Hard Truths

by Alex Whitehall

  When I could breathe again, I groaned and dug my blunt nails into his back. “Yeah? What are you gonna do with me now?”

  I should have known better than to egg him on, but when he had me like this, I couldn’t seem to help myself.

  The hand in my hair left, but all I saw were his dark eyes, not where the hand went. “Maybe I should fuck you without any lube.” He nipped my lip again. “Tight around my cock.” He shoved two fingers in.

  I howled—in pain, in pleasure, maybe in fucking need as his words tricked my brain into thinking he was giving me exactly what he’d promised. I clamped around his lubed fingers as he worked them into me, fucking me hard. As the initial wave of shock wore off, heat flared to life and tore through my body.

  “Oh, fuck me,” I moaned, beginning to shove myself down onto his fingers, wanting them deeper.

  Logan chuckled. God, I loved his chuckles. “My pleasure.”

  The fingers left me, I heard the squirt of the lube bottle, and then after some fumbling, he hoisted me a bit higher on the wall. I caught his gaze and nodded that I was ready. A moment later, the head of his cock breached my hole, hot lubed skin sliding into me. A shudder of absolute pleasure racked my body. Even after a month of going bare, the newness, the intimacy of feeling him in me like this was amazing.

  Once the head passed through the tight ring of muscles, he drew back from the wall far enough that gravity took over, sliding him into me with one smooth, unforgiving motion.

  I almost came from that. The ache as he filled me had my head thrown back, and a deep groan pushed from my throat. Balls-deep and I wanted more. I wanted to ride it hard until we were both spent and unable to do anything else for the day but lie in bed.

  Instead, the hard wall pressed to my back again and he slowly slid out, his hands on my hips lifting me. He was making a show of it too, going all the way until the crown stretched the ring of muscles, and I could do nothing but take what he gave me. It was exactly what I needed today.

  He slammed into me, and I muffled a curse against his shoulder. He didn’t give me time to adjust—he was already pulling out, then a second later sliding back in. The muscles beneath my lips flexed and strained while he held me. I opened my mouth to taste the skin—a kiss, a lick.

  I bit down hard. He was growling words at me, dirty, filthy promises in revenge for my teeth sinking into his skin, but his cock kept filling me, pounding into me, telling me he was enjoying it as much as I was. I released the bite only so I could breathe—gasp, really—and try to work with his fantastically brutal thrusts as much as I could while pinned to the wall.

  Logan growled, “Fuck! You’re—”

  I kissed him, swallowing words like tight and hot and going to come.

  The romance books he always read—and that I might have sampled—would say that the bottom could feel the top’s come filling him, but that wasn’t quite accurate. I felt his hips stutter, his thrust push in and stay, and I knew he was coming in me. Any specific sensations were probably in my imagination, but that didn’t matter. I knew it. And then his hand wrapped around my cock and I knew nothing except explosive release.

  My orgasm ripped from me, shooting down my spine and out my cock, draining my balls as he kept milking the pleasure from me. I was a trembling, shaking mess by the time he finally stopped, finally eased out of me and set my feet on the ground again. I was clinging to his neck, but he didn’t try to move away. Simply stepped back and let the water, made slightly cooler from the time we’d spent away from it, pour over us.

  I clung still, as his hands trailed down my crack and wiped away lube and come, my sensitive hole practically quivering at his gentle touches.

  “Fuck,” I whispered against his shoulder.

  “Maybe tonight.” He turned, nudging my cheek with his nose until I tilted my head and he could kiss me. “I don’t think either of us are up for another round.”

  I squirmed so his hand fell away from my ass, where he’d been nearly fingering me. “Then you better stop that.”

  He huffed and kissed my cheek, but left my ass alone. “Taking all the fun out of it.”

  “Sorry, love, but we do have places to be.” I kissed the bite mark I’d left on his shoulder. “You soap while I shampoo.”

  We fell into the easy business of showering, taking care to touch as much as we could between sudsing and rinsing.

  When the water was finally off and we’d grabbed our towels, I spread mine wide along my back and wrapped it around us both. Well, as far as it would go. He slid his arms around my waist and touched his nose to mine.

  I bumped our noses. “Thank you for being with me. And for your support today.”

  “I’m proud to be beside you,” he murmured.

  We stood there in the steamy air, capturing the peace and holding on for as long as we could.

  Eventually, however, we had to dry off, get ready, and begin the drive to my parents’ house.

  The music was blaring; the traffic was, by the grace of some higher power, not bad; and, despite what I was about to do, I was feeling good and loose. The shower fuck had likely played a role in that, but I was trying not to think about shower fucks and my family in the same half an hour. But right now? Feeling great.

  So that, of course, was when it happened.

  My phone vibrated in the cupholder. Logan glanced over from where he was driving. We were in my car, but he’d offered to drive, probably knowing my attention wouldn’t be on the road. “That mine?”

  “No, mine.” I turned down the music before glancing at the screen. I frowned. “My sister.”

  I answered the call. “What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry,” she growled down the line like she was using a voice manipulator. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sue? What’s wrong? You sound weird.”

  “I’m—” She broke off with a hacking cough that dominoed into several more. “Sorry.”

  “Shit, are you okay?”

  “Sick,” she grunted. “I’ve been tired all week, but last night my nose started running and today . . .” She gave a death cry. Yeah, she sounded it.

  “Well, I hope you feel better soon.”

  “Zacky, I’m sorry.”

  “Why? Did you get sick on purpose?” I teased.

  “No—” pause for coughing “—but I’m not going to be able to be there today.”

  Oh. Oh shit.

  She wasn’t going to be there. I had told her—warned her—that I was bringing Logan and I was coming out to Mom and Dad. She was supposed to be there to talk them down if they flipped out about it. Not that I blamed her for being sick! But fuck.

  “I’m sorry,” she croaked.

  “Oh hell, Sue, don’t apologize! I’m sorry you’re feeling so sick. You focus on feeling better. Do you have someone to help you?” Maybe we could skip Mom and Dad’s and use going to help Sue as an excuse.

  “Yeah, Judi is coming over. Her husband’s overseas and her family is on the other side of the country, so she was going to be on her own anyway.” Sue paused for an inhale, and it set off a series of choking coughs.

  “I’m glad you won’t be alone. Do you need me to come over anyway?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. Mom will kill you if you bail too.”

  Damn, there went that escape. “You’re not bailing!”

  She gave a phlegmy chuckle. “She wasn’t convinced I didn’t get sick just to ruin her holiday.”

  “Yes, because everyone loves ruining a four-day weekend by being sick. God, our parents. Well, I hope you feel better soon. And if you need anything, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  It was obvious how this short call had drained her energy, so we said our goodbyes and hung up.

  “What’s happening?” Logan asked. “Is Sue okay?”

  “No, she has a horrible cold, it sounds like. So she won’t be there today.”

  “Shit.”

  Yeah, that was about the long and short of it. I stared down at my phon
e, suddenly not sure. This seemed like a sign. A warning. Maybe I wasn’t meant to tell my parents now, after all.

  But we were already three-quarters of the way there, which meant we either had to turn around to return Logan to my place—and I’d have to deal with my parents solo, after having arrived late—or I had to make up a good excuse as to why my sister’s ex-boyfriend was coming with me to Thanksgiving dinner.

  Honestly, while I had no issue lying to my parents, I had major issues claiming Logan was anything less than the love of my fucking life, especially right in front of him.

  So there was only one thing to do.

  “Want to turn around?” Logan asked.

  “No.”

  He glanced to me, confusion painted over his brow. “No?” He looked back to the road. “I guess it makes more sense for me to hang out at a diner or something down there. Then you won’t be late.”

  “No.”

  “Then how are we explaining me being there?”

  I took a deep breath. “By telling them you’re my boyfriend.”

  “But your sister won’t—”

  “I know. I know, but I want to do this. I want to move in together and be together everywhere. I don’t want to lie to my parents anymore.”

  He reached over with one hand and grabbed mine, holding it tightly. “You don’t have to. I shouldn’t have held moving in together over your head like that. It was stupid. You don’t need to do this. We can move in anytime.”

  I squeezed his hand, then lifted it to kiss his knuckles. “Thank you, that means a lot. But I think it’s time. No, I know it’s time. I choose you over them if they can’t accept me for who I am.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t sound certain—in fact, he sounded scared—but strangely I felt sure enough for both of us.

  The rest of the drive was quiet. I took a little time to text Sue that we were following through with our plans to tell Mom and Dad, so she might need to do some cleanup still. She wished me good luck and told me she’d be there to talk if I needed her.

  Before I knew it, we were pulling into the driveway and Logan was turning off the car.

  “Last chance,” he said. “I don’t need to come in.” He gave me an approximation of a smile. “I can drive home and start moving your stuff into my place.”

  I unhooked my seat belt, leaned over, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Come in and meet my family? Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

  “No.” He cupped my cheek and kissed me proper. “I love you. Let’s do this.”

  We grabbed the fruit salad and apple pie—my mom only ever baked pumpkin, but my dad loved apple, so we were hoping it would soften him up—and went to the front door. Logan paused, raising his hand to knock, but I just twisted the doorknob and stepped inside, giving him a playful side-eye. “Mom, Dad, we’re here!”

  “Hi, honey! We’re in the kitchen!”

  As if my mother would be anywhere else on a holiday morning.

  I glanced over at Logan. “Ready?”

  He nodded. “You?”

  I nodded. As ready as I’d ever be. I wished that Sue could be here, but wishes were like ponies: I didn’t have room for them in my life.

  We headed down the hallway to the kitchen, Logan trailing slightly behind me. He stopped in the archway, and I continued forward.

  “Hey, Mom. We brought the fruit salad you wanted.” I set the pie down next to the one that was cooling on the counter, so I could give her a one-armed side-hug. “And, Dad, we made an apple pie, since I know how much you like them.”

  My mom smiled but didn’t turn from what she was doing. “Good! Put the fruit in the fridge, dear. I’ll be a minute with these potatoes, then I can say hi properly.”

  Dad looked up from the newspaper as I popped the container of chopped fruit into the fridge. His eyes gleamed with interest. “Apple pie?”

  I grinned at him. “Yep. And Mom has ice cream for dessert to go with it.”

  “I’ll have to thank your little lady for doing that.”

  Before I could reply, my dad’s eyes tracked across the kitchen, following my trail to where “my little lady” would likely be standing. Of course all he found was Logan, who stood up straighter where he was not-quite-hiding, his periwinkle-blue long-sleeved shirt pulling taut across his shoulders.

  My dad frowned, his brow scrunching.

  Logan briefly caught my eye, but my reactions were delayed, like I was moving through tar. Thankfully Logan was always quick on his feet. “Actually, Mr. Landes, Isaac helped me make the pie.”

  “Oh,” Dad grunted.

  Mom spun on her heels, the flap of the apron flaring slightly as if to show how dramatic the moment was.

  “Oh!” she squeaked. “Oh, hello, um, Logan. We weren’t expecting you.”

  “I told you I was bringing a guest, Mom,” I managed to say, closing the fridge door. I began making my way across the kitchen, but it suddenly seemed larger than the Sahara Desert.

  “Well, yes.” She tittered. “But when you said a guest, we assumed you meant a girlfriend.”

  And so the moment arrived. I felt no more prepared for it now than I had in the months—years—of contemplating it. But Logan’s warm gaze was on me, giving me strength. So fuck it.

  “Well, Logan’s my boyfriend.”

  There. I’d said it. Yet I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

  “Obviously.” Mom tittered again. “We thought you were bringing someone special, though, honey.” She smiled apologetically at Logan. “Not that you’re not welcome.”

  Which seemed kind of rude even if he hadn’t been my boyfriend, but I barely had that thought before words were spilling from my mouth. “Mom, he is special. We’re dating. He’s my boyfriend. I’m gay.”

  I stopped short of saying He fucked me in the shower this morning, hoping that she’d get the point without me having to be quite so graphic. Also, I didn’t want to taint this morning’s memories by dragging them through this bullshit.

  “Oh.”

  A heavy hush weighed down the air, making my movements slower as I crossed the kitchen, but I eventually reached Logan, who was standing just inside the kitchen. I clasped his hand, weaving our fingers together to give a visual of what boyfriend and gay meant. My heart pounded in the space between our palms, but Mom and Dad were silent. Mom was staring at us, her lips parted, eyes wide, confusion on her face, like I’d tried to explain complex physics to her rather than my relationship.

  A glance at my father showed very different emotions gathering on his brow. He was visibly in shock, but I could see the anger brewing. The wrinkles on his forehead increased with each breath that I struggled to gasp.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer.

  “I hope we’re both still welcome at your table for Thanksgiving. I know this is a bit of a shock, so if you need time to think it through, we can step out. Or if you have questions, we can answer them.”

  “Questions?” Dad nearly growled. The scrape of the chair legs against the tile pierced the air when he stood. “Yeah, I have a question: when did my son become a goddamn fag?”

  I had never heard that word come from my father’s mouth before, and it shocked me to hear it now, more than the pure vehemence with which it was said. It must have startled Mom as well, because her face transformed from gaping fish into a frown. “Now, dear, there’s no need to name-call. I’m sure—I’m sure we misunderstood what Isaac meant.”

  The denial was strong with this one. I wasn’t about to give a demonstration on what exactly I meant by This is my boyfriend, though. I didn’t even want to risk a kiss, mostly because my father clearly had no misconception about what I’d said and was glaring at us and moving forward with robotic, jerky motions.

  “No, Mom, Dad’s right. I’m a fag.” I fought the revulsion that wanted to run through my body at the word. Logan squeezed my hand. “Logan’s my boyfriend. I love him. I wanted you to know.”

  And to accept it.

  I
wasn’t sure I’d ever considered that a possibility, though.

  “What did you do to my son, you goddamn spic!”

  It wasn’t really a question, and considering the chair my father had picked up and was swinging at Logan, there was no expectation of an answer.

  “No!” I lunged forward, turning my back on my father and throwing my body between Logan and the chair.

  In that split second, my only thought was that I hadn’t expected violence from my father. Not like this.

  As the chair slammed into me, I realized that maybe I should have.

  Pain stabbed my body as the legs hit me. Crack! Crack! I was shoved forward into Logan, who caught me before I fell. I clung to his broad shoulders, fingers twisting in his shirt. I stared at his chin. What’s happening? Is this happening?

  “You’re disgusting!” my dad shouted.

  The chair slammed into me again, but this time there were no legs to break off and nowhere for the momentum to push me except into Logan, plastering my face to his chest. Hot pain splintered through my body.

  Logan stepped back, dragging me with him. “What the fuck!”

  “No!” That was my mom.

  I heard noises behind, but all I could focus on was the button poking into my cheek. It didn’t particularly hurt, but all my attention narrowed in on that. It wasn’t pleasant. I should move. Adjust myself so I could lie in Logan’s arms more comfortably. But I couldn’t seem to. Why was I lying in Logan’s arms if I was standing up? Was I standing up?

  “Zack? Zack? Fuck, c’mon, babe.” Logan sounded fragile. Scared.

  I wanted to tell him it was fine. My dad would calm down, and we’d talk this through. Instead I clung to Logan, vaguely aware that we were walking—well, he was walking and my feet were taking me wherever he led. The cool air was refreshing on my face. Oh, I was no longer pressed against his chest. I blinked into the sunlight and my feet faltered, but Logan was there to steady me. I looked over.

  Logan’s face was pasty like uncooked wheat bread, and his eyes were wide, framing the irises in white. “Zack?”