The Honor Anthology

by Emily Snow

  I ignore Brandon, searching through the dark. I mash a finger into my phone and shine its light on the ground, revealing the keys by the tire. I grab them and bring myself back up to the lock.

  “Jesse, talk to me.”

  “You can stay here and have your thing with James if you want,” I tell him without looking. “I won’t judge you. We weren’t anything, really—you and I. Can’t even call us proper boyfriends without having to suffer seeing you cringe,” I go on, twisting the key and pulling open the door.

  Brandon shoves a fist into it, slamming the door. “What the fuck you talking about, Jesse?”

  “You don’t drink?” I say, spinning on him. “‘I don’t drink,’ you said, and then you guzzle two beers in my fucking face.” His face wrinkles in confusion. “I’m guessing you had good inspiration to drink, what with two hot guys working you from every angle humanly possible. Two guys that are hotter than I’ll ever be.”

  “Is that what this is about? You jealous?”

  “Of course I’m fucking jealous. I’ll never look like … like them,” I say with a hiss, glaring back at the house where I’m quite sure James and Justin are watching this show. I can’t tell if the silhouette in the front window is a dude or a fucking lampshade. “Fuck you!” I shout at it anyway, lamp or person alike.

  “I thought this is what you wanted. Justin said—”

  “You wanted this. I told myself I wouldn’t believe it ‘til I heard it come from your mouth. But seeing yours so suctioned onto James’ in there answered it adequately enough.”

  It’s so obvious. Two better-looking men have swindled me out of my boyfriend. I was taken for a fool, manipulated into basically giving these homos permission to have their way with Brandon.

  I ruined everything tonight. I exposed Brandon to a world of man-appetite he’ll never sate, not after he’s had a taste of what’s in it. I’ve ruined what we had, whatever it was.

  Or maybe there’s nothing there but two guys who have lived next-door to each other their whole lives, falling into each other by mere default. Maybe our so-called “love” is less a matter of passion and more a matter of convenience.

  Well, that may be true for him. But it’s so much more to me.

  “It hurt me so much to see them pawing all over you at Slick’s,” I go on to the blank-faced, wordless block of beef that has become of Brandon. “I just kept thinking, he needs to see the world. I can’t keep you all to myself. Maybe it was naïve of me to think this was going to last. Maybe …”

  “But it was all your idea,” he points out. “I didn’t even want to go to Slick’s tonight. You’re the one who looked up the group. And I thought that you—”

  “I know,” I growl back. “It’s my fault, I get it. But if I hadn’t done it, would you grow to resent me later? I mean … years later. If we’re still—together or whatever. Do I keep you … caged up? Am I doing that intentionally, or …?” My voice goes soft suddenly as I lean back against my car, the feelings surging forth and threatening to suffocate me. “Maybe you needed to see that there are … other options. The world is so big, Brandon.”

  “I know how big the world is, Jesse. I’ve seen it. I know what I have and I’m fucking grateful for it. I didn’t need a lesson to teach me that.”

  “The gay world,” I amend. “I’m not all there is. I’m just the boy next door, I always was. Maybe you can just … trade me for James, or Justin, or any other fucker with a five-letter ‘J’ name.”

  “Justin has six letters.”

  “The point is,” I press on, lifting my eyes to meet his, though they’re so difficult to see in the dark that I end up searching for them, “every time you go away, I don’t know if you’re coming back. I’m so fucking scared of losing you, Brandon. Whether to a sudden deployment or to a pair of hot dudes in a bar.”

  Brandon steps close to me. His warmth touches my skin even without him touching it at all. My heart is breaking inside me.

  “Is all of this because … you think we’re just ‘for now’?”

  His voice is so uncharacteristically soft that it does strange things to my stomach and cock. I look up into his shadowed, brooding face and feel his strength. The only thing I see is the light from the front porch that catches in his eyes and makes them look like two shimmery gems.

  “Maybe,” I admit, hypnotized by his gaze.

  He brings a hand up to the side of my face, being all tender and shit. Who the fuck is this man standing in front of me? He plays with my hair there, his finger running up my ear and casting shivers down my neck. I lean into his finger, moved by the show of affection. My stomach turns when I wonder if this show of kindness is one of love, or one of goodbye.

  “I figured you’d know me better by now,” he murmurs.

  “I … I should’ve maybe … maybe said that I …”

  “You’re just standing here jackin’ your jaws and you act like I don’t give two fucks about you.” He shakes his head. “So we had a little fun tonight. Two guys turned us on each other, made me think you wanted to fuck around, made you think I wanted to fuck around, and here we are fuckin’ nothing at all. You realize I’d go along with you on about any shit-show adventure you took me on? You want to pull me to some other gay group, or take me to fuckin’ Disney World or some shit, or hit up a bar, full commando, no underwear on, I’m gonna drop all my balls and run with you, Jesse. This isn’t a ‘for now’ thing, not to me. Sure as fuck ain’t exploring no ‘options’ with a pair of fags in a fat hand-me-down country home in the middle of nowhere. You’re the only fag I want.”

  “You know I hate when you say that word.”

  “Fag? You hate the word ‘fag’? Funny, you love it when I get you on your knees worshipping my big dick. Don’t you, fag?”

  He nudges me, a smirk creeping into his lips, which I can barely see, yet know is there.

  “We have no issue in the bedroom,” I agree.

  “Nope.”

  “But what about the …” I feel my insides coming undone at the words I’m about to say. I sputter, for a moment appearing like I’m choking on air for as difficult as it is to breech this ever-forbidden subject. “What about the …”

  Brandon steps toward me, his chest pressing into my face. My back against the car, he makes a grab at my legs, hoisting me up so suddenly that I gasp. He’s so fucking strong. His face eye-level to mine, his nose grazes my cheek as he comes around to nibble on my ear. I sigh with pleasure, my eyes rocking back. Then, he bites.

  He’s about twenty times a better ear-biter than that fuck-nut Justin is.

  “What about … the …” I’m still trying to say.

  He reaches between my legs and grabs a big ol’ handful of Little Jesse, who is fast growing not little by the second. The immediate gratification I gain by his touch makes me vow never to wear underwear again, so long as Brandon’s hands are nearby. I want you always near me. I’m so sick of saying goodbye. My whole life is you, you, you … Brandon Kinney.

  “Yeah?” Brandon encourages me as he massages my painfully erect cock. “What about the … problem between your legs?”

  “Not what I was gonna say,” I breathe, drunk on sex and happily exasperated.

  “What about the … problem between mine?”

  “N-No,” I rasp just as his lips come onto mine, shutting us both the fuck up. He tastes so good, it’s like returning home when our mouths connect. Sharp, electric memories of our first weeks together rush into my mind for some reason. I swim through thoughts and feelings bursting from those first three weeks when something ignited between us over faux piano lessons and lawn-mowing and summertime heat.

  Brandon pulls away. “What about what, then?”

  I’m so worked up that I can hardly feel the nerves arresting my stomach anymore over what I want to say to him. The words have made a home in my belly, dreading the day they’d have to come out and make a big mess out of everything between Brandon and I. I hope that home they’ve made isn’t a fucking ul
cer.

  “What about … our l-love department?” I choke, the words dying in half a sigh.

  Brandon studies my face quizzically. To be fair, my question may not have been specific enough. I’ve thrust him into a strange emotional territory that, for some dumb reason, feels so oddly beneath us to discuss. Why can’t feelings just … exist? Why can’t it be simply self-evident that we both care for each other, that we both enjoy spending time together, that when we are pulled apart, it feels like the planet’s magnetic poles are finally flipping and all the sky knows is discord and chaos, ripping the atmosphere to shreds and burning us alive?

  Ugh, when did I get so fucking dramatic?

  “Love department?” he echoes back.

  “I don’t want to be a … a sappy little bitch,” I say, scuffing my feet on the gravel, even with Brandon’s body pinning me so powerfully to the car. “It’s just … especially in light of tonight … or maybe not because of it at all … I’ve always wondered where you stand on our, uh … our relationship status.”

  I realize I’m saying all of this to his chest, which lifts and falls deliciously with his every muscular breath. I would be just perfectly content to worship his mighty pecs for the next five hours and forget that I ever brought up the stupid subject of love.

  “We’re together,” he says simply.

  I wrinkle my brow, still focused on his rising and falling chest, unable to meet his stony gaze. I’m afraid it’ll melt me, and I need to keep rational right now. “But what does that … Brandon, what does that really mean?”

  He brings a hand behind my head, his pec bulging and his bicep flexing just with that simple movement, inspiring more than twenty feelings to course through my own body in response. I lift my chin now, daring my eyes into his, and with his usual brutish, affectless face, he says, “This.”

  Just when I think he’s going to kiss me, his hands grab my legs and suddenly he’s carrying me away from the car. I flinch when he stops suddenly and deposits me on the ground. Gravel digging into my back, Brandon lowers himself onto me, pinning me with his muscular arms and plunging into my face. The firm pressing of his lips against mine makes me forget fucking everything. He’s in charge. He takes what he wants. Brandon Kinney consumes me any minute of the day he damn well pleases.

  “And this,” he says when our mouths part.

  Then, his palms press into the gravel by either side of my head, and he does half a push-up and rolls onto his back, pulling me with him. Suddenly it’s me on top. Bits of gravel rain down from my body as I loom over my man, just the side of his strong, chiseled face lit by the semi-distant spray of porch light. I want to wake up next to you every damn morning.

  “Sometimes, you’re on top,” he murmurs from below, “and sometimes I am. Sometimes it’s your needs we need to meet, sometimes it’s mine. We’re together,” he says again, just as he did before. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not looking anywhere and I don’t fucking want to. What I’m saying is …”

  He sits up, which puts me in his lap and our faces so close. His hands wrap around and lock at the small of my back, his arms hugging me, our chests pressed together as he pours into my eyes.

  “What I’m saying is, I know there’s options out the ass. But you’re the only option … to me.”

  For the longest while, we just stare into each other’s eyes, Brandon’s words marinating somewhere between my heart and my brain, somehow oddly satisfying both for once.

  My cock gives a jump in my pants. His flexes in response, and both of us suddenly burst into laughter. Heart and brain now satisfied, the cocks stir to remind us of their existence. Really, when going commando, how the fuck can you forget them?

  The front door of the house opens. A very unimpressed Justin appears, hanging on the door frame with heavy-lidded eyes. “Alright, well, it’s been a really sweet time and everything,” he calls out, “but if you’re both quite done drooling over each other on our driveway, James and I want to call it a night and would appreciate you two fucking off.”

  Brandon and I share a look, then burst into another untimely fit of laughter.

  “Laugh away,” sings Justin, “but I’m tellin’ you, the both of you are gonna get bored in your little marriage here, and you will need something else. It happens to everyone and it will happen to you. James and I were gracious enough to open our home to you, and—”

  “And legs,” I add, earning a snort of laughter from Brandon.

  “It’s your loss, bitch.” Then, after a last, longing look at Brandon, Justin makes a clicking sound with his tongue, then swings shut the door.

  Brandon and I recover from our mutually amused expressions. Seeing the brightness in his eyes and the peculiar cheer that gives a bounce to his shoulders, it’s like I’m seeing an honesty from my Army boy that I’ve yet to witness. What else don’t I know about you?

  “Bored of me yet?” I ask him.

  He gives a snort and a shake of his head. “And if I was, I sure as fuck wouldn’t help myself to the first desperate bubble butt I stumbled upon.”

  “To be fair,” I murmur, slipping my arms around his thick, muscled torso, “they were kinda hot.”

  “I got all the hotness I want.”

  “Oh?” I lift an eyebrow innocently. “Where is it? Why aren’t you sharing any with me?”

  With that, he picks me right up off the gravel like I’m a goddamn schoolbook, then presses me into the hood of James’ and Justin’s flashy yellow car. Despite my protests, he literally rips my shirt off my body, throwing its frayed remnants to the side like tissue paper. If I didn’t find the moment so fucking erotic, I would’ve mourned the loss of that shirt. Before I can even draw breath for a word, Brandon flips me over and pins me to the hood. With one deft yank, he pulls down my pants, exposing my ass to the night air.

  His big dick, already sheathed and wet in record time, invades my ass cheeks.

  I groan, spreading my hands on the hood and glancing anxiously back at the house.

  “They’re gonna see us,” I hiss at Brandon.

  “I was kinda hopin’ they do.”

  “Mmm. Kinky.”

  Brandon grips my hair and pulls back my head, and the moan that escapes my lips when his cock fully enters me is much akin to the strange (and slightly embarrassing) sound that used to emit from the deepest parts of my body when he first fucked me, long ago. I grip the hood for dear life, my sweat and musk coating the slippery metal. My boner moves in a pleasurable rhythm with Brandon’s mighty thrusts.

  “B-B-Brandon,” I moan, my head still pulled back by his powerful hand.

  “Jesse,” he grunts at my back, his voice jarred by the intense thrusting of his body.

  Almost too soon, I spill my jizz underneath me on the cold, metal hood of the car. Brandon must notice because my ass clenches when I let go and hugs his cock, which still hammers me like a freight train.

  He slips out and flips me over in one quick movement. He rips off the condom, tossing it aside, then crawls onto the hood. Straddling me, he grips his meat and jerks it with complete abandon.

  His eyes never leave mine.

  “Oh, Brandon. This is a great angle for you.”

  “Let’s leave these fuckers a gift,” he grunts back, a wicked smirk teasing its way onto his lips.

  Then, Brandon erupts all over me, opting to leave his gift on my chest and face instead. It is endless. Wave after wave of white cream dresses me like a fucking salad, leaving hot ropes of Brandon’s juice on my chest, neck, and face. My eyes are mercifully spared the onslaught of Brandon’s cock-missiles.

  For a long moment, the only thing that fills the night air is the sound of our own breaths as we recover from the exertions. Our eyes seem unable to pull apart from one another as we deep breathe. The view of his sweaty torso with his rippling muscles is enough to inspire artwork.

  Belatedly, I wonder when, in all that chaos, his shirt came off.

  “How’s my Orc Warrior doing?” he asks finally, ou
t of breath. “Ready to hop in the car and get the fuck out of here, you gross piece of meat, you?”

  “I love you.”

  The words come out so fast, it almost felt like a reflex. Terror floods me the moment I let that out of me, terror nine times worse than simply bringing up the subject of our togetherness. The look in Brandon’s eyes quickly shifts from playful humor to total stoic nothingness. His eyebrows pull together, and a deep and focused look fills his face, pulling his lips tight, his nose tighter, and twisting his eyes into needles. I can’t tell if the words hurt him, touched him, or trapped him.

  “Wow,” I murmur nervously. “Big bad Brandon, scared of nothing in the world … except three dumb words.”

  His face still drawn tight with what I daresay is emotion, he puts a hand on each of my shoulders, then leans over me, bringing his face right up into mine. “There ain’t nothin’ dumb about those words,” he murmurs.

  “You look afraid.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Should I not have said it?”

  He doesn’t smile. His face contorts in what I can only take to be pain or mental anguish before he repeats, “Ain’t nothin’ dumb about those words.”

  “Brandon?”

  “Nothin’ at all.” And with that, he kisses me with all his body put into it, his breath hot against my cheeks, his lips sucking mine so hard it hurts as his weight flattens me delightfully against the hood.

  I hope like hell we leave a dent.

  [ 8 ]

  The dreaded day is here: the day Brandon goes back and I’m left to spin bottles for another four or so months before I get to lie in his arms again.

  Cuddled tightly on his bed, I can’t seem to let go when he stirs. I see his morning wood making a tent of the bed sheets and cling tighter to him, not even wanting to get out of the bed. I think even he feels the weight of the day. He’s always the one who handles this whole thing better—or at least who appears to handle it better.

  But this day isn’t the same as the others in which he’s returning to Fort Bragg. Something during this trip has changed him. I can feel it in the air as certain as I’d feel ice cubes on my chest, giving me just as much of a cause to shiver.