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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

With Trust - 15. Time Out

I didn’t want to say goodbye to him. Against Milo’s better judgment, I talked him into letting me say goodbye to him. In his car. In our gravel driveway. He should have left five minutes ago.

His tongue touched my bottom lip, slipped back into my mouth to find my tongue, and it was with extreme reluctance that I forced myself to pull away from him, frustrated because I was already hard again and didn’t own a looser pair of jeans.

“You have to go home,” I insisted. “I don’t like it when you’re grounded.”

“Then get out of my car.”

I considered, and responded by leaning towards him again, sighing when his lips touched mine. I slid my fingers over his cheek, cupped his face. “I don’t want you to go,” I whispered, felt him smile against my lips in response.

Milo pushed me away, the gleam in his green eyes contradicting the stern look on his face. “Get out of my car.”

I laughed. “Call me. Promise.”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

I kissed him one more time, opened the passenger door and got out as fast as I could, not wanting to let out what little heat he had in his vehicle. I stood in my driveway, watching him leave until brake lights disappeared. Wishing he’d turn around. Wishing he’d come back. And I still had a smile on my face when I finally went inside.

My parents were snuggled on the sofa, absorbed in a movie. They’d seen me walk Milo out. Probably over twenty minutes ago. My dad raised an eyebrow at me. “A little late, isn’t it?” he commented.

“Only because I’m home for you to notice,” I remarked.

My mom rolled her eyes, lifted a piece of popcorn from the bowl in her lap and threw it at me. I laughed as I dodged it. “Bed,” she ordered.

It was only ten o’clock, but I didn’t have a problem with that. I was pretty sure my bed still smelled like Milo.


Joe Douglas had strict parents. Not exactly Trust strict, but maybe strict enough. He didn’t have a curfew on weekends, but when he was in trouble, he was usually in trouble for an inappropriate amount of time, at least by our teenage standards. For example, he was still doing double the chores normally required from him over our summer mishap that involved Milo Trust’s abused paintings and Joe losing his driver’s license. That said, he’d made it apparent enough to begin with that he wasn’t very fond of Milo Trust being in his house, just like he wasn’t entirely fond of the reason Milo Trust was in his house; Caleb had talked him into throwing a party because his parents were out of town to see his grandparents, and since it was a school night, Joe had talked them into leaving him behind.

But I couldn’t blame Caleb as much as Joe did. His place just happened to be perfect for parties, strict parents or not. He lived in a spacious one-level because his father was a retired cop in a wheelchair. Joe hated talking about that, mostly because he couldn’t do it without shaking, but we all knew the story. His father, after six years of failed attempts, had finally made detective. The family had been out celebrating and not paying attention, Joe had stepped right in front of a motorcycle with no headlight. His dad was the one the bike swerved into. He never walked again. The family moved to Heywell shortly after because they had family here. Joe, thanks to Haily, had fallen into our group easily enough. I considered him amongst my best friends, even when he was being the prick of all pricks. Like when I was seated on an oversized recliner with Haily and Theresa Milldrum and he leaned over the back of it, commenting, “Who the hell told that shithead to show up?”
I’d glanced over the wide room. It wasn’t exactly the most crowded party. Joe had at least drawn the line after Caleb called to invite the first seven people. I’d mentioned it to one, not knowing whether or not he’d show up and now that he had it seemed I had Joe to explain it to.

Or, maybe not.

Haily leaned back on the recliner, narrowing her eyes on her cousin. “Be nice, jackass,” she insisted. “Milo’s okay.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at her before his expression grew more suspicious, as if he’d just figured something out. “Seriously? Milo Trust? Since when do you have a thing for Milo Trust?”

Joe glanced at me, rolled his eyes as if I should understand his opinion on the matter entirely. I simply looked at Haily, just as expectantly as Joe did.

She narrowed her eyes at me, then shook her head. “Whatever. Just don’t be a dick, Joe.”

Joe laughed at her. “Milo Trust,” he said again, still boggled by it before he walked away.

I regarded Haily sheepishly. “You didn’t have to let him think that.”

Haily shrugged, leaning against me because Theresa Milldrum was suddenly taking up too much room, her attention on the guy who’d come by to talk to her. “He’s going to think whatever he wants anyway. But you remember what I said about being careful, right?” she regarded me doubtfully, as if she really didn’t expect any such thing from me. I might have responded to that, if Caleb hadn’t come along to interrupt us.

“Nelson,” he said, seating himself on the arm of the chair in a way that shoved me into Haily, which in turn shoved her into Theresa. Both girls glared at us.

I opted to grin at Caleb. “What’s up?” I asked, but my eyes were already drifting across the room, past the pool table, lowered just like every piece of furniture or appliance, to accommodate Joe’s dad, towards the front door where Milo Trust had already stopped to talk to Peter Forest, who he’d mentioned had become his lab partner.

“Come here for a sec,” Caleb insisted. “I want you to check out someone for me.”

Tearing my eyes from Milo, despite noticing that he’d clearly spotted me, I exchanged a curious look with Haily, who suddenly shoved me off the chair so that I was on my feet in front of Caleb, who wasted no time dropping a hand on my shoulder and marching me across the room to check out... well, a girl, I hoped. Haily hoped it, too, if the look she flashed me when I looked over my shoulder at her was any indication. The two of us definitely hoped that Caleb had found... a girl. Who wasn’t Ronnie.

No matter what change brought our way, one thing had always remained consistent when it came to my best friend. That just happened to be his inability to maintain an interest in one girl for any amount of time. A lot of people would have called Caleb an asshole for this. In some cases, manwhore might have been more appropriate. But then, I’m not sure he was aware of it. Any of it.

Caleb Spangler tended to live in the moment. He liked what he liked, he felt what he felt, he acted on things that he wanted just for the sake of wanting them. I was the last person who’d hold it against him. Caleb being Caleb was exactly the way we’d become friends. And knowing what I knew about him, what Haily and Joe knew about him, we’d become rather concerned over his obsession with Ronnie.

I think we’d all hoped it would have been good for him. He was one of those people who didn’t always take the feelings of others into consideration, but at the same time, when he did realize he’d caused pain to someone he liked, he was the first to shoulder the burden. Ronnie was different. Caleb liked her. He had a strange way of showing it sometimes, but he definitely liked her. He wasn’t willing to stick to his no-seeing-other-people idea on her behalf when he realized she wasn’t going to date him and decided to go back to being friends. But friends didn’t obsess over each other. Especially while on a date with someone else. According to Theresa Milldrum, Caleb had taken her out a few days ago, and she wasn’t at all happy that he’d spent their time together speculating about Ronnie. Ronnie, who was so-not-worth-it, Theresa had said.

We ended up in the den, the small space where Joe claimed to do most of his father-son bonding. According to Joe, he’d sit on the black leather love seat and his dad’s chair would squeak as he wheeled it back and forth in front of the pellet stove, barking out lectures about how it was time for Joe to grow up and be a man.

On the far side of the room there was a sliding glass door that led to a deck. The Douglas’s had more deck than yard, and a hot tub that had once fit seventeen people before water started splashing over the sides. Tonight it held six teenagers stripped down to boxers and girls in t-shirts--some cases less than that--as a tall bottle was passed around along with a good amount of splashing. I quickly noticed Ronnie sitting against the corner of the hot tub, her shoulders under the water to keep warm. She was wearing her glasses, which had fogged up and made it difficult to tell where she was looking, but she was smiling as she chatted with the others around her. I frowned at Caleb and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. But his attention was out the window, his fingers raised to touch the glass.

“What do you think about that guy?” Caleb asked, and I did a double-take at him over it before I looked out the window, deciding he meant the tall, pale redhead with a healthy dose of freckles over his chest, sitting next to Ronnie.

“What about him?” I asked.

Caleb frowned at me. “Who the hell is he?” he asked, as if his line of thought should be clear to me.

I shrugged. “Don’t know. Looks like he came with Ronnie.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Caleb snapped, quickly becoming frustrated. “Do we even know that guy? How does she even know that guy?”

“His name is Steve Kenyon,” Milo said from behind us, drawing our attention in his direction. “I used to go to school with him. I think he plays basketball.”

“He’s Stratfort?” Caleb demanded, becoming more perturbed as he looked back at Ronnie and Steve.

“Guess so,” Milo replied, shrugging. He didn’t seem to see anything wrong with Stratfort the way Caleb did at the moment. “I think he hangs out with Brandon Sholer sometimes.”

Milo slid his eyes in my direction, wondering if that would make a difference. But I didn’t care one way or another about Steve or Ronnie or Brandon as my gaze drifted to Milo’s hands, the paint staining his fingers. I smiled at it. Maybe things were getting better at home for him. This was the second time in three days I’d seen him outside of school, and I liked the feeling. I liked that he smiled back at me, his skin seeming to have a healthy glow beneath the dark hair that fell across his forehead, and his shoulders were straight and relaxed under a black sweater.

“I didn’t know you’d show up,” I said to him.

“I didn’t feel like sitting through a movie with Jame,” Milo replied, but the way his eyes fell over my face made me feel like a better reason he had was just plain wanting to see me. I grinned at him as if he’d just told me a secret and he raised an eyebrow over it, but his mouth curved with amusement.

“Jame’s not here, right?” Caleb suddenly asked Milo, obviously affronted by the mere thought.

Milo looked only mildly irritated when he remarked, “Would he even have made it past the front door?”

I sighed, not caring to comment. Caleb had the good grace not to, either. But, in all fairness, this was Joe’s house, and it’s not like any of us would have been welcome anywhere near Jame’s place. And just because Milo and... well, most of my friends, at least, had learned to play nice, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried with Jame. Ignoring him didn’t work, and pretending he didn’t secretly want to spit in my face every time he saw me didn’t work. I think it was all still a sore point for Milo, though, and it was a sore point for me, knowing that Milo was bothered by all of it, so we’d both made a point to avoid the topic whenever possible. I was all for avoidance now as I gave Milo a nod.

“Come on,” I said. “Haily will kill me if I leave her alone with Theresa for too long.”

Milo fell into step beside me easily and I raised an expectant eyebrow at Caleb, who shook his head at me and pushed open the glass door, letting in the cold, the stench of pool chemicals and the noise from outside. “I’ll be out here,” he told me.

I rolled my eyes when the door was closed and looked at Milo, allowing my smile to return. “I’m glad you showed up,” I said. “It’s actually been kind of boring around here.”

“Actually... I was sort of just stopping by,” he said carefully. I had some time...”

I found myself rolling my eyes at Milo, too, as I tugged the sleeve of his sweater to get him to follow me. “Well, while you’re just stopping by, come hang out for a while.”

He shrugged uncomfortably, but didn’t comment on having to leave again. If he did I’d guess that he was uncomfortable. Probably because Joe made him feel that way, in which case I’d be leaving with him. It was nice that things didn’t turn out that way.

It seemed Milo Trust was the least of Joe’s concerns when someone cracked a lamp his mom had just bought, and no one wanted to ‘fess up to it. Joe quickly became Hurricane Joe, not at all shy about telling everyone it was time to get the fuck out. Direct quote. It was only after everyone was gone that Haily pointed out to him that the crack was supposed to be there as part of the design, and the rest of the three-piece set looked just like it. But no one seemed like dwelling on the fact that the house had gone quiet as Haily, Caleb and I stayed to help him clean up, and after a few moments of silently pleading to Milo, he picked up a garbage bag and followed me around with it. Joe seemed more relaxed once all the evidence of a hastily planned party was safely tossed away in the neighbor’s dumpster and he threw on a movie none of us paid attention to as we sat in a circle on the rug in the living room, passing around Caleb’s knit hat. I was seated between Milo and Joe, and when Joe passed me the hat I drew out a folded piece of notebook paper and read the small print in blue ink.

“Has lucky underwear.”

Haily,” Joe, Caleb and myself chanted, while Milo said, “Caleb?”

Haily laughed out loud as she passed Milo a bottle of orange vodka and the opened two-liter of Sprite that had become our chaser. “That would be wears no underwear,” she informed my boyfriend.

Milo made a face as he looked at the vodka, and then finally lifted the bottle to his lips, took his drink and then guzzled Sprite. By the time he was finished his face was flushed, probably because he was way ahead of the rest of us as he took the hat and pulled out another slip of paper, his eyes drooping. Milo didn’t drink very often, and obviously this game wasn’t to his advantage. Caleb, Haily, Joe and I had known each other long enough to know most of the answers, while Milo was playing at a guessing game. Not that he didn’t seem to be having a good time. In fact, he seemed more relaxed than he’d been before, but that could have been because of the alcohol. He was drinking far more than the rest of us, and the second his speech became even somewhat impaired Caleb had laughed at something out of Milo’s mouth that sounded a lot like funbag shoes and mentioned that someone wasn’t driving home tonight. Milo had dropped his car keys in my lap shortly after without protest as he took yet another drink.

He got a few of the answers right, looking pleased with himself when everyone else had to drink because I’d slipped a few facts into the mix just for him. Like the way I currently had a fake tattoo of a naked woman on my right ankle because Leanna had played a joke when I’d fallen asleep in Chad’s apartment after church last Sunday, and sometimes after I ate beef I worried that cows, with their beady little eyes and big heads might come after me for revenge. And then there was a scar on my inner thigh, a wound that had me freaked out for days two summers ago after I sat on a blade in my garage and almost sliced right through my nuts. Caleb and Joe had been horrified to hear the story, Haily couldn’t stop giggling, which got Milo giggling because he was that far gone, and I crossed my legs and let my gaze drift towards Milo as I thought about the way he’d discovered that scar a few nights ago, tickled it with his finger in a way that drove me crazy before he placed a kiss on the red, puckered skin, traced it with his tongue and then found much more interesting places for his mouth to be.

He knew a lot about me, some that my closest friends knew, some that they didn’t. It had me grinning stupidly at him each time, feeling rather important about myself all because Milo Trust paid attention. To me. It made me want to touch him, frustrated that I couldn’t. And when he looked at me, hazy-eyed and full of giggles and secret blushes all I wanted to do was tell my friends to piss off and just do it anyway. I liked the Milo that let his inhibitions go. Let himself laugh. Forget that being anywhere near my friends made him uncomfortable and let himself have a good time. Guard down. Pants down...well, that one was currently in my own private mind, but whatever. Still sounded good to me.

It wasn’t too late before Milo, despite his current inebriation announced he had to get home. I might have been pleased with Haily and Caleb’s--not so much Joe’s--objection to that, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d mentioned his dad had taken Emily out for dinner earlier on and I didn’t think it was a bad idea for him to get home before they caught him in his current state. Otherwise, I probably would have objected, too.

I was surprised by how fast Caleb offered to follow me to Milo’s house so I could get him and his car home and still have a ride back home.

We were halfway to Stratfort as I adjusted Milo’s rearview against the strong glare of Caleb’s headlights, as he was following way too close and up our asses when Milo looked in my direction.



“I think I’m drunk.”

I laughed, allowing myself a glance away from the road and in his direction as I reached across his seat, my hand falling over his thigh. The fabric of his faded jeans tickled my palm as I slid it over them, spreading my fingers around his when they covered mine.

“Are you going to need me to walk you in?” I asked, more concerned than my tone suggested. I really didn’t want him getting in trouble. And that tore at me, because I would have liked taking advantage of such a situation.

“I’m okay,” Milo said softly. And then his fingers tightened over mine, guiding me up his thigh until my hand came against an obvious bulge in his pants.

Startled, my eyes widened as my foot fell over the brake. I’m not sure if it was Caleb’s jeep or Milo’s car that had screeching brakes, but it was Caleb who laid on the horn behind us as Milo laughed and I regained control of his car. One-handed.

“Shit,” I muttered, face flaming as I inwardly admitted he’d just gotten the better of me. I squeezed him through his jeans in retaliation. “You’re definitely drunk,” I agreed.

Milo held my hand where it was and I heard the hitch in his breath that made it a challenge not to close my eyes, forget where I was. Better yet, to forget where I was, stop the car.

“I ditched Jame,” Milo whispered, drawing my attention back to what reality was supposed to be.

Driving him home. No touching. Not that I stopped.
“Ditched him?” I repeated dumbly.

“I wanted to see you. I hate it when you think I don’t want to see you.” He ground his hips against my palm, held my fingers more tightly and guided them upwards, over the outline of his shaft. I shifted my weight in my seat, hand shaky against the steering wheel. “Do you think I’m cold, Nels?” he asked. “Someone said that once. I’m cold. I don’t try to be.”

I blinked, widening my eyes in an attempt to better focus on the road as we turned into his neighborhood. But it was hard to pay attention to anything but him. “Who said that?” I asked, swallowing against a voice that was an octave higher than what seemed normal.

Milo’s laughter, soft and light, reached my ears. “A girl.”

I smiled at that, gave him another squeeze despite the way it made my cock lurch even as we pulled in front of his house. “Maybe that was your problem,” I teased, and then found myself regarding him rather seriously as his fingers slid against mine. “I don’t think you’re cold,” I said, wanting to be reassuring. “You’re not cold, Milo.”

His mouth curved, his smile suddenly sincere in a way that he couldn’t hide from me. It was the kind I couldn’t forget, even if he insisted on it the moment sobriety hit him. And I still didn’t think he was cold. And I hoped that for the time being, he was enjoying the giddiness that seemed to absorb him as he lifted my hand from his body and laced his fingers affectionately through mine because neither one of us could risk a kiss, as Caleb’s horn reminded us as my friend grew impatient with the delay.

“I should get the gate,” Milo said, suddenly sounding more lucid than he had before. “Can’t leave the car here. It’ll block my dad out.”

My gaze slid from where the streetlights hit his face to the not-so-subtle bulge against his pants and found myself smiling sheepishly.

“I’ll get the gate,” I replied, deciding that a little cold air might do me some good.

I opened the gate just as Milo always did, pulled his car into the driveway and said goodbye quietly, already looking forward to seeing him in school tomorrow. I watched him disappear into his house before I closed the gate and slid into the passenger seat of Caleb’s jeep, huffing hot breath on my cold hands as Caleb gave a nod towards Milo’s front door.

“He good?” Caleb asked.

“He’ll sleep it off,” I said, smiling secretly because I thought he might just do that after he thought about me, the way I was thinking about him.

Caleb smiled, his thoughts turning as he started driving. “So,” he said, “I’ve gotta ask. How’d you get back on Haily’s good side?”

I sighed. “I... told her the truth.” And I glanced at Caleb, wondering what would happen if I told him the truth, too. If things were different... I wondered if we’d still be back in front of Milo Trust’s house, my best friend encouraging me to stupidly sneak through a bedroom window, just like he would if we had just dropped off a girl I couldn’t stop thinking about... or if we’d still be driving away, but without the relaxed smile touching his face.

It occurred to me that I didn’t put nearly enough time into looking at Milo’s butt. I guess as far as backsides went, I’d always had a bias towards Brandon Sholer’s, the way each cheek moved and flexed every time he took a step, his swagger always teasing.

When it came to Milo, that wasn’t always the first place I wanted to look. With him it was eyes and hair and perfect skin; a lean body that tempted my fingers. But his ass was nice, too. Firm. Rounded. Tight. I’d felt that, the high lift of his cheeks, smoothness of skin. The way his cleft dipped inside to sensitive spots that sent him trembling.

I’d sort of put a great deal of thought into it.

I guess looking back, it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise. Porn had been my outlet for so long that looking at it, at some point, had become as natural to me as my hand around my own dick. So I guess it was fair to say I’d already developed an idea of what I liked about the male anatomy. Everything was pretty self-explanatory. But what always had be stripped down and under the private, hot spray of the shower was the perfectly rounded, grab-able ass. And maybe the backs of leanly muscled thighs. Those things were connected, anyway. Made sense. I thought about those particular parts of Milo Trust. I could be alone on a desert island alone with my imagination, Milo’s ass my first thought, rounded, up, lights on, thighs slightly parted and the shadow of his balls slightly visible between them.

Leanna had given me a piece of advice when I’d pestered her enough for it. You can’t do anything the wrong way, Nelson, as long as whoever you’re with likes what you’re doing. I thought about what Milo Trust might like. Christ.

Sorry. Scratch that.

I looked over my surroundings, regretfully not on a desert island, alone with the lewdest thoughts I’d had in weeks.

When it came to my imagination, it didn’t always discriminate. Damn inconvenient when it came to church, me surrounded by friends and family.

But this was not my fault. I refused to be responsible for something I couldn’t control. I’d hold my mom responsible instead. Maybe Emily Hill, too.

My mom because she’d shouted into my room much too early on a Sunday morning in the middle of a dream I would have liked to see the end of. It was a three-day weekend because of a teacher work-day, and I’d skipped over the fact that I was supposed to be at church with my family halfway into it. And I won’t neglect to mention that my mom had decided to invite Emily Hill to a Sunday service. And that’s where Emily earned my grudge, because she’d shown up and brought Thompson Trust, and Milo with her.

They were about three pews ahead, off to the right. Milo’s hair was combed, fell perfectly over his head in a way that still made it seem like he’d put no effort into it whatsoever. His gray shirt complimented the rest of him, his skin bright, eyes lazy, the green of them absorbing to look at. The thin material of his dark pants cupped him perfectly, and I’d found myself wanting to get much closer the moment everyone, including Milo, stood to sing the chosen hymns.

I didn’t sing. Throat too dry. I stared instead, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

“Honey?” my mom leaned over to whisper. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little red.”

Definitely not okay. I shifted from foot to foot, turning the lower half of my body in an attempt to keep the attention away from the bulge growing in my pants. I’m so going to hell. “I’m fine,” I bit out, unable to prevent the way my gaze shifted in Milo’s direction again.

Every so often he’d turn his head over his shoulder, his mouth moving with the lyrics of the song I’d tuned out, and he’d seek me out with his eyes, just as he did now. His family had stopped to greet mine before service started. He’d regarded me silently then, too, a slight smile touching his eyes just for me despite the fact that we hadn’t greeted each other. I’d wanted to disappear with him somewhere right then and there. Maybe because I’d hardly seen him outside of school for the last few days, causing me to experience symptoms of withdrawal. Or maybe it was because I resented the fact that I couldn’t smile at him the way I wanted to as much as I resented the way Mr. Trust looked at me.

That was one man who didn’t like me. Not at all. I guess he was polite enough to my parents. Even Chad and Leanna. But when Emily introduced me his gaze had slithered coolly in my direction in a way that clearly suggested that I wasn’t worth the paper he used to wipe his ass. I don’t know if it was because of my involvement in the trouble Milo had found himself in during the summer, the way I’d introduced myself the first time I’d been in his home, or even the fact that I happened to be part of the student body he wanted Milo to have no part of. Maybe he was a fortune teller in another life and had already predicted the inappropriate thoughts I’d start developing about his son during morning hymns. Oh, God.

Hell. Yep. I could see me going there. “I’ll be back,” I hissed, deciding my mom had heard me, and so had Chad and Leanna, because they both were suddenly stepping aside as I threw myself past them, away from where we were seated and into the aisle that I followed towards the back of the church, the music bouncing off the walls following me.

I made it to the bathroom, a row of clean stalls on one wall and marble counter tops and porcelain sinks at the one opposite. I moved straight into the last stall, quickly slammed and locked the door behind me as I took in deep breaths and stared down angrily at the rise in my pants. “Asshole,” I told it. “Go away.”

“Fuck off,” a familiar voice responded, just as I heard the sound of the men’s-room door swinging closed.

I froze, my mind reaching only moments before I placed the voice.

Instant turn off. Thank God.

And, why God, too, I supposed as I peered through the crack between the door and the stall, frowning as I watched Assface move towards a sink, turn the hot water on and slide his hand under it, staring at the way the water ran through his fingers as if he couldn’t have cared less about wasting it.

I gave myself a moment, took a few deep breaths. When I unlocked the door and stepped out of the stall I tried to appear calm as I went to the sink next to Jame, turned on the water and washed my hands while I stared in the mirror, making sure to seem more interested in my own reflection than his.

But I could still see him, his eyes cutting threateningly in my direction, no question about the way he’d rather not be breathing the same air as me.

Be nice. Be nice.

I so didn’t want to be nice. Couldn’t think of a single way that I might be inspired to do it, either. So I decided that ignoring this particular individual would be in my best interest. His, too.

I turned for a paper towel so I could dry my hands and tossed it into the waste basket on the way to the door.

“Have you ever even tried to care about anyone besides yourself?” Jame suddenly said, his tone containing the same amount of rage he normally reserved for Caleb when the two of them had their less flattering moments.

I paused, hand on the door, ready to get back to my family. But I couldn’t seem to let that go and turned around to face him. “Just because I don’t care about you doesn’t mean I don’t care about anyone.” I wasn’t going to let him play victim. I knew why he didn’t like me. I didn’t care about him. Neither I nor my friends had been interested in getting to know him. We’d spent years talking shit about Jame Graham in ways I might have been ashamed of if the whole situation wasn’t two-sided. But it was. He’d never made any effort to coexist with us, either, and I knew better than to think he would despite my best efforts to try it. By all means, at this point there was no reason for either one of us to think of something to say to each other in a church bathroom, of all places. But then the inspiration to do so, on his part and mine, all came down to one thing: Milo Trust.

I shook my head at Jame, not liking the way he was glaring at me. “I don’t have to care about you,” I continued. “And I’m not playing this game with you, either. I won’t let him hate me over something as stupid as you.”
Jame snorted at me. “Oh, he’ll hate you,” he said, getting to me even though I tried not to let him. “You’ll fuck up everything for him, because you don’t give a damn. Then he’ll hate you, and he’ll remember I warned him to stay away.”

I felt my eyes narrowing, my guard flying up as I considered everything I knew about Jame Graham, everything Milo had told me about their friendship. “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked carefully. Because I couldn’t respond to the rest of that. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Jame Graham that he had no idea how much I actually cared about his best friend. But I suddenly found myself wondering if he already knew, and if he knew I wondered why he thought I’d ever do anything to hurt Milo. Just the thought of him hating me as Jame predicted was hurtful on levels I didn’t care to think about.

Jame shook his head at me, coming in my direction. “It means when you do fuck shit up for him, I’m gonna get you, Nelson.” he smiled snidely, his cheeks swelling as he lowered his voice. “If I were you I’d stay the hell away from him now, or sooner or later, I’ll end up laughing in your face.”

He pushed past me, out the door. I stood there for a moment, smirking in a way I didn’t quite feel as my mind worked over the last few minutes leaving me with one conclusion. It was time to learn more about Jame Graham.

The gate in front of Milo’s house was open, cars parked neatly up the driveway. I pulled up along the street thirty minutes after church let out and stared up at the house cautiously.

I hadn’t called first. I knew better than to show up without warning, especially when I was pretty sure that both Mr. Trust and Emily would be home. I stepped over the melting puddles of ice against the curb and headed up to the front door anyway, only hesitating for a moment before I reached out and rang the bell.

The door opened sooner than expected, taking me off guard. So did the man behind it.

Somehow, Mr. Trust didn’t look quite right in worn jeans and a t-shirt. The way he held himself, street clothes stretched over his body, hair less than tidy, it was easier to see Milo in him. But that didn’t make him any less intimidating, especially when he lowered his eyes to my level and regarded me in an expectant way that gave me the feeling I was bothering him already.

I tried to force a smile, a task that seemed easier when Emily Hill suddenly peeked around his shoulder and grinned at me. “Hi! Are you here to see Milo? Tommy,” she amended when Mr. Trust threw her a cold glance before stalking off.

“We’re in a hurry, Emily,” he called over his shoulder.

Emily rolled her eyes as she opened the door wider for me. I couldn’t help returning her small smile. Something about it made me feel at ease. I obviously wasn’t the only one who thought that some lightening up might do Mr. Trust some good.

“Milo’s in his room,” Emily said. “You can go on up.”

“Thanks,” I replied, and because I was convinced that Mr. Trust still had his ear tuned in my direction, added, “I’m not staying long.”

I was headed upstairs not needing any more of an invitation. I really didn’t plan to stay for long. I would have been more interested in getting Milo to take off with me somewhere for a while. But then for once, I wasn’t exactly there for a social visit.

Milo’s door was closed when I reached it, so I tapped with my knuckles before I let myself in, taking him off guard.

Half seated on his bed, the shirt he’d been wearing at church was untucked, buttons undone and sleeves rolled up over his forearms. There was a pencil stuck behind his ear, one in his hand and books and sheets of homework he’d obviously been putting off spread out in front of him. He pointed at his door, indicating for me to close it as he stood up, dropping the pencil he was holding into the center of a book. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be home so I can call you.”

I couldn’t help smiling at his perturbed glare as I moved closer, but resisted the urge to touch him. “I guess I’m saving you the trouble... and I’m not staying.”

“Good,” he said, and then rolled his eyes at the offended look I flashed him as he turned back to his books. “You need to leave so you can come back later.” He looked at me as he reclaimed his seat on the bed. “Tonight, after six. You’re not busy, are you?”

I shook my head, intrigued. “Why after six?”

Milo smiled, a pink hue touching his features as he avoided my eyes. “My dad’s taking off with Emily, and Juanita’s going on a date.”

“A date?” I repeated, pretending to be more interested in Juanita than the prospect of spending a night alone with Milo as I sank to my knees in front of his bed, rested my elbows on the mattress and stretched my arms until the tips of my fingers brushed against his knee.

Milo shrugged. “That’s all I could get out of her.”

“I’ll be back at six,” I said, and Milo’s satisfaction about that touched the corner of his mouth as he looked down at his books. But then I cocked my head, regarding him more seriously. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Milo’s green eyes turned in my direction with a fair amount of suspicion, his dark eyebrow arching above the right one. “What’s up?”

I let out a breath, deciding that I wasn’t in the mood to beat around the bush with things. “Why would you think Jame knows you’re gay?”

Milo frowned at me. “I don’t know that, Nelson. I told you... it’s just a feeling I get sometimes. It’s probably stupid, anyway.”

I nodded slowly. “And would it be stupid to think that he knows I’m interested in you... more than a friend should be?”

Milo stood, nearly knocking me over before I pulled myself onto his bed and watched him pace across the room, just to give his closed door a shove, testing it. When he faced me again, his voice was lowered, frustrated.

“Why would you even say something like that?” he demanded.

I shrugged. “Because I thought we’d be past you freaking out over something that’s probably just stupid, anyway. That’s what you said, right?”

Milo frowned. “I’m not freaking out,” he insisted, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than me. “Why...”

“I’m just asking, Milo. I guess I need to know if Jame... if he’s ever said anything about me that...”

“What happened?” Milo cut me off, obviously deciding that we wouldn’t be talking about this if something hadn’t provoked it.

I frowned, debating for a moment over what I wanted to tell him. Finally, I settled on saying what was bothering me the most. “He thinks I’m going to fuck things up for you. What would he mean by that?”

To my surprise, Milo rolled his eyes, his shoulders relaxing. “If it was up to Jame you and your friends would be locked up somewhere away from polite society. Don’t worry about him, Nelson. He doesn’t like that I’m hanging around you so much, is all.”

“You think that’s it?”

Milo sighed. “My new nickname is traitor because I talk to Caleb without telling him where to shove it.”

I smiled at that, or tried to, anyway. “Things aren’t going to get better with Jame, are they?” I needed to say it. The look of acceptance that crossed Milo’s features as he stepped towards the bed and seated himself a foot away from me suggested that maybe he needed to hear it.

I watched him as he lifted his hand, inspecting his short fingernails as he bit at his bottom lip. “Why can’t I have both of you?” he asked quietly. “Maybe I haven’t known Jame as long as you’ve known your friends, but he’s not a bad person, Nelson. Not to me. He used to be one of the only people I could go to when I couldn’t stand it around here anymore.”

“I want to be that person,” I said without thinking.

Instead of becoming annoyed, Milo’s eyes softened in my direction. “You have been... but where does that leave Jame? He doesn’t understand why I want anything to do with you, and I don’t know how to explain it to him.”

“So explain it to me.”

Milo shoved his hair away from his forehead, cocked his head at me. “Explain it to you?”

I nodded slowly. “Maybe I want to hear it. That Jame’s wrong. That I can’t fuck anything up for you.”

Milo’s troubled brow creased and he reached for me before he stopped himself, eyeing his door with caution. He stood up, and I followed him. He seemed to study me with mixed thoughts for several moments before he finally said, “Come back tonight... please don’t worry about Jame.”

The sun set well before six o’clock, making Milo’s house appear nothing more than a shadow against the star-filled, night sky. There was one light coming from within, an upstairs window that didn’t look right to be Milo’s room, casting shadows on the walkway leading to the front door.

When Milo opened the door he was barefoot, jeans a bit too long, wrapping beneath his heels. His wet hair was carelessly pushed away from his face, dripping down his neck and wetting the collar of his white t-shirt as he wiped distractedly at the leftover paint on his arm with a washcloth.

“Hmm... if that won’t come off, you can get back in the shower and I’ll help,” I offered.

He paused in what he was doing to glare at me and my sexual harassment. I used the opportunity to pluck the washcloth out of his hand, not liking the way his harsh scrubbing was leaving his skin all red.

“So do I get to come in?” I asked teasingly, and then turned serious. “Or do you want to go somewhere else? I’m okay if you don’t want us to be here alone together.”

Instead of answering, his gaze turned down to the backpack I was holding. “Overnight bag?” he remarked.

“Nah,” I said as I hung the washcloth over my shoulder instead of handing it back so I could unzip the backpack. “That’s in the car. Didn’t want to look too eager. I swiped this from Caleb,” I explained as I pulled out a bottle of cinnamon-flavored liqueur. “You kind of turn into a sexy drunk.”

Milo finally cracked a smile, stepped aside. “I’m not drinking that.”

I hadn’t actually thought he would, but I shrugged, not willing to be blamed for trying.

“Fine,” I said, feigning disappointment as I stepped inside, passing him the bottle so he could decide what to do with it as he took it upon himself to remove the washcloth from my shoulder. “But do we at least get to make out? I mean, more than once? I brought gum, too.”

As I walked further into the dark house, the door closed behind me, all light suddenly disappearing and taking me off guard, but not nearly as much as Milo did when his hand touched my hip, his arms sliding around me and his lips landing carefully over the corner of my mouth.

I dropped the backpack, grabbed him. But I didn’t turn into his unexpected display of affection, didn’t try to escalate it. Something about it was perfect just the way it was, just like the way he tilted his head, kissed the arc of my cheek.

“You have it very dark in here,” I whispered.

“I know.” His face was so close to mine I could feel his mouth forming words against it, his breath ticking my eyelash. “I think better in the dark... Don’t think I’m stupid, okay?”

I slid my hands up his sides and held onto him tighter. I didn’t know what this was, but I sensed it wasn’t something that could be pushed, so I waited, listened.

“I don’t care what Jame thinks about you,” Milo said. “There are things he doesn’t know... but he doesn’t get to tell me what to do about you. No one does.” He found my mouth with his, and I let my lips part beneath the pressure of his tongue, closed my eyes when it swept carefully against my own.

“The first time I looked at a guy,” he continued, his voice suddenly strained, uncertain, “and realized the way that I was looking at him wasn’t... normal, I freaked out. My dad already can’t stand me, Nelson. What if he hates me when he figures out how different I really am?”

I frowned, cradled the back of his damp neck, water droplets from his hair touching the backs of my fingers. I wanted to draw him closer.

“Parents are supposed to love their kids, no matter what,” I said, reciting my own parents’ words, the ones they’d instilled in me since the day of my first coming out. The fact that Milo had never had that, felt the doubt he did, vexed me because I’d never felt that alone before. I didn’t want him to.

But Milo shushed me, short and simple. Maybe, in the dark he thought I was offended over it, because his arms were suddenly a little tighter. “You’re everything I’m not supposed to be ready for. But I’m glad you’re such a persistent asshole because if you weren’t I wouldn’t know that I want to be with you. You push me, and I hate that about you. But it makes me more honest than I’d be able to be if you didn’t. With you, I get to be me. That’s what I’d explain to Jame.” He let out a breath, and I waited, silent, wanting to respond but not sure if he was ready for me to. Finally, he said, frustration edging his tone, “Now will you please say something annoying so I can turn on the lights and look at you again?”

I opened my mouth. I think a sound came out. He wanted me to break the awkwardness he was feeling. I wanted to stay trapped in it, make him understand that in his own way, he’d just given me the only thing I’d ever really wanted from him. It had nothing to do with Jame, really. It had nothing to do with anyone except Milo.

And maybe I didn’t want to be annoying, even though I was sure this was probably the first and last time he’d ever openly approve of it, a thought that had me biting back my amusement. He said he wanted to be with me. Pushy or not.

I kissed him instead. I parted his lips with my own, touched his tongue and lifted my fingers to his chin, tilting his head to reach deeper. His chest moved to rest comfortably against mine, his mouth only pulling away when I couldn’t help myself and slid my hand down his back, over the rise of his ass and groped a cheek. I couldn’t tell if the subtle tremor that moved through him was his way of being annoyed. If it was, then I liked it.

“I rented a movie,” he said.

“Okay.” We could do whatever he wanted to do tonight. Wherever he wanted to do it.

His hand slid into mine so he could lead me through the dark house, down the stairs this time instead of up, and he laughed because my other hand was particularly stubborn about leaving his butt.

Milo liked the privacy of closed doors. It didn’t surprise me that he’d chosen a room with a lock to set up the movie in. It wasn’t a big room. A desk in the corner was empty, suggesting that it could have been an office at some point. Or perhaps it was just storage, a stack of sealed boxes marked fragile against one wall. Milo had taken one of the boxes, set a small flat screen on top across from a forest-green love seat that had probably ended up here because it had more color than anything else in the house apart from his bedroom.

There were two folded quilts on the small sofa, worn and faded in places, against a pattern that looked like cutouts of various birds. I could see the need for them down in the basement. It was cold, even still wearing my jacket, and more so for Milo with his wet hair and thin t-shirt. His lips were turning a mild shade of blue, and I wanted to kiss them until they were warm and pink again. But I didn’t interrupt him as he checked the door three times to make sure it was locked, or as he moved to draw the thick curtains over the already closed blinds of two smaller windows that looked out into underground window wells. He needed to make himself comfortable. Safe. And being barricaded in with him the way I was didn’t seem like something to complain about as I shed my jacket and shook out the quilts, spreading them on the love seat one over the other. I tucked myself beneath them, and when Milo was ready I held them up for him, reaching to draw him against me when he sat but seemed shy over what to do next.

Milo picked up a tiny remote, started the movie, but I have no idea which one. I was more interested kicking off my shoes, wrapping my sock-covered feet around Milo’s bare ones, not feeling entirely content until we were stretched out, his body half on the sofa, half draped over me. His arm across my chest, his chin propped on it, I traced his earlobe with the tips of my fingers, kept his damp hair out of his face.

I took my time kissing him between whispered conversations, our voices low despite the impossibility of anyone hearing us.

“When my mom was here,” he said, “she used to let me paint on the walls. My dad hated it. Sometimes when I’m here alone I want to make everything red, orange... blue, yellow, just to spite him. If Emily likes it, it’ll spite him more.”

I ran my fingers over the bridge of his nose, traced the high arc of his cheek, the curve of his soft eyebrow, causing his lashes to drift lower over his eyes. “How are things with Emily?”

Milo didn’t open his eyes, but the troubled lines between them spoke on their own. “Okay, I guess... any idea what the assembly is supposed to be about on Wednesday?”

I smiled even though he couldn’t see me, knowing he didn’t care about an assembly. Instead I allowed my fingers to keep tracing his face, his ears. Kept touching him. My eyes drifted towards the glow of the television when the room suddenly became darker, saw the credits rolling. My hand paused on his cheek as my eyes drifted back. His still weren’t open. The rise and fall of his chest against mine was becoming even, deep.

“Milo,” I whispered.


“Is Juanita coming home tonight?”

He let out a breath that tickled my neck, prompting me to snuggle him closer as his eyes slowly opened.

“Probably. We shouldn’t stay down here.”


But I missed him as soon as he rolled out from underneath the covers, crouched gracefully on the floor and turned off the movie. That made me move, get up to go turn on the light feeling groggy as I did, but not wanting to be trapped in the dark when we lost the glow of the television. By the time I turned back for my jacket and shoes, they were all bundled in Milo’s arm and he was heading straight for the door, which I obligingly unlocked and opened for him.

“Are you hungry?” he asked over his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast.”

“Sure. Do you want to go somewhere?”

“We have stuff here,” Milo replied, and when he glanced back at me again I accepted that with a nod, but couldn’t help feeling disappointed. I would have liked to take him out to dinner, maybe draw out the evening.

But when we reached the kitchen and he dropped my shoes and jacket away from me, I felt less rushed to put them back on as I sat on a barstool near the counter, feeling amused that there were specific items already out and waiting for him, like a baking tray, grater, knives. I had a feeling it might have taken him a good hour to find them if they hadn’t been. But he seemed perfectly comfortable using them as he concocted us mini pizzas using French bread, a bottle of spaghetti sauce and various cheeses he swore would taste better than they smelled. He wouldn’t let me help as he explained that back when Juanita had first come into their lives, she, Milo, and his mother would spend afternoons in the kitchen while Juanita attempted to teach them simple recipes and her language.

We sat there, laughing as Milo tried to teach me to roll my r’s after I mispronounced gracias. It involved the tongue, so naturally my mouth kept drifting towards his. I noticed him growing more relaxed, looking at entrances it was possible for someone to walk through less and less each time my lips touched his, and he took a quiet interest in my relationship with Caleb after he’d commented, “Sometimes when I listen to what comes out of his mouth I don’t even understand how the two of you became friends.”

“He bullied me into it,” I’d admitted, smiling. “But once you get to know him--if he’ll let you--you can’t help but love him. He always has my back.” I found myself telling Milo about Caleb’s softer side, stories that didn’t involve random girls or fighting. By the time I was done telling him about what Caleb was like with his niece our plates were empty and Milo was regarding me seriously, green eyes focused beneath his dark head of hair, which had dried and stuck up in places from when he’d laid on me, the way I ran my fingers through it.

“So if you had to tell him what you told Haily...” Milo started and then stopped, not seeming to know where he wanted to go with that.

My knees already facing him, I shifted in my chair until ours touched, eyes lowering as I considered how I wanted to respond. Considered how I felt about it. I could practically feel Milo’s anxious interest in my answer. I guess it was a question he had the right to ask. Only, all the times I’d asked it myself, I’d never actually come up with any particular answer.

“I guess... I don’t know. With Haily, not knowing was hurting her. With Caleb...” I shrugged helplessly and met Milo’s eyes. “It’s not hurting him, but if he knew, I hope he’d stay just like he is now. But it’s not like we’re in a big town, Milo. Even after meeting you I still feel like the fucking minority. I’m not ashamed of it, but I wouldn’t want to have to defend it. I guess if I were going to tell him it would be... when I’m ready, and when he’s ready. When you’re ready.”

Milo’s eyes widened. “Nelson...”

“You don’t have to ever be ready,” I assured him, wanting to wipe the look of horror off his face. I smiled gently. “But you count, too.”

He flushed, suddenly busying himself with clearing our empty plates. I watched him quietly and then got up to help with dishes, not bothering to offer first. I let the water run, filling the silence between us as he got over more of his awkwardness. I’d meant what I said. I hoped he knew that, and I guess I hoped that maybe, I wanted him to feel as safe with me as he had when I’d first walked into a house with no lights on.

I finished the dishes before he finished putting away food, and decided I’d given him enough space as he moved to slide what was left into the refrigerator. I moved my arms around him from behind, loose enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. Instead he turned to face me, leaning back against the refrigerator door, allowing me to crowd him there.

“Should I get going soon?” I asked, my mouth turning up. “You could come with me.”

Milo’s eyes, so intent on my sweater somewhere beneath my neck had me following his gaze, wondering if I’d spilled something. Nope. Clean. Just a little damp from where his hair had dried on it.

“My dad’s not going to be home until tomorrow afternoon,” he finally said. “You should probably go before then.”

I smiled at the unexpected invitation. I’d be a damn liar if I claimed that I hadn’t been hoping for one, or that I wouldn’t have tried to drag him back home with me if I hadn’t gotten one. “You sure?” I asked, still feeling cautious. The last time I’d spent the night I’d been passed out, wasted. This felt different.

Milo met my eyes. “You should get that bag out of your car now, that way we won’t run into Juanita.”

It never failed to interest me that Milo Trust usually seemed more shy when I wasn’t touching him than when I was. I was still figuring him out, and liking it.

He’d turned off his bedroom light. I didn’t mind that so much. He’d left the hallway light on, it drifted in beneath the door and the blinds over his window were cracked, letting in the blue glow of the night sky.

I hadn’t actually brought an overnight bag. I reserved those for vacations. When it came to Milo, I figured the less clothes the better. He’d fallen into one of his more interesting shy moods. The moment he’d turned the lights off and caught me fascinated by the way he slid his jeans down his hips he’d decided his shirt and boxers were staying and he was quick to get under his covers. I opted to take my time. We’d brought up my backpack and the bottle I’d brought along, not wanting anyone to run into it and I’d placed both close to the bed, keeping my shirt, my socks, my pants close to it as I shed them, my attention drifting over the shadows in his room, the scent of paint still strong enough to be noticeable in the air. I let my gaze drift back towards the bed, the outline of him beneath the comforter. I dropped my underwear. The covers shifted. I smiled, crawled into his bed, wrestling sheets out of the way until I felt his arm, slid in next to him and tangled my legs with his, arm sliding around his waist, my fingers wandering up his shirt, wanting to feel skin.

He turned into me, his hand held against my side and hesitantly slid lower, halfway down my hip when there weren’t clothes in the way to stop him while I decided I wanted to share his pillow, moved closer to his ear.

“Sleepy?” I asked. I sounded drowsy, but that was probably because I felt more relaxed than I ever had with him before. Not that I was going to fall asleep anytime soon, the way his fingers lazily moved over my thigh.

“No. Not tired.” I heard the smile in his voice, felt him suck in a breath when I moved my hand over his boxers, gripped at the thin material.

“Take these off.” It was more of a passing thought than a request.

I was already tugging at fabric while Milo lifted his hips, his long body shifting as I moved under the covers, working underwear off his legs, the tips of my fingers following them over lean muscle. Milo jolted, squirmed, back coming off the mattress before I could come back up. I wanted his shirt, too. I wanted it gone. During all that moving he’d gotten rid of it himself. Sounded funny to think it but I felt relieved when I noticed, laughed at myself over it. I liked to laugh. I liked to feel happy. Couldn’t ever recall being prone to sudden bouts of giddiness, though. Not unless I was getting high with Joe. Sober. Milo. I liked it.

His arms moved around me as he settled back down and I stretched over him, sighing as he buried his face against my neck, inch after inch of skin meeting between us. My toes touched his, light dusting of hair on his legs rubbing against mine when his knees suddenly parted and I fell between them, his erection hard and apparent, trapped beneath my stomach. Milo made a little sound, hips thrusting against the weight of my body pressing down on him and I was done.

I lifted my hips, smiling against his mouth when I found it at the way his ass lifted from the mattress because he wanted to keep contact, the head of his cock brushing against my thigh while my own body hardened. I slipped my tongue against his, surprised when he lifted his head, slanted his mouth over mine and took it further, deeper. His eagerness left our mouths moving clumsily, lips, tongue, teeth. His hands came over my back, sending a warm chill down my spine as they drifted low, pulled me back down to him and made me gasp when my shaft slid smoothly against his. The slow movement of his hips beneath me led us as we found a slow comfortable rhythm despite the rushed kisses.

This was, like, the most fun I’d ever had.

Maybe it was because we’d never taken our time before. Not really, anyway. I wasn’t exactly known for being patient when it came to any opportunity to touch him. And everything always felt so eager. Rushed. Like taking advantage of what little time we had alone, as fast as we could before it was over. The realization that we had all night hit me and I deepened our kiss, slowing his tongue against mine. His knees lifted to cradle my thighs when I pressed my cock more deliberately against his and a small moan escaped his throat, but then his hands were on my shoulders, pushing at me pointedly.

I moved off of him, no time to wonder what was happening as he shoved aside blankets. I opened my mouth, questions ready, but then his head lowered, and I was caught on my knees when his face disappeared in my lap and my spine straightened as his warm mouth closed over the head of my erection.

I let out a shaky breath as my hand fell gently over his bobbing head. He’d still never taken all of me but he sucked and licked and touched me in ways that had me shuddering happily. I think I dumbly told him how good he was at this, clumsily uttering words of praise and admiration that caused him to chuckle around me, the feel of it causing me to groan and grab his shoulders because in no way did I want to interrupt what his head was doing.

He teased me until my knees were shaking beneath my weight and I could hardly control the urge to thrust into the wetness of his mouth, inspiring his hands to move to my hips, holding me still.

I watched him, annoyed only because I didn’t think he had even the faintest idea of how hot I thought he was. I wanted to explain it to him in detail as I followed his back with the tips of my fingers, causing it to arch beneath my touch. I caught the softer skin of his lifted ass, thumbs tracing his cleft. He wriggled against my hands as I felt the familiar tightening in my belly, his mouth constantly increasing it.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I uttered, not wanting it to be over.

Milo lifted his head, confused until I pulled him to me, kissed him. I wrapped my fingers around his hard length and he pressed it towards me. I stroked him there as I eased him back onto the mattress, felt him relax as his head hit the pillow.

“What are you doing?” he asked, either because I’d stopped and pulled away from him. Or maybe because I was reaching over the edge of the bed, into my backpack. Maybe both.

I came back with what I wanted, tucked into the palm of my hand. Milo, not missing a thing, and naturally turning suspicious because it was second nature to him, was quick to take it from me.

He was sitting upright, staring at the bottle of lube I’d purchased on a whim a month ago when the store was out of the only brand of lotion that didn’t make me itch. Even in the dark I could see his eyes go big, turn on me with several accusations I’m glad he didn’t say out loud because I’m not sure I would have been able to hide my amusement over them. I would never laugh at him, and I didn’t want him to misunderstand and think it. But my amusement over the looks he was giving me faded quickly, because terror was not sexy. But still, I waited on his response.

“What’s this for?” he finally got out, an odd note hitching his voice.

I closed my hand over his where he held the bottle, leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his face. “Nothing we’re not ready for,” I promised, knowing that as much as I wanted and thought about what was crossing his mind, it scared the hell out of me as much as it seemed to scare him. I’d read stories about people getting hurt. I didn’t want to hurt Milo and wasn’t confident enough just yet to think I couldn’t. “If you don’t like something, we’ll stop,” I finally said, trying to make it clear that meant now if it’s what he wanted.

He eyed me for a moment, his concern slowly turning to curiosity as he released the bottle into my hand, watched me as I smiled at him, opened it and let a generous amount of the oily substance fall over my palm. I reached for him, wrapped my hand around his cock, stroking, making him slippery as he let himself fall back, gripping my wrist encouragingly.

He reached up, his long fingers curling around the back of my neck, pulling me back down to him, opening his thighs around me so that our bodies slid together while I stroked him.

I wanted to go back to our earlier grinding as much as he seemed to want to, but I also wanted my hand on him as I studied the slick shape of him with my palm, gently cupped his balls and then reached lower, touching and circling puckered skin, the spot I hadn’t stopped thinking about since his first encouraging reaction when I’d touched it.

Milo groaned against my mouth and kissed me harder, even as he pressed his backside into the mattress, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted me so blatantly there just yet. I moved away, back again as I tested him, his breaths becoming shorter, impatient, and I got my answer and so did he when the tip of my finger slid past his tight ring, massaging him open in a way that had his hips lifting higher, his hand reaching for his own cock.

I lifted my mouth from his, suddenly more interested in the way his eyes had drifted closed, lips slightly parted as he slowly fondled his hard length, hips shifting against my small invasion. I pressed in deeper, feeling softness, moving in small gentle thrusts until I was buried and his back was arched and his own hand worked his cock the way he liked it. The way his body tightened around my probing made me think I knew he was going to come before he did, and the throbbing excitement that shot through me had me working him harder, my free hand wrapping around my own erection so I could join him.

And when I collapsed next to him we were all hard breathing, shaky legs and soft touches. I shared his pillow. His hand tugged at mine until my arm wrapped around him. His mouth touched my nose as my eyes drifted in the dark, closing peacefully against the scent of paint and Milo’s soft breath across my face.


I groggily stared at Milo’s ceiling, my hands in his messy morning hair where his head rested against my chest. It was earlier enough but the sun had been up for a while, casting warm shadows across the room. I’d slept soundly until he’d nudged me awake and we silently listened while Juanita moved around downstairs.

“What are you doing today?” I finally asked him.

He tilted his head to meet my eyes. “Hanging out with you.”

He made me grin, probably blush, too, the way his half-sleepy eyes caught mine. “Here? Or somewhere else?”

“Somewhere else,” he decided quickly, suddenly sitting up. “Have to use the bathroom.”

I sat up, rubbing lazily at my face as my eyes drifted over his exposed backside before he grabbed the nearest pair of pants and covered it. My jeans. I smiled, deciding to point that out after he got back since he was already out the door, carefully closing it behind him.

I stretched, got up and pulled on my boxers, then shirt before I went about tidying up. I found the bottle of lube tangled in the sheets when I shook them out, dropped it on top of my backpack where the liquor bottle was sticking out before attempting to make his bed.

I paused when I heard Juanita’s voice calling up the stairs. “Milo! Yame!”

The door opened behind me as I straightened the comforter, my tone light as I asked Milo, “What’s Yame?” smirking because my wishful thinking already had him telling me it meant get back in bed and have more sex with your boyfriend.

But let’s face it. I’m not that lucky.

“It’s how she says my name, Nelt-son.”

I whirled around, eyes wide.



Note to self: Yame means Assface.

“Christ!” I cursed, too taken off guard to worry about the unforgiving look on his reddening face. I sure as hell wanted to snap his head off, though, when his gaze, colored with disgust, drifted to my half-dressed state. I didn’t get a chance to do that either.

Not when I realized that Jame wasn’t the only one in the doorway anymore. Behind him stood Mr. Trust, eyes wide on me where he stood with a small suitcase.

“This has been the worst week ever, I just wish for once something would go right, Thom. Would you just look at...” I heard Emily’s voice before I saw her. Maybe it was inappropriate for me to wince at the fact that her usually smooth, clear complexion was covered in hives. I’m not sure which one of us looked worse, but she seemed to have an idea as she paused, accessed the situation. “Umm....”

And it just had to be Milo’s dad. His eyes that found the bottle of lube and the liquor bottle. A tic developed in his jaw. I wondered if he was going to murder me.

Should I explain?

No, definitely not.

I wanted to be relieved when I saw Milo, but I couldn’t be. Not when eyes began turning in his direction. Not when he was so pale, shoulders so rigid. He wouldn’t look at any of them, wouldn’t look at me as he slipped past the crowd, into his bedroom. And then he slammed the door in all their faces.

Copyright © 2010 DomLuka; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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Talk about a kick to the gut, why is it just when things feel perfect drama has to mess it all up?


Really good chapter, thanks.

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