"What up, dude?" My older brother's face fills the phone screen. He's walking back from the gym. He says he has an evening class to get ready for, which basically means I need to spit it out.
I take a deep breath and hold it for a bit. Shit, I am nervous. "Joe, I'm gay," I finally say.
He chuckles a little and shakes his head. "I know, dude."
I blink stupidly at him. Say what now? How could he possibly have known that? But still, it's such a relief that he's not yelling at me or especially that he never outed me to Mom and Dad. So I keep going. "And I'm dating someone at school."
Joe nods approvingly. "Who?"
"Do you remember Crispin Vieira?"
My brother's expression says no. "Is he a senior?"
"Yeah, so he would have been a freshman when you were here. Remember the guy who got duct-taped to the cafeteria wall the first day of school?"
Joe snaps his fingers. "Oh, yeah! That sour kid with the mohawk."
"That's Crispin."
"Him?" Joe actually starts laughing. "Aaron, you have weird taste."
"Fuck you."
"No, I'm sorry, I just figured you'd be in love with, like, LeAndre."
"Crispin has, like, double the muscle LeAndre has."
"What? No. He's leprechaun-sized!"
"At least two leprechauns stacked on top of each other. Joe, he's like a certified street fighter. He does Muay Thai and shit."
"Damn. Okay."
"Yeah. And he's smart and super good at art."
Joe nods thoughtfully. "So you really like him?"
Before I can even respond my face starts to smile. "Oh my god, yeah. He's just…awesome. I don't know. He makes me laugh, and he makes me think, and he has no idea how hot he is. Like, none."
Joe makes a funny face. "You might be the only one who thinks so."
I shrug. I'm fine with that if it means keeping Crispin to myself.
Joe shakes his head after a moment. "You gonna tell the 'rents?"
"Fuck no! I can't pay for college on my own."
"Yeah, good point," Joe acknowledges. "Do the little princesses know?"
Rolling my eyes, I reply, "Fuck no to that, too. Lacey can't keep her mouth shut."
Joe chuckles, and for a moment I'm caught up in how easy this was. It wasn't a big deal. Joe already knew, somehow, and he gets it. For once in my life I feel totally, completely normal.
"Wait," Joe says suddenly, "so when Lacey was texting me about you punching some kid in the mouth, was Crispin—I can't believe that's a real human's name—the 'little boy' you were defending?"
"Yeah, but—”
"So this guy is the reason you keep getting in trouble."
That makes it sound like Crispin is a bad influence on me. If anything, it's the opposite. "Nah, that's because I'm always late. But I did threaten to kick Jay's teeth in if he didn't stop being a bully."
"Good. Cocky little bastard needed to get taken down a notch."
"He is still my friend."
"Really?" Joe snorts. "Maybe you can help teach him how not to be such a dick."
"That's his parents’ job," I protest. "I can't teach him a damn thing."
Joe gets that look like he is about to drop some college wisdom on me. "We are all responsible for each other," he says knowingly. "If he learns the wrong thing from his parents, then he's going to look to his peers for, like, social mores and shit.”
I groan. “That sounds like nonsense.”
Rolling his eyes comically, Joe says in our mom’s voice, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“Wait, so you’re really not mad at me?” All of a sudden I’m nervous again.
Joe smiles at me. “For being yourself? Nah, dude. I’m proud of you. And hey, let me know when you want to tell the family, if ever. I’ll be your backup.”
If I stay on the phone with him I’ll start crying, so I say, “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure, dude. Love ya.”
"I told my brother about you yesterday," I tell Crispin after school.
His face lights up for a second before he narrows his eyes. “What did you say?”
“That we’re together and that I really like you.”
I don't even think he knows he’s biting his lip. Crispin definitely knows he's blushing, though; both hands come up to cover his face. If we were in private I would pull his hand down and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. Instead I scrub harder at the desk I’m working on.
“Do people write more because they know I’m cleaning it off?” I grumble.
Crispin, still a little rosy, makes a sympathetic noise. “Sorry, baby.”
I know he’s mocking me, but I like him calling me baby. “Carter told me he and Jay left me a note, so I’m not making it up out of nowhere..”
"You know," Crispin muses, "I think maybe Jay has a crush on LeAndre."
"Quit talking shit." Someone stuck gum on the underside of this desk.
"No, I'm serious," he insists, rummaging in a drawer. "I'm not saying he's gay, just maybe that he has a crush. Like, elementary school style."
I grab the trash can and the scraper from my bag of detention tools. "Come on. Being a homophobe doesn't automatically make him closeted."
"Duh, but look at their relationship. Let's call it a friend crush, or a bro crush, not sexual. I think Jay really, really wants LeAndre to like him."
"Everybody really wants LeAndre to like them," I reply. "He's popular because he's smart and nice to people." This gum is fresh and sticky. Why do people do this? There is a fucking trash can three feet away.
"And hot and good at everything," Crispin adds.
"Right." I stand to stretch my back. "Ugh, I hate this so much."
Crispin comes around the desk. "Sorry, pumpkin," he says cajolingly.
"Don't you 'sorry, pumpkin,' me," I fake growl. "This was your fault."
"Heeeey, queer burger." Jay's voice startles me as he pops around the corner.
"Oh goody, it's Young Bicurious," Crispin snaps back. "How's life in the closet?"
I hide a grin. If Crispin had claws, they'd be out and gleaming. Personally, I think he and Jay have reached an uneasy truce. Jay doesn't touch Crispin, who in return isn’t shy about dishing out what he takes.
I nod at Jay. "What's up, man?"
"Trying to find Carter; I'm giving him a ride home," he responds with a shrug. "But hey, are you coming out after prom?"
"Oh, the prom that I can't go to because of you two?" I ask sarcastically, pointing at him and Crispin. "Love to."
Jay waves a dismissive hand. "Quit letting this guy hang around you; you're getting too sensitive. Just come out."
"I don't know, dude," I say honestly. "It might just be depressing."
"Whatever, you should come. Later."
"Yeah, later."
Crispin snorts at Jay's retreating back. "I'm making you sensitive? What a macho jerk."
I nod seriously. "He's right, though. I never had a feeling or an emotion before we started dating."
Crispin doesn't laugh or anything, he just gets a little happy smile.
"What?" I ask.
"I don't know," he mumbles shyly, "I just like hearing you say we're dating." He's so easily pleased. It's cute.
"It sounded better than 'since I started ass-burgling you.'"
That does earn a laugh. "Dork. See you tomorrow." Crispin high fives me because the door is open, and goes back to the office.
"Hey, Mom, Crispin's coming over on Friday," I announce at dinner.
Dad pauses in the midst of serving Lacey some peas. "That little androgynous kid? Again?"
"He's a very pleasant young man," my mom tells him, "if effeminate."
"What's 'effemninate?'" asks Allison.
"And 'androgynous?'" Lacey adds. "Effeminate means he acts like a girl."
"Androgynous means it's hard to tell whether someone's a boy or a girl," Dad replies.
Lacey turns back to Allison to clarify, “Because he has long hair.” Allison whispers something about transgender people.
Mom turns to me. "Aaron, don't you hang out with your football buddies anymore?" Her tone is concerned, like I’m showing an alarming pattern of behavior.
"They've kind of turned into bullies," I mumble.
Lacey pipes up. "Jay is mad at you for cussing at him. Bridget told me."
"Tell her that her brother was shoving people into lockers and calling them names," I suggest. “That makes me mad.”
Mom spreads her hands in a calming gesture. "Aaron, honey, it's fine if Crispin comes over as long as you finish your homework. Lacey, your brother was actually doing something nice, he just used the wrong language. That's why he got in trouble."
"Bridget said Aaron kicked Jay's teeth out," Lacey mumbles. Damn little sisters. Damn middle school gossip.
"I didn't touch him, I just yelled at him," I grit out.
"How does Crispin act like a girl?" Allison asks Dad. "I like him."
"Maybe because you identify with him," my dad replies. Mom snorts.
"Dad, come on." I briefly wish Crispin could listen in, and understand why I'm keeping the whole gay thing under wraps. "He does two different martial arts, you know. And he has a black belt in both."
Dad raises his hands in surrender. "I'm nice to him, aren't I?"
Rolling my eyes comes more and more naturally. “We’re going to watch MMA, if that puts you at ease,” I say sarcastically.
“Don’t use that tone with me” Dad says casually as he refills Allison’s glass. “But Aaron, seriously, if he tries anything—”
“Dad!” Oh, my god.
“Tries what?” Allison asks.
Lacey giggles. “To kiss Aaron.”
“Eeeeeeew!” Allison squeals. “Wait, Dad, what should he do?”
“Stop hanging out with him,” our father calmly answers.
“After Aaron gives him a good slap,” Mom mutters to my left.
With an exasperated exhale I get up from the table. “Excuse me, please, but I’m not hungry anymore.” My blood is boiling.
“Aaron, if you leave now there will be no dessert,” Mom warns. Any display of democracy or free thinking is squashed in our household.
“That’s fine. I’m just going to go for a run, anyway.” There’s so much wrong, and I need to think about none of it.
“Can I have his dessert?” Lacey asks as I clear my plate.
“You and Allison can share,” Mom replies.
I can’t leave fast enough. My feet take me to the park three miles away before I feel comfortable enough with my thoughts to slow down. “Ugh,” I groan at one point, startling an old couple on the path. There’s a kids soccer team practicing; the players are so young that they all just follow the ball around in a clump and kick violently whenever they get close to it. It’s entertaining for about a second. The path follows the edges of the fields and around to the parking lots. Still seething, I take it until it forks back into the park, then circle the fields again.
Fuck everyone, fuck everything. The thought becomes an awful mantra as my chest heaves and my legs burn. Fuck everyone, fuck everything, fuck everyone, fuck everything, fuck everyone, fuck every —
“Aaron?”
My head whips around so fast that I lose my bearings and fall flat on my face.
“Aaron! Oh my god!” Crispin pulls me upright. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
Am I okay? My palms and knees burn, my family is growing suspicious of the time I spend with him, and they still hate gays. I’m not okay. Everything inside hurts, and I don’t know what to do about it.
“Hey,” Crispin says softly, looking up at me with concern.
“Hey,” I reply. Then because for some reason I feel like I’m going to cry in the middle of a park, I step forward and wrap my arms around him. Crispin fits perfectly into my chest; his shoulders are strong enough to lean on. I don’t think about anything but the silk of his hair under my chin or the warmth of his hands on my back. A deep inhale and a deep exhale; I hug him tightly and breathe. I’m not okay, but I will be. Things are going to be fine.
“Cris.” There’s a tiny person to my right, tugging on him. “Let’s go.” The boy gives the last word two syllables.
Crispin and I untangle ourselves swiftly and I wipe my face.
“Sorry, this is my little brother. Quentin,” he crouches to look the boy in the eye, “say hello to my friend Aaron.”
Quentin and I shake hands. “Were you crying?” he asks suspiciously.
“I fell down,” I explain. “It really, really hurts.” I want to ask how a couple of Brazilian kids got such British names, but I refrain. Additionally, I try not to resent a six-year-old for interrupting.
The kid isn't charmed. "I'm hungry," he declares. "Let's go."
Crispin gives me an apologetic look. "I have to go—"
"Come over earlier tomorrow," I cut in swiftly. "Actually, come home with me after school."
"But Aaron, hey, Aaron!" Crispin shouts after me, but I'm already jogging away. He won't refuse.
Third period is Human Biology. We’re watching some movie about DNA starring the guy who everybody thought had died. So, like anyone with half a brain, I sign in early while everybody is still getting settled and then walk out of the room long before the bell rings. I make it to the boy’s bathroom to wait out the hall patrol. Because I have shit luck these days someone walks in just as soon as I get my feet on top of the toilet seats.
“—because she’s a fat bitch who takes it out on me!”
Ugh. It’s that shithead, Porter.
“I can’t believe you talk about your mother like that.”
That would be Crispin. I can’t believe he still hangs out with Porter.
“Whatever, she’s a total prick sometimes.” I hear him unzip his pants. “Speaking of pricks, are you still going out with that meathead?”
“Aaron isn’t a meathead,” Crispins replies. “He’s actually really smart.”
“So he’s a smart dick.”
“He’s nice to me, Porter, even in front of all the other dude bros. If you were a little less judgemental you could tell. Aaron’s a really great guy.”
“Whatever. I just think you could do better.”
“In this school? You’re kidding me.”
This is fucking awesome.
The bell rings, and Porter says, “Shit! I still have to get my books from my locker!”
He runs out. Even with the urinal flushing I can hear Crispin mutter, “Wash your hands, idiot.”
I don’t want him to give me away by surprising him, so I let the door swing open quietly. Crispin is standing at the sink at the other end of the bathroom, humming to himself as he washes his hands. He’s so confident that no one else is around that he doesn’t notice me until I put a hand over his mouth. His gaze flies up to meet mine in the mirror.
“You might want to check the stalls before you start discussing your love life.” Taking my hand away, I rest one hip on the sink next to his.
“Oh my god, Aaron, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think; I swear it won’t happen again. I just, I have a hall pass, so I figured, or —”
“Dry your hands first.” He thinks I’m angry because he was talking about me openly in school. What will he do when he figures out that he, too, will be missing his next class?
“Are you…" Crispin pauses to throw his paper towel away, which is just an excuse not to look at me in the eyes. "Are you super mad at me?”
“No.” Grabbing him by the shoulders, I back Crispin into the last stall and lock it.
“What are you doing?” he whispers.
“You can’t tell?”
“No.”
Tugging his waistband with one hand I slide the other down into his briefs. Crispin nearly jumps out of his smooth brown skin.
“How about now?”
“Are you serious?” he hisses.
“Yes.”
“Aaron, I have class!”
I close in on him, bending to kiss his neck. “What class?”
“Study hall, but—”
“But shut up if you don’t want to get in trouble for fucking in the boy’s bathroom.”
I’m not actually going to have sex with him; I don't think I’ll ever be the type to carry condoms in my pocket just in case a hot ass is open for business. He doesn’t know that, though. What I want is to let Crispin know that I am just as into him as he is into me, even if I can’t say it aloud. What I want is to say a big fat fuck you to Preston, to my parents, to my coach, to all the athletes, to everybody—right now I could give a rat's ass about what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm going to do some nasty shit in school in the middle of the day, and I'm going to feel great about it.
Even as his breathing deepens and his cock grows thick in my hand, Crispin looks frightened. His hands are trembling, which undoubtedly embarrasses him.
“Take it out,” I order, and put his hand on my zipper.
He does without undoing my belt, right through the opening of my boxers. A plan starts to form in my mind.
“Do you know what’s going to happen now?” In the quiet of the bathroom my voice is loud.
Crispin shakes his head, his dark eyes wide.
“You’re going to suck my dick, right here, and jack yourself off until we both come.”
The furrowing of his brow isn’t a good sign. One day I’ll push him too far, I think, and he’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble. Today can’t be that day. I’m hard as fuck in his hand, and even if Crispin doesn’t like the idea of blowing me in a bathroom, he’s rock hard, too. Because I know he likes it, I run the fingertips of my free hand over the bare skin around his ear.
“Every time you come in here,” I continue, “You’re going to remember my hand on your dick, my cock in your mouth, and the sound of me calling your name.”
I’m full of shit.
Crispin hesitates for a moment, so to help him out I reach behind him and put the toilet lid down. Lucky me that I remembered which stall still has one attached, so I don’t have to feel bad about pushing Crispin down on it. He looks up at me a little worriedly—poor guy probably hasn’t ever skipped a class in his life—so I give him an encouraging little peck on the lips. Then, just to be mean, I whisper, “You owe me, Vieira.”
Crispin narrows his eyes at me. However smug I’m feeling is undoubtedly written all the fuck over my face right now. Nonetheless he scoots forward on the toilet seat and pulls me closer to him.
“C’mon, baby,” I drawl, tapping my dick on his cheek. “Gimme them pretty dick-suckin’ lips.”
“You are an ass,” Crispin retorts, and seals his mouth around my cock.
So warm, so wet; Crispin swirls his tongue around the tip, digging into the slit and flicking the underside. Bracing myself with one hand, I run the other around Crispin’s ear and try to resist guiding his head. He’s teasing me. That, or he’s trying to give me a completely noiseless blowjob. The hand he has wrapped around my shaft doesn’t move; just squeezes in time to the movement of his mouth. This is different from usual—a slow, steady burn settles behind my navel to spread outward. My nerves are on tenterhooks between each pause of Crispin’s tongue, the cool feather of his breath, the gentle pressure of his fist.
“Goddamn that’s good,” I groan way too loudly.
Crispin immediately raises his head. “Aaron, shut up!”
“You shut up,” I reply, and shove him back onto my dick.
Finally Crispin starts bobbing up and down, and almost as gratifying is the sound of his zipper coming down and the soft rustling as he takes his own cock out. I love watching him get himself off. I don’t know if Crispin realizes it, but the reason I can make him come so quickly is because I now know what he likes to do to himself. He unbuttons his shirt and pulls it free of his shorts without ever losing his rhythm. I lean over a little bit to touch him, but the motion shoves my dick too far in his mouth and Crispin chokes.
He pulls off, wide-eyed and coughing. Shit. I could either apologize and put my hard-on away, or just grab his hair and make him do it again until he figures out how to deepthroat. Right? Is there a third option?
“You okay?” I hear myself ask.
Crispin nods, wiping at the tears that his coughing fit brought to his eyes.
“Good. Quit trying to eat my dick.”
Trying not to smile, he replies, “The cafeteria is serving hot dogs today. You’re making me hungry.”
“This is not snack time.”
“Maybe not for you,” he snorts.
“That’s because I can’t sixty-nine you in a fucking bathroom stall.”
He rolls his eyes. “You just haven’t tried.”
“You have made it very clear that if I even try to put my hands on you, you’ll bite my cock off at the root. That’s what you did, just now. You threatened me through fellatio, and I am wary of you.”
Crispin can’t quit laughing long enough to close his mouth, much less pick up where he left off in this boy’s room blowjob, so I pick him up and set him on his feet. He even giggles when I spin us around and push him against the stall door. I do need to shut us both up, because we’re getting carelessly loud. I bend down and shove my tongue in his mouth.
“Mm,” is Crispin’s reaction, and he wraps one arm around my neck. If I step between his legs I can brace him against the door. Crispin gasps when I lift him by his firm buttocks, but he encircles my waist with his legs. Our cocks align perfectly now, so I hold on to the door and whisper in his ear.
“Jack us both off.”
Crispin, resting his forehead on my shoulder, grasps us with both his hands. His hand on me, his cock on mine, the tremble of his fingertips send shivers from the top of my head to the bottom of my spine. I urge him to stroke faster, and grip harder; I’m so ready to come for him, to come on him and mark him as mine, mine, mine.
“That’s it,” I say softly, my uneven breath making my voice ragged, “just like that.”
Crispin’s breath comes harder now, too, and his precum slicks his palm. It glides over my dick, warm and sticky, making wet sounds as Crispin jerks us off. Faster and faster his hand moves, while his free hand teases the tip with a torturously light tough. Suddenly I’m coming—no buildup, no warning—in jet after jet of whitish fluid that speckles Crispin’s chest and abs.
“Oh, god,” I exhale. It’s a struggle to stay upright, but as soon as my orgasmic high is over I can tell that Crispin’s very close to his. “Almost there?”
He nods, eyes squeezed shut, but I can tell he’s not quite getting there. As quietly as possible I wrap my arms around him and sit down on the closed toilet seat. Straddled across my lap, Crispin strokes himself rapidly, teeth clenched and stiff.
Aw.
“Relax,” I breathe in his ear.
The depression behind his jaw, just under his ear, calls to me. Nuzzling him contentedly, I take his hand from his cock and replace it with mine. Crispin clutches my jacket. I don’t think he realizes that he’s rocking his hips, fucking my hand.
“Come for me," I encourage him.
“Aaron, can you kiss me?” he whispers in reply.
Fuck if that doesn’t make my insides feel warm and gooey. “As much as you want,” I answer just as softly.
His lips are on mine not a moment later, anxious and needy, and I brush my tongue over his when his mouth opens. Crispin’s fist clench tighter in my jacket, the urgency in his hips increase; his abs stand in tight definition as his body primes for an explosion. I feel cum hitting my chin before I realize that Crispin is coming. He quivers with each spurt, and I count them in between kisses. One, two…When I reach five he grabs my wrist to stop me from stroking him.
“Oh, god.” The words might be a prayer. Crispin drops his head into the crook of my neck. “Oh, my god. Aaron.”
I don’t respond—I’m preoccupied with massaging the dirty evidence into his chest. We’ll both probably smell like jizz until we can shower. Today I don’t care.
Once he catches his breath Crispin stands. “You’re going to get me in so much trouble,” he accuses me, fishing in his backpack for a moist towelette. Of course Crispin has moist towelettes.
I shrug. “I may have skipped the occasional class, but I definitely didn’t do this kind of stuff until you came along. Blame ya own hot ass for my new bad boy persona.”
Why do I like embarrassing him when I’ve already smeared both his and my cum all over his naked torso? The dusky shade of pink that colors his cheeks and ears is just plain cute. When we’re both relatively cleaned and zipped up I unlock the stall.
“So, I’ll see you later, I guess,” Crispin says awkwardly, trying to make for the door without looking at me.
I grab his arm. “I’ll meet you at my car at four,” I tell him, and smack his juicy Christmas hams before I let him run off to study hall.
When Mrs. Park demands to know where I was, I tell her I was having stomach troubles and was in the bathroom. She doesn’t ask me any more questions, and besides, her class is an elective. She’s not even making us write a response to the film. All in all, I feel pretty damn good about what I just did.
“Dude, where the fuck were you?” Carter asks at lunch, shoving me when I sit down with them.
I grin; I can't help it. “In the bathroom.” Keep a lid on it, I order myself.
Dumbass Jay leans in. “Dude, were you getting it on?”
His dumbass girlfriend laughs. “That’s not the shirt you were wearing earlier.”
That's because the shirt I was wearing earlier has jizz all over it. I shrug. There's a collective, "Ooh!" They thought Jay was talking his usual shit.
“Holy fuck, Aaron! I have so much more respect for you, man. Seriously, I’m proud of you.” Jay pounds me on the back.
I shove his arm away. “Shut up, Jay.” Why is he so fucking loud?
“So who is she?” he continues. “Is it Madison? She’s totally bangable.”
“Nope.”
Carter suggests, “It was Haley. Can't get enough of sweet, sweet Haley.”
I glance around for the girl in question. We had made out like, a year ago, and even though we had both been pretty wasted, nobody wanted to let us forget it. I would love, just love, to forget about it. Haley’s nice, but so much on her squished where I wanted it to be hard—or to be Crispin.
“Nope.” I peel the cellophane off my apple.
Carter grabs the fruit from my hand. “Dude, just tell us who she is.”
“No,” I say smoothly, taking the apple back. “I don’t want you spreading it around.”
“It was totally Haley!” Jay laughs. "Nice work, man."
Is it just me, or has the cafeteria noise died down since I walked in? I’m not an attention-grabber. I wasn’t up for homecoming king. While I know that a lot of the school knows who I am, it’s not like I’ve ever been popular enough to have rumors spread about me. This would be a terrible time for them to start.
“No! This particular individual," I raise a finger knowingly, "is so far off your radar that you wouldn’t even find 'em attractive.”
LeAndre says, “Shauna Oldman?" and everyone laughs.
I roll my eyes. "Got it in one. I was in the bathroom with Shauna Oldman, going to fucking town. Good work, Sherlock; you’re a fucking genius. Now, please, tell everyone for me."
"I'll do it," says Carter, then suddenly stands and yells across the cafeteria at Crispin's group, "Hey, Shauna! Nice work on our boy here!"
Fuuuuuuuck. Fuckfuckfuck.
"Shut your fucking mouth," I growl at him. “You are so immature.” This is getting out of hand way faster than I anticipated. I'm sure my face is completely red.
"Yeah, Shauna!" Jay hops up to add, tasking advantage of our growing audience. "Gettin’ na-stay!" He mimes a blowjob, just in case she didn't get it.
Shauna's her usual stony sour face, but I yank Jay and Carter down anyway. "You're going to get me in trouble," I complain as an explanation, hearing Crispin’s voice in my head. That line about a bad boy persona had been a joke, but three months of detention plus getting barred from prom may have put me a little more in the spotlight than I had previously considered.
Jay and Carter are both cracking up, as is everyone else at the table. Crispin is staring at me; the huddle around his table tells me that the nerds are trying to figure out what stemmed the outburst on my end. What did that dumb jock say about precious Shauna? As much as I dislike her, I don’t think she needs rumors about blowing me in the bathroom to go circling around the school. “Sorry,” I mouth with an appropriately ashamed expression.
Crispin grins and gives a subtle nod as if to tell me that I’m not the only one who dodged a few inane questions after our third period disappearing act. He’s so fucking cute that I grin and wink back at him. Shauna Oldman, who clearly thinks that the gesture is not meant for the boy sitting right next to her, blushes and drops her gaze.
What have I fucking done?
For the second time in one day I have Crispin's hard cock in my hand. Crispin's breath mingles with mine, blowing hot over my neck. His hand is wrapped tightly around my dick, moving in time with my hand on his.
I felt like a fucking rock star when I saw him waiting by my car. He looked so self-conscious, glancing nervously at every person who walked by. All I said to him was, “Hey,” and unlocked the car, and then Crispin chewed his lip and shrank in his seat until we reached my neighborhood. Given how he jumped when I reached for his hand as soon as the car was in drive, I think he was as worried for me and my reputation as what people would think of him. Maybe that’s a weird trigger, but it turned me the fuck on.
Now it’s easier to make him come. There’s lube, there’s mood music, we’re on a couch instead of a bathroom stall, and that half hour of dry humping and making out wound him up. With his usual silence Crispin shudders and spills onto my fist, and I’m not far behind.
Today has turned out to be a very good day.
"Is this why you wanted me to come over earlier?" Crispin asks as he gets up.
"Not really." I accept the washcloth he hands me. The guy is so fucking thoughtful it puts me to shame.
"What was up with you yesterday?" His tone is carefully casual, but he glances quickly at me from the corner of his eye. Crispin might know he won't get a satisfying answer from me, but he at least asks and means it. I like him better for it.
"My family is a bunch of dicks sometimes,” I say with a shrug, pulling my underwear back on. “My dad, I think, is getting suspicious.”
The frown on Crispin’s face, if I address it, could open up a whole new can of worms. So I poke him in the forehead. Crispin pokes me back, and in another second we’re wrestling all over the floor. I’m bigger and had three years of mediocre wrestling in middle school, but Crispin is pure muscle and deadly. When I tap out the second time he only has the chance to sit up before I pick him up and throw him on the bed. He bounces, flailing comically, and I dive after him.
“Unfair!” he laughs when I tackle him. “You said you would quit doing that!”
Fending off a pillow, I correct him. “No, you told me to quit doing that, and I said I would if you wrote my English paper for me.”
“Do your own work, stupid,” he retorts, trying to smother me in the blanket. My witty reply is cut short by getting jabbed in the Adam’s apple. It’s all fun and games until someone can’t breathe or gets hit in the nuts.
“Sorry, sorry!” Crispin says, flopping down beside me as I wheeze. “You okay?”
I nod and kick him in the butt, hacking for effect. I’m not all that injured, but I like messing with him. There’s a pillow on the floor within reach. A quick grab, a smack to Crispin’s face, and it’s under my head.
“Jerk,” he grumbles, but the smile betrays him.
“So tell me,” I say, pulling him close, “did you catch shit for being late to class?”
Crispin shakes his head. “I get the impression that Mr. Rojas thinks I was getting bullied, but was ashamed to say anything. He encouraged me to talk to him anytime if ‘things get tough.’”
“Oops.”
“Yeah. And speaking of, guess who couldn’t stop talking about you in Calculus?”
I roll my eyes. “Damn it.”
“Yup, your gallantry at lunch has thrown you into full crush territory for Shauna Marie Oldman,” Crispin informs me, trying and failing to sound sympathetic.
“Her middle name is Marie?”
“Not the point.”
Covering my face with my arms I sigh loudly. "Oh, my life, my life. Why must this be my life?"
Crispin commiserates with a condescending pat on the head."Poor baby. However, you did kind of have it coming to you."
"I did not." I drop my arms to glare at him.
“Between covering her work in class and defending her honor today…” Crispin trails off, looking pensive. “Maybe you should date.”
“Fuck!” I groan as he laughs. “Why do girls take me being nice for liking them? Dumb.”
Crispin pinches my side. “Don’t be such a woman-hater.”
“I’m not,” I protest. “I just don’t like anybody.”
“Not true. You like Carter, LeAndre, Jay; you’re always talking bad about girls.”
I roll to face him. “Because all your friends are girls, except for that shithead Preston, and I don’t like your friends any more than you like mine.”
“Your friends are entitled, elitist assholes,” Crispin's responds sharply.
“And yours are self-righteous, self-pitying losers.”
His mouth tightens for a moment. “Seriously, what is your deal?”
Okay, I'm being mean. “I told you: my family is getting to me.” It's not quite an apology, and I can tell from the way he screws up his mouth even further that Crispin is very aware of that.
“Well, you don’t have to be a complete jerk about the people who are closest to me. And you did wink at Shauna from across the cafeteria. A million people saw it."
"Then tell them I was playing along with Jay and them."
Now he laughs at me. "Too late! You winked at a table full of girls. Girls catch all those subtle things real quick, baby boy. And now," he continues over my groaning, "Shauna has confirmation that she wasn't just making things up and that you totally have a secret crush on her. They analyzed pretty much all of you two's interactions. And frankly, they have a point."
I chuckle a little at that, but this still bothers me. "Hey," I suddenly say as I prop my head up on the pillow. "Who are you taking to prom?"
Crispin rolls his dark eyes. "Jenny Gray, who else?"
One of his antisocial girlfriends. "Do you hang out with her because you like her, or because she's another social outcast?"
"Both, and she's hilarious. Next question."
"What are you doing after prom?"
"Game of Thrones marathon at Allison Barnhart’s."
"Want to skip your nerd gathering and hang out with me?"
He grins hugely but buries his face in a pillow to hide it. Fucking adorable. "What about your friends?" he asks, peering at me with one eye.
"LeAndre's folks rented out a couple of suites, so everyone is going there. I'd ditch them for you,” I swear grandly. I mean it.
Crispin looks contemplative for a moment, and I know he's a little irritated that I didn't offer to take him along to the popular kid party. I would counter with the fact that he didn't invite me to his thing, either—who doesn't like Game of Thrones?—but it's easier not to have the argument.
Finally Crispin says, "Allison has booze."
"I have stolen, like, so much liquor from my parents. And you know it’s the good stuff because it’s disgusting.."
"They're going to be so suspicious."
I nudge him in the side. "Quit making excuses. Do you want to spend prom night over here or not?"
"Yeah, but how are you going to explain it to your parents?"
That’s the main issue, isn’t it. "My parents? I'll think of some bro-dude reasoning, like we chose to play video games instead of get drunk and irresponsible with our hooligan friends."
Crispin smiles. "How noble of us."
"I know. And then we're going to lose our virginities all over again," I reply, clasping my hands to my chest dramatically.
"You mean, you'll let me, you know, top?"
Wow. That wasn't really what I had meant, so I try to avoid answering. "Do you want to?"
"Duh." Crispin gives me a look. "Just because I'm not as butch as you doesn't make me an exclusive bottom."
My little sphincter clenches nervously, but, “I'll do it," I say, feeling like this could be a huge mistake.
"You're gonna love it," he promises with a kiss to my forehead, "and I'll practice my technique on Preston first."
"You will not," I retort, reaching under him to twist his nipple. Crispin attacks me with a pillow again. Tension successfully diffused, I defend myself until Mom calls us for dinner, and try not to think about to what I just committed.
“Hey, Mom,” I say casually as I’m unloading the dishwasher, “I think Crispin’s gonna come over after prom to hang out.”
Mom looks up from the book she has out on the kitchen island. "Aaron, honey, I really think you should spend more time with your friends." She speaks slowly, like she’s trying to find the right words.
"Crispin is my friend, Mom."
"I know, sweetheart, but I haven't seen Carter or LeAndre or Jay around in a long time, and with some of the trouble you’ve had at school," she replies, "the mother in me can't help but be worried."
Well, that makes me feel like an ungrateful bastard. It's highly possible that she's not so concerned with the way Crispin acts and dresses, she thinks that I'm going through some major crisis when in fact I'm having the best time of my life.
“I was always kind of on the fringe of that group, anyway,” I say. “I mean, we’re still friends, but Jay always does something stupid, sometimes stuff that could get everyone into trouble.” I’m trying not to be a liar or a snitch, but I have to come up with a platonic reason for all of this.
My mother's eyes widen. "Are you saying that there are drugs and alcohol at these parties?"
Ah, crap. "No," I lie, "but Jay doesn't always think before he does stuff. Like he shoved this kid into the pool one time, just as a joke, and ruined the guy's super expensive insulin thingy. Or the other day, even, it wasn’t a super big deal, but I was in the bathroom when the bell rang for third period, and because of a dumb joke that he and Carter made up, now there’s a rumor that Shauna Oldman and I were in there together. The girl is already like, the least popular person in school. It’s just sad that their joking means she gets bad-mouthed even more." I’m talking too much.
Mom folds her arms.
"Or one time he got a bunch of guys to take that old Colonel Sanders statue from the KFC in the Loop. Like, he brought tools and pried it up, just so they could move it outside and put a Carver High shirt on it. Then they found out that if they had gotten caught, they could have gotten like, a hundred hours of community service for that." No need to add that the tools and the shirt had been my idea. Somebody had to be the brains of the operation. "I need an excuse to not get in trouble with all the detention and stuff, Mom. Which, I remind you, was extended because I got mad at Jay for bullying Crispin within Coach’s earshot."
That gets her. "I just worry about you, Aaron.”
“Yeah, yeah, mom stuff,” I say, grateful for the parental smile she gives me. “I’m fine. I just get along with Crispin is all.”
The next day at school one Shauna Marie Oldman keeps popping up in my peripheral vision. How many classes do we have together? For the love of sweet fuck—we get grouped together in AP English, and I end up lending her my book because she forgot hers. Or maybe she just pretended to, because when she hands it back to me there’s a piece of paper with some crappy-assed, disproportionate anime drawing of a winking girl giving a peace sign with a speech bubble that says “Thank you!” How had Shauna drawn that while we were sitting with our books in hand, discussing Tess of the Goddamn D’Urbervilles?
I hang back a little when the bell rings, and sure enough Shauna does, too. Nip. This. Shit. In. The. Bud. “Hey, Shauna,” I call. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
She goes bright red and all her friends start giggling. “Sure, Aaron.”
“Um, so I just wanted to apologize for yesterday,” I say, hooking my thumbs in my backpack straps.
“Oh, my god, no, it’s fine, I get it.” Shauna tucks a lank strand of hair behind her ear.
“No, I made a dumb joke not even about you, and Carter and Jay took it too far, and you didn’t deserve that.”
If Shauna blushes any redder it’s going to come out her pores. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Like, it’s fine.”
A mean thought crosses my mind, that her tongue-tied shyness isn’t a tiny bit as endearing as her gay friend’s, but I continue, “And I know there are already rumors spreading, but I don’t want anything to be misinterpreted, you know?”
“Oh, right, right.” Shauna’s head bobs like a parrot. “Absolutely. I totally get it.”
“Yeah, well, I just wanted to let you know that I don’t have, like a secret crush on you or anything; I’m actually—” Gay. “kind of friends with Crispin, I guess, and it was an inside joke. Me winking, or whatever.” I almost told her, but I’ll be damned if Shauna Oldman is the first person to hear it from my lips in this school.
Shauna’s ability to recover her sour face is remarkable. “Friends with Crispin?”
“Yeah, like, I’m in detention until forever, and he’s an aide, so…yeah.” It’s an even weaker explanation than what I gave to Jay, but Jay’s dumb ass didn’t react with such skepticism.
“Oh, and you just assumed that because you were acting like a decent human being that I would think you have a crush on me?”
Damn, Shauna. “No, and not that you’re not…” I try to imagine that I wanted to kiss a girl. “…pretty or anything, but just in case your friends are giving you a hard time.”
She folds her arms. “Why would my friends give me a hard time? I choose to hang out with people who are nice to me and everybody.”
Now I want to crumple that shit drawing up and throw it in her face, and I would if Crispin didn’t appear in the doorway.
“Shauna, we’re going to be late,” he says, and maybe because he can read my frustrated body language he adds, “Hey, Aaron.”
I step around Shauna. “Okay, glad we’re on the same page. Sorry again, Shauna.”
“Yep,” is her high horse reply.
“See you later,” I say to Crispin, and move on with my day.
Crispin texts me in sixth period, a bold move for such a goody two-shoes. shauna told me about your convo
I replied, so defensive. what did she say 2 u?
asked if u gave me the same speech. A moment later he clarified. that u being nice doesnt mean ur attracted 2 me. dont worry i told her no.
I snort, then pretend to sneeze into my sleeve when the teacher looks at me. thats right. im not nice 2 u. xspecially when ur blowing me in the bathroom :O <=3
Crispin's response is immediate:
AARON DO NOT SEXT ME IN CLASS >:[
I laugh out loud at that, and then I really do have to put my phone away for fear of discovery.
Crispin and I don’t get to hang out much in the week before prom. There’s some brief fondling in the art classrooms after school, but all his girlfriends want him to shop with them and plan for fucking after parties, and I’m busy trying to figure out how I’m going to take a cock up my ass for the first time in my life.
I wonder if Crispin did all the same kind of research before he came over that first time. All the sanitary and safety issues—I have a new respect for the porn stars who manage to do this all day without prolapsed anuses right and left. What did he have time to do in the bathroom, then, when he jumped up and was all, "Gotta go get ready!" I wonder? Was that when he stretched himself out?
My getting ready might have been different from his, but I think I've psyched myself up enough that I'm at least prepared for when Crispin walks in at 11:30 on prom night. I greet him with a wolf whistle.
"Da-yum, Viera," I say appreciatively, and motion for him to turn around. He obliges. "I like that ass in them pants."
Crispin smiles shyly. He really does look like a pint-size GQ model with his velvet tuxedo jacket, slim-fitting pants, and his hair in a bunch of fancy braids and rolls so that it doesn’t seem long enough to reach his back. I guess I won’t be pulling on it tonight.
“People are dumb,” I say without really thinking.
He gives me a quizzical look. “Hello, I guess?”
Shutting the door behind him, I explain, “No, I’m just saying I don’t get how people don’t see you like I do.”
Crispin’s expression softens in a way that makes my chest warm, and for a moment we just look at each other. Yeah, I do like you that much.
“I feel overdressed,” he comments, eyeing my tearaway pants and T-shirt.
“Just you wait,” I retort as I hand him a glass of bourbon.
Crispin sniffs the dark liquid and makes a face. “Acquired taste?”
Clinking my glass against his, I suggest, “Let’s find out.”
Crispin takes a sip, raises his eyebrows, and then gently spits the bourbon right back into his glass. I can't stop laughing.
"It'll take me a bit," he says tartly as he wipes the corners of his mouth with one finger.
"So gross!"
"Did I detect forest floor and, I wanna say, gasoline?"
Reclaiming the glass, I push him onto the couch.
"What are you doing?" he laughs.
I down my bourbon in one gulp. God, that burns. Burns so much. Burning. "Wait for i-i-i-i-it."
I turn the ceiling light down and hit the remote. The Village People's "YMCA" blasts through the speakers, and I rip off my pants. Crispin starts laughing so hard he can't even see just how terribly I dance—I have no rhythm and no moves—and only laughs harder when he notices that I made myself boxers out of gift wrap and tape. Right as the chorus sounds I give him the really big reveal: I rip off the paper boxers to show my only clean black jockstrap.
Crispin grabs his chest with a groan. "Oh, my god, Aaron. Oh my god."
I give him a few off-beat pelvic thrusts. “You like?”
He rolls his eyes to the heavens. “You fulfilled a fantasy I didn’t even know I had. Oh, Lawdy.”
“How about some of this?” Turning around, I do my best to booty pop, but it feels all wrong.
Crispin is clearly having trouble breathing through his laughter. “What the hell is this?”
“I’m twerking.”
“You’re definitely not.”
“You’re right—this is definitely making it clap.” I think I pulled a glute.
"The hell it is!"
"What if I back it up and do it on your face, huh? Is it twerking now?" The burn of bourbon in my chest has already spread up my brain, which is probably the only reason I don’t fall over in shock when Crispin puts his hands on my asscheeks and licks the center. I freeze.
Crispin pulls back immediately. "Sorry, is that too weird?"
"Do that again or risk losing a limb," I threaten. We move in sync: Crispin turns to lean back against the arm of the couch, and I climb up straddle him I'm facing his knees. Crispin's fingers are less tentative but still gentle as he parts my cheeks. I feel a plump-lipped kiss in the space between hanging sack and puckered hole, then Crispin’s warm wet tongue trails from there to his goal. He wastes no time diving in there, tongue darting quickly inside me only to retreat again. My cock strains against the pouch of my jockstrap, but I can’t unclench my fingers long enough to do anything about it. Every lick makes me shake, and I have to press my forehead into the couch between Crispin’s calves.
“Why have we never done this before?” I ask breathily. I mean, it’s in all the porns. It’s not like I was unaware that it was an option, or anything.
Crispin’s mouth leaves my ass with a pop. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Does it really feel that good?”
“God, yes,” I reply.
He chuckles a little as he strokes the wet area with his fingertips. “So if I do this now…” A finger slides into me with only the question mark in his voice as a warning. My toes curl. I don’t know if it hurts or if it feels good; I’ve been trying my own fingers, but I can only reach so far. Crispin’s small, callused, slender digit is all my body needs to seize up in terror and anticipation.
“Whoa,” he says. “Try not to clamp down like that.”
I know what he means because I’ve been in his position, but now I get just how hard our first time must have been for him. Crispin’s expression is almost comically surprised when I turn around, finger still inside me, and grab his face to kiss him. He laughs against my mouth, and my lips press against his even teeth.
“Am I seriously that good?” he asks when I pull back.
It’s time for him to be unclothed. “Not yet,” I answer truthfully as I undo his bow tie, “but I get why you were so nervous about your first time.” How is it that the knowledge only makes me like him more?
"Are you really that nervous?" he asks, draping his free arm around my shoulders.
"Um, yes." His little white shirt buttons are next to fall prey to my hands.
"You'll be the biggest notch on my belt; I'm going to brag so much about this in college."
I laugh. "That's mean."
"I'll change your name, of course,” Crispin comforts me as I unbuckle his pants, “but all the juicy details will stay the same."
I run my fingers over the front of his briefs. "Then you'd best make this the best I ever fucking have."
It’s weird to still be basically sitting on his hand, but at least I’m getting used to the feeling of having a foreign object inside me. The Village People finally shut up, and I grab my phone to change the soundtrack. Crispin takes the opportunity to pump his finger a couple of times, I think as an experiment to both of us. He’s watching my face.
“How are you doing?” I ask, pressing back against his hand. It’s not that the finger feels amazing, but his dick is starting to look huge by comparison. I need the practice.
With a blush that turns his cheeks a rosy bronze, he replies, “Okay? I mean, whenever you’re ready…”
“I’m ready,” I lie with a kiss. Hopping off the couch, I order, “Git nekkid, you.”
Crispin strips while I grab the condoms and lube, and I’m so tempted to tell him to leave the bowtie on. Oh my god, but with his MMA-worthy abs and his rich brown skin, silky black hair and dark eyes…it’s only his honed reflexes that keeps us both from knocking heads when I jump him.
“Aaron!” Crispin exclaims, only slightly muffled by my mouth on his face.
He probably thinks that I’m super excited about getting fucked up the ass. I don’t know how to properly tell him that’s not it. I’m excited that Crispin will get to feel what I’ve felt and vice versa, but even I’m not sure just what is making me so hungry for him tonight. Do I have a tuxedo fetish?
The couch is just large enough that I can straddle my boyfriend’s lap. Crispin’s hands wander over my skin as I kiss his mouth, pull me closer when I grind against him. Our skin burns where it touches. I’m on fire, I’m so hard it hurts. Crispin’s cock curves up against the cleft of my ass. It’s still scary, but that portion of my brain shouting, This will really hurt! gets smaller and more garbled with every taste of Crispin’s tongue.
With lips still pressed to mine Crispin fumbles for the lube. “You ready?”
“I’m still ready,” I respond, lying less this time.
"Then take off your underwear."
"You take it off," I respond. It's kind of fun to be a brat.
Crispin pushes me to standing and slips his fingers into the band of my jockstrap. His dark head bends as he pulls the elastic lower, lower, slowly until the base of my shaft peeks from the top. Crispin kisses me there, pulls the jock lower, puts his lips to the newly exposed flesh, and then pushes my underwear all the way to my feet. My cock would have slapped the underside of his chin if he hadn't caught between his full lips.
"That is so fucking sexy," I exhale, knowing that his ears will turn pink. I just need to let him know, because in the back of my mind I'm convinced that I'm about to have the worst sex of my life, but Crispin needs to understand that no matter what happens to me or my fragile virgin ass, I still want him. I'll always want him.
I wait until I feel that climax-ready tingle in my balls before lifting Crispin's mouth from my erection. "Get ready to fuck me," I say with a quick kiss. I push him back to sitting on the couch; Crispin rolls on a condom and I squirt so much lube over him that it runs onto the cushions.
"Is there any left?" Crispin jokes as I toss the container eaway.
"There's another bottle," I respond flippantly as I resume my place in his lap. God, but he's hard. Crispin isn't huge—he's the perfect size for the rest of his body—but it already feels like I'll be trying to sit on a baseball bat.
Watching my face, Crispin's brow furrows. "Aaron, we don't have to—" he starts, but I cut him off.
"Best I ever have," I remind him. He nods, and I position myself over his pole. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god I can't, I can't, I think, but gravity pulls me so that the tip presses against the opening. Crispin's hands come to help, so I wrap my arms around his neck and let him guide me. I try to remember all the advice I read. Relax. Push out. Breathe deep. It seems like ages until the head of Crispins cock pops inside me, and then I have to clench my fingers in order to keep from leaping off the couch.
"I'll go slow," Crisin whispers, and I nod. He's so gentle, running his hands over my back, kissing my chest right over my pounding heart that it barely registers when I'm sitting fully in his lap. I unwind myself from him a little, sitting back—that stings—to look him in the eye. Crispin, however, has his eyes shut and is biting his lip. His abs flex, made shiny by the lube and our sweat; I can tell he wants to thrust, to fuck me like I've fucked him before, and it's taking all his self-control to stay still while I get accustomed to his size in me.
Pain or no, that makes me want him to move.
"Go ahead," I say, and raise up just enough that he can lift his hips. We both exhale at that first withdrawal and thrust, him in ecstasy, me in agony. Crispin withdraws again; I repeat my mantra. Relax and push out. He thrusts. Breathe deep. He pulls back. This time I sink farther down on him, trying to get more comfortable.
It hurts, it still hurts so badly, but I know he's being careful and I don't want him to stop. I lean back and brace myself on his knees, working his shaft with my hole. Crispin’s hands guide me; his eyes are still closed, and I briefly wonder if he has to go through this every time I'm in him. Almost as soon as the thought enters my mind I feel Crispin tilting my hips; it's like the clouds open because suddenly his cock is rubbing over something that feels really, really fucking good.
“Oh, my god, yes,” I say.
Crispin grins up at me. “We got it?”
I roll my hips to feel it again. “Fuck yeah, we did.”
Crispin wraps his arms around my waist and lets me ride him; his teeth are on my chest and his harsh breathing takes over my ears.
This is tiring—my thighs burn—but now that it feels good I don’t want to stop. Until I get a cramp and have to pause. Crispin laughs at me, but he massages my leg with his strong hands.
“I don’t think I can be a power bottom,” I admit, leaning at a weird angle to relieve the pain. “I’m frail.”
“Let me scoot so you can put your knees up here,” Crispin offers, ever the thoughtful one, and we rearrange so he’s lying on the couch and I’m straddling his hips. We scramble to put him back inside me, laughing when our foreheads bonk together, and I’m able to sit back (way faster than I probably should) so that he’s all the way inside me.
“Ow.”
“Oh my god, Aaron, are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t mean ‘ow’ like it hurts. I just didn’t know how—that, like, took my breath away.”
Crispin pets my stomach. “Try tensing up right here,” he advises, rocking his hips gently.
I do, and fuck me if that wasn’t a great tip. Now I hold myself at the right angle to feel his cock rub over that spot inside me, rocking with Crispin in a way I wasn’t able to do by myself. The slippery lube makes squelching sounds between us, for some reason the sound is dirtier, sexier than before. Crispin’s bronze abs flex as he rolls his hips into me and he gasps when I run my fingertips down his torso. It’s hot, I’m still burning from the bourbon or maybe just him, and I’m trying not to be too loud but I can’t help going Unh ugh unf every time Crispin’s dick bottoms out in me.
He’s holding back, though. I can tell from the bulge of his muscles, even though his hands on my hips are so gentle.
"You can fuck me harder," I whisper in his ear, and Crispin responds immediately, bucking his hips until I'm bouncing on him. I can't breathe properly; it feels like the pounding in my ass is poking my fucking lungs. It’s so weird and it’s so good.
He pulls my head down and kisses me. "Like that?"
"Harder," I respond. Why? As it is I feel like I can't take it anymore. All this tension, the buildup, it has to go somewhere, but the harder Crispin fucks me the more it feels like I'll end up in a coma.
I’m jacking myself so fast that my muscles burn. My body is tingling, stiffening in preparation; I know I'm digging my fingernails into his skin but I can't help it. My balls contract so hard it hurts, and then everything goes white and tense and shit, fuck, I’ve never come like this before, shaking all over as I shoot all over the fucking place. I think I’m crying, or maybe shouting, or laughing; my voice is loud over the music. “Keep going,” I beg, just so he knows what it’s like to finish inside.
It takes only a few more thrusts until he wraps his arms around me so tightly it might bruise. "Oh, my god," Crispin says. "Oh, my god."
I still can't breathe.
"You came so hard."
I know, and if my body would quit shaking I could tell him so.
“Oh, my god,” he says again.
I fall onto the couch, and Crispin rearranges himself to put his head on my chest. I got cum in his hair. He pets my arm, which is really nice. Regulatory.
Finally I have enough breath to confess, “I meant for us to make it to the bed,” which for some reason cracks Crispin up. He giggles, then snorts, and then I join in because I’m not even sure what was so funny about what I said, but we’re still in sync and I can’t help how my body is expressing the warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with Crispin fucking the absolute shit out of me. He’s doing that thing where he can’t even breathe anymore; he’s just guffawing at the idea of not making it over the back of the couch to my bed. It takes minutes—hours? Who cares?—for us to calm down enough for me to get the words out.
"Hey, even if it's only for a little while, I love you," I say. “So much.” My heart pounds in my throat. Say it back, please say it back. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you as soon as I figured it out."
Crispin’s dark eyes fix on me just before they fill with tears. “Damn it, Aaron,” he replies thickly, “you’re not supposed to do this.”
Why is he crying? Isn’t he supposed to be happy? “I’m sorry—” I start, but Crispin shuts me up with a salty kiss.
“You’re going to make it so fucking hard to get over you, asshole."
"You aren't making it any easier," I retort, earning a laugh. "So are you going to switch to topping now, or what?"
He gazes at me for a moment, then slowly shakes his head. "Not always. I like having you inside me." Crispin's face is rosy and half-hidden by his mussed black hair, and that might actually be hotter than just having the cum fucked out of me. Okay, maybe not, but I feel like another five minutes of looking at him like this would have me hard again.
"That can be arranged," I inform him, and Crispin laughs, crawling over the back of the couch to pull me up behind him.
****
"Happy gradu-fucking-ation, man!" Jay shouts, slinging an arm around my neck before releasing me to bump chests with LeAndre and Carter. He's like a puppy sometimes. "Free of this hellhole!"
"Free to study your ass off if you want to stay in school," LeAndre comments dryly.
In his enthusiasm Jay nearly runs over the smaller figure trying to weave through the crowd. "Watch where you're going, fudge packer," he barks. Carter laughs, but LeAndre shakes his head.
“Don’t, man.”
Before Crispin can defend himself I smack Jay so hard in the back of the head that he stumbles. "Watch your mouth around him, fucking prick."
LeAndre whistles; Carter exclaims, "Damn, son!" Crispin raises an eyebrow at me. Oops, but I really don't care right now.
"What?” I say with a shrug. “If you won't bust out your skills I'll be a little violent for you."
Jay pushes me and rubs the injured spot. "What, is this your boyfriend?" he jeers in a singsong tone.
LeAndre asks, "What skills?"
Crispin stammers. "Uh, er, there aren't really, um, I—"
One look at his pink ears makes up my mind to answer both questions at once. "We've been dating on the down-low since February,” I cut in, stepping between my boyfriend and my friends. “And let me tell you virgins, he fucks me good. Surprise, mothafuckas!"
Crispin's face turns bright red. "You're an asshole," he says affectionately.
"I'll see you later." And then, in front of everyone, I grab him by the collar to give him a quick and noisy peck.
Crispin’s eyes are the size of dinner plates. "Uh, um right. Happy coming out, I guess.”
I grin. “Thanks.”
“Bye, guys," Crispin says mostly to LeAndre, who's so stunned he only goes, "Yuh."
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