by Roan Parrish
But the thing I haven’t thought about since freshman year, when I joined football and started hanging out with Xavier and the other guys on the team instead of Charlie, is how I felt when I was near him. How we’d sit, side by side, against the half wall separating the school from the service entrance off the street when it was warm, or against the lockers in the southeast corner of the third floor in winter, talking.
How sometimes our shoulders would press together and neither of us would move away.
How I was aware that Charlie always smelled like clean laundry, mint, and sweat.
How I’d look forward to lunch because it meant seeing Charlie and hearing about whatever he’d been thinking about lately.
And how, sometimes, on really bad days after Mom died, I’d feel a strange compulsion to let my head drop down on Charlie’s shoulder, like maybe touching him could leach off some of the poison I felt snaking through my veins.
After Rafe and I, um… well, after Monday, I expected to feel some kind of seismic shift. But it didn’t happen. If anything, it’s more as if a mess that seemed really jumbled has shaken out into a pattern I can recognize.
“Hey,” I say to Rafe, ignoring the terrible movie we’ve been not really watching. “Did you—when did you realize you were…?”
“Gay? When I was ten or eleven, there was this group of guys in my neighborhood. They were—” He shakes his head. “—trouble. But there was something about them that appealed to me. The way they carried themselves. Their style. They looked tough. Like they could look out for themselves. They were probably only fourteen or fifteen, but I thought of them as being grown. I wanted to be like them. Look like them, dress like them, have a group of people to watch my back like them.
“My dad was a mean fucker. I think, partly, I had this idea that if I had friends like that, they could teach me how to be someone he wouldn’t mess with so much. So, I watched them. For years. And I really believed that’s what it was—that I wanted to be like them. It wasn’t until I was thirteen, maybe fourteen, that I realized I just wanted them. By that time, I did have people to watch my back. But it wasn’t anything like I imagined. And, well, you know how that turned out.”
I nod. The guys who pulled Rafe into their group were affiliated with a gang in his neighborhood. He told me about it haltingly on the phone last night. How he didn’t realize what their friendship meant until it was too late. Until he was so deep into taking and selling drugs with them that there was no way he could step away from it without a hell of a lot of fallout.
“They all talked a lot of shit about how many girls they’d been with, even at thirteen or fourteen. Some of it was true. I don’t know how much. But I went along with it. Until high school, when it was really clear who was… you know, screwing, because it’d happen at parties, in the backseats of cars, or in bathrooms.” He winces. “I kind of… had to.”
“With girls.”
He nods. “It was a shitty thing to do. Anyway, it’s not like it was terrible or anything. It just felt wrong. And then, when I first slept with a boy. Fuck. I knew for sure then. I mean, we were sixteen, so it was clumsy and fumbling, but, damn. It was like all the things I’d been feeling and questioning about myself finally made sense.”
“Who was he?”
“Mm, Benny. Benito. He went to a different school, but his cousin went to school with us, so he was always around. He had this really light coloring—almost blond, with grayish-bluish eyes—and everyone joked that he was secretly white. He was… sweet. Which didn’t really go over well in my neighborhood. But somehow, people left him alone. Like they could tell he was good.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what ever happened to him. But one night at some party, I was standing in a corner, watching everything. I was blitzed. Benny came over to me. He took my hand and led me to this tiny bedroom that had probably been a pantry originally.
“He was smaller than me, but he pushed me up against the door and looked right at me. Didn’t say anything. Finally, he leaned up really slow and kissed me. It was like he’d read my mind. I was so shocked that I pushed him away at first. But he kept standing there, looking at me. He knew. He was totally sure of me. And I was so relieved because he proved something to me that I probably would’ve sat with for a long time, never knowing.”
Rafe’s smiling. And I’m fucking jealous. Not of this kid Benny, but that Rafe got his questions answered at sixteen, by someone sweet. Rafe likes sweet.
“Do you remember the first time you were attracted to a guy?” Rafe asks.
“I wasn’t—I didn’t realize that’s what it was until just now, I think. This guy Charlie. I dunno what happened to him either. When we went to high school, I kind of lost track of him.”
No. That’s not true. More like I started ignoring him and didn’t step in when I saw people messing with him
A familiar sinking feeling begins, like I’m slipping beneath the surface of something unfathomable, every moment I sit here pressing me farther into a blackness that I want to pull around myself and wrap up in until I can’t see or hear anything.
I bite my lip. I can’t let myself go to the place where I hate myself. I never know how to come back.
Then Rafe pulls me close and starts rubbing my scalp, kind of the way he pets Shelby. My skin prickles and my breath comes short. I squeeze my eyes shut so tight the room feels like it’s spinning.
“God, what are you doing?” I groan.
Rafe’s hand stills on my hair. “I’m sorry. I was just—”
“No! I mean, what the fuck are you doing here? What are you doing with me? Why do you even give a shit? Fuck!”
I curl in on myself, trying to contain the churning hurricane of fury, shame, and fear in my stomach, but I can’t. Liquor will melt me further into it, a razor snap me out of it—for a few minutes, anyway.
Rafe makes a choked sound and turns, going up on his knees and dragging me tight against him.
“You don’t feel this?” He presses his palm to my spine, my chest to his. The hurricane in my stomach settles a little as my heartbeat slows down to match the steady, calming thump of Rafe’s.
“I feel—I don’t know….”
“We… respond to each other, Colin. There’s a connection.” He presses his face into my neck and I shudder, my body wanting to move closer even as my itchy mind shies away. He breathes me in and his exhalation is warm on my neck.
I feel it. I do. But I don’t know what it means. I shake my head.
“I’m fucked up,” I mutter, turning away from him. “You’ll see.”
He chokes out a laugh. “I knew you were fucked up the moment I saw you.”
“Shit,” I mutter, sliding my arm over Rafe’s side and pressing closer to him. “What the hell are we doing?” My voice shakes and he squeezes me tight.
I want to go for the whiskey in the kitchen. Instead, I kiss the corner of Rafe’s mouth even though I don’t deserve it. Even though all I ever do is hurt people. He snakes his arm around my back and turns his head to chase my mouth. Kissing him feels as warm and intoxicating as the whiskey would.
“Come here, doll,” he says breathlessly, shifting me so I’m straddling his lap.
I choke. “God, don’t call me that.” That’s… what the fuck is that? Then I shiver. Rafe’s eyes are intense, but soft just for me.
“I can feel how much you like it,” he murmurs, pulling me closer. I shake my head. It’s… filthy. Embarrassing. “No?”
One palm skates up my spine under my shirt and I shudder hard. I shake my head again, but Rafe’s smile is knowing.
“Mmhmm,” he says, like he knows better. Which is irritating as hell, but also kind of hot. Damn it. I stop thinking about it when he presses his mouth to mine.
We kiss so slow it’s like melting together. My face and neck are hot, and my whole body is buzzing. Rafe strokes up and down my back, and I slide a hand down the back of his shirt, his skin warm under my fingers and slightly rough. He tips
my head back and kisses my throat, and I press my hips into him.
“Fuck, Colin, I’m so hot for you, you don’t even know.”
I choke trying to get a breath in. I don’t know what kind of pheromones are coming off Rafe right now, but he’s got me tied up in knots with one sentence.
He lays kisses along my throat and sucks at my neck. I shiver every time he touches the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
“You like it here?” Rafe licks the spot he kissed and scrapes his teeth across my skin. My hips jerk forward and I nod frantically, grabbing at him.
“Where else?” he asks, tightening his hand on my throat. “What else do you like?”
All the breath leaves me, and I look away from him. I don’t want to stop to think about it because if I do, I’ll have to think about how I have no fucking clue what I like, really. Only what I don’t. And then I’ll have to think about how wrong everything went the last time I messed around with anyone like this. And I really, really don’t want to think about that.
“Tell me,” he says, voice intense. “I want to make you feel good.”
I shake my head, trying to banish the thoughts, and Rafe’s hand softens slightly in my hair. I kiss him again, but I can’t get back that mindless intoxication from a few minutes before. The one I could lose myself in.
“I want you to tell me what you like and what you don’t, okay?” Rafe’s expression is serious and I feel ridiculous. I shake my head and kiss him again in an attempt to shut him up.
“So you like kissing. Noted,” he says.
“Asshole.” I roll my eyes, but he just looks amused.
“Okay, so it’s hard for you to tell me what you like in bed.”
God, I just want him to stop fucking talking about it and do something. I can feel my face heat.
“All right,” he says. “I have some ideas. I just need to make sure that I’m not misinterpreting.”
“Misinterpreting what?”
Rafe looks almost uncertain for a moment.
“Come here,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Put your hands on my shoulders and kiss me.”
I do, and I squeeze his shoulders, loving the strength of his muscles, the solidity of his frame.
“Closer,” Rafe says, and I press my chest to his, getting as close as I can while still kissing him. “Put your arms around my neck,” he murmurs against my lips, and I do, running my fingers through the hair at his nape. Rafe leaves one hand on my neck when he leans back against the couch, and when he looks at me this time, he’s nothing but confidence and certainty.
“I just had to make sure,” he murmurs. He looks me up and down. “Damn, that’s beautiful.”
“Uh, what?” I’m lost. And turned on. Why’d he stop?
“You like it when I tell you what to do.”
My head snaps up. “What?” I sure as hell do not like anyone telling me what to do.
“Not ordinarily. I mean in bed.” His hand is soothing on my back.
“Uh….”
He leans in and kisses me deep. I melt against him, winding my arms back around his neck.
“Which is incredibly hot,” he says against my lips, “since I like telling you what to do in bed.”
“I—but—um.”
“Lie back,” Rafe says, easing me off his lap and onto my back on the couch. He looks almost amused as he leans down to me. “What do you want me to do, Colin? I’ll do anything you want. Anything.” He kisses me, then pulls away. “Well?”
“Um… I… I don’t know.”
He leans back down so our hips are pressed together and murmurs in my ear, “Colin, I’m going to slide my hand down your pants and jerk you off until you scream my name.”
“Oh fuck!” My hips jerk up, desire sharp in the pit of my stomach.
Rafe half smiles at me. “See?”
“God damn it.” Why does that turn me on so much? Great, one more way I’m totally fucked up.
“Come on, doll,” he says, kissing the corner of my mouth and sliding a hand down to my hip. “You’re so hot for this.” He grinds our hips together and a sweet pulse of pleasure spreads through me. I thrust my hips up again, chasing the sensation.
“Rafe, fucking come on,” I moan. I’m trembling, like my skin can hardly contain my reaction to him.
He slides a hand around to my ass and I jerk into the couch cushions, startled.
“What is it?” he asks.
I shake my head, trying to focus on Rafe rather than on shit from the past. “Nothing. Feels good.”
Rafe sighs. “Colin.” He’s searching my face. “I need you to be honest with yourself. It’s really important to me, okay? I can’t—can’t do something you’re not okay with. Please don’t put me in that position.” His touch on my stomach is soothing. “We have plenty of time. Okay?”
I nod. “I swear, I’m fine.” Lie. Total lie. But I don’t know what else to do. I want this. “I just don’t really know what the fuck I’m doing, okay?” Hopefully that will be enough of the truth to satisfy Rafe.
“Okay.” His voice is calm. “Can you tell me what you want right now?” He runs a hand over my hair.
I squeeze my eyes shut so I can pretend he’s not looking at me. I want to stop thinking about it. I want to stop talking about it. I just want to be caught up in it. “I… I want you to do… whatever.”
That didn’t really come out how I wanted, but Rafe shudders like it totally does it for him and lets out a breath, running fingers over my lips.
“You tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”
I nod and grip his shoulders as he slides a hand inside my pants. He palms my erection, and I cry out and grab for him.
“One thing,” he says, pulling back, and I groan. “You want me to be in control of this, you have to do something for me.” He looks serious as he takes my hand. “Words are hard for you. So, if there’s ever anything I’m doing that you don’t like and you want me to stop, and you can’t tell me, then you tap me three times. Like this. And I’ll stop.”
I nod and clear my throat, but my voice sounds all messed up. “Okay.”
“I’ll stop. Whatever I’m doing, I’ll stop. It doesn’t matter if it’s a kiss or a touch or I’m five seconds from coming. I will always stop. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” I choke out.
“And if you just need me to slow down so we can talk about it?”
“Rafe, please. Come on.” I’m burning up, straining beneath him to get some contact. Every word he says is turning me on more and more.
“What do you do if you need to slow down and talk about whatever is happening?” Rafe asks again. His voice is calm, but he slides his hand under my back and pulls me to him, grinding us together fiercely. I groan.
“Tell me, Colin. Tell me.”
“I—ungh!” His mouth is on my neck and I can hardly think. “I tap three times. Rafe, please. Please! Oh god!”
“You’re so fucking hot like this. Struggling underneath me. Desperate to come but waiting until I let you.” We kiss until our mouths are bruised. Rafe strokes a thumb along my neck, which leaves me shivering against him.
Shit, shit, shit. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I feel like I’m coming apart. And I shouldn’t like losing control like this. It’s dangerous. Too close to having it taken away. And when that happens—
“Oh god!”
Rafe’s hand on me is hot and slick with my own arousal and he’s moving so slowly. He runs his other hand up the inside of my thigh and squeezes my balls. I arch off the couch and start babbling. “Oh fuck, fuck. What are you—fuck!”
Rafe groans and squeezes my hipbones, holding me still. I make an effort to relax when I realize I’m gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise.
“Rafe, Rafe, that’s—I—”
“Good?” he drawls. “Or not good.”
“Good. Yes. Fuck. Please.”
He sinks his teeth into the sensitive spot where my neck
meets my shoulder and a jolt of pure lust rocks me.
“Rafe.” I sink my hand into his hair and strain up into his body. “I’m gonna….”
He strokes me fast and brutal, and I almost choke as I come all over his hand and my stomach and chest. Rafe ends up half on top of me, face pressed to my neck.
I start to untangle my fingers from Rafe’s hair and catch my breath. I want to say thank you, but I know it would sound stupid.
He kisses the corner of my mouth, and then he cups my jaw and kisses me for real. I can feel his erection against my hip, and become aware that he’s still fully clothed while my clothes are in total disarray and he’s made me come harder than I’ve ever come in my life.
“You’re—do you—what about you?” I finally choke out around Rafe’s demanding mouth.
“I’m… okay,” he says, easing off the kiss a little. He traces my lips with his fingers, then pulls off me and sits up.
“Come back here.” When he doesn’t move, I sit up, groaning after being mashed into the couch. “You’re so fucking stubborn.” Rafe just watches me through half-lowered eyelids.
I frown and tug gently at his shirt. He lets go of me and puts his arms up, allowing me to strip it off him. He’s fucking beautiful. The thought falls into my head, though I don’t think I’ve ever had it about another person. He’s broader than me: his frame is large and his muscles are rounded. One of my hands comes up and strokes his arm before I’m aware I’ve moved. Rafe sits, gamely letting me touch him.
“Will you?” I gesture to his jeans, and he immediately slides them down his long legs. His thighs and calves are defined and my eyes keep darting down to the bulge in his white briefs.
“Tell me exactly what you want to happen right now. Not what you think should happen. Not what you think I want. Don’t think about it. Just tell me.”
I blink stupidly at him, and he leans in and kisses me. I bring his hair forward so it envelops my face, and twine my fingers through it.