Izzy and the Right Answer

by R. Cooper

  “You still didn’t tell me.” Iz met their eyes in turn. “You could have said it clearly.”

  Ronnie nodded, opened his mouth, but didn’t speak.

  Rocco was gentle. “You said you do better on your own. That you have to experience it first to understand.”

  “We told you what we wanted, and asked what you wanted, and, you know, took you out on dates and stuff. Or tried to.” Ronnie was serious again. “Turns out, you and I were kind of already dating. Even my mom thought so. That was…um…. Is calling us your boyfriends not something you want?”

  A question that made Iz clutch the hem of his cardigan and take a few breaths.

  “All we’re doing is seeing how it works for us, like anyone else dating.” Rocco was trying to be soothing.

  “Because you’re not going anywhere for me, clearly,” Ronnie confessed, constantly, steadily brave. “And Rocco is a bit goofy over you. And you love us.”

  “If two people—two incredible people—love me—why would I give that up because the general rule is couples only?” Rocco added.

  They were both the sort of person who challenged themselves and met those challenges, no matter what they faced. Iz should have considered that, although he doubted he would have reached the conclusion they had. They had all but walked him through his emotions and he still hadn’t understood.

  He exhaled and then said, as quietly and calmly as he could, “I need to get up.”

  “Iz?” Ronnie asked. His warm breath tingled on Iz’s palm.

  Iz pulled his hand back. He wished he didn’t know what pain looked like on Ronnie, but Iz hurting him without trying was what had led to this. “Let me up,” Iz tried again, this time with a tremor in his voice, and Ronnie sat back before Iz had drawn another breath.

  Iz stood up, vaguely aware of Patricio, Damien, Rahim, and Hot Nurse having a conversation a few feet away. He did not have the mental space to consider them and what they heard or thought. He supposed the others had made it clear already.

  “Izzy?” Rocco’s voice was high with alarm. Iz couldn’t call it fear because he didn’t know what that would sound like.

  Iz dug around for his sneakers, laces still tied and loose enough for him to slip them on, and pulled his cardigan tight around him as he walked to the kitchen. A second later, he was back, his hands in his armpits as he stared at Ronnie and Rocco’s stricken faces.

  “Well?” His tone was noticeably imperious but he didn’t have the mental space to address that either. He gestured toward the kitchen, which was empty of other people, and then sighed. “Are you coming? You can’t expect me to think through this alone.”

  “How silly of us,” Rocco answered with only a small delay.

  “Fuck me,” Ronnie swore, then jumped and glanced over to the others.

  Iz assumed having an audience of their friends was an unavoidable part of all this but went into the kitchen without talking about it. He stopped by the sink for no real reason, then crossed the tiny space to grab his coat from the table.

  He had the energy of pots of coffee and no sleep. His hands were cold.

  He stopped when Ronnie stepped apprehensively into the kitchen after him, then looked behind him to Rocco’s stone face. “Kiss him.”

  He didn’t know who he meant. It didn’t matter, in the end, as long as there was a kiss.

  Rocco’s caterpillars went high. “Not suggesting anymore?”

  “This is important,” Iz whispered, but strained. “I need to know I haven’t ruined this or interfered. Don’t you love him? Won’t you kiss him?”

  “Okay. Okay.” Ronnie held out a hand toward him, silently asking Iz to wait. He grabbed a handful of Rocco’s sweatshirt to drag him the rest of the way into the kitchen, released him, then crooked his fingers at Iz. The gesture was deliberate.

  Iz swallowed. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “This is not news to us.” Ronnie did not let him off the hook.

  “But I was wrong.” Iz’s chest was tight.

  “Yes, you were. And we like you anyway.” Granite did not crack easily. Nonetheless, Rocco gave Iz a small smile.

  “Love you,” Ronnie corrected, very quietly. “Maybe even because you were wrong. Nobody else would be wrong in the same Izzy way.”

  Iz pulled his cardigan sleeves past the cuffs of his coat to worry them between his fingers. “You’re so exceptional.” The murmur slipped from him even after he bit his lip.

  “Freaks of a feather,” Rocco remarked, shrugging.

  Casual was as much of a defense with him as formality was with Iz. Iz focused on him anyway, staring hard at him for a few seconds before doing the same to Ronnie. “Boyfriends?” he asked at last. “Loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves.”

  The quote was as soft as an illustration in an old book.

  Ronnie blinked, frowning, but Rocco’s sigh was a pained sort of pleasure. “What, no French this time?”

  Iz gulped. “The term ménage-à-trois means a household of three, not a one-time sexual act, although it is often used that way in America.” He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m anxious.”

  “Do you still want me to kiss him?” Rocco inquired calmly, or with the sound of calm.

  Iz opened his eyes. “Yes. Please.”

  Ronnie looked right at Iz and crooked his fingers again. “Then come here, wonderful Izzy.”

  He was possibly tipsy. Iz didn’t mind the nickname, although his steps were clumsy and he did not feel wonderful. His skin flashed cold and hot and his stomach flipped with what he thought were nerves but which only grew when Ronnie tugged him even closer by the lapel of his peacoat.

  The butterflies, he realized, were excited.

  When he was inches from Ronnie, he had to put his hands somewhere. He held them uncertainly over Ronnie’s chest before placing them gingerly over his ribcage, under the jacket.

  Ronnie’s lips parted. He was breathing harshly. His pupils were wide, making his eyes that much brighter.

  Rocco’s large, warm hands settled over Iz’s, still hidden by the leather. Ronnie bit back a sound, small and startled, before tipping his head up.

  “Please.” Iz nearly choked. He thought he’d said it, but it was Ronnie, whispering, and then Rocco frowning and kissing him. One of his hands left Iz’s. He splayed it over Ronnie’s throat, moved it up to his hair to tilt his head back and make the kiss deeper.

  Iz’s breath was rasping. He held tight to Ronnie’s sweater and drifted in when Ronnie pulled. Rocco and Ronnie’s mouths finally came apart, breathing strained, and then Ronnie turned and moved in, down, to kiss Iz the same way.

  He slid his fingers into the weave of a braid and tugged, leaving Iz no choice but to angle his mouth up for more. He could feel Ronnie’s tongue, his chest, his other hand a pressure at Iz’s waist.

  Iz trembled in shock, fear, or arousal. Maybe a combination. His cheeks were stinging because his blood was pulsing hot.

  Ronnie pulled back, his eyes slow to open, but shining once he got a look at Iz’s face.

  “Not an approximation of intimacy,” Iz told him breathlessly. Rocco snorted a laugh. Iz tilted his head further back, let Ronnie’s fingers slide under his chin.

  Ronnie brushed his thumb over Iz’s lips.

  Iz met Rocco’s stare.

  Rocco was quiet. “You look good together.”

  “I could say the same,” Iz whispered in return. “My other boyfriend could kiss me now, to see if we also look good together.”

  “Oh my God.” Ronnie exhaled.

  “Dangerous,” Rocco said.

  “You keep saying that.” Iz studied him while trying to lick the buzz from his lips. “Like you tell me I’m powerful. But any power I might have is for you if you wanted it. Both of you. Anyway, we’re blocking the kitchen and the others will want to leave soon. You should kiss me now if you want to. And if you don’t, I’m content to look at you—although I’m feeling a lot of things from Ronnie’s kiss, so m
aybe we should go outside. The night air might be calming.”

  Rocco pulled away from Ronnie, taking the hand he’d pressed over Iz’s with him. Ronnie turned and Iz shivered, and then without any more warning than grunt, Rocco picked Iz up and put him in the counter by the sink. He kissed Iz while Iz gaped at him, one hand on the side of Iz’s face and the other at his hip. He was close and hot, between Iz’s knees but not his thighs.

  For all that, the kiss was gentle.

  Ronnie caught his breath. Iz was too busy being kissed to breathe. All the thrumming energy from Ronnie’s kiss had him restless, although he didn’t really know how to kiss back. It was good, at least to him. Forceful in a way Ronnie would like, but slow enough to finally make Iz whine.

  The sound startled him and made Rocco draw back. Iz threw his arms around Rocco’s neck to keep him close, then ducked his head to hide his face. “That’s… that’s enough for tonight,” he whispered. “My legs are—I have a lot to think on, now. Ronnie?” He lifted his head to peer over Rocco’s shoulder.

  Ronnie’s gaze was intense but his tone was soft. “Yeah, Iz?”

  “I love you.” Iz slowly breathed out. “I am filled with nerves and warmth at the very mention of you. He pulled back enough to meet Rocco’s eye, although it was difficult to look away from Ronnie’s radiance. “Rocco?”

  “Me too?” Rocco guessed and lowered his hands to help Iz slide to the floor.

  “You both make me happy.” Iz pulled at his coat to straighten it, mostly because his body was full of light and energy and he had to do something. “Do you still want to go out? Or should I walk home? Was that… um… you both kissed me”–he cycled through words like harder, aggressively, passionately—“more than before. I like kissing you. I would definitely like to do that again, at some point.” He tugged on his coat again so he wouldn’t pull his hair. “Why are you both so beautiful? I can’t think clearly with how beautiful you are. You’re—you’re really my boyfriends? I have two boyfriends, who don’t mind me? Boyfriends who love me?”

  “He just likes saying it,” Rocco remarked, voice hoarse with arousal. It was a good sound.

  “Boyfriends.” Ronnie shut his mouth, then opened it. “My boyfriends. Um. It’s nice to say.”

  “I have two boyfriends, and I apparently had them when I woke up this morning, even though I didn’t know that.” Iz ran his fingertips over his lips, then smoothed his braid, although it was likely a mess now. He reached up a moment later, trailing his fingertips over Rocco’s little scar, and then his cheekbone. He stood on his toes to smooth Rocco’s hair down—or try to.

  “Sorry?” It was unclear what Rocco was apologizing for.

  Iz dropped down to his feet and considered both of them. He had told them that he only understood things when he tried them out. Being told wasn’t enough. He supposed he shouldn’t be mad that they had listened, although he might get mad anyway, at some point. Emotions were like that.

  “From now on you’ll be clear with me? And then let me figure it out?” He glanced between them. “I’ll try to be as upfront as my feelings will allow me to be.”

  “So much more talking,” Rocco complained, but softly, and then nodded. Ronnie nodded too.

  Iz’s heart seemed to be tripping out of rhythm. He pushed the thought of it aside as he stepped around them to peer out into the living room.

  Eric had joined the small group gathered around the couch, all of them in a conversation that left not one of them turned toward the kitchen. This was probably not a coincidence.

  “Ronnie and Rocco and I are leaving,” Iz announced politely and returned to stand between his boyfriends when Eric waved him off without a glance and Patricio giggled sleepily.

  Ronnie was almost giddy. “Let’s go then, boyfriends. Pancakes?”

  He slipped his hand into Iz’s and looked startled when Iz kissed it. But then he grinned and led Iz out the door. Iz stared at him in wonder, tripping over the threshold. Rocco followed, hand on Iz’s back. He closed the door behind them, staying near as they went down the stairs.

  “That’s a long walk.” Iz shivered at the rush of cooler air, and then again at the base of the steps when Rocco took his other hand and tugged him in another direction.

  “I drove,” he informed Iz dryly.

  They were five feet from his car when Iz stopped to stare through the windows at the passenger seat and the backseat. “How will we sit?” Another problem he hadn’t considered. There were going to be a lot of those. He had so much to do.

  “Izzy,” Ronnie firmly said his name, ending his spinning thoughts for the moment. “We’re exceptional and you’re a genius. We’ll figure something out.”

  He was teasing, probably. But his argument had strength, or that was how Iz felt, bracketed between them. Strong and warm and very, very happy.

  Epilogue

  Iz reached out for the blanket without taking his eyes from his laptop screen. His feet were warm in a pair of floppy athletic socks but his legs were cold. He’d wriggled back into his sweater a while ago, which was lovely, although he hadn’t managed the energy to search for his pants or to rearrange the bedding in a more practical way. He could bunch the sleeves of his sweater around his hands but he had goosebumps on his knees.

  The space heater at the foot of the bed was set to High, but it wasn’t doing much yet to combat the December cold. The bedroom door was closed, so the living room heater wasn’t going to help.

  He tugged the blanket absently, but it was stuck on something, and he abandoned the struggle while scrolling down through his essay in search of a thread he’d lost.

  Soft string music was barely audible from the laptop’s speakers. Ronnie’s studying playlists were wonderful for helping him focus. He wished they’d been around when he was younger and in grade school. Ronnie had the same thought, and believed schools should offer it as a way to help kids with attention issues study—though, of course, he already knew a lot of teachers would object. Controlling, unpleasant teachers, was Iz’s opinion. Ronnie wouldn’t be like that at all.

  Iz’s thoughts snagged on that and stopped. Ronnie, he thought the name as he blinked away his haze. A vague worry that had never gone away made itself known with a palpitation-like flutter of his heart. Ronnie was going home soon, he remembered. Christmas break was nearly here. Exams were almost done. Then they would have one more semester in this school together.

  His insides felt like someone had shot him through his ice. Cold from fear was a different sort of sensation than cold from temperature. This was nerves. This was—he dared to think it in his own mind—a normal anxiety that anyone might feel about the future.

  He still didn’t like it but he could do something about at least one of the kinds of cold he was experiencing.

  He shuddered and scooted closer to the source of heat on his left, felt the press of warm skin, and stopped again.

  Rocco, his mind supplied, and Iz frowned at the symbols on the screen that no longer looked like words. The chill in his stomach and chest remained. More nerves. More thoughts of the increasingly not-so-distant future.

  Iz raised his head at last, squinting a bit as he noticed the lights in the room were off and very little light came through the blinds over the window. Streetlights, probably. The clock on his computer said it was getting late.

  The bedding was a messy pool of blankets near the foot of the bed except for the blanket currently close to Iz but out of reach because most of it was trapped beneath Rocco’s body.

  Wound around his body, actually. Curled around his hips and part of his thighs, a corner stretched to almost cover his ribs. Rocco lay on his side, one arm under a pillow and the other pressed against Iz’s leg. His face was nearly at Iz’s hip. That was the source of heat. His breath was slow and warm.

  He was quite naked except for the blanket and should have been cold. But he didn’t seem to feel it, either because he was too tired to be disturbed or because he never felt the cold much anyway.


  Iz’s gaze traveled down the length of him. He thought that whatshisface, the artist with the secretly gay portfolio—Patricio would know the one—would have appreciated the sight. Aesthetically, Rocco was a sleeping Samson.

  Iz reached out to lightly tangle his fingers in Rocco’s coarse hair. Then he smiled.

  Yesterday, Rocco had a fourteen-hour day, and today he had been up since five. He worked very hard for what he wanted. He was allowed some rest, even if he had finals waiting like everyone else. And he did tend to get sleepy after sex, or at least, peaceful and relaxed.

  “Oh,” Iz murmured, and pulled himself farther out of his hyperfocus on the paper he was in the middle of writing. He rubbed his neck and the place beneath his ear where he could still feel the scrape of Ronnie’s teeth and a throbbing sensation that might mean a hickey. Iz wore scarves all through the winter. Ronnie was enjoying this fact.

  Iz didn’t mind. Receiving kisses from Ronnie—which included kisses on the neck—was highly pleasurable when Iz was in the mood, and today he had been. He had even initiated the kisses by sliding into Ronnie’s lap and asking for them.

  They were much better than studying and immeasurably better than writing papers on topics Iz didn’t care about.

  And asking always made Ronnie smile.

  Once Rocco had arrived, Iz had wanted to kiss him too. Rocco had been exhausted and on the verge of grumpy—which in Rocco terms meant he smiled at both of them but flopped onto the bed instead of joining them. So Iz had crawled over to ask him for kisses too, and then Ronnie had done it, laughing, and Rocco had covered his face with his arm and laughed with him. There was something about that, the way he showed his happiness with them and no one else.

  Iz brushed a curl away from Rocco’s ear before sliding his fingers through the hair at his crown.

  “Aw.”

  The whisper brought Iz’s attention up and around, although he didn’t stop petting Rocco through his dreams.

  Ronnie softly shut the door behind him. It was habit, although Giselle shouldn’t be home now. Rocco’s sweatpants hung loosely from his hips. His feet were squeezed into Iz’s slippers and he had no shirt. He also had a steaming mug of some sort of hot drink in one hand.