Page 34

Thierry

I came awake with the most amazing sensation blooming in the pit of my belly.

Every inch of me pinged to life as I registered where I was and how I got there.

Yesterday, I came home. Ate an amazing meal—not hospital food—and watched horror movies with my best friend.

My eyes popped open as a groan filled my chest.

Glancing down, it took a second to register what was happening.

During the night, I’d flung the blankets off.

Or maybe Pope had? I couldn’t remember anything.

Didn’t matter, because what drew my attention was the fact he straddled my good leg and somehow, he’d lowered my sweats, so my hard dick was out and being lavished with attention.

“Fuck,” I moaned when the wet heat of Pope’s mouth wrapped around the head of my cock, and his piercing teased my glans.

“You don’t have to do this. Don’t push yourself.

” Jerking off with him the night of the party went further than I expected I’d ever experience with him.

This was his journey, and I wouldn’t push for more, no matter how good it felt.

Or after weeks of clinging to those memories, wishing we had more time.

“I’m not,” he said. “I thought about our discussions last night while you were sleeping. Then this morning, I figured you got morning wood like I did, so I wanted to try something different.”

Why did I feel like we were fourteen again? “But you shouldn’t have to make giant leaps for me.”

“Because you wouldn’t do the same for me?”

I didn’t answer his question. Truth was, I’d have been whatever he needed.

He could’ve given me a command, and I’d have done it.

I arched towards him, letting out a shaky groan.

“This is different. You’re moving from first base to home without knowing the rules of the game first. Or how it’s played. ”

“Weird, you used baseball as your euphemism,” he replied.

“I’m being serious.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He eased back.

Yes.

No.

I didn’t know what I wanted. What I could say with certainty was, I missed the feel of his mouth on my dick first thing in the morning, and I’d only experienced a taste of what things could be like if he stayed.

Therein lie the rub. The unsettled insecurity of not knowing where I stood with him.

The fear of making the wrong move or saying the wrong words would drive him away or put so large of a divide between us, no matter how much I wanted him or cared for him, he’d disappear forever.

“I want you,” I said.

“You're hesitating,” he replied. “Why?”

“Why?” I exhaled a breath, hoping for the strength it would take to explain how I was feeling. “It’s been weeks since our last... Interlude.”

“Cute,” Pope said. “You call them interludes. I call them jerk sessions.” He settled in beside me. The loss of his body heat and weight left me bereft.

“I’m trying to be honest with you,” I replied.

“I can tell. So, what’s the real reason you made me stop, Thier?”

“I’m unsure of myself—us, I wanted everything out in the open between us.

Where I stand. Where you stand. Knowing if this is right for us.

I don’t want to peer behind the curtain in a year or three or even ten and realize you were only doing this for me because you felt bad for me. Not because you wanted me.”

Pope slumped. “I’m doing this wrong again.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I come with a shitload of baggage. Some you know. Some you never saw. I don’t want you to choose me now because of some unrequited love I had for you as a kid.

Or because, after a series of unfortunate events, you feel obligated to say you’re bi or queer or whatever your sexuality is to appease me and make me happy. ”

“So, I can’t win any way you split this? If I tell you I’m confused about my feelings, but I want to explore whatever is growing between us, what then?” Anger vibrated in his voice. “Are you going to tell me I don’t know what I’m saying or feeling now?

I scrubbed my face. I wanted to go back in time to the moment I woke up with Pope’s mouth on my cock. “I’m saying, I don’t want to be blamed for unnecessary trauma years from now should something happen between us.”

“What?” he snapped, his voice cracking. “You’re worried about years from now, and I just wanted to give you a blow job?”

Had I read everything wrong? “Are you saying you only want to be friends with benefits then?”

Pope pulled a face, shaking his head like he didn’t recognize me or as though I had something vile coming out of me. “Who said anything about friends with benefits?”

Frustration zipped through me. “What the fuck do you want then?”

He ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. “We need to work on our communication, Thier.”

On that I could agree. I scrubbed my face. “Let’s start from the beginning. You woke me up with a blow job an?—”

“The beginnings of a blow job,” Pope interjected. “But go on.”

I sighed. “Anyway, the beginning of a blow job, unprompted. I didn’t even ask for any kind of favors. Not to mention you’ve never gone that far before with another man.”

“I wanted to wake up my potential partner who had the worst two weeks of his life after being stuck in the hospital and dealing with a psycho stalker ex-boyfriend.”

“But you’re not, you know...” I murmured, shame and regret coated every inch of me, leaving me feeling like an oily, gross pervert or worse, sexual manipulator. Hell, I didn’t even know what to call myself.

“That’s...” he whispered and exhaled. “You remembered our conversation.”

“All of it,” I said. “I want to explore your sexuality with you. Not have you gobble up my dick because I have morning wood.”

“Well dick sucking with morning wood is the best way to wake up,” he stated, giving me a sly grin.

I couldn’t argue with his logic. “I won’t push you into a relationship with me. This isn’t about my wants, Pope. You have a say here.”

“I’m still figuring all this out,” he confessed.

“Kissing you, makes my dick hard, and my blood heated. The urge to bend you over and fuck you creeps in right behind the first thoughts of “damn, I like this.” Then I remember the morning after our conversation and how we jerked each other until we came and...” He stretched out beside me, making sure his face was close to mine. “I’ve wanted a repeat.”

“You do?”

“I don’t feel obligated, asshole. I don’t ever want to hear you say that word again. Am I figuring it all out? Yes. Do I have questions, of course. But this between us—I read the room wrong that night.”

“That night?” I tilted my head.

“The night you kissed me in the basement of your house,” he replied.

“You did?”

“You surprised me. I couldn’t even process what happened.

I think I always knew. Then I suppressed my feelings because you withdrew from me too.

Maybe you didn’t realize it, or you’d been scared.

Which is fair enough. We never talked about girls or guys or anything.

I don’t even remember having a crush on anyone because you were always there.

” He licked his bottom lip. “Does any of this make sense?”

“Are you telling me you slept with girls...women because you thought you had to prove some point?” Maybe it was the drugs or the pain in my knee or the ache in my leaking cock, still demanding attention, that made it hard to reconcile what he was saying.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never felt this way with another guy, Thierry. Does that make sense.”

“It does.” I couldn’t imagine how confusing the whole situation had to be for him. “What can I do to make this easier for you?” I held up my hand. “Without doing the obvious.”

He chortled. “Foiled again.”

I gave him a playful shove and laughed. “You’re using your horny brain. Use the one in your big head.”

He scratched the scruff on his cheek, “I mean...” then motioned to his crotch.

“You’re incorrigible,” I mumbled. “Why are you like this?”

“It’s still me, Thierry. Just a little bit rougher around the edges.”

Yeah, I saw him. My best friend. Weird how even now, looking at him, time melted away and we’d been kids again.

I fell for the small dimple in his right cheek.

The way he slicks his hair back. The way he held the remote and tilted his hand to the left.

Or how he took a sip of his drink before turning the tab around to cover the hole.

Most of all, I noticed on the inside of his left arm, a small tattoo of our youth jersey numbers.

“What’s this?” I asked, tracing the numbers.

His cheeks flooded with pink as an awkward, almost embarrassed smile filled his features. “I had one of the guys do it. Couple weeks ago.”

“You tattooed our numbers on your body.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s not a big deal. Or whatever.”

“It’s an enormous deal.” I traced the thirty-five and thirty-three, a number I used until I joined the Thunderbirds with the tip of my finger.

“We’ve been doing this dance since we were eight years old.

” I glanced up at him. “I’ve known my feelings for you would always be real.

No matter where we ended up in this life. ”

“Is that you or the drugs?” He quirked a brow.

“All me. Remember Cobi and Wes talking about the Boom, when we were younger?”

Pope placed his hand on my stomach. “Kind of. I didn’t really pay much attention.”

“Well, you’re mine,” I said, hating the thread of reproach filling my voice. “I’d have waited a lifetime for you.”

“Wow,” he whispered. “Brought out the big guns, huh?”

“I’d rather be honest.”