The Luckiest (10 page)

It’s been so sweet so far, but suddenly he thinks of how Nik smells right now, how it would be to bury his face in his crotch and lick the sweat from his balls, and he feels filthy, wanton. He drags his hand from Nik’s hair and slides it under the waistband of Nik’s shorts and beneath his underwear to get a good handful of his ass, round and strong and sticky with sweat. He licks his way down Nik’s neck, lapping up salt and fastening his mouth to the column of Nik’s throat, feeling the vibration in his mouth when Nik lets out a low moan. They’re out of control and it’s
perfect.

Nik’s head tips back to hit the door. “Oh my God, you’re gonna kill me. Come upstairs with me,” he gasps.

Aaron can’t stop his hands from kneading Nik’s ass. “I can’t—everybody will know.”

“I
really
don’t give a shit. Do you?”

It’s a terrible idea, it really is. This week is about Alex and David, and they don’t need this drama. They’re locked in a
house
with these people, and there is bound to be some teasing, mocking hell to pay, but Nik is gently rocking against Aaron, who squeezes him tighter, using his hands and hips to grind back, hard. Nik moans.

Aaron pulls away, scrubs at his face for just a second and bends to scoop up his bags. He’s already on the third step when he turns around and sees Nik collapsed against the front door wearing a look of confusion. “Well? Are you coming?” he says.

Nik swears as he picks up his guitar case and laptop and hurries after Aaron.

They’re not doing a great job taking care of their things, because as soon as they’re inside Aaron’s room they drop every­thing by the door. Aaron locks the door and immediately pushes at Nik’s shorts and underwear, and Nik swears, toes off his shoes and throws his shirt on the bed just in time for Aaron to push him down on top of it and kneel to mouth at his dick. He licks around and over and laps at his balls while still trying to get Nik’s socks off. Nik moans, “Please,
Aaron
,” and then he’s completely naked and Aaron is pushing him backwards.

Nik braces himself up on his arms, flushed, his skin peb­bling where his sweat evaporates in the air conditioning. His cock is
beautiful
—dark and so hard, and already a little wet from Aaron’s mouth. There’s no time for romance, now—Aaron needs him, needs the smell of him in his nose, so he digs his fingers into Nik’s thighs to pull him closer to the edge of the bed, reaches for Nik’s dick and pulls him into his mouth.

Nik whimpers above him and slides a hand into Aaron’s hair to hold on. It’s fast and wet. Aaron pulls off to lick down to Nik’s balls, then sucks them into his mouth while Nik moans and flops back against the bed. Aaron slides his hands beneath Nik for a double handful of his ass and licks down to where his thumbs have pulled Nik’s cheeks apart and his scent is the strongest so he can lap at his hole. Nik swears and groans above him. They’ve never done this—this level of want is
way
beyond even their ill-advised summer tryst—but Aaron likes it, likes how Nik throws his legs up to grasp behind his own knees, likes how he grinds his ass back against Aaron’s face, how he gasps and swears when Aaron pulls his tongue back into his mouth to get it wet, taking in the strong taste of Nik and pressing it against the roof of his mouth. Nik’s legs are strong above his head and Aaron slides his hands up to
feel
them, to dig his fingers into the muscle and hold on.

Nik sounds desperate, so Aaron licks back up and uses both his hands and mouth on Nik’s dick, pulling and sucking and sliding. Nik lets out one huge groan before he comes, silently, in a full-body spasm. Aaron holds him through it, sliding his arms around his hips in a gentle squeeze, before standing and starting to work on his pants. Nik blinks and watches with hazy eyes as Aaron undresses and then Nik pulls his legs up again, ready to be fucked, and God, Aaron wants to take him, wants to watch him squirm and pant underneath him.

Just not yet.

He pushes Nik’s knees down with a small shake of his head and straddles him. Aaron has left his shirt on, desperate to get down to the essentials. Nik watches him as he licks his own hand and starts jerking off. He can’t stop staring at Nik’s face and Nik is watching him back; his hands come up to pet and stroke Aaron’s thighs. “Yeah, Aaron, come the fuck
on
,” he says, his hands ghosting up and over Aaron’s ass, and that’s it—Aaron is coming, spilling over Nik’s chest
hard,
and whining through it all.

Aaron falls to the side, wrecked, but Nik is right there, using his discarded T–shirt to wipe most of the mess from his chest and then kissing him, crowding into his space and wrapping him up; Aaron is devastated, destroyed.

Nik kisses him through that feeling and then pulls away, his eyes drifting across Aaron’s face with a bemused look. Aaron looks back.

“I missed you,” he says.

Nik brushes some hair from Aaron’s face, strokes his cheek and says nothing.

“No, listen. I
missed
you.”

Nik wraps him in his arms and says, “Oh, Aaron. I still love you, too.”

And that’s it—that simply, Aaron gives up all over again and buys in. He clings to Nik and he lies very still until he’s sure he won’t cry.

* * *

While Nik is in the shower, Aaron stares at the ceiling. Then he grabs his tablet and scrolls through his email. Everything looks fine with his grants for the fall, and everything looks ready for his new job in his new department—he’s got a few more emails about paperwork he needs to fill out for tax pur­poses, but nothing that can’t wait. A few new comments on his old blog entries awaiting approval, so he clicks them through. His personal email is a shitshow; there’s been another minor room­mate dustup—Tara’s back to gallivanting about the apart­ment without pants again, now that it’s summer, and Jamie’s had it—but Aaron has enough egos to deal with, so he sends back a strongly-worded email about leaving him out of it when he’s not there. He ignores the handful of emails he’s received from people he sometimes goes out with; they seem especially unappealing.

The water’s still running in the shower, so Aaron clicks to his secret personal blog, the one that he only very rarely updates and is
really
personal, strictly anonymous, and has nothing to do with any of his other work. It still doesn’t have a title, and he likes that. From the first post it’s been a place for working out ideas he doesn’t want to attach his name to, things he needs to find a place for if only to get them out of his brain so they don’t end up in something he’s going to try to publish. It’s the only way he knows to keep things private, to force that kind of discipline on himself, and so far it’s worked; he’s never wanted to use any of this material because everything on the Internet lasts forever, and he would die if even
some
of this stuff ever became attached to his real name. He pauses for a moment, and then starts typing.

I don’t think it surprises anybody who knows me at all that I will probably make my living on the strength of my words, one way or another. It makes some sense, I think
—
I’ve always had plenty to say, and have always had to work hard to edit my thoughts before they come out of my sarcastic mouth. And the voice I write in here is a version of authentic
—
I really am this mean-spirited and cynical and scared of everything. Live in fear, live in horror.

The irony, of course, is that when there are gentle and tender things I really need to say, I often find myself coming up short.

Which is to say that there’s a man
—
The Boy, in fact. We’ve reunited after a long time apart, and he’s sweet and beautiful and he’s grown into himself. And he’s changing his whole life to try to be with me, and I want it
—
I want
him,
all of him.

Once upon a time, in a land just up the interstate, he helped me learn exactly the right words to say to him, back when I was falling in love for the very first time, back when we were still kids. It was so easy, then, to tell him everything, to just peel myself open and give him everything: in whispers, in letters, in more emails and text messages than I care to remember. I have never had this problem before, ever: but as I’ve developed my professional voice and some of my other skills of expression (you’re all filthy, filthy people; you’re also not wrong), I think I’ve lost the ability to
live
through my words, to let them express who I am and what I’m feeling. Or maybe it’s more than that; maybe it’s simply that he’s one of the few people I’ve known who I want to give everything to. I would be willing to share with him the scary secrets inside of me that can be expressed in the very simplest words: my fears, my hopes,
everything
, and all of it I would happily lay out before him with no thought of how pretty it sounded. And that’s a lot of power to give somebody when you usually care so much about how the message is put together.

What I
really
mean to say is: I’m in love with him, I have
always
been in love with him, and it really is just that simple. I am for him. I told him that once, I told him one thousand times, and I thought he hadn’t heard me.

Turns out he did. And now I need to learn to say it again.

He hits post, watches the page update and then stares at it for a long time.

* * *

Once Nik is out of the shower and they’re back in the kitchen, they find that everybody has cleared out except Alex and David, who are sitting at the table holding hands and talking quietly. When Aaron and Nik walk into the kitchen, Alex and David stare at them until Alex bursts out laughing and comes to hug Nik.

“Oh, you’re both just so—can we talk about this
now?”
she says, squeezing Nik’s shoulders.

Aaron hasn’t really blushed much since high school, but he can feel heat rising in his cheeks. Nik rests a hand on his back and steers him to the table, where they sit while Alex gets them cups of coffee.

Nik tips his chair back. “What’s up? I feel like I’m facing down the Broussard women all over again,” he jokes, but there’s tension in his voice.

David clears his throat. “So this is happening now? No more long looks, no more worries and ‘he saids’?”

“David, man, I thought you’d be happy for me. You’ve been telling me for
years
that I—”

“I know I did. And you decided to listen to me the week that you’re my best man and Alex is counting on Aaron to pull everything together?”

Nik is staring at David, and Alex has drifted over to put a hand on David’s shoulder.

“Are you actually
angry
at me? I’m sorry, David, I didn’t realize I had to have your approval for our timetable, but it’s the first time we’ve been in the same place since I—”

“Nik! Relax. Nobody’s angry,” Alex says, putting both hands on David’s shoulders for a squeeze. “I think he’s just anxious, and that’s probably my fault. He’s… well, Aaron knows. We both want this wedding to be
perfect
—we’ve pissed off both of our mothers to do it on our own, and I think we’re both… tenser than we’ve been letting on.” David looks up at her, his brow furrowed with a sweet, private look, and covers one of her hands with one of his. Aaron hates that this conversation is happening, but part of him that loves watching them work through their anxiety together.

“Nik, man, I want you to be happy. It’s just that there’s been… okay, look, there’s been a lot of unhappiness between the two of you, and the look on your face when Aaron left the room and the way you took off after him—I can’t deal with the pining and the puppy-dog eyes this week. Were you two somewhere sniping at each other all this time,
already
?” His face is drawn, concerned, and Aaron can barely hold in a wave of affection for him.

Aaron looks at Nik, who stares back at him with a bemused grin. Then he turns to look at Alex, who is grinning and then bursts out laughing. Aaron and Nik both join her, and David groans and tips his face into his hands.

David groans. “Man, I can’t believe my best man is going to get more action this week than I am.”

Alex slaps him on the shoulder and says, “David!”

“What?” Nik and Aaron both blurt.

“Shut up, it’s
romantic
,” she says defensively and her face colors as she crosses her arms across her chest.

“It’s
insane
,” Aaron retorts. “God, no wonder he’s snapping at people; the man needs stress relief, Alex!”

“I relieve his stress plenty, thank you very much—”

Nik holds his hands up and mouths, “TMI.”

“And I’ll have you know that it’s supposed to deepen the marital bond, to come to your wedding day… newly chaste. Well. Sort of,” Alex says as her voice trails off. It’s clear that she’s not even kidding herself.

Aaron smirks. “Whatever makes you feel better, Carrie Underwood. I’m just glad I’m not on that regimen, because my very good friend has been possessed by the spirit of Bridezilla, and my stress levels have never been higher.”

David recovers enough to say, “Thank you! Exactly! That’s my point! It hardly seems fair that this week I’m going to be suffering while you guys are… doing whatever it is you’re doing. Finally. God
damn
it, Alex—are you sure this is a good idea?” He looks up at her, pleading, but Aaron could have told him that ganging up on Alex is a sure way to shut her down; it’s probably worth taking the time to try to have that talk with him sometime in the next three days. Alex folds her arms and raises her chin and yeah, Aaron already knows how this is going to end.

Nik pipes up. “Well… I guess we could—”

“Nik!” Aaron interjects. “What are you doing?”

David and Nik lock eyes and assess each other as only two brothers can.

“No fucking?” David holds out his fist to bump, and Nik gives him a level look and a nod and bumps it.

“No fucking.” They stand for a ridiculous bro-hug that leaves Alex beaming.