by Amy Lane
The cheap brown leather couch sported rips that had been duct-taped, and the green-and-brown plaid love seat smelled like athlete’s foot. The stark white walls made the apartment look smaller and more sterile than a doctor’s office, and he shut the door and practically ran to the bedroom so he could make the bed with his new comforter and sheets. When he was done, he set up the ugly knitted dolls, with their garish, eyeball-smacking colors, and took a deep breath.
Yeah. That worked. He spent the next ten minutes taking his clothes out of his suitcase and putting them in the cheap pasteboard dresser—and then taking them out again when he saw a bug. He’d buy some bug traps and some dresser liners tomorrow. It would all be fine.
He’d rescued his computer and his DVDs, and the apartment had Wi-Fi, and he’d bought himself a two-liter bottle of Coke and a big bag of M&M’s with peanuts from the grocery store that morning. When he’d finished his redecorating, he put on his pajama bottoms and his favorite T-shirt and pulled the comforter around his lap. Then he sat on his bed in front of his computer and watched Teen Wolf, season two, on Netflix until two in the morning, when the soda was gone, he’d peed for the last time, and he absolutely, positively couldn’t keep his eyes open for another minute.
When he’d cleaned off the bed and closed the computer, he huddled under the blankets for about fifteen minutes, hoping the chill of the apartment would disappear as soon as his body warmed the sheets.
When he fell asleep, he was still waiting.
THE next day, after he’d gone to work out and then visited Chase, he stopped and bought some cleaning supplies and bug traps and some posters and stuff for his walls. He wondered what his mom had done with all of his stuff, and then thought he should probably text his sisters with his new address.
Belladonna was the only one to reply.
Thanks, Ev. It’s good to know you’ve found your feet. We’re moving Danni in two weeks, but the rest of us have all our stuff here.
Mom let you go?
We moved all our stuff while she was gone one day. She hasn’t contacted any of us since.
Think she will?
We can’t afford to care—not for a while.
Evan figured she was probably right. The idea of talking to his mom right now, when he felt like crap anyway? No. It would take months—years—before he could even try to fix that hole.
I get it. Can I have your address?
There was a really long pause.
Allie says no. Social services is up our ass like an ugly bug.
Okay. Thanks. Talk to you later.
Ev, you know we love you, right?
Bye.
He half expected her to blow up his phone then, but she didn’t. It was him and this shitty apartment and the rest of season two. That was okay. When he was done with Teen Wolf, he had Warehouse 13, Alphas, Eureka, Cowboy Bebop, Game of Thrones, and Bleach.
And then there was the musical theater.
He’d be good until his next scene, right? And there was always Jonah tomorrow. That would be good. He’d pick Jonah up the next morning. They could go to lunch. He’d try to be more natural around him, maybe hug him, right?
He slid in bed and hugged his yarn dolls, Jonah’s face dancing behind his eyes. Jonah had soft, full lips and giant gray eyes and sandy blond hair. His skin looked so smooth, and his hair was curly and probably soft, and in spite of Jonah’s complaints about his body, Ethan thought he was slender and appealing. Ethan wanted to feel for the little muscles defined under his smooth skin, and he wanted to see what his stomach looked like as he lay on his back. Would it indent under Jonah’s ribs? Would he have freckles? Little flat moles? Those tan stork marks that appealed to Ethan so very much? Were his nipples shell pink or that surprising plum color? Would the hair at his groin be sand colored, like the hair on his head, or would it be darker brown? Would he have definition in his thighs, or would they be soft and yielding as Ethan slipped between them and licked him from anus to the tip of his (long? Short? Fat? Thin? Bent?) cock?
What sort of noises would he make as Ethan rimmed him, stretched him and lubed him and then sank deep into his body and started to stroke? Would it hurt? Ethan could make it not hurt—he was good at that. He could gentle him and kiss him, swallowing his sounds and making sure every whimper was because Jonah wanted it, was wondrous with it, revered Ethan for giving him the touch, the gentleness, the arching back, the groan of pleasure, the feel of cock and shiver and thrust and come—
Ethan muffled his sound against the pad of his palm as he stroked his cock with his other hand, familiar with what it would take him to spasm and climax but unfamiliar with the shame, the embarrassment, the mortification that followed.
He wiped himself off in the bathroom and brought one of his workout towels to sop up the wet spot on his brand-new sheets. He didn’t know what to think, how to feel, about coming to a fantasy, not when the fantasy was too innocent to know how wrong it was that Ethan should want him at all.
HE TRIED to play it cool when he picked Jonah up from his apartment. He parked out front and walked up the stairs, trying not to look like a mother’s worst nightmare.
What a relief when Amelia opened the door instead, her face pale, two dots of color standing out on her cheeks and her tiny body swathed from head to foot in thick pajamas and an overlarge sweatshirt, slippers, and even a hat over her sandy-blonde hair.
Ethan looked at her in surprise at first, and then he had his first moment of worrying about someone beside himself in nearly two weeks. “You’re sick!” he said, feeling horrible.
“And you’re standing in the doorway!” she responded, but she was smiling. Ethan stepped inside damned quick, and she shut the door behind him and then walked to the couch against the back wall and wrapped herself in the brightly flowered blanket in the corner.
He looked around the room for a moment. The little room was pretty sparsely decorated—floral drapes and a few pictures on the wall of what Ethan thought of as “woman’s paintings,” which featured bright flowers and impressionist artists. A small table sat by the dark little kitchenette, and Ethan thought that maybe the best part was there wasn’t anything to clean. His own mother would come home and take inventory about what the cleaning girl had gotten wrong, and then make sure all the kids knew what to tell her she needed to fix. The television was on, the DVR paused. Melly was obviously in the middle of something.
“Whatcha watching?” he asked as she picked up the remote.
“Game of Thrones. I wasn’t watching it, and then everyone went nuts over ‘the Red Wedding’ and I spent all summer catching up.” She smiled up at Ethan, her eyes dancing, and he grinned back.
“Wow—I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty. That’s awesome!”
“Have you seen it?”
“It’s on my list. I’m starting it as soon as I’m done with Cowboy Bebop.”
Amelia sighed and set the remote down. “Well, hell—I can’t spoil the ending for you. We’ll just have to wait until my stupid brother is done. Jonah! Get your ass out here—Ethan’s here!” Her yelling was amusing right up until she started coughing. She was in midcough when she reached down next to the little white nebulizer next to her and switched it on. Steam floated up, thick and hopefully cleansing, and Ethan looked around for a Kleenex. Amelia picked up a small bowl next to her and spat into it when she was done with her coughing fit, and then sighed and stood up. She looked apologetically at Ethan and then shuffled down the hall to what was presumably the bathroom, where she probably dumped the bowl.
Ethan grimaced. Poor kid.
Then he heard Jonah’s voice in the hallway. “Ameeeeeelya!”
“Don’t start,” she said hoarsely. “When’s Mom getting here with the antibiotics?”
Her question was answered when the front door opened. Ethan stood up hurriedly as a tired, thin middle-aged woman burst through the front door and shut it behind her. She gave Ethan a harried, dismissive glance and called, “Melly? Where’d you go!�
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“To the bathroom,” Amelia grumbled, shuffling out of the hallway. Ethan pulled her blanket back so she could plop on the couch, and then he covered her back up and sat down again next to her. “You got the meds?”
“Yeah, Melly—did Jonah help you with your breathing treatment?”
“Yup. Hawked up at least half a lung—you would have been proud.”
Jonah’s mother rolled her eyes and hurried into the kitchen, and Ethan could hear the running of water.
“Sorry you’re sick,” he said quietly. “I hope it wasn’t because we went out last week.”
Amelia shook her head. “I’ve got constant crap in my lungs,” she said. “Lung infections are part of the game. The real fun is the revolving antibiotics. If I’m lucky, the ones Mom brought will work. If I’m not lucky, I’ll be back in the hospital while they pump the big guns in my veins.” She sighed and tried a smile for Ethan. “Let’s hope for lucky,” she said gamely.
Ethan nodded. “I’ll hope for you!”
She laughed a little. “Why are you late? Jonah was sort of relieved because he had to stay home with me until Mom got here, but he didn’t say why.”
Ethan darted his gaze to the hallway, but Jonah, whatever he was doing, wasn’t appearing by magic. “I was dropping out of Folsom Community College,” he said, trying to be as casual about it as she’d been about her health.
“Oh no, why? Thanks, Mom.”
Ethan looked up and smiled weakly at Jonah’s mother, who was looking at him with a sort of weary curiosity as she gave Amelia a tablet and a glass of water.
“You dropped out of school?” she asked, concerned.
“Well, yeah. I sort of had to move, and I got my apartment down here near my job”—oh shit, don’t mention the job—“so I’m going to just have to take the classes again down here next semester.” He hadn’t been doing great, and he was sort of embarrassed about that. Maybe nothing gave you an appreciation for junior college like realizing you could have gone to a university and were barely skating by.
“That’s too bad,” Jonah’s mom said, dropping into the recliner opposite Amelia. “Why’d you have to move?”
Ethan stood up abruptly. “Long story. Jonah? Jonah? Are you ready yet?”
“Yeah! Sorry, Ethan!” Jonah popped his head out of the hallway and smiled at him, embarrassed. “I was an idiot and knocked over one of my betta hexes—I’ve been cleaning up the mess and making sure my fish is okay!”
Ethan let a big old eighty-pound weight drop off his shoulders, just to see Jonah and know he wasn’t alone. “Are you all cleaned up? Do you need help?” Oh, please, God, Jonah, don’t leave me out here alone with your mother for another nanosecond!
“No, no—I got it.” Jonah came out dressed like Ethan—jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, just two guys going to the comic-book store—and Ethan gave thanks to a merciful god. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Jonah walked up to his mom and kissed her cheek, just like that, and she smiled at him and didn’t tell him he looked sloppy or yell at him for keeping Ethan waiting or anything. “I have the Crock-Pot plugged in, and there’s tuna and lettuce in the fridge, with the good kind of hummus. Melly ate, but I bought fruit last night, so she can have that and some cheese if she’s hungry before the beans are done.”
Mrs. Jonah’s mom nodded, looking just wiped out enough that Ethan thought she’d probably fall asleep in the recliner right there. Ethan, in his wildest imaginings, couldn’t picture his own mother giving him a kiss on the cheek and a thank-you and then falling asleep on the recliner.
He couldn’t imagine her just being nice to the stranger in her living room without giving him the third degree.
“What time will you be home?” she asked, and Ethan realized that with Amelia being sick, it wasn’t really an intrusive question.
“I don’t know, Mom—we’re sort of playing it by ear?” Jonah looked questioningly at Ethan, and Ethan realized he hadn’t thought of that. This isn’t a date, dammit!
“I, uhm, I was thinking probably nine or ten if we saw a movie or got something to eat. Text him and I’ll bring him home if you need him.”
He watched Jonah’s mom’s smile bloom slowly across her face. “Thank you—that’s nice. I hate to loom over your day like this, Jonah, but—”
“Yeah, Mom. No worries.” Jonah looked over at his sister, who waved ironically.
“Don’t mind me, I’m just waiting for you goobers to go so I can watch my show.”
“Don’t be a smartass, Melly, okay?” Jonah pleaded.
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Go play and have your not-date. I’ve got couch-potatoing to do. It’s an art, not a science.”
“And don’t forget to run on your treadmill, even for ten minutes!” Jonah said excitedly, and Amelia sighed and coughed, and his mother pulled herself out of her chair and waved him off.
“Go!” she laughed, for all her eyes were drooping, and Ethan pulled him through the door gently, thinking that he’d give his left nut to be loved like that.
“We can come back early,” he said, keeping his arm around Jonah’s shoulders casual.
Jonah leaned into him and he realized he’d broken the rule—the no-touching rule he’d set out for him and Jonah from the get-go—and decided he sucked as a human being, but he wasn’t taking the arm back.
Jonah smiled, so sweetly, so trusting, and Ethan pulled him a little tighter.
“Thanks,” Jonah said as they got to the bottom of the stairs.
“For what?”
“For coming to get me. For the no-angst hug.”
Ethan had nothing for that. “Do you want food?” he said. “I’m starving—I worked out and didn’t eat. Let’s go get something to eat and then we can either go to Roseville or to these two places I found by my apartment. Which way do you want to go?”
“Downtown is so much cooler than Roseville,” Jonah said. Roseville had become a bedroom community to Sacramento, and while the old town had some charm, much of it was strip malls and suburbs.
“I’m totally down with that,” Ethan said fervently. “And then after the comic-book stores, we can see if there’s any movies out, have some dinner, and make it a day!”
Jonah nodded, looking at Ethan like he was Prince Charming, saving him from his day of drudgery in that plain room with people who loved him. Ethan felt like a total fraud, because he knew the truth: better a plain room with people who loved him than a fancy house in Folsom with no love at all. And better either one of those options than what Ethan had to go home to, and that was from his heart to God.
They stopped at Chevy’s for unlimited chips and a salad first, and Jonah spent most of the conversation kvetching about work—Tommy included.
“It’s like he’s never heard of those little social words, you know? ‘Jonah—get cat food. Now.’ I mean, after work he’s the greatest guy in the world, but when shit gets busy, I’m surprised he doesn’t end up with a can of cat food pitched at his head.”
Ethan cracked up thinking about Tommy naked, crouched over Ethan’s cock in the classic power-bottom position, snapping, “Fuck upwards, fuckup! I can fucking take it!” Ethan had grabbed his hips and pumped up, and the bliss on Tommy’s face hadn’t lessened his bossiness one bit. The rest of the shoot stood as a lesson in how to be topped from the bottom—and it was one of Ethan and Tommy’s best sellers.
But he really couldn’t tell that story, which was too bad. His affection for Tommy as a friend and coworker had nothing to do with the kind of warmth starting to spread in Ethan’s chest whenever he watched Jonah’s eyebrows arch and his eyes widen, which happened when he got excited about something.
Like how sexy Billy Crudup’s voice was in Princess Mononoke.
Or whether or not Cain was a good guy or a bad guy in Starfighter.
Or plans for buying a car with Jonah’s painfully accrued savings.
“A car is nice in this city,” Ethan conceded. “Everything’s all spread out.”
Jonah was in the middle of nodding vigorously when his phone buzzed. He checked the text and smiled right as the waiter was serving them both fajitas.
“What’s up?” Ethan asked, setting his napkin in his lap and waiting patiently.
“Melly—she said she made Mom call Dad over so Mom could get some sleep and I could have a day. So we don’t have to worry about getting called back early.”
“That was nice of her—nice of your dad too. So, they….” Ethan shrugged. “They talk and everything?”
Jonah shrugged. “It’s… I mean, I think it’s temporary. They keep cautioning us not to think like that, but they still love each other. You can tell.”
“Then why the breakup?”
The kid’s sigh made Ethan shudder. “Melly,” he said softly. “It was… it still does, but it was making Dad crazy. She wouldn’t exercise, and he’d yell and she’d do stupid stuff that really hurt her health to get back at him, and he….” Jonah started making his fajita, but perfunctorily, like he wasn’t hungry at all. “He couldn’t do it anymore. He told my mom he was making it worse and if he didn’t get some space we’d all hate each other. He….” Jonah put down the fajita, and Ethan made sure he was waiting when Jonah looked into his eyes. “He was crying when he said it. I wasn’t supposed to be listening, but I was in the tiny bathroom, and the walls are like paper. But anyway, he couldn’t. He moved in with a coworker last February, and they’ve been pretending like they don’t still love each other since.”
A sober silence sat between them, and Ethan ached to do something—put a hand on his knee, on his cheek maybe? Something to make Jonah feel better.
“Eat,” Ethan ordered gruffly, and to his relief, Jonah picked up the fajita and took a bite. “So he comes to help—has your sister gotten better since?”