Tell Me It's Real

by T. J. Klune

  A face peered over the bed at me, eyes wide, laughter stifled.

  “Before you say anything,” I told Vince, “just know that I did that on purpose. There’s nothing that says, ‘Hey, come fuck me’ like tripping awkwardly and falling to the floor.”

  “Your face,” he giggled. He giggled!

  “Yes.”

  “It bounced off the bed.”

  “I was there. I remember that part clearly.”

  “It was good up to that point.”

  “Was it?”

  “Yes, but then it got awesome.”

  “I’m glad my attempts at seduction were so amusing.”

  “If that was what you were attempting, I can’t wait to see what happens when you actually succeed.”

  I sighed. “I’m pretty sure that’ll defy all logic and the world will explode.”

  “Paul?”

  “Yeah?”

  He disappeared for a moment, then returned, and in one smooth, fluid motion, he slid off the bed and landed on top of me, sliding his naked body up mine. My dick, which had previously died of embarrassment, was resur-erected, glory be to God. Vince moved his hips against mine, propping him himself up with his hands on either side of my head. He filled my vision until he was all I could see. I knew I could hide by closing my eyes, but I didn’t want to. I couldn’t find the strength to look away.

  “Paul,” he said again, his voice deeper as our groins rubbed together.

  “Yeah.”

  “Remember how yesterday you showed me the hippo video on YouTube, and I told you I was halfway in love with you?”

  “I didn’t show you jack shit, but yeah. I remember.” It was all I could think about. It was all I could hear, repeated in my head over and over again.

  He leaned down on his strong arms and kissed me, eyes opened. “I’m pretty sure I’m about three-fourths of the way there now.”

  I stared at him. “Vince….”

  He smiled. It was beautiful. “Paul.”

  I shook my head, but my gaze never left his. “It’s not possible. If anything, it’s just infatuation, though I still don’t get it. You can’t feel like that for someone so quickly. It’s not realistic.”

  “And yet it’s there anyway,” he said, kissing me again. “You’ll see.” He laid himself against me, resting his full weight on me. He reached up with his hands and brushed them over my cheeks. I kissed the palm of his right hand because it seemed like the right thing to do. And because I wanted to.

  “I don’t….”

  He silenced me with a finger. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  I nodded even though I thought it mattered the most.

  Using his feet, he kicked off my jeans the rest of the way, leaving them discarded under his bed. He let go of my face and reached out of my vision. Something snicked near my ear and he rose up off me, pressing his knees between my legs on the floor, spreading them out gently. The soft hairs of his thighs rubbed against mine as his hand went between us. I lifted my hips in the air, so very self-conscious but unable to stop. He slid wet fingers over my cock to my balls and then behind them. He pressed them against me, and the initial intrusion caused me to bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Yes. More. Please.”

  And he did. Moments later, his dick was sheathed in rubber and pressed against my entrance. The carpet scraped against my back, but not once did either of us suggest getting back on the bed. We were fine, we knew, right where we were.

  “Paul,” he said roughly as he breached me.

  “Vince,” I groaned, rocking my head back. It burned like so much fire, but I didn’t want it to stop. I pushed back against him until his thighs pressed against my ass. He undulated on top of me as he latched his teeth onto my neck below my jaw.

  It wasn’t going to last long; I don’t think it was meant to. We’d gotten each other too worked up at the bar, our nerves tender and frayed. Too many things were flitting through me that hadn’t been there a week before, and I was overwhelmed, like I was being consumed completely.

  Sweat formed between us, my cock trapped against his stomach as he slid into me, creating a delicious friction that I didn’t want to push away. I felt fluid and slippery, and he growled against my neck, his breath light and quick as his hips snapped back and forth.

  “I’m going,” I whispered.

  “Go,” he panted.

  I did, shooting between us. Moments later, I felt him stiffen against me, pressing his hips forward again, and he stayed there, a breathy sigh falling out of his mouth that formed my name as his body shook. He kissed my cheek. My chin. My eyes. My nose. And then he found my lips again, and I kissed him for all I was worth, because that little light inside me had exploded into a blinding sun.

  IT WAS never an option that I was going home that night. As soon as we both stopped shaking and started feeling congealed, he pulled me up and dragged me into the shower with him, which, if you’ve never showered with Vince Taylor, you’re missing out on quite the experience. He does this thing with the shower gel and his finger in my—

  You know what? Never mind. That’s probably not the best thing to share. Let’s just say that I was clean. Inside and out.

  Okay, fine: he put it in my butt, and I made a weird squeaking noise that rebounded around the shower stall. Fun.

  After, he made me stand in front of him while he dried me off, taking his time as he got to my legs, kissing my flaccid cock as he rubbed the towel over my shins. I blushed furiously at this and at the attention he gave, but he just laughed and did it again.

  He made me use his toothbrush, though I balked at first. He reminded me that he’d used mine, and he was pretty sure that since we just fucked, we were past sharing any kind of germs. Then I made the mistake of telling him that I would do it, but when he rimmed me for the first time, I wasn’t going to use the same toothbrush as him. As soon as the words fell out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back, because I hadn’t meant to say that in the slightest. He wouldn’t let me brush my teeth until I repeated myself, demanding that I say it verbatim. When I did, an evil gleam formed in his eyes, and I accidentally used half a tube of Crest in one squeeze, getting toothpaste all over my hand and the counter, which, to be fair, looked oddly sexual, causing Vince to get all growly again.

  “Bed,” he said, not even allowing me to pretend to look for my jeans as he pushed me back into the bedroom. I found it slightly odd that I didn’t even try to leave, or make some excuse about anything so that I could slink out and go home to lie in my own bed and wonder if the last couple of hours had been nothing more than a hard-core wet dream. I found it even more odd when the fact that I was staying gave me a sense of relief. I chose not to look into that too closely.

  Then I remembered something as I pulled on my nonsexy underwear. I hated sleeping naked, especially since I’d be sleeping next to my version of a walking orgasm. “Hey, what happened to my present?”

  I climbed onto the bed, testing out the mattress with my hands and legs instead of my face this time. When I didn’t get a response, I glanced over at him to find him looking down at his hands. “What’s wrong?”

  He shrugged. “It’s stupid now.”

  “Huh?”

  He wouldn’t look at me. “You went out and bought me a freaking bike. My present isn’t that great. You probably won’t even like it. It was pretty dumb.”

  “Dude. Stop being a labia. I bought you a bike because you didn’t watch where you were going and crashed yours into my car. I felt sorry for you, and that’s the only reason you got a new bike. You’re lucky you didn’t get the one I originally picked out for you. Let’s just say you probably would have needed to have pigtails when you rode it.”

  He snorted. “It probably would have been cheaper.”

  “You think? You should have seen the look on my face when the little midget friend of yours, Jennifer Lopez, told me it was a billion dollars. I think I probably can’t ev
er go back there because everyone will know me as that guy who shit himself in the bike store. So yes, I want my fucking present. I’ve earned my fucking present. Go get it.”

  He rolled his eyes, but I could see the small smile on his face. “Bossy bastard,” he mumbled and walked out of the room. I pulled up the comforter and did a really lame thing by putting my face down on the pillow and inhaling deeply, delighted that it smelled like him. I figured I was either a sappy romantic or a creepy stalker. Then I decided (though it did not stop me) that sniffing pillows is never romantic, just creepy. Or maybe creepily romantic to the point where soon, I’d probably want a lock of his hair that I could put on the shrine I’d make to him that I’d hide in the back of my closet that I’d take out on alternating Tuesdays to light candles to while I made out with a picture of him with the lips cut out. Yeesh.

  He came back into the room, refusing to look at me as he clutched a large flat envelope to his chest. “You don’t have to like it,” he mumbled. “If you don’t, it’s not going to hurt my feelings at all.”

  And that was bullshit, and I knew it as soon as he said it. He wanted me to like his gift, and he was nervous about giving it to me. I felt a bit weird seeing him act like that; there was this syrupy, queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me want to get out of the bed and wrap myself around him and protect him from all the stupid shit in the world. Once again, I marveled at the fact that I’d known the man in front of me for only a week, had heard his voice for the first time only five days before. I pushed the thought of my parents and their quickie marriage out of my head (because, really, not only was it a frightening thought, but I didn’t want to think about my parents while my ass still felt stretched and I was sitting half naked in my boyfriend’s bed; sort of killed the mood that way).

  “Can’t decide if I like it if you’re not going to give it to me,” I told him lightly, like I was talking to a skittish animal. He clutched at the envelope a bit more tightly, scrunching it up against his chest. He looked horrified that it had gotten wrinkled and quickly smoothed it back down again, worrying his bottom lip a bit. “Vince.”

  He sighed and crawled into the bed next to me, sitting up against the headboard, his long body stretched out next to mine. It was all I could do to not reach out and rub my hands along his stomach.

  He handed over the envelope, still without looking at me. He started gnawing on a fingernail, tapping his other hand nervously against his chest. I was curious as to the contents of the envelope that had gotten him so keyed up. I wondered if I’d open it to find something evil, like he was actually trying to blackmail me, and I would find photographs inside of myself in some kind of compromising position with hookers and a pile of cocaine (never mind the fact that I didn’t know any hookers and did not own a pile of cocaine). Then I realized I didn’t hold any kind of political office, but his father did, and then I wondered if it would be photographs of his father with hookers and cocaine and that Vince needed my help to bring down the corrupt Tucsonan government because Vince really worked for the FBI and then we’d have to go on the run and there’d be gunfights and explosions and sex on sun-drenched private beaches where we’d be in hiding for the rest of our lives….

  I opened the envelope, half expecting the damning photos to fall out. Instead, there was a piece of paper and a photograph printed off the computer of the night sky with a specific star circled. I read through the letter, unable to speak because my breath was caught in my chest.

  “I just thought that you’d like it,” Vince said, glancing over at me out of the corner of his eye. “You knew so much about the constellations that I thought it’d be cool if you had a star named after you, so I went online and found out you could do that! It was only twenty-five dollars and I don’t think you actually own the star, but it’s called Paul James Auster now, and it’s the only one in the whole universe with that name. I tried to get one as close to Orion’s Belt as I could. Well, I tried to see if I could get one of the stars in Orion’s Belt, but then I remembered those were already named and somebody probably already owned them. I tried to find online who did so I could see if they wanted to sell them, but even after looking for three hours, I couldn’t find it, so I just got you a different one instead. But if you don’t like it, I’ll just keep it for me and then I’ll have a star named Paul, and I think that’d be okay, too, so don’t—”

  “Vince.” My voice was rough.

  “Yeah?”

  “You did this for me?”

  He shrugged. “Guess so. You know, for your birthday. And because I think you’re awesome. So… happy birthday.”

  “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” I told him truthfully. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  And then he beamed at me, full force, dimples and all, and I gave a little yelp as I rolled over onto his chest, kissing the ever-fucking life out of him. He gave a startled grunt but opened up quickly enough, and there was nothing more glorious than his mouth on mine right at that moment, frantic and messy. That little light in my chest exploded into a shining array of fireworks across a night sky, blues and greens, reds and yellows, like the grand finale of some spectacular.

  And later, as his breathing evened out and he fell asleep against me, his face buried in my neck, I realized it for what it was.

  A star? I thought. Could there have been anything more ridiculously awesome than that? I mean, who does shit like that? Not to mention he’s apparently three-quarters of the way in love with me after seeing me trip while my junk flopped about. I don’t even want to know what has to happen for him to be all the way in love with me. Not that I want that. At all. In any way, shape, or form. Not even a little bit. Not even the smallest inkling. Not even if I’m already in love with him myself, and—

  My eyes widened. No. No fucking way.

  “Oh sweat balls,” I whispered as Vince slept on.

  And that’s when I made the decision to do a very stupid thing.

  Love blows like that, sometimes.

  Chapter 15

  Red Leader, Red Leader: The Whale Has Breached

  “ARE you sure you want to do this?” Sandy asked me the next day.

  I sighed. “No. But I have to.”

  “Actually, you don’t,” he reminded me. “And I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”

  “Because he named a star after me and I’m pretty sure I love him and I hate everything about that because it makes me feel all sticky and sweet and gross, like I just snorted a line of Pixy Stix powder cut with rainbows and bunnies.” I sounded slightly hysterical, which, to be fair, I probably was. I hadn’t slept at all the night before, and when Vince had woken the next morning, a grin forming on his face as he saw me watching him, my heart started thudding like a bongo drum against my chest, and I was sure, absolutely sure, he’d be able to see every single one of my thoughts on my face and he’d know.

  I had almost convinced myself not to follow through with my plan until after breakfast when he said he wanted to go into work for a couple of hours to catch up so when he returned on Monday, he wouldn’t be buried under e-mails and paperwork. I’d cursed him mentally, only because he’d given me the perfect opportunity to do what I didn’t want to do. I even went so far as to offer to drive him to work, but he’d waved me off, saying he would call me when he was done and would come over.

  So I immediately called Sandy when I got home, babbling about how I was in love, constellations, and how I was pretty sure I was about to lie my way into a hospital so that I could go meet his mother behind his back, just so I could tell her how epically amazing her son was. Sandy immediately dropped whatever (or whoever) he was doing and picked me up, stopping to get a garish bouquet of flowers on the way as part of our cover. I’d almost convinced myself that there was a point to doing this, but it still felt a bit off.

  “So you gonna to tell me why?” Sandy asked again, looking back at the hospital entrance.


  I looked at myself in the rearview mirror, wondering if I should have worn a mustache as part of my disguise. As it was, I was wearing a newsboy cap, mirrored sunglasses that took up half my face, and the collar of my coat was flipped up around my neck. Either it was the greatest disguise in the history of mankind or the police would be called as soon as we walked in the hospital, given how I looked like I was probably going to be doing something lewd in public.

  “Because,” I said to Sandy. “I don’t want the moment to go by where I’ll never get to say a thing to her. She needs to hear from someone how badass her son is before she goes. And I think he’s the most badass out of everyone, so why shouldn’t it be me?”

  Sandy snorted. “I think this will be the moment we’ll look back on in the future as the time that Paul went batshit insane for love.”

  “Gross,” I moaned. “Do not use that word around me.”

  “Batshit?”

  “No. The other word. But where do you think that term came from? Did someone eat batshit once and go nuts?”

  “Insane?”

  “No, but that’s kind of how I feel right now. The other word.”

  “Love?”

  I groaned again. “I think I’m going to be sick. Clichéd emotional vomiting is definitely in my future.”

  “It’s like your parents all over again.”

  “There’s got to be something wrong with the way children are raised in my family,” I said, shaking my head. “How can shit like this keep happening?”

  “What about Nana Gigi?”

  “Well, to hear it her way, she fell in love seven times and she has seven ex-husbands.”

  Sandy looked wistful. “That lady knows how to live. I hope when I’m her age, I’ll still be as vivacious as always and talk about my seven ex-husbands.”

  “To have seven ex-husbands, you first need to have one,” I reminded him.