21 comments/ 65632 views/ 141 favorites Watching Him Back By: Acerbicscribbler He doesn't know I've been watching him back. I feel badly about it most days; I watch him get shoved out of the way, I watch his books get smacked out of his hand, and I watch his underwear get pulled so far out of his pants it's a wonder the fabric doesn't rip. Part of me wants to interfere and consequences be damned, but the other part of me gets irritated. Why does he have to be such a pushover? It's not as though he's the only guy to ever be bullied. The guys pick on him because they can tell they're not safe around him. They call him "faggy" and "queer" because of the feel of his dark eyes on their bodies. They don't realize that it's the truth. They certainly don't understand that his slender waist, narrow shoulders, long silky hair and wide hips belong to a predator of men. All they know is that they're uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. Some of them probably feel the seduction of it like I do, though they may not realize it yet. His name is Crispin, poor guy. Because he's a pussy he'll never be able to go by anything but his full name, likely with some variation of "cocksucker" attached, just for the consonance. I think his name is cute, but it won't really work for him until college at least. It's fine, though, only half a year more of torture for him until he can play the phoenix. I was going to just leave him alone, honestly. I don't plan on coming out until after high school, when my parents have already paid for at least one year of college. It wouldn't be fair to the poor guy if I fucked him and then refused to acknowledge him at school. According to all the gay indie films I watch online, that can lead to suicide. Sure, movies aren't always a good reference for reality, but I don't want to risk it. Those good intentions fly out the window, though, when I'm presented with an opportunity like this. Crispin Vieira is masturbating in the shower. He must have gotten detention somehow, and chose the early morning run over study hall. This was surprising considering that he abstains from sports and usually walks with the lazy girls during P.E. All I needed was to grab my extra deodorant from my locker. Whatever. Crispin's here. I'm here. There's no one else around at this hour, he's in the shower and can't hear me, and he's jacking off furiously. He didn't bother to pull the curtain, so I watch as his head falls back under the shower spray, body shaking with the momentum of his hand on his prick. For a moment I can't move. His long hair is pulled over his shoulder, giving me an unadulterated view. The water pours over his body in rivulets, tracing the contours of his shoulders, the muscles of his back, down to his buttocks. It's the first time I've ever seen him completely naked since he's so careful during P.E. I'm surprised—I thought he would be softer, but his ass is so toned it's like it was poured into a mold. It clenches repeatedly as Crispin fucks his hand in such a beautiful rhythm that I briefly wish I could freeze time. I undress as quietly as possible. Crispin won't resist me unless he thinks I'm just messing with him. Until now he's likely been wondering if all those times I caught him staring at my dick in the locker room, if he had just imagined my cock swelling (he hadn't). Call me a narcissist, but I know I'm a fantasy to him. He and the rest of the world think I'm straight, and Crispin probably thinks that those looks I give him are just a manifestation of his sexual frustration. Probably I should have warned him before stepping into the shower. Crispin jumps when I pull the curtain shut. He covers his crotch with both hands and turns only his head to look at me. He's too shocked, too scared to move when I press myself to his back and wrap my arms around him. I don't want him to wilt or think that this is just some sort of gay chicken, so I press my lips under his right ear. "Go ahead and finish," I whisper, and skim my fingertips up to his nipples. "I want to see you come." "Oh god," Crispin inhales in disbelief, but his right hand goes back to work. I suck gently on his smooth neck, flicking the hard nubs on his chest. Through the water running into my eyes I watch the purplish helmet of his cock disappear and reappear in his fist. He won't last much longer. What will Crispin's cum be like? Thin watery fluid that sprays fiercely from the tip? Pearly ropes that leave streaks on his abdomen? Or even the thicker stuff that oozes from the slit, over the hand to drop in globules? I realize that I'm humping his ass, running my dick between his buttocks to the small of his back. I pinch his nipples. "Are you close?" Crispin just nods in response, his hand flying furiously over his wet cock. "Let me see you shoot." "Okay," he gasps in a strangled voice. His head falls back on my shoulder and he reaches behind with his free hand and pulls my ass against him. That is fucking hot. When he does come it's completely silent. Crispin doesn't gasp, doesn't groan; I'm not even sure that he breathes. He curls into a question mark, grabs my thigh so hard it hurts, and his abs clench into perfect ridges. And I, unable to resist, touch him, press my first two fingers against the slit just in time to feel the warm cum spurting against my fingertips. It's thicker than mine usually is; it clings for a moment before sliding down his cock to be washed away. It's one of the most erotic things I've ever seen, to watch Crispin ejaculate into my hand. "Oh my fucking god," Crispin finally exhales. "Oh my god." "Put your hands on the wall," I tell him, desperate to come. He does. "Don't fuck me yet," he says softly, like he's afraid I'd just walk away. "I'm not ready." "I won't." He's so small that I can rest my balls on his ass. I keep one hand on his chest as I bend over him and jack off. It only takes a few strokes before I'm coming, too, all over his tight back, shooting so far some of it gets in his hair. "Oh, fuck," is all I can say. "Fuck." Crispin turns around, his dark eyes wide and wary. "Why—" "If you want to talk about this, email me or meet me in the library during lunch or something," I interrupt, breathing heavily. "But know that I'm probably going to start sexually harassing you." Crispin's black eyebrows furrow, then he laughs, showing dazzling straight teeth. "Get it line, jerk." He steps under the spray and shoves past me. I think I'm in love. He doesn't email me before 4th period but I go to the library anyway, slipping away from my usual crowd before it can even form. I'm neither the ringleader nor the clown, so no one will come looking for me. I'm sitting in the farthest corner next to the math reference books, pretending to read a history of the early great mathematicians. "Aaron," I hear a whisper. "Aaron?" "Here," I respond in library voice. Crispin rounds the corner with a stack of books in his arms. "Project?" "This is our cover," he informs me, and drops them on the table between us. I push them to the side and indicate the seat across from me. Crispin sits down, clearly nervous, but with a bravado that tell me he may have me figured out. His hair is pulled into its customary high ponytail, exposing the shaved sides. He's back in his weird pants, the kind whose crotch is so low that Crispin looks like he's wearing a diaper. Jay's girlfriend once said he dresses like every member in a Korean boy band. It didn't sound like a compliment. At least he's not wearing fucking capri pants today. "So." I say. "So you really are queer," he says seriously. "Uh, yep." "And you've been into me this whole damn time." His dark eyes are boring into me. I look down at some artists' rendering of Pythagoras. "Uh-huh." "Jesus, Aaron," he huffs, leaning back in his chair. "Why didn't you put me out of my misery before?" "I wasn't ever going to—" "Oh, awesome," he inserts sarcastically. "—but I couldn't really resist when I saw you this morning," I finish. Crispin raises an eyebrow. "It's cute that such a tough guy can blush," he says. "Gee, thanks, mister." He cocks his head, black ponytail spilling over his shoulder. "Do your parents know?" I shake my head and finger the edge of my notebook. "Mom hates fags. Dad's not too keen on them either. If I want to go to college I need to keep my mouth shut for now." Crispin rolls his eyes. "Poor little rich white boy." "I can't help any of that," I respond uncomfortably. "Or that I need their financial help if I want to get a degree. Sue me." "I guess you have a point. I got lucky. My parents knew I was gay before I did," he says. "And they're cool with it?" Crispin shrugs. "They made the choice to be, I guess. Plus, I totally get scholarship because I'll be a first-generation college student, because my parents are foreign, and because I look fresh off of a llama farm." "I thought your folks were Brazilian." They run a small restaurant called El Gaucho on the north side of town. "They are. But somehow I still get classified as Hispanic, because people are stupid and can't tell the difference between Spanish and Portuguese." "Unless they listen to a lot of Sergio Mendes." "Right. But either way, scholarship." He grins at me. "I knew I liked you. For more than your ass, at least." I bow, rolling my hand dramatically. Suddenly Crispin leans forward. "If you liked me so much all this time, why did you let me get bullied? Aren't you supposed to be some superpower among Jay and all them?" Ah, dammit. I shake my head. "No. I'm maybe somewhere in the middle of the pack. And besides, what the worst that has ever happened to you here? Come on." "Just because I haven't been stuffed in a fucking dumpster yet doesn't mean life is all peachy," he bites back. "I had to start stuffing my money into the waistband of my damn boxers." That isn't my fault. "Why are you such a pussy?" "And why are you a fucking bystander?" Crispin is whisper-shouting by now. "You and your fucking upper-crust white sense of entitlement. High school is a goddamn caste system, you know? And those of you with any sense of humanity at the top are too fucking concerned with maintaining the status quo to intervene on behalf of us poor untouchables. Because, dear god, what would happen if someone associated you with us?" Somehow this has turned into a fight. "What do you want me to do?" I say defensively. "I was bullied in middle school, but I didn't take it lying down." "So being a pacifist, not returning violence with violence," Crispin hisses, "is being a pussy? I don't deserve to be defended, is that it?" "That's not what I'm saying!" I protest, feeling desperation. "Okay, ultimatum," Crispin says. He puts his palms flat on the table and gives me a penetrating look. When did it come to ultimatums? I wonder. I feel like I was left behind somewhere in the conversation-turned-argument. Crispin holds up a hand. "I'll let you fuck me—" "What?" "If and when I feel that you have proven yourself to be different from the jackasses with whom you love to surround yourself." Crispin sat back and flicked his ponytail over his shoulder. On the one hand I was a little turned on. What guy wouldn't be after being offered a fuck? On the other hand, though, it wasn't fair. "That's not fair," I finally reply. Crispin looks taken aback. "You can't call my friends jackasses and expect me to be your fucking knight in shining armor." I hold up a hand to stop his protests. "How about this: You grow some balls, the metaphorical kind, not the ones you were playing with this morning. I'll keep my so-called pack of jackasses off your back whenever I can. And in two weeks you can come over to my place where there's plenty of privacy, and we can see where shit goes." Crispin folds his arms. "Never thought I'd hear the word 'metaphorical' come out of your mouth." I make a face. "Don't judge me. Wearing a letterman's jacket doesn't make me stupid, you know." "I'm sorry," Crispin say with a much more friendly tone. He holds out his hand. "Two weeks, that Friday night. It's a deal." I shake his hand. "Deal." I'm still going to grab his ass when nobody's looking. My mom says that two weeks is only a long time when your a kid or when you're pregnant. I must be a child, then, because it seems like the days just drag on and on. Why the hell had I not said one week, or just a few days? Every morning I walk into the gym locker room hoping that Crispin will be there, and every morning he isn't. I feel nervous every time I get close to him, just in case one of my buddies messes with him and I'll be forced to step in, and then suddenly they'll realize that I've had HOMO tattooed across my forehead the whole time. Doesn't matter that I'd chose a pint-sized queen over their hairy asses; they'll still feel threatened. I gave him a hickey in the shower. He covers it with scarves and ties and collared shirts, but every time we have P.E. I can see the bruise dark against his bronze neck. No one notices because they don't dare to look at him until he's dressed. I know it's there, though. On Tuesday I almost blow it. I have detention again, this time for getting to school late too many times in a row. My punishment is to clean the desks in the school's East Wing. It's actually not so bad because all the artsy-fartsy classrooms are down here, like drawing and photography. That's at least half the work gone right there. Nobody cares who writes on the art tables. I feel everything the opposite of unlucky when Crispin walks in, thinking I'll finally get to do more than look at him. Then I notice he's followed by Jay and LeAndre, still in their pads and practice uniforms. "What?" I straighten up, watching Crispin from my peripheral vision. "Coach wants to see you," LeAndre says. Crispin unplugs the projector and wheels it toward the door. "Yeah," Jay chimes in, "he wants you to get your ass to school on time and quit hanging out with cocksuckers," here he shoves Crispin hard into the teacher's desk, "like him instead of practicing." "Fuck you, asshole," Crispin wheezes from his position on the floor. He shoots me a look that says, This is what I was talking about. I sigh. I hate sticking my neck out. "He walked in when you did," I tell Jay, crossing to give Crispin a hand. "Leave him alone." Jay steps in on me. He's a big guy, not as big as LeAndre or me, but he carries himself like he's fucking Goliath. "What's wrong, Aaron?" he taunts as I haul Crispin up. "Feeling protective of your boyfriend?" Did he notice something? Had I been found out? My head goes hot, then my body goes cold. "I—" Crispin cuts in. "Maybe he's trying to make up for having fuckwads for friends," he yells, bristling. "Was there any goddam reason for you to shove me like that? I don't give a flying fuck about sucking your shriveled dick." Jay turns on him but I grab his arm. "Tell Coach I'll stop by." He shakes me off. "Your life won't end if you quit throwing your weight around," I say, trying to be soothing. "Man, fuck you!" Jay retorts, and storms out of the room. I'm not too worried; he'll forget about it in a couple of days. LeAndre shakes his head. "Sorry, man," he says to Crispin, who's so shocked that he just goes, "Yuh." I start laughing. "What?" Crispin snaps. "Yuh," I mimic him. "Yuh." He gave me a begrudging smile and rolled his eyes. "So you're a good influence on your pack. Why don't you be all fucking cocky about it." "Cocky?" I grab my crotch in mock confusion. "You are officially bad at jokes," Crispin informs me, still smiling. "Friday at seven. Email me to tell me how to get to your house, okay?" "Hey, wait," I say, hopping onto the teacher's desk. "What?" Crispin asks as he shifts from foot to foot. I don't know what. There is no plan. There is only the relief of a tense situation diffused and the excitement building in my stomach as I realize we're alone. All I know is that I don't want Crispin to leave. We don't have time, but we're alone. "Close the door and c'mere for a sec." My voice is low, a tone I didn't even know I had, and Crispin's sudden inhale tells me that in this moment he notices that it's just the two of us. The potential to do very, very bad things to him crackles in the air. Crispin obeys, but warns me, "I'm on an errand for the office." He's cute, all wary with his arms folded protectively over his chest. "I won't keep you out past curfew, sugar." He's a little to far for me to reach with my arms. I lean back, hook my ankles around his small waist, and pull. Crispin stumbles and has to put his hands out to catch himself, and where should they fall but my upper thighs. The tingling in my stomach intensifies. "I have to go," he says softly, staring straight ahead at my chest. I hook a finger in the collar of his t-shirt and check his neck. "It's gone," I comment, running my thumb over the bronze skin. "What, the hickey? Yeah." He's trying not to smile; I think he's really nervous. "I'll give you a new one." Crispin throws his head back to look at me, his dark eyes half eager, half scared. "B-but..." This is incredibly risky for the both of us. There are still people around the school, the door is unlocked, the lights are on. I glance around. The door opens inward to the front of the classroom and the projector is sitting right in front of it. We'll hear if anyone comes in; we just need to be out of view from the narrow window in the door. Sliding off the desk, I pull Crispin to the back of the classroom, to where the cabinets form an L in the corner. I like that I can lift Crispin on top of them without much effort, though he might have helped. He's breathing a little hard, and crosses his legs Indian style as he scoots back against the wall; he'd burrow into it if he could. I want to leave a bruise on the back of his neck like an animal, bite marks that say this is taken. Keep out. No. I'll be kind. Crispin's shins press right at my belt buckle when I lean in and pull his head forward to whisper in his ear. "You can choose where you want it. Here," I touch his side under his left pectoral, right where he might be ticklish, "your tight right titty, or here." The spot I indicate with my fingertip is behind his jaw, under his ear. He could hide it if he combed his hair right. "Um, I don't know," Crispin breathes. He tries to pull his head back but I don't let him. "Choose now." "Um, u-under my shirt," he replies in a shaky voice. I'm only slightly disappointed that he wants to be able to hide it. "On your side?" "Yeah." We both watch my hands when I pull his shirt out of his shorts and push it above his abs. He's so tense that every muscle is standing out, though not as defined as when he came in my hand. I want to take my time, to run my hands over him and explore, but the ever-present danger of someone walking through the door spurs my towards my goal. Crispin lets out a tiny sigh when I touch my lips to his skin. "Wait," he said in sudden desperation. "Don't—" "Shut up," I order, and bite down. "Ah!" Crispin nearly kicks me in the stomach when he jerks and grabs my head. I know it hurts; a hickey is a goddamn bruise. Reaching up with one hand I cover his mouth and continue. I suck hard, trying to do as much damage as I can in just a few seconds. His breath is hot and moist against my palm, and he wriggles so much that I have to wrap my free arm around him to keep him still. My heard pounds, my brain conjures scenario after scenario—Crispin pulls my head up and we make out only to have Jay barge back into the room and kick the shit out of us both. Crispin pushes my head down and lets me blow him, but right in the middle the office pages him back. Crispin reaches for my zipper and we jack each other off, filling the room with the smell of jizz. Or best of all, Crispin pulls the room key out of his pocket and locks the door, and we don't wait for Friday. I want to fuck him so badly, I'm craving his body and mine is heating up dangerously fast. Watching Him Back Ch. 02 It's Friday and I'm fidgety and in a bad mood. Part of it may be that I haven't had a chance to confirm with Crispin. Saving him from bullying is mostly keeping Jay and them distracted from that crowd, which means a lot of clowning and talking loudly about random shit whenever Crispin or one of his friends walk by. I can't get close to him, but I have this hyper-sensitivity to his presence. It's fucking exhausting. I keep waiting for someone to notice the hickey in gym. I want to yell, Hey, look what I did! However, I know that would turn out worse for Crispin than for me. He doesn't look at me. Maybe Crispin thinks that I'm going to tell him that this was all one big joke, or that I'll make googly eyes at him and get us caught - whatever it is I find it frustrating. He's not the only one who's nervous. I'm so glad when the day is over. I've been making my excuses for staying home all week. "A family thing," I repeat to anyone who asks. It has happened before, when Mom and Dad wanted me to stay home on a weekend night to play board games with them and my sisters and brother. This time it's a lie. I tell my parents that I'm expecting a friend, and that we'll just be playing video games. They let me move to the pool house after my older brother left for college, so Crispin and I will have maximum privacy for...I'm not sure what to call this. Is it a date? Is it a pre-determined booty call? Will he leave tonight or in the morning? Anticipation is turning my stomach almost inside out. Crispin and I did exchange phone numbers when I emailed him how to get to my house. He'll probably only call if he gets lost, I tell myself as I check my hair in the mirror again. There's a fucking pimple forming on my chin. I put some cream on it and pray it doesn't take over my face before Sunday, at least. Opening the mini fridge I confirm that there are sodas and water waiting. In the cabinet is a bottle of scotch that my parents won't realize is missing. Pizza just arrived a minute ago. I made the bed, the bathroom is clean, and I have DVDs in case we take things slowly. Things will be fine. I'm fine. Everything's okay. My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter and I nearly jump out of my skin. "H'lo?" I growl, trying to slow my pounding heart. "I left my battering ram at home. How do I breach this fortress?" comes Crispin's amused tenor. "Right, I'll buzz you in. Hang on a sec." I run over to the door and press the button for the front gate. "Do you want to meet my mom, or just come straight back here?" "What, gonna introduce me as your boyfriend?" he teases. Before I can responds he adds, "My parents gave me a bottle of wine for your folks. I'll ring the doorbell like a good boy." He hangs up. Exhaling, I toss my phone on the couch before wiping my palms down my thighs. Breathe, Aaron. I sail in the back door just as my mom leads Crispin into the kitchen, complimenting the wine choice and telling him how thoughtful it is. God, but he looks like a fucking fairy today. He's wearing these shorts that don't come down to his knees, suspenders, a tight white button-up shirt with a damn bow tie, and fucking knee socks with saddle shoes. His hair is even in a high ballerina bun. I'm petrified that my mom will smell all the gay in the room before I can pull him back to the pool house. I do kind of want to fuck him while that bow tie is still around his neck. The bow tie, the socks, and the saddle shoes. "Now, are you and Aaron in the same grade?" Mom is asking. "Yes, ma'am," Crispin answers. "We're in the same P.E. class." My mother finally notices me. "Oh, Aaron, honey, your friend Crispin just arrived." "What's up?" I ask, macho-like. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I lean against the kitchen island. Crispin looks confused for a moment, but then grins hugely; he's onto me. "Nothing, bro. Just hitting on your gorgeous mom." Rather than be shocked at his forwardness, my mother is completely charmed. "Oh, you're a rascal," she chuckles. "Do you want something to drink?" "I have sodas and stuff," I say quickly. "You and Dad home tonight?" Mom shakes her head. "No, we're taking Lacey and Allison to Madison's sleep-over, then we're out for dinner and a late movie." Good. Good, good, go away. I grunt something appropriate and motion Crispin out the door. He calls, "It was nice to meet you, ma'am," like he's going to take me to a fucking sock hop. I think I exhale in relief once we got into the pool house, because Crispin bursts out laughing. "What?" I ask. "I've never seen you so addlepated," he chuckles. "Did you think I was going to start singing show tunes? And here I was convinced that nothing ever got to you." "No, I just..." I'm embarrassed at being so transparent, but Crispin doesn't seem offended. "Sorry. You're not the usual friend I bring over, I guess." "It's cool." Crispin steps forward like he's about to do something cute and boyfriend-y, like put his arms around my neck or kiss my cheek. Or maybe that's just what I want him to do, because I'm disappointed when he looks like he's changed his mind and strolls past me into the open room. "This feels like a different world," he comments, checking out my trophies and looking out at the blue pool. "I forget that there really are people this rich." I shrug and sit on the couch. "I'm a blessed boy." Crispin smiles lopsidedly. "And my dad had to drop me off in a delivery van. I made him leave before I called you." I need something to do with my hands, so I put the pizzas on the coffee table and hand Crispin a paper plate. "What did you tell him we were doing?" Flopping down beside me, Crispin groans. "I told him we were playing video games but he was totally not fooled. Like, he asked me if you were a nice boy, specifically if you were nice to me at school, and told me very seriously to be careful." He kicks off his shoes and folds his legs underneath him. Taking a plate from me he grabs a couple of slices of pizza and dabs at it with a paper towel. "Ugh, grease. Just looking at it makes me fat." I snort. I couldn't have picked a more effeminate guy. It's part of his charm, though. There are other hot guys at school, but Crispin's the kind of guy who just oozes sex, even if he doesn't know it. It's in the way he walks, how he sucks on the end of his straw, and how he checks guys out from head to toe as they walk past, looking at them from under his long lashes. Crispin may talk like a girl and dress like a 1930s schoolboy, but his build and face are all male. The whole package shouts Fuck me whether he means it to or not.. The room is too silent, there's too much pressure to say something good, so I turn on the TV. There's a mixed martial arts match; I leave it on. I don't know how Crispin reacts to televised violence, but at least there are two fit, mostly naked, sweaty guys throwing each other around. "You know," Crispin comments eventually, wiping his mouth, "the best fighters in these matches have usually trained in a particular style before moving to the mixed arts." "Really?" "In my opinion. It's like, always knowing what your body should do, and adjusting for the show of it and these cage matches. Brazilian jiujitsu is really useful, and the tae kwon do guys are really fast and fun to watch. They do all those tornado kicks and what have you." I look at his body again, remembering how firm it was under my fingertips. "What do you do?" He grins, still watching the fight. "Muay Thai and capoeira." That is fucking hot. "Why the hell do you not bust that out when someone tries to stuff you in a locker?" Crispin finally glances at me. "Because the moves I know could kill them." He watches my face, then laughs. "You don't believe me." "I do, 'cause you totally weren't kidding." I have goosebumps, both from excitement and the realization that he could have kicked my ass that time in the shower. Holy shit, I am so glad he didn't punch me. Crispin is silent for a moment. "I'm going to, er, get ready," he blurts, and runs into the bathroom. Damn sweaty palms again. What do I do? Put on a porno? Play music? I shut the curtains but leave the lights on, just in case he freaks out and decides to go home. I'm stacking the pizza boxes when the bathroom door opens suddenly. Crispin stares at his feet. He's completely clothed. What the fuck was "getting ready," then? I chuckle, and his big dark eyes lift to meet mine. "Next time you tell me you're 'getting ready,' I want you to come out in a red satin robe or something," I joke. Crispin rolls his eyes, but smiles nervously. "You'd need a huge mustache and some hot saxophone music playing." His hands come together as though he's about to wring them, then he shoves them in his pockets. Likely he's turning over that "next time" in his mind. I didn't mean it, it just kind of slipped out. I need to say something. Anything. "So your fantasy is Burt Reynolds?" Crispin's nervous laughter is sharp, punctuating the air. I know he's probably wondering if I can hear his heartbeat, or tell how anxious he is. I can, but only because I feel the same way. To cover my own nerves I pretend like I know what I'm doing. Turn on the stereo—Massive Attack beats pulse in the room—watch Crispin as I step around the couch and pull the blanket down the bed. Get the lube and condoms out of the nightstand. Take my shirt off and drape it over the back of the couch. I step close to Crispin, until I can feel his breath on my skin. "I'm really nervous," he finally admits. Me, too, more than I've ever been in my life, more than during final exams, or state championships, or all the times my family has almost caught me watching gay porn. "Then shut your eyes," I say. He does. I run a fingertip down his straight nose, over his lips, and around his ear while using my other hand to slip the suspenders over his shoulders. Crispin inhales when I yank his shirt free of his shorts, an adorable little gasp, and his hands flex and fist at his sides. Starting at the bottom I undo the white buttons to run my fingers up his tight abs. His skin is smooth to the point of silk, but the evidence of his martial arts background is in a raised scar here and there. I make mental notes of the little depressions where I'll dig my tongue, the ridges into which I'll sink my teeth. Crispin stands like a mannequin as I tug the collar out from under his bowtie, slip my fingers into the sleeves and push the shirt down over his arms. When I slide my hand over his chest and rest my palm over his fast-beating heart Crispin opens his dark eyes. "Have you ever seen A Very Long Engagement?" he asks softly. "No." I lean in to inhale the scent of his neck; he seemed to really get off on that when we were in the shower. Crispin smells like soap, light cologne, and just barely of sweat. He jumps and nearly grabs my wrists when I slip my hands into the waistband of his shorts to undo the button and zipper. "After the hero and heroine, they're childhood friends, have sex for the the first time, the hero, he ah..." Crispin trails off when I start taking messing with his hair. "He what?" I prod, concentrating on taking the bobby pins out of his ballerina hairdo. Damn, he must have twenty fucking pins in this bun. They clatter on the wood floor when I drop them. Crispin inhales. "He ah, well, he falls asleep with his hand on her breast, you know, over her heart. From that day on he can feel her heartbeat in his palm." Underneath those pins is a ponytail. I leave it, imagining how I could pull it when I ride him. The thought has me hard. "So if I fall asleep with my hand on your dick—" I reach down and caress the thickening member through the cloth of his shorts, "do you think I'll be able to feel it when you're gone?" "Uh." His voice shakes. "You're welcome to find out." I hook my fingers in his underwear and pull his groin to mine, watching his face the whole time. He has to be able to feel my hard-on through my jeans, just like I can feel his. Finally he tilts his head back to look in my eyes. There's worry in his brows but determination in his jaw; he's taking a big risk with me. I kiss him. The first kiss is nothing special, just a brush of lips together. The next, though, lingers, and I can feel it all the way down my spine. Crispin's warm mouth chases mine when I pull away. He nips at my chin, at my jaw, and then yields when I push my tongue into his mouth. Grinding my hips against his elicits a soft "uhn" that fills my ears and resonates down my spine. He tastes savory; I want to find its source and lick it until there's no more to be found. Crispin's small, trembling hands come up to rest on my arms, just above my elbows, and then slowly move up to my shoulders, to my neck, and into my hair. He pulls himself against me, meeting me, pressing me backwards until I fall onto the couch. Crispin drops his shorts quickly. He's still shy—he immediately crosses his hands over his dick—but I want to look at him. His body is so perfect, like a god in miniature. Defined muscles, a little dark curly hair on his thighs and, I imagine, covering what look to be sizable nuts. Had I really not taken the time to look when I helped him jerk off? I guess had mostly been paying attention to his dick and his ass. "You're tiny," I comment, holding him at arm's length. At the look on his face I want to smack myself, so I add, "and fucking built." One corner of his wide mouth turns up. "Our size difference does intrigue me." I eye the bulge in his briefs. "We're not that different." For only the second time in my life I put my hand on another guy's penis. Crispin stands in silence as I feel him through his underwear. He holds his breath until I run my hands up the inside of his thigh to cup his balls and slip my fingers under the edge of the elastic. It's so hot, like a mini oven inside his briefs. A small gasp sounds over the pounding bass when I slide my thumb over the tip of his cock, and a small wet spot appears on his briefs. God, but I want him. Just do it, Aaron. Take his dick out and put it in your mouth. You want to, he'll let you, so nut up and do it. With a deep breath that I hope is unnoticeable I ease Crispin's briefs down his legs and let him kick them aside. As beautiful as Crispin is in just his briefs, he's a wet dream in the nude. I can tell he's uncomfortable with how hard I'm staring at his compact perfect form; Crispin shuffles his feet, can't figure out where to put his hands, and looks everywhere but at my face. All those places I wanted to nibble mere minutes ago are within my grasp. Hard, tingling with anticipation, I grab Crispin by the hips and pull him to stand between my thighs. I barely have the tip of his dick in my mouth when Crispin throws me back by the shoulders, yanks my jeans down, and hurls them and my boxers across the room. They hit the curtained glass doors with a muffled thump. "Er—" "No," he insists, shoving my knees apart and stepping between them, "I want to do it first. Consider it my thanks for, whatever—" "This is not," I say, "a pity fuck." My voice comes out too harsh. "No, no, I didn't mean like that, I meant, um," Crispin bites his lip. "You already got me off once this week, or helped, so I figured it was my turn, right? Like, I want to." I lean back and fold my arms behind my head. "Well, in that case, be my honored guest." Crispin wipes his palms on his naked thighs (nice to know I'm not the only one) and kneels between my legs. That is fucking sexy. With a determined look he puts one and high on my inner thigh and the other on the base of my erection. My skin tingles under his touch. "I've only done this, like, one time," he warns me, "so don't expect porn-worthy results." "A Machiavellian blowjob is better than none at all," I reply. Crispin laughs. "A smart, attractive football player. I won the gay lottery." "Ha ha, I'm not like - oh shit," whatever I was going to say is lost when Crispin's mouth meets my cock. His lips are soft, but he purses them to create an incredible pressure around my shaft. Crispin only bobs a couple of times before he pulls off to lick around the head. His big eyes meet mine and I grin at him. "So far so good?" he questions. "Are you kidding me?" I laugh as Crispin nibbles around my shaft. "Never stop, ever." He chuckles and goes back to sucking on the head. It feels too good; I don't know how I've managed not to explode in his mouth already. Crispin's small hand grasps my balls gently and rolls them between his fingers. His other hand wraps tightly around the base of my cock and jerks me to the rhythm of his mouth. It's too much. "Pull off now if you don't want cum in your mouth," I warn, and Crispin only has time to look surprised before exactly that. God, it's better than I had imagined, better than anything I've ever felt—Crispin's mouth is warm and his tongue sweeps each spurt away, still sucking hard. My body is trembling with the sheer force of release, and my exclamation is ringing in my ears. The shaking slows, and I eye Crispin's raging hard-on. I want that thing in my mouth. "No," he stops me quickly, and I look up at him in surprise. "I want to come with you inside me." The last part comes out in a shy mumble. I'm thrown - who the hell says no to head? - but I pull Crispin into my lap. We're both breathing hard, so when our lips meet we mostly end up blowing air into each other's mouth. I can taste myself on his tongue. With a laugh I tell him, "I don't get it, but if you're determined then whatever." Crispin nods, oddly shy for someone who just had my dick in his mouth. He lets me lead him onto the bed but immediately gets nervous when I go for his cock. "Wait, I said—" "Relax, I'm not going to suck you off," I assure him. I just want to touch it, at least. Crispin is all tense—I don't know what he thinks I'm reallygoing to do—so at first I settle for exploring his torso like I had wanted to earlier. Crispin relaxes a little while I trace around the muscles on his chest and stomach. "Do you need a Band-Aid?" I ask, "because you are—" "Don't even finish" Crispin interrupts with a laugh. His teeth are so white, and not the kind of fake white that ends at the incisors, like when the cheerleaders use those whitening strips. "You have amazing teeth," I tell him, pulling his lower lip down to inspect. Crispin bites at my fingers. Probably he's uncomfortable with being complimented. For some reason, that just makes me want to do it more. "And your skin is really, really smooth." I brush my fingertips over his shoulder, down his chest. Crispin grabs my hand just before I get to his cock. "What?" "You can't...touch me and look at me and talk to me like that," he says softly. "It, just, pick only one." Crispins looks away, his black lashes brushing his cheek. Although I get what he means, I've waited two weeks to get my hands on him again. "I'll stop when you tell me to," I assure him, "just let me feel you for a little bit." Crispin huffs and falls back on a pillow, his long hair spread out beside him. "You're embarrassing me," he mumbles. I don't care. His body has me drunk and single-minded. Finally I can put my lips on his brown skin, lick him, bite him, bruise him if I want. Crispin winces when I press the spot where I marked him earlier. It's blue and purple now. "Did anybody notice this?" I ask, resting my chin on his stomach. Crispin's smile is smug. "Everyone thinks it's from sparring." "Dammit." If I give him one on his neck again it'll be more obvious. "I still owe you one," he reminds me as I trail my tongue down to his bellybutton. His dick is so close I can smell the precum. "Leave it anywhere you like," I reply. The head is smooth and shiny, so much darker than my own. It isn't fellatio if I just run my tongue in the pool of slippery liquid, between Crispin's stomach and the flared cap that curves to touch it. Mm, mm, mm. Watching Him Back Ch. 02 "Aaron." It's half a plea, half a warning. You promised. With a sigh I sit up and straddle Crispin's thighs. My dick is right next to his, and it's about the best thing I've ever felt, next to when Crispin had it in his mouth. "I really do want to go down on you. Even your precum tastes good." Crispin's eyes go wide and he covers his face with his hands. "Oh my god, how can you just say that?" I grin. "It's the truth." "I told you what I want," he counters from behind his palms. "You can have both a blowjob and real sex, you know," I inform him, impatience leaking into my tone. "They aren't mutually exclusive." "I know, it's just," he takes a deep breath and peeks at me between his fingers. "It's my first time, and a lot of virgins can't, you know, get off..." he trails off. I hadn't really thought about that. "You think it'll hurt that bad? Crispin, we don't have to—" "No!" he exclaims, sitting up. "I want to. I mean, I've had a hard-on for the last thirty minutes." So he had, and I want to touch it. Well, who the fuck am I to refuse such a pretty face? "I'm up for it if you are, if you know what I mean," I leer, twirling an imaginary mustache. "I'm talking about my penis." Crispin giggles and hits me. "Bad at jokes." I fall on top of him with a groan. "Oh, my god, you are so fucking cute." Our dicks are nestled together briefly, mine getting slippery from his. All too soon Crispin wriggles out from under me with a laugh. "I'm too wound up, you can't touch me," he confesses, blushing. Fine. Then let's get to the good part. I lean over and grab a condom and the lubricant. The latter I hand to Crispin so I can concentrate on fitting the rubber over my erection. "Did you buy this yourself?" he asks, eyeing the bottle. "Yep, in a drugstore on the other side of the city." It had been pretty humiliating, but at least the clerk hadn't batted an eye. "So, how do you want to do this?" Crispin just turns the bottle over in his hands. There's something he isn't quite willing to ask of me. "Here." I lie down next to him. "You can be on top." With an expression of relief Crispin climbs over me, mimicking my earlier position. He uncaps the lubricant and pours a generous amount onto my cock. "This might not be pretty," he warns as he glides his hand up and down clinically, like he isn't giving me a handjob. "I know. I've seen porn before." As long as he doesn't fart, because that would make me laugh, which would crush him. Dark eyebrows drawn together, Crispin stares at my shiny, latex-encased penis. "Okay," he whispers, probably to himself. "Okay." As much as I want to ease the tension by yelling, "Get on my dick, bitch!" in Isaac Hayes voice, I resist. Instead I grab Crispin's arm and I tug him forward. My shaft is right in the crack of his ass as he crouches over me, and from the look on his face he is very, very conscious of it. "Hey," I say softly, and lean up to kiss him. His mouth is so hot, and soft, and smooth; I still haven't figured out why he tastes so good. With his knees pressed firmly against my sides Crispin kisses me passionately, the kind of kiss that makes my toes curl and my cock twitch. His small fingers still hold my shaft tight; I don't know if he's rubbing his ass against it consciously, but it's driving me wild. Crispin's tongue leaves my mouth long enough to trail down my neck, over my collarbone and finally he closes his teeth around a nipple. It's a shock to my system that runs directly to my cock, and I tell him, "Unless you want to wait for boner number three, you'd better hurry up." "Don't rush me," Crispin pouts playfully, but he's pleased with the effect he's having on me. He takes my hand and places it on my dick. "Hold it right there." "Copy," I respond dutifully. Crispin balances himself with one hand on my stomach and uses the other to guide my cock to his hole. Sweat makes his body glow and his ponytail falls over his shoulder to tickle my chest. Crispin's thighs are shaking as he holds himself over me, trying to work my dickhead into his ass. I'm afraid I'll shoot again before I can get inside, but I'm equally afraid of hurting him. "Take it easy," I encourage. Crispin raises a brow. "Thanks, coach," he says sarcastically. "This doesn't humiliate me at all." Oops. "It shouldn't," I counter, keeping my tone smooth. "You're about the hottest thing I've ever seen." The words might be platitudes, but I mean them. The pop of each muscle, Crispin's grip on my shoulder, the way he bites down on his lower lip, the inky spill of his hair over his chest—I'll never want for masturbation material again. Crispin grins at me, and suddenly my glans pops in his asshole. His eyes go wide. We stare at each other for a second. Holy fuck, we are doing it. This is anal sex, for real. I let go of my dick and touch his smooth buttocks, the curls on his sac, and his quivering thighs in awe. I don't know what my face is telling him, but Crispin's is indecipherable. "Are you okay?" I ask. He answers with a nod. His eyes shut tight as he slowly lowers himself on me, and it's so tight and hot and the best thing I've ever felt in my life. Before I know it Crispin's balls are resting on my pelvis and my entire shaft is buried inside him. Only sheer force of will keeps me from coming right there. "Okay, you can touch me," Crispin says in a strained voice, "but don't move for a little bit." I obey, using only my fingertips to keep him hard and dripping. With his lip firmly between his teeth and his brown drawn tight, Crispin gingerly begins to lift up again. Oh, god, don't come, don't come, I order myself. The pressure around my shaft is unbelievable, shocking, intoxicating. Crispin sets a steady pace, using me to fuck himself; his face changes with each rise and fall. As hard as I search I can find no pain in his expression, only the same urgency I feel, that soul-consuming drive to come and come hard. Crispin speeds up, leaning forward a little more to arch his back. God, he's beautiful. "You're fucking sexy," I pant. Crispin smiles down at me as he works his hips back and forth. His dick looks like a dark extension of my own, sliding up and down my stomach with every one of my thrusts. His expression is focused and intense; brows drawn together and lip fixed between his teeth. The urge to see him lose that concentration is too much to bear. I grab Crispin's shoulders. "Hang on." "What?" Despite his confusion he clings to me as I lever us up and turn him on his back. Now with his head in the middle of the bed Crispin has nothing to hold onto but me and the sheets. My hips move as though on a piston, driving my cock into his hot center with a force that knocks the breath from his lungs. I know exactly when I've hit his spot. Crispin's dark eyes fly open and lock onto mine and he gasps. Words flow soundlessly between us—right there. Again, there. I interlock my fingers behind his neck and thrust faster. My skin is tingling, my vision tight. Crispin's fingernails bite into my ass with a slick pleasure-pain that spurs me to ignore my burning muscles. "I'm going—" he gasps. The thought is only half-realized in our frenzy, but I wrap one hand tightly around Crispin's engorged shaft. Once, twice, and he's coming, not thick white like in the shower, but thin, steamy, rocket-fast spurts that hit my chest and chin. "Ah!" With that Crispin's ass clamps tight, fuck, it's all I need to jump off the cliff after him, paralyzed mid-flight by the white wash of my orgasm. For a moment everything disappears as I come inside him, shaking with every jet of cum that leaves my body. Just as quickly it comes crashing back down, and I collapse onto Crispin with a whoosh of air from my lungs. "Hot damn," he says as he rubs the back of my neck. I am a virgin no more. Hot damn indeed. "This might be my inexperience talking," I inform him, "but you are one amazing fuck." He laughs. "That was pretty awesome." For a moment we lie there, exhausted stuck together by sweat and Crispin's cum, breathing hard to the rhythm of the music. Finally I find strength enough pull out and roll over to toss the condom. "Hot damn, that one kind of took it out of me. As much as I want to go for round three, I think I need a break." I look over my shoulder to see Crispin stretched out on the rumpled covers, on hand behind his head and the other resting on his washboard stomach. His smile is small but satisfied. "That was way better than I thought it would be." I crawl back to lie down next to him. "Me too, and I've been jacking off to the thought for two weeks now." Opening his eyes Crispin gives me a funny look. "What did I say?" He drops his gaze, choosing instead to trail his fingertips down my side. It's gentle, intimate, and I really like it. "Tonight the light of love is in your eyes, but will you love me tomorrow?" Crispin sings softly. This has to be the first time I've ever heard a guy use pop hits from the 60s to express his feelings. I look over at him. "Are you going to be cool with being my dirty little secret?" Shit. I hurt those old timey girl group feelings of his. Crispin's brow furrows and he bites his lip. "Uhm, ah, eh..." "Tell me the truth, Crispin," I order, adding a poke to his side for levity. "No!" he blurts, then looks away. "I mean, I don't need you graffiti your undying love for me across the bleachers, if that's what you're asking." "That's not what I'm asking," I explain, feeling weirdly desperate. "I mean, for me, coming out is pure strategy. Like, I told you that I can't come out to the people around me until at least college, because I can't have it getting back to my parents. And before you call me a coward, know that I've kind of dug a hole for myself in my social circle. Like, Jay and them's parents are all friends with mine, and they gossip like girls. I'm not ashamed of you and I'm not ashamed of me. You can tell your friends if you trust them to keep it off Twitter and fucking Facebook. Again, my parents keep up." I can hear myself talking and I sound like a complete douche bag. Do I really have to be that guy? Unfortunately, I don't see any other way. Crispin nods thoughtfully. "So you want to fuck me on the sly." "Yes. But only if you are okay with it." And I very badly want him to be okay with it. He heaves a weighty sigh. "Whatever. High school relationships aren't meant to last, anyway. I'm going to design school in New York." I grin. "And I'll be at Berkley, majoring in some jacked up shit like Letters." Crispin turns over and drapes himself over me, pillowing his head on my chest. "You are the best and most disappointing thing to happen to me this year." "Really?" I ask, running my fingers over the shorn skin around his ear. "Those diaper pants were a pretty low point." "Jerk. Those were totally in style." I smile, but I'm starting to feel a little melancholy, too. "I really like you," I say, realizing that I mean it; I always thought he was smart and hot in a weird way, but I like his kind of bitchy defensive attitude, that he knows songs from the 60's, and that he doesn't reek of overconfidence like my usual crowd. I like that he can get to me, even if he hasn't figured that out yet, and that he's comfortable in his skin. I like his teeth, his lips, the angular cut of his jaw and his Last of the Mohicans haircut. I like the way he walks, and the underneath his wrist flicks and sashay is a fighter, a secret martial artist. I just plain like him. Crispin lifts his head and raises an eyebrow. "You don't need to sound so disappointed." "Sorry." "No, I get it," he says, and then looks down shyly. "I feel the same way. Like, I've kind of liked you for a while." "Naturally." "No, I mean like liked you." His skin is a dusky pink. "Like, you were my jock fantasy. I hung out in the back of P.E. all year to watch you." Really? That makes me feel fucking awesome, considering I'm not the hottest or most popular guy in school. "That was your subconscious smelling my gay." "Hah, yeah, maybe." Should I tell him that I thought he was hot even when I thought he'd be thin and doughy under his clothes? Or that I've been completely aware of him this whole time, and was glad he was the one looking? Sure, it isn't the same sentiment, but it means something. Then again, I kind of like seeing him like this, bashful and unsure of himself. "Okay, so let's say we're like, dating on the sly, or whatever," I say instead of confessing all my secrets at once. "Lay me some ground rules." When Crispin looks into my eyes from this close his lashes remind me of butterfly wings. "Like what?" he asks slowly. "Like..." I think for a moment. "I'll keep my friends off your back as much as I possibly can." He nods, pursing his lips. "Ah, okay. But I'm the one who's on the bottom rung of the social ladder. If you're all ignoring me at school, how will I know that you even still like me?" Crispin's expressions says he immediately regrets admitting that concern. "I mean, I like having sex with you." "Obviously." "Shut up." He flicks my chest. "But I don't want to feel used, and I know that's going to happen if you never acknowledge me during the day." "Well, what am I supposed to do?" I demand, tugging on his ponytail for emphasis. "I don't know. Like, every now and then, just go with your gut?" "Like detention hickeys?" I can do so much worse than hickeys. So much worse. He's trying not to smile. "Something like that." "Okay. I can do that." "Hey." Crispin catches my lower lip between his fingers, narrowing his eyes. "That look tells me you're plotting something. I actually meant just do that bro-dude head nod at me or smile or something in the hall. Don't get carried away. " "I won't." I will. "Don't worry." Oh, the things I will do to him. He sits up with a laugh and rolls his eyes. "You're full of shit, Aaron, you know that? Now feed me cold pizza and show me how to play one of your video games." Now that he mentions it, I'm already hungry again. "I'm warning you," I tease, "I'm going to spank your ass at every one of these games." Crispin bats his eyelashes at me from the bathroom door. "Treat a boy right and he might let you spank his ass in bed." He shuts the door. I'm getting a woody. He opens it to poke his head out. "While doing it doggy style, and you can pull my hair." Hot damn. Watching Him Back Ch. 03 Porter's locker is next to mine. He's that guy nobody really likes because he's a complete douchebag. However, since he isn't into dumb shit like Dungeons and Dragons and he's rich, he's never quite at the bottom of the social tier. We have three classes together but I don't talk to him. I think he's friends with Crispin. "I saw you," he says one day. "Oh yeah?" I reply, because I'm not a complete douchebag. "Where? The mall?" "I live like two blocks away from you, dumbass. I saw you in your car." "Okay." God, I haven't been at school ten minutes and I want to hit someone. "So you and Crispin are hooking up, huh?" I wonder if I look like people do in the movies, when they go all stiff and scared shitless. I try to play it cool. "What?" Porter slams his locker shut and leans against it with a smarmy grin. "You might want to be more careful when you make out with another guy in broad daylight." That must have been when I drove Crispin home on Saturday morning. It was pretty early, like seven-thirty, so I had figured that no one would be awake to see it. "Thanks for the tip." Do I sound nonchalant or like I'm about to piss myself? Given how quickly my body is going hot and cold, I'm not sure I'd be able to tell if my own urine were running down my leg. "Anytime. Thanks for signing me in to P.E." "For fuck's sake, Porter," I grit out in a low voice. The shit did pick a perfect time to blackmail me—no one is paying attention to us yet, but I can see LeAndre heading my way for first period. "Or you can buy me lunch," Porter offers. "But why don't we save that for tomorrow?" It just gets worse. We're coming out of Spanish class. I don't think I caught a word of it, my mind was filled with ways to get out of being Porter's bitch. Just my luck that the art hipsters are in front of the door. "Hey, cocksucker," Jay says, and shoves Crispin so hard that he falls over. His books fly out of his hands, his pencils skitter across the floor; his breath comes out in a huge whoosh as he lands on his back. What the hell? Everyone sees it, but not even his friends do a damn thing. They just watch or look at each other, like ZOMG, like, jocks, right? We're so persecuted. Oh my god, I hate everyone today. The words burst out of me before I even think. "Jay! You goddamn jackass! What the hell is wrong with you?" Sticking a finger in his face I yell, "Leave him alone, or I swear to god I will put my foot so far up your ass, your fucking teeth will fall out!" Jay gapes for a moment and the whole hall goes silent. Shit. Shit. Everyone is staring at me. What do I do? Think, Aaron. Think. LeAndre steps forward and extends Crispin a hand. "Not cool, man," he says to Jay, who looks like he's about to kill me. "Aaron." Coach's voice booms into my ear. I'm in deep shit. "Come with me." Detention. Again. Morning and afternoon until the end of the April, and I've been barred from my damn senior prom. My parents are not pleased. "Jay isn't in there with you? That's bullshit," LeAndre tells me in Calc. "You're telling me," I whisper back. "You'd think because the season's over Coach would quit letting him get away with every fucking thing." "But bro," Le Andre pauses with a laugh. "Your voice was so loud. It was like the voice of God, I swear. There's not way you could have gotten away with it." I shrug, trying to pretend that the heat rushing to my face has nothing to do with my feelings. "I was already in a bad mood, I guess." LeAndre doesn't get to say whatever he was going to because Mr. Mendoza has us split into groups, but he gives me a look that does not bode well, like he knows I'm hiding something. My gut twists through the remaining forty minutes. When we pick up our backpacks he casually asks, "Do you have any classes with Viera?" I shake my head, relieved that it's a question I can answer honestly. "Just gym, and I see him around when I have detention. He's an office aide." "Huh." He nods thoughtfully. "What?" "Naw, you just seem to know him a little. I've never seen you so mad, is all." I really wish I could say something LeAndre would appreciate, like Yeah, in the Biblical sense, but instead I freeze up like a teenage popsicle. Is it obvious? Am I obvious? What if my parents find out? I'm not ready to tell them yet. Will they still let me go to college? A punch on the arm snaps me out of it. "Aaron, it's cool," LeAndre says. "You did the right thing. Jay will come around. Everything will be cool." Am I just imagining that he means more than just that Jay will get over being yelled at? "What reason did Coach give?" Crispin asks later as he walks me to study hall. "Profanity and threatening another student. I'm lucky I didn't get suspended." "And Jay gets nothing," he says wryly. "Yeah." "Of course," Crispin snorts. "Can't have the precious all-star in detention." I don't respond. Frankly, I'm sick of this self-pitying, all-people-who-play-sports-are-evil attitude that his group holds. "Thanks for standing up for me." "Yeah." I'm not really in the mood to be set up as his fucking jock in shining jersey. "Are you going to get in trouble at home?" "Already did." Damn it, I don't want to talk about this anymore. "Sorry." "Why can't you just defend yourself, Crispin?" I snap. "You're a goddamn black belt." He actually stops in his tracks. "I beg your pardon?" We have to wait for the Model U.N. dorks to pass us, and then I continue, "Like it's all up to me because somehow my life got set up so that I'm friends with a bully. If you were fucking some guy in band, you wouldn't ask him to defend you." Crispin folds his arms. "If I were fucking some guy in band, we'd both be out." "Fuck you." I stride down the hallway. "No, fuck you!" he hisses as he catches up. "You're more concerned with your reputation than the health and safety of another human being. It's always 'I just gotta wait until college. I'll come out in college.' You think it's going to be any easier to come out then? You're so comfortable in your closet. You'll head off to Berkley and find some more assholes to befriend, and then you'll be stuck in the same damn cycle because you live in fear of telling anyone who you are." "My friends are assholes? How many of your friends have you told about us? You can't fucking trust them either. In fact, I'm pretty sure that you guys only hang out because you can't be fucking bothered to try being well-liked." I retort. "Everyone's all, 'Woe is me, I'm such a martyr for the outcast cause. Nobody understands me because I don't conform to society. Lady Gaga.' You know what? Your buddy Shauna Oldman refuses to participate in any group work, so everyone else has to pick up her slack. I did twice the work for Physics this year because of her. Oh, and here's something fun: that jackass Porter is trying to blackmail me because he happened to be awake at the asscrack of dawn on Saturday and saw us in my car. Poor guy. High school has been tough on him." "Wait, Porter?" Crispin grabs my arm, but I throw him off. His dark eyes narrow. "Leave him to me." I groan. "Sure. You can't tell a guy to quit pushing you in the hall, but you can talk the world's worst person into not blackmailing me to buy him lunch and get him out of class for the rest of the year." "I told you I'll handle it. Now come here." Crispin pulls me into a dark classroom and pulls my head down for a kiss. He doesn't let go when I raise my head. "You're still mad at me. Fine. I'll call you later." Whatever. Jay knocks on the glass pool house doors after dinner. "Hey," he says, letting himself in. "What is up with you, lately?" I shrug without taking my eyes off the TV. Nothing I can talk to you about. Jay flops down on the love seat. "Seriously, dude, you've been acting weird for like, a month." "Did LeAndre tell you to stop by?" I reply. "He suggested it, yeah. Whatever." Jay leans over to swipe at my shoulder. "Dude, just tell me what jumped up your ass and died." "Maybe that I got my ass handed to me because I did the right thing." I look over at him. "You know you're a bully, right?" "Nah," Jay says nonchalantly then drops his gaze. "Yeah." "That's fucking embarrassing, man." "Is this about that queer kid? Dude, I didn't hurt him." "Messing with him all the time makes you look super repressed." Jay thinks about that for a moment. "Fuck, Aaron, the guy gets on my nerves. He's a douchebag in class, like, everything I say he has to shit all over like I'm the dumbest person on the planet. He dresses like a freak. And he's like, always looking at you. Always. Is that not fucking creepy?" Crispin still stares at me? Don't smile, don't smile, keep it cool. "I don't mind it. It's not like he's going to jump me in the showers." Oh, the things I'm not saying. Jay looks skeptical. "You don't mind." "No. And I think people would have a lot more respect for you if you behaved like a goddamn adult." I feel like an ass. I could tell him. Jay and I have been friends since junior high school. Sure, he has that homophobic streak, but that can change. Otherwise he's an all right guy. I add. "Look, I've talked to the guy a couple of times and he's cool." Jay snorts. "Shut up, I've never seen you talk to him." "Maybe he's just watching me because I only ever talk to him when nobody's around," I suggest, spreading my hands. "Like when I'm fucking scrubbing desks covered in dicks that you drew—" "You're welcome." "And Crispin's running errands for the office," I finish. "Actually, that's kind of mean of me. Seriously, he's cool. Just leave him alone, and don't freak out if I start talking to him in public. Also, maybe if you did your homework you wouldn't sound like an idiot." "Dude, I swear the guy is a fag and hot for your ass." "Just means he has good taste. It doesn't mean you need to fuck with him." I'll fuck with him. "Let me deal with my own shit." Shaking his head Jay stands. "Whatever, man. Let me know when you're over your period." That's as good as an agreement. "Bye." It hasn't been twenty minutes when a small figure in diaper pants appears at the doors. Crisp in knocks twice before poking his head in. "Can I come in?" "How did you get in here?" I ask, sounding as surly as I feel, but way more than I intended to let on. Crispin gives me a look. "On a boat filled with dozens of other Latinos, jerk. I told your mom that you had gotten in trouble for coming to my rescue. She likes me." He closes the curtains, a habit now. After Jay coming over I'm not sure I want to see Crispin. What the fuck stuck me in the middle of this social war? "What do you want?" "You know," Crispin tells me as he leans against the doorframe, "you can be really hard to read." "Yeah?" I don't care. "Yeah, like you totally caught me off guard when you snapped at me today." "Hmph." "You're right, I've played the victim and have never said anything good about your friends," he says slowly. "I can't say that I like them, but I'm sorry I put you in the middle of it." It's a caveman move, but I just grunt in response. I'm still angry. "But I just talked to Porter and got him to back down. Well, I'll be bringing him lunch for a month, but whatever, the restaurant always has leftovers." I snort and flip the TV channel. "I can't believe you actually hang out with that guy, but still complain about my friends." "Also I beat the shit out of him," Crispin adds casually, "after he got mad and tried to punch me. Bringing him lunch is to stop him from pressing charges, which I could contest, but my folks don't have the money for a court case. Leftovers it is. Pretty cheap, actually." I glance at him. Crispin watches me without expression, but his fists are balled in his pockets and his stance is stiff. He's nervous and I don't know why. I haven't hit anyone today. He followed through on his word and gave Porter what he deserved. So did I, albeit more peacefully. A big part of me wants to wallow in my injury and anger, so I go back to watching basketball. "Hey," Crispin says firmly, crossing the room to straddle my lap, "stop being mad at me. I just performed the ultimate do-unto-others for you, and I apologized for being whiny and talking trash about your friends." I keep my eyes on the TV. "Oi. Hey. Aaron." Suddenly he grabs my crotch, which gets my attention immediately. "What—" I begin, but I don't finish because Crispin's tongue is in the way. Aw, fuck it. I wrap an arm around his waist and pull him to me. He tastes like orange soda. Crispin's hand is still trapped between us, and he wiggles his fingers as the other hand curves around my neck. He tilts his head, pressing our mouths more fully together, and strokes my tongue with his. Oh, god. "Thank you for standing up for me," he says, lifting his head for a moment. "You're welcome," I reply between kisses. "Thanks for kicking Porter's ass." "You're welcome." Crispins sits back and brings both hands to my cheeks. "Aaron, I really like you." He presses his palms together until I'm making fish lips. I like him, too, probably way more than I should. "I can't believe I'm actually telling you this—I cried in the bathroom later, after you yelled at me," he says, and I immediately feel like the world's biggest gaping asshole. "Like, ugly cried. Ruined my eyeliner." I laugh a little at that, but reply, "Sorry, I guess I was taking it out on you. By the way, Jay came by." Crispin releases my face. "Oh?" "Only because LeAndre told him to, but he'll quit pushing you around." His big black eyes blink at me for a moment, and then Crispin grins. "See, you defend my honor to the school's hot jock, then you rip me a new one, and then you get aforementioned Neanderthal to keep his paws—I'm sorry, I need to stop doing that—the young gentleman to keep his hands off me." I shrug. "Ugh, you drive me crazy. Are you still mad?" Crispin asks. "No." "Good, because I have to go." Crispin pecks me on the lips and stands. "What?" I have a boner and at least an hour until my mom will call me for dinner. "I'm supposed to be picking my brother up from soccer in like, ten minutes." "You fucking cocktease." Crispin's only response is to blow me a sassy kiss as he sails out the door. I plot my revenge then. I think about it as I jack off, imagining Crispin's lips wrapped around my cock and his firm body under my fingertips. I think about it on the way to school, while LeAndre cracks jokes, and Jay's girlfriend runs her mouth through all of Spanish 4. I think about it a lot during Calculus, then have to pretend I'm looking for something in my backpack so no one notices my boner. I think about it while I eat lunch and my friends poke fun at me for zoning out. The bell rings—we have 5 minutes to clear out for the next wave of students and another 25 to regroup for 5th period. Jay looks at me in shock when I stand up and shove my tray at him. "You owe me for yesterday. Take that," I order, and dive into the crowd. The arty kids all sit closest to the trash cans because they either can't or refuse to fight for a better table. Crispin's in the middle of his gaggle of fag hags. They don't notice me until my hand is wrapped around his arm and I've yanked him out of his seat. "Hey, leave him alone, you knuckle walker!" shouts one. Really, bitch? After I stood up for him yesterday? I ignore her but Crispin assures her it's fine. We barely get a second glance as I drag him out the doors. We're only close to the auditorium, which is usually locked, and the janitor's closet. Classroom it is. I pull Crispin down the hall so fast we're almost running. "Aaron, what the hell?" he protests, but he isn't dragging his feet. Computer lab is open and full, bio lab is closed, English room is open but the lights are off. Perfect. "You know we only have like, twenty minutes, right?" Crispin says nervously as I close the door behind us, move a poster to cover the window, and shove a desk chair under the handle. "That's enough," I reply, and yank his belt off. It skitters loudly across the floor. "Aaron, what are you doing?" "Think of it as vengeance," I say as I shove his shorts down and lift him onto the teacher's desk. "Lean back." Crispin is already half hard when I grasp him. I love his dick. It's the perfect size for his body, and even better for my mouth. Within seconds he's fully heard, and he moans when I start bobbing up and down. God, he tastes good. Skin slides slicks between my lips, tight curly hair tickles my nose; I can feel Crispin's rapid heartbeat on my tongue. My evil plan to get him hard and leave him dry is ruined when his hand comes to rest softly on my head. I like doing this for him. I like catching him off guard, I like the soft noises he makes and how he can't keep his eyes open. I like the sharp clear taste of his precum, and the way he gasps when I roll his balls between my fingers. I like that I can make him so fucking turned on he won't stop me even though what I'm doing could get us both suspended. Someone rattles the door handle. "Fuck," Crispin breathes, lust and panic pitching his voice high. I pull hard, lashing my tongue over the head. Crispin shakes and I know he's going to come soon; I hold his hips steady and take him as far as I can, just enough so that if I swallow it's around the glans. "It's not locked," comes a muffled female voice, "but it won't open. There's like a desk in the way or something," Crispin whispers my name between short breaths. I squeeze him in acknowledgement—go ahead—and he bucks against me. I love how he curls over me when he comes and grasps my head with trembling hands, his silence intensifying the power of his orgasm. Hot semen coats my throat, salty and more bitter than usual. It's so thick that I have to pull off a little, but that just means I get a better taste of cum and cock. Crispin's breath ruffles my hair as I suck the last from him, digging my tongue into the slit until I'm sure there's nothing left behind. Crispin pulls me up by the jaw. "Good god," he whispers. "You really like sucking dick, don't you?" Someone is putting their shoulder to the door; the chair scrapes loudly on the floor. "I like sucking yours," I answer and press my lips to his. Now we can both have cum breath. "Maybe it is locked," we hear. "Come with me to find the janitor." Crispin and I look at each other for a moment, and then burst out laughing. "You're batshit crazy," he giggles. I grin. "It was here or the janitor's closet." "Everyone's going to think you beat the shit out of me." "True." Crispin cocks his head at me like he's trying to figure out how he feels about getting blown in the middle of a school day. I'm positive he'll say something snarky like, "Don't make a habit of this," or "have fun explaining this to your wolf pack," but he surprises me by pulling a pack of chewing gum out of his pocket. "Thanks." Crispin raises an eyebrow. "Oh, it's not for you," he says tartly as he unwraps a piece. "You got cum in my mouth." I wait until he pops the gum in his mouth to grab his nipples. My mouth is on his just as he yelps, giving me the perfect opportunity to steal the minty gum from his tongue. Crispin tries to look hurt, but ruins it by laughing in the middle. "Like I said, thanks." I chomp for emphasis. "Aaron, I hate you." "Well, now you owe me." I yank the chair free of the door handle and point a few rows down. "Your belt's over there." Crispin scrambles after it as I walk out of the room. Watching Him Back "Ow, ow, ow, okay," Crispin's muffled voice protests. He pushes me off of his chest and raises his arm to look down at the bright reddish purple circle. "Damn, I think you got the muscle." I dip my finger into his navel, amused at how quickly he shivers and knocks my hand away. "A little something to remember me by." "That's just mean. You don't have one." I step back so he can see me adjusting my half-hard cock in my jeans. "You can make up for it later." Pulling his shirt down, Crispin glares at me. "It's not a favor, jerk. It's a fucking Property Of stamp." Damn straight. I love how he can't quite figure out how to act. He glances at me and drops his head, gets down from the cabinets and starts walking towards me, changes his mind and goes to the projector, then looks back at me again. Knowing that I can have that kind of effect on someone I like is a powerful aphrodisiac. Had Crispin any less control, had he hesitated one second longer, I would have pulled him back and play out one of those fantasies. As it is he tucks his t-shirt back into his shorts, mumbles, "Er, Friday it is there, buddy," and opens the door. "I'm watching your ass," I say in response as he wheels the projector out of the room. Crispin acknowledges that by doing a ridiculous booty bounce while whistling "Single Ladies," and I start laughing again. Three days is a long time until Friday.