Bonfires

by Amy Lane

  Larx shrugged. Everyone he’d talked to had voiced support. “Everyone sounds like they’re on the side of not killing the boys with fire. I’m going to hope. So far I’ve got sixty people coming to the board meeting in support, and I’m calling grade school people tomorrow.”

  “We already need a bigger room,” Nancy observed. “I’ll call Jenny Graves tomorrow. We can use the auditorium.”

  Larx grunted. “I actually called Heather about that tonight, while I was on top of a ladder taping streamers, if you can believe that.”

  Nancy laughed. “Only you, and yes I can.”

  Aaron had been there to help, and he’d turned around from moving chairs and about lost his shit. “Goddammit, Principal Larkin, get your ass down on the ground and pretend you’re a fucking adult!” The class president had almost wet herself laughing, because an adult—an authority figure—had not just sworn in front of her but had cursed out her principal. Larx finally taped the damned streamer and continued his conversation with Heather.

  “So you’re not going to change the venue?” he’d asked.

  “We see no reason to at this time,” she replied smoothly. “The community will know the teachers are there. That’s enough.”

  “It is not enough to ‘know’ they’re there when they’re in an overflow room. They need to see us there, concerned about the attempted murder of one of our students!”

  “We just feel the attitude of the teachers could distract from the problem at hand, and if you’ll excuse me, I have another call.”

  He’d stared at his phone then, outraged, and looked up to Lisa, the poor class president, who was still laughing. He’d smiled for her sake, but inside he was sick at heart.

  Kids like Lisa wanted to make a positive difference in the world. How did they grow up into people like Heather, who wanted to control the world in an indifferent fist?

  Larx smiled at Nancy now, because he was tired of being pissed and hurt, but Nancy saw through him in a second.

  “What did she say?” she asked perceptively. She was a stout, ruddy-faced blonde woman who had probably been bubbly and adorable as a teenager. Now she was pleasant and kind—and brilliant and stronger than she looked. But it was easy to underestimate the Nancy Pavelles of the world, and Larx made an effort to not be one of the poor souls who did just that.

  “She’s putting us in an overflow room,” he said, furious all over again.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Fucking really?”

  Larx smiled at her, pleased. “Fuckin’ really really, hon. We’re gonna be squashed in a conference room with a PA system while this bullshit goes down around our ears.”

  Nancy shook her head. “Nope. First of all, we’re getting there early—as many of us as possible.”

  Larx smiled at her, encouraged already. “Second of all?”

  “Well, I’ll go first. Nobody listens to me when I speak at these things anyway. And for my two minutes, I’ll have the teachers file past from the overflow room. All of them. So the parents do know how many people are concerned about what happened to Isaiah and that the board doesn’t speak for all of us, and Whitney fucking Olson certainly doesn’t.”

  “I like this plan!” he said, pulling some heart from Nancy and her no-bullshit approach. “I like this plan a lot!”

  “Good,” she said, winking. “Now tell me about you and Deputy George.”

  Larx glared at her, and she shrugged.

  “What?”

  “You think maybe this is a bad topic at a school dance?” he asked her pointedly.

  She paused and then grimaced. “Dammit. You know what? It shouldn’t be. You asked me about my kids, my husband, my parents—why does this not qualify? Debbie Conrad is over there talking about her boyfriend and how maybe this one will actually give oral—”

  “Are you serious?”

  “She says it’s a deal breaker.”

  “But kids can hear her?”

  He was starting to dread Nancy’s shrugs. “Kids aren’t listening—they’re all trying to dry-hump on the dance floor.”

  Larx looked out over the pressing bodies milling to whatever made him feel too old this week, and grimaced. “We should probably do a tracer maneuver there at the next song.”

  Nancy nodded. The “tracer maneuver,” as Larx had dubbed it, was to discharge a clot of teachers at one end of the dance floor and have them spread out and wade through the dancers to the other end. Larx was aware that doing this didn’t guarantee no pregnancies would occur on the dance floor, but one of those every fifteen minutes definitely cut down on the likelihood.

  “But in the meantime,” Nancy said like they hadn’t dropped the subject, “I would really like to know about you and the yummy deputy.”

  Larx looked around, and pretty much all the kids really were at the refreshment table or trying to simulate sex on the dance floor. “It’s happening,” he said, glad the lights were dimmed so she couldn’t see his cheeks pink. “It’s a thing. A relationship.” Running together, making out, a hand job, a blowjob, necessary kisses, sleeping overnight, our kids know, our friends know, it’s real. It’s real. It’s real. “It’s real,” he said after a deep breath. “I… he keeps promising he’s not going anywhere.”

  Nancy hmmed in her throat. “Good.” She touched his shoulder gently. “You’ve been alone too long.”

  Larx looked at her drolly. “My socks match, my hair is combed, and I have a tie. Larx is very self-sufficient, thank you.”

  “Yes, Larx. You’re a fucking island. Now go shut Debbie up before the kids start thinking that oral is a marriage proposal.”

  That was actually a priority.

  “SO,” AARON asked on the way home, “do you think any of them got pregnant there?”

  Larx laughed. “We did our best,” he said, feeling sweaty and sticky and grouchy. “I swear, one more trip through the dance floor and I was going to start handing out condoms and telling them to go for it, just be safe.”

  “Yikes. Your career would end, but at least you’d go out in flames.”

  Larx leaned back in the seat as Aaron drove. “Yeah, but geez, that music makes me feel old.”

  “I heard some Linkin Park in there,” Aaron observed.

  Larx had too. “I wanted to see them dance,” he said disconsolately, feeling stupid and idealistic. “Do you know what it would have meant to me in high school, to see two boys dancing at homecoming?”

  “Yeah,” Aaron agreed. “I do.”

  “But it was more than that. I wanted to see them dance.” Larx sighed, remembering that hidden shaft of joy he’d felt when the boys had come out. God, had it only been Thursday? “I wanted to see them have their whole lives together without the closet looming over their heads.”

  “They still have that.”

  “Yeah, but now they have this,” Larx snarled. “And they have this, and now the board is trying to make some woman carving a hole in a boy’s stomach into the boy’s fault for being gay, and into our fault for making it okay. I don’t… I mean I should understand. I should. ‘Hey, we don’t get the gay! And we’re scared ’cause we’re not qualified to deal with knife-wielding psychos! So we’re going to confuse the two issues and give everybody a thing to hate! And expect you all to just fucking live with it!’ I mean I get the strategy, and I get what they’re trying to do, but I just don’t get it. Why are they in charge if they’re that fucking stupid!”

  Aaron’s laugh rolled bitterly through the car. “I don’t know, Larx. Maybe it’s because the smart people fight like hell not to be in the driver’s seat, you fucking think?”

  “Augh!” Larx covered his face with his hands and fought the urge to kick at Aaron’s county-owned vehicle. “This board meeting’s going to be a travesty, you know that, right?”

  “No, I don’t. Because you’re going to be there, and I don’t know if anyone has told you this, Larx, but you don’t suffer fools.”

  “Gladly?”


  “To fucking live.”

  This surprised a laugh out of him. “You make me sound bloodthirsty. I’m really a very nice man.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “I’m pissed. Someone hurt one of my kids.”

  “I know, baby.” Aaron’s voice dropped intimately. “And you feel like you’re in a pressure cooker. I’ve been there. Not quite like this, but you remember the—”

  “Healey case,” Larx said, feeling numb. “I remember.” A mom-and-pop pot operation had turned into a shootout with deputies. Five years earlier—Larx remembered. “Maureen was a sophomore then. She was a basket case when that happened. I remember you dropped the kids off at school the next day and you still had the sling.” There had been an investigation—six weeks Aaron had been on paid leave while the feds and the county had picked his life apart to see if he had made the wrong decision.

  “We saw smoke,” Aaron said, voice lost in reverie. “And me and Warren went to investigate. That was all. We called it in, I went first, he stayed behind as backup, and oh my God, fucking psychopaths with Uzis started firing at us. It was insane.”

  “You were cleared,” Larx said, voice hoarse. He knew Aaron had meant to reassure him, but Larx wasn’t thinking about the investigation or about Aaron’s career. He was thinking about that sling, and about how Aaron had been shot at, and oh my God, he could have been a hole in the world, and Larx would never have known.

  “Yeah, but it was uncomfortable. I’m not going to lie. But that’s what happens when you take on responsibility, you know?”

  “Uh-huh.” Larx’s head was swimming and he could barely breathe. “You were shot.”

  “I was fine.”

  “Shot,” Larx said, a full five-ton weight descending on his chest and head just as Aaron pulled into the driveway. “I’m going to get outed to the school board and you could get shot!”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Larx dropped his hands and looked out, expecting to see cherry lights or policemen or the house on fire or fucking monsters at this juncture. His adrenaline was dumping so hard into his blood he felt his eyelids throb.

  “Uh-oh what? The kids? The kids are okay, right? Oh God. I have another kid. I have two. I have a goddamned haiku poem sleeping in my living room, and they think I’m a grown-up! And I’m going to need to out myself to the school board and you could get shot!”

  Aaron killed the engine abruptly, and while Larx was still thumping back into his seat, he unclicked his seat belt and Larx’s, putting his head practically in Larx’s lap to get to the buckle.

  “Larx, baby, calm down.”

  “Shot!”

  “Stop saying that!” Aaron framed his face with chilled palms and just held him, looking into his eyes and breathing meaningfully until Larx took his lead and tried to still his breathing. “Now calm down.”

  “I’m… I’m….”

  “Freaking out. I get it. Deep breaths, Larx. One. Two. Three. How we doing?”

  Larx’s eyes burned. “It’s like my brain’s on randomizer,” he said in horrified wonder. “Twenty things I have to worry about, real things that may happen, and what’s floating to the top is five years ago, you got shot. Why is this such a big deal? Except you could have died, and I wouldn’t have known you, and oh my God, what would the world be like without you in it?”

  Aaron’s kiss was not a surprise.

  Larx opened his mouth and tried to relax into it, to allow the contact to calm him, and to some extent it worked—but not entirely.

  Aaron deepened the kiss, sliding his hands down to cup Larx’s jaw, then his neck, and some of the anxiety slipped away—but not the burning eyes, not the swollen throat. Larx shuddered hard, and Aaron pulled away to whisper in his ear.

  “Let it out. C’mon, Larx. You don’t have to be strong all the time right now.”

  Larx let out a whine, part yearning, part pure frustration, and he dissolved, allowing his body to slump forward into Aaron’s arms. Aaron caught him, tightening his embrace, trapping Larx against his chest, letting him know he was there, he was fine, and that Larx could keep breathing, in and out, one problem at a time.

  Larx’s shivers subsided, and he became aware of the good things—Aaron’s heat through his leather jacket, the smell of sweat and aftershave, the feeling of his stubble-rough cheek against Larx’s own.

  The rumble of his deep voice as he hummed. Foreigner’s “I Want to Know What Love Is.” Larx let a whisper of a laugh out.

  “Foreigner?”

  “God,” Aaron rumbled. “I got so tired of pop and hip-hop tonight. I know it makes me old, but I was just done.”

  “Holy crap,” Larx muttered. “Right? I could have killed for some Offspring or Green Day or—God, we are so damned old.”

  “The Killers,” Aaron sighed. “Was it so much to ask?”

  This time it was a real laugh, not bitter at all. He began to sing “I Want to Know What Love Is,” using words and everything, and Aaron pressed Larx’s head against his shoulder, and they sang quietly together.

  “Sappy song,” Larx breathed when they were done with the chorus.

  “Got me laid a lot,” Aaron confessed.

  “Mm. For me it was Tesla’s ‘Love Song.’”

  “Local boys.” Aaron sounded like he approved. “Larx, let’s go inside. Let’s give thanks for the kids, shower—”

  “Because oh dear Lord could those kids sweat,” Larx swore fervently.

  “A-to-the-fuck-men. And let’s crawl in bed together and, you know. See what love is.”

  “Sure.” The word was mild, but Larx’s heart felt anything but. “Sure,” he repeated, reaching up to cup Aaron’s cheek. “Anything. Anywhere you are. That’s where I’ll find it.”

  “Sure,” Aaron whispered against his temple.

  A breath. And then another. And then a third, and they could separate long enough to climb out of the SUV.

  Out of Control

  THE KIDS barely moved as the two of them came in. A half-finished game of Monopoly sat on the coffee table, along with a pizza box and chip bags and soda cans, all pointing to a well-funded pity party for three kids who would not be going to homecoming. Aaron had sort of hoped Kirby would get his courage up and ask a girl—or a boy—this year, but his son was so damned pragmatic. And a little bit shy. Aaron hoped the boy lost his virginity in the semi-anonymity of college, because the small-town thing was inhibiting him in ways Aaron had never anticipated.

  But Kirby’s sex life was—happily—not Aaron’s concern now or, really, ever.

  Aaron’s sex life was about to dramatically improve.

  Aaron lay in Larx’s bed up on his elbow and waited for Larx to talk himself from the shower to the bed. Aaron knew he was done with the shower—it had gone off five minutes ago. He’d heard teeth brushing, a quick pass with the electric razor, and what had to be BO control, and then, just when he thought he’d finally see Larx’s chest again, silence.

  “Larx?” he asked gently, wondering how much the poor man could take before Aaron had to forget about sex and just sedate him until the board meeting on Monday.

  “Yeah?”

  “I would really like to see you naked.”

  That surprised, almost shy half laugh Aaron was getting used to. “I think you have vastly overrated this body without clothes.”

  “Please tell me you’re not standing in front of the mirror wondering if you can do this.”

  “I have gray in my pubes,” Larx said, and Aaron stifled a laugh on his bicep. “My pubes, Aaron. I haven’t looked at them in seven years and they grew gray without me.”

  Aaron reached out and turned the lamp off. “Put your underwear on, slide in with me, and we’ll have sex by braille. There are no gray pubic hairs in braille.”

  The bathroom light went off, and Aaron scooted over to make room for the man in his underwear. He was a little regretful that he wouldn’t get to see Larx’s chest again, but as Larx turned in his arms—warm, smooth skin, tightly muscled man�
��Aaron thought he could live with the loss just this once.

  He captured Larx’s mouth in a kiss, and those didn’t get any worse, so he just kept going. Ah, the kissing got better. Every time, the kisses got better. Fresh breath helped, but this time, so did knowing they weren’t going anywhere. They weren’t in the car, they weren’t outside, they were in a bed, and Aaron continued with the kiss. It grew in momentum until they were locked in a full-on mouth-maul, tongues battling, breath coming short. Larx’s hands were insistent on his hips, pulling him forward until they were grinding on each other, a master class of frotting.

  Aaron groaned into his mouth and stilled his frantic humping.

  “We’ll come too soon,” he whispered. He rolled then, pinning Larx underneath him, a part of him stirring in excitement when Larx spread his knees and went limp and pliant.

  “You have plans?” Larx asked, looking hopeful and, God—trusting. Innocent. Young.

  Aaron wanted to give him everything. “I sort of want to lick you all over,” he said, nipping at Larx’s chin. “But you’ve got to, you know. Tell me what’s right, what doesn’t work—”

  “I washed everything twice,” Larx said earnestly. “Tongue everything. You can’t go wrong with tongue. Lubrication. Penetration. All good.”

  “Oh my God!” Aaron laughed. “You are really needy, do you know that?”

  “Eight years, Aaron. You are warm, you are”—Larx wiggled his groin against Aaron’s throbbing cock—“willing. You even seem to like me. A lot. You have the fucking job.”

  “And the job fucking you, I hope.”

  Larx nodded, eyes limpid in the dark, and Aaron kissed him again, running his palms down Larx’s arms, the lean knots of muscles at his ribs and his stomach, then down under his shorts.

  “Mm….” Larx relaxed more with every caress, and Aaron kissed down his neck, nibbling, liking the greedy moans Larx made when his teeth sank into the skin.

  He tasted clean, of course, and spicy, and Aaron licked and nipped his way down to Larx’s pecs. He smiled for a moment, because he’d never tasted a flat male nipple before, and he lost himself in suckling the tiny ridge of flesh and tonguing the soft flatness of the areola.