When his phone vibrates loudly and Jake's name flashes across the screen, Kyle ignores it. He turns it on silent and throws it across the room to land on his bed.
With temptation removed, he can focus on his guilt.
* * *
The calls from Jake don't stop. They start out few and far between but get more insistent the longer Kyle ignores them. He texts between them, in moments where he can't call. Kyle just gets on onslaught of messages.
If he's being honest, they're cute. Jake is cute. He openly flirts with Kyle through text and doesn't bother to censor himself and what he wants. Kyle's never had anyone flirt with him or compliment him like this, and in some ways, he likes it.
But where messages from Jake had once made his heart skip a beat and butterflies go wild in his chest, where they had once drawn a smile to his face, now they just make him sick. Guilt twists up in his gut and makes him nauseous. Guilt over forgetting his brother bleeds into guilt over ignoring Jake's messages, but that doesn't stop him. He still ignores them.
For the first time in his life, Kyle skips classes. Not all his classes. Just the one he has with Jake. He avoids the places on campus he knows Jake lingers and steers his path around the spots where they would usually meet up.
The texts get less flirty and more anxious and worried, and that just makes Kyle's guilt and shame worse.
He keeps his phone on silent and stops looking at it. He feels slightly less guilty if he doesn't see just doesn't see how many things he's ignoring. He starts letting his phone die and waits hours if not days to charge it.
He focuses on Cry Thunder because it's what he should be doing, and he's not sure what else to do to stop the near constant churning in his gut.
* * *
It's a week later that Jake finally gets fed up with him and takes a more direct route. That direct route means skipping the class they have together, which Kyle has also skipped to avoid him, and showing up at Kyle's door in the middle of the day.
Kyle ignores the initial knock, heart slamming painfully against his chest as he looks through the peephole to see Jake standing in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest. He stays quiet, hoping if he does, Jake will eventually go away.
Instead, he knocks again. "Come on, Kyle. I know you're in there just... open up. Please?"
It's the please that gets him. It's on the verge of breaking, sounding desolate and confused and worried. It's a knife to Kyle's gut, and in that moment, the guilt becomes too much to bear. It has him reaching out and opening the door, lips pursed to hold his composure as he stares at Jake's feet. He steps back, holding the door open, and refuses to look up as Jake steps into the room.
With the door closed, Kyle turns to face him, but he can't lift his gaze above his knees. He hunches his shoulders, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he glares stubbornly at Jake's shoes. Jake stands in the middle of his room, facing him, and Kyle fears whatever expression he's wearing.
"What'd you want?" He asks, stiff and demanding. He can feel himself shaking, but he fights against it and tries to hold firm.
The pause is almost a moment too long. Kyle can feel his strength crumbling in the wake of the thick silence. When Jake finally does speak, it's surprisingly neutral. It's not angry or indignant, worried or sad. It's just... blank. Even. Flat. "You've been ignoring me."
"I've been ignoring everyone."
"Why?" It's not so much demanding as it is pleading. It hurts. It twists that knife in Kyle's chest. He doesn't like hearing Jake sound so forlorn.
But he made this bed, and now he has to lie in it. "I've just been needing some space."
"Yeah, I got that much, but why?"
Kyle bites his lip, feeling a hiccup bubble up his throat. His eyes have that phantom burn, and he really doesn't want to cry right now. He watches Jake's feet as he takes a step forward. Kyle stiffens, but doesn't retreat as Jake comes closer. As warm and comforting and familiar hands rest gently on his shoulders. "I can give you space if you need it, but I just want to know why." His voice is far too soft. Far too gentle. Kyle can feel himself falling apart, held together barely by the seams.
"I just need space," he repeats, but his voice cracks. His tongue feels thick.
"Was it something I did? Whatever it is, I want to know. I don't want to upset you or push you away. Please, Kyle, just... talk to me."
He hates this. He hates that Jake thinks that he's done something wrong when it's just Kyle who's fucked up. He hates that he's doing this to Jake. He hates that Jake won't just realize how terrible he is and leave him.
He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the tears building up around his lashes. He squeezes his hands into fists, feeling the bite of his nails against his palm. "Can't you just go?" He snaps, voice full of bite and venom, because if he doesn't, he knows he'll break.
The hands on his shoulders squeeze. "No. Come on, Kyle, just... talk to me? I'm here for you, whatever it is."
A hiccup breaks through his defenses, followed by a sob. And that's all it takes before everything starts to break down. Tears escape down his cheeks, and he breaks, feeling the way his lungs shudder. When he breaths out, the words come out in a rush. "I forgot the anniversary of my brother's death.” His voice breaks off as a sob tears from him, bubbling in his throat and rattling in his chest.
Jake pulls him in instantly. Arms wrap around his shoulders, and hands rub up and down his back. Kyle's arms wrap around his waist, fingers clutching the back of his shirt as he holds on desperately. He presses himself into Jake's warmth, using the solidness of it as an anchor. He buries his face in Jake's chest, and he cries.
It all comes bubbling up, no longer able to be contained. He shakes, and he sobs, and each one wracks through his body. Tears stain Jake's shirt, but he can't stop. And when his knees start to give out, Jake picks him up, carries him to his bed, and sits down, cradling Kyle in his lap. Kyle curls into him, letting his arms ground him.
He takes the comfort. The hands running soothingly along his body. The soft, wordless sounds Jake makes under his breath. The way Jake nuzzles into his hair. The smell of Jake, spicy and earthy and overwhelming. He breathes it in, and he lets himself escape.
Escape from the pain, from the guilt, from the sorrow, from himself.
When Jake pulls away from him, frames his face with large gentle hands, and wipes his tears away, Kyle doesn't resist. And when Jake bends down to kiss him, long and languid, he pushes up into him. He pushes his tongue against Jake's lips, seeking solace, seeking a distraction, seeking anything to make him feel good when he feels like otherwise he'll come crashing down.
Jake's hands on him turn more insistent, hungrier, and Kyle whines into his mouth. A shiver runs down his spine as Jake growls, as Jake holds him firmly in place, as Jake's lips and tongue devour his mouth.
Kyle wants more— needs more.
His hands grab at Jake's clothes, desperate and uncoordinated, but so very, very needy. He whines, high pitched and pleading. Jake's shirt is barely off before Kyle is squirming in his lap, peeling off his own and throwing it aside before readjusting. He straddles Jake's lap and presses eagerly into his mouth, presses them flush together and shivers at the feeling of Jake's strong, broad chest against his own. His hands run down it, nails biting into his abs before sinking into the waistband of his jeans. He rubs himself desperately against Jake, already growing hard, heart hammering at the sound of Jake's breath hitching. He bites Jake's lip and is rewarded when he moans, long and low and deep.
Then hands are on him. All over his body. Running down his back and gripping his arm, firmly squeezing and pulling Kyle against him. Their hips rub together, grinding until Kyle can't take it anymore. His fingers scramble at the button of Jake's jeans, and he gets the message.
He scrambles off Jake's lap, and the two of them fumble and struggle to take off their pants as quick as possible. Instead of sharing embarrassed smiles, awkward laughs, and fond kisses, they work in silence, each movement frantic and hasty, the
sound of their panting filling the space. There's a tension in the air that drives them forward. A need for something to happen now, lest they fall apart completely. It's a desperation, and Kyle feels it deep in his core, radiating throughout his body.
He steps to his desk, digging in a drawer for the bottle of lube and box of condoms Jake had bought for them a couple weeks ago. He had insisted they keep it in Kyle’s dorm. Not for then, but for whenever they were ready. Kyle is ready now.
He steps back to the bed, handing them to Jake who stares at them with wide eyes before looking up at Kyle. "Are you sure?"
He purses his lips, not quite trusting his voice, and nods.
Jake takes him by the hand, pulling him gently onto the bed. He kisses him sweetly, deeply, and passionately. There's so much in his kiss. So many things that he doesn't say. Like he's trying to communicate through touch alone. Kyle takes it all, desperately trying to forget, even if it's just for this moment.
Despite Kyle's eagerness, Jake takes his time with him. He stretches him out slowly and carefully. Kyle squirms under the ministrations of his fingers, whines and begs and pleads for more in a cracked and broken voice, barely able to form coherent words. Jake presses kisses to his neck, to his chest, hands touching down his waist and his hips, stroking his cock in time with his fingers.
Then Jake pulls out, and Kyle whines at the sudden emptiness. But Jake is prepping himself and settling himself between Kyle's legs. He lines up, and Kyle's back arches at the thick pressure at his entrance. His hands grasp at the bedsheets, body tense as he waits.
Jake leans forward, pressing a kiss to his chest, his collar bones, his lips. "Relax, babe. You have to relax." Jake kisses him softly, gently, hands on his waist and hips and petting along his quivering thighs until Kyle relaxes. "Hold onto me and breath through it, okay?"
Kyle wraps his arms around Jake's shoulder, nodding against him.
Jake pushes in, slow and steady, stretching him and filling him. Kyle cries out, body arching and eyes squeezing shut.
"Kyle, Kyle you feel so good, holy shit, fuck, fuck, fuck." Jake mumbles against his skin, mouthing wet kisses along his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. "I'm gonna fuck you so good. I'm gonna make you come. Are you ready?"
He feels so full. Stretched nearly to his limits. He feels the slight burn and the dull ache, but it also feels so good. Jake is inside him. Deep, deep inside him. Jake. Hot, beautiful, baseball star Jake is inside him. Is fucking him. Stretching him and filling him and babbling praises as his hands move relentlessly over Kyle’s skin like he can't get enough.
It's all Kyle can do to nod, arms tightening around him and legs wrapping around his hips.
Then Jake moves, pulls back and thrusts into him, over and over again. He babbles filthy things in Kyle's ear, praises that he never thought he'd hear, and Kyle hangs on. Holds on for dear life.
And then he lets himself unravel. Lets himself go. He gives himself into the pleasure of it, and he sees stars.
* * *
"Hey, bathroom's all yours if you need it," Jake says, stepping back into the dorm.
Kyle doesn't respond. He lies on his bed with his back to the room, staring at the cinderblock wall. His body aches and it burns, but it's not a bad feeling. He feels spent, exhausted, and just wants to sleep for hours. The satisfaction, however, faded quickly. The post sex high crashed down quickly, giving way to all the things he had been bottling up and hiding from.
The guilt is consuming. It tears into him, ripping his heart to tatters. It makes it impossible to enjoy the fact that he just had sex with a man way out of his league. He should be happy. Instead, that happiness has soured in his gut, becoming heavy and leaden.
Because knows he can't keep him.
The bed shifts as Jake sits on the edge of it. "You sure you don't want me to carry you to the shower?" He touches Kyle's arm, and Kyle flinches away. He immediately feels bad for it, feels just another twist of that knife in his chest as guilt chokes him. But every touch makes his skin crawl. He's too sensitive in the worst way. In the way that always proceeds an anxiety attack.
"I'm fine," he manages to choke out, but he knows he doesn't sound fine.
"Kyle—"
"Just go," Kyle snaps, then squeezes his eyes shut, already feeling the tears forming. He takes a deep breath and tries again, aiming for something calmer but just as firm. "Please. I... I just want to be alone. I need some time. I promise I'm fine."
He doesn't believe it, and he knows Jake doesn't either. He doesn't say anything, but he also doesn't move. His hand touches Kyle's arm again, and while Kyle doesn't pull away, he does tense.
"Jake, please..." He hates how broken he sounds and the raspiness of his breath. "I just need some space right now."
"Fine," he says, and the bitterness in his voice makes Kyle's stomach roll. His breath comes in short gasps as Jake stands, moving around the room to get dressed. Kyle refuses to turn around. Refuses to see the hurt on his face. Hearing it in his voice is bad enough. "Just... call me if you need me okay? I'll be here for you, anytime. You can talk to me. You know that, right?"
The lump in his throat is too thick to speak around, so he nods instead.
A moment later he hears the door open and close, and he's alone.
He asked for this, but it still hurts. His chest feels tight and hollow. He curls in on himself, knuckles going white as he grips the blankets. "I'm sorry," he mutters through broken sobs. They wrack through him, and he can't stop the tears or the shaking. He can barely breathe. "I'm sorry," he says to no one. To Jake. To himself. To his brother.
He's sorry for having sought escape. He didn't mean to escape from his brother. He didn't mean to forget. He’s losing himself in Jake. In his smile. In his touch.
It's because of Jake that Kyle forgot, and that causes a deep seeded ache to pulse in his heart.
He doesn't want to choose between Jake and his brother, but he feels like he's going to have to.
Chapter Nineteen
"Come on, dude," Liddy says, running up alongside him on the path. "Do you know how many details I gave you on my first real relationship with a girl?"
Jake's lip curls. "Too many."
"Exactly. So give me too many details!"
He frowns. "It's not really any of your business, Liddy." He pulls ahead, pushing his legs to run faster and to lengthen his stride putting distance between them. He's more of a sprinter anyway, and Liddy has always been more endurance. She bides her time and eventually his pace slows, allowing her to catch up.
"Okay, so I know it's not technically my business, but you've made it my business for the past couple months. You always make it my business. You talk to me about these things because you like to, and you don't feel like you can with your dude-bro friends." She barely sounds out of breath, and Jake's chest aches as he heaves each inhale. It's not fair.
She also has a point, and he hates it. He can't talk about this with his other friends, and he desperately wants to talk about it, but he's afraid to. Talking about it makes it real, and Jake is scared of what that might mean.
His words sound stilted and heavy as he pants. "It's just..." He groans, tossing his head back as he runs. "It's complicated."
"Okay, pull over for a stretch break." Liddy nudges him off the path toward a patch of grass, both of them slowing to a jog until they walk off the path. Jake immediately starts rotating his arms across his chest and rolling his shoulders while Liddy grabs her ankle and pulls it back. "Okay," she says, balance wavering as she hops around on one foot. It's amusing enough to lighten the atmosphere. "Now that you can breathe and think, tell me what's up."
Jake groans again, stretching his arms high above his head. "It's just... weird, okay? Kyle isn't really in the closet, but he's not really out of it either? Like... he knows he's gay, and he's pretty open with me about being gay, but he doesn't really want other people to know. Which... yeah, fine, I get it. He explained it to me, and I get it, but that doesn't make it any easier
. Especially when we haven't really talked about us? Like, we meet up, and hangout, and go on dates, and make out, and we fuck, but I have no idea where we stand."
Liddy lets out a long, low whistle, switching to her other leg. She reaches out, putting a hand on Jake's shoulder to help balance herself. "That's rough, buddy. But you're enjoying fucking him, yeah?"
He snorts, rolling his eyes, but he smiles when he looks at her. "That's all you're interested in?"
She grins. "No, but I'm trying to sound like a bro to put you more in your element. How's the sex?"
He sighs. "Fucking amazing. He's so goddamn cute, and ridiculously sexy without even trying, and I have a hard time holding myself back, but we go at his pace and it's still so good."
"He enjoy it?"
Jake laughs. "Oh yeah, from what I can tell? Definitely."
"Well, that's a good step."
Jake drops to the ground, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning for his toes, eyes on the ground as he mumbles, "Too bad I can't tell if he enjoys being with me."
Liddy spreads her legs shoulder width apart and leans over to stretch down one leg. "To be honest, Kyle seems like a really sweet guy, but, you know... your first is always complicated and never really lasts. In relationships in general, but especially in your first gay one." She switches to her other leg, a wry laugh on her tongue. "I mean, I dated several girls who were just experimenting or whatever. Like, sure Kathrine. You're three fingers and a tongue deep in my pussy, but you're completely straight. I believe that." She glances over, eyes sparkling and a smile on her lips as she hopes to share a laugh with Jake. But his face is anything but amused, and her smile fades. "Oh, but like... you guys are probably the exception to that rule, you know? Kyle knows he's gay, so that's a step above my experiences. He just needs some help stepping out of the closet. You guys might have something that lasts."
He knows what she's doing. He's not stupid. She's trying to make him feel better by saying the things he wants to hear and by encouraging him. Sometimes he needs a dose of blunt reality, and sometimes he needs hope. Turns out, right now, neither is making him feel better.
Trading Teams Page 15