"I am, though."
"We both are. So's Trent. None of us had our heads on straight."
Sam's gaze dropped again. "I guess." A pause. "I mean, who's the villain in this story?"
I frowned. "Villains aren't a real thing. Not usually."
"That's what I'm saying. I mean, Trent's always been the first to start a fight, but this is different. I'm not even sure it's his fault—"
"Okay, but, even if he does think we had something to do with what happened to his family, personally, he could still choose to handle it a smarter way. He might be delusional, but how does 'these people hurt my family' equate to 'I'm gonna confront them in the street and threaten to out them to everyone'?" As I said it, I realized it was true—and it made me feel a little better.
Not entirely. Someone—one of us—had hurt Trent personally. We took care of our own, but that was meant to be wiping out threats as well as supporting those who needed it. We'd failed Trent. And ourselves.
"That's just Trent, though," Sam pointed out with a sigh. "He sees something he doesn't like, he goes after it."
"That's a character flaw, not a product of delusion."
"I mean, as far as we know."
"Why are you defending him?" I asked.
Sam thought about this seriously for a second. Then said, "I guess…I feel for him. We've both got stuff we can't control going on inside us. I get wanting to lash out."
That shut me right the hell up for a full ten seconds. Then I said, "Yeah, but you don't."
He shot me a grateful look, then went into hiding behind the curtain of his overgrown hair. Just when I was starting to feel like a world-class asshole, he took my hand, started playing with my fingers like he'd never seen anything so fascinating.
That seemed like a good sign. Enough that I could change the subject. "I saw what you did today, with the electricity." I didn't think I'd ever forget it. I had wandered outside, thinking I'd just take a walk and think shit over while he was busy with Grandma. He stood there in nothing but a pair of shorts, face turned skyward, jagged thin lines of electricity racing back and forth over his arms, legs, and torso.
Weird, how easy it was to take it for granted, all this…magic, I guess. I could do it with fire too, but seeing it like that, seeing him like that, I suddenly understood Kantian aesthetic theory. Plenty of things were beautiful. But a few, a very few things in the world, were beyond that, beyond just one person. That was a force of nature he was wearing. That was sublime.
"How'd it feel?" I asked.
"Amazing," he said, like he was making a confession. He sat next to me on the grass and leaned back on his elbows. "And I was tired after, but in a good way. Like I just worked out really hard, but without being sore."
I didn't have enough power in me to get to that point, but I knew what he meant all the same. I smiled.
"She said that's how your uncle Neil got the electricity out of him when he felt it building up too much. They had some friend of theirs teach them how to do it. Only problem is that you have to stay grounded—gotta do it outside, and there's not exactly room behind the apartments."
"Maybe we should move after all," I said, smile going lopsided.
"What, buy a house?" He smiled back. "Nice yard for me to go electric and a dog to run around. White picket fence. Hi, honey, I'm home."
"Only if you're 'honey'—"
But he shut me up with his mouth, bringing his far hand over to hold my chin up, then run it through my hair while he kissed me. Weirdly gentle, but deep and warm. "I don't care where I live. I'll move to fucking Siberia if you want."
"Sure, Siberia. I like snow."
He held my face in both hands, like he had that day in the living room, right after he'd blown up the ancient TV. Stared at me long and hard, until I forgot everything but his impossibly sincere eyes.
Bastard.
"You're so fucking stupid for a smart guy," he said. And then he burst into that blinding grin of his.
I was willing to believe him, but if I was stupid just then, it was his fault. Him and his pretty lips and brown eyes and shiny hair and perfect thighs. "Uh, am I being insulted or complimented?"
He kissed me again, this time more quickly. "Yeah." Then he looked over my shoulder, through the woods toward the cabin. "Better get up there. Your grandma threatened me with no dinner if we were late."
Something felt off—like there had been a conversation that was supposed to take place there. But since he was suddenly in such a good mood, I figured I'd let it go. We got to our feet, brushed off, and started back toward the house. But just after we stepped onto the grassy trail, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the trees, like he had somewhere to be.
Seeing as we were sporting bare feet, this didn't seem like the best plan to me. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just come here."
"But—"
He turned around, put me against a tree, and pretty much threw himself at me. He kissed me—that kiss that meant he was hoping for something more—and didn't waste any time unzipping my fly.
"Sam—"
"Fuck dinner," he said, yanking on my pants and kissing my neck.
Sound argument. He had his hand down the front of my shorts already, and I was half tempted to step out of my pants so I could ease my legs apart and get him between—
He bit at my neck and wrapped his hand around my cock at the same time, and anything resembling a thought disappeared right quick. I arched my back against the tree. It scraped through my T-shirt, and even that felt good. "Oh fuck."
"Yeah?" He bit down on my earlobe.
"Yeah."
He tucked my hair behind my ear with his free hand. "I really, really"—a little breath there, like a stutter or a wince—"want you."
I cleared my throat to push out, "You got me." Always have, always fucking will.
He kissed my cheek, the corner of my lips, feeling me up through my underwear. I clutched at him and swallowed a growl, bark digging in hard.
"Can I suck your cock?" he asked.
This time, it wasn't a dumb question. This time, it was fun. I smirked. "Uh, let me think about it."
I felt him smile, heard it in his whispered, "Come on. Please?"
Before I could answer, he was on his knees, pulling down my shorts.
The first thing he did was spit on his hand. That was when I decided to definitely step out of my pants, at least with one foot. He kissed my belly, let me feel him getting closer and closer, brushing my cock against his cheek, his hair, goddamn, his gorgeous fucking pink lips. The back of his hand, the dry part, slipped up the inside of my thigh, and I moved them farther apart, bending my knees a little. His hand slipped behind my sac, and his wet fingers pressed up, then back, to tease my ass.
I barely resisted an urge to fuck myself on him.
He smiled up at me and cocked his head.
Took me a second to figure out what the fuck he was waiting for. "Oh. Yeah, go for it."
Who was I to deny him, right?
He opened his mouth and ran his tongue over the head of my cock, kissing here and there.
I pushed my hips forward, and instead of pulling back, he opened wider and took me in. The hot, wet sensation of his tongue pushing upward, his lips closing around me, made me so dizzy at first I had to close my eyes. I panted something unintelligible even to me, and he pushed up with his fingers again, just barely stretching my asshole around the tip of his finger, then circling it with maddening slowness.
Yeah, he'd figured some shit out, all right.
"Unh, that's good."
He made this sound, like he was laughing. By then he'd started sucking me off for real, back and forth slowly, too slowly on purpose. What he lacked in natural ability and experience, he made up for with shameless enthusiasm and attention to detail, that was for goddamn sure. I tangled my fingers in his soft hair, and he made that sound, pushed up inside me just barely again.
Once the stars stopped popping behind my eyes and I wa
s sure my knees wouldn't turn to water, I realized that he liked it. I tightened my grip, and he smiled around my cock, then sped up.
Still not enough.
I laughed—well, as much as it was possible in the circumstances—and tugged at his hair.
He rubbed my ass like some crazy reward. Unthinking, I pushed forward into his wet, hungry mouth, causing another minor explosion behind my eyes. I pulled back, and my ass scraped against the tree.
Fuck, that was gonna leave a mark. And I really, really did not care.
I sank lower so he pushed up inside me once more. I gave his hair another tug, and he went faster. I watched that gorgeous, hot mouth I'd wanted for as long as I'd known him, couldn't take my eyes off it. He pulled out, then pushed back in, spit drying, fingers sticky. He didn't quite hit the spot, but he was so fucking close when he went up like that.
Faster, and the waves of heat and pure pleasure—almost electric, like they came from inside him somewhere—got closer and closer together. I pushed into him, then down on him, then did it all over again, catching his rhythm. He used his free hand to grab my cock, so all of it was covered. The center of the world became his mouth, harder, faster.
"Holy fuck, don't stop, don't—"
I didn't even realize I was holding him there until the explosion was over. His hair was wrapped up tight in my fist, and while he could've gotten out of it with the slightest jerk, he didn't. He held me in his mouth and licked me while I rode it out to the end.
I let him go, that after-orgasm moment of clarity finally letting me wonder if I'd gone over the line.
But when he sat back on his heels and smiled up at me, licking at red lips, he was grinning bigger than I'd ever seen before.
I pulled him to his feet and kissed him, tasting myself on his tongue, all that spit still on his lips, mixing up with me. His lips were hot and puffy, and he kissed desperately. My ass scraped against bark yet again when he pinned me to the tree.
Nope, still didn't care.
At least it was an oak. Could've been worse. Could've been a pine tree.
*~*~*
My whole family lived in the lake house almost full-time now. God knew Mom and Dad were glad to get out of Charleston. Pretty sure they only stayed as long as they did so I could graduate from the same school I started in. But the lake was the ideal place to unwind, and I'd never been so glad to be there. With him and, honestly, with my family. Hadn't spent so much time with them in a while, and I'd kind of forgotten how much fun they could be.
Sam fit right in too. I think he reminded Grandma of Uncle Neil just because of the electrical thing, so she was going to love him anyhow. But he talked with Dad about college basketball and helped Mom carry groceries, all that good son stuff, until it became the joke that next time he should just come alone, because who needs Hansen?
But they were always up to something—long walks or shut up in their offices or bird-watching or some outdoorsy shit—and Grandma was even busier when she wasn't with Sam. We had the place to ourselves half the time. Happy as I was to see them, I was just as happy to be alone with Sam more often than not.
Not that he was much more communicative. At least verbally.
One evening just around dusk, I found him on the back porch in an Adirondack lounger with a beer and a graphic novel abandoned against his thigh, watching little strings of white lightning flicker around the fingers of his right hand.
When he noticed my presence, he sat up straight, threw his legs over either side of the lounger, and put his oversize comic book aside. He crooked a finger at me.
I padded across the deck barefoot and sat near his knee, leaning back on my hands and examining his face. His eyes had sunken brown circles like fading bruises under them after a long day of working with his current. He should've smiled or laughed or said something funny, but only one corner of his lips quirked upward. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for you." I raised my eyebrows. "But don't let it go to your head."
Finally, he smiled. It almost made him look like himself. Don't get me wrong—he was hot as fuck, sitting there all shaggy and contemplative and sleepy. Just…still wasn't Sam. Not completely.
He leaned back and held out a hand. I looked him over once more, this time the sagging broad shoulders, how his soft T-shirt and shiny soccer shorts hugged all those flat planes and lines.
Yep. Still hot. And just about the last thing his worn-out body needed was me sniffing around for sex.
I crawled nearer and sat my ass between his legs, leaning my back into his chest, my head against his shoulder. He put his arms around my middle and adjusted his legs so the insides of his thighs pressed tightly to my hips, his crotch to my backside. His long fingers wove together tight at my belly, and I covered his hands with one of mine, resting the other on his leg. Once we were comfortable, fitted together in that way that makes you feel like you were made for it, his chest rose and fell in a long sigh.
I couldn't help it. I did the same and melted into him. All close like this, I sensed the tension in his arms, his legs—easy to miss when he looked like he just needed to sleep for a week. In spite of the effect being wrapped up in him like this had on my libido, I wasn't self-centered enough to think his weird mood had anything to do with me.
He'd said we'd talk about the blowup with Trent later. We hadn't so much as mentioned it, or anything from Marietta Falls, even.
It was dusk, that creepy but pretty nothing-time when the trees trick your eyes and bats and birds do that disappearing thing that freaks me out. West Virginia summers are loud too, with the crickets and the frogs and the occasional deer crashing through the underbrush. We just sat and listened until his breathing slowed and I could feel every beat of his heart. I had this stupid-ass romantic idea that mine matched it, and rolled my eyes at myself.
He kissed my hair and sighed into my ear.
It gave me goosebumps—and the courage, or whatever, to ask, "Okay?"
"A half hour ago, maybe not." Another kiss, and the sound of a smile, always obvious in his voice, crept in. "Right now, never fucking better."
My blood all rushed to my middle, filling out the semi I'd been sporting since he first touched me. I sat up a little, fitting myself into him tighter still. He was hard, but in a sort of lazy way. He shifted but held me right where I was.
Maybe because we were, you know, outdoors. Where my parents could stumble over us at any given moment. I was pretty sure they at least suspected I had a thing for Sam, but now wasn't the time for explanations. Or traumatizing them.
I kind of doubted that was all, though. I got it, this was heavy shit he was dealing with—someone had almost died, and he blamed himself, right or wrong. I sometimes got nervous that he wouldn't talk, for selfish, insecure, jerk-off reasons. But at that moment, not so much.
I said, "That's what I'm here for, Sammy."
He kissed my hair and squeezed me. "Sorry for being an emo kid."
I flattened my palm against his thigh and ran it up and down the length, absentmindedly enjoying him. "Nah, it's hot. Kind of mysterious and poetic."
"Ugh."
We laughed and sat there until it grew dark and the mosquitoes came out with a vengeance.
We didn't talk things out the whole time he was attending Grandma's Electric Clinic, but we touched. The occasional desperate blowjob when no one was around, or evenings spent holed up in his room making out. For me the sex was a reminder that he wasn't shutting me out—at least no more than he needed to. On his end, I hoped it made it impossible to forget that I was here for him. I think it did, because the morning we packed up to leave, his face looked like Sam again. He was as worn out as ever, but emo kid was in full remission.
Mom and Dad waved from the car window and then went about their business, having given hugs and handshakes inside, but Grandma followed us out to the driveway. She was about five-two, a hundred-nothing pounds, so seeing her hug Sam was a funny experience. His six feet plus made her seem to disappear in
his arms. Then it was my turn, and that probably didn't look much less hilarious.
She patted my cheek and said, "He's a keeper."
Whoa. What?
I mean, Grandma is cool. But I didn't exactly give her the whole "So, I like guys" talk I'd given my parents (Believe it or not, the vegan thing went down harder—they were both convinced I would die of malnutrition in a month.). I figured she knew—she was sharp as hell, and Mom probably mentioned my gayness offhand. But still, we didn't usually talk about that kind of stuff. My parents hadn't even said anything.
I said, "Uh, yeah. He is."
"I just hope you're being safe."
"Grandma!"
"Well, you're both nice boys, but—"
My face was burning up, but I was laughing too. "I am. I promise."
Sam stood five feet away, cracking up silently behind his hand.
I pulled Grandma into another hug, a lot bigger, and said, "You're the best."
When we got into the car and Grandma disappeared into the house, we must've laughed for a good five minutes before we could start driving.
"Your family rocks," he said, once he could finally get enough air to speak again. Then he put it in drive.
"We should be safer, though," I said.
He shot me a sideways look. It had been established, via the proper medical channels, that we were as safe as it gets.
So I explained, "I'm still picking splinters out of my ass from that tree."
"My pleasure, honey."
CHAPTER FIVE
Marietta Falls felt gloomy after the sunshine and freedom of the lake. Maybe it was the dark cloud of the clusterfuck we'd left behind when we bailed. Neither of us had any illusions: this was going to suck. We had explaining to do. We even talked about it a little, for the first time ever, on the way home.
Sam had spoken to Vanessa a few times while we were at the lake, and he'd promised to tell her everything when we got back. I still wasn't so sure it was a good plan—neither was my mother—but Sam insisted Nessa could handle it.
I was still a little biased from that whole thing where she'd been fucking the guy I wanted to fuck, so his judgment was probably more accurate. I was willing to rely on it. Just, I didn't expect her to call the very night we got back and invite herself over.
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