A red tainted Silence (47 page)

But this is Nicholas, I thought.

He opened the lube, squeezing some out onto his fingers. He rose up on his knees and slathered his dick with it, catching my eye as he did so. He handed me the tube.

“Want to?”

I nodded, taking it. I squeezed some more out and handed the tube back to him, then rubbed my lube-slick hand over his sheathed dick. He sighed happily. I coated it thoroughly, biting my lip in concentration.

After a minute he laughed. “It’s okay, Brandon. I think that’s enough.” 274

Carolyn Gray

“I -- Okay.”

Then he squirted some more out and, with a reassuring smile, touched me where I’d never been touched before. I gasped as his finger circled my opening. “Relax, baby. I don’t want this to hurt.”

“Could it?” I asked, feeling my nervousness come back in droves.

“Just relax.”

I tried. His fingers continued exploring me down there, letting me get used to the feel, but the more he touched me, the more nervous I got. He never took his eyes off mine as he told me what he would do next. “I’m going to push one finger in. I’ll stop if it hurts, okay?” I nodded, whimpering as, for the first time, I felt the invasion of another man’s fingers inside of me. I gasped as he slowly encroached past the barriers of my own nervousness and my body’s attempts to keep the invasion out. I panted, wincing as the pleasure-pain coursed through me. Sweat broke out on my skin. He moved his finger gently in and out of me, joining another finger with the first one. It hurt a little, but I couldn’t stop wanting it. I pushed down on him, knowing instinctively that there had to be more than this.

“Nicholas, please,” I begged.

“You ready? Are you sure?”

I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure. But I nodded. He withdrew his fingers and wiped them off on the towel, then leaned over me, pulling my legs up over his shoulders. I gasped at the strange position, but said nothing as he pushed against me, guided himself into me.

Just far enough to make me panic.

I clenched around him. He cried out in pleasure as the force of my inner muscles tightened on him. “Brandon! Oh, my God ...”

And I screamed inside. It hurts it hurts it hurts it wasn’t supposed to be like this I didn’t think it was supposed to be like this --

“Brandon!”

I grabbed his shoulders to stop him, but he didn’t understand -- he pushed himself into me. I cried out as he split me in two. “Nicholas, stop, please --” But it was as if he didn’t hear me. Maybe he couldn’t, I don’t know -- I’m not even sure I really cried out for him to stop. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but it hurt so damn fucking bad. I arched my hips up, tried to relieve the pressure -- and as he surged into me, I felt a wild shock of pleasure burst through me.

I’d never felt anything like it. I cried out like an animal as whatever he was doing hit that spot again and again. Pleasure cascaded through me and I groaned, finally calling out his name. Nicholas laughed in delight as he bent his head down and kissed me.

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But then he shifted somehow, and this time when he plunged into me again, the overwhelming pain was back. But he didn’t see it, didn’t know. I cried out as he pushed harder into me. The brief spate of pleasure was gone, obliterated in blinding flashes of pain.

“I’m gonna come already. Oh, no, Brandon, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He fell against me as his body was caught in the unrelenting throes of what it wanted most -- release. He pounded against me, once, twice, three times. Only three times -- but tears ran down my cheeks as a sob tore from my throat.

“Too fast, too fast,” Nicholas cried out. “Oh, shoot, Brandon, I’m coming.” I said nothing. I couldn’t. I sank my fingers into his skin -- he’d have the bruises for days. Waves of agony pulsed through me as he pumped into me. I gritted my teeth, enduring his onslaught. A red haze enveloped my ass and set fire to my insides even as my own arousal fell limp.

He collapsed against me, his skin slick with sweat, his breath coming in hard gasps, as was mine. I wanted him out. I pushed against him, forcing him off me. He fell back, nearly off the bed, but I didn’t care. I curled up, fetal position, the rippling agony refusing to subside. Pain throbbed deep inside me. It was as if the split-second of sweetness I’d felt had never existed.

Nicholas groaned next to me. I choked out another sob, screwing my eyes shut. The bed moved as Nicholas knelt over me. “Brandon, oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I came too fast. I can’t believe I did that. Are you okay?”

I couldn’t answer him. I felt his hands on me, patting me, stroking my legs and back.

“Brandon?”

“Leave me alone, please,” I said, stumbling off the bed. I yanked open our door and staggered to the bathroom.

“Brandon, wait --”

I slammed the bathroom door and locked it. He followed me; his hand jiggled the doorknob. “Let me in. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I choked out. I turned to the sink, didn’t dare look up at myself in the mirror. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Are -- are you sure?”

Go away. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Silence. A sniffle. “I’m sorry. I got carried away, Brandon. It’s ... it’s never like that for me. I didn’t know it’d be like that for you. Why didn’t you tell me? Did I hurt you?” Guilt lanced through me. I should’ve told him, but I’d been too ... too stupid. I covered my face with my hands. “No.”

“But --”

“Just go to bed, Nicholas,” I choked out. “Please.” 276

Carolyn Gray

Silence again. I turned on the faucet and splashed my face with cold water, then covered it with a towel. After a moment, I stuck the towel under the water and held it against my backside, welcoming the cool against my heated skin.

Fuck fuck fuck. I threw the towel aside.

Had he left? I held still, then slowly opened the door. Nicholas was gone, our bedroom door closed. I walked up to it, wincing as I did so. I was confused, embarrassed. Why had it hurt so much? I didn’t understand. For a moment there, it had felt so good, so completely incredible. But then just as quickly it was gone. Why?

What if I couldn’t do this?

The thought of being unable to give Nicholas what he wanted crushed me. I reached the door and leaned against it, tears escaping down my cheeks. I’d disappointed him so badly.

I pressed my ear to the door and closed my eyes against my misery -- my butt hurt nowhere near as bad as my heart when I heard the soft sounds of Nicholas sobbing.

I’d started to open the door, when I smelled something ... something burning.

Shit! The lasagna!

Ignoring the pain in my butt, I bolted down the stairs and into the kitchen, coughing at the smoke pouring from the stove. With a yelp, I turned it off, cussing as I yanked the door open. I jumped back, grabbed two oven mitts, and pulled the lasagna out, dumping it in the sink. The cheese had cooked to a blackened crust. I turned on the water, sprayed the lasagna, then ran to the window and yanked it open. I turned the ceiling fan on high and leaned against one of the kitchen chairs, staring at the lasagna in disbelief.

I could’ve burned the house down.

Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed a six-pack of Corona from the refrigerator and left the mess in the kitchen. Amanda would kill me. The whole house stank of burnt lasagna.

I scooped up my boxers from the floor in the entryway, slipped them on, and opened the front door. Hopefully the draft would get the worst of the smoke out.

I walked out onto the front porch; it was chilly, but the cold felt good against my heated skin. I moved to the front porch swing and sat gingerly on the cushion, popped open a Corona, and took a long drink. All I needed was a cigarette, but that looked like a no-go.

Just like the lasagna.

And just like making love with Nicholas.

I tipped the Corona back and drained it, then reached for another, praying the buzz would come quickly and deaden the pain in my butt, and in my heart.

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Almost three Coronas later, I was literally feeling no pain. I sat, miserable and alone and slightly drunk, on the porch swing, my heart aching.

So, I guess that means I did feel pain. Just not in my ass anymore.

A chill ran through me, and I looked out into the street as a car passed by. It slowed as it drew even to me. I suppose the driver wondered why a half-naked boy was sitting outside on a miserable night like this.

’Cause I’m one big fuck-up, okay? Got it? Good. Now get the hell out of here.

The car sped on.

It’d gotten colder, kinda damp; a drizzle had started to fall. I hadn’t even realized it was supposed to rain. I knew I should get up, go back in the house. Trudge upstairs and tell Nicholas I was sorry, that maybe we could at least work together musically -- though I would surely die inside if that was all I could have -- that I was sorry I’d failed him, made him upset with me. Made him cry.

Sorry that I was drunk, sorry that I was such a sorry-assed fool ...

“I’m so sorry,” I choked out, directing my beer-sodden words to the room overhead, the bed overhead, the boy I wanted so bad to want me overhead.

I dropped my head to my chest, cursed myself, and shivered. I was cold. I hadn’t eaten, and I was tired, and hurting, and so damn sorry ... and nothing made sense in my mind or in my heart, but I knew one thing -- I’d screwed up again, and Nicholas couldn’t possibly want someone like me.

I rubbed my face with my hands, snickering at the way my face felt sorta numb, like my bum. I folded over, a sob escaping me. Dammit, how could I have fucked up so bad?

Again? I’d managed to fix things from my last act of stupidity, only to go and screw it up again.

278

Carolyn Gray

The thought that I’d been wrong about myself all along ran through me. That maybe I couldn’t do this. That I wasn’t really gay. Not that I was heterosexual -- hell, that hadn’t worked for me either. Maybe I should become a monk. Friar Ashwood. Sounded good to me.

They got to sing, I thought. But then, as Jonathan had said, I sounded like a goat when I sang.

Maybe I could take my guitar ...

Nicholas would make a beautiful singing monk. I giggled at the thought of him walking about in a rough, brown friar’s robe (naked underneath?), his hands pressed together in prayer, his beautiful pale cheeks flushed with passion, his voice lifting up to the heavens ...

praying for the sinners like me. Sinners who wondered if he wore anything underneath that rough, brown friar’s robe.

He could pull it off. I sure as hell couldn’t.

I took another swig of my beer, aiding the ridiculous bent to my imagination and sending it around the corner, then quashing it. That’s what had started this all -- my imagination. Infatuation. Misguided infatuation. A lonely boy’s dream that should never have become reality, because the reality was, the boy couldn’t handle it.

Maybe Dad was right. I was too young to know what I wanted.

No. No. I wanted Nicholas. I wanted him so bad. But I’d disappointed him. Why else would he be lying upstairs like that? Alone, without me? So, maybe it didn’t matter anyway.

Maybe what I wanted or believed or dreamed of or ... Hell.

Maybe I didn’t matter at all.

Seth Miller wants me.

I pushed that out of my mind in a hurry. I wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t think about the terror at the edge of my consciousness, the worry that that was why I’d screwed up so bad. I drained my beer and folded my arms over my stomach, wincing at the throb in my temple where Miller had messed me up.

I popped the top off another Corona, tipped it up, and drank half of it without stopping. A thousand buzzing bees filled my brain, dulling my senses. I laid my head back, my eyes closed as false warmth pooled in my belly and descended into my groin. It was cool outside, but I didn’t really feel it now, except in my feet where they rested on the cold wooden porch.

I drank the rest of the bottle and let it join its mates sitting empty at my feet.

I opened another, took a sip, and then realized, hey, I was really getting drunk. I stumbled inside, took a piss in Ronnie the Invisible Roommate’s bathroom, went into the kitchen -- which still stank -- and grabbed another six-pack of Corona. Guess I’d have to use Jonathan’s twenty to buy him more beer. I stumbled back out to the porch again. The swing had gotten damp and cold without me to keep it warm and dry, and I grimaced as I sank back onto the cushion, fresh beer in hand.

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Maybe that was the thing to do -- just stay wasted, keep the pain and terror at bay that way. Of course, that wasn’t the only time I thought that idea was the solution -- later, when I really lost Nicholas, I tried to drown myself in alcohol. Burn up my memories in a liquor-bathed haze. Dull the pain, numb the agony, retch up the bitterness, only to start the madness over again.

It hadn’t worked then, either.

I sighed and shifted on the seat. Okay, it still hurt a little down there, even with the dulling of my senses (except for my damn dick -- why was it getting hard now? Fucking alcohol). I’d imagined it countless times, making love to Nicholas. Me taking him, him taking me, not really understanding what the reality was. Hell, I’d had no one to ask, no way of knowing what it really meant, having sex with another guy. I mean, I couldn’t exactly ask my brothers. Imagine asking Adam, “Hey, bro, do you know anything about how two guys fuck?” He would’ve punched me in the mouth.

He sure wouldn’t have known how damn good it felt. And for a few moments there, it had. Nicholas had filled me; that thick, beautiful cock of his had filled me so completely I’d felt as if we were one creature, two parts of a whole. So corny-sounding, but there it was.

Corny’s good. Tears blurred my eyes, and I wiped them angrily away. For those few wonderful moments, Nicholas inside me had felt so beautiful, so good, so right. But then something had gone wrong. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t even know why it had felt good when it had felt good.

No, Adam wouldn’t have known why.

Jonathan, though ... I grimaced and took another swig of Corona Number Four. Or was it five? Six? I squeezed my eyes shut. Things were getting a little sloppy in my brain. He’d bought us a booklet -- why the hell I hadn’t looked at it? Hadn’t I looked at it? My words were jumbling in my brain, starting to not make much sense. I took another long pull from the bottle and then stared at it. It was empty.