Sharp Edges: An Urban Gay Romance

by Moreau, Lenore

  "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk. Then I'm going to keep fucking you until I come." My eyes are wide, and for once I can't come up with a response. I can't do anything except nod. He spits on his hand and rubs the moisture onto his cock once more. The hand around my wrist tightens its grip as Oliver pushes his cock slowly into me. He groans in pleasure as the head of his dick slips into me. I can't help the sharp hiss of pain that escapes my lips. My teeth grit and my eyes squint shut as I feel tears rush to them against my will. "Look at me," he orders. I keep my eyes shut tightly. There's not a fucking chance in hell he's going to see me cry. He shoves into me roughly and I practically scream out at the harsh burn that fills me.

  "Look at me," he repeats, voice deadly soft. I open my eyes.

  Green bores into me, taking me, owning me. Slowly this time, Oliver rocks his hips, getting me used to the sensation. It burns still, and it takes every ounce of will I have to keep my eyes open. His hand moves up, slowly draping across my body before reaching my neck. He rubs my pulse points, murmuring soothingly as he thrusts into me.

  "Shh, it's okay, baby. You're doing so well." A few tears cling to my skin. I can't brush them away. I can't move. How the fuck do I love this so much? No one's allowed to call me baby, and here this brash fucker is, turning me on with a simple word. I lean into the hand on my neck, craving more of his touch against my sensitive skin. He obliges, stroking me gently as he thrusts. My cock begins to harden again as his angle changes, the tip of his cock teasing my prostate. My hips lurch up on their own, before I even realize they're doing so. Oliver chuckles, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "There you go. I knew you'd like it. You need this, Gio. Need to be held down and fucked by the one person who can hold you down. You belong beneath me."

  I should be angry. I should push him off and run far enough away that I'll never see him again. But I fucking love it. I love not being in control for once, love that his filthy words have such an effect on me. And he's right. I belong beneath him more than I've ever belonged anywhere. I moan, hips lurching forward again as his dick drags over that sensitive bundle of nerves inside me, forcing pleasure once more through the pain.

  "Fuck- Oliver-" I gasp as he does it again. He pauses and I whine, trying to pull him to me, force him to move. He looks at me, mouth twisted in a grin as he waits. I hold out for ten more seconds. "Please- please fuck me- Oliver- please- I need you-" He obliges, and this time he doesn't go slow. He doesn't try to be gentle. He ruts into me like an animal, chasing his pleasure as he fucks me hard and deep. I scream, a mixture of pleasure and pain tearing from my throat like a knife. Unintelligible words stream from my mouth and I'm begging again. I don't know what I'm begging for anymore. Words spill. Oliver- please- fuck- oh god- I'm reduced. I'm exalted. I'm his and he's claiming me as he bites into my shoulder, sucking a red spot there. My body is raw, aching, taken in ways I never thought would be possible.

  Sand still cuts at me, but I barely notice the sting. I don't care. I'm so close to toppling over the edge, my cock untouched and hard along my stomach. Oliver's lips attack mine again, before sinking lower, biting and kissing down my throat. I whimper and my legs spread wider, letting him get all the purchase he needs. His thrusts are growing erratic now, and his hands clutch at me weakly.

  "Gio," he breathes, and I'm coming. The world explodes into color and my mind goes blank. There's nothing but Oliver, nothing but his cock moving inside me, his groans of pleasure as he thrusts into me. His breath on my neck is my sky, and his hands are my earth, grounding me as I come all over myself, spasming around him. At some point I'm aware of him coming too, the feeling of warmth spilling deep into me, of his hands rough and desperate on me. Then the pleasure slowly fades and for a moment the world goes black.

  Oliver pulls out of me and wraps his arms around me. There's a ringing in my ears, but from somewhere far away I dimly realize he's saying something. I strain to listen.

  "Holy fucking Christ," he says, laughing into my neck. "You're... god- Gio, that was..." I nod. I'm exhausted, raw, wrung out. I can't speak yet. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

  "Only as much as I begged you to," I say in a hoarse whisper. I shouldn't admit that. I shouldn't say anything more. But I can't stop myself. His arms are warm against the cool breeze from the sea. I pray to god no one decides to walk along this dirty abandoned coast. "I- I want to do that again," I manage. There's more that I want to say, words that I don't dare form even in my head, but instead, I lean against him, letting his hands stroke my body. After a few moments, he pulls away. I hiss in quiet disappointment.

  "We should get dressed before someone sees us," he says, helping me to my feet. I'm so sore that I almost fall over again. Every single muscle in my body aches, screaming at me to sit the fuck back down. I wince as Oliver brushes the sand off my back and looks me over. He looks guilty. "Um. You might not want to go out in public for a few days."

  "The fuck did you do to me, Kelly?" I ask, feeling a little more like myself. Oliver brushes his fingertips across my neck and I wince, pulling back.

  "There might be a few visible marks. One or two." His face tells me there's more than one or two. I groan and flip him off.

  "You goddamn fucker, you gave me hickeys?"

  "I didn't think about it at the time, but it looks like it," he says. His guilty smile makes me forgive him. I shove him lightly. We pull our pants on. Each inch of denim sends new aches through my body, and I curse at Kelly, whose smile grows wider. Together we search for the remains of our shirts. We find his, half-hanging in the ocean, but mine is nowhere to be seen. "We should have planned this better."

  "I think the problem is we didn't fucking plan at all." I'm grinning though. We were fucking idiots, fucking in the middle of the beach where anyone could have seen. Had we gotten caught, we would have deserved it. We could be in jail for public indecency or some shit.

  “Tell me something?" he asks finally once we've both stopped panting. The rock's cold, even through my jeans, and there's something in his voice that makes me afraid. "Why do you hate riding the bus so much?"

  "You tell me something first. How're you so good at fighting?" He looks surprised.

  "Oh. I was a marine. You knew I was in the army."

  "Well, why'd you quit?" His face loses a few shades of color. I feel bad for asking, but I need to know. He takes in a few shaky breaths, opening and closing his mouth a few times.

  "I didn't quit. I-I went out on this combat assignment. And I went kind of crazy for a while. Killing people- it fucked with my brain. I don't remember a lot of it. They called it a psychotic break. Locked me up in a psych ward for a while. I don't remember much of that either. They kept me pretty drugged. I got an honorable discharge and a warning to keep going to counseling. It took almost a year for me to feel normal again. I-I don't really like to talk about it. Obviously." His eyes flicker over my face like he's worried I'm going to run. Instead, I kiss him.

  "But you're okay now, right?" I ask. Fuck, I don't give a shit if he's a little crazy. I'm pretty fucking crazy and he knows that. I just care if he's gonna try to hurt himself. He nods, and I pull his lips back to mine. He pulls away first.

  "Okay. Now you gotta tell me. The bus thing. What happened to you?" I tell him. It's only fair. His was almost as bad. I leave out the parts about making out with the guy, try to make it sound more like I just thought he was cool than I wanted to bone him. When I finish, his eyes are wide. He should be afraid. Not of me. Of being around me when I've got a murderous psycho for a father. Kelly could get hurt, it strikes me then. He could get really hurt and it would all be my fault. He pulls me back into his arms, holding me for a long minute. I let him until my pride won't let me anymore.

  "Alright, alright. I'm fine. Jesus." I pull away. His eyes are narrowed. He's angry as hell. At me?

  "Gio, you gotta get out of there. What if he kills you?"

  "I'm fine," I say. I give him a look that doesn't invite further conversation. We get to our feet. K
elly throws an arm around me after we've made it past the rocks, and as we walk back into the city, I ignore the stares, ignore the whispers and the rolled eyes. We must look pretty fucked up. But all that matters is that Oliver's beside me, and he's smiling again. I can deal with the rest.

  13

  By the time I get home, dressed in one of Kelly's shirts that's way too big for me, my aching muscles are about to give out. Lina and Marco sit on the couch with beers in their hands, and both of their eyes widen as they take me in. My neck's covered in bite marks and hickeys, and there's blood on my loose shirt. My hair still has sand in it, and it's a sweaty, disheveled mess. I still feel little grains of sand clinging to the skin between my ass cheeks. Somehow, it's still fucking worth it. Both of them leap to their feet and come over to me. Lina grabs my chin and turns my face from side to side.

  "What the fuck happened to you?" she asks. Marco is silent and worried beside her, his arms folded over his chest.

  "I- uh-" I thought about this the whole way home, came up with a clever cover-story but it still doesn't sound believable. Nothing except the truth would explain how I look right now. "I fucked a girl and her boyfriend came home early." Neither of them question it.

  "Jesus. Your lip's bleeding," Marco mutters. I limp to the couch and sink into it, groaning in relief.

  "Beer?" I ask hopefully. Lina rushes to get it. She doesn't even make a snarky comment. I grin. I must really look bad. If I can milk it for a beer, all the better. I crack open the beer and down most of it in a gulp. The cool sweet liquid is fucking amazing on my sore throat, still swollen from my cries. I should drink water too, I realize. I've been walking all day. That could be why the beer tastes so good. I feel their eyes on me.

  "So?" Lina asks, leaning forward. "What the fuck, Gio? Who did this?"

  "Hickeys are from the girl," I mumble, finishing my beer and handing her the empty can. She grabs me another without hesitation. I really should come home looking like shit more often. "Bruises are from the beating. Other guy looks worse." He didn't look worse by a long shot, but at least I'd left Oliver a couple marks to remember me by.

  "Who?" Marco asks, his jaw clenching.

  "Nobody I knew. Anyway, I deserve it. I fucked his girl."

  "Well if you find out who it was, we'll kill him." That's not just a threat. I shrug at him and drink my second beer.

  "Stop staring, assholes. Find us something to watch that's not twenty years old or reality."

  Lina does so. She looks worried, and I feel bad instinctively for worrying her. Neither of them says anything else, though. They let us sit in comfortable silence watching TV. My body aches still, but I can't stop smiling. It's ridiculous that there's something that can make me smile like this. The closest thing to it I can remember is the grim satisfaction mixed with hysteria I get after a good shakedown. But that doesn't last. It's a sharp spike before a return to normal. This- this is something else. It's like a smooth constant glow that covers my whole body. And it's fucked up. I tell myself I hate the way it feels, and part of me does. Most of me is basking in it.

  "Why're you so happy," Lina asks after Marco's left. I shrug at her. She pulls my shirt to my collar and examines me more closely. "This isn't from a fight, is it? You're into some kinky shit that's got you grinning like a fucking scarecrow."

  "Do scarecrows grin?"

  "I've never seen one, but in my head they do. Like that guy from the Wizard of Oz. Don't dodge. Out with it." I look at her, raising an eyebrow.

  "Do you really want all the details of my sex life, Lin?" She considers, frowning.

  "Touche, brother. Just hide it better next time. You look... you've got fucking sex hair." I grin at her, and she sticks her tongue out at me. I wait to shower until the morning. The smell of Kelly's skin lingers on mine, tying me to the present. I don't dream.

  He's there to pick me up once more in the morning, grinning at me as I limp down to the car. Every step reminds me of how fucking sore I am, in a million different places.

  "You look like you got in a fight with a blind cougar," he tells me matter-of-factly. I raise a middle finger at him, but can't quite keep my own grin away. He leans over and tries to kiss me, but I shove him off, heart racing.

  "Not here." He shrugs, but I swear there's a hint of disappointment in his eyes. Fuck that. We're not a fucking couple or something. Still, I feel a twinge of guilt. "You know I can't fuckin' walk straight cuz of you." The grin returns.

  "Good. You'll think of me all day." Like I wouldn't anyway. We drive, and there's a kind of heat between us, more than the tension there usually is. I don't know how to feel about it. Probably just want him to fuck me again. I pull his shirt down to see the marks I left. I didn't get any on his neck, and I swallow my disappointment. Better that way. If we both show up looking like we got mauled, it'll be more suspicious than if just one of us does.

  "And you won't have to think of me at all," I say, giving him a twisted smile.

  "Oh, trust me. I don't need anything up my ass to think of you." He glances at me seriously for just a moment before his eyes flicker back to the road. I need to stop fucking smiling.

  I'm getting pretty good at my job. It's easy, really. Figure out what's not working, type in the part number, order it, replace it. There's a nice pattern, a sort of monotony occasionally broken up by pleasantly difficult problems. It keeps me distracted. Fucking Dave follows Kelly around again all day. Today, though, Kelly brushes him off, looking annoyed when he keeps coming back. I grin in savage satisfaction. Guess I didn't need to kick the guy's ass after all. Kelly doesn't give a shit about him. By the time the day's over, I'm feeling practically giddy. Giddy enough that when we get back to my house, I lean over and pull Kelly's lips to mine, just for a half second. The real smile I get back is worth it.

  "Gio?" he calls as I hop out. I turn back. "You look like you've got a stick up your ass." I give him the least amused look I can put on my face.

  "Fuck you, Kelly." I give him a look at my favorite finger. His laugh follows me into the house, so loud that I almost don't notice my dad sitting on the couch, a beer in his hand and a hard glint in his eyes. My heart drops and my head pounds. Had he seen something? Did he know? He looks me up and down, his lip curling.

  "You look like shit," he mutters.

  "Got in a fight," I offer. "Fucked a girl with a boyfriend." He nods absently, putting his feet onto the table one at a time.

  "Where the fuck's your brother?" I count the cans. Nine empties.

  "What one?"

  "The sissy one." That doesn't fucking narrow it down. "Manny."

  "Fuck if I know," I say. I grab a beer. If I'm gonna be around this fuck, it's not going to be sober. I sit beside him, feeling his eyes pass through me. "What do you want Manny for?"

  "Some rumors about him goin' around. Just want to clear things up before I kick his ass. You know anything about that Santiago boy? I hear they've been together every fuckin' day, arms around each other and shit. People are saying my son's a fag. No fuckin' son of mine's gonna be sucking cock, you hear me? Started with the long hair with enough gel to drown a dolphin. Fucker thought he was pulling one over on me. No sir-y, he isn't. Gotta teach him a lesson." My heart's still pounding. My body doesn't remember I'm old enough to kick his ass if I need to, it doesn't remember that he's drunk as shit, and judging by the way he's talking, not just drunk. I'm thinking meth or crack. Paranoid fucker. My hands tremble. I try to remember to breathe. That stops the shaking.

  "Manny's not gay," I say. "He's got a girlfriend."

  "Then he needs to stop acting like a goddamn queer. I built a whole fucking reputation and he's going to blow it all because he thinks it's cute to throw an arm around some guy. Fuckin' needs to learn a lesson." This fuck and his lessons. Lessons that usually end up with somebody maimed and bleeding. Or worse.

  "State you're in, he'd be more likely to teach you a lesson," I mutter before I can stop myself. His bleary eyes meet mine, and I see the anger simmering the
re, just below the surface. Every muscle in my body screams danger. I have to remind myself that he's not dangerous. Not to me. Not anymore.

  "Don't get smart with me, boy. Get me another beer. One for yourself too." I grab him the beer and hand it to him.

  "I gotta get work done," I lie before escaping to my room. My heart's pounding even as I sit in bed. Christian and Marco are already there, sharing a joint on Marco's bed. I sit beside him and grab the joint, taking a long drag before handing it back. The smoke is heavy in my lungs, and I hold it in for as long as I can before I finally exhale. Marco nods at me.

  "When do you think he'll leave again?" Christian asks. His eyes are wide. Christian's never seen the very worst of our father. It's one of my greatest sources of pride that we've kept him from that. But he's seen enough to know shit's better when the guy's not here.

  "As soon as his money runs out or he loses his job," Marco says, passing the joint back to me. I breathe in the sweet smoke.

  "Did somebody text Manny? I don't want him walking into this blind."

  "He's staying with Izzy tonight. He'll deal with it in the morning. We're backing him, right?"

  "Yeah," I say. I wish we could just kick him out of the house for good, but he's got friends. Friends with guns and connections that could make our lives go to hell. Still. I'm not about to let Manny get his ass kicked because his hair's a little girly. Guilt flashes through me like lightning. Maybe my dad's heard rumors around about me and assumed they were about Manny. Maybe I'm the reason Manny's in trouble. "Honestly if we keep him drunk for a few days he could forget the whole thing. It's happened before."

  That's wishful thinking. Marco and I both know it. When he's this hopped up on uppers and booze, he doesn't forget a damn thing. He holds on to each detail and makes us suffer for it. The weed's hitting me, but it's not making me less worried tonight. It's making me paranoid. Christian curls up in his bed, his eyes closing. Kid can't handle his weed. It's kind of adorable. Honestly, I think we should try to keep him clean. We used to, but he just got it off kids at school. Better he have weed we know isn't spiked with angel dust or some shit. Marco leans close to me, his voice lowering.