Off Campus (30 page)

Tom sighed with relief. Another emotional landmine navigated.

“Fuck normal. I like this.”

He was super aware of his anus. It felt as if he had the ghost of a cock wedged in there, his tender skin hot and tingly, the slippery mess of lube making him feel every square millimeter of skin pressed to skin as Reese draped a leg over his hip and held him close. He kind of wanted to get up and go to the bathroom to clean himself off, but he was too tired to move. Maybe in a minute, after he stopped feeling echoes of Reese's body inside his. Tom shivered, a twitch in his dick and his ass as he remembered himself, face down in the mattress as Reese fucked him, begging for it over and over again. His face flamed at the picture, imagining Reese's eyes hot on where they joined, watching his dick press in and out of Tom's hole. He shivered again.

Every time he thought sex couldn't possibly get any hotter between them, they took it deeper. He had laid himself open, baring even more. Tom wasn't sure that trend should be encouraged, but he couldn't deny that it made him want to roll over and expose his belly for a rub like a puppy. He'd dared something big and gotten his reward. In spades.

Phenomenal sex wasn't enough in the long run to balance out all the other compromises Reese made in order to be with him. But at least it was something, right? It was one thing he could give. He'd offer his ass up a thousand nights in a row if it would keep Reese from deciding he wasn't worth it after all.

Because he knew that moment was coming. Could feel it barreling down on them like a low vibration humming through the track rails when the train was still a mile away. As a kid, he'd timed it close with the suburban train lines, waiting until he felt the vibrations under his hands before setting pennies on the rails, hoping no one in the station house would see him crouched by the tracks.

He was after a lot more than shiny copper discs these days. But he could still feel that train coming, the long, low moan of its horn rolling ahead of it, warning, warning, that it couldn't slow down. Not for anything.

Chapter Seventeen

“You know, it doesn't make you any more gay than you were before.”

He'd stopped reacting when Reese used the word
gay
to describe him, although his first instinct was to correct him with “I'm bi
.
” But he could see how that was a pretty shitty denial to shove in your boyfriend's face, so he kept his mouth shut.

It still felt like an attack sometimes when Reese said it.

“What are you talking about?”

“Taking it up the ass.”

“Jesus Christ, Reese. Here? Now?”

Sometimes it felt like Reese was pushing him, tired of waiting for Tom to relax and turn into some kind of poster boy for Gay Pride. He reminded himself over and over again that it must suck, being an out gay guy and dating someone who flinched every time you bumped shoulders with him in public.

But, fuck, was it absolutely necessary that they have a conversation in the middle of the Campus Center about why they hadn't had anal sex again since the one night where Reese had melted him into a puddle, ass first? Steph and Cash would be back in a minute with drinks and snacks.

This couldn't be a conversation that happened behind closed doors?

He wondered if Reese was disappointed there hadn't been some kind of magical transformation of their relationship after he'd fucked Tom. As if anal were some kind of Holy Grail of gay relationships that would wipe out all of their other problems, not a goddamn one of which had been magically erased by Tom taking it up the ass, he was sorry to say. Reese had already admitted that being the one doing the fucking was both not his favorite thing and made him wish for better days. So what was the big deal about not doing it again?

Tom wasn't about to mention that opening himself up like that had felt more than simply physically vulnerable. It took a level of trust and affection he couldn't muster for someone who barely looked at him without irritation bubbling over. The magic of that night hadn't lasted past the next morning's descent into the tension that always filled the space between them now. If they did it again, he was afraid he'd look up and find Reese staring down at him like he'd stared at the boys he used to fuck. Cold and manipulative. Tom wasn't sure he'd ever get past that.

Maybe he could say all that in the dark but not in the fucking Campus Center. And they were sleeping in separate beds most nights lately. A twin mattress was too hard to share when two people were rigid boards trying not to touch each other.

He and Reese had scored an L-shaped sofa in the far corner of the balcony and Reese sat next to him on the short end of the L. Carrying trays full of cups and junk food, Cash and Steph had returned and sprawled out on the long end. He ignored them as they pretended they weren't playing footsie. Tom wasn't conscious of how close he was sitting to Reese until the voice cracked out from behind him and he froze.

“So we put you in a room with a twink and he turned you gay? Or were you already a cocksucker keeping it a secret?”

He didn't need to turn around to know it was Jack.
Fuck.
The Evil Nemesis nickname had been a joke. Something to transform the stress of having a kid who clearly hated him into comic relief. But lately it felt like he was being stalked. And as much as he'd seen the dean bark at the guy that one time, he didn't doubt Jack had the inside track if he wanted to complain about Tom.

“That's it.” Cash grabbed Steph's feet from his lap and set them carefully to the side. Tom didn't know which felt worse: wishing his friend would ignore Jack until he went away or realizing he was the kind of guy who did nothing when confronted with a bully.

“Just ignore him,” he urged. But it wasn't Cash who got up.

Reese levered himself to his feet, a hand on Tom's chest holding him back as Tom surged instinctively to stand with him. For a moment, he'd almost done the right thing.

Jack took a step forward, shoulders back, doing his best to loom over Reese.

“Oh hell no. I might be scared of guys like him…” he jerked a thumb at Cash, “…but you? You don't fucking fool me at all.” He scraped a glance over Jack from head to toe. “With your highlights and your little porn mustache. You're so gay you're probably pissed you didn't get a chance to suck his dick.”

Clearly unwanted, Tom slumped in the corner of the couch and shaded his eyes with one hand. Excellent. He was proud of Reese for standing up, of course he was. He wasn't a total asshole. But did it have to be this guy he found his balls for?

Cash leaned forward, bracing thick forearms on his knees and cracking his knuckles in a totally non-threatening way.

Holy fuck. This was such a disaster.

“What are you? Boyfriend number two?” Once again, Jack didn't have any friends with him. If anything, he looked the worse for wear, hair lanky with oil and hipster mustache sagging at the corners. His bravado frayed under their collective resistance. “You gonna kick my ass?”

“Just enjoying the show.” Cash leaned back again, arms stretched out to either side of him the length of couch. Steph leaned her head toward his hand and he ruffled her hair. “Kid's got you pegged and played, far as I can see. He doesn't need any help from me.”

Reese squared off against Jack until the taller man backed up a step. And then another.

“I'm tired of self-loathing queers like you giving me crap for stuff you're too chicken shit to do.” He was fierce, Tom's boy. And he wished Reese would shut up and sit down. “Go away. Or I will fuck. You. Up.” Each word a step forward for Reese. A retreat for Jack. “And then I'll get you fired.”

Jack hung on for one last moment, swiveling his head to stare at Tom, who refused to meet his eyes.

This has got nothing to do with me, asshole,
he thought hard in Jack's direction until he finally turned his back on them and left.

The Evil Nemesis was halfway across the room when Reese dug deep for one last ounce of ass-kicking, his shout turning heads.

“And stop stalking my boyfriend, asshole.”

Tom reached under the table for the strap of his backpack.

Cash was playing hurt puppy dog on the other end of the couch. Though it was Cash, so he probably wasn't entirely playing.

“Jump back, kid. Are you really scared of me?” He frowned at Reese who was standing triumphant over their coffee table.

Reese paused, giving the question serious thought.

“I was. A little.” Reese picked through the red Solo cups on the table to find the one with Diet Coke instead of beer. “Then I realized you're just a giant puppy. Like, this monstrous poodle or something.”

“A poodle?” Nobody played fake outrage like Cash, who started digging into a bowl of green Jell-O and Cool Whip with undisguised joy. The man had a ridiculous addiction to crap food for a health nut. “Jesus, kid. Can't I be a pit bull or something?”

Reese wrinkled his nose and kept up the teasing.

“A Bichon Frisé, maybe.”

“A bitch what? That's not even English!”

Tom would have been proud, if he wasn't battling the roiling, greasy waves in his stomach,
knowing
that the first thing that asshole was going to do was head straight to the dean. He stood up abruptly, drawing everyone's attention.

“I gotta jet. I owe Quillian a stack of quizzes.”

Tom carried the frozen looks of his friends and his boyfriend with him as he headed to Quillian's office, determined not to make himself a bigger liar than he already was. He stayed away past midnight and gritted his teeth when he saw Reese had waited up for him. Muttering about needing a shower, he escaped to the bathroom and wondered if there was any chance Reese would fall asleep before he finished.

Sixty seconds later, the opaque white shower curtain rattled on its metal rings as Reese slid in with him.

He hung his bathrobe, black silk, on the empty hook across from Tom's navy terry and held out his hand for the shower gel. He lathered up, then turned Tom to face the wall and started washing his back, waiting until his hands were sweeping up and down Tom's spine before saying anything.

“You know leaving like that was not cool, right?” His voice was calm and his hands didn't skip a beat.

Anger surged like a fever in him. He turned, soap lather tickling as it slipped down his legs. “Neither was what you did, Reese.”

“What
I
did?”

“I have to ignore that guy. You know that the dean is on my ass—” But Reese had had enough. He snapped like breaking a pool cue over your knee for a fight.

“No, Tom. I
know
the dean did everything she could, within the rules, to help you get back on campus this semester. I
know
you have the same right not to be harassed as any other student on this campus.”

“It's not the same.” He was being stubborn and he knew it. Maybe Reese was right. God knows, he usually was. Maybe Tom could run naked hand-in-hand with his boyfriend across the Green and no one would bat an eye.

“It is. If you'd just show me that letter…”

Tom had told Reese he couldn't find the letter from the dean warning him about the need to keep a low profile if he wanted to stay enrolled at Carlisle. He hadn't looked. It was an argument he didn't want to have with Reese. Or maybe he was worried that if he looked at the letter again, he'd see Reese was right. There was nothing holding him back from telling Jack to fuck off and making out with Reese at a campus movie night like any other horny college student.

That was a shitload of maybes for something that would save or damn the rest of his life. This was it. His last chance to keep a toehold on something like the life he'd grown up in. He knew he'd never hit his father's level of success, had trained himself not to see that as an automatic failure. But he didn't want to spend the rest of his life scrabbling to pay his bills. He needed this, needed to finish school with a good record and move the fuck on from these past two years. Start living his own damn life.

Even if he didn't need to worry about getting kicked out of school, there were still journalists, to elevate them higher than they deserved, to duck on sight and principle. Reese might not understand what it had been like, but Tom would never forget weeks of being a prisoner in his own home, afraid to leave because men and women with cameras were stationed at every exit, ready to pounce. He'd never eat a red kidney bean again, after opening can after can, once the rest of the pantry was empty. The local grocery refused to deliver after someone keyed their car when they tried to push past the press.

Too many factors. Too many risks. He wasn't proud of himself. He'd learned two years ago that pride wasn't something he could afford, only to find out that when it came to sharing his difficulties, he still had too much of that useless emotion.

Reese rinsed lather off his hands until it spun around the drain in the center of the floor. The smaller man didn't bother to towel off before shoving his arms in the sleeves of his robe, which promptly stuck to his wet skin in patches.

Tom wasn't proud of himself, but he knew there was one thing he needed to say.

“I was proud of you.”

Reese yanked the knot at his waist tight and pushed past the curtain.

“You've got a funny way of showing it.”

“It's just a formality. We outed someone to their parents once, which sucked for that kid, so now we always get an okay first. So, are we good to go?”

Tom's hand on his phone ached with holding it so tight. This was it. The thing he'd known was going to come sooner or later, that would spell the end of him and Reese. Because Reese would never forgive this.

The editor of the campus LGBTQ newspaper had caught him as he was heading out, the ring of the landline halting him at the door.

He'd known that Reese had started working with the paper as part of his therapy, reintegrating himself into a social group that offered him support and a way to acknowledge his own trauma. Tom had known this but hadn't really absorbed what it might mean. He wasn't getting much of an update from Reese on things like this, since they barely spoke.

The editor was wrapping up the layout for the spring issue. Reese had referenced Tom in the interview he'd given, talking about hate crimes and how there was still work to be done on awareness. Talking how his boyfriend's support and encouragement was what allowed him to get help.

“No.” He could practically hear the clang of the cell door closing on him. Solitary confinement. “Don't run it. Or cut me out of it.”

“Uh, okay.” He could hear the confusion in the guy's voice. “We'll, uh, do an edit. Right. Sorry. I'll, uh, tell…are you gonna tell him or should I?”

“I'll tell him.”

He hit End Call with a stiff finger and threw the phone as hard as he could at the wall.

The cordless handset cracked in half, guts and wires falling out, and Tom calmly did the math in his head, deducting the money from his bank account to replace it. “Fuck.”

He dropped to his knees and felt under his bed for the pieces.

Maybe it wasn't completely broken.

Maybe it could still be fixed.

He'd paced their room long enough to start talking to the walls, arguing the inarguable and losing to himself. Badly. There was no possibility Reese would see this as anything other than a betrayal. Which wasn't fucking fair, because they had
agreed
that Tom wouldn't have to do this.

Even as he argued with himself, he knew his position was a shitty one. Reese had made it clear from day one that he couldn't wait forever for Tom to figure it out.

He shoved his books and another stack of the endless ungraded papers into his backpack, determined to leave before Reese returned and Tom took the last step on the road to Assholeville by accusing his boyfriend of betrayal for sharing his own hard story.