Page 11 of Gay for Pray (Arport Sacred Sacrament University #1)

Chapter Eleven

Jude

THEODORE IS MASSIVELY FUCKED up. His pupils are huge, overtaking his brown eyes. When I reenter my bedroom with a glass of water, he’s wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, and he doesn’t seem to notice. He gapes at me open-mouthed, swaying even as he sits.

I’m going to fucking strangle whoever did this to him.

Seriously, who doses people at parties? Picking a guy who hasn’t had so much as a sip of alcohol in his entire life is extra messed up.

Theodore has never felt anything like this.

What if he had a bad trip or something? No one at that party would have noticed, and Theodore wouldn’t be able to get himself out of the spiral of a feeling he’s never encountered in his life.

I stuff down my anger. With the state he’s in, he could be sensitive to that kind of thing.

So far, he’s been pretty happy and chill, and I want to keep him that way until the drug works itself out of his system.

He doesn’t seem to be reacting badly otherwise, and that’s a good thing.

I just have to keep him in a good headspace and we might get through this with nothing worse than a hangover.

Until I find the guy who did this to him, at least.

I save that for later and set the glass of water on the table beside the bed.

Theodore’s eyes follow me the whole time.

For whatever reason, I’ve become the thing he’s fixated on, probably because I’m the only person at that party he knew.

He clung to me the entire way back to my dorm, and he looks like he might leap up and do it again.

At least that narrows the possibilities of what they dosed him with.

I have a pretty good guess, and I’m hoping I’m right because it means he won’t need much besides water and a human to touch.

This is not the way I hoped to get a guy into my bed tonight, but it seems like it’s the way fate or God has decided to make it happen.

Instead of getting laid, I have to take care of a very high Theodore. How did my life ever come to this?

“Can you drink some water?” I say.

He nods, but when he goes for the glass, his hands are shaky.

I sit next to him on the bed and help him, ignoring the water that slips from his mouth and drips down his bare throat and chest. I’m definitely not thinking about the pale hair scattered over his surprisingly toned chest, or the way it trails lower and lower, or the thin fabric of his boxer briefs.

Okay, maybe I am thinking about it, but I’m not a monster. I will do nothing more than think about it while he’s in such a vulnerable state.

I manage to get him to down the whole glass of water.

He probably needs about a gallon more with how hot his body is burning, but I’ll take one glass if that’s all he can manage right now.

I can try again later if he seems up for it.

Or maybe he had a small enough dose that he’ll come down soon enough to want water on his own.

In the meantime, I have to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with him.

Theodore answers that question for me. As we sit on the bed, he opens his arms, and fuck me, I should tell him no, but I don’t.

No choir boy should have a body this amazing, and I went out tonight desperate for touch.

This is not how I wanted to get it, but I know that the drug is making him crave touch as well, so I can fix both our problems by giving in.

Besides, I’m basically the safest person on campus for him to do this with tonight.

I’ll never tell for the same reason he won’t—because by morning he’ll hate me for this—but at the same time, I also won’t do anything worse than hug him.

He can snarl at me all he wants in the morning, but right now his brain is buzzing full of chemicals that demand touch, and I know how to safely give him that so he gets through this unscathed.

I slide into his arms, which close around me strong and sure. For a moment we sit there awkwardly hugging, his head against mine.

“You feel so nice,” he sighs.

My heart breaks a little at the longing in his tone. That isn’t just the drug. He’s probably never been touched like this in his entire life. Whatever he got dosed with has unearthed a need he’s kept suppressed for a long, long time.

“Can I kiss you?” he says.

I stiffen with shock. It’s not merely that Theodore wants to kiss me, but also that he wants to kiss a man, a man he knows is gay. He’s going to hate me so much in the morning.

“I…don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say carefully.

He sounds disappointed despite my attempt at gentleness. “Why not?”

“I think we can save kissing for another time, okay? We can do other things tonight.”

“Other things?”

I lean away. Concern and confusion sit baldly on his face.

He’s more expressive than ever, his stony, puritan facade stripped away by altered brain chemistry.

He needs touch. He needs skin on skin. But I have to be careful about this.

He’s in a delicate state, and he’s going to have a lot to reconcile with tomorrow, so guiding him through this night is going to take a deft touch.

Slowly, gingerly, I peel off my crop top.

I was already exposing a good bit of skin, but the second I reveal more, Theodore’s eyes rake over me.

He drinks me in in a way no straight man ever would, even high off his ass, and that raises a whole new slew of questions that I don’t have time to deal with tonight.

I don’t know if this awakened something or if he’s always known, but either way, this choir boy has some unholy thoughts tumbling around in his brain.

They shine in his eyes as he drinks me in more greedily than he drank that glass of water and I take off my pants as well.

He leans in, not asking this time, just trying to take the kiss, but I catch him by the shoulders and hold him back. He wants that right now, but I’m sure he won’t in the morning, and I’ve got to minimize the damage here.

Still…I won’t pretend I’ll get nothing from that lightly furred chest and those strong arms. I’m human enough to admit it to myself, even if it’s very much on the back burner with him out of his head.

“No kissing,” I say. “Can you promise? Otherwise, I can’t stay here with you.”

The distress that flickers across his face threatens to break my heart, but I hold my ground. I’m setting a firm line tonight for his sake, not mine. He might even be grateful some day.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay. Lie down. I’ll lie with you. You can touch me. Does that sound okay?”

He nods more enthusiastically than I ever would have believed.

Then he settles on his back in my bed, his larger frame eating up every inch of mattress.

Laid out like this, it’s even clearer that he keeps himself in shape, probably because of some sort of Godly reason.

Maybe his God can spare a thought for me tonight because holy shit, does he look good.

I’ve imbibed enough myself that I’m not exactly at my best, but I fight my baser instincts and settle on my side against him.

Immediately, he wraps his arm around me, his hand on my back.

I scoot closer, setting my head on his chest, my fingers in that scratchy, pale hair.

His skin is flushed with heat. His breathing comes too deep.

His heart hammers too hard under my ear.

As I lie there atop him, however, he slowly calms, and his fingers start drawing lazy, nonsensical designs on my lower back.

My body tingles from the way his skin brushes against mine, like a painter sketching out a design in careful, deliberate strokes.

He may be the one who’s high, but I’m starting to suspect I’m getting as much out of this as he is.

The feel of a human body against mine, the feel of a man touching me, lights up everything inside me that’s been aching for touch for so long.

I love Nick, but swapping desperate handies with him isn’t true intimacy, and I didn’t realize how badly I’ve been craving something real until this moment.

I let myself snuggle in even closer. Theodore needs this, after all.

He breathes in deeply, like he’s smelling my hair, his thick arm wrapping tighter around me.

His hand holds my waist, conjuring images of that hand pushing me down, grabbing me to bring me close, touching me harder and lower and with wicked intent.

It’s all I can do not to get hard, but even in a state like this, that would probably freak Theodore out. I’m just a body he’s allowed to touch tonight. It will never mean to him what it means to me.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asks as he idly strokes along the curve of my waist.

“Because you need help,” I say.

Even if I am enjoying the touch, that part is true as well. I could see he needed help the second I found him sitting outside the party looking lost, and I knew I’d be the one to rescue him.

“God, I really want to kiss you,” he says into my hair.

I really want you to kiss me, I think. I can’t say it out loud. It would sound too much like a yes.

“Can I kiss you?” he pleads. “Please?”

It takes everything I have to deny him. “Maybe in the morning,” I say. “If you still want to.”

He won’t. I know he won’t. He’ll hate himself for asking. He’ll hate me for existing. But it’s the answer he needs to hear right now.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” he says quietly.

“No one? Not even a girl?”

He goes stiff under me. “No,” he says, voice hard.

I try to steer him away from difficult topics. They could tilt him into a bad mental spiral. “You have time. You can kiss anyone you want.”

“Except you.”

“Except me right now .”

He sits with this a moment before apparently deeming it acceptable. “Okay. As long as I can touch you.”

“You can. Do you want to be held?”

He thinks about this, then I feel more than I see him nod.

He turns over on his side, and I position myself behind him.

As much as I loved his hand on my waist, this is a safer position for both of us.

He can’t kiss me, and it leaves me in control.

I snuggle up behind him, fitting my body against his and hugging my arm around him to hold him against my chest. He’s larger than me, but when I cradle him this way, he sinks into my hold like he’s half my size.

He lets out a long sigh, every ounce of tension draining out of his body.

I let myself kiss the shell of his shoulder. He hums with a contentment I’m sure he’s never felt before this moment, and I press my cheek to his back as my heart breaks all over again for the stifled, sheltered life he’s lived.

In the morning, I’m sure he’ll hate me for this, for knowing how desperately he’s craving touch under that hard, religious exterior. But for now, everything feels good, and I won’t take that away from him.

Or from myself.