xxx Coy’s POV xxx

Morning sex makes me sluggish, I barely have the will to shower. I do it anyways because I smell like sweat and boy - showers are never bad once you get into them, it’s just the wind up, having to get off your ass and do it.

Afterwards when I strut out of the bathroom all bright eyed and happy, hair lying soaked and straight against my back, Keith’s lying slouched down against the couch watching TV. I knot a blue towel around my waist and start walking towards the bedroom to get dressed. When I’m just behind the couch, I hear Keith snort.

“What’re you wearing a towel for?” he chuckles. I scowl and back track to stand between the couch and the coffee table. “I think I’m well enough acquainted with what you’re hiding,” he finishes.

With a snarky smile, I whip the towel off. His gaze drops to my dick and he has a very amused expression on his face - he’s trying not to grin. “Stop being so demanding.” I sigh, joking.

“I can’t ask to see my boyfriend naked?”

I can’t stop smiling now. I saunter closer, dropping the towel on the ground, taking huge pleasure in where his eyes stay. Crawling on top of him, I feel his whole body get all tense which is pretty cool; it’s nice to know that I can still get him going. He looks at me oddly with one eyebrow raised, still trying not to smile. “You should hope that you don’t have to ask to see him naked,” I tell him. “If you’re lucky enough, he’ll get naked on his own.”

His willpower starts to shred. He raises one of his hands and puts it on my shoulder, hauling heavy strands of hair towards him so he can play with them. My hair glows when it’s wet since it’s such a bright red. I love it, though. I’d never go back to brown now. “I had to ask you, though.” His fingers slide down my throat and over my collarbone - his touch is feather light and almost hesitant but cutely so, I’m surprised I’m not hard yet.

“Well, that was my mistake,” I lean forwards and kiss one of the lenses of his glasses. “I’ll have to remember not to wear a towel after a shower. Okay?”

“Buh!” he shoots backwards, whipping his glasses off. On closer inspection, I see that I’ve left a chap-stick lip print on the glass. He lifts the hem of his shirt to rub it off, succeeding in spreading it more. “You’ve gotta stop doing that, I’m going through crates of lens cleaner!” he scolds.

I grin and kiss his forehead instead. “But you’re so cuuuute when you get worked up!” I tease, truthfully though. He gets all squirmy and angry but he never looks angry angry, just pouty. And pouty is very good.

“Shut up!” he smacks my chest in a half-hearted damsel way, which just makes my grin wider, threatening to split my face in half. He hates it when I call him all cutesy, but now his glasses are off as he cleans them and I see a glimpse of the short little boy I fell in love with: compliant, shy, funny, SHORT, and immature. It’s the glasses that really changed him in the end. After that accident, things sort of became different between us for the better … We were less shy and worried, more open, more like friends and less like boyfriends. It’s hard to explain and even if I could explain it, it might not make much sense. The bottom line is that I like Keith better now: tall(er) and whipcord thin with a sharp jaw line, snarky and hilarious, rude and so incredibly mine.

He tosses me off him and snags his bottle of lens cleaner and little lens-rag that he keeps nearby at all times because of me. I loll back on the couch and watch him scrub to the best of his abilities, then he shoves the glasses back on his nose and leans towards me with the cutest glare in the universe. “This is your money I’m spending on this junk,” he waves the bottle at me. “It’s like ten bucks a pop. Your mother’s hard earned money is going towards buying her son’s boy toy lens cleaner. You’re living with that guilt on your shoulders?”

I don’t answer, I just lean in and kiss him on the mouth this time instead of the glasses. I swear to god he rolls his eyes but kisses me anyways, throwing the bottle of cleaner onto the table, bracing his hands behind me on the arm of the couch. They stay there despite my state of undress, he doesn’t try any funny business (which I’m not really upset about since we already fucked this morning). He stops kissing me and cracks a sweet little smile. “I love you anyways, you spoiled little slut.” he tells me, making me blush.

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I go get dressed. I’m rooting around my half of the walk-in closet, rifling through polos and sweater vests and loads of other junk. I’m still grinning to myself for no apparent reason, faded black jeans on my hips above white boxer briefs. The light in here is dim, but it smells like laundry detergent and wonderful Keith.

I go with ‘boring’ and pick a white dress shirt, a black sweater vest and a black tie. I put them on in the closet - making sure to tuck the tie in - and I run my fingers through my curly damp hair … It’s always like this until it’s been straightened and blow dried, plus I’m not wearing makeup, so I must look hideous, but I still feel very pretty. I look from my half of the closet to Keith’s: his is bright, a lot of white and red and green with lace and jeans … He’s always been exuberant like this. My eyes drift to mine, full of striped polos and sweater vests, crisp shirts and ties. I don’t think I own a single t-shirt, other than things I hang around the house in. I feel weird and formal now.

I flip through Keith’s shirts on hangers and bury my face in one; it smells like detergent and love. God, I love him. I love everything about him, I love his clothes and his smell, his snarky attitude, his sinewy arms, his incestuous tendencies, his moments of complete softness and I love how much he loves me. I don’t understand why hugging his shirts makes all this stuff bubble up but it does and it comes out my eyes as tears and drips down my cheeks.

“… Coy?” My gorgeous little boy is resting naked on the doorjamb to the closet. “Whatcha doing?”

I think relatively quickly and snag the nearest hanger I can, which turns out to be holding a thin, green, long-sleeved shirt. “Y-you should wear this today.”

He gives a sweet little smile and plucks the shirt from my fingers, throws the hanger into the corner with some others, and pulls the shirt on.

“Cute, huh? I love this one,” he pulls it out with his fingers to look at it, then lets it sit back on him. “Pick my clothes! What about bottoms?” he laughs.

I blink at him. “I love you.”

He blinks owlishly back at me, just standing there, oddly naked from the waist down. He doesn’t laugh like he normally would, not even a one syllable ‘heh’.

“I love you too,” he gives me a odd sort of look, not a goofy or quirky one. He walks forward in the scant space between us before hooking his arms under mine around my waist and he hugs me, face pressed into my shoulder, not minding my hair spilling over him and getting him wet. “I really love you.”

I can’t help but close my eyes, breathing into his damp hair. “I really love you too. But we’re being very sappy right now.”

“I don’t care.”

“If someone came in right now, would you let go of me?”

“Only because I’m half-naked.”

An undignified giggle of a snort comes through my throat and gets lost in his hair when my hands drift low to squeeze his bare ass. “So you are …”

He shoves me playfully. “Don’t even go there, just pick my clothes.” he orders, poking a finger into my chest before flouncing off into the bedroom.

I sigh overdramatically and look at his selection of clean clothes and I end up choosing faded blue almost white jeans, pink panties and a spiked belt with no socks ‘cause he’ll want to wear flip flops. I stride into the bedroom with all that over my arm to where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and when I throw the clothes at him; he narrowly dodges them.

“So, we’ve got Phil’s number, are you gonna call him today?” he asks, pulling the boy-brief-panties over his feet and up his legs, missing my eyes hungrily following their ascent.

“Why do I have to call?” I protest, being very bad with telephones.

“‘Cause,” he glares at me, running a hand through his hair to try and fluff it out at the back. “You’re sympathetic and I’m terrible with sad people.”

“Well, what am I gonna say to him?” I cross my arms.

“I thought about it in the shower,” he tells me, shimmying into his jeans. “We’re definitely going on some kind of trip, whether you want to or not.”

“I do, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t. Well, I think we should get them over here today, all packed and ready to go, then leave tomorrow.”

“Does that mean they’ll both be sleeping here?” I wince and step lightly from foot to foot, painted toenails curling into the white carpet.

“Uh, yeah.” He sits back on the bed and keeps tousling his hair to dry it. “Problem?”

“Have you not been paying attention?! Don’t you know why we’re doing this?”

He frowns. “… Yes … but … I dunno, I figured they’d … I dunno.” He slowly starts looking sadder and sadder. I quickly jump to his side, one hand on his warm shoulder, the other curled around his rubbed-pink elbow. He smells like clean boy.

“Shhshhshh, sorry. I know you know, I’m just saying that it might cause conflict and that’s what we’re trying to stop …”

“I know …” he mumbles, shrinking into me. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, you win. They’ll stay here. But lets change places so they aren’t in the same room. Two in the bedroom, two in the living room. Which boy do you want?”

“Phil.” he answers alarmingly quickly. I pull away and give him a sceptical look.

“You answered awfully quick. You like him?” I smile and poke him, finding this terribly amusing. I love it when he loves boys.

“I wouldn’t kick him out of bed,” he says offhandedly. His hand slowly travels down my arm and he dances his fingertips on mine. “And I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of a threesome.”

I laugh, more awkward than anything. “Something tells me he won’t be into that.”

He sighs and swings a leg over my lap, jeans stretching impossibly tight over his bony thighs. He straddles me and squeezes my sides with his knees. “Would you be into that?” he grins rowdily.

“No,” I answer truthfully. “I like boys that can take a beating, and if I were with Phil, I’d have to be all gentle.”

“You’re not gentle with me?” he asks, face all innocence and angels when he hands slide up into my hair.

I snort and shrug. “Lord, no. that’s like … the best I can do. THAT’S too gentle?” I feel a little guilty now. I thought I was good.

“Way too gentle, I want you to make me scream …” he kisses me gently, just under my eye, then across my cheek to my ear. “I know you can.”

I blush to the roots.


xxxxxxxxxxxx

I cave in after some nagging and love, I call Phil and shyly tell him the plan, telling him to come back and to calm down when I told him that he’d be spending the night in the same apartment as Cam. He got all worked up when I told him he’d be in the bedroom with Keith, though, knowing how horny Keith is, and it’s true; even now I’m fighting to not think about what he said about a threesome.

Phil reluctantly agrees and I call Cam, who’s staying with Lauren and her husband (she moved back to the city when she met Derek). Lauren answers and tries to get Cam on the phone but fails and tells me that she’ll get back to me on it. Keith and I watch TV and he works on his designs a little more. We look up car rental places and pick one, deciding to go tomorrow morning to get a “cute minivan” — Keith’s words, not mine.

It must have been around three when Cam called. We were searching for maps and the phone rang, causing Keith to leap up from my lap and dash to the kitchen.

“Hello?” he answers.


xxx Keith’s POV xxx

A nasal but sickeningly charming voice purrs through the phone. It makes me want to melt and wipe my ear at the same time - Cam has that mixed sort of effect on me.

“Hey,” he says simply. “Which are you?”

“Keith.” I deadpan as I watch Coy come into the room, leaning in that unintentionally sexy way against the doorjamb.

“Oh,” Cam sounds disappointed. “Too bad. Well, anyways, Lauren’s making me go on your little summer camp extravaganza.”

“Cool.” I don’t argue, I don’t want to talk to him longer than I have to. When he’s here, I’ll let Coy deal with the little brat.

“But I’m not coming over today.”

“Why not?” I ask to be nosy ‘cause I already know the answer.

“You know you know.” Ding ding ding, we have a winner. “Phil.”

I jostle the phone in my hands, switching ears with a sigh. “What’s the deal with you two? You can’t spend one night in the same house as him?”

I hear a low chuckle on the other end like a clown on a gravel driveway. I’ve never heard Cam give anything remotely close to a laugh until now. “You’ll see. Look at him while he’s asleep.”

“What?”

“Click.” he hangs up.

I stare at the phone, curious beyond what’s healthy. What does sleeping have to do with this? You’d think Phil would be more troublesome when he’s awake. “Was that Cam?” Coy asks, walking carefully towards me, bright pink socks flash beneath his jeans. He reaches out towards me and I catch a glimpse of the blue veins roping through the inside of his too-pale forearm. His bony, skeletal fingers pluck the phone from my hand and he puts it back on the base unit, receiving a beep from it in return.

“Yeah … He isn’t coming until tomorrow, I guess we’ll pick him up on our way.” I shrug. Coy frowns and rubs my forearm.

“I expected that, really. He’s a whiny little boy,” he sighs and I grin.

“I feel sorta bad for him, hm? I can’t believe he’s got AIDS or whatever. I mean .. wow.”

Coy walks back and pulls me with him, we walk with joined hands to the couch and he flops back onto it, rolling me on top of him. I turn my head resting on his shoulder to look at the TV. One of his hands starts smoothing my hair back. “What are the odds, too? Do a lot of guys have AIDS?”

“More thank you’d think,” he pokes his pinkie into my ear, making me snort and giggle. “And it wasn’t just one guy, I think Phil used the word ‘pack.’”

“Yeesh,” is all I can say. “But doesn’t it take time to get AIDS? Something about staying dormant and HIV and isn’t that how diseases work?”

“Keith, I’m not a doctor,” he laughs nicely. “I have no idea, but he’s got it and he wouldn’t lie. And … I figured I’d bring this up now … Don’t be too mean to him.”

I snuggle into him while grumbling. “That little menace deserves it. What if he’s mean to me first?”

“Then you come get me and I’ll deal with it.”

“You sound like a first grade teacher.” I snort, nose pressed to his sternum.

“Well, you sound like a first grade student.”

Buuuuuuuuuzz.

The intercom near the door buzzes. I panic and leap off Coy but I don’t go for the door. I hate that buzzing-people-in thing. “YOU get it!” I wave my hands at him. He laughs and hauls himself off the couch, padding past me to get to the little box near the door.

“Hello?” he talks into it with an overly cheery voice.

“Hi … uhm, Coy?” It’s Phil and he’s trying to guess which one of us he’s talking to, though I think it’s obvious. Maybe the box distorts things, but Coy’s voice is deeper, mine’s sort of squeaky.

“Yup, Coy. You coming up?”

“Yeah.”

Coy lets him in and turns back to me. I’m perched on the arm of the couch, I was watching him and the muscles in his back move, now I watch him smile carefully, teeth white between pinkish lips. “He’s here~!” he says happily.

“Should we clean?” I ask. He looks around.

“Naw, but come here a second,” he waggles his finger at me, beckoning me close and I’m only too happy to comply. He hugs me close and his tie’s silky against my cheek. His fingers hold my chin and he tilts my face up to look at him. He’s still smiling. “We shouldn’t do this kind of thing in front of Phil, it might make him uncomfortable … So stock up now.” he tells me softly. I hadn’t thought of that, so I lean up and kiss him, gentle at first, quickly getting rougher. I open my mouth for him and he actually murmurs some sort of thanks into it. With a hand on the nape of my neck, holding me nearly painfully tight, he makes me squirm as I dance my tongue against his, holding his forearms and tight as I can, trying to pull him into me.

Three sharp, quiet knocks sound at the door and I groan. Coy pulls away and wipes his mouth (unintentionally insulting) before turning to open the door for Phil.

I peer over Coy’s shoulder into the hallway. Phil’s standing there, just the epitome of your shy little boy. He’s wearing shorts like summer-goers should, but over what looks like a black t-shirt he’s wearing a thick brown hoodie, zipped half down his chest, detailed with a spatter-sort of light calligraphy that turns into a rose stretching over his left arm, disappearing onto his back. His small feet are covered in dark brown nearly back skate shoes. In fact, his shorts are a shade of brown too. Does he always wear this much brown? It suits him, but it’s odd. Even his floppy hair is a dark brown, even his skin is.

“Uh … stop staring.” he says nervously, looking up at me (I figure he stands now at around 5’4”, maybe 5’5”. I’m taller than someone! Fricken unbelievable), but he doesn’t blush like I’d expect. I guess he’s not a blusher.

Coy laughs good naturedly and takes the duffle bag from his curled little hands. Phil steps inside, looking around with an inspecting curious sort of expression so I think he’s appraising us and the apartment as well. He lets his shoes fall near ours at the door and he stands next to me, looking at the water stains on our ceiling. Coy cowers nearby with his luggage and we both watch him. I look at the rounded quality to his nose and chin that are soft like a boy’s; he looks too young for his age but I’ll take his word for fifteen. His eyelashes are short and his cheeks are a bit pudgy and I can’t help but notice hairline acne, carefully hidden by the flop of his bangs. He’s so self conscious, the poor boy. He’s beautiful. I wish I could help.

“Whatcha looking at?” I ask, poking at my glasses. I see the glint of braces in his mouth when he answers.

“Water stains. Why’re they there?” he says simply.

I giggle and shrug, trying to get him to loosen up, he’s so stiff. “God only knows. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Your ceiling could collapse. They’re a flaw.” He frowns now, toes wiggling in his socks.

“But …” I smile at him, leaning over and down. “That doesn’t mean they aren’t lovely.”

He gives me a look then, sceptical and suspicious. He just shrugs and the three of us go silent, an awkward tension slowly filling the room. Over Phil’s head I give Coy a sort of ‘what do I do?!’ look. He grimaces before turning to Phil with a daycare smile.

“Well, you’ll be sleeping out here on the couch, okay?”

“Okay.” Phil says, clearly glum.

“D-do you want one of us out here with you?” Coy tries.

Phil looks up at him with such an un-amused expression on his face that it almost makes me laugh out loud. “I’m not a baby.”

“I know,” Coy sighs, throwing the duffle bag onto the couch, narrowly avoiding throwing it at me. “but you’re so quiet, I’m not sure how to act,” he says it bluntly and grabs me a little roughly, looping his arm in mine. “What do you want us to do?”

I giggle again and Phil gives me another weird look. “Do you know exactly where we’re going on this … trip thing?” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Almost,” I answer that one, not completely okay with being arm-candy. “We’re not going far, just from here to Altamont, then to Colton and Ellenton, then just take that whole tourist route through.”

“Oh. Okay. And you’ve got a van?”

“We will eventually.”

“And money?”

“More than you can shake a stick at.”

Coy frowns. “Not that much, we can’t get a hotel every night.”

Phil blinks at him blankly a few times. “Well, that’s cool. As long as we have enough to not starve.” he laughs sheepishly. How long will it take him to get used to us? I guess I’m being overzealous, we haven’t been close friends over the years.

“We’ll be fine.” Coy smiles again and this time gets a smile in return. Phil wanders further into the cavern of our apartment and I watch his eyes skim from the TV to the bathroom to my little desk corner. He gingerly picks the remote off the table, flicking to some show I don’t know the name of. He turns back to us.

“I can watch TV, right?” he asks somewhat politely.

“Go ahead,” I smile. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

And then he goes silent. I look up at Coy and am surprised to see him looking back at me with a big grin that makes him look like he’s bursting with happy. He ushers me into the bedroom and shuts the door behind us, waving his hands like a giddy girl. “He’s such a cutie!” he gushes.

I raise an eyebrow at him questioningly. “Yeah …?”

“He’s so tiny! It’s like babysitting!”

“I guess so … but it’s kinda awkward, he’s so quiet. The only thing I can think of to talk about is Cam and something tells me I shouldn’t bring that up.” I sigh, fingers running absentmindedly up and down Coy’s arms.

“Don’t talk about it. The whole point of this thing is to get them to forget.”

“Right,” I say firmly. “But does that mean we can’t wrangle him into a threesome?” I laugh.

Coy chuckles lowly but before he can answer, a loud shout sounds from the living room.

“These walls are thinner than you think!” Phil informs us.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

We spend the rest of the day just lounging. Phil does loosen up a bit, tells us about himself. He likes cartoons and root beer, he doesn’t like reading or cream soda. He likes listening to music and he hates having his arms bare. When I asked him why, he shrugged at me. I think it’s his self-consciousness talking. Was he always like this?

He throws a blanket over the couch and goes to sleep at around ten pm. He says he’s a light sleeper so Coy and I retreat to our bedroom with pixie-like tiptoes soon afterwards.

Coy sighs and floats down on his back onto the mattress. He’s smiling at me with his eyes closed and that makes me smile. He’s like a little boy.

“Kids are cute,” he says.

I smile further and step towards the bed before climbing on top of him, crawling up his legs to settle comfortably in his lap, knees hugging his sides. He opens a curious blue eye and looks at me.

“He’s not that kiddish. Six years younger than us,” I point out.

“Oh, that’s plenty kiddish,” he giggles and puts his elbows behind him, half sitting up. “So he’s fifteen, hm? That’s around the age that you and I started … thinkin’ about stuff.”

“Stuff?” I smirk.

“Each other,” he says quietly, a guarded, fleeting smile playing across his lips. He throws his weight on a single arm before stretching the other out towards me. The pad of his index finger moves down the center of my chest and stops at my abdomen where he curves it up and starts making swirl patterns. “You were a tough catch.”

I shiver a little bit, squirming on top of him. “I was worried you’d leave me for that witch …” I mutter, involuntarily grinding back and forth into his groin. “I couldn’t stand if you left me …”

“I know …” he whispers, using two fingers to draw on me now. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

I give a breathless laugh. It’s a slow ascent but I can feel his dick start to press snugly against the inside of my thigh. I rub it with my leg. He chuckles just like I did and closes his eyes, letting his arms drop back to the mattress, body quickly following suit. I’m getting hard too and I’m not sure if it’s all boys or just us, but man, can we get going fast.

The rest of the whole experience is a damp, heady whirlwind of movement and friction and nerve endings, fingertips mapping out bodies. Our clothes end up on the floor as we try to hard to be quiet, resulting in held-back moans and swallowed cries for Phil’s benefit. We never kiss when we’re screwing or fooling around, it takes too much time when you’re impatient and horny. In some period of time that could have been an hour or five minutes, I end up lying on the bed on my side, left leg flat against the quilt, right one hoisted over Coy’s shoulder as he slides in between them. I twist my upper body to face the mattress and I bury my face into my pillow and bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, panting and trying so hard to be quiet. Coy’s being too gentle again, he’s always being too gentle, I want him to wrench my legs apart and just fuck me, none of this stupid ‘making love’ crap, I want him to fucking rip me in half.

“Harder …! For fuck’s sake …” I hiss at him, arching awkwardly to look over my shoulder at him, part hidden by my own leg. His hair’s sticky with sweat and spit and his arms are glowing with sweat too. He’s beautiful like this, but not beautiful enough to cancel my petulant complaints. “Fuck me.”

He frowns a little but closes his eyes and hunches forwards, hair obscuring his face. He pushes back in and raises up on his knees a bit more, bending forwards to press my thigh up almost to my side. He chokes a moan back - I guess it feels good. His hips move slower but harder just like I want and fuckin’ need. I bite the pillow and cry out - it’s been a long time since he fucked me like this, this roughly, this fucking good.

I lift my face out of the pillow and groan his name, fingers pulling and twisting at the sheets, toes curling backwards into my foot. I whine for him to fuck me harder, more of a beg than anything, a beg that doesn’t go unanswered when he shifts and starts grunting with each thrust, so hard that I keep jerking forwards. This is so, so, so, so good like this, I can feel his hips and body shaking with exertion.

But then, everything stops. He freezes. My teeth stop gnashing. My fingers still. Heaven hits. It’s not an orgasm, no, not like one I’ve ever had. It’s warm. No, hot. No, fucking scalding. It makes me gasp for air an the room’s too small and where did all the oxygen go?

“Oh my … god …” That’s Coy’s voice now. In a split second the weight of his body on me and in me is gone; he pulls out and scampers off the bed, hovering at the end, face shocked and … disgusted? I feel delirious, like I’m watching this from someone’s view that isn’t mine. I’ve floated out of my body. I roll over and blink, barely able to see or think through that delicious burni -

Wait a second. “What is it?”

His hand’s at his mouth, eyes wide and scared. “I - I’m so sorry … y-you asked for it, I …”

Everything pieces together slowly, clouded by lust and the plain oblivious attitude that I carry around with me like a purse. I roll over again and the final piece of the puzzle falls into place in the form of a black bloodstain on our blue sheets. You know, I was half-kidding when I said I wanted him to rip me in half. I’m freaked out, but not because I’m bleeding; more because when I look at Coy, nearly crying, he isn’t hard. I definitely, definitely still am. Most people would consider injury a mood killer. Was that feeling … that? Good lord.

I’m still bleeding on the sheets and it’s enough that it’ll soak into the bed for a permanent stain. I don’t even care. I reach out for Coy, trying to get him to come back here. “C’mere, I’m not done.” I hiss as quietly as I can as not to wake the sleeping boy in the living room.

“Keith, no, we have to get you to a doctor or something,” he says in a rushed tone, searching for his previously abandoned clothes. “I’m so sorry, I really am, I didn’t want to do it like that but you wouldn’t let up …” He finds his underwear and jeans and pulls them on.

“What are you talking about?” I ask dumbly. “Get back here and fuck me.”

He pauses and stares. I feel light and so horny that I can’t see straight. “… What?” he says. “This is NOT healthy or good or sexy or whatever, I ripped something or something, you can’t just sit there!”

I shift and look down: still bleeding, still have a hard-on. The blood’s warm and kind of thick. “It’s not a big deal, get the fuck back here.”

“WHAT?” he’s struggling to stay quiet. “We’re not having sex now, this is all your fault anyways! C’mon, there’s a walk-in clinic on third street, they’ll be open.”

I ignore the clinic part. There’s no way I’m letting some doctor look up my ass. “MY fault?! This is YOUR fault for not being careful!”

“I would have been careful if you hadn’t been making me go so hard!”

I glare. “If you weren’t such a fucking pansy you might like it that rough too.”

Deeeeep deeeeep frown on his part. “You’re so senseless. You won’t even let me kiss you when we’re having sex.”

“So?” I snort.

“I don’t want to have to stop loving you just so we can do it.” he whispers angrily. “Now get some clothes on and come to the fucking clinic before I make you.”

“You don’t have the goddamn guts, you bitch.”

I’d be lying if I said I saw this coming. He strides to the bed again, leans close, and slaps me. Hard. Right across the face, hard enough that I crumple to the bed with a sob. It stings. I look up - Coy’s off the bed, standing shirtless near the door. He isn’t crying, but I’ve never seen him so angry. He’s seething.

“You’re a fucking sick little bastard, just like your brother. You two must have one of a hell of a time.” He opens the door and his voice drops.

“… Coy …” I say, completely stunned that he’d bring that up. Bitch. I just … wow. “WAIT!” I cry for a second. “… You’re … going to do what Cam did …… aren’t you?”

He glowers at me and steps into the living room, closing the door after him. A few seconds later, I hear the front door close. I check down there. Still bleeding, but less. I wad up a corner of the quilt and stick it underneath me to stem the bleeding (clinic, nonsense) before I jack off. I can’t help it, I can’t. The longer I wait, the older I get, the more I hate my self. I’m a fucking freak. Am I a fucking masochist now? Like Coy said? Probably. I doubt other boys would get a boner from bloody sheets and a torn asshole. And then there’s Brandon and that whole mess. I’m a fucking freak because I sucked my brother off and I’d kill to do it again. No, no, no, I don’t, fuck, never mind.

I come violently, back hunching forwards, a sigh escaping my dry lips. It’s not the best orgasm I’ve ever had, but I didn’t expect any better when I’m alone with an angry boyfriend. I wouldn’t have even done it if I didn’t have to, but I had to. Now I’m on my back surrounded by bloodstains (though the bleeding’s stopped), thinking about what just happened with Coy. I’m a fucking freak when I’m horny too, I can’t believe I said those things to Coy, god I hope he doesn’t do what Cam did.

I stop for a second and I just think. Would Coy do that to me? Could he really honestly truly in the bottom of his heart of hearts do that? Cheat on me? Betray me?

Yes.

He could.

He says he loves me, but I was horrible. I was disgusting. He needs better than me and he knows it. He doesn’t let this on very often, mostly because I’m nice to him, but he has something of an anger problem. Which means he could do it, he could cheat on me.

After a half hour, I get out of bed. I’d have done it earlier but now without the lust it’s just pain and I’m really sore now, making walking a challenge. I pull my panties on and Coy’s shirt, not feeling like getting bottoms on. After quietly creaking the door open, I squint into the darkness and realize I’ve forgotten my glasses, so I go back in for them and try again. Coy isn’t here, but I can hear Phil’s deep half-snores from the couch and I’m suddenly reminded of what Cam told me over the phone. ‘Look at him while he’s asleep.’ I tip toe up to the couch — Well, not tip toe, walk quietly. My left leg can’t tip-toe. — to carefully look over.

He’s tangled up in the blanket we gave him, head on the arm of the couch that’ll give him a crick in his neck by tomorrow morning. One of his arms is flung above his head and the other dangles off the couch onto the floor. His mouth’s open just enough to show his braces and he’s so cute and peaceful that I nearly stagger backwards. What Cam said is making a little more sense after I’ve seen him like this. Hell, it’s all I can do not to kiss him right now. Must be a thousand times worse for Cam.

I’m halfway to the door, ready to go look for Coy, then it hits me. It’s the middle of the night and if I trip over things in the daytime …

I sob but quickly cover my mouth. I waddle solemnly back to the bedroom and curl up on Coy’s side of it, hauling the thick blanket over me. I pull the collar of his dress shirt up over my nose and I breathe him in, that musky scent of deoderant and Coy that makes me nostalgic and weird. I feel sick, what if he’s with another boy right now, taking anger out on him? Acting sweet with him just so he’d have someone that would take that?

I’m so scared and there’s nothing I can do. Nothing. I’ve never been so helpless like a fly with it’s wings pulled off. Coy’s my wings. I can’t go look for him, I just have to sit here … but not alone. After a quiet trip to the living room, I come back, gingerly holding William Barnett’s bowl in my hands. I sit it on the nightstand, turning the lamp on soon after he’s settled. I lie in bed and watch him, his happy but unblinking little fishy eyes looking back at me. He floats and stills, swims and dives, water shining in the dim orange light. His tiny scales are bright, marbled black and white as are his fins, tapered to perfection. He blows a bubble. He sucks remnants of fish food from between the pebbles. I watch him and slowly fall into a restless sleep.





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