xxx Keith’s POV xxx

“We’re going to the Budget Rent A Car place by the airport first,” Coy says nervously.

Cam gives a grunt of agreement, but no more. Coy sighs and keeps driving, pulling onto the freeway. Stores pass us by and I watch them go, thinking of Coy and Brandon and the boys in the back seat and wondering how the hell we’re going to get through this.

“Did you eat before you left, Cam?” Coy asks politely. I don’t know how he can be so patient with that little twerp. I look back at Phil again and I can now hear his music pumping from his headphones from where I sit. I wrinkle my nose at his choice in music. “We can stop before we leave town if you want to get a bite to eat.”

I bet Cam rolls his eyes. I know he does, you can hear it in his voice. “Oh, no McDonald’s, how ever will I survive?” he mocks. “Oh come on, you can tell I don’t eat much. Don’t even ask.”

I turn around in my seat. “Shut up, Coy was just trying to be nice!”

“Keith …” Coy warns.

Cameron gives me a look that makes it seem like he just swallowed a bug. “Don’t make it seem like I owe you two something, princess,” he tells me, waving a bony finger between Coy and I when he says ‘you two.’ “I didn’t want to come, Laur forced me. Besides, Sir Sobs-a-Lot here …” the finger moves to an oblivious Phil. “… would have bawled if I’d said no.”

“Don’t be so mean to him!” Coy snaps. “To everyone! Settle the fuck down. Are you going to be like this for the whole trip?” he demands.

Cam stays silent for a second. His comebacks are never instantaneous. “Are you going to stop playing camp counselor and act your age?”

“Sure,” I answer for Coy.

“No,” Coy surprises me by disagreeing. “Well, maybe. You need some sort of structure.”

Cameron’s fist comes down on the armrest of the door, making Phil look up at him momentarily.

“Fuck this!” he swears. “Fuck. Your show’s good, boys, but you’re weeks too late, this one’s been to town already.” He’s talking fast and bitterly. Coy’s stopped the car at a red light just down the street from the car-rental place. “I’ve had more guilt piled on me than you can believe and it hasn’t worked – your parental bullshit of a sideshow circus isn’t going to do jack shit to me other than piss me off.” He leans forwards, voice dropped to an enraged hiss. Phil has one ear of his headphones up, listening intently without Cam‘s knowledge. “So. Just. Stop. Trying. I don’t want this.”

The light turns green and Coy slams his foot down on the gas, making the old car jerk sharply forwards before squealing down the street. Cam, too cool for seatbelts, flies against the back of Coy’s seat while Phil just snaps forwards, watching Cam with a look of a horrified amusement. Coy turns the car sharply into the Budget parking lot, weaves into a parking space and slams down on the breaks.

Cam falls back down into his seat, rubbing his elbow. Coy turns around after unbuckling his seatbelt. He looks at Cam and though those blue eyes can’t threaten, his age makes itself known in his rough voice. “Whether you want it or not, you’re getting it because I fucking say so. Stop being such a baby fricken emoteen and settle. The. Fuck. Down or I’ll make you.” he snarls.

Cam feigns boredom, leaning back in his seat. I say ‘feigns’ because his fists are clenched. “Fine.” He says that word with such venom that a dart to the neck would have had the same effect on a person. Coy gets out of the car, unphased, and I hide a smile, following suit. Phil, though he still has his headphones on, takes the hint and gets out too.

“You’re such a good dad.” I whisper in Coy’s ear as we walk inside the building. He doesn’t say anything, but I watch his lips curl up into a weird little smile. I think that maybe he liked exerting power over someone.

Coy does all the talking to the man behind the counter while trying to get a decent mini-van for the trip. I stand silently at his side in the cool air-conditioned building, keeping an eye on Cam standing (and sulking) near the door and Phil slumped in a big beige armchair in the seating area. He has an interesting look on his face when he taps his foot to the loud metal music blaring from the thick, black headphones over his ears. The orange walkman sits on his squishy stomach.

“And here are the keys, sir!” the thin man behind the counter tosses keys into Coy’s hand with a big, forced, salesman grin. Coy smiles back (not as big) and takes the keys.

“C’mon, babe,” he grins at me. I blush in ladylike pride at being called ‘babe.’ I like it. “I got you a nice soccer-mom mini-van, just like you wanted, right?”

I nod feverishly, trying not to bounce. Coy catches Cam’s eye and jerks his head towards outside, telling him to follow. Cam slouches towards us and Phil, apparently not having to be given instructions, does the same. He’s perceptive. We walk back out into the sweltering heat and go to Coy’s car to get our luggage out, then we look around for the mini-van in the sprawled lot of cars.

I raise a hand to my eyes to shield me from the sun. “What number is it?” I ask.

Coy checks the papers he was given. “Space 43J.”

I look back out at all the cars and sigh. We’re in section E. After much searching and bitching from Cameron, I see it in the distance. A big red Town and Country mini-van in the distance, hovering near some trucks like a beautiful mirage.

“It’s RED!” I shriek and run towards it, slamming into the passenger side door. The alarm goes off instantly, but Coy is either quick or he just knew I’d do this, because he turns it off, unlocking the doors.

“Stop being such a fag!” I hear him yell – always good-naturedly – from behind me as he picks up my fallen suitcase. I stick my tongue out at him and climb into the passenger seat, oohing and ahhing and the new car smell and the lack of stuffing poking out of the seats. Coy’s car sucks.

It isn’t too long until the rest of the boys join me in the van. Coy puts our bags in the back while Phil and Cam get in, Cam on the left, Phil on the right. When Coy gets into the driver’s seat, he raises an eyebrow with an irresistible smile.

“Did you boyfriend deliver or did he deliver?” he laughs.

I lean across the seat, brushing my knuckles across his cheek and I kiss him. He laughs against my mouth – unintentionally insulting. “My boyfriend delivered.”

After a short glance back at Cam, I can see that he’s relatively disgusted at our sappiness, but for once in his life he’s staying quiet, just looking up at the ceiling. The more I look at the bruises on his throat, the more I think they look like thumb prints. Right near his windpipe too. Asphyxiation? He catches me looking and looks at his knees after scowling, hiding his neck.

I bounce on the nice new seat a few times before Coy starts the car. The engine roars to life with no clanks at all, it just purrs. I love new cars.

Coy leaves the Budget parking lot and drives the van down the freeway, commenting on how much harder it is to handle than the car. I smile and snuggle back into my seat, secretly pleased at how I’m tall enough to have the seatbelt lie across my chest instead of my neck.

“Tunes?” Coy asks, pulling out the suitcase-like CD holder he remembered to bring along. He tosses it into my lap and I give an annoyed grunt, but I open it and start rifling through it anyways. Coy alphabetized it, the freak.

“Hmmm. Whadda ya want?” I ask, never sure what he likes to listen to. He changes his musical tastes as fast as he changes underwear. He thinks about it, turning the van off onto the big highway leading east, out of town.

“Aqualung.” he replies a moment later, just as the ‘welcome’ sigh passes us backwards. Gentle slopes of hills covered in sagebrush line the four-lane highway, dotted with thistles. The sky is a bright, clear blue that fades into an almost yellow color at the skyline. Everything inside and outside our city is a shade of yellow.

“Sounds good.” I say, pulling the Memory Man disc from its sleeve. I somehow expect Cam to make an angry snort and comment on our choice of music, but when i see him in the rear view mirror, he’s just looking out the window. I put the CD in the player and soon it comes to life, filtering music out of the speakers like icing sugar through a sieve. It’s just as gorgeous every time I listen to this album. Coy sings along as always, quiet and shy of his own voice. I’m surprised to hear a second voice murmuring along with Coy’s and that of the CD.

xxx Coy’s POV xxx

With a quick look in the rear view mirror, I see Cam’s thin lips part as he sings. His voice is a little too deep to go along with this artist, but as usual he has that undeniably charming tone to it that almost makes me want to wipe myself off. He makes me sick in a very odd way.

“You like this song?” I ask warily, unsure of how he’ll react. Music is a safe topic, but even then, he’s a snarky young man. I watch him tuck his hair behind his ear as he nods sheepishly. I’ve never seen him look like that.

“Yeah, I love Matt Hales.”

Keith giggles, possibly at finding a soft, crushing side of this boy full of edges. For once, he doesn’t get a mean comment in return. This highway is pretty straight despite the rocky terrain around us and driving is a breeze. Our area is sort of pretty once you get used to it. More nature than you can shake a stick at, but a lack of bustling city life and industrial beauty. Sagebrush and pine trees are everywhere, especially here over rolling hills and steep cliffs. The country is sort of cool.

We drive for hours in silence, even Cam has piped down in favor of listening to whatever CD we have in. We own all his favorites, apparently. At least there’s one good thing about this kid. Over our music, you can hear Phil’s music, even with the noise reduction of the headphones. He can never hear a thing we’re saying when he has those on. Keith tested by yelling “FIRE!!” After getting a sore back, Cam demanded that he be allowed to flatten the back seats – we got a Chrysler Town & Country that has compartments below the floor to store the seats in – and lie down in the big cargo area instead. We pulled over to do so and, judging by the way he was cracking his ankles, Phil agreed and helped wordlessly.

Now the two of them are lying on opposite sides of the van, using their bags as pillows. Phil stares at the ceiling and under our own music we can hear the bass thumping sound of his own. He certainly has man-like tastes in genre for such a sweet boy. His music collection that he hauls out periodically to chance a CD in the orange walkman is complete junk. To me, anyways. Cam is on his side facing the door, knees curled up, deep even breaths telling us that he’s asleep. The loud music doesn’t seem to disturb him.

Soon enough, I watch Phil’s eyelids droop shut, lulled to sleep by the gentle movement of the van. His music still plays in his ears as his mouth drops open in soft snores. They’re both adorable when they’re asleep, despite how difficult they are when they’re awake. After a half hour of snoozing, Phil rolls over, making his discman bump off his stomach to the ground. He reaches his hand out and it finds its way to Cam’s hand, closed over Cam’s side – he sleeps with his arms crossed. His tiny, tanned hand covers Cam’s pale skeletal fingers and he squeezes them. Cam squeezes back, letting Phil’s arm stay stretched between them.

“Are they seriously asleep?” Keith whispers, turning around in his seat.

I listen for a moment. They’re both snoring. “I think so ... Cam would be pissed if he was awake, huh?”

“So pissed,” Keith murmurs, and I know he’d rather die than wake them. We turn the music down and let them sleep.


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Another hours passes. Less trees go by, just other cars on the busy highway. The hills have faded to prairies and big green signs saying “ALTAMONT” followed by how many miles until we get there. Keith keeps giggling anxiously at the boys in the back. Over the past sixty minutes, Cam has slowly migrated across the van and is now buried in Phil’s chest, hands under his arms. Phil’s chin is resting on Cam’s head and I can’t see his face, but I’d imagine that he was happy despite the fact that Cam’s lying on his CD player.

“God, I don’t want to wake them up ...” Keith sighs, looking form him to the ‘Welcome to Altamont’ sign quickly getting closer. Altamont is in a valley just below us, sort of a rival to our town. It’s roughly the same size, too, but it gets more tourist traffic because of the massive strip mall. The van careens down the busy highway leading into town, my careful driving keeping the car steady. If one more person tells me to drive safe, I’m going to have to kick some serious ass.

Keith sighs. “You can wake them up once we find a hotel, I guess.”

“Why me?” I ask.

“Becaaaaaaause,” he leers. “Cam likes you, he’d take a swing at me if I woke him up, especially when he’s cuddling a boy he despises.”

Cam doesn’t like me, I think. He tolerates me. We get to the outskirts of Altamont, all small dairy farms. Keith giggles and cheers at all the cows we pass, telling me how cute they look with the black and white against the green. He’s the cute one. The houses in Altamont are all old and beaten, unlike the sometimes annoyingly modern styles of our city. The houses and stores all have shutters and most are two levels. It’s almost like one of those old cowboy movies, minus the dirt roads. Another thing that draws tourists.

“OhmyGOD~!!” Keith screeches in a high-pitched voice. He thrusts his finger at the windshield and i follow the direction he’s pointing in and see, over the tops of a row of buildings, a really big ferris wheel. “THE FAIR IS IN TOWN!” he squeals.

It wakes the boys up and we know it. I smack Keith in the back of the head and stop at a red light, turning around in my seat to check the damage. Phil’s awake, wide eyes nervous, but he doesn’t move away. Yet. Then, a few seconds later, Cam groans into Phil’s chest as he wakes up. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing immediately, he just blinks a few times, frowning before it all sinks in. Then he twists his hands out of Phil’s grip and shoves him hard. He sits back on his heels and looks at Phil with such a glare of disgust that I’m surprised one of them hasn’t just burst into flames. Phil cowers back against the door, rubbing the back of his head with tears in his eyes. He looks like a hurt puppy and it’s so sad, I need to say something but I don’t. The lid of his CD player has popped open.

“You ...” Cameron goes to say something. His teeth are grit, he isn’t embarrassed though he was the one who initiated the cuddling. He runs a hand through his hair. “You ... you can’t fucking – look at me, pussy! - you can’t pull shit like that again, you little freak -”

“HEY!” Keith yells, but cam just holds up a silencing hand in his direction as he keeps talking and degrading.

“- or I’ll slap you halfway across the country -” he leans in closer. “- and don’t you think i wont. So unless you’re interested in something more -” his look gets even angrier and he slides his hand down Phil’s thigh towards his ass, earning a flinch from the little boy pressed to the door. “- you don’t get to fucking cuddle, you dyke,” he spits in his face. “Grow some fucking balls.”

Keith unbuckles his seatbelt and I just think: not again. I try to grab his arm but the light’s turned green and I have to drive. I hear his feet on the floor of the van, then several loud thumps and a lot of swearing. I drive down the street, looking desperately for a hotel or somewhere to park. No hotels in sight, but i can hear crying and slaps from the back seat. I swing the van into the nearest parking space on the street and slam on the brakes, turning around.

Keith’s on top of Cam for the second time in a week. He’s screaming and swearing, tiny little fists punching Cam across the face. Cam’s trying to stop the hits but can’t and just ends up yanking at Keith’s hair.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!!” Keith yells, smacking at him, clawing at his face. “I fucking hate you, I HATE YOU!!” His voice is high and strained, he’s screaming as loud as he can. If the street outside was any more crowded, we might have a situation on our hands. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’ll – AAH! FUCK!!”

Cam grits his teeth and gets one of Keith’s nipples between his nails and he twists at it. Keith screams and rolls off him and that’s my cue to step in. I climb into the back seat and kneel (not enough room to stand) between them, a hand on Cam’s chest to keep him back. His whole face is obscenely red, hair in complete disarray. He’s sending a general look of loathing out to the world, but mostly at Keith. Keith takes my hand and squeezes. I look at him and gasp when i see a bright red stain start seeping through his shirt. I look back at Cam with the angriest look i can muster: no one hurts my Keith.

“You: front seat.” I point. “Keith, stay back here ‘till we get to the hotel.”

Cam squints and doesn't say a word. He combs his hair with his fingers and stoops by us, sitting petulantly in the passenger side seat. I look at Phil, cowering in the corner, cradling his headphones and discman to his chest. He’s crying silently and there’s spit on his cheek.

I go to say something to Keith, but he crawls over to Phil.

“You okay?” he asks quietly. Phil sniffs and nods, uttering a very quiet apology.

“Shh, it’s okay, don’t be sorry,” he raises his hand and wipes the spit from under Phil’s eye with the heel of his palm. “It’s not your fault.”

Phil doesn’t say anything else about that, but if he thinks we miss the anxious flick of his eyes to the front seat, he’s crazy. “You’re bleeding,” he tells Keith, who looks down.

“Oh shit, yeah.” He tries to touch his right nipple but jerks his hand back, swearing.

“Are you okay?” I scoot closer, rubbing his arm. He gives me a little smile, but then I reach my hand to touch his second inappropriate wound in two days and he moves back.

“Don’t touch, it hurts ...” he winces. “I need a band aid or something ...”

“Wait,” something dawns on me. “You didn’t get his blood in you, did you?”

He goes a few shades paler. His eyes dart down. “I – I don’t think so ...” he says nervously. “Is that all it takes?”

I nod, not really sure. Just an exchange of fluids, isn’t it? “C’mon, you’re okay, right?”

He blinks at me a few times like a little kid and then he leans in and kisses me with a hand on my arm. It’s a short kiss. “You’re worried about me?”

I smile at him. He looks pretty un-hurt besides the bleeding nipple, but then again, Cam’s no boxer. “Yeah,” I say, not wanting to divulge with the boys around.

“Good. Let’s find a hotel, I need to stretch my legs.”

“Yes ma’am,” I say with fake labor, climbing back to the driver’s seat. I don’t say a word to Cameron, I don't even look at him because he makes me sick. I drive off down the street, eyes scanning the buildings lining the road for a decent motel.

“There!” Keith says from the back seat. Up ahead I see a big building flashing “MOTEL” in red on the teal colored roof. Looks nice. Cheap, but livable.

“Okay. Phil, you agree?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Sure,” he says in a tiny voice, not sounding like he really cares a hell of a lot right now.

I’m satisfied with that answer anyways and i pull into the parking lot, right near the office between two little cars. The office is under the top deck on which there’s a row of rooms. Potted plants and (probably fake) Chinese pendants hang from the rafters near an old-time Coca-Cola machine. It’s pretty dumpy, but in the utmost of amusing ways. Keith squeals happily (that boy loves new places and nothing will put a damper on that) and hauls the back door of the van open. His feet hit the asphalt, one with a fwap from a flip flop, the other with a plastic thunk from Merve, who lacks the toes for flip flops.

I take the car keys out of the ignition and get out, stretching as soon as I do so.

“Nnnnnngggghhhhhhhhhcountryair.” I yawn, hands reaching to the sky. The sun’s still shining here, though it’s going to set soon, and it’s warm but not as stifling as back in our city. It’s less humid here, too.

I hear Cam get out of the van, but I don’t turn to look. Keith bounds up to me, grabbing my hands. “It’s this nice?!” he’s giddy from being out of the stifling van and tries to swing his arms up and dance with me, but the minute they get over his head, he shoves them back down with another painful wince.

“Sore?” I ask curiously.

“God, yes.”

“Well, no one likes having their nipple lobbed off. Let’s go check in.”

I snag his hand and walk into the ‘office.’ More potted plants sit around the small room that also acts as something of a convenience store. The walls are covered in old photos (or replicas of old photos) portraying western scenes: men standing at opposite ends of a dirt road, tumbleweed, a fat sheriff on a horse that looks like a mule. The norm. The woman behind the desk has a mass of curly red hair and a striking resemblance to Peg Bundy. She gives Keith and I, holding hands, an odd look.

“You boys want a room for the night?” she says it casually, like she gets a lot of ‘our type’ around here and I don’t doubt that.

“Uh, yeah,” I cough out, trying not to sound too gay. I don’t have the lisp that too many people associate with being queer, but my hair and arm-candy of a boyfriend do nothing to hide it. Not that I’m completely ashamed. “Two beds.”

“Riiiight ...” she says, clacking something into the old computer in front of her. Only then do i realize how suspicious that sounds, and I want to say ‘Oh, no, we’re not hiding, we know we like boys’ but there’s no point. “And your name is ...?” she asks.

“Coy Russel,” I tell her.

“Right,” she says with that same tone.

“No, really.” I feel the need to say something this time. Coy’s a bit of a retarded name, but it’s just how I roll, I guess. Mom was weirder when she was young. She probably would have called me Spinning Chicken if it wasn’t for my dad.

“Mr. Russel, the Sleep-E-Zee motel has a confidentiality pledge, it’s on the wall in the hallway to your left.”

I give her a weird look that she ignores.

“Here’s your room key, sirs, you’re in number six. Check out is at eleven am, enjoy your stay and sleep-e-zee.”

I look at Keith, who shrugs comically. “C’mon dear, let’s go before our wives get suspicious,” he chuckles, leading me out the door. I see the lady behind the desk raise her penciled eyebrows, a little bored.

When we’re outside, despite the fact that the entire front of the office is one large window, Keith bursts out laughing.

“This town is hilariously sleazy,” he smiles. “Now hurry, I need to get a band-aid on this bitch.” He glowers at his right nipple. “Are we on the top floor?!” he says, sounding excited until he sees a plastic ‘6’ mounted to a green door on the bottom floor. “Pity.”

“Where are the boys?” I ask, looking around. I spot Phil quickly, leaning into the van, attempting to get our luggage out. His own duffel bad and my suitcase are already at the curb, now he’s struggling with Keith’s. I rush over to help him because it looks like it’s going to flatten him.

“Phew, thanks,” he gives a little uneasy smile. I pat him on the shoulder. Cam has already gotten his backpack and is waiting near the room door for us to let him in, having overheard the room number. He’s rubbing his cheek and looking at his shoes, making me desperately want to know what he’s thinking. Does he feel guilty? Probably not. He wouldn’t know guilt if it fell on him as an anvil.

Keith sneaks in beside me and gets the room key from where I had it hanging out of my pocket. Since my hands are full with our suitcases, he opens the door to room six and pushes it open for me, being a gentleman and letting me go first. I haul the suitcases to the bed first and only then do I look around. It’s a pretty dinky room, but I don’t care and expected no better. It has a gold and teal color scheme. Rough blue carpets are underfoot and fake wood wallpaper is all around us. There’s a mirror near a closet in the back, a radiator below a dirty window, and a small white-and-gold bathroom. Two beds with teal and gold flower-printed quilts are pushed up against the right wall with a lamp-bearing nightstand between them. It’s ... a motel room.

Since I’ve put our things down on the first bed, Cam struts by me and tosses his backpack onto the far bed by the window. Something I hadn’t thought of hits me, so I take my suitcase, walk across the room, and drop it next to Cam’s on the other bed. He looks up at me, expression a confusing blend of wonder and spite. He’d better not try anything funny business while I’m asleep, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. Either way, it’s better than having him sleep in the same bed as Phil and have the funny business be a murder.

The bed springs in the other mattress creak as Phil tosses his duffel bag onto it. He hovers near Keith until said boy leaps onto the bed, increasing the bouncing.

“Can we go to the carnival tomorrow?” Keith asks, putting his hands behind his head before the pain from his nipple kicks in and he lowers his arms.

“I forgot ... you want me to get a band-aid on that?” I don’t answer the carnival question right away mostly because it’s slipped my mind, seeing him in pain.

“Yeah, please.”

“’Kay, shirt off,” I say, opening my suitcase and root through it for my little case of bathroom items. It doesn’t take long to find the little plaid case and I unzip it. I feel Cam’s eyes on me as I search around in it, finding a tiny row of band-aids and antiseptic with no trouble. When I sit down next to a now shirtless Keith, I can’t help but look him over once. I think the tip of his nipple has nearly been ripped off, but other than that he’s just how I like him. His pants are too low. There’s a trail of wheat colored pubic hair that dissolves past the band of his white underwear visible above his belt. I have to look away.

He squirms to get my attention. I look at his nipple, scrunch my face up for a second, then I blow on it. He flinches.

“Did that hurt?” I ask.

“Yeah,” is all he says back. He’s rubbing one arm against the other.

“Pretty sensitive,” I coo. “You poor boy.”

He giggles. “Be gentle with it, for once,” he teases me as I unwrap a band-aid and place it across his wounded nipple. He makes a little shocked noise of pain as I push it on. I kiss it as gently as I can.

“You’ll be okay,” I inform the nipple.

I get another little giggle from Keith, but this one is followed by an odd noise from Cam, made to get our attention in the most impolite way possible.

“I’m going for a walk,” he tells us, not posing it as any kind of question. I look up at him but don’t see him looking back since he’s going through his backpack instead. In a few seconds, he produces a black mp3 player and a white pair of earphones with a kinked-up cord. “I’ll come back,” he says, assuming we need reassurance that he’ll come back. He’s right. If he’d taken his backpack with him, I’d think he was going to get on the first bus back to town.

“Kay. Have fun.” I don’t say a lot else to him because he can’t go around disfiguring my boyfriend’s pretty parts and expect forgiveness. I don’t think he’s even looking for it.

He grunts and just leaves. Phil’s looking at Keith and turns away when I grin at him for it. “I-I’m gonna go for a walk too.”

“Okay!” Keith smiles. “Stay safe and stay away from older men, unmarked vans and nipple rippers.”

Phil nods almost sadly, knowing that ‘nipple rippers’ refers exclusively to Cameron. He takes his headphones and discman, and leaves just as Cam did. I see him go by the window a second or two later.

I sigh. “Something tells me thi --- mmmmh.” I stop trying to talk when Keith leans forwards and kisses me. He catches me with my mouth open and I hear our teeth click together gently. He breathes in his nose and tilts his head, moving in long, slow, drawn out actions. His hands come up to my face and he pulls me closer, setting me off balance, making me brace my hands on the wall behind him. He’s the best kisser ever. Every tug of his teeth, every nip of his lips tells me he’s going to come and I keep waiting for it, but then I figure out that he’s just a tease. Or, maybe he’s just constantly horny, but who knows. Either way, he knows I want these desperate kisses.

With a loud sort of wet noise, he leans back, thumping his head against the wall. His gaze is a little jumpy, but he seems pleased. “Sorry,” he apologizes for kissing me, maybe. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I just really had to do that. You realize we haven’t kissed in hours?”

“Of course I noticed ...” I murmur, rubbing my hand down his arm. “... but I also noticed that a bitter teenager nearly ripped Bruce off.”

“Bruce?”

“Your right nipple.”

“Oh. What’s the left one’s name?”

“Clive.”

“Oh,” he looks down at his chest, one intact nipple with one battle-wounded one. “Well, hey boys,” then he looks up at me. “You’re kind of a weirdo.”

I smile, shifting closer until our thighs touch. His bare chest coupled with the sticky heat of the room makes a warmth radiate off him. It’s drawing me in like a moth to a flame.

“You just don’t care enough to name your body parts, so I’m doing it for you.” I slide my hand up his bicep and over his shoulder.

“What else have you named?” he smiles a little too sincerely.

I hold his thigh and make him bend his leg so I can get at his intact foot without moving. I hold it in two hands, watching his knee get pushed near his shoulder. I shake his foot. “Anderson.”

He laughs, wiggling his little toes. “Okay, so you’re a cute weirdo,” he pauses. “And also a useful one ... Wanna give him a rub?” and he wiggles his toes once more.

He’s got small feet. I can fit it in both my hands, covering it completely. I scoot backwards so that his foot can rest comfortably on my thigh when his leg’s straight.

“Got any massage oil or something?” he asks stupidly.

“I didn’t think to bring any with me,” I tell him.

“Oh,” he sounds disappointed, but then his face brightens and he pulls a lime green tube of lube out of his suitcase. He throws it at me. “Well, use that.”

I catch it in one hand, silently impressed with myself. “This is anal lube.”

He shrugs at me. “Same basic consistency.”

“You don’t care if it gets on your foot?”

“Considering how careful you are even when it’s going in my ass, it’s been everywhere else by now. Feet are no biggie.”

I scowl, even though he’s being honest. “Whatever.”

“Besides,” he snuggles back, fluffing the pillow propped up behind him. “I’d do anything to get a foot rub from you. You’re amazing~!” he gushes.

“Aaaand you know why,” I say dryly. He likes to tease me about the foot thing, asking me questions I can’t answer. What is it about them? Why feet? What do you want them to do to you? I don’t and can’t entirely answer these. I just ... like them. There’s a certain something. He doesn’t complain, though. A few foot-related sexual acts are worth all the foot rubs he gets.

I squeeze the stuff onto my hands. It’s got this weird lemon-lime taste to it. Keith calls flavored lube ‘incentive,’ and he always says that while chuckling. I scootch back a little and hold it in both hands, thumbs pressing hard along the soft arch of the sole of his foot.

“Does anywhere in particular hurt?” I murmur.

He hums contentedly and squirms. He puts his prosthetic leg behind my butt. “Not really, just stiff from having to sit still all day.”

I nod and press my thumbs harder into his foot, kneading it between my fingers. I slide both thumbs from near his heel to under his toes and back. His toenails are painted white.

“Nnnnnngh, Christ ...” he makes a quiet groaning noise. “God, that’s nice ...”

I blush, and that just makes me more determined. I risk a glance towards the window near the door. If either of the boys come in, I can forget my hopes of having sex today. I look back at Keith, sighing and sated on the big fat pillow, and I wonder if I can make him come with just a foot rub. Chances are slim. It’s far more likely that I’ll come from just giving him a foot rub.

I use one of my slicked thumbs and press to the bottom of his toes, bending them back, then curling them forwards to stretch them. He moans again, making me shift a little uncomfortably. I like this too much.

“You should be a masseuse for a living,” he mutters, hands tugging aimlessly at the quilt beneath him. I laugh, thumbs back at the arch of his foot.

“Don’t be stupid,” I sigh. “I’d have to massage old men too, and that’s so not how I roll.”

He giggles and squirms, pressing his foot harder into my willing hands. We’re silent for a while longer, save for his sighs of pleasure. After a few minutes, I see a slow, deadly smile creep over his face, then thin blonde eyebrows raise above his closed eyes. “Are you getting hard?”

I clear my throat, a little embarrassed about this sort of thing, even after so long. “Like a fucking railroad spike.”

He laughs at me, which sort of hurts, even if I know he doesn’t mean it with cruel intent. I keep rubbing his lone foot, not wanting to say much else, trying to ignore the discomfort of having my dick trapped and stiff in too-tight jeans. I won’t do anything until he gives me the go-ahead. So, I rub and shift wordlessly.

Another laugh from Keith breaks the muggy silence. I hate and love amusing this little twerp. “Even after this long, you need permission to jump me?! Goddamn!” he laughs more. “You’re so passive.”

I glare and drop his foot onto the bed, springing at him without a thought. I straddle his thin, boyish hips and yank him towards me. I bite at his throat and neck, sucking with a vampire-like, carnal pleasure. He tastes like sweat and the floral tang of moisturizer. His hands brace themselves on the bed behind him and I hear him laugh breathlessly into my hair. I give an especially hard bite to the chord of muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder. He continues to chuckle.

I stop what I’m doing and glare at him from inches away. He keeps smiling, tight-lipped, trying to keep himself from giggling. This continues even after I take his glasses away, setting them on the nightstand. He looks young again.

“Why are you laughing?” I grumble. It’s a huge blow to my ego if he’s laughing when I’m trying my hardest to be sexy.

“‘Cause,” he says too calmly, “You’re just so cuuuuute!” and he pinches one of my cheeks.

I scowl, lower my hand, and grind my palm into his wounded nipple. He cries out louder than I expected him to, but I don’t entirely think that it was in pain. I only do it once, then I stop and search his face for what he’s thinking. He’s biting his lip. “What’re you thinking?” I have to ask.

“I think ...” he hesitates, looking at the ceiling briefly. “... that both our colors are kinda coming through today.”

I smile and carefully, gently, shyly, press my fingertips into the nipple again. He flinches something fierce but then smiles, shifting around against the pillow. He leans forwards and kisses me, unsure at first, but he quickly grows bolder. His hands grab at my arms and he falls back, turning us over, somehow ending up on top of me. He’s so quick when he does that. He looks down at me with unfocused eyes and grins wolfishly, small sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight. “Here, if you want official permission:” he runs a hand through my hair, pausing. “Take your shirt off, take your pants off, and fuck me,” his grin grows wider after a beat. “Please.”

Then, he flips off me and loosens my tie. I bat his hands away and do it myself, tossing my shirt over my head, pulling my pants down. He spreads out on the bed, legs wide open, face framed against the curtain-covered window, dusty sunset light making his hair shine orange. I stop and look at him for a second. His green eyes, his pointed chin, the impossibly tight jeans over his impossibly bony thighs. They all make me decide something.

Just tonight, I’ll give him what he wants. I’ll do what he says. I’ll go against my principles and my word. I’ll hurt him, I’ll brutalize him until he can’t stand. In a shy voice, I look at my toes and tell him this, anxious but scared to see his face. I don’t know what makes me want this, what makes him want this, but I want him to be happy.

“You’ll have to walk me through it,” I say nervously. “I’m new to this.”

Without a word of agreement, he pulls me into him by my neck, kissing me so hard it hurts. His teeth scrape against my tongue and gnaw my bottom lip, tugging my lip ring. I straddle his thighs, needing to be on top of him more than I’ve ever needed anything. I think he’s making me insane. “It’s easy -” He whispers in between our vicious kisses. “- to keep -” His hands slide down my bare back before he grabs my ass, getting my closer. The rough fabric of his jeans hurts my dick. “- me happy,” he finishes.

I tear away from his lips, lining our noses up for a moment. His little upturned nose makes mine seem even bigger. It’s killing me.

“What do I do?” I ask ignorantly, ruining the moment if there was one.

He smiles. No, he smirks. “Use your mouth. Your hands. Anything,” he sounds shaky and excited, giddy, even. “Instincts.”

He rubs a hand over his chest and his smirk widens. He’s waiting for me to make a move, seeing what I have the guts to do. This is a challenge now, any intimacy is gone. I all but rip his jeans off, throwing them over the foot of the bed. I sink my teeth into his throat, gentle at first until I hear him make a desperate whimpering noise. I give him hickey after hickey, all over his chest and shoulders, until he’s shaking. I crawl up his body and whisper in his ear. I ask if I’m doing okay, and his response is a sob.

I pin his arms out in front of him, tying them with my tie to the headboard. I make him face the wall, up on his knees, stretched out. He’s biting his lip and I swoop in and kiss him, trying not to be too gentle. I bite my way down his back, dragging my nails down his chest, squeezing his dick. He groans. I shower his ass in quick kisses to hear him giggle, then I spank him to hear him scream. As much as I don’t want to admit it (because it makes me sound like a bad boyfriend), I love hearing him scream. I smile and flatten my hand out, giving him a harsh, open palmed slap. He wails. I get behind him, pressing my dick between his legs. He’s panting loudly, his heart thundering in his chest. I can feel it through his back, pressed to my own heart. I pause, waiting to see if he has anything to say but his lips and eyes, squeezed shut, say nothing.

My mouth is a knife and I torture him with it. I bite and pull at him until he’s bleeding and looks like he’s been in a bad fight, then I suck his blood between my teeth, swallowing it an instant later. It tastes like warm metal. I don’t know if I like it. I kiss the back of his neck, pausing movement for a moment. “I love you,” I tell him, closing my eyes.

His breathing is as ragged as ever as he replies: “Fuck me.”

I hide a smile in his skin as I reach around him to undo the tie holding his wrists together. Red marks are nowhere to be found on his smooth wrists, only big blue veins below the surface. I press my thumb to the pulse point below his hand and become hypnotized in the jackhammer of a beat under our skin. I’m brought back to reality with a plastic foot being jammed into the back of my knee.

I grimace and pull his shoulder until he turns around, pressed awkwardly between me and the headboard, legs tangled in mine, arms gripping the pillows. He looks like a little kid at Christmas, so surprised and pleased at the same time. He finds a smile to watch when he taps under his left cheek with his index finger. “Right here.” He sounds absolutely delicious.

I understand him, I think, and lean in, hands stroking his hair. Our dicks touch and he pushes his hips up. I bite under his eye on his cheek, using my four front teeth. He gasps against my jaw and squeezes his eyes shut, eyebrows drawn down. I close my own eyes, pet his hair back, and grind his skin between my teeth. He groans and shivers, rubbing up into me with a jerky sort of desperation that I can’t get enough of. I feel the elasticity of his skin break beneath my teeth and blood gushes over my tongue. I suck until there’s no more and by now Keith’s biting his lip to keep from screaming and this time I think it might be out of pain.

I kiss the wound, red and wet, and smile at him and when he smiles back I just think: This is the weirdest thing ever.

Just to add to the weirdness, he says: “I wanna be on top.”

I don’t know what to say, really. Most of the time, our positions are basically just like ... we fall down and see how we land. I nod at him and he pushes me hard onto my back, away from the pillows. I struggle to sit up on my elbows because being flat on my back makes me feel like a turtle. He doesn’t let me move, pushing me back every time I try to get up. He flattens his palms on the quilt, smoothing it out in an attempt to find the ‘massage oil’ that got tossed aside earlier. When he gets off me and turns around to look, I can see the bare expanse of his back, covered in cuts and hickies and blood and bite marks. For a second, I feel absolutely terrible, but then he finds the lube and turns around and I see his cock sticking straight out and fucking pointing at me and all my regret is gone in a flash.

He puts his fingers in his ass and I watch in nothing short of bewildered amazement, finally resting on my elbows. A moan gurgles up his throat and his head rolls back, probably, knowing him, more out of exhaustion than arousal. He’s impatient and if the noises he makes are any indication, he’s close to coming, so he doesn’t spend a lot of time on himself. A few seconds later he’s crawling back on top of me with a cheeky, slutty smile that makes me blush. No words, no real smiles, no need for reassurance because we’re not kids anymore, not really. He aims himself carefully, puts his hands on my chest, leans forwards, and sinks down.

It’s too quick, too tight and my body just spazzes. I jerk upright with a sharp clench of stomach muscles, digging my nails into his back. He just pants into my ear and shoves me back down, but not before he ruffles my hair in a nice sort of way. I struggle to stay still on the mattress, fighting the urge to flip him over and just rape him. I know I could, but I’m not going to ruin his fun after going this far with it. I watch him biting his lip and trying to get comfortable though he knows he can’t, smiling that insufferable smile like he’s so good. He likes seeing me lose control, that bitch.

He shuffles until he’s on his knees, then he rises up just a little, toes digging into the rumpled quilt beneath us. He starts sliding up and down, back arched and proudly displaying the cuts I gave him. I groan and put my hands on his knees, nails dug deep in for support. He starts going a little faster, needing to find a decent rhythm and I don’t care if it takes him all night. I grit my teeth and tilt my head back, alternated trying to burrow into the bed and buck up into him, but neither seem to do me any good. This is one of those moments where I want him to stop ‘cause it’s too intense and too amazing and I don’t think I can handle it for one more second but god it’s so good I’m never going to let him off his knees.

It’s gotten to a certain point (it always does) where Keith starts getting rather ... vocal. His sex vocabulary could fill a library while mine would be lucky to fill half the pages in a pocket dictionary. He’s constantly moaning or whining or shouting colorful swear words in between orders or pleas. Me, I stay quiet no matter how good whatever he’s doing feels, groaning from time to time, usually between my teeth to quiet the noise even more. Depending on the situation or other things, I have a few dull curses I stick to and maybe a ‘don’t stop’ depending on my mood. I’m pretty plain.

But I look up at Keith, fucking himself on me and calling my name and bad words into the heavens and it doesn’t look like he thinks I’m plain. He looks like he wants me, like he needs me. He looks like he thinks I’m the most beautiful thing in the world. I smile but his eyes are closed far too tightly for him to notice. Even if I’ve hurt him, I could never stop loving him. He’d hate it if he knew I was getting so sappy right now.

His pace quickens with the signal of a high-pitched moan. His nails make crescent marks on my chest, and then he makes a gasp-like noise, one you’d make if someone surprised you, and he shoots. His body tightens around me and I’m lost for words, trying so hard to keep my eyes open to watch him orgasm. It’s a spectacular sight in the most peculiar of ways. Strings of come spurt out the tip of his cock and I have to watch, god, it’s like I don’t have a choice. Gobs of it end up on my stomach and chest, some making it’s way up to my face. Some on my bottom lip and chin. He’s shivering and thrusting into his own hand that he’s decided to wrap around his dick, squeezing at the head to see how much junk he can get to come out. He has an extraordinary amount of the stuff.

The look on his face and the come all over me and his fucking ass don’t give me a chance. My muscles are knotted and I feel like I’m falling apart, so I grab those tiny lady-hips of his and lift him up and then down on my cock, not bothering to give him a second to object. I bounce him like a pogo stick and he shrieks for some reason for another. It’s only about fifteen seconds before I come, holding my breath with my fingers dug deep into my skin. My hips freeze in mid air, arched off the bed as the first wave of shock and pleasure hits, so good it almost makes me cry. I sob in release, bucking my hips up in a few cheap thrusts into him, riding out the tail end of a fucking incredible orgasm.

I’m too sensitive and spent to bear him on for another second, but he knows this. He slips himself off in a sticky mess of lube and boyfluids and grins once more, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the head of my dick. I flinch and I think it spits at him.

“Good boy,” he comments with an everlasting grin, not talking to me, but straight to my cock. I think that’s who he’s dating, I just happen to be the part attached to it that makes him pancakes the next morning.

“I think it likes you.” I drop my head against the bed.

“I think I like you,” he lies down beside me, using my outstretched arm as a pillow. He stretches his own arms above his head and yawns, not catching me looking at a cunt of unshaved blonde underarm hair. “That was amazing,” he curls up into me. “I can barely move.” he admits.

“Well, you’re going to have to,” I ease him off me. “Something tells me that Cam and Phil wouldn’t like to see us lying naked and ...” I pause, looking down at myself. I swipe my index finger across my chest, covering it in come, then I suck it off. “... boy covered.”

He groans. “No fair. They’re big boys, they know about the birds and the bees.”

“Knowing about it doesn’t mean they want to know it’s gone on in the room they have to sleep in.” I point out.

He sighs dramatically. “Okay.” Then, just silence. He looks at me and I wonder how well he can see without his glasses. I’m propped up on one elbow, knees together, lying sideways on the bed. He’s sort of just flopped in front of me. He kisses me in a slow and lazy way, hand curling around my arm, plastic shin bumping against my knee. It’s a long kiss, but a sweet one, and he’s smiling tiredly when he pulls away.

“Thank you for doing this for me,” he whispers, embarrassed for once. “You’re very good at it.”

I’m suddenly embarrassed too, looking anywhere but at his eyes and all of a sudden we’re sixteen again, sitting awkwardly on my tiny bed in my blue bedroom after our first shy hand job. “I’m gonna get cleaned up,” I say quietly, crawling off the bed. “Try to get some pants on before Cam and Phil get back.”

He laughs. “Yes, sir.”

I walk into the bathroom and by the time I’m done showering, Keith’s fallen asleep, head at the foot of his bed, striped pajama pants loose on his waist. He’s not wearing any underwear. I smile at him, pet his hair back off his face, and kiss him on the cheek. He doesn’t move. I pull the quilt free of the mattress and flop part of it over him to hide his wounds.





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