by Max Walker
“I’m going to come,” I said, my voice a rocky growl.
“Do it. Give it to me.”
Oliver continued to bounce back on my cock. I slapped the pale globe, a sharp sound ringing through the air, his ass shaking with the impact. He whimpered and moaned and asked for another.
My balls tightened, ready to explode. He slowed down, still keeping me inside him. I slapped his other cheek, my pink handprint showing up almost immediately. Another whimper and then another “please.”
I gave it to him and then grabbed his ass, kneading the tender muscle with my fingers. His words were jumbled as he slid back and enveloped me inside him.
It was enough to make me blow. I grunted like some kind of animal and let myself unload, shooting deep inside of Oliver. I could feel him coming, too, his body spasming, his hole tightening around me, pulling out every last drop.
I took a deep breath and leaned down. I kissed the back of Oliver’s neck. We both chuckled, our bodies flooded with endorphins. It felt like my brain had been replaced by a big bowl of custard.
I pulled out of Oliver. He turned and kissed me, both of us grinning like buffoons as we went to go clean up.
As Oliver toweled off in the bathroom, his blue eyes catching mine and glowing underneath the bright white lights, I found myself hit with such a strong thought that bloody well almost knocked me off my feet.
God, I’d do anything in the world for this man.
25 Oliver Brightly
My body was spent in the best way possible. I felt like a new person. Beckham had literally fucked me into a different mindset.
What in the gay hell?
We sat outside in his yard, enjoying the quiet night, the air from the ocean coming in fresh and cool. It wasn’t a hot night by Miami standards. Beckham looked sexy in a pair of laid-back plaid boxers and a black T-shirt, his legs stretched out in front of him, one of his feet currently in my lap.
We were talking about anything and everything. At some point, the conversation landed on where was the weirdest place either of us had sex before. Beckham said that his was under a pier, which actually sounded pretty romantic to me, contingent on how clean the underside of the pier was.
“It was pretty clean,” Beckham said.
“Okay, well then, yeah. I guess that makes it pretty romantic.”
“What’s your weirdest place?”
I chewed my lip in thought. “Honestly, I’m pretty vanilla. Besides, you know, getting jerked off in the ocean in the middle of the night.”
“Extremely vanilla.”
“Very.” I stuck out my tongue. “Besides that, just the bed. And the car once, but that was so uncomfortable that it lasted like two minutes, tops. I don’t think it counts.”
“It doesn’t.” Beckham smiled. The light above his head let off a soft orange glow. “We have to work on expanding your repertoire, then.”
“I wouldn’t mind adding some new exotic locales to my sexusme.”
“Did you… is that a real word, or did you just make that up?”
“I think I just made it up.” I laughed, grabbing Beckham’s foot and giving it a squeeze. “Deadass.”
“Deadass,” Beckham parroted, his accent making the words funnier to me. I started to laugh, Beckham joining in, the night unfolding as though nothing had happened prior. As if I hadn’t heard the voice of my boyfriend’s killer, as if he hadn’t chased Beckham down and landed right at my doorstep.
A cold shiver sliced through me.
Being with Beckham always created some kind of impossible time capsule. Every moment stretched into infinity, blurring out all the bullshit.
And then those bubbles, those little time capsules, would pop, and the outside world would come rushing in, almost knocking down my front door, saying things like “you’ll regret this.”
I let go of Beckham’s foot and stood, stretching as I did.
Beckham’s yard was a large one, fenced in with a large mango tree starting to bear fruit over in one corner, a small rocking gazebo set up in the other corner. We were currently under the tiled terrace, where he had an outdoor couch and some seating that surrounded a clean white table. Next to the couch was a rack holding various plastic containers that all appeared to have come from a move, one that Beckham never fully unpacked from. The boxes were still labeled with thick black marker: Bathroom, Christmas Things, Kitchen.
One of the boxes was open. There was a thick, navy blue book sticking out from the top. I realized as I got closer that it wasn’t a book but a photo album. Beckham watched me with a curious expression, not catching on to what I was looking at.
I grabbed the book and pulled it out, unsettling a spider web in the process. The rest of the box’s contents shifted and clattered.
“Oh, I haven’t looked through that in years,” Beckham said, sounding surprised. “I forgot I even had that thing.”
I sat down next to him on the couch and placed the album on my lap. “Mind if we flip through it? I love looking through old photos.”
Beckham didn’t take long to consider it. “Go for it.”
I checked out the cover first. There was a photo tucked into the center, underneath a clear sheet of plastic. It was a photo of Beckham and his parents. He must have been something like four, standing between them and wearing the cutest little pair of overalls I’d ever seen, his hair a mess and his smile pure, matching the smiles on both his mom and dad.
I opened it, the first page holding a collage of Beckham’s baby photos, from him smiling peacefully as a newborn in his mom’s arms, still in a hospital bed, to the ones of little Beckham having his first bath, his dad pouring a splash of water onto Beck’s chubby little belly.
“You were a big baby,” I teased, nudging Beckham.
“I did have some rolls on me, eh?”
“Look at you there. You’re like a mini sumo wrestler.” It was a Polaroid of Beckham in diapers, squatting with a face that looked like he could be either furious or pooping, his pudgy cheeks looking like they were made out of dough.
“You were so cute, oh my dear baby Jesus.” I couldn’t help but say “aww” through most of the pages. I noticed that Beckham’s dad barely showed up in any of the photos, but that may have been just because he was always behind the camera. His mom, on the other hand, showed up in almost every photo. She had a big head of light brown hair that was always curled and cut perfectly, framing her bright face every time she gave it to the camera.
“Look at you two,” I said, stopping on a photo of Beckham and his mom roller-skating in a park. They were wearing the coolest of eighties fashion, with neon wristbands and high-waisted jeans. I turned the page and there was another photo of the same day, but this one showed Beckham going headfirst into a bush and his mom laughing in the most photogenic way possible.
I flipped to the next page and the mood suddenly shifted. There, on the center of the page, was a Polaroid. Beckham looked like a kid, but his hair was already growing those silver strands that I loved so much now. He must have just been entering his teens, but he was tall, almost as tall as his father, who stood next to him, an arm around his son’s shoulder, a smile on both their faces.
They looked happy. I could see the resemblance between them. They had the same eyes and the same lips. Beckham had his mom’s nose, but he definitely had his dad’s chin.
Beckham put his hand under mine, under the cover of the album. He closed the photo album and grabbed it from my hands. “Sorry, Olly. I think I’m calling it for the night.”
“Right, no, of course.”
I could tell his thoughts had scattered into the wind the second he saw that photo. There was stress in his face, a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there.
Beckham placed the album back in the box. He nodded into the house. I followed him inside and to his bedroom. We crawled into bed and into each other’s arms.
“You okay?” I asked into the crook of Beckham’s neck. I could feel him breathing against me.
I moved up on the bed, setting my head on his arm, looking through the darkness of his bedroom and into the light of his eyes. “Before it changed for the good. You would have been trapped if you didn’t come out. Your life would have been so much worse.”
“I know. And I’m happy now, with you. I’m more than happy. I feel like I won the lottery ten times over. And I know that my past led me to this, to you. So I’m okay with it.”
I couldn’t hold back the kiss. I didn’t want to.
“I love you so freaking much, Beck.”
He kissed me again. His hand came to rest on the back of my head. His thumb drew circles, something he knew turned me into melted candy.
“I love you, too,” he said. “Deadass.”
I couldn’t stop the snort.
THREE DAYS LATER
The Florida sun was shielded by thick black clouds that sat low in the sky. Half of my block was thrown under a dark and ominous shade, the other being belted by a resilient strip of sunshine that found a break in the clouds. There would be thunder and lightning soon. There were already some bright bolts of white off in the distance, the storm coming in from the ocean after hoarding energy from the warm waters.
I sat in my car looking at my apartment like it was about to grow legs and do the cha-cha slide for me. I had slept at Beckham’s place for the last three nights, not feeling safe in my own apartment after everything that had happened. I had spoken to the police, but they said they needed more evidence before they could go ahead with an arrest. Beckham was working hard to find that evidence, but until then, Juan was out there and he knew that we were onto him. I felt sure that he had been the one threatening me, most likely goaded by his older brother, who I was sure still harbored his homophobic hatred toward me. He had to have been the second person that night. The one that stayed silent during the entire thing, but left his mark nonetheless.
Meanwhile, Mason and Jar were running out of food at Beckham’s place, so I had to make a quick stop back at mine and pick up some more. I considered just going to the pet store, but there was an entire cabinet of food for them and it felt like a waste.
I still didn’t want to go in, though.
So I decided to FaceTime my brother instead.
He picked up on the second ring. My brother’s smiling face filled up the screen.
“Hey, Jojo,” I said.
“Hi, Olly.”
“Where are you?” I could see a line of people behind him.
“At the movies with Fox. We’re celebrating our last interview of the day.” He tilted the camera up, showing me the glowing marquee, a few drops of rain falling down onto the camera. Jonah moved under some shelter and wiped off the camera. He turned it to Fox, who gave me a wave and a friendly “hey.”
“How’d the interviews go?” I asked when my brother got back on the camera.
“Good. I think we settled on one detective today, finally. His name is Rocky Hudson. Cool guy—a little quiet and hard to read at first, but his resume was impressive, and he started opening up more toward the end.”
“Ah good. And how about that Third Fallen Angel stuff? Anything new?”
Just talking about it made me feel a chill crawl through my body. I hated to think that someone was out there targeting the detectives at Stonewall. I had seen all the news about the Unicorn killer that had haunted the Stonewall detectives in New York, and this was beginning to seem scarily familiar.
Jonah shook his head. “Nothing. We’ve set up a new surveillance system around Stonewall, and we’ve all been keeping an eye out, but whoever was trying to kick us out seems to have backed off. For now. The ‘third’ is stumping us, too. I think it’s an allusion to the Holy Trinity, but I’ve got no idea.”
“All right, well, keep me in the loop. I’ve asked Beckham about it, but he doesn’t want me to worry too much. Especially not since I’ve got my big licensing exam coming up.”
“Are you ready for it?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve been brushing up and studying a lot lately. Plus, all the practical experience I get at the clinic really helps. I’m sure I’ll do fine.”
“I’m sure you will, too.” Jonah shot a glance off camera. “And then when we go adopt a puppy, you can take care of it as an official vet.”
My eyes went wide. “Ohhh bitch! You better let me come to the shelter with you guys. I want to be there. I love that gooey Hallmark stuff, especially when it involves a dog finding the perfect forever home.”
Jonah laughed. I could hear Fox laugh off-screen, too.
“All right, well, what time does your movie start?”
“We got ten minutes. What’s up?”
I didn’t want to bring it up, but talking to my brother had me thinking about my parents, and I felt like if I was procrastinating, I might as well get some good advice at the same time.
“I want to introduce Beck to Mom and Dad.”
If Jonah was surprised, he hid it well.
“Good, they’ve already been asking me a few questions that I’ve had to dodge.”
“How do you think they’re going to act?”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine. They’ve always been supportive of us.”
“I know, I know. And it’s not like Mom and Dad are reality show parents or something. I know Mom’s not going to start yelling, “He’s dark sided! Get him out! Dark sided!’… Although that would be pretty funny.”
“I’m not entirely sure where that reference is from, but either way, you’re right. Mom’s not going to yell.”
I sighed. “It’s from Wife Swap. Google it when you guys get home.”
“Do I have to use a private browser for that?”
I laughed and shook my head. “Ugh, this is so stressful. Why does love have to be so stressful?”
“It doesn’t. Also, I don’t think it actually is. I think you’re just imagining all these crazy scenarios in your head and bringing the stress along with them. You know our parents love us, and you know they’re level-headed and open-minded. I don’t think they’ll have any issues.”
“You’re right, you’re right.”
And he was right. My parents were totally cool with everything we did, and I’m sure they wouldn’t care about me bringing home an older man, especially since that man happened to be the one of my dreams. They’d clapped and cheered when I had come out to them using confetti cannons full of rainbow confetti, so I could see how Jonah was right. I may have been overthinking things.
“I’ll set a dinner, then,” I said, making up my mind. “Sometime next week. I’ll introduce them. I think it’s definitely time.”
Jonah smiled at that. “How’s Beckham been anyway? Our schedules haven’t matched up at Stonewall. I’ve barely seen him.”
“He’s good. There might be a big break in the case, Jojo. He went this morning to talk to a shop that said they potentially have footage of that night. They might have caught the two thugs walking past on their camera.”
Jonah’s smile flashed brighter. “That’s great news.”
“Yeah, it’s looking good. He’s actually celebrating a kickball game win tonight, too.”
“You didn’t go to cheer him on?” Jonah said, noting my scrubs.
“Duty called.” I lifted my arm and showed Jonah the pink scratches and teeth marks, already disappearing. “And Duty happened to be a fifty-seven-pound Great Dane puppy who decided my arm would make a good teething toy.”
Jonah started to laugh before making his expression seem remorseful.
“Anyways, I’m going to try and catch him and his friends at the bar. Thanks for picking up my rando FaceTime call!”
“Anytime.”
“Unless you’re in the shower or with Fox, or in the shower with Fox, then please, please, for the love of Tia and Tamara, don’t ever pick up my FaceTime call.”
Jonah barked out a laugh and was
about to say something, but I cut him off with a loud and extended “byeeeee” and hung up the call.
I loved my brother to bits.
What I didn’t love? Having to go up to my apartment.
Fuck it. I’ll just go to the pet store.
I put my car in reverse and was about to pull out of my parking spot when someone caught my eye. A girl, her hair falling in bright red locks down over the spaghetti straps that clung to her shoulders, one hand waving at me and the other holding the leash of a drooling bulldog.
It was Janet, Will’s ex. And she seemed to be waiting for me to get out of the car.
I sighed and put my car back in park. I grabbed the bags I’d brought to carry the cans of food in and stepped out of the car.
“Hey, Oliver! Glad I caught you.”
Janet lived in my apartment complex and normally let her dog poop wherever he wanted without ever picking it up.
Today, her bulldog was pooping right in front of my building. There wasn’t a poop bag in sight.
I tried not to stare pointedly at her dog’s mountain of manure as I walked toward her. Mainly because I would have thrown up, but also because I hated confrontation, even if it involved telling someone they were being an obnoxious walking dog turd by leaving their dog turds out to bake in the sun.
“Hey, Janet.” I faked the fakest smile of my goddamn life.
“Have you seen Will?”
“Huh? No, why?”
“I really need to give him back his video games, but he won’t pick up my calls.”
I shrugged. “I can give them to him. Just leave them with the office manager and I’ll pick them up this afternoo—”
“Is he upset at me?” Her question surprised me.
“I, uhm, what? Didn’t you two break up?”
“Yeah, but it was mutual. We agreed we wanted to stay good friends. He was clearly not into me, so whatever. But I won’t lie that I consider him a really close friend.”
“Will seemed pretty shaken when you guys broke up. He never said it was mutual.”