaty palms again. What do I do? Put on a porno? Play music? I shut the curtains but leave the lights on, just in case he freaks out and decides to go home. I'm stacking the pizza boxes when the bathroom door opens suddenly. Crispin stares at his feet. He's completely clothed. What the fuck was "getting ready," then? I chuckle, and his big dark eyes lift to meet mine. "Next time you tell me you're 'getting ready,' I want you to come out in a red satin robe or something," I joke. Crispin rolls his eyes, but smiles nervously. "You'd need a huge mustache and some hot saxophone music playing." His hands come together as though he's about to wring them, then he shoves them in his pockets. Likely he's turning over that "next time" in his mind. I didn't mean it, it just kind of slipped out. I need to say something. Anything. "So your fantasy is Burt Reynolds?" Crispin's nervous laughter is sharp, punctuating the air. I know he's probably wondering if I can hear his heartbeat, or tell how anxious he is. I can, but only because I feel the same way. To cover my own anxiousness I pretend like I know what I'm doing. Turn on the stereo—Massive Attack beats pulse in the room—watch Crispin as I step around the couch and pull the blanket down the bed. Get the lube and condoms out of the nightstand. Take my shirt off and drape it over the back of the couch. I step close to Crispin, until I can feel his breath on my skin. "I'm really nervous," he finally admits. Me, too, more than I've ever been in my life, more than during final exams, or state championships, or all the times my family has almost caught me watching gay porn. "Then shut your eyes," I say. He does. I run a fingertip down his straight nose, over his lips, and around his ear while using my other hand to slip the suspenders over his shoulders. Crispin inhales when I yank his shirt free of his shorts, an adorable little gasp, and his hands flex and fist at his sides. Starting at the bottom I undo the white buttons to run my fingers up his tight abs. His skin is smooth to the point of silk, but the evidence of his martial arts background is in a raised scar here and there. I make mental notes of the little depressions where I'll dig my tongue, the ridges into which I'll sink my teeth. Crispin stands like a mannequin as I tug the collar out from under his bowtie, slip my fingers into the sleeves and push the shirt down over his arms. When I slide my hand over his chest and rest my palm over his fast-beating heart Crispin opens his dark eyes. "Have you ever seen A Very Long Engagement?" he asks softly. "No." I lean in to inhale the scent of his neck; he seemed to really get off on that when we were in the shower. Crispin smells like soap, light cologne, and just barely of sweat. He jumps and nearly grabs my wrists when I slip my hands into the waistband of his shorts to undo the button and zipper. "After the hero and heroine, they're childhood friends, have sex for the the first time, the hero, he ah..." Crispin trails off when I start taking messing with his hair. "He what?" I prod, concentrating on taking the bobby pins out of his ballerina hairdo. Damn, he must have twenty fucking pins in this bun. They clatter on the wood floor when I drop them. Crispin inhales. "He ah, well, he falls asleep with his hand on her breast, you know, over her heart. From that day on he can feel her heartbeat in his palm." Underneath those pins is a ponytail. I leave it, imagining how I could pull it when I ride him. The thought has me hard. "So if I fall asleep with my hand on your dick—" I reach down and caress the thickening member through the cloth of his shorts, "do you think I'll be able to feel it when you're gone?" "Uh." His voice shakes. "You're welcome to find out." I hook my fingers in his underwear and pull his groin to mine, watching his face the whole time. He has to be able to feel my hard-on through my jeans, just like I can feel his. Finally he tilts his head back to look in my eyes. There's worry in his brows but determination in his jaw; he's taking a big risk with me. I kiss him. The first kiss is nothing special, just a brush of lips together. The next, though, lingers, and I can feel it all the way down my spine. Crispin's warm mouth chases mine when I pull away. He nips at my chin, at my jaw, and then yields when I push my tongue into his mouth. Grinding my hips against his elicits a soft "uhn" that fills my ears and resonates down my spine. He tastes savory; I want to find its source and lick it until there's no more to be found. Crispin's small, trembling hands come up to rest on my arms, just above my elbows, and then slowly move up to my shoulders, to my neck, and into my hair. He pulls himself against me, meeting me, pressing me backwards until I fall onto the couch. Crispin drops his shorts quickly. He's still shy—he immediately crosses his hands over his dick—but I want to look at him. His body is so perfect, like a god in miniature. Defined muscles, a little dark curly hair on his thighs and, I imagine, covering what look to be sizable nuts. Had I really not taken the time to look when I helped him jerk off? I guess had mostly been paying attention to his dick and his ass. "You're tiny," I comment, holding him at arm's length. At the look on his face I want to smack myself, so I add, "and fucking built." One corner of his wide mouth turns up. "Our size difference does intrigue me." I eye the bulge in his briefs. "We're not that different." For only the second time in my life I put my hand on another guy's penis. Crispin stands in silence as I feel him through his underwear. He holds his breath until I run my hands up the inside of his thigh to cup his balls and slip my fingers under the edge of the elastic. It's so hot, like a mini oven inside his briefs. A small gasp sounds over the pounding bass when I slide my thumb over the tip of his cock, and a small wet spot appears on his briefs. God, but I want him. Just do it, Aaron. Take his dick out and put it in your mouth. You want to, he'll let you, so nut up and do it. With a deep breath that I hope is unnoticeable I ease Crispin's briefs down his legs and let him kick them aside. As beautiful as Crispin is in just his briefs, he's a wet dream in the nude. I can tell he's uncomfortable with how hard I'm staring at his compact perfect form; Crispin shuffles his feet, can't figure out where to put his hands, and looks everywhere but at my face. All those places I wanted to nibble mere minutes ago are within my grasp. Hard, tingling with anticipation, I grab Crispin by the hips and pull him to stand between my thighs. I barely have the tip in my mouth when Crispin throws me back by the shoulders, yanks my jeans down, and hurls them and my boxers across the room. They hit the curtained glass doors with a muffled thump. "Er—" "No," he insists, shoving my knees apart and stepping between them, "I want to do it first. Consider it my thanks for, whatever—" "This is not," I say, "a pity fuck." My voice comes out too harsh. "No, no, I didn't mean like that, I meant, um," Crispin bites his lip. "You already got me off once this week, or helped, so I figured it was my turn, right?" I lean back and fold my arms behind my head. "Well, in that case, be my honored guest." Crispin wipes his palms on his naked thighs (nice to know I'm not the only one) and kneels between my legs. That is fucking sexy. With a determined look he puts one and high on my inner thigh and the other on the base of my erection. My skin tingles under his touch. "I've only done this, like, one time," he warns me, "so don't expect porn-worthy results." "A Machiavellian blowjob is better than none at all," I reply. Crispin laughs. "A smart, attractive football player. I won the gay lottery." "Ha ha, I'm not like - oh shit," whatever I was going to say is lost when Crispin's mouth meets my cock. His lips are soft, but he purses them to create an incredible pressure around my shaft. Crispin only bobs a couple of times before he pulls off to lick around the head. His big eyes meet mine and I grin at him. "So far so good?" he questions. "Are you kidding me?" I laugh as Crispin nibbles around my shaft. "Never stop, ever." He chuckles and goes back to sucking on the head. It feels too good; I don't know how I've managed not to explode in his mouth already. Crispin's small hand grasps my balls gently and rolls them between his fingers. His other hand wraps tightly around the base of my cock and jerks me to the rhythm of his mouth. It's too much. "Pull off now if you don't want cum in your mouth," I warn, and Crispin only has time to look surprised before exactly that. God, it's better than I had imagined, better than anything I've ever felt - Crispin's mouth is warm and his tongue sweeps each spurt away. My body is trembling with the sheer force of release, and my exclamation is ringing in my ears. The shaking slows, and I eye Crispin's raging hard-on. I want that thing in my mouth. "No," he stops me quickly, and I look up at him in surprise. "I want to come with you inside me." The last part comes out in a shy mumble. I'm surprised - who the hell says no to head? - but I pull Crispin into my lap. We're both breathing hard, so when our lips meet we mostly end up blowing air into each other's mouth. With a laugh, I tell him, "I don't get it, but if you're determined then whatever." Crispin nods, oddly shy for someone who just had my dick in his mouth. He lets me lead him onto the bed but immediately gets nervous when I go for his cock. "Wait, I said—" "Relax, I'm not going to suck you off," I assure him. I just want to touch it, at least. Crispin is all tense—I don't know what he thinks I'm reallygoing to do—so at first I settle for exploring his torso like I had wanted to earlier. Crispin relaxes a little while I trace around the muscles on his chest and stomach. "Do you need a Band-Aid?" I ask, "because you are—" "Don't even finish" Crispin interrupts with a laugh. His teeth are so white, and not the kind of fake white that ends at the incisors, like when the cheerleaders use those whitening strips. "You have amazing teeth," I tell him, pulling his lower lip down to inspect. Crispin bites at my fingers. Probably he's uncomfortable with being complimented. For some reason, that just makes me want to do it more. "And your skin is really, really smooth." I brush my fingertips over his shoulder, down his chest. Crispin grabs my hand just before I get to his cock. "What?" "You can't...touch me and look at me and talk to me like that," he says softly. "It, just, pick only one." Crispins looks away, his black lashes brushing his cheek. Although I get what he means, I've waited two weeks to get my hands on him again. "I'll stop when you tell me to," I assure him, "just let me feel you for a little bit." Crispin huffs and falls back on a pillow, his long hair spread out beside him. "You're embarrassing me," he mumbles. I don't care. His body has me drunk and single-minded. Finally I can put my lips on his brown skin, lick him, bite him, bruise him if I want. Crispin winces when I press the spot where I marked him earlier. It's blue and purple now. "Did anybody notice this?" I ask, resting my chin on his stomach. Crispin's smile is smug. "Everyone thinks it's from sparring." "Dammit." If I give him one on his neck again it'll be more obvious. "I still owe you one," he reminds me as I trail my tongue down to his bellybutton. His dick is so close I can smell the precum. "Leave it anywhere you like," I reply. The head is smooth and shiny, so much darker than my own. It isn't fellatio if I just run my tongue in the pool of slippery liquid, between Crispin's stomach and the flared cap that curves to touch it. "Aaron." It's half a plea, half a warning. You promised. With a sigh I sit up and straddle Crispin's thighs. My dick is right next to his, and it's about the best thing I've ever felt, next to when Crispin had it in his mouth. "I really do want to go down on you." Crispin's eyes go wide and he covers his face with his hands. "Oh my god, how can you just say that?" I grin. "It's the truth." "I told you what I want," he counters from behind his palms. "You can have both a blowjob and real sex, you know," I informed him with impatience. "I know, it's just," he takes a deep breath and peeks at me between his fingers. "It's my first time, and a lot of virgins can't, you know, get off..." he ended in a mumble. I hadn't really thought about that. "You think it'll hurt that bad? Crispin, we don't have to—" "No!" he exclaims, sitting up. "I want to. I mean, I've had a hard-on for the last thirty minutes." So he had. Well, who the fuck am I to refuse such a pretty face? "I'm up for it if you are, if you know what I mean," I leer, twirling an imaginary mustache. "I'm talking about my penis." Crispin giggles and hits me. "Bad at jokes." I fall on top of him with a groan. "Oh, my god, you are so fucking cute." Our dicks are nestled together briefly, mine getting slippery from his. All too soon Crispin wriggles out from under me with a laugh. "I'm too wound up, you can't touch me," he confesses, blushing. Fine. Then let's get to the good part. I lean over and grab a condom and the lubricant. The latter I hand to Crispin so I can concentrate on fitting the rubber over my erection. "Did you buy this yourself?" he asks, eyeing the bottle. "Yep, in a drugstore on the other side of the city." It had been pretty humiliating, but at least the clerk hadn't batted an eye. "So, how do you want to do this?" Crispin just turns the bottle over in his hands. There's something he isn't quite willing to ask of me. "Here." I lie down next to him. "You can be on top." With an expression of relief Crispin climbs over me, mimicking my earlier position. He uncaps the lubricant and pours a generous amount onto my cock. "This might not be pretty," he warns as he glides his hand up and down clinically, like he isn't giving me a handjob. "I know. I've seen porn before." As long as he doesn't fart, because that would make me laugh, which would crush him. Dark eyebrows drawn together, Crispin stares at my shiny, latex-encased penis. "Okay," he whispers, probably to himself. "Okay." As much as I want to ease the tension by yelling, "Get on my dick, bitch!" in Isaac Hayes voice, I resist. Instead I grab Crispin's arm and I tug him forward. My shaft is right in the crack of his ass as he crouches over me, and from the look on his face he is very, very conscious of it. "Hey," I say softly, and lean up to kiss him. His mouth is so hot, and soft, and smooth; I still haven't figured out why he tastes so good. With his knees pressed firmly against my sides Crispin kisses me passionately, the kind of kiss that makes my toes curl and my cock twitch. His small fingers still hold my shaft tight; I don't know if he's rubbing his ass against it consciously, but it's driving me wild. Crispin's tongue leaves my mouth long enough to trail down my neck, over my collarbone and finally he closes his teeth around a nipple. It's a shock to my system that runs directly to my cock, and I tell him, "Unless you want to wait for boner number three, you'd better hurry up." "Don't rush me," Crispin pouts playfully, but he's pleased with the effect he's having on me. He takes my hand and places it on my dick. "Hold it right there." "Copy," I respond dutifully. Crispin balances himself with one hand on my stomach and uses the other to guide my cock to his hole. Sweat makes his body glow and his ponytail falls over his shoulder to tickle my chest. Crispin's thighs are shaking as he holds himself over me, trying to work my dickhead into his ass. I'm afraid I'll shoot again before I can get inside, but I'm equally afraid of hurting him. "Take it easy," I encourage. Crispin raises a brow. "Thanks, coach," he says sarcastically. "This doesn't humiliate me at all." Oops. "It shouldn't," I counter, keeping my tone smooth. "You're about the hottest thing I've ever seen." The words might be platitudes, but I mean them. The pop of each muscle, Crispin's grip on my shoulder, the way he bites down on his lower lip, the inky spill of his hair over his chest—I'll never want for masturbation material again. Crispin grins at me, and suddenly my glans pops in his asshole. His eyes go wide. We stare at each other for a second. Holy fuck, we are doing it. This is anal sex, for real. I don't know what my face is telling him, but Crispin's is indecipherable. "Are you okay?" I ask. He answers with a nod. His eyes shut tight as he slowly lowers himself on me, and it's so tight and hot and the best thing I've ever felt in my life. Before I know it Crispin's balls are resting on my pelvis and my entire shaft is buried inside him. Only sheer force of will keeps me from coming right there. "Okay, you can touch me," Crispin says in a strained voice, "but don't move for a little bit." With his lip firmly between his teeth and his brown drawn tight, Crispin gingerly begins to lift up again. Oh, god, don't come, don't come, I order myself. The pressure around my shaft is unbelievable, shocking, intoxicating. Crispin sets a steady pace, using me to fuck himself; his face changes with each rise and fall. As hard as I search I can find no pain in his expression, only the same urgency I feel, that soul-consuming drive to come and come hard. Crispin speeds up, leaning forward a little more to arch his back. God, he's beautiful. "You're fucking sexy," I pant. Crispin smiles down at me as he works his hips back and forth. His dick looks like a dark extension of my own, sliding up and down my stomach with every one of my thrusts. His expression is focused and intense; brows drawn together and lip fixed between his teeth. The urge to see him lose that concentration is too much to bear. I grab Crispin's shoulders. "Hang on." "What?" Despite his confusion he clings to me as I lever us up and turn him on his back. Now with his head in the middle of the bed Crispin has nothing to hold onto but me and the sheets. My hips move as though on a piston, driving my cock into his hot center with a force that knocks the breath from his lungs. I know exactly when I've hit his spot. Crispin's dark eyes fly open and lock onto mine and he gasps. Words flow soundlessly between us—right there. I interlock my fingers behind his neck and thrust faster. My skin is tingling, my vision tight. Crispin's fingernails bite into my ass with a slick pleasure-pain that spurs me to ignore my burning muscles. "I'm going—" he gasps. The thought is only half-realized in our frenzy, but I wrap one hand tightly around Crispin's engorged shaft. Once, twice, and he's coming, not thick white like in the shower, but thin, steamy, rocket-fast spurts that hit my chest and chin. "Ah!" With that Crispin's ass clamps tight, fuck, it's all I need to jump off the cliff after him, paralyzed mid-flight by the white wash of my orgasm. For a moment everything disappears as I come inside him, shaking with every jet of cum that leaves my body. Just as quickly it comes crashing back down, and I collapse onto Crispin with a whoosh of air from my lungs. "Hot damn," he says as he rubs the back of my neck. I am a virgin no more. Hot damn indeed. "This might be my inexperience talking," I inform him, "but you are one amazing fuck." He laughs. "That was pretty awesome." For a moment we lie there, exhausted stuck together by sweat and Crispin's cum, breathing hard to the rhythm of the music. Finally I find strength enough pull out and roll over to toss the condom. "Hot damn, that one kind of took it out of me." I look over my shoulder to see Crispin stretched out on the rumpled covers, on hand behind his head and the other resting on his washboard stomach. "As much as I want to go for round three, I think I need a break." Crispin's smile is small but satisfied. "That was way better than I thought it would be." I crawled back to lie down next to him. "Me too, and I've been jacking off to the thought for two weeks now." Opening his eyes Crispin gives me a funny look. "What did I say?" He drops his gaze, choosing instead to trail his fingertips down my side. It's gentle, intimate, and I really like it. "Tonight the light of love is in your eyes, but will you love me tomorrow?" Crispin sings softly. This has to be the first time I've ever heard a guy use pop hits from the 60s to express his feelings. I look over at him. "Are you going to be cool with being a booty call?" Shit. I hurt those old timey girl group feelings of his. Crispin's brow furrows and he bites his lip. "Uhm, ah, eh..." "Tell me the truth, Crispin," I order, adding a poke to his side for levity. "No!" he blurts, then looks away. "I mean, I don't need you graffiti your undying love for me across the bleachers, if that's what you're asking." "That's not what I'm asking," I explain, feeling weirdly desperate. "I mean, for me, coming out is pure strategy. Like, I told you that I can't come out to the people around me until at least college, because I can't have it getting back to my parents. And before you call me a coward, know that I've kind of dug a hole for myself in my social circle. Like, Jay and them's parents are all friends with mine, and they gossip like girls. I'm not ashamed of you and I'm not ashamed of me. You can tell your friends if you trust them to keep it off Twitter and fucking Facebook. Again, my parents keep up." I can hear myself talking and I sound like a complete douche bag. Do I really have to be that guy? Unfortunately, I don't see any other way. Crispin nods thoughtfully. "So you want to fuck me on the sly." "Yes. But only if you are okay with it." And I very badly want him to be okay with it. He heaves a weighty sigh. "Whatever. High school relationships aren't meant to last, anyway. I'm going to design school in New York." I grin. "And I'll be at Berkley, majoring in some jacked up shit like Letters." Crispin turns over and drapes himself over me, pillowing his head on my chest. "You are the best and most disappointing thing to happen to me this year." "Really?" I ask, running my fingers over the shorn skin around his ear. "Those diaper pants were a pretty low point." "Jerk. Those were totally in style." I smile, but I'm starting to feel a little melancholy, too. "I really like you," I say, realizing that I mean it; I always thought he was smart and hot in a weird way, but I like his kind of bitchy defensive attitude, that he knows songs from the 60's, and that he doesn't reek of overconfidence like my usual crowd. Crispin lifts his head and raises an eyebrow. "You don't need to sound so disappointed." "Sorry." "No, I get it," he says, and then looks down shyly. "I feel the same way. Like, I've kind of liked you for years." "I know." "No, I mean like liked you." His skin is a dusky pink. "Like, you were my jock fantasy." Really? That makes me feel fucking awesome, considering I'm not the hottest or most popular guy in school. "That was your subconscious smelling my gay." "Hah, yeah, maybe." Should I tell him that he was the first boy to make me question my heterosexuality? Or that I thought he was hot even when I thought he'd be thin and doughy under his clothes? Sure, it isn't the same sentiment, but it means something. Then again, I kind of like seeing him like this, bashful and unsure of himself. "Okay, so let's say we're like, dating on the sly, or whatever," I say. "Lay me some ground rules." When Crispin looks into my eyes from this close his lashes remind me of butterfly wings. "Like what?" he asks. "Like..." I think for a moment. "I'll keep my friends off your back as much as I possibly can." He nods, pursing his lips. "Ah, okay. But I'm the one who's on the bottom rung of the social ladder. If you're all ignoring me at school, how will I know that you even still like me?" Crispin's expressions says he immediately regrets admitting that concern. "I mean, I like having sex with you." "Obviously." "Shut up." He flicks my chest. "But I don't want to feel used, and I know that's going to happen if you never acknowledge me during the day." "Well, what am I supposed to do?" I demand, tugging on his ponytail for emphasis. "I don't know. Like, every now and then, just go with your gut?" "Like detention hickeys?" I can do so much worse than hickeys. So much worse. He's trying not to smile. "Something like that." "Okay. I can do that." "Hey." Crispin catches my lower lip between his fingers, narrowing his eyes. "That look tells me you're plotting something. Don't get carried away." "I won't." I will. "Don't worry." Oh, the things I will do to him. He sits up with a laugh and rolls his eyes. "You're full of shit, Aaron, you know that? Now feed me cold pizza and show me how to play one of your video games." Now that he mentions it, I'm already hungry again. "I'm warning you," I tease, "I'm going to spank your ass at every one of these games." Crispin bats his eyelashes at me from the bathroom door. "Treat a boy right and he might let you spank his ass in bed." He shuts the door. I'm getting a woody. He opens it to poke his head out. "While doing it doggy style." Hot damn.