Abroad: Book One (The Hellum and Neal Series in LGBTQIA+ Literature 2)

by Liz Jacobs

Nick shook his head. He looked so small that his skinny, square shoulders were like armour rather than a part of his body. Dex wanted him so much.

  “Fuck. How did you—” He shook his head. He had no idea where to start. “Wait, am I the second person to know?”

  “I told my sister,” he said quietly. “When I went home. Over break, I told her.”

  “Oh.” Dex swallowed. “Uh, how did she …?”

  “She was good. It went … she was great, actually.”

  Dex breathed out. “What about your—”

  Nick shook his head. “Just Zoya.”

  Dex nodded. Made sense.

  What didn’t make sense was how Nick could have stood that. How he could have lived for twenty years and not breathed a single fucking word about being queer to anyone.

  Dex could not have done it. And all those times they’d all just taken for granted that being queer was part of life and talked as if it was no bigger deal than anything else. All those talks about Nat, after Izzy had figured out she wasn’t straight, all those times when Nick had just sat there, accepted it all, and kept fucking mum about everything having to do with himself. Never shared, not once.

  How? How was that even fucking possible? Where did all of him fit inside that thin, rigid body? What else was he hiding? How was he managing it?

  Dex felt filled to the brim with questions, questions bubbling up around other thoughts, thoughts like, I know nothing about him, and What if that’s how he wants it? and Told you, Izzy, emotionally unavailable. It would never work.

  “How? How did you—how could you live like that?”

  Nick frowned.

  Fuck.

  “I guess—” Nick frowned, and his gaze was turned inward. Dex forced himself to relax his own shoulders, to breathe, to attempt to make this better without really knowing how.

  “Wait. I’m sorry. You don’t have to explain. You’re—” Different. And he was. Dex was being an utter bellend. “You told me once that you felt like you passed. Being Jewish, that is, that you didn’t look it. Has being gay been like that?”

  Nick genuinely flinched. “It’s been worse.”

  Dex felt a dark shiver down his spine. “Why?”

  Nick took a long pull of his beer, which drew shadows across his throat. “Because I’m not supposed to exist.”

  “Nick—”

  “No, really.” Nick pushed on, and Dex forced himself to shut up. Nick was talking. He was talking. “I’ve never known another Russian gay person. I’m sure they exist, I mean, duh, of course they do. I know that. Now. But when I was a kid, I had never met one. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t know any gay people.”

  Dex was frozen.

  “I don’t—I was alone. My parents never talked about anything like that, not ever. At least, not when I was a kid. And then they talked about it like it was something Americans did. Some Western thing. Not necessarily awful, just not for us. Not ours. So I couldn’t be … that. I couldn’t. I could be Jewish, I could be an immigrant, but I couldn’t be gay.”

  Dex took a deep breath. His parents hadn’t been thrilled when he’d told them, but they got past it. And he could tell them. He knew of kids who couldn’t. Natali was still fighting her battles. God, being black and queer hadn’t been a fucking lark. He tamped down the memories, tried to bury them as they threatened to float up to the surface. Looking through gay magazines and seeing white guy after white guy, turning to porn and seeing only white guys or, worse, black guys without faces.

  But he didn’t know anyone who’d flat-out never said a fucking word.

  “Fuck. That’s—harsh, man. That’s really hard.”

  When he looked at Nick, Nick simply shrugged it off, like he always did. Dex felt an overwhelming urge for Nick to admit everything he wasn’t willing to admit so he would see for once that he didn’t have to bear it all in silence.

  “Nick, for fuck’s sake. You just admitted it was horrible, why are you always shrugging shit off?”

  What was he doing? Making it even worse, a small voice reminded him, but he was too gone to listen to it.

  “Do you know that you never fucking talk about yourself?”

  “That’s not true!” Nick rose up on his knees so they faced each other. It wasn’t exactly an easy position to maintain, knees digging into the soft mattress in a lack of balance.

  “It is! You give the barest of facts, you just throw shit out there like it’s nothing, even though it’s clearly not fucking nothing, and then you swallow it back down, like you’re not supposed to talk about it, but you get you’re no longer a kid, right? You get that you can, and you should fucking tell people this shit, and you don’t have to live like that?”

  The sound of Nick slamming his hand on the wall brought him up short. Nick looked furious. Terrified. It seemed impossible that the two should coexist, but Dex saw it, all of it.

  He was breathing fast, waiting for Nick to give him more. Vaguely aware that this wasn’t at all what he’d come looking for when he’d come here tonight, Dex couldn’t stop this ball rolling if he wanted to. He didn’t want to.

  “I talk! Nobody fucking wants to hear this shit, all right? It’s boring, nobody needs it! What the fuck would talking about it do, anyway?”

  “It’s not boring, Jesus, do you not listen when people ask you things? They want to know!” Dex threw the last vestiges of being cool to the fucking wind. “I want to know! I’ve told you I find it—”

  “Okay, but for how long? How long do you think you would listen for?” Nick yelled over him. “Because if I start, I’ll never stop, okay? If I start, I’ll never stop.”

  His voice was shaking along with the rest of him, and Dex was paralysed. He hadn’t—he hadn’t meant for this. He had never meant for this.

  Dex didn’t think. He unfroze, reached out, tugged Nick’s arm away from the wall, and then he pulled him in. Nick went like he had no other choice, and the next moment Dex had him in his arms. Nick’s beer had spilled between them, soaking the duvet and their knees.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, again and again.

  Nick wasn’t hugging him back, just allowing himself to be held. Dex swallowed. Nick’s glasses were digging into his collarbone. They were both trembling now, like Dex had taken on Nick’s fear, and maybe that was good. Maybe that was what Nick needed. Had always needed. Dex took it, and he let himself be a spot for Nick to rage against.

  Dex realised that Nick’s rage wasn’t like other people’s rage. It was contained heartbreak, the kind that didn’t know where to go. Nick’s hands found Dex’s shirt and grabbed on like pincers. Even as he quivered in Dex’s arms, Dex wanted him frantically. Desperately.

  He sagged down. Nick was light, and he didn’t put up a fight. It was easy for Dex to nudge him away just long enough to slide the glasses off. Dex set them down on the bedside table. He splayed his knees to allow Nick to settle in between, and Nick did. Dex wished he could see his face.

  But Nick buried it against Dex’s neck, and they sat there in a deafening silence. Dex didn’t know if his pulse ever would slow. God.

  Kissing the top of Nick’s head felt so natural, he did it once, then twice. He lingered there, just holding him. He heard Nick’s breath hitch, felt it against his own chest, but neither of them spoke.

  It felt like a long time, and also like no time at all. Dex was cold when Nick pushed himself away. He held his breath.

  “Sorry. That wasn’t. Sorry, I was stupid, and you—”

  “I was stupid, too,” Dex interrupted, and he thought about what he’d said. “I mean … I was stupid. You weren’t. I’m so sorry I yelled. That was a dick move.” He didn’t know what else to say. It all felt too big for words.

  “You were right. I don’t know what to do.” He stayed where he was, still halfway between Dex’s knees.

  “What if we just talked?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And you can say anything. I want to hear it al
l.”

  Nick’s face was a picture of skepticism.

  “Or, you can not tell me a thing. But I’d like to stay with you for a bit. If that’s all right.”

  It felt like an age before Nick nodded and finally looked at him. Nick seemed done in, but Dex felt his chest lifting. “Yeah. I just have to … first.” He indicated the bathroom and slowly got up.

  It wasn’t until the door lock clicked that Dex assessed the situation. Nick’s duvet was ruined and smelly with beer. He got up and left the door open as he ran to the kitchen and poked his head in the fridge. He found two more Stellas, hoped they were Nick’s, grabbed them, ran back. Nick was still in the bathroom, so Dex popped them open with his key ring, left them on the desk, then set to work on the duvet situation.

  He dragged it off the bed, flipped it soiled-side down, and made a sort of nest on the floor.

  There was hardly any floor left when he was done. He grabbed the two Stellas off the desk and just managed to get his arse onto the duvet when the bathroom door snicked open and Nick walked out.

  He looked exhausted. He’d tried to tame his hair with some water to zero success, and wet ringlets hung down his forehead. His cheeks were splotchy pink, eyes swollen and glassy. Dex extended a beer towards him. His reward was a tiny crack of a smile—lopsided, uncertain, but a smile.

  Nick made his careful way around Dex so he could settle down across from him, back against his bedside table. “Look, I really am—sorry,” he said.

  “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  Nick shook his head. “I am, though.”

  Dex waited.

  “I should have said something. Texted you. Or … something, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

  Dex thought about it all, remembered running after him. “You were scared, I get it.”

  “I was terrified.” Nick’s voice had never sounded more firm. “But I hate that, okay? I hate being terrified. I’m done with being terrified.”

  He looked terrified, but stubborn, too. Determined. His cheekbones stood out as he set his jaw and looked at Dex. Dex’s fingers twitched around his beer. “All right.”

  Nick shifted and moved one leg until the tips of his toes were touching Dex’s ankles. Dex held his breath.

  “I like you,” Nick said quietly. Dex clenched his jaw. “And I want you to know that. Now.”

  “Good.” Crap. “I like you, too.” Might as well, right? “A lot. Glad we’ve got that sorted, then.”

  Nick laughed. He looked at Nick’s uneven teeth, imperfect in his gorgeous mouth. He looked lit up from the inside. Maybe it was that his eyes were no longer spooked.

  Dex pressed his advantage. “So, tell me things, then.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  He shifted until Nick’s toes slipped under his ankle. “Things that you’ve not let yourself say out loud before.”

  Nick took in a deep breath—so deep, his chest filled out before collapsing in on itself again. “I’m always scared that my mom can see what I’m doing. Or hear what I’m thinking.”

  “Wha—?”

  “When I was a kid, I saw this movie. It was some … fantasy, I don’t even remember what it was called. It was in Russia. Anyway, the main character had this magic ball of some sort, like a fortune-teller’s, and all she had to do was ask it to show her a person, and it would. It would show her what they were doing at the time. It left an impression. And I really wanted one, too. I guess I internalized the possibility. That sounds dumb.”

  “It doesn’t.” It made a bizarre sort of sense.

  “Well, ever since then, I’ve imagined my parents having one and knowing everything about me. It really does sound dumb out loud, Jesus.”

  “No. I think I get it.”

  “When you and I … When we kissed.” It was the first time either of them had actually said the words to each other. “In the back of my mind, I thought my mom could see. After I ran away, I thought I was gonna throw up.”

  Dex shut his eyes. Not exactly the reaction he had been hoping for, but this wasn’t about him. He felt a warm touch to his hand. He looked up. Nick was watching him, and when Dex moved his hand, their fingers caught.

  “I fucked up so much. I felt like I couldn’t stop fucking up.”

  “You didn’t.”

  Nick squeezed his fingers and then slowly let go. “I did, though. And I guess it’s okay, because you’re still here.”

  “I am.”

  A pause. Wondrous. “Thank you.”

  With anyone else, he wouldn’t hesitate to close the distance, kiss them, take control. But not with Nick. Tender and fragile, that’s how Dex felt around him. Clumsy and skirting disaster from too much feeling. So he waited.

  It took barely any time at all, in the end. Nick, eyebrows drawn in concentration, rose up a little on his knees. Dex was aware of his every move. Aware of how much closer Nick suddenly was, and how hard the bed frame dug into his shoulder because he’d tensed in anticipation. Every tiny moment of Nick shifting closer sparked off Dex’s skin, electrified him into disbelief.

  Nick leaned in, and their gazes met in a deliberate question.

  Dex looked at Nick’s lips.

  Dex leaned in. So did Nick.

  Their first kiss had seemed so natural, and had ended in such utter disaster, Dex hadn’t been sure this would even happen.

  Nick kissed him. His lips touched Dex’s and lingered. It felt so all-encompassing it was painful. It became impossible to wait, and so Dex slotted their lips together on a gasp. He closed his eyes and he simply held on.

  He felt their kiss in his whole being. Felt the way Nick leaned into him—their bodies barely touching, connected at their lips and nowhere else. The close warmth of his presence was making Dex’s head spin. Nick was letting himself kiss and be kissed, and it was making Dex’s head spin.

  Nick opened his mouth, and Dex found the courage to touch his jaw, and then it was as if a thread had snapped and they went frantic. Tongues and breath, too much of everything, and not enough. Dex went by feel and instinct, forgot all about technique and playing it cool and anything that wasn’t Nick clinging to him, devouring him whole, and then Nick was climbing into Dex’s lap, wrapping his slender arms around Dex’s neck.

  Dex couldn’t breathe. He was all synapses and nerves, fingers that sought and clutched at Nick’s back, his waist, against his ribs under his T-shirt. Dex felt the weight of him, his thighs and knees digging into Dex’s hips, his hands roaming Dex’s back, and he had to hold himself back not to rip Nick’s shirt straight off of him, to grind up against him and get him off, make him lose his mind.

  Dex was losing his mind.

  He wanted to get closer, feel even more, get to Nick’s skin, fuck, get underneath it. His fingers found Nick’s hair all on their own, and he grasped it, felt the silky-coarse texture. His mind raced ahead of him, images of Nick naked beneath him, a sea of possibilities of Nicks—smooth and hairless chest, or maybe a sparse dusting of hair all down his stomach, or maybe it was tight curls, like Dex’s. His mouth was flooding with want, his dick with blood, his veins with heat. It didn’t matter what Nick looked like beneath his flimsy shirt and trackies, Dex was fucking desperate for him.

  When Nick broke off, Dex fought back panic that he’d retreat and halt the moment. He held his breath. When he pulled back and looked at him, Nick’s lips—God, those fucking lips, now shiny and flushed—smiled.

  Dex caught his breath and unclawed his fingers, allowed them to settle at his nape. “All right?”

  Nick leaned in until their foreheads touched. The heat between them rose close to unbearable. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m all right.”

  When Dex leaned up again, his breath ghosting just over Nick’s mouth, Nick met him halfway to the kiss. He didn’t hesitate.

  24

  Nick wasn’t all right. He felt frenzied and wild, a river gushing past a crumpled dam. It rolled through him, and for the first time ever, he allowed it.

  Dex’s arm
s around him were the only grounding thing about this room, the whole world, maybe. His ears still rang with all the things he’d never said before, and now that he was saying them he felt nearly empty, hollow in spaces that had been too crowded for too long.

  He was so hard. He squirmed in place not to give himself away too soon, but the more they kissed, the harder he got, the less he could stop himself from sidling even closer.

  He wondered if he was crushing Dex, but Dex was holding him so tight, Nick couldn’t escape if he wanted to. Not that he would want to. What he did want, or what he could pick out of his myriad wants, was to get more. He wanted more of Dex’s mouth and his tongue and his breath and his skin.

  Dex broke them apart. Dex wasn’t pushing him away. Instead, his hands moved until he was caressing Nick’s cheeks, which already felt too hot to bear, and looking at him. Dex’s look, usually warm and attentive, was enflaming.

  “Nick.” If Nick had felt undone by the way Dex said his name back in his kitchen that December Sunday, it was nothing compared to now. The consonants sounded so soft on his tongue, the ‘k’ a gentle click of his throat. Nick barely breathed.

  The next moment, when Dex brought his thumb up to Nick’s mouth and touched his lower lip, Nick felt his breath stutter back.

  Dex’s touch. The way his finger slid gently over Nick’s lip and his eyes followed the movement, hot, sending shiver after shiver down Nick’s back.

  “Your mouth.” His finger was gone and replaced by his lips. Nick surrendered to the feel of him. He felt it again, that cleaving in two—before and after. With each kiss, the after drew him deeper and deeper in. He hadn’t ever felt like this before, and he had never known he could.

  His heart beat even harder when Dex placed his palm against it over Nick’s shirt. Nick’s hands roamed, touch-hungry, over Dex’s arms and sides and neck. Their breath was hot and damp, electrifying.

  It smelled like a kiss.

  Nick had always loved kissing. That had been the best part of the physical stuff he and Lena had shared. If everything else made him feel clumsy and awkward, kissing her he could have done for hours. And had.