Promise Rock 03 - Living Promises (MM) (33 page)

T
HAT
Wednesday, the day he had the tickle in his throat he didn't want to talk about, Collin, Shane, and some of the kids from Promise House made short work of Collin's workload. It was a lot more fun than he'd anticipated—Collin got to teach the trade that he'd spent most of his life learning from grease monkeys just like him. It felt pretty damned good, and Collin got to spend more time with Shane, which was nice. The big man didn't always talk in a straight line, and sarcasm seemed to hit a big cotton-walled dead-spot in his general vicinity, but he was kind, calm, and knew a hell of a lot about cars.

He also doted shamelessly on Mikhail, without being nauseating about it. The kids knew it, and they gave him gentle grief about being 'nad-snapped, and Shane just smiled and shined it all on.

Collin could see why Jeff adored him—and called him things like Hairy Hoover at the same time.
That night, he was able to quit early, and after a stop at his place to shower, he made his way to Jeff's. Martin was with him, and rooted through his video game collection while Collin showered. He'd been at the garage all day, too, and Collin figured he'd earned the right to pick something out that involved blood, guts, and copious amounts of violence. Eventually, they made their way to Jeff's snazzy condo with some takeout and a new video game.
The video game was a hit, but they were done playing by nine o'clock, and Martin looked at them and sighed.
“Not that I don't really love the hell out of you two, but I gotta say, I'm missing me some homework.”
Collin wrinkled his nose—“Ouch!”—but Jeff looked sympathetic.
“Getting close to decision time, isn't it?” he asked kindly, and Martin shrugged.
“You know,” Jeff said, looking nervous, “you could always enroll in the school district here. We've got your records for independent study packets, and the district I live in is a lot more diverse than Levee Oaks.”
Martin managed a grin. “You mean there's more black people?”
Jeff grinned back. “And brown people and yellow people and peach people….”
Martin shook his head. “You know, I can
not
get used to that. Lucas was, like, the only white person in our neighborhood.” He sighed thoughtfully. “But then, Kevin was probably the only gay person in our neighborhood, too, so well, maybe, you know….”
“It makes sense,” Collin said, glad to have something to contribute. “Maybe that's why they were such good friends—because they knew what it felt like to be on the outside.” He thought painfully of his little group of friends in high school. They'd been so tight, almost incestuous. They were hip, they were gay, they were fucking invincible.
Until they'd all been taken down by fucking.
He wondered about those kids who hadn't gotten tested, and how they were doing. God, the past was hard to look at sometimes.
Martin apparently thought the same thing. His arms were wrapped around his knees, and as impossibly tall as he seemed to be, it was an awkward, defensive position. “No way to hide being white, though,” he said quietly. “Maybe that's why Lucas worked so hard to help Kevin hide being gay.”
“That is a really good point.” Jeff looked at Collin then, and Collin was thinking that Jeff never would have been able to hide it, even if he'd tried. How
had
his family managed not to know? “It helps to have friends that understand you. Martin, do you know
anyone
back at home who might understand that Kevin was still Kevin?”
Martin thought about it, hard, and then shrugged. “I've got a cousin….” He looked sideways at Jeff, embarrassed. “I've been giving him a hard time since we were little. But I think he might be, for reals.”
Jeff breathed out hard through his nose. “Okay. Well. That's a start. No pressure, okay? You really are welcome as long as you like. But….” Jeff's unhappy glance landed on Collin again. “Look, Martin, I haven't been able to visit my family for… it's going on twelve years now. And it hurts. I have a new family now, you know that, and… and I love them, maybe even more because I don't think I ever have to worry about them yanking the rug out from under my feet. But….”
And Collin had a light bulb moment about why Martin was still there. This was hard. Pulling on the thread of how this unlikely teenager had ended up in this unlikely household led to the unraveling of wool dyed in pain like strong tea. Jeff's family, Jeff's pain, Martin's family, Martin's pain… God, even Collin's unholy mess in high school, it was all somehow connected, wasn't it?
Even a fourteen-year-old could see it, because Martin kept his arms tight around his knees for comfort when he said, “You don't want that for me.”
“I didn't want it for Kevin, either,” Jeff said heavily, and Collin tightened his arm around Jeff's shoulders. God. Just ouch. “That's why you didn't hear about me until you found that letter.”
Martin nodded, then stood up, like this conversation had nowhere else to go. “Man, I'm gonna go read for a while. You keep buying me these dead white people books, I may as well read them.”
There was a soft breeze of relief through the room. They'd get there—eventually the conversation would get there, probably without Collin's presence, but these things
would
be talked about. Just not tonight.
“Which dead white man are you reading now?” Collin asked curiously. He'd never been a fan, himself.
“Charles Dickens. Dude, if I'da lived during the French Revolution, I woulda gone straight out and killed some of those fools.”
Collin managed to hold his chuckle in until Martin disappeared into his bedroom, but then he leaned in and giggled into Jeff's neck, wrapping his arm around Jeff's chest until the giggles stopped.
And then Jeff looked at him from tired, kind eyes and lowered his mouth for a kiss.
It was maybe the first time Jeff had taken control of a kiss, had held Collin's face between his hands, had initiated touch, had plundered Collin's mouth, insinuated his hands to touch Collin's chest, had, quite simply, seduced Collin until he'd muttered, “Is Martin going to be able to handle noise this time?”
Jeff grunted. “I hope so, but I'll try not to make you scream too loud.”
Collin had chuckled against his mouth, thinking Jeff was kidding, and then they'd scampered to Jeff's room like naughty children. That was when Jeff undressed him, slowly, kissing collarbones (“So sharp, Sparky!”), biceps (“Are you really ticklish?”), and the tender, furry skin below Collin's belly button (“I love that your carpets match your drapes!”). He kissed, he commented, and he generally simply desired, until Collin's hands moved feverishly, knotting in Jeff's hair when Jeff sank down to his knees and stripped off Collin's jeans and underwear.
“Jeff, I'm close….” His voice had a hint of warning, but Jeff murmured, “Don't worry, Sparky, I'm totally prepared.”
With that he produced one of those ultra-thin poly condoms from his pocket and rolled it on Collin's swollen, aching erection. Then he lowered his head and engulfed Collin's cock with his entire mouth, tightening his lips and pushing his head all the way down to the base and sucking so hard Collin was surprised his eyes didn't roll back, disappear, and pop out the end.
Jesus
, could Jeff give a blow job.
It was exquisite, hard on the shaft, delicate and teasing around the head, his mouth warm and moist, even through the condom. Collin had to shove the heel of his hand into his mouth and bite down hard to keep from just screaming his release to the heavens, and even when he had spurted, the condom filling wet and hot around him (which had always been sort of a turn-on), he was hard-put to keep from groaning loud enough to wake the tenants in the next condo.
He fell to the bed sideways, panting and still struggling out of his jeans, and looked at Jeff, who was pulling himself off of his knees, still completely dressed.
“Damn.”
“Is that all you got?”
“Day
um.
Jeff….”
Jeff shimmied out of his yoga lounge pants and put one knee on the bed in his T-shirt and purple (!) silk boxers.
Collin scowled. “T-shirt off too,” he said, and Jeff complied, that easily.
“I don't know, Sparky, I think maybe you should read some puckered, angry white men too—you need to work on your vocabulary.”
Collin grunted and scooted until his head was on the pillow; then he set about the business of removing the condom and wiping off with the wet-wipes Jeff had started keeping by the bed, before pulling up his boxers, which were still wrapped around his ankles.
“You want I should finish you?” Collin asked, and Jeff shook his head.
“Not… I just wanted to give,” he said, blushing. He couldn't meet Collin's eyes until Collin caught his chin and
forced
Jeff's dark brown eyes to meet his own.
“What?”
Jeff shook his head violently and then wriggled under the covers.
Collin followed suit and then turned off the light. “It's dark, now, Jeff. You can talk to me.”
“Very funny, Sparky.”
“I'm totally serious. Now turn over so I can spoon you.” Jeff did, and Collin plastered himself to Jeff's back, pulling that long, sharp body against him and settling his arm between the bony ribs and the hipbone that wouldn't quit. His arm fit good that way, and since they were the same height, it meant he could bend his head slightly and touch his lips to the back of Jeff's neck. He did that for a few moments, and then, when Jeff hadn't said anything, he pushed insistently with his forehead.
“What?” Jeff asked, sounding a little groggy.
“You were supposed to talk to me.”
Jeff was quiet for a moment, stroking quiet patterns on Collin's arm. Collin shifted and captured his hand, almost surprised when Jeff's voice came out of the darkness. “It was just your turn to get something for nothing, that's all.”
“Come again?”
“I didn't come the first time.”
“That wasn't my idea!”
Jeff's fingers came over his stomach to lace tightly with Collin's fingers. “Well, no shit, Sparky. It was my idea. Haven't you ever… just cared about someone so much, you wanted them to be happy, and your own bullshit was just not in the picture?”
Collin closed his eyes until he saw stars and breathed carefully. “Every time we're together,” he said at last.
“Yeah, well.” Jeff tried to shrug, but Collin was wrapped too firmly around him to let his shoulders move. “Just wanted to show it for once, that's all.”
Collin felt like laughing and crying at the same time. “What brought that on?”
“Brain damage. Now go to sleep.”
Collin moved his hand lower, wrapped it around Jeff's semi-erect cock through his boxers, and squeezed, just a little.
Jeff captured his hand again. “Stop it, Sparky. You need your sleep. You've been spending the night here and going to work in the morning—you look tired.”
“Yes, mommy.”
Jeff's entire body stiffened. “Uhm…
ewwww
!”
Collin chuckled for a minute and then said something absolutely sober. “If I ask you something, do you promise not to make that littlegirl-icky sound again?”
“Yeah, Sparky. Pinky promise.”
“You're hilarious. Ha-fucking-ha.” Collin blushed in the dark. He'd never asked a lover this before—HIV or non-HIV—but it was a small thing, a simple intimacy that he missed. He tried not to dwell on it, but sometimes, when his throat was tickling and he was too tired too soon, it popped up in his mind, and he just wanted to share this one small loss.
“So spill,” Jeff murmured, kissing his hand absently in the dark.
Maybe it was the kiss that did it. It was, after all, about the simple closeness. “That's what I'm asking. Do you ever miss the… spill. The taste? Actual come? It's why… it's why I like having you come
on
me sometimes, instead of coming while I'm
in
you.” Collin's whole body was blushing now, and he was sorry he'd brought it up. “I miss the taste… do…did….”
Jeff swallowed. Collin could hear it in the dark. “Did I want to taste you?” he asked, his voice small. “You mean, did I want to have sex with you without the big brain-condom of being careful between us? Is that what you're asking?”
Collin closed his eyes. Now he was embarrassed not because it was sex, but because it was painful all over again. “Yeah.”
“Sparky, if you… you have no idea how badly I want to be that close to you. I want to taste you and feel you skin to skin, inside me, nothing held back. But you want to know what I want even more than that?”
It was Collin's turn to swallow. “Hit me with it.”
“I want us both to be around a good long time, long enough that our… our—God this is corny—but our goddamned hearts are closer than that one little sex act can be. Is that so wrong?”
Oh God. Collin felt weak—Christ, he never got teary. Not over movies, not over books, not over lovers. Maybe it was the tickle in his throat, and maybe it was the tiredness, or maybe it was just… just Jeff. A month ago, he's been a crush with some gratitude thrown in. Now, he was… he was complex. Prickly. Kind. Generous. In pain, and so brave.
And Jeff wanted them to be around for a while. He wanted their hearts closer than their bodies, as much as it pained him to say something so sincere.
“It's not wrong,” Collin whispered. “It's not wrong. I want it too. Jesus, Jeff—I want it so bad, I can't even tell you.”
Jeff rolled over in his arms then and captured his mouth in another one of those drugging kisses. This one was long, deep, and slow, and when it came to an end, they were both breathing hard, but not with passion.
Jeff pressed his lips to a spot on his cheek, and Collin felt his tongue come out and taste the embarrassing little track of a tear.
“That,” he said, pulling back and licking his lip a little in the street light coming through the window. “Tasting your tears beats tasting your come any day, Sparky, you hear me?”
Collin nodded and kissed Jeff's forehead. “I hear you, Jeffy. I love you too.”
Jeff didn't say it back, but Collin hadn't expected him to. It was like the tears—the words just came, because he felt them. Collin didn't want to belabor them, but some day, he thought, he might want to casually mention that he'd never said them to another man.
So the next morning he was unprepared and pissed off to find that the little throat tickle, that faint bit of tiredness that had made him not just jump Jeff's body until they made embarrassing noises deep into the night, had turned into a full-blown sore throat, headache, and the flu.
Oh shit.
It wasn't entirely true that every bearer of HIV felt like he or she was one sneeze away from the hospice. What
was
true was that taking care of one's health was abso-fucking-lutely imperative. Don't let yourself get rundown, don't let yourself get too tired, wear a hat and gloves in the cold, take your vitamins and eat your vegetables like it was an Olympic sport—those were practically the exact words of Collin's doc at the CARES clinic. He'd lived by them—it was yet another reason to keep the garage apartment by his mother: she could make broccoli taste good.
So waking up with a sore throat and a thick head—that was not a good thing. Waking up and having your lover put his hand on your forehead and say, “Jesus, Sparky. You're burning up. I'll call Joshua and tell him you're not coming in today,” was
really
not a good thing.
“Goddammit!” Collin groused (whined), trying hard to open his eyes. “We're up to our ass in alligators today. I can't be sick.”