This story is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in it are 18+ of age.
As usual, I'm very happy to receive any and all feedbacks, whether it's about the writing or direction of the story, other works you wanna see, or just chat in general. Thank you for reading!
Ernie snores like he’s fighting for his life.
It’s not the sound that wakes me. I can sleep through a lot, including Ernie’s nightly symphonies. It’s the heat. I’m being slow-cooked alive under his arm, sweating out more liquid than my body should be able to hold.
I open my eyes to the familiar ceiling of Ernie’s apartment. I’ve slept here enough times to have it memorized. From the corner where the paint’s starting to bubble and flake to the ceiling fan that wobbles every few rotations and causes my heart to skip a beat. I watch it spin for a moment too long and regret it when my vision tilts sideways.
I try to shift out from under Ernie’s arm. No good. His body is wrapped around me, his leg hitched between mine, his arm slung over my chest, holding me in place. He’s dead asleep, cheek smashed against the pillow, mouth slack and slightly open. He looks peaceful as he drools onto the pillow. Well, more peaceful than when he's awake. Like a bear mid-hibernation.
A very sweaty, overheating bear that doesn’t seem to mind sleeping in the mess of cum and sweat stuck to us from yesterday.
I try to ease myself out from under him, moving slow so I don’t wake the beast. Doesn’t work. His grip tightens, and he drags me back into the crook of his chest with an annoyed grunt.
“Let go,” I murmur.
No response. Just more snoring as he buries his face against my neck.
“Ernie,” I say, louder this time. “I need to get up.”
He groans again, brows furrowed and eyes still closed, and presses a lazy kiss to the side of my neck. I flinch a little - it tickles - but don’t stop him right away. The affection’s lovely. It’s also just very inconvenient. Hiding the hickies he gives me is already a chore, and fresh ones are just a pain when he does it deliberately, like a middle school bully.
“I mean it,” I say.
Ernie mumbles something unintelligible, then manages, “What’s the rush?” His voice is gravelly and half-asleep, his lips still brushing my skin.
“I have class.”
“Ditch.” The reply is quick and easy as he tugs at me, rolling me over so I’m facing him now.
He leans in for a kiss, slow and sensual. He kisses like he has all the time in the world. I let him, briefly, catching his upper lip with mine. But the moment he starts to probe deeper, I pull away and plant a hand on his chest.
“Nope.”
He resists for a second before giving me some leeway with a grumble. I grab my phone off the nightstand, squinting against the light as I check the time. 7:32 a.m. I make a noise of frustration and try to slide out of bed, but he doesn't let me go easily.
"Ernie..." I start to complain, but he finds my mouth again and gently inserts his tongue.
He's not forceful, but quite slow as he explores the insides of my mouth. I try to get him off me, but his musky taste is too good to resist, and I end up sucking on his tongue. I can feel his cock tent his white briefs and rub against my own hard-on in my black boxer shorts. The simulation is horribly slow and sets my body on fire as I give up and wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer.
"Atta boy," he says with a slight smile as he rests his lips against mine.
His hairy chest is heavy and shiny with sweat, but he's holding it above so as to not put his weight on me. I burrow my face into it and rub against it, inhaling his intoxicating manly scent as my mouth finds his nipple and latches on.
He gasps and throws his head back as I lick and suck on his brown nipples, alternating between the two while he continues dry humping me, driving us both hornier.
Unable to take anymore of my nipple play, he pushes me down onto the bed and attacks my neck, kissing and biting and sucking. I moan under his rough advance as my skin explodes under him. He's big and sturdy and horny, and I can't get enough of him as I squeeze us closer together.
His head reaches my groin, and I part my legs as much as my boxers allow, my aching cock straining against the fabric. He pulls it down, almost tearing the thing in the process, before I raise my hips to let it slide easily. My cock springs free as it swings around, and he gives it a few licks, cleaning off the sticky precum, before continuing his kissing march down its side, around the base, and then over my balls and below them while I squirm with pleasure.
I'm lying back, enjoying the treatment, when Ernie lifts my legs effortlessly and unceremoniously, burying his face between my cheeks.
"AAaaa... A... easy....." I gasp out the words as his tongue circles around my entrance, coating it with spit, before probing inside.
The hole is quite relaxed after yesterday's fucking, so it's easy for him to get inside. He pushes into my anal ring ever so slightly, his oral muscle moving along my walls. I moan hard as I grab fistfuls of the sheets around me, my legs bending upwards on their own, and my hole pushes out to meet him, desperate to feel him inside me.
He continues making out with my hole for a while, relaxing it and prepping the way for his cock. I storke my cock leisurely, trying to focus on the sensation of Ernie's tongue on my asshole. Finally, he gives it a final hearty lick before going up. Our eyes lock together for a minute, no words needed.
He pushes my legs up further, fully bending me as he prepares to fuck me in missionary. He spits into his hand and rubs it over his cock while looking at me. The solid round head kisses my entrance, and he leans in, our foreheads touching, our lips barely apart. I gulp silently, my hole aching for his cock.
He doesn’t leave me waiting. I feel the slight burn as he pushes in, opening me up with nothing but his spit.
“AH.. aH..” I groan and grab his hands, one on each side of my head, as my face contorts and I push out to try to accommodate his girth.
He chuckles through ragged breathing and I manage to squeeze out an “asshole” as my nails dig into his forearms. My legs burn while he makes sure they stay up. His cock carves out its path slow and steady, and pretty soon, I feel his balls gently rest against my ass. I raise it to meet him better, and he takes it as a sign.
Picking up the pace, he starts fucking for real in no time. It’s not slow, nor is it fast. It’s enjoyable. He’s like a wild animal indeed, digging deeper into my insides for no other reason than the fact his dick tells him to. My moans accompany each thrust, getting louder as his head smashes the button in my ass like a hammer. The musty air of the room is filled with the sounds of skin-on-skin slapping and sex groans. The bed rocks with us as we fuck faster, and I can feel his cock pulsate inside me. My own cock is slapping against my stomach repeatedly, threatening to blow at any moment. Taking hold of it and jerking furiously, he leans in and starts making out with me again, our mouths mashing against each other. He smells of dirt and cigarettes, and it’s intoxicating in the way it adds to his wild charm. I clench my ass hard as our kissing swings between tender and aggressive. My muscles squeeze his length hard, and he gasps into my mouth as they massage his cock, trying to coax a big load out of him.
That seems to do it for him, and he thrusts like a man possessed, slamming into me with a renewed force like he’s trying to split me in two, before planting himself as deep as possible. I feel his cock explode in me, his load settling into my warm asshole as my rectum tries to suck it up even more. The feeling of his thick head pressing inside me without moving drive me over the edge, and I spurt rope after rope of cum all over between us, moaning lewdly and needly into his mouth while he kisses me softly.
Ernie is lodged in, his hard cock plugging me up as his balls churn out the last of his morning load. His weight is fully on me now, and my hands are limp on his back that’s slick with sweat. He tries to make the orgasm high last even a second longer, while our bodies press harder against each other, my cum between us smearing all over. I don’t find it suffocating, but warm and comforting. Our breaths slowly steady from the orgasms, and I can feel his warm and hot when he rests his head against mine.
It’s peaceful and blissful until the blaring sound of my alarm cuts through our haphazard breathing.
“Fuck's sake,” Ernie mutters, his features contorting, as he rolls over, rubbing a hand over his face. He's annoyed but not angry. I'm too out of breath to think or comment. I’m not sure what he’s angry about since we had our morning fuck, but maybe it’s the disruption right at the end? The alarm drones on, and I do what I should’ve done half an hour ago, getting up from the bed.
The light’s already on in the room. The sunlight streaming through the wide window catches the dust hovering up in the air and adds an ambience to the already antique room. Stepping into the bathroom, I hop in for a quick rinse, just enough to wash off the dried cum and sweat from last night, and the fresh ones from just now.
When I finish, I grab one of the towels in the bathroom's small closet. The towels are made with intricate stitched-on patterns. They're nicer than anything I own. Probably nicer than most of what I’ve ever touched. I wrap the towel around my waist and start brushing my teeth. My toothbrush was the first thing I brought over when I first started spending the night here. I remember Ernie laughing a lot when he saw me place it.
When I come out, Ernie’s sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. There are little yellow bruises on his ribs that I did not see in the dark of yesterday's night.
“You want coffee?” I ask as I kneel in front of the closet naked and dig through its bottom for the change of clothes I keep stashed here, another remnant of my frequent visits.
He grunts something noncommittal, not looking up. I fish out a white t-shirt with a grey pattern and an old pair of black pants. I can’t find any underwear, so I reluctantly put the ones I had on, which were now sweaty and stained with cum, and then I head to the kitchen. The place is full of seemingly grandma-taste elegance. The clean white tiles with the occasional blue brush stroke design, the old wooden closets that are coming off the hinges, the random assortment of pretty kitchenware. It's an old-fashioned but well-thought-out place, and I think about its relation to Ernie as I spoon instant coffee into two mugs with very old cereal advertisements printed on them. My best guess is that this was his family’s house, but then why are there no pictures of him on the walls? Instead, all the photos are old and a bit faded, featuring an assortment of old people from a completely different time. I can’t tell if they’re good or bad people from the photos, and honestly, who could?
I make two cups, black, and bring them back. Ernie accepts his without looking up from whatever he’s reading. He takes a sip and immediately makes a face.
“Why the fuck is mine without sugar?” he mutters.
"You're out. I told you to get some last time,” I say, settling beside him and sipping mine.
He curses under his breath and takes another sip anyway. I look at him in the morning, peace with nothing but the occasional sound of his phone and the distant hum of car horns between us. His face strikes me as handsome in that moment, and I can’t pinpoint what about it inspires that. Maybe it was the sex glow? Or his unnaturally soft expression right after waking up? I muse about it a bit more as I enjoy the bitterness of my coffee.
...........................................................
“I’m heading out,” I say, downing the last of my coffee in a single gulp.
“See ya,” Ernie mutters.
I lean over and give him a quick goodbye kiss. He meets me halfway, turning his head just a fraction, lips barely puckered, eyes never leaving his phone. I catch the corner of his mouth. The morning haze is wearing off, and now the smell of cigarettes and stale sweat is harder to ignore. I don’t comment. Just grab my keys and phone, and slip out the door.
The bus ride downtown is the same as always. Mostly empty, the engine humming in its tired rhythm. I take a seat by the window. My body’s still buzzing from earlier, everything a little sore in a good way, but I rest my head against the glass and try not to fall asleep as the sun climbs higher.
By the time I get to campus, it’s already past 8:30. I slide into the lecture hall late, but the professor doesn’t even glance up. I find a seat in the back, pull out my notebook, and get to work copying what I can. I know I won’t bother going over it again at home, so whatever I get now is all I’m going to have.
The lecture drones on. It’s dense, rapid, with no room to breathe, and I do my best to keep up, scribbling shorthand I’ll probably regret later. Somewhere in the middle of a diagram I don’t understand, there’s movement in the front rows. People are shifting aside. Someone is making their way to the back, towards me.
I don’t have to look to know who it is.
“Hey, August!” Nate plops into the seat beside me, cheerful as ever.
“Hi, Nate,” I reply without looking up, still writing.
My image of Nate is slowly coming into shape. He’s bright, almost to a fault. Friendly, but not warm. A break in the usual fog that hangs around most students. He launches straight into conversation, bouncing between how easy this course is, how dragging himself out of bed this morning was a heroic feat, and how the coffee shop I work at must be hell on earth before noon. I give him half-answers between bullet points, trying to keep pace with both him and the lecture.
The professor shoots us a look once or twice, but doesn’t call us out. Eventually, the class wraps up. Nate waves goodbye to a few friends near the aisle, then turns to me.
“Wanna study together later?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say automatically. Not a bad idea, now that I think about it.
In the library, we stake out a quiet table and get to work. Between dusty reference books and two sets of barely legible notes, we start piecing things together. His notes are absurdly clean, color-coded, and perfectly spaced. Mine are more chaotic, but have the meat of the lecture.
I’m still not sure how he managed to jot down anything useful, considering how much he was talking.
Still, the collaboration works. An hour in, we’ve knocked out most of the assignment. I start to get a better read on how Nate thinks, how fast he jumps between ideas, and how he circles back when something clicks. Conversation flows easier now that we’re both in gear, and I don’t mind the back-and-forth. For once, studying doesn’t feel like dragging my brain through gravel. In all fairness, talking to me must not be that easy, and his effort is appreciated.
“So…” He suddenly starts as we both unwind on our phones for a quick break.
I look up at him and see his face make a different expression than usual. More earnest and focused.
“Would you like to grab lunch with me later?”
I honestly picked up on his advances, but didn’t wanna assume anything. Still, I’m glad he’s clear about it. I wonder if he knew I was gay or was taking a chance.
“I’m super flattered, and you’re very sweet, but…” I take a second to reply after processing his question, and I see his face drop a little before he reforges his smile, “I really can’t, I apologize.”
“No worries, worth a shot!” He says as he shoots at me with finger guns before launching into another topic.
...........................................................
At work, I keep thinking about Nate.
Carla is yelling at the new guy for something else today, but I can’t even bother to check what’s wrong this time. I’m in autopilot mode while my mind thinks things over.
Why did I turn him down?
I’m not so sure myself. He’s very handsome, and his personality is very nice as well. Not to mention, his body is in great shape. My mind wanders to the tight polo shirt hugging his biceps, and I sigh.
He’s a catch, and I’m lucky he even looked at my way, but the truth is much simpler. I don’t want to double-dip. Even if he and Ernie don’t find out about each other, I wouldn't like that. And I’m not ready to say goodbye to Ernie yet.
But that just opens another door I’ve been avoiding.
What exactly are Ernie and I? Boyfriends? Friends with benefits? Something messier in between? Do I even want anything more with him? Or am I just holding onto something comfortable?
It’s like trying to catch bubbles underwater. Everything slips through before you can get a grip. But they’re still there, floating around, bright and harmless and fragile. Fun to make and watch, even if they don’t last.
And I know I’ll have to come up for air eventually.
As if on cue, my phone rings. ‘ERNIE’ is displayed on the screen as the loud ringtone cuts through the shop’s noise. It’s not unusual for Ernie to call, so I tell Carla I’m taking a quick break and step into the alleyway behind the building. It’s littered with trash and cigarette butts and God knows what, and I lean against the wall as I accept the call.
“Hello?”
“August, where are you?”
Immediately, I can tell something is off. Ernie’s voice is unusually calm. I straighten out my posture as I answer him.
“At work, what’s up?”
“Need you to do something for me.”
“Aha,”
I don’t know what to say. This is new.
“Remember the package I brought with me to the house yesterday? Do you remember where I put it?”
His tone is calm, steady, and very unlike him. I’m of half a mind to ask him what’s wrong, but I doubt he’d say anything before I hear him out.
I think for a second. “Small box, duct tape all over it?”
“That’s the one.”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “You dropped it off in the kitchen. Closet near the laundry machine.”
“Still there?”
“I don’t know, Ernie. I left before you, remember?”
A beat of silence on the other end. Did he actually not remember?
“Okay, no problem. Listen. Can you do me a favor?”
He’s honestly creeping me out. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what’s going on.
“If I can,” I say honestly.
“There’s a dumpster behind the old stationery store on Ninth. The one that shut down after the fire? I need you to drop the package off in there. In, like, an hour.”
I don’t say anything right away.
“Is this-” I start, then stop myself. I try again. “Are you sure I’m the one for the job? Wouldn’t one of your other buddies be a better pick?”
I’m both genuinely asking and trying to get out of it.
“No,” he answers too quickly, but not like he’s lying. More like he’s been expecting the question. “It’s not risky. No one’s watching you. It’s just a drop-off. You throw it in, and you walk away.”
I wait for him to say more, maybe explain what’s inside the box, but he doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t. I sigh.
Rubbing my forehead, I suddenly feel hot. I glance toward the shop’s door, from which I can still hear Carla’s voice tearing into the new guy. My shift feels a thousand miles away now.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “You sure it won’t fuck over both of us?”
“I’m sure,” he says, and his voice softens a bit. “I wouldn't ask otherwise. It’s completely safe, Auggie.”
The gentle tone and use of my nickname are already overkill, but the K.O. comes right after.
“Please.”
Forget the lack of cursing, the ‘please’ short-circuits my brain.
Ernie doesn’t say ‘please’. He doesn’t ask for things. He takes, he gives, he implies. But this time, he’s actually asking.
And he sounds tired, the realization hits me. Emotionally tired, not physically tired.
And so, even though I hate it, even though every rational part of me wants to say no, the part that answers is the same one that climbs into his bed, the one that still gets on his motorcycle despite his insane driving, the one that's content with not asking questions most of the time.
“Fine,” I mutter.
“Thank you,” he replies, his voice filled with warmth I only gleam sometimes in bed.
I hang up before something else comes up and stare at the screen for a long second.
My grandpa always told me your gut’s faster than your brain for a reason, so you should listen to it. I silently apologize for ignoring his advice as I head back to work.
...........................................................
The trip back to Ernie’s place and then to the drop-off spot is rather normal. The only problem is that my pit stains have since doubled in size, along with other sweat spots appearing on my shirt. The weather is hot and humid, but the main culprit here is my nerves. I am mostly calm, or at least acting the part, since the notion of getting gunned down randomly is stuck on my mind even if I try to chase it away.
My destination isn’t that far, so I decided to walk there. But with every step I take away from my usual route, anxiety grows in my throat. As if it’s not bad enough I’m doing something shady, I have no idea what or who I’m working with. Swallowing the growing lump of nerves, I try to keep walking nonchalantly.
Carla was not happy about me leaving early.
“YOU’RE SCHEDULED TILL 5!” Her voice chased me as I hung my apron before taking my leave. I’ll make it up to her later. I’ll try.
Getting to the street Ernie told me about, the package feels like it weighs a ton in my hands. I can’t wait to get rid of it.
The dumpster’s already in view. It’s green, rusty, and half-concealed behind a row of cracked advertisement stands outside a shuttered bakery. I scan the area. No one’s around, no cars slowing down, no guys in black suits waiting in vans with tinted windows. Just a quiet Friday afternoon.
I lift the lid with my elbow and drop the package inside like it’s radioactive. It lands with a padded thunk, muffled by whatever else is decomposing in there. For a second, I just stare at the closed lid.
That’s it.
I did it.
Then a voice behind me makes me nearly jump out of my skin.
“Hey, kid.”
My whole body jerks forward like I’ve been shot. My heart slams into my throat, and for one horrifying second, I actually think this is it, that I’m getting done in, and someone’s here to put a bullet in the back of my skull because I acted foolishly like a stupid love-struck 16-year-old girl. I turn around while holding my breath.
It’s a homeless guy.
Old, with a beard like seaweed, wearing two layers too many for this kind of heat, his smell is a good indicator of that. His eyes are sunken but not malicious.
“Got any food?” he asks, holding up a trembling hand.
I blink, still catching up.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath, wiping my palms on my jeans as his eyes look at me, all confused. “Uh, yeah, yeah, one second,” I manage to squeeze out as I chuckle to myself, my body going limp as quickly as it seized up.
He saw me dropping something in the place where he probably dumpster dives. He just wants to get any food I wanna throw away before it hits the shit of the dumpster.
I dig around in my bag and pull out a paper bag with leftovers from the café. A turkey and cheese sandwich and half a croissant.
“Hope this is okay,” I say, handing it to him.
“Bless you.” He beams at me like I’m handing him gold.
I nod, trying not to laugh from the sheer emotional whiplash of the last twenty seconds. My body feels a little wobbly.
“Don’t mention it,” And I mean that.
I walk off, resisting every instinct that screams at me to sprint down the block. But as soon as I turn the corner, and with the dumpster out of sight, I bolt.
When I feel I've reached a safe enough distance, I duck into the side of a bus stop and bend forward, hands on my knees, gasping for breath like I’ve just survived a shoot-out.
My face must be pale. I can feel the sweat pooling in my shirt. But I did it. A part of me is buzzing, and I’m not sure if it’s excitement or fear as I text Ernie that the job is done.
...........................................................
The walk back home is relatively peaceful, letting calm down on the way.
After I close the front door to my apartment, I make sure to lock it, then stand for a solid minute thinking about whether that’s enough. Realizing how stupid I sound in my head, I give myself a quick double-handed slap before going inside. Worrying won’t do me any good.
I take a quick shower to wash off all the sweat of the day, but it’s so hot that I’m sweating again right after I exit the bathroom. I open up all the windows in hopes of some breeze before lying on the bed while drying my hair with a small towel. I only plan to rest for a minute, but I’m passed out before long.
The buzzing of my phone wakes me up. It’s still on silent mode from the university, but I dropped it next to my head when I fell asleep, so the shaking does it. I sit up in bed, and the towel I forgot on my head falls to the back. My eyes are groggy, and my head feels like it’s filled with molasses from the untimed nap and awkward sleep position. Ernie’s name comes up on my phone, and I answer the call.
“Hello?” I ask, my voice tired as I rub my eyes awake.
“Where are you?” His question is quick and direct.
“Home. My place,” I add on for clarity.
“Can you meet me at St. Mark’s hospital?”
“I- uh- what?” I fully open my eyes, processing his request.
“Can you or can you not?” His voice is insistent, pressed, like he was already regretting his question.
I take a look at the time. 11:13 p.m.
“Sure. I’ll be there in half an hour,” I say, deciding I might as well see where this leads, and doubting there’d be any danger at a hospital.
“Alright,” is all he says before hanging up.
I’m left staring at my home screen, wondering what in the world was going on with him.
...........................................................
St. Mark’s is a weird hospital.
The main building looks like a normal residential five-story building that was refurbished for medical use, with a small garden in front where patients could get a breath of fresh air. The emergency entrance, from which I came in, consisted of a bunch of big shipping containers made into examination units that partitioned the area into a maze-like structure. There’s also an added section to the original building, much more modern with a white clinical look to it. It’s past midnight when I finally arrive, and every part of the disjointed complex seems to be highly active. I call Ernie to ask him where to go, and he says he'll meet me at the ICU. He hung up before I could ask him more.
Inside, the hospital is even more twisted. A courtesy of the chaotic renovations, there are doors in the middle of hallways, hallways that lead nowhere, and contradicting labels next to each other. Through the help of a very patient nurse, I eventually found the ICU.
I spot him as soon as I step into the hallway. Ernie’s sitting just outside the ICU, slouched in his blue running suit. He’s relaxed in the way someone is when there’s nothing left to do but wait. One leg stretched out, the other bouncing a little. He’s staring at the floor like it’s trying to tell him something.
“Hey,” I say, just loud enough to get through.
His head lifts.
“Auggie, you came,” he says like he wasn’t the one who called me.
“You called,” I answer, and walk over to sit beside him.
From up close, I can see how tired he looks. His eyes are bloodshot, half-lidded with the weight of a long day. The bruise on his cheek stands out more in the hospital lighting—dark, shallow, recent.
“What happened?” I ask.
He rubs the side of his face, the non-bruised part.
“It’s my dad,” he says.
“He had a heart attack,” he continues after a pause.
“Oh,” I say. It’s the only word that comes out.
Suddenly, everything makes sense. Why he couldn’t do the drop-off himself. Why he was unusually calm, like his attention was on something else.
“How is he now?” I ask.
“I don’t know. They’re not saying anything,” his voice is clam, but it’s that calmness that unnerves me.
“I see,” is all I say.
We sit in the hallway for a while after that. The hallway smells of disinfectant, and the beeping of monitors can be heard everywhere. Wheels creak past us every now and then. Ernie moves, but only to drink from a flask he has tucked away in his jacket. I sit next to him without trying to reach out. I’m not sure if I should or not.
As I sit there, arms and legs crossed, I contemplate the current situation. I don’t know Ernie’s dad. I don’t care much for him either. It’s nothing personal, literally.
Still… I hope he doesn’t die.
I don’t think I’d lose sleep over it, but my sympathy does extend to Ernie, and I’d rather he didn’t go through that.
And honestly? I’m just relieved it wasn’t Ernie in there. That I didn’t find him hooked up to some machine after he’s been stabbed or gunned, or worse.
The minutes stretch. Doctors and nurses come and go, wheeling carts, checking clipboards, pushing stretchers with faces that range from laughing to tired to angry. None of them looks at us. And it gets on Ernie’s nerves.
He keeps trying to stop the ones going to and from the ICU, but all they give are vague answers, if any at all. He actually feels much more mild-mannered than usual, but I doubt they know that.
Then a younger nurse passes by, going inside while mid-conversation with a colleague, clearly trying not to engage after telling Ernie there’s no updates twice already, and Ernie stands up so fast the whole chair bench we’re sitting on rocks backwards. He grabs the guy by his back, hard enough to launch him off his feet.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN THERE? ONE OF YOU BETTER GIVE ME AN ANSWER OR I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD-”
“Ernie. Let him go,” I put my hand on his shoulder as I try to leash him in.
Ernie snaps his head back to look at me, his eyes burning with rage, before looking back and realizing the poor nurse is shaking, absolutely terrified as Ernie grabs him by the collar of his scrubs and almost lifts him off the ground.
“Fucking hell,” he lets go of the guy, pushing him back and away, before kicking the bench in frustration. The guy immediately runs for it, and I utter a silent apology to his friend, who follows him shortly.
Ernie’s outburst earns us some stares and some whispers from behind the nurses’ office who are clearly on the verge of calling security. But before it escalates, a doctor finally walks through the ICU doors—a middle-aged man with a surgical mask pulled down to his chin and a clipboard in one hand.
“Ernest Basile?” she asks, and Ernie turns toward him like a bloodhound.
“Yeah?”
The doctor nods, flipping through a page or two. “Your father’s stable. We’re keeping him in the ICU for overnight monitoring. Standard procedure after a cardiac event. I’m afraid you can’t see him yet, but he responded to medication and regained consciousness briefly. He’s resting now.”
Ernie’s shoulders don’t drop. They stay tense like he’s waiting for the catch, but the doctor just gives him a tired smile and excuses himself to check on the next room.
After a moment, he exhales. It’s almost a scoff.
“I need a smoke,” he mutters, already heading for the exit.
I follow him out of the maze-like hallway and into a mostly empty space behind one of the outside units. There are also other staff and patients out here, already huddled together for their smoke breaks. Ernie lights up a cigarette immediately, then offers me one. I shake my head in refusal, and he tucks away the pack. He takes a long drag before letting the smoke go slowly, and I watch it disappear into the sky.
I’m not sure what to say exactly. Ernie is not the type of guy to wants hugs and encouragement, yet he still called me, which means he’s really upset. My guts say to just stay still by his side, and I follow it this time. Grandpa used to do this all the time. He said that you should act as the flow dictates, that you should get really good at reading the room until you can act correctly before thinking. Grandpa ran into trouble frequently.
The chatter of people around us keeps us company as we stand there, backs against the metallic walls, looking around to pass the time. I stare at Ernie from time to time, but he doesn’t say anything, lost in his thoughts. I pull out my phone and busy myself while he figures out what he wants to do.
“You’re weird, Auggie…” he eventually breaks the silence, pointing at me with the two fingers he holds the cigarette with.
I glance up from my phone, wondering what is it now. “Why?”
He lets out another cloud of smoke. “I don’t know. Just weird how calm you are. Most people’d be pacin’ or talkin’ too much or freakin’ out. You just sit there. Like a statue or some shit.”
“What, you want me to freak out for you?” I ask, slipping the phone back in my pocket.
“You just show up. Say nothing..”
“Again, what exactly do you want me to do?” I say, tilting my head at him.
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” he mutters, then takes another drag.
He taps ash off the cigarette, irritated. I figure he’s in one of his moods, so I don’t follow up.
“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he mutters after a quiet beat.
“Well, I’m here now.”
He shifts. “You think he’s gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know.” It’s the only honest answer.
He stubs out the dying cigarette in the sand bucket and leans his head back against the metal wall, eyes closed.
After a while, he speaks again. Quieter this time.
“You can go, if you want. The fuckers will probably keep him in there overnight.”
“I’m good,” I say, like before.
He doesn’t argue. Just stands there next to me, watching the smoke fade into the night.
...........................................................
“Mr. Basile?”
I jolt awake from my awkward position in the corner chair, my head pressed against the wall, my neck sore, and my legs numb. Squinting against the fluorescent lights of the hall, I look for the person calling for Ernie.
“Mr. Basile, wake up.”
It’s the same doctor from last night’s rounds. He looks a little more refreshed now, as if he actually managed a break.
“What?” I answer automatically, words sticking in my throat before I register what he said.
“You can see the patient now. He’s been transferred to a normal room.”
I blink, still shaking off sleep. Morning has snuck in. Ernie dozed off around 4 a.m., his head falling on my shoulder when he truly went under, and I must’ve followed him not long after.
He’s still asleep beside me on the bench, sprawled like he’s been thrown out of a bar at closing time. His head is buried in my lap, snoring loudly, and there’s a dark patch of drool soaking into my pants. His jacket is tangled around his shoulders like a misplaced blanket. I can practically see the alcohol fumes rise from him, and the empty flask lies between my feet like evidence.
I let out a pretty big yawn as I glance at my phone. 7:12 a.m.
“Thank you very much,” I nod my head at the doctor, rubbing my eyes. He nods back before leaving, his gaze lingering for a second on Ernie’s messy state before moving on.
I try waking Ernie up, shaking his shoulder, calling his name, giving him a few light slaps. Nothing. He mumbles something incomprehensible and rolls over, pressing harder against my junk, still snoring.
I sigh and carefully shift his head off my lap, folding his jacket under it like a makeshift pillow. Then I stand, stretching until my spine pops and my shoulders unstick from sleep.
The nurses’ reception is across the hall, lit softly by early sunlight. A short nurse behind the desk turns away from laughing with a colleague when she spots me.
“How can I help you?” Her shift must have just started for her to be this happy.
“Ahhh…” I blank out, realizing I don’t know the name of Ernie’s dad, “Mr… Ummm…”
The nurse keeps staring at me, her smile slowly fading. I close my eyes and rack my sleepy brain to stutter out “Surname Basile.” That proves enough, and she gives me the room number immediately. I thank her and head there, ducking into the bathroom on the way. Needless to say, my hair is a mess, and the lack of sleep is evident in my eyes. I splash my face with cold water until it clears up, then grab a bunch of paper hand towels, probably triple what I need.
I knock lightly before opening the door.
Inside is a somewhat thin old man with tufts of white hair on both sides of his head, a short scruffy beard like the one sleeping outside, and a surgical gown that’s loose around his bony frame. Despite being hooked up to a few loud machines, he’s sitting up in bed, fighting with the TV’s remote control. An oxygen tube rests against his chin, clearly pulled off his nose by force.
He squints at me.
“Who’re you?”
“August,” I say, studying his appearance. “Friend of Ernie’s.”
His eyes narrow.
“And where the fuck is he, ha?”
“Asleep outside. He stayed up all night waiting for you,” I answer, leaving the drunk part out.
“And he sends you in while he’s napping like a baby? Christ,” he scoffs.
I sit down next to him, unsure of what to say exactly. Luckily, he immediately starts talking, throwing his controller into the bedside stand with a loud impact.
“Little shit probably has no idea what even happened,” he yells, his words aimed at himself and me equally, “I’d just opened up the garage, and the kid brings me my coffee. I try to grab it, my fucking chest explodes. I think I pulled a muscle, but it keeps hurting like hell, and the kid is so freaked out he calls the ambulance before asking me.”
He gestures wildly with his free hand, almost yanking out the IV.
“And the kid himself? Useless. Some 16-year-old part timer. Hell, he’s so much trouble, I should be taking money from him for using my garage. He probably left the cars unattended and the damn shop unlocked. Christ. You give people trust and they shit on it.”
His rant continues, with vigor unexpected of someone who just got out of the ICU after having a heart attack. I nod along to his complaints, resisting yawns. The heart monitor attached to him beeps loudly, but nothing seemingly worth worrying about. I could honestly fall asleep again right here, but the man’s voice is almost energizing in its intensity.
“Hospital food’s a joke, they might as well serve me shit,” he continues. “They gave me broth. Broth. Like I’m some European orphan. I told the nurse I wanted coffee and a donut, and she looked at me like I’d asked for a blunt. Oh, and the catheter? Feels like she shoved a straw up there sideways. Is that how they fucking treat patients here.”
I can’t help but laugh out, and he continues without acknowledging my reaction, all the while fiddling with the blanket across his lap. He talks about how fucked up the living costs have become, how this hospital was a catholic school for boys before they “donated” it, how much of a headache his customers are going to be.
Despite everything he’s saying, he’s animated and energetic. Better than I imagined, to be quite honest. The way he talks reminds me, unsurprisingly, of Ernie, but if you turned down the anger and dialed up the wildness. Maybe age mellowed him out, and he was angrier in his younger years. Hell if I know. I rub my eyes, yawning again, and agree to his claim that the government does jack shit for the elderly. I realize I’m glad he’s okay.
After a while, he frowns and starts shifting in bed.
“You good?” I ask, offering help but still giving him space.
“Gotta take a piss. I ain’t pissing in a bag, not yet.”
I get up and stand, moving the food table and bedside stand out of his way, letting him grab onto my arm as he swings his feet to the ground with difficulty. This specific situation is something I have experience with, so I know to let him do whatever he wants. I can call the nurse if anything happens anyway.
His hand grips my forearm. It doesn’t have much weight behind it, but it’s deathly tight, almost making me flinch. He grimaces as the other hand reaches down under his gown and grabs the catheter, before pulling it off with one strong tug. I wince in his stead while his voice fills the room with curse words that would put Ernie’s to shame. I just hope he didn’t hurt his dick. Throwing the tube to the side of the floor, he takes a few labored breaths before starting to walk towards the room’s bathroom, leaning on me and the IV stand. I go along with him, feeling his tugs and pulls to know how he wants to walk, giving him control of the steering.
Once we’re in the bathroom, he struggles with his gown. It’s bound pretty tightly on his back, so I untie it, helping him undress. Once it’s loose enough, he shrugs it off with one arm, and before he can feel uncomfortable in his nudity, I turn around but stay at arm’s reach in an experienced routine. He sits on the toilet, holding the IV stand for balance while doing his business. The sounds are embarrassing, but we both pretend we’re not hearing them. After he’s done, the trip back is just as slow, but he seems lighter now, probably since his blader isn’t pressured anymore.
Back in bed, I help hook the machines back up, and he’s silent for a while, likely resting from the trip to the bathroom. His eyes close and open periodically, and he keeps tossing and turning. I press the nurse call button and mention the catheter. A cheery nurse shows up, raises an eyebrow when I explain, then calls in a cleaner. The woman mops up the mess in practiced silence, in and out in under a minute.
For a while, the room quiets again.
Then his eyes snap open. “You,” he calls, voice rough. “Can you get my clothes? They gotta be with the nurses or somethin’.”
“Sure,” I say, standing up again.
At the reception desk, I ask around. A nurse rifles through a cabinet and hands me a clear plastic bag stuffed with oil-stained clothes. When I bring it back to him, he ruffles out of it a pair of socks and a big white underwear that have seen better days. He doesn’t say anything as I help him put them on, and doesn’t thank me when I’m done.
Eventually, his breakfast arrives, some whole wheat toast and zero-fat milk, and I fix the food table height for him. He munches on his food aggressively, and we both watch the blaring TV news.
It is at that moment that Ernie walks in like a wild animal. His hair is messier than mine was, his eyes are bloodshot, and he’s carrying his white t-shirt, damp with sweat, with his jacket tucked under his arm. He clearly just woke up from his alcohol-induced coma.
He and his dad lock eyes, and before the door shuts behind him, the shouting match begins.
“The fuck took you so long? Couldn’t get enough sleep, princess?” He yells at Ernie without hesitation.
“Well, fuck you! You think I’m here cause I want to? Jonah wouldn’t stop calling me, the stupid kid couldn’t even talk properly, saying you were dead and shit!” Ernie matches him, his anger flaring up.
“Show some respect, you ungrateful bastard!” The dad’s voice gets louder, some spit flying from his mouth.
“Ungrateful my ass, do YOU HAVE ANY IDEA…”
What follows is less of a conversation and more of a verbal firefight. The two of them act eerily similar, which is precisely why each one gets on the other’s nerves. They don't argue so much as shout whatever comes into their heads at each other, each jab fueling the anger for more insults. No topic is too small to weaponize; Ernie's hair, Frank’s arteries, who left what unlocked, who should’ve called who, hospital food, etc…
I don’t say a word. I just sit back down, out of the splash zone, and watch the two of them like I’m seeing a mirror argue with itself. It’s honestly a little fascinating. Despite the deranged back and forth, I don’t feel any malice in their interaction. Or if there is, it’s so deeply tangled with familiarity that it barely registers. It feels less like they hate each other and more like they don’t know any other way to talk.
This goes on for a while, at one point causing the nurses to come in ready to resuscitate someone, until eventually, they run out of steam. Or maybe they both just get bored. Frank returns to his tray, muttering about the toast being cold. Ernie stays standing, slouches against the window with a scowl, and avoids looking at either of us.
I take this as an opportunity and slap my hands against my knees to draw their attention.
“Well, I’ll go get a cup of coffee. Anybody want anything?”
The dad, whom I learned during the shouting match was called Frank, dismissed me with his hand, while Ernie’s face, still stitched with anger, turns toward me
“I’m coming. I wanna get something too,” he says with barely contained annoyance.
“Yeah, go find a bed to finish your beauty sleep in,” Frank shoots, and I wonder where he gets all this energy from. The man JUST had a heart attack. I’m surprised his heart didn’t give out again yet.
Ernie spins around to face his dad with his fists clenched so badly I see them turning white, but he bites down on his lips while looking over his dad before letting it go, grabbing my arm, and exiting the room.
We march silently to the vending machine outside in the hospital park, and he lights a cigarette while shaking with buried fury as leans on the side of the machine while I get our drinks. The morning sun cuts through the thin hospital trees, casting lines across the concrete, and the air is calm enough for Ernie to relax from the heated exchange with his dad. He stands there, cigarette in one hand and coffee in the other, finally looking less agitated while staring at nothing in particular, the aftereffects of yesterday’s messy night still clear on him. I sit on a bench that’s a bit to the side, feeling the fatigue of the restless night work its way into my legs.
When his cigarette burns out, Ernie flicks it to the side, then downs the last of his coffee in one long gulp. He crumples the paper cup in his hand and tosses it with the same irritated flair. I figure he’s about to sit down when he turns at an awkward angle, so I shift to give him space on the bench.
But he doesn’t sit.
He keeps walking until he’s behind me. Before I can ask what he’s doing, I feel him move closer. Close enough that I feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the overnight sweat on him.
He doesn’t say anything at first.
I glance up, but from where I’m sitting, all I can see is the edge of his clothes and the dark hue of his scruffy face, looking down at me. He just stands there behind me, breathing a little heavier than usual, his shoulders gradually easing. He looks hesitant, which is a first. Ernie never hesitates.
But here he is, shifting his weight like he’s thinking too hard about something.
Then, finally, he leans in and wraps his arms around me from behind. It's not a graceful hug, more like something clumsy and half-improvised, but it’s firm. His chest presses against my back, and his arms lock around me, neither tight nor loose. His head comes to rest on top of my mine.
I freeze, but not out of fear. I’m caught off guard, and this kind of stillness is the same as when a cat rests on your lap and you try to stay perfectly still. It was a surprising show of affection. I always knew he liked me enough to share a bed with me, and even a small section of his life, and within those boundaries, he never held back. But this was a heartfelt gesture of a different kind. Something new and fragile. I can feel the care in his hold, and I can imagine the relaxed look on his face, even if I can’t see it right now.
“Thank you,” he says after a while.
“I didn’t do anything,” I reply honestly, and with a daring move, I raise my hand and rest it atop his clasped hands around my chest.
“Shut up,” he replies, and it’s the softest shut-up I’ve ever heard in my life.
We stay like that for a little while. Not long. Maybe a minute, maybe less. But in that short pocket of silence, my brain slows down for the first time in what feels like hours. The exhaustion, the sweat, the yelling, all of it dims beneath the weight of his arms.
He’s quiet, too, and I think maybe he needs this even more than I do, but I stop before I get ahead of myself. His breath is warm near my ear. His chin shifts slightly on my head like he’s making himself comfortable, and I let myself relax in his arms, letting go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
...........................................................
Eventually, he lets go. With a hearty exhale, he just steps back. I exhale too, like I’m just waking up from a dream. I was super tempted to close my eyes while he was holding me, but the fatigue might have actually sent me under. I will not lie, seeing Ernie like this scared me a bit, but the fear was quickly painted over by how sweet it was.
“Gotta take a piss,” he says while stretching, his arms raised as high as possible as if trying to recalibrate his body.
His distinct smell hits me, and the sight of him towering over me in the soft morning light, his face and rough features contorted from the effort, is more attractive than usual.
“Same,” I admit, getting up to head inside with him.
He smirks like a kid who just heard a swear word.
“Same, ha?”
I roll my eyes at him and follow him to the bathroom.
Despite the hospital’s messy design, the bathroom is surprisingly spacious and squeaky clean, which is honestly kind of pleasing to me. I try to head to the urinals, but before I take a single step, Ernie turns me around to face him and grabs my ass, pulling me against him.
“Wooo- Hey!” I put my hands on his chest and push him, just enough so he’d stop.
“What?” He looks at me all confused.
“What are you doing?” I ask, just as confused.
“Didn’t you wanna… Isn’t that why you came with me?” He cocks his head.
“No? I really wanna pee,”
We look at each other for a second while we register the misunderstanding before we both chuckle.
“You’re so weird, Auggie,” he says as he leans in closer, hands still firm on my ass.
“Really? You wanna do it now?” I ask him as our lips meet, the kiss soft but longing.
“Why not? The old bag’s alive and kicking, too much if you ask me.” He says, his lips tracing mine eagerly.
His advance pushed me against the wall, and I’m held straight up between it and his strong body. I melt into his kiss, lapping and licking his familiar, messy taste.
“The handicapped bathroom,” I manage to squeeze out before we start undressing right then and there.
He pulls away, eyes burning, grabs my arm for the second time today, and practically runs outside with me behind him. The other bathroom is right next to this one, so we manage to sneak in without anyone noticing. I do feel it’s wrong to use it for fucking, but my dick was doing all the thinking right now.
Inside, we find it’s quite better than the normal one. More space than we need, and a toilet in the corner with a handle to the side, along with a sink in the other corner. But Ernie doesn’t waste time admiring the decor.
He pressed me against the wall again, resuming our kiss, and I put my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, trying to get more of his mouth in me. His hand paws at my ass, squeezing and releasing my cheeks like he’s kneading dough. Traces of smoke and whiskey fill my mouth and nostrils, but it just makes me want him more, my cock straining against my pants.
He unlatches once more, grabbing my t-shirt and yanking it. He tosses it to the sink before starting to undress himself, and I follow suit. Before long, we’re both standing naked against the cold tiles. His cock is fully hard, pointing directly at me, already seeking its destination. Ernie launches at me again, grabbing my thighs and lifting me up, slamming both of us against the wall. Our cocks mash against each other, their sensitive undersides rubbing against each other as we rock back and forth with Ernie dry humping into me.
I hold onto his back for dear life, my hands slipping on his sweaty, wide muscles. I always loved it, how his body’s strength came from work, not from a gym. And right now, he’s putting in the work. We make out like we’re starving, our mouthes sucking and pulling at each other. Our cocks keep slapping against each other, sandwiches between our slick bodies, making us both start spilling precum.
He stops suddenly, and I throw my head back against the wall to catch my breath while he gets busy. He sucks on two of his fingers, wetting them liberally, before reaching down and smearing his spit all over my ass. He aligns his cock with my entrance, parting my cheeks with his head.
“It’s gonna hurt, but I wanna breed you. Right now,” he says, eyes looking straight at me.
“Do it,” I say, burying my face into his shoulder.
He kisses my neck, landing a couple of pecks as if to comfort me before pushing in.
“AAAAA-” I bite his shoulder, hard.
My hole burns, and I feel it get stretched against his girth. I’m holding on to him for dear life, pushing out with all my might, and he burrows in slowly but surely, until I hear the slap of his pelvis on my ass.
He doesn’t move for a bit, letting the burn fade away and my hole relax. Our breathing is loud and labored. My ass is full to the brim, with Ernie bottomed out against my better judgement. I take deep breaths, then rub my face against his shoulder, signaling him to move. He resumes kissing my neck while his cock slips out bit by bit, until only the head remains. My insides are still burning, but they’re also empty and miss him already. My asshole puckers out, holding his head desperately.
“Fuck me,” I say, exhaustion clear in my voice.
He plants a wet kiss on my cheek before ramming it in again, faster than last time. I yell out into his skin, trying not to alert the whole hospital that I’m getting fucked in here, and he picks up the peace, his balls bouncing up and down as my resistances fade and give way to a smoother fuck.
But our position can only be held for so long. Getting a workout from fucking me standing up, he hugs me tight before pulling me off the wall and marching to sit on the toilet with his cock still buried deep in me. The moment he rests on the toilet seat, his head jams right in, hitting a good spot, and I moan obscenely in his ear. That gets him worked up, and he starts bucking his hips upwards.
I look at him, and see his eyes focused, aiming for that pleasure when my inner walls massage his member. So I grab his shoulders, plant my feet on either side of the seat, and start gyrating my ass on his crotch, moving it circles to feel his cock probe every inch of my insides.
He seems to like it as he groans out in pleasure, his hands on my hips, steadying me. Gradually, I pick up the pace and start going up as much as I can while still connected to him, before going down full force, trying to strike deeper in my body. He’s more than willing, matching every plunge with a good thrust upwards, his body aching to meet me. The sounds of our fucking bounce off the walls, care thrown to the wind as we ride into our orgasms.
Ernie cums first, and he cums violently. The moment “I’m gonna cum,” slips past his clenched teeth, he switches gears, fucking into me like a jack hammer. I squeeze my ass as hard I can, cmalping down on his cock for life, and I’m rewarded with my voice hitching with every push from his powerful cock. He yells hard as he thrusts in me one final time, and the sensations overwhelm me, from his hot sperm, seeding my bowels so far up, to his powerful thighs, bouncing my body hard. His whole body goes rigid as the endorphins course through every inch of him, and my ass tries to suck whatever is left off from spill like the hungry hole it is. My hand is glued to my cock, jerking furiously, and I feel my limit approach.
“No, stop. I’ll get you off right,” his words fail to reach me in my horny haze, and he grabs my hand to stop me from climaxing.
I look at him, flustered and confused, and he ushers me to move, and so I do. He gently unlodges from inside me, his sperm buried too deep to come out immediately, and scoops my legs up so I’m being cradled on his thighs.
“Wha-” I try to ask what he’s doing, but he shuts me up with a kiss.
His tongue dominates the inside of my mouth as I relish control to him, and one of his hands supports my back while the other reaches between my legs and fingers my hole, probing inside and messing with his own cum inside me. I raise my legs, my ass tingling from the gentle treatment, and hold on to him for stability, my body building up heat again as he toys with me.
The combination of being toyed with on both ends is intoxicating, and my position adds to the sexuality of the situation. Jerking like my life depended on it, I finally reach my orgasm.
My load spills out of me like a fountain, spraying me from the chin to the groin, as I convulse under Ernie’s treatment. I unlatch from his mouth and take deep breaths to regain my balance as he holds me close while I rock with the waves of my orgasm. He lowers his head and licks my cum off my body, his tongue leaving a hot, wet trail across it, my hand fisting his hair gingerly.
Once he’s done, I slide down while still out of breath and sit between his legs. We’re both naked and sweaty and I’m covered in cum, but I feel like I could just lean back and fall asleep against him right this instant.
“That was great,” I say, panting.
“Hell yeah, it was!“ He replied excitedly, clearly happy with his handiwork.
He grabs my glistening cock and squeezes the head.
“AAHHH- STOP- YOU ASSHOLE-” I howl in a mix of pain and pleasure, elbowing him until he stops, his laughs filling the bathroom.
...........................................................
“He’s not gonna notice. He’s dumber than soap on his good days.” Ernie assures me.
We tried our best to freshen up to the best of our abilities after our sexcapade in the bathroom with water and toilet paper. Luckily, we were already a mess before fucking like rabbits, so worked in our favor. There was only one nurse when we exited the bathroom, and one look from Ernie sent him running. It pays to have a wild dog for a fuck buddy sometimes.
Walking back Frank’s room, I kept making sure I didn’t get any accidental cum spots on me. My body was still sticky in some places thanks to Ernie’s haphazard licking, and his own cum was still lodged up my ass. I was clenching to make sure I don’t leak everywhere, but I couldn’t help but feel like it was slipping out.
Ernie waves my worries away again, thinking I’m being paranoid. I sigh. Maybe he was right. It’s always the self-consciousness that makes you stand out in situations like these. So, swallowing the ridicioulus thought that everyone in the hospital knew I was an easy, horny bitch, I walked back into Frank’s room sipping on a new cup of coffee.
We were late, that’s for sure, but Ernie said he’ll just say he went to get cigarettes since they don’t sell them here. But when we walked in, his dad’s eyes narrowed, staring us up and down for a minute before talking.
“So how long have you two been fucking?”
His verbal bomb blows up the room. I choke on my coffee, coughing and hacking as I struggle to breathe properly. Ernie is taken aback for a second before his anger-o-meter hits the 100% and he spews every cuss word known to man at his dad.
“THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHO THE FUCK ASKS SOMETHING LIKE THAT?” Ernie yells once he gets the initial barrage of cursing out of the way.
“You had that look on your face, that one you get whenever you snag yourself something good,” Frank is calmer, knowing he has the upper hand, “You had it when you figured out where I hid the Christmas candy, you had it when you stole my car to drive around at 14,” he pauses and smirks menacingly at Ernie, “and you had it when you were doing that boy fresh off highschool.”
“YOU SICK SHIT, I SHOULD’VE LET YOU DIE!” Ernie screams, his face turning red.
I was still coughing slightly, but I couldn’t help but smile at this brand-new side of Ernie, the little boy in his dad’s presence. I was told only parents were able to bring out this embarrassment in you, and I was seeing it for myself right now, a much gentler, intimate side of him.
“Ten minutes it took you to notice me standing at the door, too stunned to speak at finding two guys fucking in my bed,” Frank goes on, recounting Ernie’s conquest of younger years with glee, “guy looked like a complete wimp. I still have no idea how you convinced him to fuck, but he was obviously into it. Couldn’t have been much older than 19.”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Ernie yells again, unsure if he should shut his dad up physically, his whole body trembling with anger.
“Poor boy was so scared when I started yelling. You jumped 10 feet in the air when you heard my voice, like a frightened kitten. Then we started arguing just like now, with your underwear around your ankles while the wimp scrambled to get his clothes and run away. What a pair of morons, the both of you.” Frank finished off the memory with a hearty laugh, knowing he got one on his son.
Ernie reaches the boiling point, readying himself to tear his dad a new one, I assume. But right as he raises his arm threateningly, his flip phone rings from inside his pocket. The conflict shows clearly on his face, but he ultimately chooses the phone as he punches the nearby table to the ground before picking up the call and exiting the room.
Frank falls back into bed, laughing his ass off, and I sit to the side, sipping on my coffee, all the while smiling, probably like Ernie was. Once Frank settles down, he turns around and looks me over (evaluating me for his son, maybe?), then licks his lips and motions for me to get closer.
“Listen, August, was it? You seem like a good kid. Ditch this sack of shit before he fucks up your life,” he says, his tone too cheery for the contents of his words.
“Thanks, Frank. I’ll take your advice to heart.” I answer simply.
He gives me a skeptical look, then shrugs and goes back to the TV he was watching before we entered.
After a while, Ernie comes back in, the results of the phone call written on his face. An occurrence unalien to our irregular meetings. He looks between me and Frank with a mixed emotion, and I sigh as I make a decision against my better judgment.
“You can go, I’ll stay with him.”
He silently looks at me before coming over and planting a quick but deep kiss on my mouth.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Frank yells from behind us, clearly annoyed.
Ernie flips him off, now renewed with a different type of vigor. He says he’ll come to pick me up as soon as possible, and I tell him to take his time as he leaves the room in a hurry.
I gaze at the door after he leaves for a minute, wondering what exactly I’m doing right now, and then it hits me. I’m attracted to Ernie. Not just physically, or a passing liking. But a genuine emotional attraction. I want to be close to him, to hold him and be held by him, to share more of my life with him.
The realization scares and excites me at the same time, and as I rest my head against the wall, my whole body threatening to shut down at any second, I cherish the sweet, intimate warmth I shared with Ernie today.
This has been chapter 2 of Raw Deal. Only one more chapter remain.
