As the door swings open before me, I rush through the threshold and hit the stairs that led up to high school room. My mother hears me outside her bedroom door and rushes out to meet me. “Oh, my son,” she exclaims and wraps her hands around my neck. “It’s good to have you back!”
“Good to be back, Mom,” I say.
“How’s Logan,” she asks as she opens my door. “You and Beth had him so young! I can’t believe he’s going to be three soon.”
“And I have to miss him on my twenty-fifth birthday,” I reply, looking around my room as my mother flips the switch to the light. It still looks the same. Black covers on my bed. Navy blue walls. The oversized recliner I used to lounge in when I felt like wasting away for the time being. Even my bathroom door stood, dusty, dark wood covered in posters of movies and rock stars. Familiarity hits me like a bullet to my chest. I try to hide the pain, but I can’t. It reads over my face.
Ignoring it, my mother pushes past and takes my bags from me. “Ever since you moved to Texas I couldn’t help myself. It was like losing a child for good.”
I smile. “We talked every day for a year, Mom.”
“It was never enough.”
“So,” I say, “to answer your question, Arthur is great, Mom. He’s growing up fast.”
“He’s got Beth’s red hair, doesn’t he? It’s a shame she dyes in blonde every time the red roots threaten to appear. She’s such a beautiful ginger. He’s got her eyes too. Such beautiful eyes.” She quiets herself and straightens out the front of her blouse. Shaking her head, she fixes her hair behind her ears and asks, “So how is she? Beth, I mean.”
I sit down on the edge of my bed and sigh. I hadn’t wanted to leave her behind the way I did. Doctors said it wouldn’t be wise for her to travel. She listened. She said I had to come back to Florida for my birthday. Since my father’s mysterious death a year ago, I hadn’t been back. Mom’s hair was just starting to gray now and she needed her son back at home. “She’s well. She insisted I come even though I wanted to stay back. I offered to bring Logan but her parents insisted on he and Beth staying with them for the week. Her family insists a lot.”
I let another sigh drag out. I don’t feel very well sitting in my room. Distant memories threaten to choke me to death. I’d much rather be back in Austin with Beth wrapped in my arms as we stare out over the yard as Logan plays carelessly.
“I imagine it was hard to leave her back,” my mother offers her sweetest voice then motions to the door. “Come,” she says, “allow me to make you breakfast.”
Downstairs in the dining room, I sit across a boy that’s almost identical to me. He’s thirteen now. Golden hair travels down to his shoulders. Dazzling blue eyes sparkles in the sunlight that hits him across his face. He doesn’t speak to me. Instead he stares down at his plate, his thick bottom lip being chewed on my his teeth.
“Eat your breakfast, Carson,” my mother says to him, brushing his shoulders. “And say hello to your brother.”
“Hi,” he mumbles into his hand and pushes the plate away from him. “There. I said hi. Can I go now?”
“Where do you plan on rushing to?”
Carson shakes his head and slides back his chair. Standing to his feet, he furiously sends out a text on his iPhone and mutters something unintelligible under his breath. “I don’t know. My room?”
I take a bite of scrambled eggs then a sip of my orange juice. “Why don’t you just sit back down,” I say to him. “I’ve missed you, bro.”
“Of course,” I offer.
He laughs then tucks his phone into his pocket. “You don’t even want to be here. You’d rather be back in Texas.”
“That’s true,” I admit to him. “But only because my son and wife is there.”
My mother rushes from the kitchen to empty his plate into the dog bowl. She acquired that habit from Dad. “No it’s not,” he spits and marches away from the table. “The only reason you left home was because that boy you boned moved away.”
“Carson,” I shout at him and stand to my feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve been in your room before,” he spits back at me venomously. “Did you know when you high-tailed it out of here you left behind a journal? Yeah, I read it. Maybe because I was nosey, maybe because the only brother I had abandoned me. Fact is you left because of Nicolas, not because Texas was your first choice in school. I thought when Dad died you might move back, but you didn’t. You only ever cared about Nicolas.”
I slam my hand down on the table. “Goddamnit,” I say and walk toward him. “Stay out of my room. What I did when I was a teenager is my business, not yours.”
“You know you didn’t even ask me if you could leave,” he says back and pounds up the stairs. “It was like you didn’t even care. All you wanted was to up his butt!” Before he could slam his bedroom door shut, my mother appears next to me and shouts his name.
“CARSON,” she says, “GET BACK DOWN HERE NOW.” A few seconds later, her phone vibrates in her pocket. She pulls it out to read a text from Carson telling her he’d rather die then be downstairs with me.
I look at my mother through thin eyes and sit back down at the table. She sits down next to me and throws her head in her hands. “I didn’t want him to know that about me,” I say.
“He’s been like this since your father died,” my mother answers my remark. “Once you left after the funeral, he became even worse. He claimed you abandoned him again. That you didn’t care. Sometimes I’m late getting home from work. I try to keep him out of your room but I can’t do anything if I’m not here, Caden. I’m sorry he saw that.”
“It’s my fault,” I cut her off and dabble with the eggs at the end of my fork. “I should have brought my journal to Texas with me.”
Around noon that day, I sit on the couch with my bare feet up on the ottoman in front of me. The television plays some reality show about grown women interacting with each other, getting drunk, flaunting their money and getting into useless arguments but I’m not paying attention. It serves as background noise more than anything else. Bending down, I scratch and itch that’s fussing around my ankles. The muscles in my bare back stretch beneath the tightened skin.
Mom had left to run a few errands and Carson never came out of his room. It’s a completely shock to me when he circles around the curved couch and plops down on the far end away from me. “Hey,” he says, his thumbs tapping away at his iPhone.
I give as easy a smile as I can manage and cross my arms over my chest. “Hey, Carson.”
“So,” he says, never looking away from his phone. I imagine he’s on the newest online networking site sensation Bar-One. It’s made to look like a virtual bar at a club that you could personalize and chat with friends. It’s supposed to be PG-13 friendly, but Beth’s parents think it’s absolutely inappropriate and barbaric. “I see you have a tat of his name on your back.” He smirks.
“Yeah,” I say. He must have seen it when I bent down to scratch my ankle.
“When did you get it?”
“Remember when we went to New York when I was seventeen?” He nods. “Then. I got the tattoo then.”
“Did Nicolas like it?”
I remember the way he looked at me. That day had to be one of the worst days of my life. I can remember what had happened once the sun came up, in the back of my old truck, completely naked…
Alarico had stepped out from behind a tree crying. He and Nicolas claimed they had a fling. I almost left him there in the woods.
But I didn’t.
I should have.
But, I’ll say it again, I didn’t.
I nod my head at him when he looks up anticipating an answer. He laughs, “I heard at school when you tattoo someone’s name on your body it ruins the relationship. Guess that’s what happened?”
I didn’t write him cheating on my in my journal. Hell, I was tempted to write what I later found out in there just to rid myself of the anger and remorse, but I hadn’t. I hated Nyx—I mean, Nicolas—after I found out that he and Alarico’s relationship was as close as ours. After I fucked him the last time and left him alone in that bed, I never looked back. I wanted to right, but I still respected Nicolas enough to leave the memory in my head. I nod my head again. “That was part of it.”
“I hate to break it to you,” Carson says and slips the phone back into his pocket. “Nicolas moved back here a month ago. I saw him once. He looks different.”
Nicolas? Nyx? Moved back to town? I thought he left for good when his father decided banishing his reputation for somewhere better was the best choice he could make. “Oh, yeah,” I say, chagrin. It’s not like I should care…
But I do. Suddenly I want to see him. My heart starts to pick up pace. My head becomes beaded with sweat. Shaking in my pockets, my hands refuse to lie still once again. A wicked smile spreads across Carson’s face and he bursts out in a laugh. “I’M KIDDING,” he says, staring over my face. “YOU’RE AS RED AS A TOMATOE!” Quieting down, he wipes spit from his lips and says, “I’m sorry. I had to do it.”
“You’re a prick,” I say and throw a pillow at him.
“And you like dick,” he says back.
I push myself from my seat and pick him up by the collar of his shirt. “Where the hell did you learn that kind of language from?”
He shoves away from me and falls back into the couch. “Child abuse much? Facebook. Bar-One. Plus, I’ll be in high school next year. Not too mention you’re watching a show filled with fifty-year-old whores who were just talking about dick. God! And you want to yell at me for your setting of a poor example.” He hugs his neck as if I really hurt him.
Pulling up into the parking lot of the nearest Wal-Mart, I get out of the car and slam the door shut. “Happy birthday to me,” I say as I press forward against the wind to the front door. Carson and I spoke a little bit about nothing in particular after our small conversation in the living room. He’s a good kid, but I’m afraid he’s too angry. I think for the next week all he’ll want to do is hurt him. And if I really abandoned him like he said, I wouldn’t blame him.
Walking into the front doors of Wal-Mart, and elderly greeter waves me in with a crooked smile and I hurry to the men’s clothing section. How the hell does someone just leave their underwear in Texas? After my shower earlier, I realized all I had was one pair. I’d grown out of the one I had left behind. Plus, wearing dust-covered boxers that held invisible stains to, you guessed it, my past with Nyx was not an option.
I throw my hands into my pockets and rounded a corner to the men’s section. With target in place, I rush to the aisle containing the underwear I wish to purchase when I slam into a wall.
Or, rather, a person.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, fixing my hair and picking myself off of the floor. My wallet spun out of the pocket of my jack and slid across the floor. A hand fell to pick it up—
Pale, white fingers that were long and slender, silver rings decorating his thumb, and fingernails chipping of black polish picks the leather wallet up off the floor. I give a thanks and reach out to take it from his hand—
“Caden,” he says, his voice nearly the same. It’s deepened a bit, but I recognize it instantly. Looking up out of the corner of my eyes, the first thing I notice is the way his hair has been chopped down to at least and inch and a half long on his head with bangs falling over his eyes. A bright pink strip has been dyed over his right eye. He brushes his bangs back over his ear exposing an ear that’s pierce-less. He looks the same as he did years ago despite the muscle he’s built in his arms and below his navel as he stretches his hand out and the waist of his shirt rises. The lowest of his cut abs peak out of the fabric.
I take the wallet from him and turn instantly on my heels. “Nyx,” I say, snatching a pair of men’s thongs off the closest shelf and hurrying away.
“…happy birthday to you,” Mom squeals as I blow out the candles before me. She could only supply ten candles. It didn’t mean anything to me. She cuts the cake, gives Carson and I a piece, and dismisses herself upstairs. “I saw you two talking peacefully earlier,” she says. “No fighting.”
Sitting quietly at the table, a smile spreads over my little brother’s face. “You saw him, didn’t you,” Carson says with a smile as I push the cake around on my plate.
I nod my head and chew on my bottom lip. “Yes,” I say to him. “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t know he’d be at the store,” he defends himself and crosses his arms over his chest. “He moved back here with some Hispanic guy. Last I heard they were banging each other.”
I widen my eyes and drop my fork back onto the plate. “You have got to stop speaking like that.”
“Why,” he asks. “You didn’t stop when you were a teenager. I read some of the stuff you did to him.”
“Invasion of privacy,” I spit back at him and cross my arms over my chest. “I was sixteen. You’re thirteen.”
“So? Two and a half years and I’ll be your age as you were with Nicolas.”
“Then we’ll talk about this then.”
He sends a text through his iPhone and sits it down on the table. “You can’t blame me for being curious.”
“What are you curious about?”
I slam my hands down on the table and point my finger in his face. “Lay off, Carson. I’m not even playing.”
“Neither am I.”
He throws his hands into the air and picks up his phone. “Whatever. Fine. Okay? You caught me. Just trying to have conversation with my older brother about something that interests him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“All you ever do is talk about yourself. When I try to say something about me, it’s like you don’t even listen—”
“You haven’t said anything about yourself the whole time I’ve been here.”
“That’s because I try over the phone and you just don’t give a damn! It’s all about your job, or Beth, or her illness, or Logan, or the fact that you and her keep trying to have another baby! All I want is a relationship with my brother, and because a boyfriend of his screwed him over when he was younger, he’s shoved us all out of his life and you know what, Caden? It’s not fair. IT’S JUST NOT FAIR!” Red-faced and eyes swelling with humiliation and tears, he runs from the room and ascends the stairs.
My phone rings quietly on my nightstand as I try to sleep. It’s an unknown number. “Hello?”
“Can we please see each other,” his voice rings in my ear. I know who he his, but I still ask,
“Who is this?”
“Nicolas,” he breathes back at me. “Alarico is gone for a few days. He doesn’t know you’re back in town. Please, Caden, just to talk.”
“Okay,” I say to him. “Where at?”
“My house.” He gives me his address.
Rushing down the stairs with keys in my hand, I reach the front door when Carson calls my name. “I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes still swollen and bloodshot. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Can I come?”
“I’m going to see Nicolas,” I admit, blushing.
“Oh,” he says and turns back to walk upstairs.
I blink tears back from my eyes for failing at being the older brother he wants yet again and fly through the front door.
When I first see him, I don’t speak. Neither does he. We lunge at each other, memories of what we had storming our minds. He beckons for me to lift him high into the air and directs me to his bedroom.
I throw him down on the bed. Beneath him, the metal frame and springs clank together. I don’t take any moment to look into his face; instead, I throw myself down on top of him and strip him of his shirt. Beneath my hands on his bare chest, the air conditioner of his room has his nipples poised and erect. They are a soft pink compared to my lips that plunge down over his left breast. A sight escapes his lips as he curves his back. Through the thin fabric of his shorts, I feel him half-hardened against my abdomen.
Then I hear him tell me to stop as he pushes away my face. “This isn’t right,” he says. “You don’t have to do this. Neither of us do.”
“You wanted this,” I say back to him. I slide off of his body and sit next to him. “We wanted this. I wanted this.”
He gives me a delicate smile, one that is as sad as the day I left him alone at the party. He parts his lips to say, “I think you know that I don’t deserve this, Caden.”
“You don’t,” I answer, “but I don’t either.”
“You do. But your wife and son does not.”
I frown, push myself off of his bed, and brush my hands through my hair. I feel my cheeks starting to burn. The tips of my ears go hot. “Don’t bring Beth and Logan into this.”
He shakes his head and stares at the wall out of the corner of his eyes. Crossing his arms over his chest, he sulks, holding his head low and whispering, “That’s their names?”
“My wife’s name is Bethany Elise and my son is named Logan Nicolas. That is their names.” I look over at his dresser to see the light on the roof reflecting in my car keys. I could grab them and go. Lord knows I’m beginning to want to do just that.
I shouldn’t even be here. Nyx is absolutely right. Beth and Logan don’t deserve this. In fact, I SHOULD pick up my keys and leave the room.
The image of Nyx sprawled on that bed, his ass turned slightly crimson from my lack of caring how it felt, tears flooding his face to the point of no return, this dazed look in his eyes telling me not to go, begging me to stay and forgive him, but understanding my decision all the same flashes before my eyes. It was that look, the look of scorned guiltiness, a lie treading on the image of innocence, that I see when I think of him.
And here he is now, sprawled on his own bed, sitting up on his elbows and staring at the wall. He doesn’t want to look at me. I understand that. Just as I turn to leave, he springs from the bed and grabs me by my wrist.
“What did she say when she saw the tattoo?”
That tattoo on my back, the one Carson saw at my mother’s house, begins to burn on my shoulder. “I told her he was a distant cousin I used to be close to. One that passed away.”
“Am I dead to you?” His eyes grow wide, his face flushed of color. His other hand shows knuckles going white from his intense grip into the covers.
Dead? How could he even ask that? “No,” I say, pulling my wrist away and seeing the gash of his nails left behind.
I shake my head and back up closer to the door. “I gave my son your name as his middle for crying out loud!”
“FOR WHAT REASON,” he shouts, his voice almost as loud as thunder.
Anger flushes through me as I begin to defend myself, and I yell, “FOR YOU—”
“NO,” he shouts back over my voice and pushes up from the foot of his bed. “THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU TOLD BETH. ARE YOU THAT ASHAMED OF ME?”
“No,” I try to ask with a calmer voice before I feel him grabbing at my body and shoving me to the bed. His eyes light with fire but turn dark at the same time. Like burning coals. Before I know it, he is on top of me, his legs gripping hard to my outer thighs. He bends down and shoves his lips against mine, forcing my lips apart, forcing my hands into his and pulling them up over my head on top of the ruffled pillows. His nails find their way into the scratches he had caused minutes ago. I feel fire light through my wrist.
“Ah—” I try to scream but he let’s go of my left hand long enough to slam his palm against my mouth. With my lips spread, I feel a part of his palm lower into my mouth. I bite as hard as I can manage.
He pulls his hand away quickly, sighing under his breath at the pain, his eyes beginning to tear. “What is this all about,” I shout back at him.
When I look into his eyes, I notice tears peppering his cheeks. “I wanted to show you the pain I felt every time I fucked him and cheated on you.” His eyes sparkle with confusion and he cocks his head to the side. “I’m doing this wrong.” His lip quivers.
“Try showing you how much you loved me then instead,” I offer, my voice much calmer despite the sting of pain I still feel in my wrist.
He nods his head and reaches up to my wrist. Blood read and throbbing, he lips stroke my lacerations in a kiss. He smiles at my whines. “Okay,” he agrees, his entire demeanor changing suddenly. The fire extinguishes and ice cools over his body.
Nyx kisses me tenderly on my lips then brushes my cheeks with the tips of his fingers. “I will.” Sliding down my body, he lands at my waist and pulls at the button of my jeans after he’s unfastened my belt. I hear the soft click of the button giving way. Almost like a breeze, the freeing of my waist sends a chill down over my naked dick. I felt silly wearing the man thongs I bought when I ran away from him earlier. I decided to go as naked as I could respectively.
After he unzips my jeans, Nyx slides down my legs and unties my Adidas. He pulls them from my feet and frees them of my socks. “Remember the day I told you I had a foot fetish?”
I nod my head.
He begins to message them. For the last few years in Texas, it never occurred to me to get one myself. ‘Course, sadly, with the guys I hung out with that made you a fag and that was simply unacceptable. If they knew my past, I’d been fucked. No pun intended.
Pressing his nose into the arch of my foot, he runs it up to my toes where he buries his nose. “Smells like soap and sweat.”
“That’s gross,” I say to him. My mouth eases into a smile. After he told me of his fetish, I let him suck my toes once when we were sixteen. It was odd feeling his tongue around them. I’d much rather him stop, but I loved him. I couldn’t ask him to. It made him, oddly, happy.
He shrugs his shoulders, probably dismissing my opinion, as he kisses the arch of my foot before placing both down on the floor. “Alarico made me do terrible things with his feet.” He shudders.
“I’m not Alarico,” I assure him as he slides back up to my waist. He nods his head at me. Pulling away the sides of my zipper, my trimmed pubes are exposed along with an inch of my flaccid penis starting at the base. He sticks his nose into the corner where dick met the lowest part of the zipper and inhaled. “Soap and sweat,” he says, his warm breath falling over the base.
I sigh then laugh. Licking my upper lip, I run my hand through his shortened hair.
Pulling down my jeans to expose the rest of me, he slides his palm over my flaccid dick and picks it up.
Over the last few years, I’ve learned to just allow blood to rush into my member. With Beth, I learned that I really enjoyed the different sensitive sensation I felt when her hands and lips fell over my entirely soft cock. She did this thing where she dried her tongue on fabric until it felt rough and sticky. It wasn’t until she did that and the sensation of gentle sandpaper over my piss slit did I start to get hard. At first, my cock pulsed with heartbeat and blood in a matter of seconds. Lately, it had the pleasure of slowly hardening on her tongue and extending into her throat…
I get the feeling of guilt in my chest and I shove it, and the thought of Beth, away.
It’s then that I notice him shaking my cock in his hand. He plunges his lips over it. Grown just a little, it’s still pliable enough to twirl around over the top of his fist as he smirks up at me. “It’s broken,” he says, pouting. His bottom lip swells.
“It’s just tamed,” I laugh as I close my eyes. “Show him you still love him.” My heart skips a beat in my chest as I say the word love. “Be gentle. Suck him lovingly—” I feel it again, stop myself, go to give him more instructions. “Just—” I can’t even hold out any longer without laughing.
Stroking it roughly, he looks up at me and frowns. “Maybe he’s strictly vagina now.”
It pains me to say it, but in my laugh I utter, “Not for you.”
His eyes widen.
Nyx falls back over my cock with his lips. Allowing his mouth to arouse me, I start to stiffen. He pulls it out, smiles, and starts to stroke it. “You’ve grown.”
“You’ve grown enough,” he says then commands me to strip off my shirt. After I do that, he pulls off his pants and underwear and stands back in front of me. He stands fully hardened. He doesn’t look as if he’s acquired any more length to his dick, but it’s much thicker. The way it curves up is more pronounced and it definitely swings to the left more so than the right. His balls have dropped lower than they used to be. My mouth waters.
“I wanna show you how I felt,” he says as he climbs on top of me. Grabbing a hold of my hand, he wraps my fingers around his cock as he starts to thrust his hips. His lips smash against mine again; he parts my lips with his tongue, which instantly dances with mine before attempting to tickle my tonsils.
Pushing his hips into me, my fist comes in contact with the base of his dick. I’m afraid to compare it to it for feelings of being a pervert, but his skin is a smooth, soft, and hairless as a baby’s bottom. He’s completely shaved. A newborn. So much more shaved than he was the first time I saw and felt his dick; this time there is no prickly pubes reaching into my flesh.
The precum touching my abs tell me he’s been hard far longer than I have. I let go of his cock to feel his balls; they’re slightly sticky from sweat and looser in my hands.
Then he pulls away from my mouth, wipes spit off of his chin, and slides down to use it as lube on my cock. With his hand gripping my member, he stares at it quietly, almost cat-like, stalking it’s prey and waiting for the right time to attack. He strokes me several times, paying close attention to the head, twisting it slightly as if it were a bottle cap. He pulls down on it slowly, watching my skin tighten near the head and loosely gather underneath his hand.
He lies his head down on my thigh and rests there, his hand still gripped around me but not moving. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I feel,” he starts to say but the last word comes out in a long sigh. “It’s just…”
“What,” I ask him, calmly, quietly, my hand starting to reach down to stroke his forehead. I watch his hand rise and fall a few times, never putting much pressure to cause any pleasurable sensation. Almost as if he were bored.
Letting go of me, he kisses my inner thigh and digs his nose between it and my balls. He kisses me there; I force my dick to twitch, which slightly causes my balls to bounce against me. He releases a rush of air that spills over my skin making me feel hot.
My fingers slide into his hair, his bangs falling over my knuckles as I reach as far down as I can. “Talk to me, Nicolas.”
“I don’t feel right. I don’t feel like this is right, Caden. When you left me… you had ever right… I don’t deserve to see you this way.”
“Caden, please,” and when he looks up at me he’s crying again. “I’ve yet to forgive myself for hurting you. The last time we were together, they way you held me, fucked me, showed me that you loved me all along, I, well, I…”
I close my eyes and pull the memory back.
Do you remember…
“Do you remember?”
That’s what I said to him, over and over, wanting him to remember the way that I showed him that I loved him.
I pulled his body away from mine. My cock hung in the air as I told him to get up on his knees. He obliged, for whatever reason I didn’t know then, but do now. He did it because he loved me. I lowered my body onto his back, grabbed him with my hands, and shoved my cock deep into his as hard as he could. In his hands, his cock grew with each stroke I furiously applied as I fucked him mercilessly. My anger showed that night.
And, I tense, he screamed. I was hurting him. He was willing to take it, but I hurt him that night. I should begging him forgiveness.
As if my fucking wasn’t good enough, I raked my claws into his chest. I knew he had to begun bleeding. But it didn’t matter. He begged me to fuck him, to fuck him harder, and cried that he remembered.
“I remember,” he says to me, pulling me out of my reverie. It is almost as he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I still remember how much you loved me, Caden. I loved you so much, but I was afraid that night. I was afraid that you’d do worse than just leave me. You were so…”
Wild, I think to myself. Immature. Mad. Crazy…
“You were angry with me and I understood. How could I hurt you like that? I never loved, nor do I love him now, Alarico that way. If I had a place to go, I’d leave Alarico right now. But I’ve nowhere.”
“Come here,” I say to him, and he obliges. I pull his face to his, staring him into his eyes, willing myself to see the sixteen Nicolas, NYX!, that I once knew. The one who was perfectly innocent. Then I kiss him, pulling him into me, allowing myself to forget about my birthday…
My dead father…
My homophobic friends I surrounded myself in Texas to forget…
I just think of him, Nicolas James Earnhart, the boy I loved, and still love, to this day.
Almost as if we were in sync, he spreads his legs to either side of me and rests his ass along the upper length of my cock. Thrusting his hips, my cock dances along the crack between his ass, never penetrating him, but teasing him the same. He smiles, that sad, devastated smile he’s shown me so many times tonight.
Against my abdomen, his cock has lost some of its flame. It slides easily beneath him and on top of me, the foreskin covering his head, not allowing it to really poke through.
His hands run through my hair, down my face, over my bare chest as we kiss. His lips are like rose petals powdered with sugar on my tongue, sweet, delicate, easily broken but irresistible. I bite his bottom lip gently as he kisses me anyway. He sighs on top of me, the warmth of his breath now causing goose bumps to rise along my arms. The hair on the back of my neck rises.
He pulls away from me, spits into my hand, and gestures for me to do the same. When I do, he smiles, lifts himself from me and starts to fondle his ass. I reach down to grip my dick and hold it straight up; he then follows suit by resting his ass against it, aligning his hole with my head, then easing down on it softly.
It’s been almost six years since I’ve felt his ass. His sphincter reacts against my cock, tightening, begging both he and I not to further our fun. But upon his insisting, it does begin to relax as he ventures further down on me.
He gasps, his lips thinly stretched as his mouth opens, and he closes his eyes as he bends back down to me. Kissing me again, one hand grips my cheek as the other my shoulder. He holds me like that, the ecstasy between us surging to extraordinary speeds, making me want more.
I want more of his.
I need more of him.
He starts to lift his thighs up, but I rise with him extending my cock all the way into his ass. Then I pull away as he falls, slowly, until he nearly sits perfectly on top of me. Then he rises, my cock feels him move away, until I run after him, meeting him with the same rhythm, slow, passionate, calm.
We continue that for a few more seconds until he lets go of my lips. “I still love you, Caden. I promise I do,” he nearly has to whisper for fear of someone else hearing. “I’m sorry for what I had done to you.”
“I forgive you,” I say back, startled by the tears beginning to dot my eyes. “I…”
“What,” he says, quietly.
“You’re heart is with Beth and Logan… I know…”
“I love you too,” I admit to him and hold his body tight to me. He lips his hips up instinctively and I press my face into his shoulders. Getting grip on the bed with my feet, I start to thrust my hips into him, fucking him once more, making him feel me for all that I am.
He cries into me, begging me for more, apologizing for things he’s already been forgiving for.
“More,” he says.
I do as I can, speeding up, hitting him so hard that I can’t imagine anything else in the world going on.
In Texas, my wife and child are probably wandering about Daddy. I’ve probably missed a few phone calls. They’ve probably called my mother’s house. Probably talked to her, most likely spoken to Carson. What has he said to her? What if he tells her about Nyx…?
I don’t even want to acknowledge my fear. Biting his shoulder, I throw out bodies so that I am on top of him. His legs move so that he’s comfortable around me and I pick up as much pace as I can get. The position we’ve ended up in doesn’t feel natural by any means, but I can still fuck him, and he’s still crying and moaning and begging for more.
Sweat begins to fall from my face, dotting my nose, hitting his mattress. I feel my chest becoming slick as his hands run over it. Between my legs, I can feel the sweat starting to come, heating me, causing my skin to easily slip over his once we come in contact. My balls slap against him everytime I thrust into him.
The muscles in his arm tighten once he grips his dick and starts to stroke. He jerks quickly, overcoming my humping with his arm, causing veins to rise out of his flesh. He smashes his face together, turning red, biting on his bottom lip.
“Stop,” I say to him and he looks back up at me. “Let’s make this last as long as we—”
I feel my balls tightening as cum threatens to explode. I stop, pull myself out of his balls, and take a breath. Looking over at the clock on his nightstand, what’s felt like seconds has really been minutes.
“Baby,” he says to me, his eyes crossing into confusion. “Is everything alright?”
“I… Was… Gonna…” I can’t even finish my sentence I’m so out of breath. He reaches up and wipes the sweat from my face.
“I hurt,” he says to me. “But I remember. It feels—”
“Amazing,” I answer for him.
He nods his head. “You’ve done enough,” he says to me. “Lie down. On your back. Please, baby.”
I do as he asks. He climbs back on top of me, kisses me gently, then props my head up with both pillows. I look down at him to see his cock resting on my abs again. “Fuck me,” I say to him. “Fuck my abs with your dick.”
He laughs and does as I say. I watch his cock extend down me, smashed between his stomach and my own, his head fighting to escape his foreskin. “You’re hot,” I say to him.
Precum oozes out.
Then he pulls away from me. He pushes his legs before him, balancing one on either side of me, and I grip both. They’re shaven like his cock, smooth, soft, not a prick of hair pushing through. He turns his feet so the tips of his toes poke under my back slightly. Balancing over me, he manages to hold his weight with one hand as he uses the other to push my cock up into his ass. He falls down on it, leans back, holds himself up with both hands by either side of my legs, and begins to bounce.
He throws his head back and moans.
I look down at him. I notice the way his toned, cut muscles move under his flesh when stretched like they are, so unlike the sixteen-year-old Nyx I used to know. His dick is still semi-hard, slightly bouncing up and down over his abs and balls as he fucks me.
I dig my nails in his legs, begging for more.
He starts to move faster on top of me, falling as far down as he can before sliding back up. My cock digs into him, pressing into his prostate gland, forcing him to moan louder. His voice has deepened, but it’s still the girlish whine I remember. “Oh, God,” he mumbles, humping me wildly.
His cock begins to stiffen into me and bounces up onto his stomach where it pretty much makes its stay. It comes up an inch off of his when he throws his body up and down, but it stays put.
Precum glistens under the light.
“Fuck,” I say as loud as I dare as I watch my cock become buries under ass and hidden behind balls before he pulls up again. He goes back down on me, pulls up, doing this over and over causing sensations to run wild through me.
“Fuck,” I say again, louder.
He smiles, moans, starts to lose his breathing.
“Fuck,” I say again, louder still.
He begins to go as fast and hard as he can, his face turning red, his body gleaming with sweat as if it were a diamond.
“FUCK,” I let out into the air as he slams back down on me.
I swear I can feel my own precum ooze out of my dick.
He stops, takes a breath, looks down at me with a painful smile on his face. “I want to cum,” he says to me.
He pulls away from my body and presses his dick against my mouth. I open my lips, welcoming him into the moist cave, and he gently begins to fuck me that way.
He tastes of precum and sweat. Salty. Sweet. Slightly bitter but very sticky. Then he pushes suddenly, almost all of his inches burying deep inside of me, my throat stretching to accommodate him, before he rushes away from throat and cums.
Three ropes hit my lips and chin. He rests his head on my tongue as the rest gushes out. Hot, thick, sticky white fluid filled with swimming sperm hoping to catch an egg rests on my tongue and face. He laughs, bends down, sucks his cum off of my tongue and kisses me. We swap his cum, back and forth between each other, until he manages to pull as much of it, and my spit, back into his mouth.
Then he slides down my body and sucks on my dick. He makes slurping sounds as he travels down with his, his hand stroking me at the same time. The movements he makes are swift and pleasurable, scraping his teeth against my piss slit like I used to do to him.
Within seconds I’m practically screaming as I cum, ropes dangling off his lips and chin when he pulls away, thick globs of cum falling down my cock like tiny avalanches.
He crawls back up my body to kiss me.
As we feed into each other, a door slams in the house.
Nyx jumps and searches behind him. Footsteps fall in the hallway as they make their way to the room. “Baby,” a voice yells. I know it instantly. “Nicolas. Where the hell yo—”
He stops in the open doorway to see Nyx twisted on top of me, both of us naked, my cum falling down his chin. “What the hell?”
Everything goes dark for me. The room turns into a storm. There’s screaming.
Threats flying across the room.
Wild-eyed, Alarico jumps on top of Nyx, his hands at his throat, his eyes fixed on me. “You’re next,” he hisses until Nyx throws his knees colliding into his groin.
Alarico screams and he pulls away. “Fucking piece of shit,” he spits at Nyx. He tries to stand to his feet, to lunge at Nyx, pushing his feet off the ground with hands outstretched when my fist collides into his face.
He staggers back, blood gushing out of his nose and lips, and hits the wall. I reach out again with my fist to his stomach. He doubles over, speaks a curse in Spanish, and falls to the floor.
His eyes fall closed.
A WEEK LATER
The bell to the front door chimes as we sit around the table. Logan’s entire bare chest is covered in a thick layer of ketchup as he chomps down on a piece of French fries.
Beth knows nothing about what happened last week.
Nyx came to stay at my mother’s house after I told her what happened. She promised not to say anything about the affair. I assured her it wouldn’t happen again. I just wanted Nicolas safe.
Carson and I spent a lot of time together as well. We often found ourselves building things with his Legos, playing ball, or on his Xbox.
After I left Florida for home, Mom said that she would keep Nyx safe. She had a friend he could stay with until whatever drama ensued between him and Alarico. I didn’t want to leave, but I had to anyway.
Nyx and I shared one last kiss before I got into my car to leave. We didn’t have sex again. It wouldn’t have been fair for Beth and Logan. Although I loved him, my heart was with them. It wasn’t until I got back, and despite her illness, did I find out that my wife was pregnant.
And, to my surprise, with twins.
I wipe burger off of my lips and push away from the table. “I’ll get it, baby,” I say to her and march to the door. When I open it, I almost fall back. Wearing the same clothes he had on in Wal-Mart and a single backpack, Nicolas James Earnhart stared at me, his eye nearly swollen shut and as black as the night sky, crying.
“Please,” he cries to me. “I know I can cause trouble. I had nowhere else to go. I barely made it out before he killed me.”