Primavera, Chapter 5/?
Title: Primavera, chapter 5 (WIP)
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7400
Warning: Major angst, a veritable cornucopia of varieties. This includes ideas based in complete fantasy about Zach's backstory that some people may find distasteful so, if you find that you do, please close out the page and do not read on. TIA
Summary: AU - Teenage Chris went to live with the Quinto family when his mom got sick
A/N: For halfbreedchild ♥ A big thank you to emmessann for her contribution to this series, patiently discussing the subjects within, and providing insight along with a heaping dose of ZQ canon whenever I felt I needed it.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
His toes are maybe a foot away from mine under the table and I want to stretch out my leg and cover them with my own.
“There's more boxes in the garage, I think we collapsed them down? Zach?”
“They're on top of the camping stuff, I'll dig some out later.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. Now, where the heck did I put my keys? Anyone?”
I shake my head and eat another spoonful of cereal, trying not to look over to where Chris is sneaking looks at me and smirking down at his bowl, and I wait till Mom's temporarily out of the room to run my foot up his calf into his inner knee, swiping my tongue across my top lip once he looks at me. I blew him for the first time last night and he focuses on my mouth, cheeks flushing red. Man, Chris blushes a lot. I'm so relieved I don't, that would be such a pain in the ass. Then Mom's back, digging in her purse and coming up with her keys as I hurriedly drop my foot and Chris buries his face in his glass of juice. It's stupid and reckless and I'm so turned on I don't care.
“Okay, I'm good to go. Guys -” Her hands on her hips in annoyance. “I expect to see results today. No more slacking off.”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Yeah, Mrs. Q.”
“We don't want to see my unhappy face when I get home. What don't we want to see?”
Your unhappy face. We both mumble it, avoiding each other's eyes but I notice a grin tweaking the corner of his mouth so I look up at him, it's like I can't help it and he starts looking back, staring at me, his face blank as Mom waves over her shoulder and exits through the side door. We gaze at each other on and on, all this heat rising in the room as we hear Mom's car door clunk shut, the engine turn over. My foot is covering his by the time she starts to pull out of the driveway, his toes wriggling against the underside of my arch, and I've reached across the table to grab his wrist and pull him out of his chair to stand between my legs as the distant thrum of her engine disappears down the road.
“Take it, just, take it off.”
“God, okay, give me a sec.”
Chris's t-shirt won't stay up where I push it up his chest, rubbing my hands over his stomach and down his hips to push his shorts down to his knees as he whips it off over his head. Then my mouth's on him again as he makes a choking noise and grabs my head with a curse. It's not like I hate giving head, it's okay, but usually I'm more about getting it if I'm totally honest. But with Chris, last night and now, again, as I push my mouth down on his hard, hot dick and feel his thighs shake under my fingers as he draws in a shuddery breath, it's as if every twitch of his cock on my tongue's connected directly to my own, arousal traveling down through my gut and my spine to settle deep in my balls as I suck deeply and feel his knees weaken.
“Fuck, Zach, that feels so, fuhh, fuck.”
Fingers tightening and relaxing in my hair, petting the curve of my skull, tracing around my ears. Last night I pulled out all the stops and had him almost crying with how good it was by the time he finally came, lying flat across my shoulder afterwards and telling me I should give the girls he knows lessons like that was the highest form of compliment. But this, now, swelling in the circle of my lips as I wrap a hand around his balls, grumble on his dick and force him deeper into my mouth, is all for me. Chris has this beautiful, thick, stubby dick, fat and hard in my mouth, his scent rising from his soft, dark bush, and the way he grunts and shivers as I swipe my tongue around him is such a total fucking turn-on that I have to reach into my underwear and pull my cock out, jacking off as I pump my head on him fast and grunt, his hands grasping at my ears and jaw, his hips fucking up into me.
It's fast and sloppy, and I close my eyes to breath in through my nose as his smell and taste get stronger the closer he comes to shooting. He's is repeating my name over and over, gasping it out and I draw harder on him, hollowing my cheeks and sucking as hard as I can until he bucks twice into my throat and jizzes down the back of my tongue with a long, stuttering oh-ohhhh. I keep sucking until he starts to whine, pulling back to look up into his flushed, cum-drunk face as I lick his taste off my lips, groan and then shout as it comes on me fast, shooting over my stomach and knuckles. My ass almost slides off my chair as I fuck into my fingers, pulses of heat pounding throughout my body as my hand drops away and I slump back in my seat.
Chris is looking down at me, eyes all sleepy and hot, mouth hanging open as he breathes deep and heavy, reaching over to push my bangs out of my face before looking a little embarrassed while he pulls his shorts back up.
“Shower?”
I blow out a long, shaky breath, wipe my hand on the leg of my shorts and grin, because it'll be the third morning we've showered together and I've been looking forward to it since I woke up. “Your place or mine?”
We're supposed to be working but we're in his bed instead, making out, his hand in my shorts as I stroke down his back to cup his ass and bite along his jaw and he sighs, rubs his nose against my head and using his cheek to push my face into position for another deep kiss. It's as if we're immersed in sex, spending our days in nothing but a pair of gym shorts each for easy access, doing the barest minimum of chores we think we can get away with before the desire to touch each other gets too strong and we drop whatever we're doing, falling into each other again like this. I've never been this horny before, not even when I was younger and everything equaled sex, because I'm constantly covered in his smell, his touch, his saliva from where he's learning my body with his tongue. The first time he blows me we're on the couch where we've stumbled from the kitchen, and looking down to see Chris on his knees between my legs, lips wrapped around me tight, his eyes screwed shut in concentration, my dick disappearing into his mouth like I've imagined a million times over, is so totally fucking hot that I come really hard and gross him out a little. It's hot and kind of funny as he chokes and makes a face like a little kid eating broccoli before leaning over to spit my spooge out into my discarded shorts with a heartfelt 'Uggh', wiping over his tongue with the back of his hand. I'm not even insulted, it's more than a little cute.
“You're so fucking hot.”
It's spoken against my neck, his voice a little gravelly as he sucks under my ear and plays with my balls, and I reach down to start pushing my shorts off. I've been using an old panstick from school to hide the hickies so far but I'm going to have to wear a goddamn scarf at this rate, his tongue swiping into my ear making me shiver before he attacks my neck again.
“Me? Look at you, you should have your own shirtless calendar. I'd buy it.”
“Yeah?”
“Totally. Would you sign it for me?” I rub a finger down his ass crack and his body freezes against mine, rigid and still, so I quit and go back to squeezing his ass again, rubbing over his chest and belly with my other hand because I can't get enough of all his skin.
“Zach . . .”
“It's okay, we don't have to.”
“No, I want to. The, uh, butt stuff. Like, I was thinking maybe -” He pushes his face into my neck and stays there, silent.
“What? Maybe what?”
Butt stuff? Pray Jesus God, yes. We're surrounded by half-filled packing boxes, that being our primary instruction from Mom this week, to pack up Chris's stuff so he's ready to leave Saturday. Four more days, including today and I want to do everything with him, and suddenly every day and half the night doesn't seem like nearly enough.
“I don't know if you're into it but, y'know, rimming, uh, looks so hot in porn and I thought maybe you'd want to . . .”
His voice is muffled into my neck, his cheek hot against my skin.
“You want me to rim you or you want to rim me or what?”
Chris pulls his hand out of my shorts, resting it on my chest as he pushes up enough to look down at me. “I want you to, y'know. Like, a whole lot, I've jerked off thinking of that bunches of times, ever since I found out that guys do that. Would you be, uh, into that? At all?”
I look at him, probably catching flies. “Are you fucking kidding me? Get naked and lie face down. Now. God.”
“Where's the fire? Chill, I'll get there.”
“The fire is in my goddamn nuts, get your fucking shorts off and spread your legs already.”
“Yeah? You're that into this?”
With him? Fuck, yes. His ass is . . . Chris's ass makes me break a little inside, like I look at it and think of what his asshole must look like and how it would feel on my tongue and my dick, and my internal organs collapse into each other as I expire with a gurgle. “Hell yeah.”
I look down at him, stretching naked across his bed, skin pale and striped by the sun streaming through his blinds. The lines of shadow curve over his body, following the lines of his shoulders, the tight dip of his waist and the muscular contours of his ass. He's breathtaking, so lean and beautiful that my chest burns and I have to swallow heavy, beginning to run my fingers up the backs of his long legs. I kick off my shorts and settle over him on the bed, kissing the nape of his neck first, the center of his shoulders, following down the cord of his spine with my mouth until I'm at his ass, a gentle kiss on each buttcheek then stroking across them with my fingers as he sighs and Mmmms and nuzzles his face into the bed. So far, so good, but I'm still half-waiting for him to tell me to quit. I trail my fingertips down his asscrack, again, pressing in a little deeper, fingers catching the fine hairs there that are soft and kind of downy. Adorable. Smoking hot and everything, but adorable. It kills me, how hot and how cute he is.
I rub my face on his ass and he gasps, 'Fuck' as I pull his cheeks apart enough to rub a finger down over his pucker. But I want to look at him so I pull him apart further and there he is, my lungs tight and my nuts drawing up as I look at his clean little pinky-brown hole that squeezes down on itself self-consciously as I stare at him.
“Come on! Don't just look, it's weird. Zach, come on . . .”
It's whiny with want so I move close enough that he can feel my breath against his asshole, which clenches hard as I look at it and my mouth waters. I rub over him one more time with my finger before pushing my face into his asscrack to taste, his body jerking like he's had an electric shock the second my tongue slides over him the first time.
“Uhnnhh, fuck, that feels strange.”
“Good strange?” It's all smothered by his ass, my voice muted before I kiss his asshole and then lick him again, swiping up and down, across and back again, twirling, lapping heavy.
“Oh fuh-fuck, yes. Ooh. Not like I thought - I don't know. So good. Ohh yeah. Uhh.” He's reduced to vowel sounds and occasional curses as I figure he's into it enough and start to suck at him, slurping and making a mess as I rub my face in harder and pinch at his butthair with my fingers to tug gently, swirling my tongue on him as he pushes back against my face. Once I work the tip of my tongue into him and start to press in, he whimpers my name and makes this strangled, choking sound followed by a long, loud 'Fu-uuck!' that makes me grin into his ass. He tastes of salt and sweat and of him, strong and warm, an incongruous citrus scent from the shower gel we lathered ourselves in this morning rising from his heating skin. I shove my tongue in as far as it'll go, holding his hips tight and tongue-fucking him a few times as he squirms under me moaning into the bed, then I pull away to slap his ass gently.
“Hey! No kinky shit.”
“Get up on your knees, then you can jack off.”
“That's okay?”
“No, that's why I suggested it. What the hell, dude, you haven't figured out yet that I like it when you jack off?”
“I was beginni- ahh yeah. Fuck. Yes.”
I simply shove in this time, holding his ass apart with one hand as I jerk off with the other, his nuts bumping my chin as he strokes himself fast already and I work my tongue faster, too, pressing in to suck at his hole once more before squirming my way up there again. It's all too fucking hot, the taste of him, his scent, his wet ass cradling my face as he gasps and jacks himself and tightens on my tongue, and I come with a low groan that triggers his own as he fucks himself back onto my tongue and shoots with a grunt.
I'm wiping over my chin with the back of my forearm while he grins at me and says “I'm sure you'll understand if I don't kiss you right now.”
“Oh, it's going to be like that, is it? Mister straighty scared of a little butt juice?”
“Damn right. Like, I'm sure your ass is lovely but there is no way in hell I'm going anywhere near it with my mouth.”
“You've given head to girls.”
“You know it. I'm, like, Olympic gold when it comes to pearl diving.”
I give him a fake grossed out look. “Thank you so much for that. Did you know, however, medical fact states that, if your sex partner has averagely good personal hygiene, there's no higher bacterial risk involved in performing analingus on them then there is cunnilingus.”
“Medical fact?”
“Total medical fact.” I poke at him with each word to emphasize my point.
“And you read that where, Scientific American?”
“Porn, Chris. Some of us actually read the articles now and then.”
“Ah. Porn.” He grins and hugs into my chest, avoiding my mouth when I try to kiss him again, his leg thrown across mine. “That's an irrefutable source if I've ever heard one. Cut that out, I'm not kissing you.”
“Debate team, man. My cites are impeccable. Pucker up.”
I feel like taking every item he sticks into a box back out of it, like placing every book back on his bookshelves, every single CD back into the rack by the stereo that I'm supposed to be unhooking. I even ignore the CDs of mine that have somehow made it into Chris's collection because it's nice something of myself is going with him. Maybe I'm supposed to get him a going away gift, but I have no idea if that would be creepy or not, especially now. Mom's already got a family photo for him, her, me and Joe in a nice little frame, Joe sorted it out. I look dorky and have a zit in it, and feel like kicking Joe's ass for not picking a nicer one of me.
When it gets to the point where I'm moping over every single item I watch him wrapping in old newspapers and stuffing in a carton, his most recent sports trophies now, the ones not already at his mom and dad's, I give up and throw the cables down.
“I'm going to go tidy the kitchen and get stuff started.”
“You're sure you're not actually going to go make me a sandwich, and put it on a little plate with a few chips before bringing it up here?”
“Pretty damn sure.”
“You know what would be great right now? Toasted cheese. You know I'm right.”
“You ate lunch, like, an hour ago.”
“I know. Something since made me work up an appetite.” His smile's open and innocent, his eyes bright like sun shining off a pool. I don't get it, how he's so cheerful today, same as every day, jumping on me the minute Mom left for work and then carrying on same as we have done the entire week. I woke and remembered that it's Friday, my stomach turning over, and expected him to be as subdued, as grey as my mood. But he's the same as ever.
“If you want a snack, come get a snack. I have things to do for your party.”
I turn to leave but Chris's outstretched hand snags my hip as I move towards the door and he pulls me to him, his naked chest against mine, his warm arms wrapping around my torso as his nose rubs along under my chin.
“You're in such a shitty mood today.”
“Can you blame me?” I slide my tongue into his mouth when he kisses me, drawing him closer, kissing him on and on until it feels like there's no possible way he's leaving tomorrow. He pulls away, his hands warm on my shoulders.
“It'll be okay. We'll be okay.”
“I know.” His forehead against mine, our breath mixing, his stomach flat and taut as I stroke it with my thumbs, my heart pumping a little faster as I decide to go for it, decide to ask him. “I was thinking, maybe I could fly down for Thanksgiving Break. I could tell Mom I've got an audition or something, maybe visit Joe at the same time . . .”
His body has stilled against mine, his fingers no longer describing small circles across my back. Shit. I open my mouth to start some damage limitation but he's ahead of me.
“I don't know, it's a little far to fly for a booty call.”
“Totally, I was just -”
“And it's not like we're, y'know, whatever.”
I wad the feeling into a ball, shove in down my throat and lock it in my chest, moving away from him. “Seriously, it was just an idea, if I was going to see Joe at the same time. Forget about it.”
“Zach -”
“No, it's okay, leave it. Finish packing or Mom's going to kick our asses, I'm going to . . .”
I don't finish it, I simply leave, not letting it go till I'm in the kitchen, kicking a chair out the way and cursing myself for being a fucking retard. I wrap my arms around myself, hugging my ribs as I stare out the window and mentally call myself every name under the sun. I thought we were, I hoped, I guess - I don't know what I thought. That it was so good he'd want only me.
Mom knows something's up. She watches me at the barbecue later as I watch Chris, laughing with his friends, an ex of his sitting on his lap with her arm around his shoulders, playing with his hair. Every time I force my eyes away from him, Mom's looking at me and I have no clue what she's thinking, her expression guarded but with a soft smile like she knows this is tough for me, somehow. I pretty much take over the grill because as least it gives me something to concentrate on, that and my fifth beer. But I hear Chris's laugh again and I can't fucking help it, I have to look over, at his wide smile that lights up the entire yard like someone switched a lamp on, at his face, the way he looks, his expressions that I realize now I have memorized. At his body in his shirt and jeans, tight and hot and perfect for me, my tongue running across my teeth with the recent memory of biting into his asscheek lightly before he slapped me away with a yelp.
People start to drift away as the night gets darker and bugs start to attack, neighbors first, all of them hugging Chris and touching his face and wishing him luck. I'm wrestling the hot grill out of the brick support with a pair of tongs when Mom comes across with a fresh beer for me.
“You look like you need this. Leave that, I'll clean up out here tomorrow while you . . . I'll take care of it.”
“Thanks.” I clink mine to hers, take a draw. “I'll take care of clearing up tomorrow if you drive Chris to the airport.”
“We discussed this. I'll cry my darn head off if I have to say goodbye to that boy at the airport.” She hugs into my waist, her head barely coming up to my armpit. “I've already soaked his shirt three times.”
“He won't mind.”
“Can you believe it? Four years. It feels like he's been with us forever.”
“It has been forever.” I watch as he leaves his group of friends and walks across the yard to us, smiling at Mom, and then in my direction although he doesn't meet my eyes.
“Hey, Mrs. Q - my friends wondered if it'd be okay if I went to hang with them now the party's winding down. I won't be late.”
“Sure, honey, you do what you want, I'm going to fall into a bubble bath and into bed so don't worry about running back here.”
“You're sure?”
“Go, have fun. Don't stress curfew.”
He hugs her quick, the other side of her to me, his arm knocking against mine and Chris draws back hurriedly like he can't even bear to touch me, like he hasn't touched me since I said what I said about visiting him at college. A fresh hot wave of humiliation floods through me and I drown it in a long drink of beer as he thanks us both for his party and runs back across the yard to his friends, Jessica's arm going around his back, his slung across her shoulders. A week off from his usual life and then normality reasserts itself, I guess. I help take the leftover food in, stashing it in the refrigerator as Mom wraps and hands each dish to me, and try to remind myself that it was just sex. I'm an expert at just sex. I make some lame excuse to Mom and head upstairs to my room, aware she's watching me again as I go.
We're back here again, me waking up fully clothed with the lights on, lying on top of the covers as Chris knocks softly and lets himself into my room. It's almost three and it's the first time he's knocked since he started coming to spend the nights with me a week back. He stands at the foot of my bed again as I blink the sleep away and sit up on my elbows.
“I saw your light under the door . . .”
“Yeah. I wasn't sure if you were going to -”
“Things got weird. I know, I'm sorry, but it doesn't mean I don't want to . . . it's our last chance.”
And you spent it out with your friends and your skank ex who you probably made out with half the night. Even I'm not pathetic enough to say it aloud so I shrug then shift over on the bed in mute invitation. He sits down with his back to me, a pause as if he's thinking something over before he turns to lie facing me, his hand coming to rest on my hip.
“I get why you're pissed at me. I do.”
“I'm not pissed at you.”
“You are so pissed at me.”
“I'm not!” It's too loud and I frown, repeat it in a hiss. “I'm not. I'm pissed that you're leaving, sure, but we'll both deal.”
“Yeah. We will. Told you that you're gonna miss me.”
“If I'd known you were going to spend a week jumping my bones and making me spunk five times a day, I'd have agreed with you.”
His face splits into that broad, heartbreaking grin as we come together in a kiss, his mouth soft on mine for a moment before he opens his mouth and shit heats up, fast, fingers flying as we try to get into each other's pants, loud sucking kisses, shoes hitting the floor in a pattern of thuds as we rush to get naked and wrapped around each other. It's tough to keep quiet after a week with the house to ourselves and I smother my gasp in his mouth as he wraps his fingers around my dick tight, a gentle squeeze before he starts to stroke me, rubbing his dick against my thigh. I know it's stupid to say anything, gasping into his ear and fucking into his hand and feeling like this is the thing that has made most sense in my life so far, but it busts out of my mouth and is growled into his ear before I can stop it.
“I want to fuck you.”
Chris's hand stills on me for a beat before moving again, slower, tighter. “Zach, no. We're good like this, or we could sixty-nine again because that was totally hot, but that? No.”
“I'd make sure it was good for you and didn't hurt. I know how -”
A huff of irritation against my jaw. “Give it up, man, never going to happen. I could probably fuck you if you want, I could probably get into that.”
I stroke down his buttcheek until he elbows my arm away. “I don't get fucked.”
“Well neither do I, so apparently we're at an impasse. Come on, jack me off.”
I can't push it but I want to, so bad I can taste it, kissing him deep and imagining his hand is his asshole as I fuck into it, his body against mine, his leg hiked over my thigh as I start to beat his dick hard. It's not enough, I need more, I need the pretense that I'm moving inside him so I roll us both until I'm on top of him between his spread legs, pulling his hand up to my mouth to spit into the palm before directing it back to start jerking my dick again. I look down at Chris beneath me, his face flushing pink across his cheekbones as he gets closer, my hand on him fast and firm, his eyes dark with arousal, my dick fucking into the slick, wet tightness of his fingers as his body moves against mine. It builds until every muscle in my body feels clenched tight and I shoot, cursing into his neck as he suddenly arches against me and fills my hand with his cum.
He's almost asleep against my shoulder, all floppy-drowsy like a puppy about to fall facedown in its food bowl, his limbs already slack against mine. I should kick him out like I have done all week, not wanting to risk the wrath of my Mom any more than we do already, but the temptation's too strong to sleep in Chris's arms, holding him against me like we're lovers in our own place, our own bed. Lovers . . . I hold him tighter to me, my nose in his hair. He Hhmms and nuzzles into my neck as I stroke spirals over the soft skin of his shoulders, and discover with a drowning, suffocating heart that I've fallen in love with him.
“Come on, sweetheart. Out of the car.”
Mom knocks at the window again until I turn her way, no strength to lift my head so I stare at the mother of pearl buttons on her pale yellow shirt through the car window.
“You've been sitting out here near twenty minutes. Zach, out. Now. You'll die of heatstroke.”
“I'll just be a second.”
“Look at you, you're sweating your behind off.”
She opens my door and tugs at my elbow, and the fresh air feels good, clearing my head a little but bringing with it a fresh gust of pain beneath my ribs, my chest tight. I choke it back once more, tighten my fingers on the wheel, determined that I'm not going to cry over Chris, of all people, the snot-nosed little prick who did so much to drive me nuts over the years. “I'll be one second. Give me a minute.”
Her fingers in my hair, gentle, like when I was a little kid and got upset. “Come on in the house, sweetie, I waited on lunch for you. We'll talk about him and remember some good stuff, and you'll feel better.”
I guess this isn't going away anytime soon. I force myself out from behind the wheel, my t-shirt sticking to my back, soaked through with sweat. “I think I'll go shower, if that's okay.”
“Whatever you need.”
The shower doesn't help, too strange to be by myself in it once more. Stupid to get so acclimated to something in a week. But then I'm sitting at the table in my robe, hair dripping down the back of my neck while Mom serves up BLTs on wholegrain with a glass of fruit punch rather than water, total comfort food, the sort of thing she'd make if I'd had a shitty day at school. I wonder if I dare hope that it feels a bit better. Like I can keep breathing. Maybe he's right, maybe we'll both get through this because we weren't - whatever we weren't. I take a bite of my sandwich, chew it carefully, swallow it down with a gulp of punch. Repeat it over, then again, a dull feeling in my chest as I stare at the dent in the tabletop Joe made that time he threw a plate at my head for fucking with his bike.
“You going to start looking for a summer job, now Chris is packed off?”
“I don't know, Mom. I thought I might see if I can go spend some time with Joe. Get out of here for awhile.” It's a new idea but it feels right as I say it, anything to get away from this house and all the reminders of Chris everywhere. But her face shrivels with a sob, making me aware I'm being a self-obsessed asshole, not even noticing how tough this has been on her, how much she's going to miss him. Mom loves totally, without boundaries or preconceptions, and she pretty much adopted Chris into the family, throwing her arms and heart wide open to that skinny little fuck who showed up all big eyes and homesickness and pepperoni pizza. I dump my sandwich and go around the table to hug her tight, swaying us both back and forth.
“We'll be okay. It's back to how it was before, the Quintonamic Duo, remember?” It's what she used to call us when Joe first moved out, making me roll my eyes in deep chagrin over how embarrassingly weirdo moms are. “And Joe can get his fat butt over here to see us.”
“Language.”
“'Butt'? That's cussing? What else am I supposed to say, 'ass'?”
“Watch it. You're not too big to get your mouth washed out again.”
I'd almost forgotten that day. Joe taught me the F bomb, then sat back and watched with building joy as I told Mom that my report card was going to be 'Fucking excellent' that semester. I was ten, and can vividly remember the puckering, claggy flavor of the laundry soap I was still spitting out twenty minutes and three cups of mouthwash later.
What on earth can you do on this earth but catch at whatever comes near you, with both your fingers, until your fingers are broken?
Mom's watching the news and I'm downstairs with her for once rather than hiding out in my room. I'm not sure if it's more for her or for me, as when I was up there earlier, I kept waiting for the door to open, for him to come in and press me down to the bed. So instead I turn to Tennessee Williams, positive he'll have something to say about a useless passion for some hot young guy, but I flip through and settle on Orpheus Descending, and it's merely managing to depress the shit out of me so I'm about to close it out, pretty sure there's no need for a bookmark as I'm unlikely to return to this any time soon. Actually, I feel like throwing the fucking thing with all its lyrical philosophy out the window. Since when has Tennessee Williams been so optimistic?
“Play no good?”
“Huh? Oh, not really. I mean, it's beautiful, but it doesn't suit my mood.” I open it up again, flick through a few pages, a Williams' quote in the few pages of notes catching my attention. 'It is a play about unanswered questions that haunt the hearts of people and the difference between continuing to ask them . . . and the acceptance of prescribed answers that are not answers at all.' And my eyes fill so suddenly and unexpectedly that I don't have a hope in hell of controlling them. I make a breathy, hiccupy gasp, almost a sob, dropping the book into my lap as I turn in my chair away from Mom and press both hands to my mouth. My heart is haunted, not just by him, but by everything, all of it weighing too heavy right now. It's a flash flood, caused by a sudden, catastrophic thaw.
I feel her arms go around me as she perches on the arm of the easy chair, tugging my head into the soft mass of her stomach, hands cradling my head as I close my eyes and wish it all away.
“It's okay, baby. It's okay.”
“It's not. It's not okay, Mom. I miss him.” My body buzzes, chest full and heart heavy, like the air got too thick to breathe, like I'm swimming underwater and everything got distant. “I love him. I love Chris and it feels like my heart got torn out today.”
Her hands pause a second, her voice steady. “I know, but you got over it when Joe left and you missed him, too, right?”
“No.” I pull away enough to look at her, my eyes too wet to see more than a blur of her face. “Not like a brother. I love him, Mom. I'm in love with Chris.”
Nothing but the wild beating of my heart, my eyes stinging as they begin to clear, her face wavering into focus. Her eyes totally cold, looking at my right ear or something. Not at me. Her hands drop away.
“Well, now. It's good to hear you two finally made friends. Sometimes I thought the fighting was going to be the death of me.”
“You really don't get what I'm trying to say? You must know, I've been so sure that you must know. That's what they always say, isn't it? When people come out to their parents, when they have cool parents like you are, and their parents are totally awesome and say, like, 'Oh, well, I knew all along'.”
She gets up from the arm of my chair, pushing out of my arms and across to the couch, grabbing her coffee mug off the table and starting towards the kitchen without looking at me. “Get to bed now, Zach. You've had a long week and I think it's best if you sleep on a conversation you'd only judge the wisdom of after you've had some rest.”
“What? Wait.” I start to follow her, my book falling to the floor. I don't stumble over my feet for once, any fear I had dropping away as I ghost her steps into the bright light of the kitchen.
“I asked you to go to your room, Zach. Now I'm telling you. I don't wish to discuss this.”
“I'm getting a little old for you to send to my room just because I'm saying something you might not want to hear.” Her back is to me, her arms across her body, closing her off. I put my hands on her shoulders and her whole body freezes, a chill pouring off her in waves like dry ice. “I need you to hear this, Mom. I'm -”
“No! I won't stand here and listen to this, this nonsense. If you won't go to bed, I will.”
But I hold onto her arm until she can't escape me without actually physically wrenching my hand away, her innate gentleness and manners winning out over everything. I bring up her hand, hold her fingers over my chest and hope my voice doesn't quaver. It doesn't.
“I'm gay, Mom.”
“No, Zach -”
“I know you've suspected it. ”
“I have no such thing.” Her voice is dark, shaking with barely-repressed emotion, her eyes trained over my shoulder beneath tightly-drawn brows.
“Yeah, you have. You quit asking about girlfriends back in ninth grade. There were those magazines that disappeared after you made my bed. Changing TV shows if there was the slightest mention, all of it, you know this about me, Mom. You know I'm telling you the truth.”
She tugs her hand out of mine, turning away from me, her voice so low I barely hear it but my blood stops in my veins all the same. “What? I didn't hear.”
“I said, get out.”
“If we're not talking about this now, we're talking about it in the morning. I can understand if you need some time -”
“No. Out of this house. I want you out of this house.”
“Mom, it's eleven at night, I'm not going -”
“I said, get out!”
It's like the cracking of a whip, her complete fury so unexpected it almost knocks me down. “I'm not going anywhere, we need to talk about this.”
“Talk? About what? Your dirty little secret? Your sin? You throw God's love back in His face, in my face, willfully.”
“No, I don't. I don't do that.”
She shakes her head, eyes closed, shutting me out. “I knew it. So many times over the years, all the trouble I've had with you, your willful nature, the way you put your own depraved, indulgent needs above everyone else's. It always comes back to your father with you, doesn't it? Every time, so like him, so weak. The sins of the father . . . ”
My mind derails and I throw my arms up as I have completely lost what she's talking about now. “I don't even know what that means! What's this got to do with Dad? I'm not gay because Dad died, Mom!”
“Stop saying that!”
“What? That I'm gay? I've been not saying it for, like, what, eight years? Longer, maybe. I'm gay, Mom. I am, I'm gay.”
“Stop it. Stop that and get out of this house, I'll not have you -”
“Telling the truth? You want me to lie to you some more? Because you always said you could bear anything but people lying to you and it's not fair to expect me to lie to my own mother about who I am. I can't do it anymore. I won't.”
I'm shaking so hard I have to sit down at the table, legs weak with delayed shock, shivers setting in as my mother grabs my car keys from the hook by the door and throws them down on the table in front of me with a crash, her face completely closed down, lips so thinned with anger that they've vanished.
“Please leave. You're welcome back when you're willing to try to put all this nastiness behind you and be a part of this family again.”
“Mom, please. Don't do this. Please.” My last Please cracks as I push the keys away, but she turns her back on me deliberately, her voice steady and calm once more.
“I've told you to leave. That's all I have to say on the matter.” She exits the room quietly, turning out the light as she goes.
It's two am before I finally get hold of Joe, sitting shakily on Neil's couch in the meantime, his girlfriend's head on my shoulder while I wish it was Chris's, and Neil pours me yet another enormous vodka, telling me to down it. I don't even have to explain what happened, Joe knows it the moment he hears my voice, blank and blunt like I've tried to strap down every stray thought, every fluttering emotion until it's all gone, tossing back the booze till it burns the last of the hurt out of my throat.
“She actually kicked you out?”
The phone's a lifeline and I'm clinging to it, my knuckles white. “I think so. Yeah. She did.”
A pause, I guess while he suppresses the urge to tell me that he told me so. “I'll call her in the morning and make sure she's okay.”
“Yeah, thanks. She was - I've never seen her like that. Not even when I crashed the car. This was, I don't know, different. Cold, not just mad at me.”
“I'm so sorry, bud.” I close my eyes, the warmth of his voice seeping into me. “She has - issues. She loves you, you know that. It's just going to take us some time.”
“What issues, though? She's not so religious she's going to kick her son out into the night over it, right? She was doing that whole Dad thing again. It's all such a mess.”
His sigh's audible down the line and I can see him in my mind, so familiar, pinching the bridge of his eyes then rubbing over his right eyelid before shrugging, his standard response when he's temporarily at a loss for words. “Listen. If we can't get this sorted out by tomorrow afternoon, you can fly down and spend a couple of weeks with me to let her calm down. Okay?”
California. I almost laugh at myself because I'm the most ridiculous person in the world for feeling even the briefest spark of pleasure at the idea of being in the same state as Chris, after all of this, after everything that we're not. “Sure, that'd be, fuck. Great, that'd be perfect. If you think she'll be okay.” I knock back the rest of my drink, coughing a little and feeling my head spin, wincing as Neil tops it up once more then tries to hand me a joint, which I shake my head at, already fucked up enough without needing to add to it.
“She'll have to be, won't she? Don't sweat it, kid. We'll fix this.”
He's wrong, we won't. Everything's broken, now. Everything fell apart in my hands.
Next
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7400
Warning: Major angst, a veritable cornucopia of varieties. This includes ideas based in complete fantasy about Zach's backstory that some people may find distasteful so, if you find that you do, please close out the page and do not read on. TIA
Summary: AU - Teenage Chris went to live with the Quinto family when his mom got sick
A/N: For halfbreedchild ♥ A big thank you to emmessann for her contribution to this series, patiently discussing the subjects within, and providing insight along with a heaping dose of ZQ canon whenever I felt I needed it.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
His toes are maybe a foot away from mine under the table and I want to stretch out my leg and cover them with my own.
“There's more boxes in the garage, I think we collapsed them down? Zach?”
“They're on top of the camping stuff, I'll dig some out later.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. Now, where the heck did I put my keys? Anyone?”
I shake my head and eat another spoonful of cereal, trying not to look over to where Chris is sneaking looks at me and smirking down at his bowl, and I wait till Mom's temporarily out of the room to run my foot up his calf into his inner knee, swiping my tongue across my top lip once he looks at me. I blew him for the first time last night and he focuses on my mouth, cheeks flushing red. Man, Chris blushes a lot. I'm so relieved I don't, that would be such a pain in the ass. Then Mom's back, digging in her purse and coming up with her keys as I hurriedly drop my foot and Chris buries his face in his glass of juice. It's stupid and reckless and I'm so turned on I don't care.
“Okay, I'm good to go. Guys -” Her hands on her hips in annoyance. “I expect to see results today. No more slacking off.”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Yeah, Mrs. Q.”
“We don't want to see my unhappy face when I get home. What don't we want to see?”
Your unhappy face. We both mumble it, avoiding each other's eyes but I notice a grin tweaking the corner of his mouth so I look up at him, it's like I can't help it and he starts looking back, staring at me, his face blank as Mom waves over her shoulder and exits through the side door. We gaze at each other on and on, all this heat rising in the room as we hear Mom's car door clunk shut, the engine turn over. My foot is covering his by the time she starts to pull out of the driveway, his toes wriggling against the underside of my arch, and I've reached across the table to grab his wrist and pull him out of his chair to stand between my legs as the distant thrum of her engine disappears down the road.
“Take it, just, take it off.”
“God, okay, give me a sec.”
Chris's t-shirt won't stay up where I push it up his chest, rubbing my hands over his stomach and down his hips to push his shorts down to his knees as he whips it off over his head. Then my mouth's on him again as he makes a choking noise and grabs my head with a curse. It's not like I hate giving head, it's okay, but usually I'm more about getting it if I'm totally honest. But with Chris, last night and now, again, as I push my mouth down on his hard, hot dick and feel his thighs shake under my fingers as he draws in a shuddery breath, it's as if every twitch of his cock on my tongue's connected directly to my own, arousal traveling down through my gut and my spine to settle deep in my balls as I suck deeply and feel his knees weaken.
“Fuck, Zach, that feels so, fuhh, fuck.”
Fingers tightening and relaxing in my hair, petting the curve of my skull, tracing around my ears. Last night I pulled out all the stops and had him almost crying with how good it was by the time he finally came, lying flat across my shoulder afterwards and telling me I should give the girls he knows lessons like that was the highest form of compliment. But this, now, swelling in the circle of my lips as I wrap a hand around his balls, grumble on his dick and force him deeper into my mouth, is all for me. Chris has this beautiful, thick, stubby dick, fat and hard in my mouth, his scent rising from his soft, dark bush, and the way he grunts and shivers as I swipe my tongue around him is such a total fucking turn-on that I have to reach into my underwear and pull my cock out, jacking off as I pump my head on him fast and grunt, his hands grasping at my ears and jaw, his hips fucking up into me.
It's fast and sloppy, and I close my eyes to breath in through my nose as his smell and taste get stronger the closer he comes to shooting. He's is repeating my name over and over, gasping it out and I draw harder on him, hollowing my cheeks and sucking as hard as I can until he bucks twice into my throat and jizzes down the back of my tongue with a long, stuttering oh-ohhhh. I keep sucking until he starts to whine, pulling back to look up into his flushed, cum-drunk face as I lick his taste off my lips, groan and then shout as it comes on me fast, shooting over my stomach and knuckles. My ass almost slides off my chair as I fuck into my fingers, pulses of heat pounding throughout my body as my hand drops away and I slump back in my seat.
Chris is looking down at me, eyes all sleepy and hot, mouth hanging open as he breathes deep and heavy, reaching over to push my bangs out of my face before looking a little embarrassed while he pulls his shorts back up.
“Shower?”
I blow out a long, shaky breath, wipe my hand on the leg of my shorts and grin, because it'll be the third morning we've showered together and I've been looking forward to it since I woke up. “Your place or mine?”
We're supposed to be working but we're in his bed instead, making out, his hand in my shorts as I stroke down his back to cup his ass and bite along his jaw and he sighs, rubs his nose against my head and using his cheek to push my face into position for another deep kiss. It's as if we're immersed in sex, spending our days in nothing but a pair of gym shorts each for easy access, doing the barest minimum of chores we think we can get away with before the desire to touch each other gets too strong and we drop whatever we're doing, falling into each other again like this. I've never been this horny before, not even when I was younger and everything equaled sex, because I'm constantly covered in his smell, his touch, his saliva from where he's learning my body with his tongue. The first time he blows me we're on the couch where we've stumbled from the kitchen, and looking down to see Chris on his knees between my legs, lips wrapped around me tight, his eyes screwed shut in concentration, my dick disappearing into his mouth like I've imagined a million times over, is so totally fucking hot that I come really hard and gross him out a little. It's hot and kind of funny as he chokes and makes a face like a little kid eating broccoli before leaning over to spit my spooge out into my discarded shorts with a heartfelt 'Uggh', wiping over his tongue with the back of his hand. I'm not even insulted, it's more than a little cute.
“You're so fucking hot.”
It's spoken against my neck, his voice a little gravelly as he sucks under my ear and plays with my balls, and I reach down to start pushing my shorts off. I've been using an old panstick from school to hide the hickies so far but I'm going to have to wear a goddamn scarf at this rate, his tongue swiping into my ear making me shiver before he attacks my neck again.
“Me? Look at you, you should have your own shirtless calendar. I'd buy it.”
“Yeah?”
“Totally. Would you sign it for me?” I rub a finger down his ass crack and his body freezes against mine, rigid and still, so I quit and go back to squeezing his ass again, rubbing over his chest and belly with my other hand because I can't get enough of all his skin.
“Zach . . .”
“It's okay, we don't have to.”
“No, I want to. The, uh, butt stuff. Like, I was thinking maybe -” He pushes his face into my neck and stays there, silent.
“What? Maybe what?”
Butt stuff? Pray Jesus God, yes. We're surrounded by half-filled packing boxes, that being our primary instruction from Mom this week, to pack up Chris's stuff so he's ready to leave Saturday. Four more days, including today and I want to do everything with him, and suddenly every day and half the night doesn't seem like nearly enough.
“I don't know if you're into it but, y'know, rimming, uh, looks so hot in porn and I thought maybe you'd want to . . .”
His voice is muffled into my neck, his cheek hot against my skin.
“You want me to rim you or you want to rim me or what?”
Chris pulls his hand out of my shorts, resting it on my chest as he pushes up enough to look down at me. “I want you to, y'know. Like, a whole lot, I've jerked off thinking of that bunches of times, ever since I found out that guys do that. Would you be, uh, into that? At all?”
I look at him, probably catching flies. “Are you fucking kidding me? Get naked and lie face down. Now. God.”
“Where's the fire? Chill, I'll get there.”
“The fire is in my goddamn nuts, get your fucking shorts off and spread your legs already.”
“Yeah? You're that into this?”
With him? Fuck, yes. His ass is . . . Chris's ass makes me break a little inside, like I look at it and think of what his asshole must look like and how it would feel on my tongue and my dick, and my internal organs collapse into each other as I expire with a gurgle. “Hell yeah.”
I look down at him, stretching naked across his bed, skin pale and striped by the sun streaming through his blinds. The lines of shadow curve over his body, following the lines of his shoulders, the tight dip of his waist and the muscular contours of his ass. He's breathtaking, so lean and beautiful that my chest burns and I have to swallow heavy, beginning to run my fingers up the backs of his long legs. I kick off my shorts and settle over him on the bed, kissing the nape of his neck first, the center of his shoulders, following down the cord of his spine with my mouth until I'm at his ass, a gentle kiss on each buttcheek then stroking across them with my fingers as he sighs and Mmmms and nuzzles his face into the bed. So far, so good, but I'm still half-waiting for him to tell me to quit. I trail my fingertips down his asscrack, again, pressing in a little deeper, fingers catching the fine hairs there that are soft and kind of downy. Adorable. Smoking hot and everything, but adorable. It kills me, how hot and how cute he is.
I rub my face on his ass and he gasps, 'Fuck' as I pull his cheeks apart enough to rub a finger down over his pucker. But I want to look at him so I pull him apart further and there he is, my lungs tight and my nuts drawing up as I look at his clean little pinky-brown hole that squeezes down on itself self-consciously as I stare at him.
“Come on! Don't just look, it's weird. Zach, come on . . .”
It's whiny with want so I move close enough that he can feel my breath against his asshole, which clenches hard as I look at it and my mouth waters. I rub over him one more time with my finger before pushing my face into his asscrack to taste, his body jerking like he's had an electric shock the second my tongue slides over him the first time.
“Uhnnhh, fuck, that feels strange.”
“Good strange?” It's all smothered by his ass, my voice muted before I kiss his asshole and then lick him again, swiping up and down, across and back again, twirling, lapping heavy.
“Oh fuh-fuck, yes. Ooh. Not like I thought - I don't know. So good. Ohh yeah. Uhh.” He's reduced to vowel sounds and occasional curses as I figure he's into it enough and start to suck at him, slurping and making a mess as I rub my face in harder and pinch at his butthair with my fingers to tug gently, swirling my tongue on him as he pushes back against my face. Once I work the tip of my tongue into him and start to press in, he whimpers my name and makes this strangled, choking sound followed by a long, loud 'Fu-uuck!' that makes me grin into his ass. He tastes of salt and sweat and of him, strong and warm, an incongruous citrus scent from the shower gel we lathered ourselves in this morning rising from his heating skin. I shove my tongue in as far as it'll go, holding his hips tight and tongue-fucking him a few times as he squirms under me moaning into the bed, then I pull away to slap his ass gently.
“Hey! No kinky shit.”
“Get up on your knees, then you can jack off.”
“That's okay?”
“No, that's why I suggested it. What the hell, dude, you haven't figured out yet that I like it when you jack off?”
“I was beginni- ahh yeah. Fuck. Yes.”
I simply shove in this time, holding his ass apart with one hand as I jerk off with the other, his nuts bumping my chin as he strokes himself fast already and I work my tongue faster, too, pressing in to suck at his hole once more before squirming my way up there again. It's all too fucking hot, the taste of him, his scent, his wet ass cradling my face as he gasps and jacks himself and tightens on my tongue, and I come with a low groan that triggers his own as he fucks himself back onto my tongue and shoots with a grunt.
I'm wiping over my chin with the back of my forearm while he grins at me and says “I'm sure you'll understand if I don't kiss you right now.”
“Oh, it's going to be like that, is it? Mister straighty scared of a little butt juice?”
“Damn right. Like, I'm sure your ass is lovely but there is no way in hell I'm going anywhere near it with my mouth.”
“You've given head to girls.”
“You know it. I'm, like, Olympic gold when it comes to pearl diving.”
I give him a fake grossed out look. “Thank you so much for that. Did you know, however, medical fact states that, if your sex partner has averagely good personal hygiene, there's no higher bacterial risk involved in performing analingus on them then there is cunnilingus.”
“Medical fact?”
“Total medical fact.” I poke at him with each word to emphasize my point.
“And you read that where, Scientific American?”
“Porn, Chris. Some of us actually read the articles now and then.”
“Ah. Porn.” He grins and hugs into my chest, avoiding my mouth when I try to kiss him again, his leg thrown across mine. “That's an irrefutable source if I've ever heard one. Cut that out, I'm not kissing you.”
“Debate team, man. My cites are impeccable. Pucker up.”
I feel like taking every item he sticks into a box back out of it, like placing every book back on his bookshelves, every single CD back into the rack by the stereo that I'm supposed to be unhooking. I even ignore the CDs of mine that have somehow made it into Chris's collection because it's nice something of myself is going with him. Maybe I'm supposed to get him a going away gift, but I have no idea if that would be creepy or not, especially now. Mom's already got a family photo for him, her, me and Joe in a nice little frame, Joe sorted it out. I look dorky and have a zit in it, and feel like kicking Joe's ass for not picking a nicer one of me.
When it gets to the point where I'm moping over every single item I watch him wrapping in old newspapers and stuffing in a carton, his most recent sports trophies now, the ones not already at his mom and dad's, I give up and throw the cables down.
“I'm going to go tidy the kitchen and get stuff started.”
“You're sure you're not actually going to go make me a sandwich, and put it on a little plate with a few chips before bringing it up here?”
“Pretty damn sure.”
“You know what would be great right now? Toasted cheese. You know I'm right.”
“You ate lunch, like, an hour ago.”
“I know. Something since made me work up an appetite.” His smile's open and innocent, his eyes bright like sun shining off a pool. I don't get it, how he's so cheerful today, same as every day, jumping on me the minute Mom left for work and then carrying on same as we have done the entire week. I woke and remembered that it's Friday, my stomach turning over, and expected him to be as subdued, as grey as my mood. But he's the same as ever.
“If you want a snack, come get a snack. I have things to do for your party.”
I turn to leave but Chris's outstretched hand snags my hip as I move towards the door and he pulls me to him, his naked chest against mine, his warm arms wrapping around my torso as his nose rubs along under my chin.
“You're in such a shitty mood today.”
“Can you blame me?” I slide my tongue into his mouth when he kisses me, drawing him closer, kissing him on and on until it feels like there's no possible way he's leaving tomorrow. He pulls away, his hands warm on my shoulders.
“It'll be okay. We'll be okay.”
“I know.” His forehead against mine, our breath mixing, his stomach flat and taut as I stroke it with my thumbs, my heart pumping a little faster as I decide to go for it, decide to ask him. “I was thinking, maybe I could fly down for Thanksgiving Break. I could tell Mom I've got an audition or something, maybe visit Joe at the same time . . .”
His body has stilled against mine, his fingers no longer describing small circles across my back. Shit. I open my mouth to start some damage limitation but he's ahead of me.
“I don't know, it's a little far to fly for a booty call.”
“Totally, I was just -”
“And it's not like we're, y'know, whatever.”
I wad the feeling into a ball, shove in down my throat and lock it in my chest, moving away from him. “Seriously, it was just an idea, if I was going to see Joe at the same time. Forget about it.”
“Zach -”
“No, it's okay, leave it. Finish packing or Mom's going to kick our asses, I'm going to . . .”
I don't finish it, I simply leave, not letting it go till I'm in the kitchen, kicking a chair out the way and cursing myself for being a fucking retard. I wrap my arms around myself, hugging my ribs as I stare out the window and mentally call myself every name under the sun. I thought we were, I hoped, I guess - I don't know what I thought. That it was so good he'd want only me.
Mom knows something's up. She watches me at the barbecue later as I watch Chris, laughing with his friends, an ex of his sitting on his lap with her arm around his shoulders, playing with his hair. Every time I force my eyes away from him, Mom's looking at me and I have no clue what she's thinking, her expression guarded but with a soft smile like she knows this is tough for me, somehow. I pretty much take over the grill because as least it gives me something to concentrate on, that and my fifth beer. But I hear Chris's laugh again and I can't fucking help it, I have to look over, at his wide smile that lights up the entire yard like someone switched a lamp on, at his face, the way he looks, his expressions that I realize now I have memorized. At his body in his shirt and jeans, tight and hot and perfect for me, my tongue running across my teeth with the recent memory of biting into his asscheek lightly before he slapped me away with a yelp.
People start to drift away as the night gets darker and bugs start to attack, neighbors first, all of them hugging Chris and touching his face and wishing him luck. I'm wrestling the hot grill out of the brick support with a pair of tongs when Mom comes across with a fresh beer for me.
“You look like you need this. Leave that, I'll clean up out here tomorrow while you . . . I'll take care of it.”
“Thanks.” I clink mine to hers, take a draw. “I'll take care of clearing up tomorrow if you drive Chris to the airport.”
“We discussed this. I'll cry my darn head off if I have to say goodbye to that boy at the airport.” She hugs into my waist, her head barely coming up to my armpit. “I've already soaked his shirt three times.”
“He won't mind.”
“Can you believe it? Four years. It feels like he's been with us forever.”
“It has been forever.” I watch as he leaves his group of friends and walks across the yard to us, smiling at Mom, and then in my direction although he doesn't meet my eyes.
“Hey, Mrs. Q - my friends wondered if it'd be okay if I went to hang with them now the party's winding down. I won't be late.”
“Sure, honey, you do what you want, I'm going to fall into a bubble bath and into bed so don't worry about running back here.”
“You're sure?”
“Go, have fun. Don't stress curfew.”
He hugs her quick, the other side of her to me, his arm knocking against mine and Chris draws back hurriedly like he can't even bear to touch me, like he hasn't touched me since I said what I said about visiting him at college. A fresh hot wave of humiliation floods through me and I drown it in a long drink of beer as he thanks us both for his party and runs back across the yard to his friends, Jessica's arm going around his back, his slung across her shoulders. A week off from his usual life and then normality reasserts itself, I guess. I help take the leftover food in, stashing it in the refrigerator as Mom wraps and hands each dish to me, and try to remind myself that it was just sex. I'm an expert at just sex. I make some lame excuse to Mom and head upstairs to my room, aware she's watching me again as I go.
We're back here again, me waking up fully clothed with the lights on, lying on top of the covers as Chris knocks softly and lets himself into my room. It's almost three and it's the first time he's knocked since he started coming to spend the nights with me a week back. He stands at the foot of my bed again as I blink the sleep away and sit up on my elbows.
“I saw your light under the door . . .”
“Yeah. I wasn't sure if you were going to -”
“Things got weird. I know, I'm sorry, but it doesn't mean I don't want to . . . it's our last chance.”
And you spent it out with your friends and your skank ex who you probably made out with half the night. Even I'm not pathetic enough to say it aloud so I shrug then shift over on the bed in mute invitation. He sits down with his back to me, a pause as if he's thinking something over before he turns to lie facing me, his hand coming to rest on my hip.
“I get why you're pissed at me. I do.”
“I'm not pissed at you.”
“You are so pissed at me.”
“I'm not!” It's too loud and I frown, repeat it in a hiss. “I'm not. I'm pissed that you're leaving, sure, but we'll both deal.”
“Yeah. We will. Told you that you're gonna miss me.”
“If I'd known you were going to spend a week jumping my bones and making me spunk five times a day, I'd have agreed with you.”
His face splits into that broad, heartbreaking grin as we come together in a kiss, his mouth soft on mine for a moment before he opens his mouth and shit heats up, fast, fingers flying as we try to get into each other's pants, loud sucking kisses, shoes hitting the floor in a pattern of thuds as we rush to get naked and wrapped around each other. It's tough to keep quiet after a week with the house to ourselves and I smother my gasp in his mouth as he wraps his fingers around my dick tight, a gentle squeeze before he starts to stroke me, rubbing his dick against my thigh. I know it's stupid to say anything, gasping into his ear and fucking into his hand and feeling like this is the thing that has made most sense in my life so far, but it busts out of my mouth and is growled into his ear before I can stop it.
“I want to fuck you.”
Chris's hand stills on me for a beat before moving again, slower, tighter. “Zach, no. We're good like this, or we could sixty-nine again because that was totally hot, but that? No.”
“I'd make sure it was good for you and didn't hurt. I know how -”
A huff of irritation against my jaw. “Give it up, man, never going to happen. I could probably fuck you if you want, I could probably get into that.”
I stroke down his buttcheek until he elbows my arm away. “I don't get fucked.”
“Well neither do I, so apparently we're at an impasse. Come on, jack me off.”
I can't push it but I want to, so bad I can taste it, kissing him deep and imagining his hand is his asshole as I fuck into it, his body against mine, his leg hiked over my thigh as I start to beat his dick hard. It's not enough, I need more, I need the pretense that I'm moving inside him so I roll us both until I'm on top of him between his spread legs, pulling his hand up to my mouth to spit into the palm before directing it back to start jerking my dick again. I look down at Chris beneath me, his face flushing pink across his cheekbones as he gets closer, my hand on him fast and firm, his eyes dark with arousal, my dick fucking into the slick, wet tightness of his fingers as his body moves against mine. It builds until every muscle in my body feels clenched tight and I shoot, cursing into his neck as he suddenly arches against me and fills my hand with his cum.
He's almost asleep against my shoulder, all floppy-drowsy like a puppy about to fall facedown in its food bowl, his limbs already slack against mine. I should kick him out like I have done all week, not wanting to risk the wrath of my Mom any more than we do already, but the temptation's too strong to sleep in Chris's arms, holding him against me like we're lovers in our own place, our own bed. Lovers . . . I hold him tighter to me, my nose in his hair. He Hhmms and nuzzles into my neck as I stroke spirals over the soft skin of his shoulders, and discover with a drowning, suffocating heart that I've fallen in love with him.
“Come on, sweetheart. Out of the car.”
Mom knocks at the window again until I turn her way, no strength to lift my head so I stare at the mother of pearl buttons on her pale yellow shirt through the car window.
“You've been sitting out here near twenty minutes. Zach, out. Now. You'll die of heatstroke.”
“I'll just be a second.”
“Look at you, you're sweating your behind off.”
She opens my door and tugs at my elbow, and the fresh air feels good, clearing my head a little but bringing with it a fresh gust of pain beneath my ribs, my chest tight. I choke it back once more, tighten my fingers on the wheel, determined that I'm not going to cry over Chris, of all people, the snot-nosed little prick who did so much to drive me nuts over the years. “I'll be one second. Give me a minute.”
Her fingers in my hair, gentle, like when I was a little kid and got upset. “Come on in the house, sweetie, I waited on lunch for you. We'll talk about him and remember some good stuff, and you'll feel better.”
I guess this isn't going away anytime soon. I force myself out from behind the wheel, my t-shirt sticking to my back, soaked through with sweat. “I think I'll go shower, if that's okay.”
“Whatever you need.”
The shower doesn't help, too strange to be by myself in it once more. Stupid to get so acclimated to something in a week. But then I'm sitting at the table in my robe, hair dripping down the back of my neck while Mom serves up BLTs on wholegrain with a glass of fruit punch rather than water, total comfort food, the sort of thing she'd make if I'd had a shitty day at school. I wonder if I dare hope that it feels a bit better. Like I can keep breathing. Maybe he's right, maybe we'll both get through this because we weren't - whatever we weren't. I take a bite of my sandwich, chew it carefully, swallow it down with a gulp of punch. Repeat it over, then again, a dull feeling in my chest as I stare at the dent in the tabletop Joe made that time he threw a plate at my head for fucking with his bike.
“You going to start looking for a summer job, now Chris is packed off?”
“I don't know, Mom. I thought I might see if I can go spend some time with Joe. Get out of here for awhile.” It's a new idea but it feels right as I say it, anything to get away from this house and all the reminders of Chris everywhere. But her face shrivels with a sob, making me aware I'm being a self-obsessed asshole, not even noticing how tough this has been on her, how much she's going to miss him. Mom loves totally, without boundaries or preconceptions, and she pretty much adopted Chris into the family, throwing her arms and heart wide open to that skinny little fuck who showed up all big eyes and homesickness and pepperoni pizza. I dump my sandwich and go around the table to hug her tight, swaying us both back and forth.
“We'll be okay. It's back to how it was before, the Quintonamic Duo, remember?” It's what she used to call us when Joe first moved out, making me roll my eyes in deep chagrin over how embarrassingly weirdo moms are. “And Joe can get his fat butt over here to see us.”
“Language.”
“'Butt'? That's cussing? What else am I supposed to say, 'ass'?”
“Watch it. You're not too big to get your mouth washed out again.”
I'd almost forgotten that day. Joe taught me the F bomb, then sat back and watched with building joy as I told Mom that my report card was going to be 'Fucking excellent' that semester. I was ten, and can vividly remember the puckering, claggy flavor of the laundry soap I was still spitting out twenty minutes and three cups of mouthwash later.
What on earth can you do on this earth but catch at whatever comes near you, with both your fingers, until your fingers are broken?
Mom's watching the news and I'm downstairs with her for once rather than hiding out in my room. I'm not sure if it's more for her or for me, as when I was up there earlier, I kept waiting for the door to open, for him to come in and press me down to the bed. So instead I turn to Tennessee Williams, positive he'll have something to say about a useless passion for some hot young guy, but I flip through and settle on Orpheus Descending, and it's merely managing to depress the shit out of me so I'm about to close it out, pretty sure there's no need for a bookmark as I'm unlikely to return to this any time soon. Actually, I feel like throwing the fucking thing with all its lyrical philosophy out the window. Since when has Tennessee Williams been so optimistic?
“Play no good?”
“Huh? Oh, not really. I mean, it's beautiful, but it doesn't suit my mood.” I open it up again, flick through a few pages, a Williams' quote in the few pages of notes catching my attention. 'It is a play about unanswered questions that haunt the hearts of people and the difference between continuing to ask them . . . and the acceptance of prescribed answers that are not answers at all.' And my eyes fill so suddenly and unexpectedly that I don't have a hope in hell of controlling them. I make a breathy, hiccupy gasp, almost a sob, dropping the book into my lap as I turn in my chair away from Mom and press both hands to my mouth. My heart is haunted, not just by him, but by everything, all of it weighing too heavy right now. It's a flash flood, caused by a sudden, catastrophic thaw.
I feel her arms go around me as she perches on the arm of the easy chair, tugging my head into the soft mass of her stomach, hands cradling my head as I close my eyes and wish it all away.
“It's okay, baby. It's okay.”
“It's not. It's not okay, Mom. I miss him.” My body buzzes, chest full and heart heavy, like the air got too thick to breathe, like I'm swimming underwater and everything got distant. “I love him. I love Chris and it feels like my heart got torn out today.”
Her hands pause a second, her voice steady. “I know, but you got over it when Joe left and you missed him, too, right?”
“No.” I pull away enough to look at her, my eyes too wet to see more than a blur of her face. “Not like a brother. I love him, Mom. I'm in love with Chris.”
Nothing but the wild beating of my heart, my eyes stinging as they begin to clear, her face wavering into focus. Her eyes totally cold, looking at my right ear or something. Not at me. Her hands drop away.
“Well, now. It's good to hear you two finally made friends. Sometimes I thought the fighting was going to be the death of me.”
“You really don't get what I'm trying to say? You must know, I've been so sure that you must know. That's what they always say, isn't it? When people come out to their parents, when they have cool parents like you are, and their parents are totally awesome and say, like, 'Oh, well, I knew all along'.”
She gets up from the arm of my chair, pushing out of my arms and across to the couch, grabbing her coffee mug off the table and starting towards the kitchen without looking at me. “Get to bed now, Zach. You've had a long week and I think it's best if you sleep on a conversation you'd only judge the wisdom of after you've had some rest.”
“What? Wait.” I start to follow her, my book falling to the floor. I don't stumble over my feet for once, any fear I had dropping away as I ghost her steps into the bright light of the kitchen.
“I asked you to go to your room, Zach. Now I'm telling you. I don't wish to discuss this.”
“I'm getting a little old for you to send to my room just because I'm saying something you might not want to hear.” Her back is to me, her arms across her body, closing her off. I put my hands on her shoulders and her whole body freezes, a chill pouring off her in waves like dry ice. “I need you to hear this, Mom. I'm -”
“No! I won't stand here and listen to this, this nonsense. If you won't go to bed, I will.”
But I hold onto her arm until she can't escape me without actually physically wrenching my hand away, her innate gentleness and manners winning out over everything. I bring up her hand, hold her fingers over my chest and hope my voice doesn't quaver. It doesn't.
“I'm gay, Mom.”
“No, Zach -”
“I know you've suspected it. ”
“I have no such thing.” Her voice is dark, shaking with barely-repressed emotion, her eyes trained over my shoulder beneath tightly-drawn brows.
“Yeah, you have. You quit asking about girlfriends back in ninth grade. There were those magazines that disappeared after you made my bed. Changing TV shows if there was the slightest mention, all of it, you know this about me, Mom. You know I'm telling you the truth.”
She tugs her hand out of mine, turning away from me, her voice so low I barely hear it but my blood stops in my veins all the same. “What? I didn't hear.”
“I said, get out.”
“If we're not talking about this now, we're talking about it in the morning. I can understand if you need some time -”
“No. Out of this house. I want you out of this house.”
“Mom, it's eleven at night, I'm not going -”
“I said, get out!”
It's like the cracking of a whip, her complete fury so unexpected it almost knocks me down. “I'm not going anywhere, we need to talk about this.”
“Talk? About what? Your dirty little secret? Your sin? You throw God's love back in His face, in my face, willfully.”
“No, I don't. I don't do that.”
She shakes her head, eyes closed, shutting me out. “I knew it. So many times over the years, all the trouble I've had with you, your willful nature, the way you put your own depraved, indulgent needs above everyone else's. It always comes back to your father with you, doesn't it? Every time, so like him, so weak. The sins of the father . . . ”
My mind derails and I throw my arms up as I have completely lost what she's talking about now. “I don't even know what that means! What's this got to do with Dad? I'm not gay because Dad died, Mom!”
“Stop saying that!”
“What? That I'm gay? I've been not saying it for, like, what, eight years? Longer, maybe. I'm gay, Mom. I am, I'm gay.”
“Stop it. Stop that and get out of this house, I'll not have you -”
“Telling the truth? You want me to lie to you some more? Because you always said you could bear anything but people lying to you and it's not fair to expect me to lie to my own mother about who I am. I can't do it anymore. I won't.”
I'm shaking so hard I have to sit down at the table, legs weak with delayed shock, shivers setting in as my mother grabs my car keys from the hook by the door and throws them down on the table in front of me with a crash, her face completely closed down, lips so thinned with anger that they've vanished.
“Please leave. You're welcome back when you're willing to try to put all this nastiness behind you and be a part of this family again.”
“Mom, please. Don't do this. Please.” My last Please cracks as I push the keys away, but she turns her back on me deliberately, her voice steady and calm once more.
“I've told you to leave. That's all I have to say on the matter.” She exits the room quietly, turning out the light as she goes.
It's two am before I finally get hold of Joe, sitting shakily on Neil's couch in the meantime, his girlfriend's head on my shoulder while I wish it was Chris's, and Neil pours me yet another enormous vodka, telling me to down it. I don't even have to explain what happened, Joe knows it the moment he hears my voice, blank and blunt like I've tried to strap down every stray thought, every fluttering emotion until it's all gone, tossing back the booze till it burns the last of the hurt out of my throat.
“She actually kicked you out?”
The phone's a lifeline and I'm clinging to it, my knuckles white. “I think so. Yeah. She did.”
A pause, I guess while he suppresses the urge to tell me that he told me so. “I'll call her in the morning and make sure she's okay.”
“Yeah, thanks. She was - I've never seen her like that. Not even when I crashed the car. This was, I don't know, different. Cold, not just mad at me.”
“I'm so sorry, bud.” I close my eyes, the warmth of his voice seeping into me. “She has - issues. She loves you, you know that. It's just going to take us some time.”
“What issues, though? She's not so religious she's going to kick her son out into the night over it, right? She was doing that whole Dad thing again. It's all such a mess.”
His sigh's audible down the line and I can see him in my mind, so familiar, pinching the bridge of his eyes then rubbing over his right eyelid before shrugging, his standard response when he's temporarily at a loss for words. “Listen. If we can't get this sorted out by tomorrow afternoon, you can fly down and spend a couple of weeks with me to let her calm down. Okay?”
California. I almost laugh at myself because I'm the most ridiculous person in the world for feeling even the briefest spark of pleasure at the idea of being in the same state as Chris, after all of this, after everything that we're not. “Sure, that'd be, fuck. Great, that'd be perfect. If you think she'll be okay.” I knock back the rest of my drink, coughing a little and feeling my head spin, wincing as Neil tops it up once more then tries to hand me a joint, which I shake my head at, already fucked up enough without needing to add to it.
“She'll have to be, won't she? Don't sweat it, kid. We'll fix this.”
He's wrong, we won't. Everything's broken, now. Everything fell apart in my hands.
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