I swallowed hard. "You want a hug or something?"
He barked out a laugh and bear-hugged me so fast I hardly had time to react. At first I didn't really think about it, just sort of patted his back and let him put his head on my shoulder, which was weird since he had an inch or two on me. Then I realized that sticky feeling wasn't just sweat—he was crying on me. Not sobbing, but his eyes were definitely leaking.
I'd seen him break his wrist on the field junior year. He hadn't even cried then.
But we'd been standing there long enough that it was hard not to notice that this wasn't a man-hug—there was no careful separation of crotch areas, no holding your ass out or keeping a certain distance so you didn't have to feel each other breathing. His breath was hot on my neck, and his stomach was tight against mine. His arms—Jesus, he was strong—held me close. My blood began to rush southward, leaving my head spinning.
Shit. Possibly my best friend in the world, crying because his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—had just called him a freak, the one thing she could've said to destroy him completely, and here I was getting a hard-on.
I was officially the scum of the earth.
"She said…"
I patted his back again. "I heard. Sorry. I was in the hall."
He sniffled.
"She didn't mean it. She didn't know what she was saying." I hated her for it, but fair was fair. It wasn't their fault—sleepers all reacted like that. That was why we kept them from finding out.
He lifted his head, untangling one arm from around me to swipe at his eyes with the back of his hand. Not much damage, but his face was bright pink.
I wondered if I should back away. I wanted to, because god knew when my traitorous prick would make itself too obvious for him not to feel it. Any second now.
But he still held on to me, his other hand clutching at my shirt. "I'm so fucking lame."
"That's ableist, jerkface. But look who you're talking to. I use game theory to excuse my lack of a love life."
He laughed, halfhearted but genuine, and put his arm around me again. I thought that'd be the end of it, another quick hug and out, but instead he put his forehead against mine and took a deep breath. We were just barely touching, hanging on to each other. Him breathing on my lips.
I closed my eyes. My heart thudded, deafening in my own ears. I was sure he'd hear it, feel it. I tried to think of anything, everything except the moment I was in, but there was no room for anything else in my world.
"I'd be dead without you," he said.
"Don't say that shit." I pulled back out of pure shock, opening my eyes again.
He put a hand on either side of my face and held me there. He looked at me, really looked hard at me, just held me like that for a second that wouldn't end.
I had a couple of wild, warring impulses right about then. Shove him away. Kiss him.
Either would've fucked me, so I just stood there, staring, aching.
"You saved my life."
"It was just an accident—"
"Not last night. The toaster in the cafeteria. You remember?"
I tried to nod, but he held me fast.
He put his forehead back on mine, moved closer.
I winced, burning with mortification. He had to feel it, my cock growing heavy against my fly, into the right leg of my jeans. Hard to miss when we were so close.
"I was so scared."
"I know, but—"
"Even when things fuck up now, I never stay scared."
I put my hands on his forearms and pulled him off me, stepping away. It was either that or jump him, and—so wrong in so many ways. "You shouldn't. We'll fix everything, okay?"
The look he gave me proved that I had not known everything that went on in Sam's ridiculous little brain after all. That he wasn't exaggerating. That before he'd known me, he'd really had some awful, awful thoughts.
I wanted to kiss him until he couldn't think anymore. I could almost imagine he wanted me to, the way he was looking at me.
But not because he wanted me. I wasn't going to be that guy, falling for a straight boy, convincing myself he wanted me until he found some girl he couldn't resist, and left. I wasn't going to break my own heart any more than I had to.
I choked on the words but got them out: "Mom's coming in a few hours. We better clean up, huh?"
He hesitated. When I let his hands go, they fell to his sides. I could've sworn he looked disappointed.
Wishful thinking. I turned away, ostensibly to tidy up the coffee table. Fuck breaking my own heart—his was already shattered, and I wasn't going to take advantage of it.
CHAPTER TWO
On Sunday night, I dreamed that Sam crawled into bed with me. The smell of his hair and the warmth of his skin pressed against mine. His dick, hard and eager, wedged between my thighs as he slipped an arm around my waist. He whispered in my ear that he'd always wanted me and always been afraid to ask. His fingers moved with purpose, walking across my hip, raking gently through my hair, wrapping around my cock. I didn't say a word, just opened my thighs so he could get off between them while he stroked me. Loved me.
Somewhere in the middle of things, I realized it was a dream. That happens to me sometimes, especially when it gets my blood pumping. I silently prayed to nothing that I wouldn't wake up, I prayed and wished until I came all over his hand and my sheets. Sticky and happy, I turned to bury my face in his chest. Just wanted to wrap myself up in him. Never move. Never wake up.
But he pulled away and out of bed, and stood there, looking down at me curiously. His dick was still hard, pointing at me like some kind of fucking accusation. "I don't think you could do it for me," he said. "But I guess we can still be friends."
That lack of enthusiasm gutted me. Left me covered in my own shame and uselessness. The sudden change in his attitude, the jerking of my emotions from feeling loved and wanted to feeling utterly empty and pathetic—it seemed perfectly rational in dreamland. I rolled back over, turning my face from him, even though I didn't want to. He was really beautiful in the moonlight, was the thing, and it was unfair. If not unexpected.
When I woke, my hip was stuck to a puddle of cum in the sheets and I still felt like someone had carved out my stomach with an empty spoon.
It wasn't real. But dreams don't have to be real to be true.
And I had too much to lose to keep thinking of him like this. Especially now, when he needed me, his best friend, the most.
*~*~*
Mom gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and breezed right by to Sam. He got a hug—also quick—and a pat on the cheek. He'd barely managed a "Thanks, Mrs. Marks" when Mom insisted he sit on the couch and tell her everything.
That sounds like she was being sweet, but my mother isn't the, er, motherly kind. She's pretty businesslike about her affection, which is another reason to adore her.
I tried to work on my paper at the table while they talked, since I got the feeling Sam didn't want me to leave. Had to give it up after a few minutes, though, when Mom said, "Maybe you could track down your biological parents. You're old enough that the state will tell you."
I looked up.
Sam was shaking his head. "What's the difference?"
"They might be helpful with your control issues; power levels are hereditary. My family has experience with this, but you'll probably end up more powerful than any of us that are still around."
She said it easily because she wasn't the kind to bottle things up. When Neil died, she'd let herself be sad. Now she could talk about him or casually allude to him like this. But considering the way shit had gone down today with Nessa, it made my heart skip a few beats.
Sam sighed. "They could be dead for all I know. And…I'd really rather not. I mean, I'm totally not bitter, but I already have parents. Really don't need any more."
Mom nodded and smoothed back her hair—blond virtually indistinguishable from the silver threading through it, a preview of what mine would look like in twenty or thirty years. "I'm sure w
e can manage. Let's try some exercises."
He set his jaw and agreed, and I tried to go back to my paper. Didn't seem all that important at the moment, somehow.
*~*~*
Mom left us with an expensive bottle of pinot grigio and a promise to do some research for Sam. I walked her out to the car to get her alone for a second. "I think his ex saw us at the bar, with the fire. They had a big fight over it earlier."
"He denied it all?"
"Yeah, of course."
She nodded. "She'll forget about it eventually. They always do."
"This other guy might've seen too."
"Deny, deny, deny."
"You don't think it's a big deal?" I tried to make the words weighty so I didn't have to be explicit.
"Hansen, the odds of either of these kids being witch hunters are extremely slim. Neil was in over his head, and he knew it at the time." She kissed my cheek. "Don't worry, hon."
If Mom could suck it up like that, I sure as hell could.
She opened her car door and ducked inside. "Get him to take a week off work and come up to the lake. We'll be in Charleston for the next few days, but any time after that. Grandma can help. She worked with Neil when he got his second spurt."
I promised I would, and by the time she pulled out and I got inside, Sam had already popped the cork out of the bottle and was in the process of pouring two glasses—screw that whole chilling-first thing. He stuck the rest of it in the fridge.
"Think you're supposed to let it breathe."
He handed me a glass over the counter. "It can breathe in the glass. Cheers."
I clinked with him and took a sip. And had to admit that if I had to drink this Mom crap, she'd picked a pretty good one.
Be better cold, though.
"I need this," he said. "I need, like, three bottles of it. She wore me out."
"It's what she does." And I told him what she'd said about coming up to the lake.
"I'd love to get out of that fucking office for a week. Got the vacation days for it too. Maybe next month?"
"Whenever. She works from home, so it's no big deal. They only hit the city when Dad can't avoid it."
"You're coming, right?"
"Uh, I could probably get out of class for a week. If you want."
"I'm not spending a week with the superpowered ladies alone, man, no matter how cool they are." He took a thoughtful sip. "Think she was annoyed that I didn't want to look up my bio parents?"
"Nah, she always looks annoyed."
"You think I'm being dumb?"
I shook my head. "You have a family; you love them. Why fuck with a perfect thing?"
"Exactly. I don't care whose genes I have, and I don't want Mom and Dad to think I do. That was part of why I was so fucked up before." He gestured with his glass, which somehow managed to allude to that nebulous time before our friendship. "I couldn't take it if they found out."
I didn't know what to say, so I took another drink to think it over. I'd only met them for big games or on moving day, but Sam talked about them all the time. Seemed like down-to-earth, loving parent types. And they couldn't be all bad if they'd ended up raising a kid like him. Finally I came up with the brilliant, "I'm sure they'd be cool."
"But it'd have to mess with their heads." A pause, another drink. "And they probably wouldn't, but part of me thinks…you know. They'd regret it. Me."
"They wouldn't." How could anyone in their right mind regret you? "People have kids that are different from them all the time—biological or not."
"Yeah. Some people regret that too."
"But then, they're just dickheads either way. Same responsibility however you get the kid, right?"
He smiled and took another drink. "See, you're rational, Hansen. That's why you calm me the fuck down. Rational and way too nice for your own good."
I took a drink to hide my flush.
Sam said, "But that was what I thought when it happened at first. That they'd be sorry. That's part of why I was so fucked up, apart from the freak self-loathing."
"Any kid would think that stuff if they weren't ready for it." And in truth, that was why I doubted Sam had living bio family at all. No awakened would leave their kid in the hands of the state, knowing what'd happen when they got to the teenage years and woke up themselves, stuck in some sleeper family.
He finished off his glass and retrieved the wine again. While pouring us both more, even though I hadn't finished, he said, "Guess it'd be wrong to drop in an ice cube, huh?"
"You're a sick bastard, Sammy. Ice cubes are only for rosé."
He grinned, the pink tip of his tongue poking through his teeth.
"Really, really sick."
*~*~*
We moved on to cheap beer after we finished the wine, nestled into our respective couch corners and not paying attention to Barry Lyndon on the tiny-ass TV we'd imported from my room.
He had the whole Kubrick collection, is the thing. Clockwork Orange was his favorite, yeah, but I liked Barry Lyndon. Didn't have the hilarity of the book, but cool in its own way.
Sam wandered out to piss and stopped by the fridge on his way back. He handed me a beer and threw himself at the couch—but not on his side. Right next to me. As in, his thigh was touching mine.
I grinned and popped open my beer. I wasn't reading into it, no matter what kind of stupid dreams I'd been having; he was an affectionate drunk. I never met anyone who wasn't, including me.
Once again, not complaining. Way better than finishing some stupid paper, right?
"Level with me," he said.
"Right. Level."
"Who is it?"
"Who is…?"
"It's a guy, right?"
I nearly choked on my beer.
"You're not a monk. You're totally into dudes. I kept trying to get you to tell me, and I should probably let you do it in your own time and all that shit, but I gotta know. We're best friends, man! Come on."
I finally swallowed, my face blazing, but somehow I was laughing. "What?"
"That guy last year, that friend of yours you just stopped talking to—"
I grimaced. "Justin."
"You were fucking him. I totally knew it, but you never said anything."
I did realize it was a good thing I was drunk too, or I would've been incredibly paranoid just then. Fuck it, anyhow. "Yeah."
He cackled and chugged about half of his beer.
"He wasn't very good, either," I admitted. "How the hell do you make a blowjob boring?"
More cackling, and he smacked me on the thigh. "Holy shit, I figured it out!"
"Only took you—what? Four years, I've known you?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a fuckbox of dumb."
He had a way with words, that Sammy. I chuckled. "You have your moments."
"That why you don't like me?"
I nearly choked again. "You're, like, my best friend. You just said it!"
He shot me a sideways look.
My cheeks just about caught fire. I was not drunk enough to start down that path. Wasn't sure I ever could be. I backtracked. "You are kind of dumb, though. You just figured this out?"
"Nah, I've known for like a year. But today I was sure-sure."
"How?"
"You didn't want to hug me."
I paused. "But I offered."
"You were uncomfortable."
"I was not. Well, a little, but a straight guy would've been more uncomfortable."
"Yeah, but a straight guy wouldn't hug like that."
"But you said that's how you—"
"You didn't want to kiss me."
My mouth snapped shut.
"Look, I'm just saying, you were thinking about it; I was thinking about it—"
So, right, there was Sam's limit, half a bottle of wine and a six-pack. Got it. "Sam, I love you, man. You know that. But you're fucked up. You're drunk and brokenhearted, and we should really not talk about this right now."
He thought about this, little concentration lin
es appearing on his forehead.
I had to laugh. Thanks, alcohol.
"I wouldn't have been brave enough to say it if I wasn't drunk," he said. "And I wanted to say it. So yeah, we should."
"Broken heart."
"Not from Nessa. Just…in general. It's different."
"Doesn't matter."
"So, I imagined that weird moment we had this afternoon. Nothing to do with us, maybe, like, being kinda hot for each other."
I took another drink. This was not happening. Could not fucking be happening. Was I asleep again? Oh shit, if this was a dream, I was gonna be so fucking pissed in the morning. Could my brain be this cruel?
Ha, yes. Of course it could. Obviously.
He put down his beer, then took mine from me and did the same. He turned to face me.
This was so, so bad, in every possible way. He couldn't hold it together; I needed to do it for both of us. I had to. It was my duty as an honest and loyal friend—
"You know how you always tell me to put some pants on?" he asked.
"Uh, yeah."
"I started doing that shit on purpose after the first time. Got me hard that you even noticed."
My mouth fell open. Not that it was a special accomplishment to get him hard, but—
"That's why I fuck with you all the time too. Like, that started ages ago, but I didn't really think about why until we moved in."
"Oh."
"Yeah." He leaned forward. "I thought you were just squirming because you were embarrassed. But, dude, today…"
So, so busted. I knew he'd felt it. I knew it. I closed my eyes.
He leaned closer. "Jesus, Hansen, I get it now."
He put his hand on my face, and I sighed, leaned into it, and practically purred it felt so good.
"Come on," he whispered. "Just kiss me."
I opened my eyes. Tried to call up all my fears and nightmares. Failed miserably. "This is not fair."
He paused, his face just inches from mine. He narrowed his dark eyes. His chest rose and fell, pressed against my arm tight. Fuck, the smell of him was unbelievable—my head was spinning with it. I said, "Not fair to you."
"You're not the boss of me." He grinned.
I'd probably known it was over long before that, but that was the moment I gave up.
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