Relationship Status (Ethan & Wyatt)

by K.A. Mitchell

  “Wyatt. Fucking love you.”

  He said that when we weren’t having sex, too, though I thought he didn’t say it as much as he wanted.

  “So fuck me.”

  He reached up and across my chest to grab my shoulder and pull me down as he thrust. His other hand snaked around my hips and wrapped around my dick, lube-slick fingers gliding as he jerked me off. I swayed and my head came back to rest against his shoulder.

  “Want some help?”

  It was a faintly familiar voice. I opened my eyes, praying it wasn’t Allan. It wasn’t. The guy leaning against the wall next to us looked college-aged, vaguely cute and, oh shit, I think I’d tutored him in analytical geometry last semester.

  It could have acted like a bucket of ice water, but I lifted my head and Ethan stopped for a second as we both snarled, “Fuck off.”

  Ethan laughed, squeezing me. The guy walked away and Ethan slammed up hard, lifting me off my toes, and I grabbed onto his arm for balance.

  “He might have sucked you,” he whispered in my ear.

  Maybe he would have. And with Ethan holding me, fucking me, I wouldn’t have felt weird about it. But I didn’t need it. I just needed this.

  His strokes were more like quick jabs, friction and pressure in fucking perfect places. Orgasm built, every thrust bringing me closer to the edge. I covered his hand on my dick, taking over with the need to have it faster, harder.

  My legs shook, thighs burning. Ethan licked and sucked on my neck and I kept breathing out his name, because Ethan and fuck were the only words I could remember. Coming was sharp and devastating and goddamned perfect. I painted streaks onto the wall as jizz beat out of me in pulses that echoed pleasure everywhere inside.

  Ethan bucked against me, drove me into the wall and fucked me with the rough, deep strokes that meant he was a second away from coming.

  “Shit.” He gasped and jerked, his fingers bruising my shoulder. “Oh God.”

  Ethan held me close, his dick still in me and his hand stroking over my chest rather than pinning me to him. I still felt good, but also a little gross and sticky. I knew that was going to get worse when we separated. Without the fuck-or-die urgency riding my body, doing this standing up in a club’s back room wasn’t so hot.

  He nuzzled against my neck, kind of sappy, but I liked it and he knew it. I really liked it with the scruff that he was trying to turn into a beard. It made my skin prickle, even if my nuts were too drained to get excited about it.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “For what?”

  “I meant to pull out. I—” He broke off and rested his head on my shoulder. “I kind of lost my mind.”

  Although Ethan had been blowing guys since he was fifteen and had been with Blake for two years, we’d only ever fucked each other so we never used condoms. That wasn’t an issue in bed, where there were towels and wipes and a bathroom a couple steps away. I had to say I wasn’t exactly looking forward to having to ride the bus back to our apartment with his load soaking into my jeans. Though it was hot that he hadn’t been able to follow up on his plan.

  “I did want you to relax and go with things.”

  “Ha.” His muscles shifted into tension. “I have an idea. Gonna slide out.”

  “Okay.” My muscles cramped, then relaxed.

  He patted my hip then shifted around behind me, almost falling against me at one point. Then soft cotton brushed between my legs as he wiped me off with what had to be his boxers.

  “I’m freeballing just for you, baby,” he said with a laugh as he jammed his feet back into his kicks.

  “Thanks.” I was a little sarcastic. But when I slid up my underwear and jeans and tucked my still-sensitive dick inside, I realized how uncomfortable he probably was in his stiff, dark denim. I kissed him.

  There was a really loud moan from somewhere to the right, and we staggered back to the main part of the club. Ethan tossed his wadded-up boxers into the trash near the door.

  I ended up with a load in my jeans anyway. As we rode the almost-empty bus back home, Ethan put his hand on my thigh and turned his head so he was whispering filthy things in my ear. His voice rumbled about the places we were going to fuck when we were back on campus, about how tightly my ass had milked him, about how the men had stared and watched me get plowed. All the while his fingers inched up my inseam until he was just barely brushing my dick, which spat so much precome I might as well have emptied my balls.

  It was almost two when we got back. We slipped up to the apartment and into the bathroom. With the shower on to cover sounds, I fucked Ethan with him leaning on the sink. He had his legs spread wide, which helped with his height and the fact that I didn’t fuck him all that often. But he was still tight, so damned tight and hot. And the faces he made in the mirror made me fuck him harder than I think we’d ever done it.

  It wasn’t just that night, though. All through the next two weeks, I set an alarm so we could fuck as soon as he got home from the call center job. I didn’t care how early I had to get up. Somehow the more sleep I lost to sex, the more energy I had. Maybe I slept better with us cuddled under the blanket, sometimes with Ethan’s dick still in me. Or maybe because the sex kept Ethan from trying to fix everything else.

  The first Saturday in July, Uncle Owen glanced over at me as he drove us to the sorting station at four thirty in the morning. I realized I’d been drumming my fingers on my knees to some rhythm in my head. He smiled, but I stopped.

  At a stoplight he signed, How is Ethan?

  My fingers had started drumming again. I signed back, Good, but I’m pretty sure I had some kind of dopey expression on my face because Uncle Owen laughed.

  Good you’re happy, he answered.

  Happy wasn’t a word I thought about a lot. So much of my life the best possible status had been things not sucking completely. But happy seemed to apply right now. To Ethan too.

  Last night I’d heard Ethan come back from the call center and pour himself some cereal and the almond milk he used because Bill and Bob wouldn’t touch it. He was trying to be quiet, but the crunching and slurping were audible even over the a/c.

  I pulled on a pair of his boxers and slipped out to the kitchen and up behind him, where he stood staring out of the window over the sink. I was good at quiet.

  He jumped, sloshing milk. Then he laughed, still chewing as he said, “Sneaky motherfucker.”

  Words like sneaky and thief used to bother me, reminding me of how everyone had looked at me when I got out of juvie and I’d been banned from going into even the tiny store at the gas station. Because I guess after two years for grand larceny, I’d be looking to take my game to the next level by pocketing a stale bag of pretzels and a Monster energy drink.

  Now that seemed a lot farther away. I hadn’t been to Van except for a few days last January and my mom didn’t seem to mind that I hadn’t been back since.

  I slid my arms around his waist. He stopped eating.

  “Don’t let me interrupt.” I angled my hands so the fingertips grazed the waistband of his Dockers then dipped a little inside.

  He made his stomach almost concave to make more room for my fingers. “Suddenly, I’m not that hungry.” He put his bowl in the sink and started to turn toward me.

  I didn’t let him. “Aren’t you going to do the dishes?”

  That’s usually when I woke up, listening to him clean the kitchen.

  He laughed. “Well, I liked your plan better.”

  “Me too.” I eased my hand lower. His Dockers were way looser than his jeans. My nose brushed his shoulder, smelling sweat, humidity and carpet cleaner from the call center trapped in the weave of his shirt. I moved toward his neck and inhaled deeply. All Ethan.

  His own breath caught. “Um.”

  “You should totally do the dishes
.” I stopped trying to work around his pants and unbuttoned them.

  He jerked his head to look at me. I nodded.

  There wasn’t much in the sink. Maybe the roommates had gone out for dinner. Maybe they had a pizza box in Bob’s room where I could hear them trash-talking over the sounds of Call of Duty on Bob’s PS4.

  He squirted dish soap and turned on the water. He was half hard, coming to life in my palm, blood throbbing, creating texture and heat. I gave him some pressure, no friction.

  “Wash.”

  He made a quiet sound of frustration, a grunt trapped in his throat, but he started scrubbing. I pressed against him, giving myself a little relief for the needy pulse of my dick.

  He rinsed and I stroked him with a light touch.

  At a shout from Bob’s room we both froze, but neither of them would come into the kitchen if they thought they’d get guilted into washing dishes.

  Ethan worked faster. I did too.

  He shut off the water with a violent twist. “Let’s go.”

  “Are you sure you’re done?” I peered around his shoulder.

  “Don’t care.” He covered my hand with his wet one. “My knees are shaky and I’m not lying on this fucking floor.”

  We didn’t make it all the way onto the mattress, and Ethan didn’t make it all the way out of his pants. We kissed and ground our dicks against each other together, hands trapped between us.

  I loved it when we took our time, but I loved this too. Everything fast and rough, both of us nothing but sharp edges, still, together we were a perfect fit. Ethan came first, and the warm rush of it, the way he fucked gasps along with his tongue into my mouth got me there a minute later.

  Ethan rested his head on my chest. “I like doing dishes with you.”

  I laughed in his ear. “That’s only for special occasions.”

  “Like?”

  “Like me having a boyfriend who impresses the ACLU Intake Attorney with his spin skills so much that she’s got him writing press releases.”

  “Just first drafts.” He lifted his head. “Hey. So that means I get special help every night.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Right then, I could see it. Us. Every night. And not just this summer. A life where things worked out for us didn’t feel like something impossible. It felt good.

  In the car, Uncle Owen tapped me, and I jumped. We’d arrived and he’d already shut off the engine.

  Sleepy? he signed with a smile.

  Daydreaming, I answered. I had to search my brain for how to say it. It wasn’t a word I’d ever applied to myself before.

  We got out of the car.

  You and Ethan have plans for Fourth of July? he asked.

  That was Monday, and we both had the day off. Since Ethan had been really good about not trying to manage everything, I had to answer, Don’t know.

  Picnic, fireworks, Riverview Park. Bring Ethan.

  It sounded like a great plan.

  Chapter Seven

  Ethan

  The morning of the Fourth, I ran over to the Shur-Save and waited in line to grab a pound of pasta salad from the deli so we’d have something to bring to Wyatt’s uncle’s picnic. According to Wyatt, that wasn’t necessary, but it felt weird not to. If I’d trusted the B-bros not to eat it all, I’d have called my aunt Peggy for her German potato salad recipe and made it last night.

  I should have listened to Wyatt and slept in. The picnic turned out to be a big party held by his uncle’s union every year. They had a pavilion rented and tons of food. Embarrassed, I slid my plastic tub of pasta salad on the food table when I hoped no one was watching.

  Owen fished us out some drinks from a giant ice chest. He brought a wine cooler for Christine and cans of soda for the rest of us, and we found a spot at a picnic table. I ran my thumb down the icy wet side of my can of off-brand lemon-lime soda. If I were home, there’d be A-treat cream sodas in the cooler at Aunt Peggy’s. But since Wyatt wouldn’t be there with me, no trade.

  “How are things at the ACLU, Ethan?” Christine’s voice startled me. She and Wyatt and Owen all had been using sign language. I’d only met Christine once before, when she brought Wyatt back with some food right after we moved in. I tended to forget she wasn’t deaf like Owen was.

  “Good,” I said aloud along with the sign. I’d learned some basic words, and could read finger spelling if people went slowly, which neither Christine nor Owen did. “I like what I’m doing now.”

  “What’s that?” Christine asked.

  I looked at Wyatt, hoping he would take over. I had no idea how to get through my job description with the addition of press releases without having to finger-spell everything.

  Owen pointed at his lips and at me, so I figured he meant he’d lip-read, and I explained what I was doing.

  Owen signed in response and Wyatt translated, “Do you want to be a lawyer?”

  It was weird to hear the question in his voice. He’d never asked me directly what I wanted to do. He’d said it off-hand, that I argued to get my way enough to be a lawyer. And he’d laughed at my idea of being an elementary school teacher. Though that was valid. I didn’t like being around kids.

  To Owen I said, “I’m not sure. I think I’ll look into Communications as a major when we go back to school.”

  Owen nodded.

  I wondered if Wyatt would look like his uncle when he got older. His uncle had Waardenburg syndrome too. His hair was completely white instead of the one streak like Wyatt had sprouting from the center of his hairline. On Owen, it looked good, though, thick and wavy, a nice contrast with his wide-set vivid blue eyes. I’d read enough to know there wasn’t such a thing as having half-Waardenburg, but with Wyatt’s different-colored eyes, one streak of white hair and only being deaf in his left ear, it was hard not to think of him as only being half-affected. If he’d been born completely deaf like his uncle would things have been better or worse for him? Would we have even met?

  Things had been so good between us the last couple of weeks. It was like we’d figured it out. I still felt like we were playing house, but we’d gotten better at faking it. I couldn’t believe that when we went back to school we wouldn’t be living together any more.

  Christine asked if we’d had a chance to see much of Pittsburgh. I didn’t think she was asking about the back room at X-Cuse.

  “Work,” Wyatt said as he shook his head and added a sign, tapping his wrists together.

  I had just taken a sip of soda. I choked, nose and eyes running from the effort not to spray it back out. I knew the sign for fuck, and it was almost like that one. My fingers shaped the difference. Owen chuckled. Cheeks burning, I dropped my hands to my lap.

  Wyatt shot me a look that made my balls tingle.

  “Maybe we could all go to Kennywood. It’s an amusement park right outside of the city,” Christine said.

  I seized on that distraction, picturing Wyatt on a roller coaster, his hair flying back from his face. “Roller coasters?” I asked.

  “It’s famous for them.”

  Christine and I compared eastern PA’s Dorney Park and Hershey with her local list until the smell of burgers filled the air.

  When we got in the food line, I said to Wyatt, “They’re really cool. Not like—” I’d been about to say adults but that’s what we were supposed to be too. “Like some of mine.” Which was what I really meant. They seemed more like friends than family that you had to behave in front of. People to hang out with. “I’m glad your uncle found you.”

  “So am I,” Wyatt said as he stacked tomato and lettuce on top of his burger.

  After we ate, Owen joined a bunch of guys standing around playing horseshoes, and Christine said she was going to the pool and invited us to join her. We’d both worn board shorts, but I wasn’t
too interested in joining all the women headed toward the pool.

  “Maybe in a while,” Wyatt said. “I want to look at the observatory.”

  “I don’t think it’s open today.” Christine slid sunglasses onto her face.

  “That’s okay. I just want to see the building.”

  She waved and pulled her bag over her shoulder, and we started along the road that wound around the hill toward the domed building.

  “Do you really want to see the observatory?” I didn’t mind walking. Though it looked like a hell of a steep climb, it wasn’t all that hot here in the park with all the trees.

  Wyatt didn’t answer. After another minute of walking, he turned off the road and went down a flight of steps that vanished into the woods.

  I tromped down the top flight after him and paused on the landing. Another two flights and the steps ended on a narrow path dark with shade. Wyatt was already there.

  It was a lot of climbing up and down if he was just going to take a whiz behind a tree. “Where are you going?” I called down.

  He looked back up at me with a smile. “You’re not the only one who can make a plan.” He pulled his hair away from his face and winked before disappearing on the path.

  I swallowed, heart thumping. As I followed, I felt a lot more sympathy toward the people in folktales who were lured to their doom by following someone beautiful and mysterious into the woods.

  The path was only wide enough for one person to walk at a time. I remembered the leaves-of-three-let-them-be lessons of day camp and scanned the greenery along the sides for poison ivy. Trees closed around us, making the walk cool and dark. I took a deep breath of the smell of leaves and forest mulch, inhaling healthy greenness. I wasn’t ready to sign up for the next season of Naked and Afraid, but I was enjoying this woodland adventure with my boyfriend.

  Wyatt turned and walked backward for a couple of steps. His bangs were tucked behind his ear, and he’d left his hoodie at the picnic table. In the gloom of the woods, both his eyes looked dark, but he smiled at me again.