by A. J. Truman
“I want you to suck me.” Mac was almost begging for it.
Gideon stared at his erection in his fingers. And while he imagined this moment, getting Mac off with his sex toy, he couldn’t picture himself giving a blow job. Having a guy’s dick in his hand was different than having one in his mouth. Rimming was like eating a girl out, but there was no heterosexual counterpart to giving head. He got his mouth up close to Mac’s dick, but he couldn’t go further. It just seemed too…gay for him.
He continued jerking off Mac while plunging the toy inside him, and soon it was forgotten. Mac kept saying yes, over and over again.
Gideon pulled out the toy and slapped it against Mac’s ass. Mac begged him to put it back in. Need strangled his voice. Mac yelled and writhed, possessed with orgasm. He and Gideon locked eyes as Mac spurted all over himself.
Gideon removed the toy. Mac was frozen for a second. He didn’t say anything. Things weren’t reverting, and Gideon was unsure how to proceed. He stood up. Maybe anal required more recovery time. But then, in a flash, Mac tumbled off the bed and got on his knees in front of Gideon.
Usually, post-orgasm, guys need to take a breather. Not Mac. He seemed even more raring to go than right before he came. He was driven by something that Gideon couldn’t quite make out. Not like it mattered. Gideon happily let Mac take him in his mouth.
“Shit,” Gideon said. Mac devoured his cock, jamming it into his throat. He knew what he was doing, and Gideon thought about all the times he’d probably done this before. Plus, it was different for Mac, he thought. Mac wasn’t experimenting. He was getting a genuine enjoyment out of blowing Gideon.
Gideon caught that sinister look in Mac’s eyes. It was the type of danger that turned him on, made more blood rush south.
His legs quaked. Gideon couldn’t stand much longer. He detached himself from Mac and sat on the bed. Mac shuffled forward and returned Gideon’s dick to its rightful place. His mouth went to the base. His hot breath circled Gideon warm cock. Gideon felt the sensation of a tongue swirling around his shaft. Guys knew what guys wanted, he thought. He realized that the great head he thought he’d received in the past was merely warm-up to this grand event. Gideon grabbed a fistful of his comforter. He was a goner in seconds, shooting deep into Mac’s mouth.
Mac swallowed his load, sucking him dry. He sat on the floor, looking up at Gideon. Their eyes did all the talking, but Gideon wanted to break the actual silence between them. He had a compelling need to bring them back into the real world. They had ventured too far into another dimension, and Gideon craved familiar terrain.
“Good class,” he said with a wink.
CHAPTER thirteen
Mac
They had a few more classes over the next week. Gone was the heavy veil of awkwardness. Gideon weaned himself off pre-gay-stuff shots. Mac found himself racing home after class or a nighttime meeting, and he believed that Gideon did the same. He saw Davis in the student union with his new boyfriend and didn’t even flinch.
After their hookups, they would lie in bed and talk. Mac would rest his head on Gideon’s arm and rub his hand across Gideon’s chest. Conversation would stretch to all types of topics into the wee hours. Families, friends, futures, pasts. Once they watched the sun rise. Since they had put their mouths on each other, nothing was considered off-limits.
It was one of the best weeks of Mac’s life.
And now he was going through withdrawal. From tonight until tomorrow sundown was Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year. Gideon had to fast and abstain from technology and sit in temple for most of the day. Mac admired his dedication. He couldn’t go five minutes without checking his phone, like most normal people.
That night, Mac accompanied Delia to a birthday party for one of her friends. She and Mac had crossed paths many times before, and Mac wound up knowing a few people from class and elsewhere. That was the beauty of a college party. You were never really a stranger.
The girl’s favorite color was magenta, not pink. The apartment was a wash of the color. The cupcakes had magenta food coloring, and the punch bowl runneth over with magenta-color sangria. Mac scooped him and Delia two cups worth. Delia held two mini cupcakes for them.
“I feel like this is the first time I’ve seen you all week,” she said.
Mac blushed, which helped him blend in with the décor. “Just, busy with midterms.”
“Oof. Tell me about it.”
Her innocuous comment felt like a kick in the heart. She didn’t question him. She didn’t suspect anything.
They shared an extra-large beanbag chair in the corner of the living room. Mac held both of their drinks and cupcakes while Delia got comfortable. She then grabbed both pastries and shoved them in her mouth.
“Chocolate peanut butter cupcakes,” she said with a satisfied smile, not unlike one you see on a cat being petted. “I miss gluten and nuts.”
“You’re a trooper. You want another one?”
“Yes. And a cookie and some crackers.”
Mac took hold of the wall to push himself off the beanbag. He ventured to the other side of the living room, home of the treats, to indulge his friend’s craving. He began filling up his magenta napkin when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“Fifth row. Fourth seat from the aisle.” The kid looked vaguely familiar. Surely someone who’d wear a shirt that had GAY BEST FRIEND written in big, block letters to a party had to stand out in his memory.
“I beg your pardon?”
He reached around Mac to pick up a magenta-frosted cookie for himself. “You’re in my geology class.”
Yes, Mac was actually in Introduction to Geology this quarter. A science distribution requirement. The irony was not lost on him.
“You always seem way too happy to be in geology class,” the kid said.
Nope, not lost on him at all.
“I’m Mac.”
“Rafe.”
They moved around their treats to shake hands. Rafe’s wild mop of curly hair seemed to lack a cowlick. It was not too far off from the unruly mess on Gideon’s head.
“Some party.” Rafe held up the cookies. “So are you actually into geology, or is it just a distribution requirement for you?”
“The latter. But it’s interesting. You?”
“I don’t know. I’m undecided.” Rafe drank his punch. Mac laughed when he saw his magenta teeth.
“Do you know your teeth are magenta?”
“So are yours.”
They both looked in the mirror mounted on the wall. There they were, two gays with Lisa Frank teeth.
“This is a good look for us,” Mac said.
“I think this needs to be memorialized with a selfie.” Rafe pulled out his phone and motioned for Mac to get close. Mac scooted into frame. Rafe snaked his hand around his waist in a classic flirty move. Subtle, yet noticeable.
“So what possessed you to wear the shirt?” Mac felt a tad embarrassed for him. His wardrobe stuck out like the sorest of thumbs.
“I’m peacocking,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Peacocking? Are you going to burst into a plume of feathers?”
“Good use of the word plume. Peacocking is wearing an article of clothing that makes you stand out. It’s a purposeful attention-grabber and conversation-starter. You see, most gay guys wear what you wear. The basic, generic dude outfit because they’re trying to blend in. I prefer to stand out.”
Mac found himself dimming next to Rafe’s confidence. He had met openly gay students at Browerton. He was one himself. But Rafe seemed to out-do everyone.
“When did you come out?” Mac asked him.
“When I was twelve.”
“Jesus,” Mac gasped. “To just yourself?”
“To everyone. Parents, school, friends, pastor.” Rafe shrugged. It was no big deal to him. Mac wondered if he grew up on a different planet than ours. He never had to live in fear. Or he never let himself.
“Where are you from?” Mac couldn’t st
op asking questions. Rafe was utterly fascinating.
“Arlington, Virginia.”
“You’re from Virginia?” Somebody had to be playing a practical joke on him. If only he had lived one state over, his life could’ve been vastly different. But then he might not have wound up at Browerton. He might never have met Gideon.
“Rafe, do you think gay guys and straight guys can be friends?”
Mac wondered if there was a way to answer his question with research. He wasn’t sure if geology class could be considered research or tampering with his sample. Rafe didn’t hesitate with his response.
“Of course.” He bit into a chip. “I have plenty of straight friends.”
“Are you attracted to any of them?”
“No. I’m not into straight guys. I don’t believe it’s a good use of my time to fall for somebody that I have zero shot with.”
“Can you help it, though?”
He bit into another chip and sipped on more magenta punch. “There are straight guys that I think are cute, even hot. But there’s a difference between thinking someone is good-looking and thinking about what it’d be like to date him. I don’t let myself fall down those rabbit holes.”
Mac didn’t actively think about dating Gideon. Not when he found out Gideon was straight. He had Davis. And their time together now…well, they were falling down a rabbit hole together. But it wasn’t like Rafe was criticizing his life.
“Well, next time I’m in class, I’ll say hi. Or come sit in the fifth row with me.”
“Or better yet,” and here is where Rafe flashed a smile that announced in big, bold letters that he was flirting. “Why don’t we hang out sometime, outside of geology class.”
“You don’t have to call it geology class. Just call it class.” The word geology would forever be tainted.
“Can I get your number? I’ll text you.” Rafe reached into his pocket. He was a guy who did not mess around.
Mac assessed the guy in front of him. Cute, charming, smart, sweet, confident. Guys like these were diamonds in the rough at Browerton. Many of the gay guys Mac had met either came on too strong or were too in the closet. Davis, and now Rafe, were rare exceptions.
And yet something held Mac back.
“We can hang out, as friends,” Mac said. “I’m not really looking to date right now.”
Parts of that seemed true.
Rafe took it in stride, but Mac saw that blow he dealt to the guy’s ego. “That’s cool.”
“I’m getting over a break-up.”
“I get it. I’d like to be friends with you.” Rafe said it with such sincerity that Mac chose to believe him, even though lots of guys use the friends excuse to wheedle their way up to boyfriend status. Was that what I’m doing with Gideon?
Rafe waited with his phone. It was Mac’s cue.
“Right, sorry.” Mac gave him his number and returned to the beanbag chair.
“I like him!” Delia said. She turned to Mac, but that caused them to roll into each other. They laughed over the closeness and didn’t separate.
“He’s a nice guy.”
“And he got your digits.”
“He did. But I told him I just wanted to be friends.” Before Delia could chime in, he said, “Davis.”
“Davis was almost two months ago. He’s moved on. So should you!”
“I will. It’s a process.” Mac scoped out the party, searching for someone else to talk to, or talk about.
“This is another step in the process. And this step has a cute butt.” She nudged her head at Rafe walking away, into the kitchen, butt firmly on display.“My dating life is on hiatus at the moment.” Mac rolled away.
“Hiatus?” The word displeased her greatly. Mac’s love life seemed to be her newest cause to champion. “Mac, if I ask you something, will you promise not to get offended?”
“Sure.” Even though there was no way to promise that. She got serious for a moment, and if she was about to say she had a benign tumor, Mac was going to jump out the window.
“Are you hung up on Gideon? You guys have gotten along surprisingly well as roommates and are even friends. Which is great, but I don’t want you pausing your life for some fantasy. Gideon’s straight.”
“That’s what you think,” Mac blurted out in defense of his life choices.
Delia’s eyes bulged open. Mac bit his lip.
“I forgot to get you another cupcake.” He tried to stand up, but Delia pulled him down. The fire of earth-shattering gossip burned in her eyes.
“Start talking.”
There was no way he was getting around this one. Delia was a master in tunnel vision.
“What I tell you does not leave the beanbag chair. Does not.”
She nodded.
“Not even Seth. Especially not Seth.”
She nodded again and waved her hand to get him singing like a canary. Mac knew he was violating the ancient code of the gay-straight hookup, but he trusted Delia. She was a loyal friend.
And so in a whisper, Mac dished about his escapades with Gideon. Her mouth did not ungape. Her eyes did not unbulge. But to her credit, she didn’t respond with a sassy comment, or even a laugh. She got how serious this was to Mac.
“But please, you can’t tell anyone,” Mac said.
“I won’t. I promise.” She leaned back. She had just taken a huge bong hit of information, and the new information was working its way through her system. “I had no idea.”
“Neither did I.”
“You think he’s just experimenting?” She asked him.
“Yes.” Though that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that Mac didn’t know the truth. He didn’t want to know the final answer on Gideon’s sexuality, because that would mean a final answer on their relationship. Either option scared him. He liked this gray area they were playing in.
“So that’s why you don’t want to go on a date with the T-shirt guy with the cute butt.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
But she shot him a skeptical glare that cut through his mountain of words.
“It doesn’t. I just don’t feel like dating right now.” It was the truth, but it also felt like a lie for some reason.
Delia didn’t say anything back. She rolled over and wrapped him in a hug—well, as good a hug as she could deliver whilst on this beanbag chair.
“What’s this for?” Mac rubbed her forearms.
“I love you. I hope I don’t have to watch you get hurt.”
Φ
When Mac returned to the apartment, the lights were on and the TV blared from the living room. Gideon sat on the couch with a bagel and cream cheese.
“How was your Yom Kippur?”
“Solemn. I brought you back an extra bagel and schmear from Hillel’s break the fast.” He pushed it over on the coffee table. Mac appreciated the gesture, almost too much, since it was just a bagel.
But he schmeared it, too.
Mac shook it off and took a seat beside him. Gideon didn’t seem to be enjoying the sitcom he was watching. He put a tentative hand on Gideon’s shoulder and massaged out some tension. Why did this feel like a breach to him, when they’d touched each other all over?
“You doing okay?” Mac asked.
Gideon put down his bagel. Deep lines creased his forehead. “I think we should have sex.”
CHAPTER fourteen
Gideon
“Right now?” Mac asked.
“After we finish our bagel and schmears?” Gideon’s leg bounced up and down. Don’t think. Just do. That was how everyone else in his family lived. He might as well join in the fun.
“Gideon.” Mac studied his face, his thick eyebrows scrunching together in thought. He was still massaging his shoulder, and doing a heck of a job at it.
Gideon jumped up. His body was one of those bouncy balls that could fly off every hard surface from a light drop. An avalanche of stress rushed down inside him to his forehead. A brain freeze without the ice cream.
&nbs
p; “My brother is having a baby.”
“That’s great! Right?”
Gideon paced in front of the fireplace. “He and Christina just got engaged. Because her family’s religious, they don’t want to have the baby out of wedlock. So they’re getting married the first week in December. My mom just heard about the engagement at Rosh Hashanah, and you know how she reacted to that. This is going to destroy her.” His heart raced as details from the day came back to him. “He texted me this today. Texted! On Yom Kippur!”
“I don’t think Noah is as observant of Jewish traditions as you.”
“Ya think?”
This was classic Noah. Dropping bombshells without warning, not caring who got hurt, leaving Gideon to clean up the mess. He probably waited until Yom Kippur to drop the news on him and his mom so they couldn’t respond right away. Yom Kippur sneak attack. Not cool, Noah.
“Why weren’t they using birth control if she’s such a devout Catholic?” Gideon asked aloud. “Every girl I’ve been with has been on the pill, and I still used a condom.”
It was the definition of irresponsible, the acme of Noah’s pyramid of shit that Gideon had been witness to his whole life. This easily topped Noah getting in a bar fight. It was even more of a shitstorm than Noah leaving his passport in an Amsterdam whorehouse. Their mom was on the phone with the embassy for days to get him a temporary visa. Gideon used to think that Noah did it on purpose so he wouldn’t have to come home.
“Fucking Noah.” Gideon pulled out his bottle of Jameson and poured himself a shot. If Mac wanted one, he could pour it. Tonight, he didn’t care if he was drinking alone. He needed it.
“Look on the bright side.”
“There’s a bright side?”
“A big one,” Mac said, pouring himself a drink, too. “You’re going to be an uncle! Uncle Gideon!”
Gideon thought about playing with a baby, holding his niece or nephew in his arms, big eyes staring up at him.
“You’re going to be a great uncle. Kids are going to love you!”
“I wish I was better prepared.”
“I’m sure your brother feels the same way. Cut him a little slack,” Mac said. But he didn’t understand. He wasn’t being thrown around in the tornado, just watching it safely with binoculars.