The Bravest Thing

by Laura Lascarso

  Anger floods me head to toe, a liquid fire burning through my veins, that he persists in asking this question when he damn well knows the answer already.

  “Fine, Seth. Here it is. I loved you when we were friends, when we were lovers, when we created art together, when we fucked. I loved you when you cheated on me, when you got me hooked on painkillers and took advantage of the most vulnerable side of me. I loved you when you had me suck you off in front of your druggie friends like I was your fucking wind-up toy. I even loved you in the desert when your fingers were around my throat, choking the life out of me. I love you right now. But we both know where that will lead me.”

  “Where’s that?” he asks like he doesn’t know already.

  “To my fucking grave. You’ll kill me or the drugs’ll kill me or I’ll kill myself. There’s no air in the room when you’re around, no space in my mind for my own thoughts or will. You make me hate myself. And if you really love me as much as you say you do, why would you want that for me?”

  I start crying, or maybe I’ve been crying. Seth pushes and he pushes and he never relents. He squeezes me so tightly that I have to lash out in all directions. He turns away, unable to face me, and stands there with his shoulders slumped while my own hands shake with rage.

  After a moment, he speaks.

  “My main influences are The Doors, Muddy Waters, and John Coltrane. For more contemporary acts, I’m a fan of Black Mountain, Kill It Kid, and The Pretty Reckless. I like the contrast of hard sounds with soft melodies. Working with Van Palamuso was one of the best experiences of my life, creatively speaking.”

  I clear my throat and swipe at my eyes. The next question is one Emilio wants me to ask.

  “What inspired you to write the song ‘China Doll’?”

  “I didn’t write it. It was written by a lover of mine, who is actually Japanese.”

  I sniff and blink away the tears and try again to regain my composure. “What does the song mean to you?”

  “Regret.”

  I wait for him to expand on it, but he doesn’t. He turns to face me, and I barrel on so I won’t have to confront him. “There have been rumors of your drug use on the road and some late appearances at shows. Is there any truth to these rumors?”

  He sighs and stretches his arms over his head. His corded muscles ripple in the light. To watch him is to want him, so I look away. “I struggle with addiction,” he says, “but every day is a new chance to make the right decision. It’s a never-ending battle.”

  “You should get help,” I say in earnest.

  “Are you clean?” he asks. “You look it.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “You’re a better man than me.”

  I lower my eyes, because I couldn’t have done it without Berlin’s help. I ask my next question. “You’re an openly gay artist in an industry that’s known for putting its performers under the microscope. What’s been your experience with that?”

  “My sexuality is my art. I don’t believe in hiding things. My experience, overall, has been very positive. I just wish it was easier for all gay boys and girls in America and worldwide to be who they are and to love who they want.”

  Seth is an activist in his own way. I’ve always admired him for that.

  “Last question: where do you see yourself in five years?”

  “With you,” he says hopefully. I stare at my phone, my throat too thick to speak. The silence stretches on. Finally he adds, “Creating music, performing sold-out shows, touring with the band, hooking up with pretty boys, living the dream.”

  “Is it a dream, Seth?” That isn’t a question I penned beforehand.

  “Sometimes it’s a dream. Sometimes it’s a nightmare. Just like me, huh, Hiroku?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and end the recording, put away my phone.

  “Do you want to go get lunch?” he asks, even though it’s closer to dinnertime. Seth lives according to a musician’s clock.

  “I can’t. I’m on deadline.”

  “Do you want a blowjob?”

  I force myself not to imagine it. “I can’t. I’m on deadline.”

  “Did you practice that line before you came in here?”

  “Yes.”

  He pouts like a kicked puppy. I want to go over and hug him good-bye, but even that is a risk. I turn toward the door.

  “Hiroku,” he calls. “Whenever you want to come back to me, I’ll be waiting.”

  I nod without turning. “Good-bye, Seth.”

  “Till next time.”

  Out on the street, I lean against the brick building and inhale a shaky breath. My limbs feel weak and bendy, but I’m outside his apartment and sober as the bright blue sky. Maybe I haven’t completely conquered my addiction, but I took a stand against it.

  I mark the occasion by getting my first tattoo.

  Berlin

  HIRO CALLS me on a Friday afternoon in late February and invites me for the weekend. I head out within the hour, arriving at his apartment just before dinnertime with an overnight bag. I told my dad I’d be back for school on Monday, and he didn’t argue. He’s been treating me like an adult ever since we got Hiro back, and I appreciate it.

  When Hiro opens the door, I’m pleased at how good he looks—healthy and bright-eyed. His hair is buzzed on both sides and long on the top like a floppy Mohawk. He’s gotten back to his fighting weight, and his skin has a healthy glow to it. Most surprising is that he wears a light blue button-down shirt instead of his standard black. He looks kind of nervous when I come inside, or maybe it’s just the way I’m feeling.

  “What do you think?” he asks with his hands shoved deep into his back pockets.

  “You look great.”

  He shakes his head and smiles bashfully. “Not me, Berlin. My place.”

  I glance around. His apartment is quirky and artistic like him, with vintage, artsy-looking furniture and original art on the walls. He told me before he was spending a lot of time hitting up thrift stores. It’s amazing how he can take the stuff other people don’t want and make it beautiful and useful again.

  “I love it,” I say, unable to take my eyes off him. I love you is what I want to say, but I don’t want to freak him out in the first five minutes.

  “You hungry?” he asks.

  “Starving.”

  Hiro isn’t much of a cook, so we go out and grab dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant where you’re supposed to pick up your food with this thin pancake-type thing. It’s a little weird eating only with my hands, but the food is good. Hiro catches me up with all he’s been doing, even though I know most of it already from our texting back and forth. Then he tells me about his interview with Seth, something I didn’t know about before. Even though he’s sitting and breathing here before me, totally fine, I can’t help but get worked up about it.

  “You should have told your editor to have someone else do it.” Seth tried to kill him, or had he forgotten? Hiro shouldn’t be within five hundred feet of that son of a bitch. Ever.

  “I had to do it,” Hiro says as if that’s a good enough reason.

  “Then you should have had me go with you.”

  “I needed to face him myself.”

  “Have you seen him since?” I don’t want him to think it’s because I’m jealous, though that might be part of it. Mainly I don’t want Seth to hurt him or tempt him into using drugs and wreck what Hiro’s worked so hard to achieve.

  He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t.”

  Then he asks me about school, clearly wanting to change the subject. I tell him about Trent’s visit and Coach Cross being fired, the football team being suspended, and a new host of coaches coming in for next year.

  “You going to try out for the team?” he asks.

  A lot of the guys on the football team are the same, and even though things with Trent have cooled off, I’m not sure I want to poke the hornet’s nest again. I miss football, but not as much as I thought I would. “Maybe. Possibly.”

&n
bsp; Hiro chuckles, and I remember the beginning of the school year, when I told him I was maybe, possibly, gay.

  “You should,” he says. “Maybe I’ll come to a game, do a couple of cheers from the sidelines.” He winks at me and I imagine it, kind of getting hot under the collar. Hiro licks his lips and stares at me like he might be having some bedroom thoughts of his own.

  We leave the restaurant shortly after that. Back at his apartment, the easy conversation we shared over dinner kind of dies away, and we eye each other with uncertainty. We haven’t talked about it, but I know what I want—I’ve been reining it in all night long. I’m dammed up and ready to burst. But I don’t want to make him uncomfortable or force him into something he’s not ready for.

  “I have to show you something,” he says. He unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. In the place of his scar, there’s a tattoo of two dragons circling each other, a black one and a white one, kind of like yin and yang. I come closer to get a better look. The detail is amazing. The artist did such a good job you can hardly see the scar.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “You like it?” He puffs out his chest in order to see it better.

  “I love it.” I trace my finger around its shape and get lost in all that smooth, wheat-colored skin. My hands are itchy, my mind a tangle of desire. Hiro glances up at me, parts his lips just a little bit.

  It begins with a shuffle in my direction, then a sigh. He drapes one arm over my shoulder and tilts his head as if making an offering of his neck. I go for it, lapping at his sweet-smelling skin, my hand in his hair, the other on the bare skin of his lower back. My hand slides down the smooth slope into his pants, rounding over his ass and cupping him underneath his boxer briefs. A perfect fit.

  He tugs at my shirt, so I yank it over my head. He kisses my chest, teeth nibbling at one of my nipples, then the other. I unbutton his pants and reach inside to find him already hard. I kneel in front of him to suck him off, but he stops me.

  “Come on.”

  He pulls me into the bedroom, and we rip off the rest of our clothes along the way like they’re on fire. He hooks his elbow around my neck, drawing me down into a bottomless kiss, and we tumble into his bed. He throws one leg over my hip so our cocks knock into each other playfully. I scale my hand down his chest and trace the ridges of his abdomen. I want him so bad. I always have, but now it finally feels right for both of us.

  My hand strays farther south, and I stroke his cock a few times, then cup his balls in the palm of my hand. He arches his back and groans.

  “I want this,” he says with a shudder. “You?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, nosing his neck and kissing the underside of his jaw.

  “It takes some prep work.”

  “I’ve been studying.” If you could get a PhD in the study of gay sex, I’d be Dr. Webber by now.

  He points to a drawer in the bedside table, and inside it I find condoms and lube. I drop them on the bed and slather my fingers—probably using too much, but I figure that’s better than not enough.

  Hiro draws up his knees. His thick cock flops against his stomach, and I take a moment to lick it from the base to its tip, sucking on the head like a jawbreaker and then popping it out of my mouth. I sit back and admire the tightness of his cock and balls, the silky black hair glistening in the lamplight. My own cock digs into his thigh as I reach down and massage his ribbed hole with the tip of my index finger, coaxing it open with slow circles.

  “Mmmm,” he groans, eyes closed, back arching, exposing his neck. With my tongue I trace the line from the base of his throat to his upturned chin. His lips curve into a smile. I slip one finger inside him, sliding it gently up and down, while he clutches my neck and moans into my shoulder. My focus narrows to this one task of getting him ready for me, the warm pulse of his ringed muscle as it clenches around my knuckle. I imagine what that pressure might feel like around my cock, and I shiver with anticipation.

  “How’s this?” I ask him.

  “So good,” he utters, drawing his knees higher to give me better access. My cock bobs eagerly and leaves a syrupy trail on his thigh. The grip that held my finger loosens, and before he can tighten up again, I slip a second digit inside him.

  “Uhhh,” he groans, brow furrowed, mouth open. He jerks at his rigid cock a few times. Watching him in such an unrestrained state of arousal makes me just about lose it. I twist my two fingers inside him, stretching him like a tight rubber band. I don’t think three will fit.

  “I’m ready,” he says in a husky voice.

  “You sure?”

  He nods, and I carefully withdraw my fingers and wipe them on the sheets, fumble with the condom and more lube like there’s a timer attached to a bomb and it’s going to go off if I don’t get inside him quick enough. Hiro chuckles and lifts his arms over his head, seeming completely at ease, trusting me to take the lead.

  I hope I know what I’m doing.

  When everything is in place, I kneel with my knees spread wide and knock at his door. Seems like such a tight spot for what I’m offering. I want this more than anything, but I don’t want to hurt him.

  “You got this,” he says, perhaps noticing my hesitation. He places both hands on my hips, urging me on. Something clicks then, and my body takes over. I nudge at his puckered hole with the tip of my sheathed cock, and with the first pulse, I bore into him, pausing with my head just inside as he gasps and tightens up around me. The compression sends a surge of pleasure through me. With a growl, he hugs my ass to him and draws me all the way inside. I shudder down to my toes. I never imagined it could feel this good.

  “Stay here a minute,” he says.

  “Does it hurt?” I start to pull away, and he locks one leg around my lower back, anchoring me to him.

  “Stay,” he commands, and I make my body still as he takes a few deep breaths. “Okay. Go ahead. Start slow.”

  I rock my hips gently back and forth, moving only inches, loving the friction and heat of our two bodies locked together. The warmth spreads outward, like a living, throbbing being. I’m sure my cock has never had a true purpose until now.

  “That good?” I ask, checking in with him.

  “So good,” he purrs contentedly.

  I lean over him, heart racing, arms braced on either side of him. He meets my eyes, the lazy smirk still on his face, then leans up to kiss me. I drop down on my elbows and deepen the kiss. I’m so far up inside him, on both ends, I don’t ever want to surface. His heels dig into my back like spurs, urging me on, and I drive deeper into him.

  “Make me come,” he says. He reaches for his own cock, and I raise myself up to give him room. Watching him get off with me inside him, steering him, knowing our bodies can do this for each other, I’m overcome by it all. I lean in to kiss his forehead once, and my rhythm quickens—a trot, then a canter. My hips knock into his spread thighs, my balls slap against his ass, skin on skin, flesh pounding against flesh. He wrenches his cock and floods us both with his release, warm and sticky on my chest. I smell his cum mixed with sweat, the tang of our sex, and there’s nothing more I can do to hold back.

  “I’m about to….” I mutter.

  “Go ahead.”

  I drill in deeper than I thought possible and explode inside him. He grabs my ass with both hands and holds me there until the very last tender pulse.

  I’m so dizzy the room is spinning. I must have been holding my breath.

  “Hiro,” I say softly, stunned and a little disoriented. There’s no better feeling in the world than this. There can’t be. He hugs me to him and strokes my back. I don’t know what else to say.

  When we’ve both caught our breath, I pinch the rim of the condom and pull away from him slowly so it doesn’t slip. I wish I didn’t have to, though. I’d rather stay inside him, just like that, forever.

  “I never thought sex would feel that good,” I tell him.

  He smiles. “Me neither.”

  He gets up, a little unste
ady on his feet, and I follow him to the bathroom, where we take a shower together. He lets me wash him, including his hair. I want to make it last, my hands on his skin, in his hair, his wet body pressed against mine, kissing the curve of his neck, drawing my hands down his chest and abs, cupping his balls. I think about what we just did, and I can hardly stop myself from blurting out all the thoughts running through my mind. He trusted me enough to make himself vulnerable. That means a lot to me. I don’t want to scare him off, though, so I keep my feelings to myself.

  “It was good, huh?” I say to him when we’re lying in bed again. His head is propped up on my chest, and I play my fingers in his damp hair.

  “So good,” he says. “I can’t wait for your second time.” He has a smile on his face. He looks happy.

  “I liked it.” I can hardly keep the smile off my face.

  “I could tell.” He looks at me smugly. “I liked it too. Good stuff.”

  I take a deep breath and watch his head rise and fall on my chest. He gets quiet and thoughtful and I wonder what’s on his mind, so I ask.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” He sits up on the bed, folds his legs crosswise. I must look worried because he reaches over and smooths my forehead with his thumb. “I’m not saying it to get any kind of reaction from you. I just want to be honest.”

  “Okay,” I say with some hesitation. He isn’t making me feel any better.

  He grabs my hand and stares down at it, his black lashes falling like curtains over his eyes. “I’m developing feelings for you,” he says softly.

  My smile comes back, and I sigh with relief. “Developing?” I say, mostly to tease him. My own feelings are full-blown. He frowns. He looks so down about it. “Why the face?” I ask.

  “I don’t deserve you.” He shakes his head.

  That’s horse shit if ever I heard it. It’s Seth who brought him down so low. I lift his chin so he’ll look at me. “I don’t know if you deserve me, Hiro, but you do deserve someone who appreciates you. You’ve got a big heart and a great sense of humor and you’re artsy and smart.” I pause, not sure if I should go there, but figure, well why not? “And you’re hot and you know it.”