The shift goes on for another forty-five minutes according to the clock on the wall. According to my brain, however, it’s another five years before I’m finally allowed to grab my jacket and backpack from the back room and toss a hurried goodbye over my shoulder to Miles, who is still focused on fixing the coffee machine, as Garen drags me out of the building, one hand laced with mine and the other holding his guitar case. I almost trip over the doorstep in my haste to get outside, and by the time I’m steadying myself, Garen is half-dropping his guitar case on the ground and bending me back onto the hood of his car to kiss me. I kiss him back for a total of seven seconds, my hands knotted in his hair and my feet barely touching the pavement, before I remember that the entire front wall of The Grind is glass. I yank my head back and focus my gaze back in the building. Garen’s bandmates are still at the platform, watching us and laughing, like they’re not really surprised.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Garen, get off me,” I say. Garen glances over his shoulder to see what I’m looking at, and rolls his eyes.
“Travis, it’s not like this is a shock to them, okay? And they don’t even go to our school, so you don’t have to worry about it getting around town,” he says.
“Except that we’re making out on the hood of your car in front of one of the most frequented places to eat in Lakewood,” I say. He blinks.
“Right. That. Well, it’s dark, isn’t it?” he says.
“And Miles is still in the building. He’s like, thirty feet away from us at this exact second,” I point out. “Also, the car is kind of uncomfortable.”
Garen finally straightens up and extends a hand to help me up. I take it, and he pulls me around the side of the car to the passenger door. He opens it and leans in to toss the case into the backseat, then moves out of the way so I can get in. He shuts the door and goes around to his side. As soon as he’s within reach, I seize a handful of his jacket and pull him back towards me. His eyes are closed, but mine remained fixed to the side, out the windshield into The Grind. All it would take is for Miles to turn his head just for a second, and it would all be shot to hell.
“How fast can you drive?” I ask against his lips.
“Under these circumstances? It would not be an exaggeration to say our speed would be well into the triple digits,” he replies. He shifts into reverse and backs out of the space. He wasn’t kidding, I soon realize. The streets of Lakewood are as empty as ever, which is lucky, since I’m almost positive Garen’s foot is flattened. It takes six minutes to get to the house instead of fifteen, and then he eases into the driveway and turns off the car.
“Um… damn,” I say. Garen grins at me, and he twists around to get his guitar case out of the back seat. I get out and follow him to the front door. He unlocks it with one hand, reaching out with the other to raise my hand so he can check the time on my watch.
“Eleven after nine. Shit. They’re home then, right?” he asks. I nod.
“Yeah. Mom gets home at seven thirty on Fridays, I think,” I say.
“Fuck,” Garen mutters. He opens the door and steps in past me, dropping his keys on the table next to the door. I lower my backpack onto the floor and shrug out of my jacket.
“Mom, we’re home,” I call. There’s no response. “Mom?”
Still nothing. I head for the kitchen, which is empty. There’s a note on the refrigerator.
Travis Garen,
Bill and I are going out to a movie and then dinner. We’ll be back around ten thirty. Bree is spending the night at Shannon’s house. Please try not to fight or break anything while we’re out.
Love,
Mom
I spend about five seconds staring in disgust at the fact that she refers to herself as “Mom” to Garen, and then it hits me. I check my watch again. Nine twelve now. One hour, eighteen minutes. I grab the note and dart back into the living room. Garen is leaning against the back of the couch, and I tackle him back over it onto the cushions.
“Travis, what are you—”
“Mom and Bill at dinner until ten thirty, Bree at friend’s house for night,” I say. Apparently when it comes to situations like this, Garen is disturbingly fast with processing, because he’s kissing me almost before I’m done speaking. I attempt to put my hands on the cushion on the sides of his head, but there isn’t enough room, and one hand slips off. Jesus, this won’t work.
“Yours or mine?” I ask.
“What?” he says. I jerk my head to the stairs.
“Your room or mine?” I clarify. He snorts.
“Fuck that. Right here,” he says. I shake my head.
“Nope. They might come home early,” I reply. I roll off him and pull him back up to his feet. It’s almost impossible to get up the stairs, because Garen won’t stop kissing me, which I guess puts stock in his “right here” suggestion. But the one time he does manage to get me lying down, the stairs are digging into my back, which is about as comfortable as it sounds. I yank him up the rest of the stairs and he throws open my bedroom door. I reach to close it, but then his lips are on my neck, which is pretty distracting. I leave the door open instead and pull him back towards my bed. There are books scattered all over it, and Garen shoves a few out of the way before sprawling out on his back near the pillows. I tangle one hand in his hair as I kiss him, and use the other to shove the books onto the floor. The bed is finally clear, and we both shift so we’re lying a bit more normally.
“You’re a bit—oh, fuck, do that again—”
I press my hips down onto his again, and he arches his back to press his body flush against mine.
“I’m a bit what?” I ask.
“A bit more enthusiastic than last time,” he finishes. He sits up and I move with him, nestling my knees on the sides of his hips so I’m seated almost comfortably in his lap.
“I know,” I say. He cuts me off by wrestling me down onto the mattress and kissing me. I laugh into his mouth, and he just parts his lips, like he’s swallowing my amusement. As soon as I start to reciprocate, he moves down to my neck. I hum contentedly as he kiss my throat gently, and then he bites down.
“Jesus! You fucker,” I say, laughing, and I force him onto his back. He grins up at me. I brush the razored, wispy spikes away from his forehead, and he leans up to nip at my lower lip, and I decide it can’t get much better than this.
My cell phone goes off. I jump and pull it quickly out of my pocket. Garen moves to take it from me and I lean away, but he manages to fight it away from me anyway.
“Travis can’t come to the phone right now, he’s busy,” he says by way of introduction. My heart stops.
“What the fuck? Give me my phone, Garen,” I demand. He shakes his head and I pry his fingers off the phone.
“Sorry,” I say immediately.
“Travis?” The voice—Faye’s, I think—is way too loud, and I jump again. In the struggle, one of us must have hit the speakerphone button. “Are you there?”
“No,” Garen says loudly, and I clamp a hand down on his mouth.
“Yeah, I am! Sorry, that was Garen,” I say.
“Oh. What are you guys doing?” Faye asks. I look over at Garen, who quirks an eyebrow in a completely unhelpful way.
“Fighting,” I say finally. “As usual. He was supposed to be helping me for the AP History test I have on Wednesday.”
“Reluctantly, I might add,” Garen says loudly. He’s anything by reluctant, though, when it comes to trying to take my shirt off. I fight his hands off and pin them onto the mattress above his head with one hand. He struggles to get back to his task, and I flatten myself on top of him to anchor him in one spot.
“So I take it you guys still aren’t getting along?” Faye asks. She sounds like she’s laughing, and I pray that the heavy breathing and movement from our end sounds like fighting. Garen grins his hips upward against mine in an experimental half-twist. Oh Jesus. Instant hard-on, just add Garen.
“No, Faye, we’re doing great!” I say. My voice sounds like I’m being strangled, and Garen does it again. I hold the phone as far away as possible and lean down to his into his ear, “Knock it off.”
“You don’t need your dick to talk to your friend, so it’s not like I’m stopping you from having a conversation,” he whispers.
“Yes you are,” I mutter. I untangle myself from him and scramble off the bed. I straighten my clothes and step out into the hall slightly. God, how do I get this off speakerphone? I can’t find the button, and settle for just turning my body away from where Garen is still sprawled on the bed.
“Sorry, Faye, really. He’s just… being an ass,” I say.
“I kind of figured that,” she laughs.
“Did you need something, or are you just checking in?” I ask.
“I’m calling to wish you a happy birthday, you idiot. Or did you forget it was the eleventh?” she asks.
“Almost did. And thanks,” I say.
“So, you’re going to come over tomorrow night, right? All of us want to celebrate the big one-seven, since you’re the last one of us who’s turning it. End of an era, and all that stuff. We would’ve kidnapped you tonight, but Miles said Jerry would’ve fired both of you if you hadn’t come in on an open mike night,” she says.
“Yeah, he would’ve. I’ll uh, I’ll have to check my work schedule later and see if I’m free tomorrow,” I say.
“Again, I kind of figured that. God, Travis, your entire life is just that job. If we get you fired, will you hang out with us more?” Faye asks.
“No, I’ll just hate you guys.”
“Oh. Damn. So, other than you not having a life, what’s up?” she asks. I hear Garen sigh behind me, and then he pushes past to head back into his own room.
“Um, nothing, really. Can I call you back later? Or, better yet, tomorrow? I kind of have to study now,” I say quickly.
“Okay. Have fun with that,” Faye says. Her voice has a slight lilt to it, like she’s seconds away from telling me that she knows something I don’t know. Before I have time to respond, she hangs up. I close my phone and toss it back into my room before heading into Garen’s. He’s lying on his bed with his headphones on, gazing out the window. I shut the door behind myself and reach over to take his headphones off.
“What are you listening to?” I ask.
“Motion City Soundtrack. Nothing you’d like, since you’re a creep and hate music,” he says, grinning slightly. He suddenly snaps his fingers and points at me. “That reminds me. Go look in the closet,” he says. I stare at him.
“Is that a joke?” I ask. He blinks at me for a second, then rolls his eyes and nods towards the closet.
“No, you fucking idiot, I literally want you to go look in the closet. Hearing that conversation reminded me that I hadn’t given you your present,” he says.
“Okay, please tell me that’s the joke,” I say. He sighs in frustration and rolls off the bed. He kicks open the closet door and grabs a wrapped box off the top shelf.
“Sometimes I seriously wonder about you,” he says, holding the box out to me as he sits back down next to me on the bed. I take the box without comment and tear off the paper. I blink, first at the box, then at him.
“You didn’t seriously just do this,” I say in disbelief. He shrugs.
“I told you I was going to. I distinctly remember saying I was going to get you it,” he says.
“You also said you were going to get me strippers and a life,” I point out.
“And I still believe you need both. But this is less noticeable,” he says. He shrugs again and starts unpacking the box. “I also took the liberty of uploading some songs onto it. I figured even if there was some stuff you wanted to put on there, it wouldn’t take up all the space.”
I stare down at the iPod, turning it over in my hands. Compared to the nothing I’ve gotten from everyone else, it’s my best birthday present by default. Odds are, though, it’d be best even if I had gotten something else.
“Thanks,” I say. I extend an arm, and Garen hesitates, like he’s not sure what I want him to do. It’s my turn to roll my eyes now, and I pull him forward into an awkward one armed hug. Even after I turn my attention to carefully packing the iPod back up, he lets his arm linger around my waist. I close the lid on the box and set it aside on his nightstand.
“Thank you,” I repeat, and I kiss him this time. He smiles.
“Consider it the best birthday present you’ve gotten thus far,” he says. He kisses me once more on the lips. He waits a second after pulling away, just to see if I’ll lean back in. When I don’t move, he squeezes his eyes shut and stands up. My heart slams violently against my rib cage. Things with Garen are never constant. They never have been. This could be my only chance, and I’d rather take it now than spend the rest of my life knowing I was too chickenshit to just go for it. I snag the sleeve of his shirt and swallow hard, staring up at him.
“What if I want something else?” I ask. He holds my gaze for at least ten seconds before he laughs and looks quickly away.
“You should learn to pick your words better, Travis. You almost sound like you’re propositioning me,” he says. I stand up and raise my hands to his face, holding him still as I kiss him with pretty much everything I’ve got. I finally pull back, just barely.
“I am,” I say. Garen lets out a short breath and glances to the side.
“Travis,” is all he says.
“Garen. It’s not like I’m on crack. I’m perfectly aware of what I’m saying here,” I say. He laughs.
“I really, really doubt that,” he says. I reach back and grab the back of my shirt and tug it up over my head, tossing it to the side, where it lands on his desk chair.
“Stop acting like you’re so much more experienced than me,” I order. His eyes move slowly up and down my chest before focusing on my face again.
“I am so much more experienced than you,” he points out. I cross my arms.
“Well, pretend,” I say shortly. He laughs at that and reaches out to drag me forward by my belt loops. He lets his forehead drop onto my shoulder and just stays there for a minute. I reach up and grab the collar of his shirt.
“If it doesn’t matter to me, why does it matter to you?” I ask. I’m appalled to realize my voice sounds self conscious and nervous again. God, no wonder he--
“It doesn’t,” he says finally, decisively.
“It what?” I ask. He leans his head back and cocks it to the side.
“Doesn’t. It doesn’t matter to me. I just don’t want you to end up wishing you’d never laid your eyes or hands on me,” he says. I shake my head.
“Won’t,” I say. I slip a hand under the hem of his t-shirt and stroke his abs for a second before pushing the shirt higher up until he raises his arms up and lets me pull it off. Once it’s discarded, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me so our chests are flush against each other. Skin on skin. He tugs me back towards the bed and I lean my weight against him to push him back onto it. His hand goes to my belt buckle, and everything suddenly seems Technicolor. This is real, this is happening, and this is Garen’s hand undoing my pants.
It’s only then that I start shaking. I clench every muscle in my body, praying that’ll make it stop, but it doesn’t help. Garen has to feel it when he touches me. There’s no way he can’t. But regardless, he doesn’t mention it, just rolls me over onto my back. I’m only mentally aware of two things at this point—his hand in my jeans and his lips on my throat—but physically, everything is twice as noticeable to me as it had been before. I try to focus on keeping my breathing steady and not thrusting up into his hand, but it’s nearly impossible, and I find I’m either breathing or not moving, and I can’t actually seem to link the two actions. I try not to arch up against Garen’s mouth as he brushes a soft line of kisses down my chest, but I soon figure out that that’s pretty much impossible too. My entire body is going against what I’m telling it to do, but I don’t mind nearly as much as I think I should.
Discussing the matter clinically… blowjobs are both exactly what I expected and the complete opposite. Garen’s mouth is just as warm and wet as I’d assumed it would be, but I’m still not prepared for it. Not at all. I’m not trying to stay in control anymore, because I’m pretty much not aware of the fact that I’m out of control. Even though there’s the usual chorus of thoughts in my head—he’s Bill’s son, our parents could come home at any second, did he put a condom on me or not, he’s a guy—I’m not fixated on any particular one. I’m just absorbed in the way his fingertips are stroking my hipbones gently, the way his head is slowly bobbing up and down, the way for just a few seconds at a time I can feel him swallow around the head of my cock, taking me deeper than I’d thought he would. I’m not sure exactly how long I last, but when I come, Garen’s fingers press a little harder on my hips so I won’t choke him when I arch up. I’m only sort of aware of him sliding up to lie next to me. It takes me a few minutes to come back down, but when I do, I start thinking about so many things at once that I wish I was still just basking in the afterglow of orgasm.
It’s around this time that I remember that the previous activity was entirely one-sided. Fuck. I may be starting to accept the attraction to another guy, but no way in hell am I going to actually blow another guy. I can’t. Not now. I survey Garen’s face for a moment. His eyes are closed, not staring at me expectantly like I’d kind of predicted. He doesn’t expect me to reciprocate at all, but I can’t just be like “Thanks for the blowjob, see you later.”
Slowly, I inch my way closer to him and touch his stomach gently.
“Hey,” I say softly. Garen opens one eye to look at me.
“Yeah?” he says. I lick my lips, just for something to do, then lean over and kiss him. He kisses me back lazily, not at all with the need and greed we both had earlier. I gently lower one shaking hand to the front of his jeans, and I hear him inhale sharply. I can do this. I know I can. Okay, maybe not a blowjob, but something. Just like doing it to yourself, only now it’s to someone else instead. I ease his fly down, and the sound is louder than I’d thought it would be, almost making me jump. Then I hear the crunch of tires on the driveway.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Garen groans loudly. I laugh, but it kind of catches in my throat.
“I’ll get you later, okay? I, I obviously, you know, can’t. Not now, I mean. But later? Tomorrow?” I say.
“Tomorrow you’re going over Faye’s house,” he reminds me.
“At night,” I point out. He makes a sound in his throat and I snort. “What, you’re too good to get a blowjob during the day?”
“No, actually, I’ll pretty much take any blowjob I can get. But…” He makes the sound again and rolls onto his stomach. The front door opens downstairs.
“Boys! Are you home yet?” Bill calls.
“Yeah,” I say loudly, and Garen seems to do the same, only his response is muffled by the pillow pressed against his face. I kiss the back of his neck softly.
“Later. I promise,” I whisper.
“You better,” he replies, lifting his head just enough so I can hear him. I laugh again and roll off the bed, heading back for my room. I pause by the door.
“Garen?” I say. He turns his head to the side so he’s actually looking at me again.
“Yeah?” he says.
I bite my lower lip in almost perfect imitation of him and say, “Best birthday present ever.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Garen, get off me,” I say. Garen glances over his shoulder to see what I’m looking at, and rolls his eyes.
“Travis, it’s not like this is a shock to them, okay? And they don’t even go to our school, so you don’t have to worry about it getting around town,” he says.
“Except that we’re making out on the hood of your car in front of one of the most frequented places to eat in Lakewood,” I say. He blinks.
“Right. That. Well, it’s dark, isn’t it?” he says.
“And Miles is still in the building. He’s like, thirty feet away from us at this exact second,” I point out. “Also, the car is kind of uncomfortable.”
Garen finally straightens up and extends a hand to help me up. I take it, and he pulls me around the side of the car to the passenger door. He opens it and leans in to toss the case into the backseat, then moves out of the way so I can get in. He shuts the door and goes around to his side. As soon as he’s within reach, I seize a handful of his jacket and pull him back towards me. His eyes are closed, but mine remained fixed to the side, out the windshield into The Grind. All it would take is for Miles to turn his head just for a second, and it would all be shot to hell.
“How fast can you drive?” I ask against his lips.
“Under these circumstances? It would not be an exaggeration to say our speed would be well into the triple digits,” he replies. He shifts into reverse and backs out of the space. He wasn’t kidding, I soon realize. The streets of Lakewood are as empty as ever, which is lucky, since I’m almost positive Garen’s foot is flattened. It takes six minutes to get to the house instead of fifteen, and then he eases into the driveway and turns off the car.
“Um… damn,” I say. Garen grins at me, and he twists around to get his guitar case out of the back seat. I get out and follow him to the front door. He unlocks it with one hand, reaching out with the other to raise my hand so he can check the time on my watch.
“Eleven after nine. Shit. They’re home then, right?” he asks. I nod.
“Yeah. Mom gets home at seven thirty on Fridays, I think,” I say.
“Fuck,” Garen mutters. He opens the door and steps in past me, dropping his keys on the table next to the door. I lower my backpack onto the floor and shrug out of my jacket.
“Mom, we’re home,” I call. There’s no response. “Mom?”
Still nothing. I head for the kitchen, which is empty. There’s a note on the refrigerator.
Travis Garen,
Bill and I are going out to a movie and then dinner. We’ll be back around ten thirty. Bree is spending the night at Shannon’s house. Please try not to fight or break anything while we’re out.
Love,
Mom
I spend about five seconds staring in disgust at the fact that she refers to herself as “Mom” to Garen, and then it hits me. I check my watch again. Nine twelve now. One hour, eighteen minutes. I grab the note and dart back into the living room. Garen is leaning against the back of the couch, and I tackle him back over it onto the cushions.
“Travis, what are you—”
“Mom and Bill at dinner until ten thirty, Bree at friend’s house for night,” I say. Apparently when it comes to situations like this, Garen is disturbingly fast with processing, because he’s kissing me almost before I’m done speaking. I attempt to put my hands on the cushion on the sides of his head, but there isn’t enough room, and one hand slips off. Jesus, this won’t work.
“Yours or mine?” I ask.
“What?” he says. I jerk my head to the stairs.
“Your room or mine?” I clarify. He snorts.
“Fuck that. Right here,” he says. I shake my head.
“Nope. They might come home early,” I reply. I roll off him and pull him back up to his feet. It’s almost impossible to get up the stairs, because Garen won’t stop kissing me, which I guess puts stock in his “right here” suggestion. But the one time he does manage to get me lying down, the stairs are digging into my back, which is about as comfortable as it sounds. I yank him up the rest of the stairs and he throws open my bedroom door. I reach to close it, but then his lips are on my neck, which is pretty distracting. I leave the door open instead and pull him back towards my bed. There are books scattered all over it, and Garen shoves a few out of the way before sprawling out on his back near the pillows. I tangle one hand in his hair as I kiss him, and use the other to shove the books onto the floor. The bed is finally clear, and we both shift so we’re lying a bit more normally.
“You’re a bit—oh, fuck, do that again—”
I press my hips down onto his again, and he arches his back to press his body flush against mine.
“I’m a bit what?” I ask.
“A bit more enthusiastic than last time,” he finishes. He sits up and I move with him, nestling my knees on the sides of his hips so I’m seated almost comfortably in his lap.
“I know,” I say. He cuts me off by wrestling me down onto the mattress and kissing me. I laugh into his mouth, and he just parts his lips, like he’s swallowing my amusement. As soon as I start to reciprocate, he moves down to my neck. I hum contentedly as he kiss my throat gently, and then he bites down.
“Jesus! You fucker,” I say, laughing, and I force him onto his back. He grins up at me. I brush the razored, wispy spikes away from his forehead, and he leans up to nip at my lower lip, and I decide it can’t get much better than this.
My cell phone goes off. I jump and pull it quickly out of my pocket. Garen moves to take it from me and I lean away, but he manages to fight it away from me anyway.
“Travis can’t come to the phone right now, he’s busy,” he says by way of introduction. My heart stops.
“What the fuck? Give me my phone, Garen,” I demand. He shakes his head and I pry his fingers off the phone.
“Sorry,” I say immediately.
“Travis?” The voice—Faye’s, I think—is way too loud, and I jump again. In the struggle, one of us must have hit the speakerphone button. “Are you there?”
“No,” Garen says loudly, and I clamp a hand down on his mouth.
“Yeah, I am! Sorry, that was Garen,” I say.
“Oh. What are you guys doing?” Faye asks. I look over at Garen, who quirks an eyebrow in a completely unhelpful way.
“Fighting,” I say finally. “As usual. He was supposed to be helping me for the AP History test I have on Wednesday.”
“Reluctantly, I might add,” Garen says loudly. He’s anything by reluctant, though, when it comes to trying to take my shirt off. I fight his hands off and pin them onto the mattress above his head with one hand. He struggles to get back to his task, and I flatten myself on top of him to anchor him in one spot.
“So I take it you guys still aren’t getting along?” Faye asks. She sounds like she’s laughing, and I pray that the heavy breathing and movement from our end sounds like fighting. Garen grins his hips upward against mine in an experimental half-twist. Oh Jesus. Instant hard-on, just add Garen.
“No, Faye, we’re doing great!” I say. My voice sounds like I’m being strangled, and Garen does it again. I hold the phone as far away as possible and lean down to his into his ear, “Knock it off.”
“You don’t need your dick to talk to your friend, so it’s not like I’m stopping you from having a conversation,” he whispers.
“Yes you are,” I mutter. I untangle myself from him and scramble off the bed. I straighten my clothes and step out into the hall slightly. God, how do I get this off speakerphone? I can’t find the button, and settle for just turning my body away from where Garen is still sprawled on the bed.
“Sorry, Faye, really. He’s just… being an ass,” I say.
“I kind of figured that,” she laughs.
“Did you need something, or are you just checking in?” I ask.
“I’m calling to wish you a happy birthday, you idiot. Or did you forget it was the eleventh?” she asks.
“Almost did. And thanks,” I say.
“So, you’re going to come over tomorrow night, right? All of us want to celebrate the big one-seven, since you’re the last one of us who’s turning it. End of an era, and all that stuff. We would’ve kidnapped you tonight, but Miles said Jerry would’ve fired both of you if you hadn’t come in on an open mike night,” she says.
“Yeah, he would’ve. I’ll uh, I’ll have to check my work schedule later and see if I’m free tomorrow,” I say.
“Again, I kind of figured that. God, Travis, your entire life is just that job. If we get you fired, will you hang out with us more?” Faye asks.
“No, I’ll just hate you guys.”
“Oh. Damn. So, other than you not having a life, what’s up?” she asks. I hear Garen sigh behind me, and then he pushes past to head back into his own room.
“Um, nothing, really. Can I call you back later? Or, better yet, tomorrow? I kind of have to study now,” I say quickly.
“Okay. Have fun with that,” Faye says. Her voice has a slight lilt to it, like she’s seconds away from telling me that she knows something I don’t know. Before I have time to respond, she hangs up. I close my phone and toss it back into my room before heading into Garen’s. He’s lying on his bed with his headphones on, gazing out the window. I shut the door behind myself and reach over to take his headphones off.
“What are you listening to?” I ask.
“Motion City Soundtrack. Nothing you’d like, since you’re a creep and hate music,” he says, grinning slightly. He suddenly snaps his fingers and points at me. “That reminds me. Go look in the closet,” he says. I stare at him.
“Is that a joke?” I ask. He blinks at me for a second, then rolls his eyes and nods towards the closet.
“No, you fucking idiot, I literally want you to go look in the closet. Hearing that conversation reminded me that I hadn’t given you your present,” he says.
“Okay, please tell me that’s the joke,” I say. He sighs in frustration and rolls off the bed. He kicks open the closet door and grabs a wrapped box off the top shelf.
“Sometimes I seriously wonder about you,” he says, holding the box out to me as he sits back down next to me on the bed. I take the box without comment and tear off the paper. I blink, first at the box, then at him.
“You didn’t seriously just do this,” I say in disbelief. He shrugs.
“I told you I was going to. I distinctly remember saying I was going to get you it,” he says.
“You also said you were going to get me strippers and a life,” I point out.
“And I still believe you need both. But this is less noticeable,” he says. He shrugs again and starts unpacking the box. “I also took the liberty of uploading some songs onto it. I figured even if there was some stuff you wanted to put on there, it wouldn’t take up all the space.”
I stare down at the iPod, turning it over in my hands. Compared to the nothing I’ve gotten from everyone else, it’s my best birthday present by default. Odds are, though, it’d be best even if I had gotten something else.
“Thanks,” I say. I extend an arm, and Garen hesitates, like he’s not sure what I want him to do. It’s my turn to roll my eyes now, and I pull him forward into an awkward one armed hug. Even after I turn my attention to carefully packing the iPod back up, he lets his arm linger around my waist. I close the lid on the box and set it aside on his nightstand.
“Thank you,” I repeat, and I kiss him this time. He smiles.
“Consider it the best birthday present you’ve gotten thus far,” he says. He kisses me once more on the lips. He waits a second after pulling away, just to see if I’ll lean back in. When I don’t move, he squeezes his eyes shut and stands up. My heart slams violently against my rib cage. Things with Garen are never constant. They never have been. This could be my only chance, and I’d rather take it now than spend the rest of my life knowing I was too chickenshit to just go for it. I snag the sleeve of his shirt and swallow hard, staring up at him.
“What if I want something else?” I ask. He holds my gaze for at least ten seconds before he laughs and looks quickly away.
“You should learn to pick your words better, Travis. You almost sound like you’re propositioning me,” he says. I stand up and raise my hands to his face, holding him still as I kiss him with pretty much everything I’ve got. I finally pull back, just barely.
“I am,” I say. Garen lets out a short breath and glances to the side.
“Travis,” is all he says.
“Garen. It’s not like I’m on crack. I’m perfectly aware of what I’m saying here,” I say. He laughs.
“I really, really doubt that,” he says. I reach back and grab the back of my shirt and tug it up over my head, tossing it to the side, where it lands on his desk chair.
“Stop acting like you’re so much more experienced than me,” I order. His eyes move slowly up and down my chest before focusing on my face again.
“I am so much more experienced than you,” he points out. I cross my arms.
“Well, pretend,” I say shortly. He laughs at that and reaches out to drag me forward by my belt loops. He lets his forehead drop onto my shoulder and just stays there for a minute. I reach up and grab the collar of his shirt.
“If it doesn’t matter to me, why does it matter to you?” I ask. I’m appalled to realize my voice sounds self conscious and nervous again. God, no wonder he--
“It doesn’t,” he says finally, decisively.
“It what?” I ask. He leans his head back and cocks it to the side.
“Doesn’t. It doesn’t matter to me. I just don’t want you to end up wishing you’d never laid your eyes or hands on me,” he says. I shake my head.
“Won’t,” I say. I slip a hand under the hem of his t-shirt and stroke his abs for a second before pushing the shirt higher up until he raises his arms up and lets me pull it off. Once it’s discarded, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me so our chests are flush against each other. Skin on skin. He tugs me back towards the bed and I lean my weight against him to push him back onto it. His hand goes to my belt buckle, and everything suddenly seems Technicolor. This is real, this is happening, and this is Garen’s hand undoing my pants.
It’s only then that I start shaking. I clench every muscle in my body, praying that’ll make it stop, but it doesn’t help. Garen has to feel it when he touches me. There’s no way he can’t. But regardless, he doesn’t mention it, just rolls me over onto my back. I’m only mentally aware of two things at this point—his hand in my jeans and his lips on my throat—but physically, everything is twice as noticeable to me as it had been before. I try to focus on keeping my breathing steady and not thrusting up into his hand, but it’s nearly impossible, and I find I’m either breathing or not moving, and I can’t actually seem to link the two actions. I try not to arch up against Garen’s mouth as he brushes a soft line of kisses down my chest, but I soon figure out that that’s pretty much impossible too. My entire body is going against what I’m telling it to do, but I don’t mind nearly as much as I think I should.
Discussing the matter clinically… blowjobs are both exactly what I expected and the complete opposite. Garen’s mouth is just as warm and wet as I’d assumed it would be, but I’m still not prepared for it. Not at all. I’m not trying to stay in control anymore, because I’m pretty much not aware of the fact that I’m out of control. Even though there’s the usual chorus of thoughts in my head—he’s Bill’s son, our parents could come home at any second, did he put a condom on me or not, he’s a guy—I’m not fixated on any particular one. I’m just absorbed in the way his fingertips are stroking my hipbones gently, the way his head is slowly bobbing up and down, the way for just a few seconds at a time I can feel him swallow around the head of my cock, taking me deeper than I’d thought he would. I’m not sure exactly how long I last, but when I come, Garen’s fingers press a little harder on my hips so I won’t choke him when I arch up. I’m only sort of aware of him sliding up to lie next to me. It takes me a few minutes to come back down, but when I do, I start thinking about so many things at once that I wish I was still just basking in the afterglow of orgasm.
It’s around this time that I remember that the previous activity was entirely one-sided. Fuck. I may be starting to accept the attraction to another guy, but no way in hell am I going to actually blow another guy. I can’t. Not now. I survey Garen’s face for a moment. His eyes are closed, not staring at me expectantly like I’d kind of predicted. He doesn’t expect me to reciprocate at all, but I can’t just be like “Thanks for the blowjob, see you later.”
Slowly, I inch my way closer to him and touch his stomach gently.
“Hey,” I say softly. Garen opens one eye to look at me.
“Yeah?” he says. I lick my lips, just for something to do, then lean over and kiss him. He kisses me back lazily, not at all with the need and greed we both had earlier. I gently lower one shaking hand to the front of his jeans, and I hear him inhale sharply. I can do this. I know I can. Okay, maybe not a blowjob, but something. Just like doing it to yourself, only now it’s to someone else instead. I ease his fly down, and the sound is louder than I’d thought it would be, almost making me jump. Then I hear the crunch of tires on the driveway.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Garen groans loudly. I laugh, but it kind of catches in my throat.
“I’ll get you later, okay? I, I obviously, you know, can’t. Not now, I mean. But later? Tomorrow?” I say.
“Tomorrow you’re going over Faye’s house,” he reminds me.
“At night,” I point out. He makes a sound in his throat and I snort. “What, you’re too good to get a blowjob during the day?”
“No, actually, I’ll pretty much take any blowjob I can get. But…” He makes the sound again and rolls onto his stomach. The front door opens downstairs.
“Boys! Are you home yet?” Bill calls.
“Yeah,” I say loudly, and Garen seems to do the same, only his response is muffled by the pillow pressed against his face. I kiss the back of his neck softly.
“Later. I promise,” I whisper.
“You better,” he replies, lifting his head just enough so I can hear him. I laugh again and roll off the bed, heading back for my room. I pause by the door.
“Garen?” I say. He turns his head to the side so he’s actually looking at me again.
“Yeah?” he says.
I bite my lower lip in almost perfect imitation of him and say, “Best birthday present ever.”