Defining Us: The Calvin & Eric Story (69 Bottles)

by Derrick, Zoey

  "I understand that better than you think," he tells me as he sits on the foot of my bed.

  I shiver as excitement courses through me, seeing him on my bed. I won't lie, all this talking about his past, his treatment; everything is overwhelming and scary as fuck, but seeing Calvin sitting on my bed has my cock stirring again. I swallow. "I'd imagine you do. I really hoped that you telling me would lift some of that burden from your shoulders."

  He smiles as he lowers his head and clasps his hands together before his lust filled gaze meets mine. Fuck. I'm not sure, but I think he captures my reaction, the one I tried to hide, and his features shift and his demeanor changes enough to pull me back to the present and out of my fantasies. "Honestly, if I'd known that it would be like this," he gestures between the two of us, "I would've told you years ago." Then he shakes his head. "Then again, maybe not. I think that you coming out woke the beast inside me, made me take a harder, longer look at myself, who I am and who it is that I want to be."

  "My coming out did all of that?" I ask, as I finally manage to straighten out my t-shirt and pull it over my head.

  He sighs and my eyes meet his as I pull it down my body, that little smirk is playing at his lips again and I actually fucking blush. "That is so not fair," I mumble.

  That's when he stands up and saunters toward me. Unsure of what he's going to do, I take a small step back between me and my closet door. He's still coming at me. "No, it's not," he says softly before his body is pressed against me and his lips are pressed firmly to mine.

  His hands slide up my stomach, pushing my t-shirt back up. His hands are warm and rough, kneading at my flesh as he climbs higher and slides his tongue into my mouth when I gasp for breath.

  Taking a cue from earlier, I put my hands on his forearms and slide them up toward his shoulders. He shudders and I'm concerned it's for the wrong reasons so I stop moving. He pulls his lips from mine and I tremble at the loss. "Don't stop," he whispers and his breath caresses along my jaw. I take his request and keep moving my hands further up his arms, going for his shoulders, then down his chest.

  I feel my fingers scrape over one of his nipples and the piercing there. He shudders. I freeze, but he encourages me by bringing his hand to cup the back of my head and pulling me down to his lips. "Ahh," I moan into his mouth and pull back slightly. "You're pushing my limits of control, Calvin," I breathe.

  "I know," he answers back before kissing me chastely once, twice, and a third time before releasing my head and pulling back from my body altogether.

  His body locks down, and people constantly joke about turning green, but I watch Calvin, literally, turn green and pale with sweat on his forehead before he takes off into my en suite bathroom.

  "Shit," I curse under my breath as I hear Calvin vomiting violently into my toilet. "Fuck! Shit! Fuck! Dammit." I stutter through every curse word I can think of under my breath as I slowly walk toward the bathroom door.

  "Don't. Please," he pleads between heaves.

  "Do you want me to leave?" He vehemently shakes his head.

  "Just stay there." His voice is pained, softer than the last time we had an encounter like this, but I can hear it in his voice. He truly hates himself right now and that hurts me the most.

  "Okay." I can't hide my own sadness and pain from my voice. I did try my hardest, but it didn't work.

  Slowly his convulsions and the retching subsides, but he stays there, pulling in huge lungfuls of air and his color returns.

  I'm a little anxious to know what I did to set him off, to trigger him, but it might be best to let him recover first.

  FUCK! Fuck! Fuck!

  He’s going to be pissed off.

  I fucking threw up, I panicked, fucking hell, I don’t even know what triggered me.

  Breathing becomes easier the longer I’m bent over the toilet, but I’ve got to get up. I either need to apologize or leave.

  “If you’re thinking about running out the door, you can forget it. I’m not going to let you,” he tells me from his perch on the doorjamb.

  How the fuck did he know I was thinking about…I look at him, his features are soft with concern, but there isn’t a trace of pity in his features, not at all. In fact, it’s just adoration and concern.

  “I pushed you too far.” His voice is soft and resentful.

  I shake my head before flushing the toilet and slowly sliding onto the lid with my head down toward my knees.

  “Then what happened?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure,” I tell him and catch him as he pushes away from the portal and walks the few steps toward his tub where he sits down on the edge of it, facing me, but there is a lot of distance between us. I subconsciously start to fidget with my hands.

  “Think about it, please. I’d really like to know what I did.” There is a shy innocence in his voice and it twists my heart.

  “I don’t think you did anything, Eric. I was totally into it, so much so that I started to get hard…” I let the thought trail off.

  “That’s what happened last night though you fought it.”

  I shake my head. “I got hard earlier too and didn’t have the same reaction. I think that when you said I was pushing the limits of your control that my mind ran wild, ran away from me, and…” I take a deep breath, “I couldn’t hold it back. It swept over me so fast that…”

  His face turns sad. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop, Eric, damn it, don’t be like this, you can’t help my imagination,” I tell him in a rushed breath.

  “I know, but if I hadn’t said anything…”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  He huffs. “But look at what happened, if I hadn’t said anything you wouldn’t have had to come in here and…”

  “Okay, you need to stop right there,” I tell him sternly with more force than I feel right now. In fact, I feel weaker now than I ever have before and I don’t quite understand why. “I told you things like this were going to happen and I’ll be damned if I want you walking on eggshells with me.” I rub my sweaty palms across my thighs, attempting to dispel the sticky feeling. “I can’t accurately describe the war that is raging inside of me right now, but I think I need to try.” I watch as he nods. “Have you ever warred with yourself about something, like buying a new car or wanting something really bad, but you know you shouldn’t or that you can’t afford it?”

  I watch as he processes my suggestion, no doubt thinking of a time when he’d had that thought process. “Or maybe deciding what was more important? Hmm,” I say with a hum. “Or like how to spend a hundred dollars…god,” I run my hand over my head, “Does this make any sense?”

  “Yes, it does, and yes, I’ve been there before,” he tells me confidently.

  “Okay, so take that and amplify that by putting a time limit on something, like deciding whether to get the blue or the yellow car.” He scoffs at me but smirks. “You know what I mean.” He nods his understanding. “Okay, say you’ve got twenty seconds to decide which one and at the end of that twenty seconds, they both disappear completely?”

  “Okay, I see where you’re going with this. You’re basically telling me that your war is between your head and your heart? Your heart wants this, between us, but your mind is refusing to let you enjoy the party.”

  I nod my head. “The difference is that at the end of the twenty seconds, whatever decision is before me doesn’t necessarily disappear, but rather than decide, my entire body reacts, locking down, sweating, panicking in ways I’m pretty sure you’ve never imagined before. That is what happens when I don’t make that decision. It’s always been easier for me to choose the blue car, the one that is safe and effective, the route regularly traveled and to walk away. When it comes to you, the safest path isn’t the one I want to take. I want to travel the road that leads to you, but I run into barriers in my head. But only in my head. When things simmer down and my heart starts to take over again, I start to freak out about upsetting you, about hurting you.”

&nb
sp; “How can I prove to you that you’re not going to hurt me? That, while I can’t quite comprehend your situation because I’ve never experienced anything like it, I can understand and do know that there is no malicious intention when it comes to me. That you sometimes just don’t have a choice. How can I prove it to you?”

  I can’t help but smile at him. “You already are.”

  “Good. Now come on.” He stands and holds his hand out for me to take it.

  “I’m not ready to go out yet.”

  “Who said anything about going out? Come on,” he says again and I can’t help but take his hand. He steadies me as I stand up and he leads me back into his bedroom and to the side of the bed that is my favorite side. “Sit down, please,” he says and I do, looking at him with confusion. “Why don’t you lay down for a little bit? You still look pretty pale and frankly, after this has happened before, you’ve either passed out from drink or you’ve run out on me, so I don’t honestly know what your body is doing.”

  I smile, “Lying down would be good.” I kick off my shoes and lie down. I want so badly to ask him to join me, but I think it would be better suited for me if I just let him go for now. He pulls a blanket up from the foot of his bed and covers me up before he goes to leave. “Eric?”

  He turns back to me. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiles. “You’re welcome. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

  “Thanks.”

  I leave Calvin to rest in my room. He looked so beat up over what happened and ironically, I think it was the emotional side that got to him more than the physical. He seemed so torn up over the fact that he lost his hold on himself and it tore me up inside to see that.

  I text Casey before he goes getting into everyone’s business about Dr. V.

  Eric to Casey: Disregard Dr. V - Calvin gave me the information.

  I grab my bass off of the stand in the corner of my living room. Playing always gives me a sense of comfort and calm, and it gives me a chance to think. It might also be enough to block out the fact that Calvin is laying in my bed. The thought sends a shiver of excitement down my spine.

  Quit thinking about it, I scold myself internally. Thinking about it is only going to make it worse.

  I frown at nothing. I’m right, of course, but it’s so damn hard. Yup, I totally went there. I shake my head and strum along the strings. This guitar hasn’t been played since before we left for the tour and it’s badly out of tune.

  Just as I finish tuning her up, my phone chimes with a text.

  Casey to Eric: No worries, hadn’t gotten around to anything yet. Everything okay there? Are you going out tonight?

  I reply to him:

  Thanks, all is fine here, long story. Cal wants to go out for dinner, but not planning on drinking tonight.

  Casey to Eric: Let me know where & when, I’ll be there quietly.

  Eric to Casey: No need. It’s just him and I and dinner. I think it’s best if we keep it that way. I’m hoping to convince him to stay in and eat.

  Casey to Eric: I like that idea better. You know the rules.

  Eric to Casey: Fuck the rules, we’re not the ones you need to worry about.

  Casey to Eric: who said anything about worrying?

  I roll my eyes and drop it, putting my phone back on the table. I go back to checking my tune job and start to play. I’m not hooked into anything so the sound is quieter. Not exactly the soothing notes I want or need to hear, but I don’t want to disturb Calvin.

  I wasn’t lying when I told him he was pushing the limits of my control. Fuck, he had me so riled up. Just thinking about it has my cock twitching as I play my way through some of the newer songs we’ve been working on.

  I wonder if I let Calvin take over, just how far we would make it before reality would set in for him. I know that somewhere inside of him, his concern is more about being hurt, raped or attacked than actually being with a man, at least that’s the impression I get. He has an easier time when he’s in control, but if that control shifts, then so does he. I realized that when he freaked on me a little while ago. I told him something that was very obviously a trigger to him without knowing that would ignite his fears.

  I vow to talk to Dr. V about that tomorrow. A conversation that I think is getting shorter and shorter the more time I spend with Cal. The more talking he and I do, the easier it seems to be for me to understand what’s working in his mind. He has no doubt been shown some seriously awful things in his lifetime, maybe now it’s time to show him something good, something softer, something more like reality.

  I remember when I first came out to my mother. She knew all along, her mother’s intuition had taken over and she knew, but her fears were logical. Growing up in Denver, there were enough openly gay areas, bars, communities, that being gay wasn’t bashed as often as it was in many other places. Though hate crimes were certainly not uncommon, they were localized. But it was those hate crimes that my mother feared. She worried that if I came out, like at school or other places that I would be ridiculed, beaten up, or otherwise bullied. Though I’m pretty sure being gay wasn’t the reason I was bullied in high school.

  I was different from the other kids, oh boy, was I different. I was tall, broad shouldered, with a linebacker’s build, and until I grew into my height fully, I was fat. There’s no doubt about that fact. I’ve always been a big guy, but as high school went on, I went to the gym, I worked out and well, things finally started to change after that. Though I never fit in anywhere, I was who I was and I accepted that.

  “Why’d you stop?”

  I jump at the sound of Calvin’s voice behind me. “Hey,” I set my bass down and turn toward him, “Feeling better?”

  He gives me a smile. “I am,” he says as he comes around the couch and sits next to me. “Where were you?” he asks me.

  “Ah, I slipped back into the past.” I scrub my face.

  “Tell me?” His voice is soft, comforting in a way.

  I snort, “Not much to tell really.”

  “I’d still like to hear it.” He gives me a small smile.

  “I was thinking about when I came out to my parents, about high school, things like that.”

  “What happened…when you told your parents?”

  I turn on the couch to face him, pulling my leg up and leaning back into the corner where the arm and back meet. “My mom knew, probably long before I did. But she was scared.”

  “About what?” His voice is still soft, now with curiosity.

  “I think I’d picked a bad time to do it. There had been several reports of hate crimes in the months leading up to my coming out. So I guess, more than anything, she was afraid for my safety,” I tell him honestly.

  “What about your dad?”

  I chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t think he heard me. He was a workaholic. Gone more than he was home, and when he was home he was usually on the phone with clients and his assistant and the office and, yeah, it was a hot mess around my house. It finally set in when I brought home my first ‘boyfriend’.”

  “What happened then?”

  “My dad just kind of laughed, shrugged it off and went on with life. It was kind of a non-discussion with him. Though he never verbally said one way or another about supporting or not supporting me, I think he just kind of rolled with it. Sometimes I wonder if maybe he thought it was a phase; that I’d grow out of it.” I shrug. “If you think about it, I did - a little. But that was more for show than anything. My mom, on the other hand, she’s constantly asking me about guys, who I’ve met, when I’m going to bring someone home, stuff like that.” I take a deep breath before admitting, “She knows about you. Not the stuff I’ve learned about you these past few days, but - well shit, it’s hard to keep that all bottled up inside.” I let out a humorless laugh. “She knew something was up and I couldn’t help but tell her about you.”

  “Does she ask about me?”

  I give him a sad smile. “Not as much as she used to. I got
short with her one time, shortly before New York, and I told her to drop it. I was stressed out, trying to figure out how best to tell the guys, and well, it was bad timing. I later apologized to her, but at that point, I was really starting to lose hope.”

  He gently places his hand on my leg as he leans back against the couch. “Well, I hope you hadn’t given up completely.” His voice is laced with concern.

  “No, Calvin, I haven’t. In fact, I’d really like to think that we’re moving forward with this, with…” I hesitate, “us.”

  He gives me a smile. “Me too.”

  I play the internal debate game about telling him my revelation about what happened earlier, but I decide that maybe Dr. V is best suited for that discussion. I’d like to get his theory on it before I go bringing it up to Calvin. I have the feeling that I’m right, but I don’t know if that is going to make it any easier.

  “You still want to go out?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “No,” I shake my head, “I’d rather stay here.”

  He hesitates, his eyes are worried, unsure. “Then I should probably go.” He moves to stand up and I grab his wrist, holding him down.

  “Please stay.”

  He stills, looking at me. “I want to, believe me, I do, but…” he lets out a rush of air, “Sometimes when I open the shit storm, like earlier, it’s really hard to close it up again. If we stay here, alone, in your apartment, I’m not sure I can keep myself in check.”

  “Then let's go out,” I say without a second thought. “I’m not ready to let you go home just yet,” I tell him, the conviction in my voice rolls over him in waves and I can see his demeanor shifting, changing and righting itself. Which was what I was hoping for. “Though I don’t know that going out will…”