Confounded: Part II - 43. Chapter 43

CHAPTER 43 --==Tom’s POV==--

At first I hated Taylan for having done that. But as we drove back, I knew he’d forced me to do a good thing; it just took me a while to see why he’d done it.

I had wanted to scream. Scream at Taylan for being this huge asshole, bringing me out here, forcing me to do this, to say goodbye. I didn’t want to say goodbye, I didn’t need to say goodbye. Wasn’t it good enough that he was dead already? Did he have to rub it in again, by bringing me here?

I wanted to scream at the grave when I knelt down on it. I wanted to break the stone itself and lift up the bones from the earth. Make them come together again, have sinew and flesh wrap around them and materialize back into human form, back into Sandro. In my minds’ eye, I could see it happen as I had sat there, kneeling. It all would knit together and there he would be, and he would laugh.

It never happened, of course it wouldn’t. But in my mind I could see it. And it went all wrong. For one; the face didn’t match. It was not Hispanic but Caucasian. It was angular and smooth and handsome, not roughened with a three-day beard and somewhat plain. The hair was very dark brown, almost black but not pure black as it was supposed to be. It wasn’t unruly, as it should’ve been, but parted on the left, some stray locks playfully tickling the eyebrows but otherwise combed to stay where it was. It nearly touched the collar of his dress-shirt. Sandro never had worn dress-shirts, only T-shirts.
The eyes were not brown, they were blue. The nose was too big, not sculpted to perfection like Sandro’s had been, and the teeth in that smile were white and even; the crooked left corner one, marring an otherwise perfect row, wasn’t there. The smile was open, inviting. And then his shoulders; also wrong. They were wide and strong, true, but encased in a suit, not a weather-worn brown leather jacket. He wore a damn suit! And a tie! And the shirt was pink. Pink!

If I never saw that color again, I’d be happy. Sandro’d would never wear pink. God, he’d have been the laughing stock of the gang. And his smell, that was off, too. He should smell like a man, the hint of sweat, tangy and pure, not this clean and fresh smell, like this woody-smelling toilet-freshener that made you think of taking a crap in the pinewoods up north.

What the hell was Kit doing in this vision, anyway. He needed to get out. He wasn’t dead, he had no business here. Bring Sandro back! Although I wouldn’t mind the woody, clean smell, I guess. That could stay.

No matter how hard I tried, to think it away, Kit’s image didn’t seem to want to be swayed. He persisted, smiling serenely, like he had some goddamn right to be there.

“Go,” I whispered.

“Neverrrr,” came the reply, playful yet serious.

“Go!”

“No. Mine.”

Dammit. Yes. Alright. Yes. His. But for once, just bring him back.

“Sandro?”

No reply. Nothing. I waited.

I waited for what felt like a long time. Nothing came, so finally I rose. My knees were aching. They felt wet, too. The grass must’ve been sprayed right before we came. And then I heard it. Or imagined hearing it, probably, when I turned to where Taylan was waiting. He was watching me, his expression concerned. I turned back.

“Goodbye...”

It was a whisper of a sound, like the rustle of leaves in the wind. And of course it was only in my mind. But I answered it just the same.

“Bye…”

No answer.

He was truly gone.

**********

When we arrived home, there was another car there. Uncle Mitchell and Kit were already back. Which meant it was after seven. I hadn’t noted the time.
The kitchen door opened and I cursed.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”
Beside me, Taylan turned and his hand shot out, connecting to the back of my head.

“Watch the language!”

“Pink! Fucking pink!”
He stared for a few seconds and then followed my gaze to where Kit was standing in the doorway, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his tie loosened and a button or two undone of the shirt he wore. A light-pink shirt.

A sudden sound came from Tay’s direction and I looked. He was doing his best to hold himself in. I guess that’s what set me off. A laugh bubbled up, although it sounded more as a hiccup. Then I relaxed into my seat and rolled my eyes up, throwing my hands up as I hovered between more laughing and crying. My nose prickled inside like I was about to sneeze.
In the doorway, Kit perked up, frowning as he was waiting.

“Seriously? It’s a universal plot, now?”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” Taylan snickered, opening the door. I did the same and exited the car. “Let’s bring all this stuff inside, and then I’ll make a start on some food.”

“Leave it, for now. How long until dinner,” I asked, keeping my eyes on Kit, who’s frown deepened even further.

“About an hour or so. Why?”

“Because I seriously, seriously hate pink,” I answered, beginning to stalk towards the kitchen.
Tay chuckled.

“Oh boy. Fine, alright, but…be gentle?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

I reached Kit, not meeting his gaze, instead eying his stupid shirt. Then I grabbed his loosened tie and went past him, forcing him to come along, if he wanted to or not, the silk fabric of this appropriate noose pulling tight over my shoulder.

“Hey!”

“Shut up. Follow.”
In reflex, he stiffened and then stumbled when I continued on, choosing his room since it was closest.

“What the F...! What are you doing!”

“I said shut up! Move!”
The clamoring and sliding of his Italian shoes behind me was kinda satisfactory, as he stumbled into all sorts of things, trying to keep up on the slippery kitchen floor tiles. It was funny, in a way; long shanks unable to keep up.

Once at his room, I opened the door and moved inside, then turned and let go of the tie, pushing the door closed behind him and then him against it.

It took one try. Perhaps that was for the best; I might have lit a match to it, had it not yielded as it did. Buttons pelted me left and right as I yanked on the shirtfront.

“Off.”

“Are you crazy!?”

“OFF! Off! Take it off!”

He looked shocked and taken aback, and then just did it, his eyes showing a sort of helpless ‘what did I do now?’ expression. I grinned when the offending thing finally hit the floor, the tie still around his neck but his upper body naked.

“Better.”
Even to my own ears, my tone indicated pure satisfaction.

“Tom?”

“Shhh! I just need you to stand there. Don’t move, mmk?”

“Okay…”
He sounded uncertain but remained where he was, leaning against the door.

I approached him and reached up, touching the column of his throat, the hollow where his collarbone flared to the left and right. I encountered the knot of his tie while tracing a finger to his sternum then continued down, following the silk over his chest down to his abs, his navel (the tip of the tie stopped there) and further…

“Tom…”

“Shhh….”

It was the sound of his zipper that made him inhale sharply. I didn’t actually touch him yet. Then I moved my fingers, found the waistband of his boxers and slipped in there. Found him, still flaccid but thickening, hardening upon touch. Pulling him out, I then kneeled.

He was in my mouth and growing rapidly and somewhere above me he muttered the F-word. I couldn’t really grin there, but yet again I had scored a curse from Mr. Nevercussedbeforehemetme.

No other word came from him. He didn’t ask what I was doing, or what was going on, again. He didn’t call my name, nothing. Just hard breathing now. But as he grew to full strength between my lips, his hand cupped the back of my head and held me securely on his length, not letting himself escape from my mouth. And suddenly it became something else. For him, for me.

The slide between my lips became a faster and faster rhythm, the hand on the back of my head firmly in place. Saliva coated him, it was dripping down my chin. Slurping sounds were all that were audible. He wasn’t directing me, there was no need for it. He was making sure I wouldn’t let him go. I didn’t plan on it.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasped, somewhere above me, “Squeeze my balls…”
Not on his life. I wanted to taste him, now. No delay. But I might get him a cockring.

I sucked harder than I’d ever done before.

“No! Wait!”

Yes. Definitely yes. Harder, faster.

His body went completely rigid and he swelled in my throat. Then he blew, just as the tip of his cock was dangerously close, almost escaping, the muscles in his stomach flexing as he began to convulse. Liquid heat, thick and salty-sweet, splashed into my throat, then rapidly filled my mouth and I swallowed, again and again while I kept my lips securely around him, the sucking action constant. His hand yanked on my hair, painfully, but he could’ve pulled the strands free and I still wouldn’t have stopped; no way was I gonna stop until he’d spilled the last drop. No. Way.

**********

I finally let him escape when he was truly limp between my lips, a bodily shudder the reward. The taste of him richly in my mouth. As I traced my tongue over my teeth, I could still taste him there. Then I rose and stepped back, looking at the aftermath. And grinned, when he glared at me, his hands somewhat shaking as he put himself safely away behind the zipper.

“What the hell, Tom!?”

“What! I really hate pink. Now you know! So if you don’t want this to happen again? Don’t ever wear pink!”

He stared at me as if he thought I was completely nuts. Perhaps I was. And then…he grinned too, and moved to his closet, yanking the door open, gesturing.

Moving my eyes to what he was gesturing at, I sighed. Shit. He had at least five more shirts. In different shades of pink…