chapter twelve ~ <3 put up put out or stay at home



xxx Coy�s POV xxx

Cameron is able to get off his knees in front of the toilet after another half hour. On shaky legs he walks back into the main room and sits gingerly on the bed, as delicate as an old lady. Phil�s trailing behind him with a garbage can from the bathroom and he places it next to the bed. Though clearly freezing cold, Cam refuses to go under the covers and instead lies on top of them, rubbing his arms. Shelf sits next to him; he returned from where ever he went � we have several theories � a while ago, and he�s back to watching TV now that Keith and I have settled down. Phil, not having been invited to sit on the bed, perches on the edge of the nightstand, holding a hot damp washcloth to Cam�s forehead. Cam is passive, eyes on the television.

Keith and I watch them intently, this far more interesting than the cartoon Shelf has playing on the TV. Every so often, Cam tilts his head back and to the side, exhausted dark eyes too tired to be mean, and he looks at Phil. Whenever he does this, Phil leans back a little and looks quite surprised, never speaking. Usually after doing this, Cam just looks back at the TV or at Shelf and doesn�t say a word to Phil. This one time, though, just as Keith and I are considering going to sleep, Cam says something to him.

�Hey,� to get his attention. Phil looks down at him, moving the washcloth off him, setting it on the nightstand next to his own leg. He waits for Cam to say something else. �Wanna roll a few more joints for tomorrow?�

Phil�s eyebrows go down for a moment, a marbled blond color, and then he nods, saying nothing else. He�s being careful now, not giving himself up like a puppy desperate to be taken home. He stands and crosses the room to where our collective bags sit near the door next to the radiator, crouching down to rummage through his own. He comes out with not the plastic bag, but a silver cylindrical canister. Keith and I watch him cross the room, curious. He pulls a ratty red armchair up to the dresser and sits in it, angling the lampshade of the lamp in front of him to shine its rays in his direction. He twists one end of the canister off and dumps the contents out in front of him: more pot, more papers. Much more pot than what was in the plastic bag. With a practiced concentration he nudges it around with his index and middle fingers, sectioning off a small line of it, which he pushes onto the thin sheet of paper he�s ripped free of the packet. He licks the tips of his fingers and brings his face closer, rolling the paper up to the green herby bits � they look a lot like oregano, by the way � making a thin cigarette, which he licks the edge of before putting it to the side.

I look at Keith, who�s resting contently against my shoulder, half-lidded eyes sleepy. I give him a surprised look, which he returns, patting my shoulder. Phil repeats his process a few more times before gathering everything up into the canister that he returns to the duffle bag. He turns back to the bed where Cam lays, having fallen asleep. Phil gets his hurt look on his face and at first I don�t know why, but it�s because Shelf has fallen asleep too, and is holding hands with Cam. Their contrasting hands � light and dark, thin and strong, freckled and clear � lay on the bed between them, rumpling the quilt.

Phil looks at us, and when he sees us looking back, he looks away. �Where do I sleep?� His voice is strained, to say the least.

Keith and I look at each other, coming to a wordless conclusion. Looking at Phil, I smile reassuringly. �If you don�t mind it being a little cramped, you can sleep with us. I promise we�ll be nice.�

He shifts from foot to foot and I tug at my pyjama bottoms where they�ve bunched around my knees. �Okay,� is all he says, going back to his bag, pulling his sweatpants out. �Are you going to sleep now?�

�As soon as you are.�

�Okay.� He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. I lean over to the nightstand and pull the soggy washcloth away from the remote, which I use to turn the television off. Traffic roars somewhat nosily outside, mingled with the voices of a few people in the room next to ours. Keith and I scoot under the covers with me taking the far side on the edge, then Keith, and presumably Phil on the other end near the night stand. We�re sure to give him a good amount of room to avoid any awkward accidental touching.

When Phil emerges from the bathroom, he throws his shorts on top of his bag and flicks the lamp on the dresser off, bathing us in darkness. Streetlamps glow outside and in their dim light I watch Phil walk over to the bed and I feel it dip beneath his weight on the other side of Keith, then the covers move as he pulls them around himself.

�G�night,� I mumble.


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I wake up in the middle of the night, sheets stuck to my back, the track of Keith�s spine pressed to my arm. I had a short dream, not a horrible one, but a frightening one, to say the least. In it, I woke up and it was daylight, so I rolled over and touched Keith�s side to wake him up, and when he smiled and yawned and stretched, it was Cam lying next to me. He said �Hey, lover,� and went to kiss me. I hit him in the face and he seemed hurt, asking me what was wrong in a sincere, worried voice. He tried to put his hand on my shoulder, like Keith might have done, and I jerked back and fell off the bed. I sprung up and looked at him and it was Keith again, asking me what was wrong.

Now I lie on my back, trying to calm my breathing. The room is stiflingly hot, the sheets sticking to my legs and stomach in a most unpleasant way. Without jostling the bed, I look at Keith with his back to me. The smooth, tanned skin of his bare back and his short hair tells me it isn�t Cam, but I�m scared. I lean over him and peer into his sleeping face, serene and young without his glasses, short upturned nose distinctly different from Cam�s long sharp one. I touch his back, sweaty under my fingertips. I pull the blanket down a bit to cool him off as he continues to sleep, baring his blue striped underwear and the back of his thighs.

I sit back and after a moment�s contemplation I get out of bed, the carpet wiry beneath my bare feet. I scratch at my chest and pad blindly across the room to the door, listening to the occasional car drive by. Looking over my shoulder, I see Keith, Phil, and Shelf. The clock�s abrasive red numbers read �3:34.� and I realize that Cam isn�t in bed. The spot on top of the covers is wrinkled where he was sleeping. Shelf�s hand lies palm up, empty on the quilt.

I creak the door open and the cold night air hits me like a wall. The faint smell of motor oil and smog lingers in the air, the stars twinkling in a clear sky above the long awning in front of the row of motel doors. Cam is leaned against the railing, painted a cornflower yellow. Smoke from the joint held between his fingers curls straight up into the sky, the night windless. He turns when he hears me and I suddenly wish I�d put a shirt on. He�s still wearing his jeans and tank top and I look him over, eyes skimming over the cuts down his arms. He sees me looking at them and turns back around. �Are you talking to me yet?� His voice is monotonous, low.

I hesitate, stepping up next to him, putting my palms flat on the railing as I stare up into the sky. �Maybe.�

�Okay.� His bland �okay� reminds me of Phil�s the previous night. I watch the ember burn bright as he breathes in deep. �What are you doing up?� he asks.

�Nightmare.�

�Oh. Sucks.�

�Yeah.� We stand in silence for a few more moments. Cars go by on the street and the run down restaurant across the street � The Brass Kettle � has no cars in its parking lot. Cam coughs. �Feeling any better?� I ask.

�Not really.�

Another long silence, lasting no less than five minutes. It�s a little cold but I don�t go in to get a shirt, not wanting to risk waking the remaining boys up so early. Finally, I can�t stand it any longer. �Why�d you do it?�

He looks up at me, brow knitted. He has very thin eyebrows, now that I think about it. �Do what?�

�At the Ihop.� Anger flickers inside me like a flame, quickly growing. I want to hit him again, remembering it once more. �Why�d you tell everyone? You weren�t even supposed to hear, you knew you weren�t, you obviously knew it was a secret ...� I turn on him, leaning my hip against the wood. �... And you had to let us know you knew, you couldn�t just shut up for once ...�

�He told Shelf I was sick.�

I stop and blink at him, letting the air out of my lungs in a slow breath. He means that he has AIDS. Looking closely, I wonder how stoned he is, being calm like this. I didn�t think that what Keith had said first held that much importance, but maybe I was wrong.

�That�s why you did it?�

�I didn�t want him to know.� His cheeks go pink in the dark and he takes another toke, said cheeks hollowing out. �He didn�t need to know, that was a secret too.� He scowls ahead at the parking lot. �Now he�ll think of me different.�

�Did you guys talk about it afterwards?�

He shakes his head. �We don�t talk about much.�

�Do you love him?�

He starts hacking and coughing, breath laced with smoke. When he recovers, he rubs his throat. �Not really.� His voice is raspy. �I just ... like him, I guess.�

He rests his forearms on the beam of painted wood, back curved and bony beneath his thin tank top. His forearms still bear cuts, getting more faint each day, though they�re still hard to miss. I want to ask him why he did it, which of the two possible reasons made him cut himself, but the words don�t come out. I�m worried about what he�d do, what he�d say as an answer. I like not knowing. I�m so close to hating him and so close to just wanting to hug him because he�s such a poor messed up kid, and I don�t know what to do. I have to hate him because of what he�s done to Keith, of course I hate him for that. I don�t know. But he�s only fifteen, and I just pity him so much. I feel terrible.

I turn to leave, getting tired and cold, ready for bed again. I feel a freezing, clammy hand on my arm and I turn around and Cam�s looking at me with a very astonishing, unguarded expression. He looks curious, sad. He swallows hard. �Does Phil ever say anything about me?�

His hand stays on my arm, fingers skeletal and thin, knuckles protruding sharply from his skin, the back of his hand freckled like the rest of him. The cold air burns my nostrils as I breathe in. �He�s in love with you,� I say honestly, air curling out as translucent fog in the sharp night. �But he won�t do or say a thing because you�re a completely selfish, cold, cruel, horrible asshole, and he knows it just like everyone else does.�

I turn and leave, letting his hand fall to his side.


xxx

The motel room is nice and warm after being outside, though it smells like stale breath with the windows closed. Nervousness and antsyness gone after speaking to Cam, I lie back down in bed. Keith�s on his side facing Phil, who�s snoring softly on his back, one arm flung above his head. Keith�s bent slightly at the knees, one arm curled under his head, the other lying bent against the mattress. On an inexplicable impulse I slide in behind him, pressing my chest to his back, my chin in the crook of his neck. He continues to sleep soundly, moving his legs a little. After a quick glance to Phil�s face to check that he�s still sleeping, I slip my hand down the front of Keith�s underwear, which wakes him up.

On instant reaction, his hand shoots down and grabs my wrist as he tenses up. �What�re you doing?� His voice is almost silent, thick and slurred with sleep. He can barely see without his glasses, too.

I kiss the side of his head in his mess of fluffy dark hair, smelling thickly of various citrus fruits as always. �I�m being nice,� I say just as quietly because I�d rather die than wake up anyone else right now; I pray that Cam stays outside a while longer. �You should thank me.� I wrap my hand around his dick, squeezing tight. His legs get restless, toes curling against my calf, prosthetic nudging between my ankles.

�They�re gonna wake up,� he whispers, voice high and thin, eyes wide and looking at Phil�s sleeping profile. I nuzzle my jaw against his face, the scrape of my stubble against his a loud noise in the silence. He barely has facial hair, he couldn�t grow a beard or anything, but it�s enough that it�s there, though such a light shade of blonde that it�s invisible. I rub my thumb up his dick, pressing my mouth to the back of his neck. He takes a deep breath and my other hand rubs across his hollowed out stomach. �I�m serious, Coy.� But he isn�t really.

I graze my teeth over his neck just lightly, closing my eyes, slipping my fist down his cock and back up. �I don�t think you are.�

He squirms more, pushing his shoulders back into me, re-arranging his head on the pillow. He knows that if we were at home right now, he�d already be on his hands and knees. �Shut up ...� His voice has dropped to a low hiss and he keeps moving, just little things, like he�ll curl his toes or fidget his hands or move his teeth, which I can feel. �If this wakes them up, I swear to god ...�

He trails off. I part his legs with my knee, pulling his panties down his thighs a bit. I kiss just below his ear, messily, listening intently for sounds of Cam returning. �Swear to god you�ll what? Hm?� I tease him, keeping my fist loose around him, moving tortuously slow, kissing all over his neck and as much of his face as I can reach from behind him. �What�re you gonna do?�

�C�mon, don�t do this now ...� But even as he says that, he�s pushing back into me. �... Later, okay? When we�re awake and relatively alone we can do this, okay? Coy, don�t ...!� He�s fighting to keep his voice steady and quiet and I nip the edge of his ear, smiling like a devil.

�You�re a terrible liar,� I whisper, switching up my pace and grip, knowing that I�m absolutely killing him. For a few seconds I pump fast and he has to cover his mouth with his hands but then I slow to almost a stop, then quick, then slow again. Cheek pressed to his, I feel him clench his teeth beneath his skin and I smile wider. �You like this, it thrills you,� I convince him, half-mocking. He�s gone twisty and fidgety again, needing to move even though he can�t. We think Phil�s a deep sleeper but we can�t be sure, so Keith definitely can�t move a lot. Come to think of it, the movements of my hand could be jarring the bed. I slow down again and Keith�s nails dig into my forearm.

�Phil is two � feet � away.� He enunciates each word, still trying so hard to be quiet. Phil lets out a loud snore. �If he wakes up we�re the first things he�s going to see, he�ll -�

�You don�t want me to stop.� A long time ago I figured out how to make my voice just perfect so I can get him to do just about everything if I voice it in the form of an order. I make my tone go deeper then sound a little out of breath, not like I�ve ran a marathon, but like I�ve ran up the stairs. Then I talk really close, touching his ear or shoulder or palm with my mouth; right now, it�s his ear. If history has taught me anything, it�s that this makes him completely pliable and suggestible and weak. I�m not sure why � I think I sound like a bit of a douche � but it works.

�God -� The word comes out mindlessly on his breath. �I d - Just- � He can�t get a sentence out. I tug gently at his dick with my thumb and forefinger, making his plastic leg dig hard into mine. �Coy ...�

I kiss him with the stubble on my upper lip and chin scratching at his neck. This is getting to be really really fun. It�s incredible that it�s only been, what, a day and a half, maybe two days, since we last had sex? And I�m this desperate just to touch him. God, I don�t want to think of what would happen if we were separated for a week. �What is it?� I lick my index finger then slip it around over the head of his cock and he pushes back into my chest, taking a quick audible breath in through his nose.

Hurry,� he says, impatient as always, giving in. I keep my mouth slightly open against his neck and I listen to him this time because he would almost literally kill me if I had to stop because Cam came back inside. And it would be my fault for toying with him and wasting time, or that�s how he�d see it. In sharp jerky movements � I don�t want to move the bed too much � I stroke him until he�s twisting and squirming with a certain urgency, biting down hard on the knuckle of his own thumb, eyes shut tightly as if he�s in pain. Then, a harsh whisper between his front teeth, he says, �I�m gonna come,� really fast and rushed out.

With very careful precision, I reach over him and Phil to the nightstand where I manage to snag the edge of a tissue coming out of the flowered cardboard tissue box. I bring it back to us, settling down in the bed again, checking to make sure Phil�s asleep. By this time Keith is sweating and straining, fighting to stay still. I wrap my fingers back around his dick and it�s barely four seconds before he�s coming just like he said, pushing his shoulders back into me, shoving his face into his pillow, staining it with the drop of blood from where he bit into his thumb. He shoots into the kleenex closed gently over the head of his dick, muscles trembling from being tensed so tightly. He lets out a sob muffled from his hands and pillow, still squirming, pushing his hips into my hand.

�What a good boy.� I lean over him and kiss his cheek when he comes up out of the pillow for air, boneless and spent, hot to the touch from sweat. �You were so nice and quiet.�

He rolls onto his back, nudging me out of his way to do so. I poke the soggy tissue into his hip as retaliation but he slaps my hand away, which makes a loud skin-on-skin noise. We both freeze, looking from Shelf to Phil to the door, unmoving and silent for a few seconds, not even daring to breathe. When we�re sure that we haven�t woken them up, we relax, and I toss the tissue to the ground where some curious boy will doubtlessly find it tomorrow. I smile down at Keith, wiping my hand on my leg and hoping he doesn�t notice. His hair is stuck to his forehead and he glares up at me with his unfocused eyes.

�I fucking hate you,� he whispers, somewhat breathless, but his glare fades to a smile and he raises his hand up and pets my face. �Sort of.� I cover his hand with mine, and again, I hope he doesn�t notice that it�s the hand that was just on his cock. He looks happy, so I guess he wasn�t as mad as he said he was, telling me to stop. �What was that for?� he asks, glancing at Phil momentarily, still snoring, blissfully unaware.

�Y�know ...� I smile, lacing his fingers in mine, bringing them down to rest on the bed. �... the love.�

�I love you too.� He sits up gingerly, keeping his legs still; the bed barely jostles. He kisses me, pulling gently at my lips with his own, resting our joined hands on my thighs. He tastes distinctly of mouth, just that human somewhat-saliva-ish taste, especially the side of his tongue. I think I like that best about his mouth: the side of his tongue. It�s my favorite part, probably, if I had to choose, because it feels like velvet. Is that weird of me to say? It�s true, anyways, and I love it. He grabs at my hands tightly before leaning back, falling gently back into the pillows, letting me fall with him. His hand guides the back of my head and I lay down next to him with my head on his shoulder.

The skin of my cheek sticks to the slightly sweaty skin of his collarbone and he wraps and arm around me. I feel smaller than him, he�s usually the one on top of me. I like it like this, kind of. I can hear his heartbeat, ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump, and it�s soothing. It doesn�t take me long to fall asleep.


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I wake up in a warm tangle of blankets, my left hand cupped around the sharp protuberance of Keith�s pelvic bone. It�s more pronounced when he�s on his back and his stomach is flatter. It worries me sometimes, how thin he is; he isn�t as sickly thin as Cameron, but he�s underweight. I made him go to a doctor last year and he�s healthy, apparently, and tells me I shouldn�t worry. I press my mouth to his bare shoulder, light streaming in through the slats in the blinds covering the window at the front of the room. He is still on his back, hand still curled around mine, sweat pricking where our skin touches. This is nice.

I lay my head back down, closing my eyes, basking in the sheer warmth radiating off him as I think about how much I love having a boyfriend. That it�s Keith just makes it better, but a boyfriend at all is just ... wow. Wow. The closeness, touching even simply, just my hand on the back of his neck or on his hip makes me giddy even to this day, thinking of how someone is letting me do that to them. Waking up next to someone, I love too. Watching him sleep, blissfully unaware of anything that might trouble him, lost in his own dreams. I let my lips touch him again, pressing my face into the curve of his shoulder. I don�t know how I love him this much. I feel like crying, I�m such a pansy.

�Gonna go back to sleep?� His voice is heavy with sleep as it was last night. I didn�t know he was awake, I think as I look up at him. He�s a good fake-sleeper, I should have remembered. Keeping his lips parted just that little bit, keeping his eyes from moving under his eyelids, keeping his body completely slack: It�s an art. I want to see him in a competition some day in a bed in a row of beds, with judges determining which men are asleep and which aren�t. Keith would doubtlessly clean the floor with those amateurs.

�I was considering it.� I lay my head back down. �I love just staying like this.� My voice is quiet; I can�t see if the others are up yet.

�Me too.� He takes a deep breath, his chest swelling and falling. �God, I wish we were at home.�

�Me too.�

�I miss William Barnett.�

�Me too.� I slip my fingers out of his, sliding them down his chest to the elastic hem of his underwear.

He ignores this, rubbing his own hand languidly across my bare back, tapping the bones of my spine like piano keys. �Do you think Jeff and Brandon are taking good care of him?�

�I bet they are, they wouldn�t let us down.�

�You�re right.� He goes quiet and turns his head in my direction a little, straining his eyes to look down. �... I miss Brandon.�

�I know.� I close my own eyes, pushing down the jealousy that rises in me. There�s less jealousy than there used to be but it�s still there, and I think it always will be to some extent. �What�re you gonna do about him when we get back?�

He sighs and his arm comes up and rubs at his hair. He talks quietly now. �I don�t know, really. I try not to think about it because I get all worried sometimes, just because, y�know, it�s Brandon, and ... I think I still want to have sex with him.� He lifts one of his legs off the bed then drops it, shuffling around, doing the same to the other. �I mean, like, real sex. Sex-sex.�

�Like what you and I have?� I offer helpfully.

�Yeah, like that.� He sits up completely now, dropping me off onto my own unused pillow. Now I see that the room around us is empty, though the bathroom door is closed. All three of them can�t be in there, so where are they? �Except not like last night ... What the hell was that, by the way?!�

�That -� I sit up too, glad to finally feel taller than him. I trail my fingertip down the middle of his chest, a cheeky smile blooming on my lips. �- was you experiencing a level of pleasure that most men only dream of.� Sarcasm, of course.

He snorts, turning away from me, groping at the nightstand to find his glasses. �Oh, please.� He finds them and slips them on before turning back towards me, eyebrows raised, mouth turned down. �One sloppy hand job does not - and never will - make you a porn star, you noob.�

I leap on him without warning, tackling him to the foot of the bed. He squeals. My calves are tangled impossibly in the sheets and quilt as I try to straddle his hips, so I end up just kind of pushing my thigh between his legs, which has the same effect anyways. �Sloppy?� I make sure that I sound offended as I look down at him, watching him stifle giggles while trying to throw me off. �I�ll have you know that that was probably the best hand job you�ve had in your LIFE, mister.�

He�s definitely laughing now, that heartwarming honest laugh that I love. �C�mon, hand jobs are never the best of anything!� He puts his hands flat on my chest and tries to push at me that way. �If sex was breakfast foods, hand jobs would be, like, grapefruit.� And he does not like grapefruit.

�If sex was breakfast food, what would be pancakes with cherries and whipped cream with a side of hashbrowns and bacon with chocolate cake afterwards?� I ask, moving my knee so it�s more snug between his legs.

He thinks about this, tucking my hair behind my ear so it stops hitting him in the face. After a moment or so, he gets this satisfied look on his face. �I have to say that that would be ... Hm. I don�t know. It�s been so long, I�m not sure.�

�You don�t know?�

�Well, it�s a tough question! Nothing is as good as cake after breakfast!� He finally pushes me off only because I let him. �But ...� he continues, crawling towards me, pushing his glasses up with the side of his hand. �... This just means that you�ll have to remind me, right?�

�... Right.�

�So that means that you had better make sure that the next hotel we stay at has a separate bedroom, riiight?�

�I was thinking the same thing earlier,� I giggle, and we kiss while still giggling, which is quite the task as it involves a lot of nose-smushing and pursed lips. We hear a door open but don�t move away from each other very urgently, lingering for a few moments. I see Cam standing in the threshold of the bathroom door, wearing panties and his tank top, his hair in a ponytail, looking mildly irritated.

�God, would you two just shut up?� He walks towards us but turns and goes to his backpack with a blatant disregard for his nakedness and his white freckled thighs. He even bends over to get his backpack. Trotting back into the bathroom with it in tow, he remarks casually over his shoulder, �You have no idea how hard it is to try and whack off when you two are out here blubbering to each other,� and he shuts the door.

Keith sits back, frowning. I do the same but I can feel my face get hot in a blush. �What�s his problem?� Keith huffs and crawls off the bed. �We didn�t even know he was in there! Does he think we�re doing this just to bother him? He�s such a prick!�

�I think he might like Phil,� I tell him, thinking of last night, and what he said. Keith�s interested now and turns towards me, an eyebrow raised. �He asked me if Phil ever says anything about him.�

Keith leaps back onto the bed, face telling me he�s as curious as I am about this. �When was this? That has to mean something, doesn�t it?� he asks. �What did you say to him?�

I have to think back. I ignore the �when was this� comment because he doesn�t need to know we talked, he�d just think something happened. �I told him the truth.�

�Which is ...?�

�Thaaat he�s a horrible, cruel asshole, and Phil won�t make a move because of it.�

Keith looks contemplative for a moment, his brow drawn down. He looks terribly cute when he thinks, so I just stare at him for a while. �Should we tell Phil he said that? Phil�s obviously in love with him, right?�

�Well, he was dead tired last night and he still rolled joints and put that washcloth on his head. So ... probably.�

�Yeah. So, do we -�

Phil comes in from outside, smiling weakly at us. His hair is damp, his skin clear and glowing. �Hey, you�re up. We�ve been waiting.�

�Where were you?� Keith asks, climbing off the bed, before he has time to be self conscious of his state of undress. Phil looks him over, his cheeks going a little pink. From behind him, I can see Keith�s butt hanging out of his panties. I think he knows this because he says, �Wait, sorry,� and dashes to his suitcase, which has yesterday�s jeans lying on top He pulls them on and looks at Phil, who�s rubbing his neck sheepishly. God, they�re so cute. �Okay, go.�

�I just went for a walk, it�s past noon and you two were still asleep ...�

�It�s past noon?!� I leap out of bed, tugging my pyjama pants up from where they�d fallen too low; the drawstring is broken. �I wanted to leave early! How the fuck did I sleep so late?!� I start dashing around, going to my suitcase and back, picking up my book and other little things that we�ve left around the room, stuffing them in. �Keith, get dressed!�

�I need to shower, and Cam�s in the bathroom!� he whines, scratching at his chest. Phil�s watching him, which I find mildly threatening, but I have no time to dwell on that.

�You don�t need to shower, we�ll spend most of the day in the van anyways, PHIL, are you ready to go?�

�Been ready for hours. The hobo�s sitting on the roof of the van, can he do that?�

�No, Keith, get a shirt on!�

�But my hair will be greasy if I don�t shower!�

�We�ll be in the VAN, no one will see you!�

Cam comes out of the bathroom. �You�re bickering like schoolgirls,� he comments as he makes his way to the door, now fully clothed, his hair loose and falling around his bare shoulders. It hangs in a barely-combed mat over his back as he swings his backpack from the floor onto his shoulder, then goes to the door. Keith glares at his back but the door shuts.

As soon as he�s out, I turn to Phil, who�s picking at his cuticles. �Cam asked me about you.�

His big blue doe eyes look at me, surprised. �When?�

�Last night.� Keith looks at me now too, a hand on his hip. �I got up in the middle of the night and went outside, and Cam was out there and he asked if you said anything about him.�

Phil blushes and chews the inside of his cheek. �Oh.�

�You got up in the middle of the night?� Keith looks skeptical, head tilted, left eye squinted. �What for?�

�It was boiling in here, I just wanted from fresh air,� I reassure him, smiling a bit. �Nothing happened.�

�What did you say to him?� Phil plays with his hands and tries not to look too interested. After a moment he realizes that he�s failing and definitely looks interested, so he goes to the left hand bed and picks his headphones and walkman up off it, keeping busy.

�I told him you were in love with him.�

He spins around and looks at me, a red flush blooming across his cheeks and nose. �You said that?!� His voice is high and squeaky.

�I was being honest.�

�No, you weren�t!� He walks by me and puts his chubby little hand on my chest and pushes me backwards, making me stumble into the bed. He does this without any real malice, but I know he�s still peeved at me. He picks up his duffle and shoves his headphones in, bending them angrily in a way that makes me wince. �I don�t love him, h-he�s a jerk and a douchebag and an ass, and a horrible -�

�I told him that too, actually.� I take a few steps to the bathroom and poke my head into the bathroom and grab a white elastic hair tie from the counter. I turn back to Phil, still a brilliant red color. He�s wearing a grey t-shirt, and I have to say that it looks nice. I twist my hair back into to a high ponytail. �I said you loved him, but wouldn�t do a thing about it because he�s so icky.�

�You actually said the words �icky�?� He sounds mortified by this, which makes Keith laugh as he shuts the bathroom door behind him.

�No, I think I called him a ... completely selfish, cold, cruel, horrible asshole. Does that just about sum it up?� I hear the spray of the shower behind the closed door.

Phil groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. �I can�t believe you told him I loved him.�

�Don�t you?� I walk by him to my suitcase and open it up, fishing through for something to wear. Everything in here seems boring by now, so I just pick a white oxford because as I said earlier, no one will see me. It�s too hot to put a sweatervest over it anyhow. As I button it up, I watch Phil struggling to say something, rubbing his cheeks as if that will make his blush fade.

�I � I don�t � It�s none of your business!� But he doesn�t move or leave, so I secretly think he wants to talk about it.

�I think it�s a little bit my business. We�re friends, aren�t we?�

He fidgets, looking at me, then at the floor. �You�re kind of old to be friends with me, aren�t you?�

�Nonsense. I�d love to be friends. But friends talk to each other, and don�t keep secrets.� I drop my voice and start rolling the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbow. �So ... Was what I told Cam right?�

He scowls, heaving his duffle bag onto his shoulder. �Friends don�t pressure friends into doing things they don�t want to do.�

�I�m not telling you to do anything, I�m telling you to trust me because ... let�s just say you like him. I could do things to help.� I want him to be truthful here because I honestly want things to work out for him and Cam in the very end. Right now it seems like such a long shot, and it probably is, but anything I can do to tip the scales in Phil�s direction, I will. �I don�t know what, exactly, but if something comes up, I could talk to him.�

He�s definitely wary now, but doesn�t look like he�s going to reject me. Finally, he sighs and hunches and shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes. �I like him.� He says, moving his hands, rubbing his temples. �I always have and I can�t not like him, I tried! Believe me, I tried, after we went to the lake I tried so hard not to like him and to just forget about him and for a while I did, but then Shelf came along and I can�t stand to see him all floundery and -�

�Calm down.� I step close and put my hand on his shoulder. He takes a deep breath and looks up at me wearily.

�Sorry, I just -� He struggles for words, flapping his hands. �- Been going through a lot.�

I laugh good-naturedly, rubbing his shoulder. He�s so small. �I know, I know. I�m sorry for being such a dick about it, I didn�t want to pressure you or anything, I just ... wanna help. Keith, too.�

He smiles up at me, a lopsided little desperate smile. �I know. But ...� He chews the inside of his cheek again. �... is Keith mad at me? Because of Cam ... and he hates Cam ...�

�No, no, no ... Well ... a little, maybe.� I shrug. �I�ll talk him out of it, he likes you a lot more than he hates Cam.�

Phil laughs shortly, a pleased chuckle. I slip my hand along his shoulder to his neck and up into his hair, ruffling it as you would to your kid brother. I keep my hand on his head, curled around the back of his scalp, palm over his ear. We�re both smiling somewhat awkwardly, and it doesn�t help that Cam walks in. He looks at me, I look at him, and I rub my fingers into Phil�s hair, smirking a smirk that Phil is too short to see.

�What are you doing?� He asks, voice chillingly cold. For a minute we�re all quiet; Phil bats my hand off and turns around, again trying valiantly to seem unperturbed. He�s never very good at that. I listen to the shower continuing to run in the bathroom over the loud sound of an electric toothbrush buzzing against a lip ring.

�Nothing.� I shoot Cam a very irritating arrogant smile, and he glares at me. �Are you and Shelf ready to go?�

�We�ve been ready for hours,� Cam scoffs, hiking his jeans up, showing for just a moment a glimpse of pale hip. �But your boy toy insists on being squeaky clean. We have to wait longer?�

�He�ll be quick,� I assure him, brushing off his insults because it�s the only way I can tolerate him. Phil pulls the strap of his bag across his shoulder, twittering around some more. �What�re you two doing out there?�

�Shelf found some sidewalk chalk, he�s drawing.� He says this almost fondly, which is a disturbing thought. Cam and fond in the same sentence. �Hurry up,� is the last thing he says before he leaves, spinning on his heel, slamming the door behind him. Phil sighs and rubs his nose.

�I�ll be outside if you need me.�

I nod and smile passively, watching him leave, half-waddling with his duffle bag. The door shuts quietly behind him and I�m left alone for the first time in a while. I sit on the edge of the bed for a minute in my shirt and pyjama pants, trying to ignore my dirty hair. Old smudged eyeliner sits in the creases of my eyes and I think I should probably wash my face after Keith�s done with the bathroom. I�m sleepy and want to go back to bed, but I need to get into a stupid van and drive for hours. Lomoni isn�t far now, but I really want to go home. The only thing that keeps me from getting huffy and having a tantrum like a little kid is that I�m harboring hopes that I�ll get to have sex tonight if we get a hotel with a separate room ... I�m really, really hoping.

I can�t fall asleep, so I stand up and pull a pair of grey-ish blue jeans on, a little loose at the waist. I pack up my bag and most of Keith�s � he�ll need stuff after showering � and then haul mine out the door, almost accidentally kicking Shelf in the back. He�s knelt in front of the door, drawing a big sun on the concrete with a stick of yellow chalk. The sun has a smiley face, and is shining above a crudely drawn house with white smoke curling out of the chimney. He looks up at me with his bullfrog face on. �Watch it.�

�You�re right in front of the damn door.� I clip him in the back of the head with my suitcase as I go by, past Phil sitting on the yellow wooden banister, past Cam knelt in the handicapped parking space. He has a stick of white chalk in his fingers and he�s drawing too, far more seriously than Shelf is. He�s drawn a big fish, about four feet tall and wide, with big wavy fins. I think it�s one of those fighting fish. It�s fantastic. �Nice,� I say shortly, needing to say something because it�s good, even if he�s a jerk. I hear him huff in response and he goes back to adding texture to scales.

I make my way across the narrow parking lot to the van, popping the trunk open. I throw my suitcase in and close it before turning back to the three boys, unsure of just what to do next. Without Keith around, even for a short time, I�m kind of aimless. I walk back up and see a third stick of chalk lying near Cam�s foot. I roll it towards me with my toes and pick it up from there, then, when he doesn�t object to me taking it, I walk over to the wall of the motel near our door, a kind of cement-ish material.

Since I�m oh-so-dependent on Keith, even this will have something to do with him. I think about what we said this morning, about comparing sex to breakfast foods, and I draw a thin vertical line as long as the wall, capping it with a horizontal line at the top and bottom, like the letter I. Near the top horizontal line, I draw a small tic and on the right side of it, I write �pancakes with whipped cream, cherries, bacon, hashbrowns, and chocolate cake.� I crouch down and just above the bottom horizontal line, I write �grapefruit.� On the right side, directly across from that, I write �hand job.�

I stand upright and brush my knees off, pleased. I make a few more tics all down the vertical line, about five between the first two. On the tic below the first one, I write �Homemade waffles with flavored syrup� on the right side. Above the bottom line on the left side, I write �cold cereal,� then above that, �anything frozen.�

�What are you doing?� Phil asks. Shelf and Cam look up now too, in the direction of my scale of breakfast foods vs. sexual acts.

�Making a chart,� I say simply, writing �any un-breakfast-like dessert� beneath the homemade waffles one before stooping down to write �bacon eggs and toast� above �anything frozen,� which fills all seven gaps in on the right side � the breakfast food side � though the left side is empty except for �hand job� at the bottom. I�m going to leave that up for Keith.

I drop the chalk on the ground and go back inside, hearing that the shower has been turned off. I call out Keith�s name and he pokes his head out of the bathroom door, hair sopping wet, bangs slicked to his jaw. �What?�

�Are you almost done? I made something for you.�

�Is it a ceramic bowl from girl scout camp?�

�No.�

�Pity. Well,� He leaves the door open but returns to the sink, pulling a blue piece of floss between his crowded front teeth. �I�ll try to finish up quick. Pick an outfit for me?�

�Consider it done, Barbie.� I go back into the other room and drop his suitcase on the bed, rummaging through the unorganized, unfolded clothes, looking for something he can wear. �It�s gonna be hot out today, are shorts alright?�

�Definitely,� he calls from the bathroom.

I sort through dirty socks and panties and find a pair of canvas blue plaid shorts, small enough to belong to a ten year old girl, and a white tank top with thin lacy straps. For footwear, I pull a pair of orange flip flops out of a side pocket of the suitcase, and for, ahem, undergarments, I find skimpy black lace panties that make me squirm just looking at them. I lie all these out on the bed, secretly trying to make him come out into the room naked to get them so I can see him. I sit behind the clothes and wait for him to finish his primping.

True to his word, he doesn�t take long. After a speedy check of the room to make sure we�re alone, he steps out with just a towel wrapped around his hips. �A towel?� I whine desperately.

He laughs and walks up to me, looking over the clothes on the bed. �You didn�t think I�d come out naked with those boys around, did you?� He flicks me on the tip of the nose with his index finger, which I bite at like a frisky puppy. He looks from the clothes to me. �You�re dressing me like a slut, you know.�

�Those aren�t slutty!� I say, because they aren�t. Just ... revealing, to an extent. �They�re cute!�

He gives me a dry look and drops his towel and for a second I get to see him in all his naked glory, but then he snaps the pair of black panties around his waist and pulls the blue shorts on. They�re short, definitely, almost booty shorts. He looks so good in them, though. �Not too short?�

�No such thing,� I giggle and grab him around the waist, pulling him towards me. He shrieks happily and tips his head to the side as I nip at his neck because I know what�s sexy and what�s tickling, and this is definitely tickling.

Between giggles and laughs, he calls my name and begs me to stop, which I very reluctantly do. He kisses me on the cheek � infuriating, yet sweet � and pulls the white tanktop over his head. It hugs his sides, but isn�t skin tight, it just hangs nicely. He looks summerish and innocent, which is adorable and makes me want to rip those stupid clothes off him. I would, too, if we were at home. I definitely would. He slips into the flip flops and for a minute or so, he goes back and forth from his open suitcase to the bathroom, putting his various toiletries away. When he�s done, he motions for me to pick up the suitcase and when I do, he smiles. �Ready to go?�

�Almost.� I open the door for him and he steps out, narrowly missing Shelf. �Let me just put this in the van, wait here.�

I go and do that, having to wait for a few cars to pass before I can dart, but then I�m back at Keith, who�s chatting to Phil about the weather. I pull him by his arm to the big scale on the wall, picking up the chalk from the ground.

�What�s that?� he asks, looking it over. �Is that ... the breakfast-sex thing?�

�Yup! This is definitely worth pursuing. I finished off the breakfast side, but I need your help for some things on the sex side.� I twirl the chalk between my fingers. �So, what�s just better than a hand job?�

The words �hand job� catch Shelf and Cam�s attention as well as a neon sign would have. They both stop their chalk drawings � Shelf�s now at a six year old�s level, Cam�s nothing short of a masterpiece � and walk over, leaning against the banister near Phil, watching. �What about hand jobs?� Shelf leers.

�It�s a chart,� I explain, using the bit of chalk as a pointer. �Comparing breakfast foods to sex. Hand jobs are grapefruit.�

�Oh.� Cam blinks a few times, smirking. �So, what�s the equivalent of the pancakes one at the top?�

Keith puts a finger to his chin in an exaggerated thinking pose and looks thoughtful for a while before he gets a bright look on his face. He beckons me closer and whispers the answer in my ear, telling me to write it up there.

�You are such a pervert,� I laugh as I turn my back to him, writing what he said up on the wall.

�What?! You agree with me!�

I finish the last letter in �really rough sex from behind� and turn back to face him, sticking my tongue out. �You still thought of it first.�

I look at Shelf, who�s grinning, Phil, who�s blushing, and Cam, who�s trying not to laugh. �Agreed?�

Shelf and Cam nod feverently, and Phil sits there and feels awkward and looks at his knees.

�What about homemade waffles?� Shelf asks.

Keith thinks again, then whispers in my ear with barely-contained giggles. I sputter and blush and look at him with wide eyes. �I am not writing that up there.�

�Then I will!� and he tries to take the chalk from me. He swipes at it, but I raise it above my head out of his reach. He gives up quick. �Fine, then write ... something else in place of it.�

I turn and write �that thing� up on the wall with a little heart next to it. �What does that mean?� Cam asks.

�I�ll tell you when you�re older.� I grin. �Next?�

�... Hmmm. Any un-breakfast-like dessert ...� Keith ponders, looking up at the sky as if he was a philosopher and not thinking about sex. �... That�s, like, cake and pastries and unhealthy stuff, right?�

�Right. Any thoughts?�

�Getting head?� Shelf offers. Keith instantly scoffs at him.

�Have you ever had cake for breakfast?�

�Well -�

�I think not. It needs something more ... spectacular. It�s a lovely thing, cake for breakfast. It�s ...� He looks up at me, bright eyes eager. �Rimming?�

I go red and look at Phil, who�s pinching the bridge of his nose again, while frowning. He�s also blushing, but that�s not too surprising. �S-sure,� and I write it on the wall across from its respective breakfast.

�For serious?� Cam hops up onto the railing, skinny little butt failing to even make it bend under his weight. He�s about a yard away from where Phil sits, very aware of this proximity.

In perfect synchrony, Keith and I turn to look at him with our eyebrows raised. �Have you ever been ...y�know?� I wave my hand, absolutely refusing to say it out loud.

�Well, yeah ... Fine, fine, I see your point.� He laughs, that unheard of laugh like a clown being run over by on a gravel driveway.

I�m flustered now, embarrassed and ashamed for having started this conversation in front of Phil, who is quite obviously uncomfortable and upset. I mean, the guy he likes � loves? - just said he�s been rimmed by someone who was definitely not him, and that�s gotta suck. �Y�know what, forget it, we�ve gotta go, it�s already one and we�ve got a long drive.�

�Aww!� Shelf mopes. �I was having fun!�

Keith snatches the chalk from me and quickly scrawls �fingering,� �69,� and �getting head� in their places on the wall before dropping it, looking at me innocently. I smack him lightly in the back of the head before running to the van with him chasing after me.


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The drive is uneventful. Shelf and Cam talk, sitting close, and Phil has set up his comfy little camp behind Keith�s seat once more. The sky is a bright, clear blue and the landscape is yellow and wheaty, rock-faced mountains lining the highway as if it�s a moat, little waterfalls running down cracks in their surfaces.

Cam and Shelf nap on and off, and are asleep when we reach a little Petro-Can gas station to fill the van up for the rest of the drive. Keith waits in the passenger seat of the van, reading his book, but Phil gets out to stretch his legs. I lean against the van and watch the numbers of the price and liters climb ever higher, and he taps me on the shoulder. �Hey.� His voice is quiet and shy. I turn to look at him with a smile. He�s so short, he�s nipple height to me. He really doesn�t look fifteen. �Thanks for ... cutting the breakfast-talk short this morning.� He fidgets adorably.

�No problem, I knew you didn�t like it. Sorry for making it in the first place, I didn�t really think we�d talk about it.� Now he�s looking up at me with a quirky look of appraisal, which is interesting. He seems amused. �What?�

�I don�t hear you apologize much,� he says. �but you�ve said sorry twice to me today. What�s up with that?�

I smile and shrug, returning my gaze to the numbers. I pull the nozzle out of the van. �I try not to have too much to apologize for. I guess I did today.�





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