"Fuck me, Ollie, fill me up with your cum," I whisper into the pillow.
"Louder, baby, I want everyone to hear you're mine." My cheeks are red, but I do it, I tell him just what I want from him. "Fuck, yes, Seb, I'm gonna breed your perfect hole." Sliding into me, so I can feel every inch, and every vein, feel the heat and his desire consuming me, bringing us together in perfection as he flips me onto my back again, owning my mouth as he thrusts me up and over the edge into precise oblivion.
* * * * *
After the first round last night, and a necessary nap from both of us, we talked around in circles about what to do about Leo, and about my father, we had more passionate sex, muffled because it was late by then, because Ollie said it was clear I still needed something to relax me. Well, I got that, several times, and I wince as I slide into my Jeep, cursing Ollie, who seems to think that my relaxation needs to be as rough as possible, although I sheepishly recall I wasn't complaining last night, quite the opposite. But it means Ollie was sleeping peacefully and deeply as I slipped out of bed and quietly dressed.
I'm not leaving my brother in care, not when there are other options. I stop at a mall and pick up a new phone, just stopping to program Ollie's number in. I'll have to get other numbers later, but Ollie's is the most important.
When I get to my father's house it's still early, and I time my arrival for when I know Marcy will be taking the twins to school. My father will be working in his study, it's what he does every morning without fail, including weekends. The only day I ever remember him not doing that is on his and Marcy's wedding day -- he even did it the day the twins were born, insisting he had plenty of time. It had turned out he was right, but I think it was that careless action that really cemented my idea that my father is an evil robot of a man.
I don't know who I expect to be answering the door, maybe the housekeeper, but I nearly fall off the top step when it's one of the goons -- the dark one with a broken nose. He just grins at me, a dangerous gap-toothed grin, and opens the door wide for me to come in. My father steps out of his office, head burrowed in a file, and his face is a picture of shock when he sees me. But then it twists into something else; something that looks almost like a smile, but one that doesn't reach his eyes and looks like it's made of razor blades.
Ollie
I roll over, knowing instantly that I'm alone in bed. I can always sense Seb's calming presence, even when we're not touching, and our bed always feels like a snow-blanketed field when he's gone -- smooth but cold and unwelcoming. It's one reason to get straight up and I wonder into the kitchen, pulling a t-shirt on as I walk. I pour a coffee, greeting Slater with a grunt, but he only grins at me.
"Did you see Seb this morning?" I ask.
"Nope, I've been up for an hour and haven't seen him. Does he have early lectures?"
He doesn't, not today. We normally lay in together, snuggling down into the big bed, losing ourselves in each other, and I'm grumpy at having missed that. I get my phone out to call him, before remembering he gave Leo his phone. Now I'm even grumpier. I just sip my coffee for a moment, but it isn't easing my mood so I get off the bar stool, heading to Mikey's room.
I stand, stunned, in his doorway. He didn't even hear me lightly knock and swing his door open, and now I see why. He's buried deep inside a lean boy, Mikey's own long body covering most of him, his hand on the boy's throat, pulling him back, arching him as Mikey nibbles into his neck and whispers something in his ear, whatever it is having the boy moan in agreement. I can guess, as Mikey rests on his forearms and begins slamming forcefully as the boy's legs spread wider under him. Enjoyable as the live porn is, I quietly back out of the room, to wait for Mikey in the kitchen, which Slater has vacated.
He comes out thirty minutes later, rubbing his hair, wet from the shower, the boy nowhere in sight.
"Enjoy the show?" he asks with a wink. I stare for a minute, confused about his casual behavior.
"Sorry Mikey, I didn't mean to intrude, just wasn't expecting that. Why didn't you tell me?"
I can't pretend I don't feel a little offense. Mikey knew I was gay the day he met me and not because I made a massive deal about coming out to him, or at least I don't think so, I hope he doesn't think that. It just came up in conversation, when my roommate, Slater, introduced me to his cheerful and slightly dopey friend, who immediately dropped down onto our futon and offered me a spliff. We'd had the usual chat and I'd responded to his query about a relationship by saying I didn't have a boyfriend, and that was that. But, for some reason, then, and in the years since, he's never once thought to mention that he's also a fan of cock. Yeah. That hurts.
"Sorry dude," Mikey's soft green eyes are pained; I know he can see that I'm bothered, "I wasn't in a great place with it when I met you. I was dating Yolanda, remember? I'd come out to my dad but he was mad, my whole family was, and when I came here I kinda decided I'd be better off pretending it wasn't true. And then by the time I realized there was no way I was getting away from how I felt, you and I were friends."
"And? Don't friends tell each other that stuff?"
"Dude, look at yourself. You're fucking gorgeous. And I've seen the way you look at me. We'd have fucked, and that would be one of only two real friendships I've ever had in my life fucked up, well three now."
I'm glad for my dark skin; he probably can't see my blush, although I suspect my eyes reveal my shame. He's right, if I'd have known it's unlikely I'd have kept my hands off him.
"Three friendships?"
"Yeah: you, Slater and now Seb. You try being a gay boy in a fancy all male private school where everyone knows your father can have them killed easier than ordering a meal. Making friends isn't the easiest thing. That's another reason why I decided not to go public here. In any way."
"So why'd you change your mind? Unless you've been bringing guys home this whole time in secret?"
"No, I haven't. To be honest, I've been flirting with that guy for months now, just keeping him at arm's length until last night. The mob thing: that was easy, Seb needed me. The gay thing, though? Yeah, I was planning on telling you guys, though maybe not like this," he chuckles ruefully, "but it was because of talking to my brother. I met him in the city to talk about Winthrop senior, and he basically told me that my uncle Andrei has come out as gay, and now we're all super cool with homosexuality," he shrugs.
"Are you okay with that?"
"Of course not. My father pretty much disowned me, my brothers and uncles said some seriously vile stuff, and I hadn't spoken to any of them in two years when I went to Kostya, my brother, about Seb. But I missed them. We were close growing up, especially me and Kostya, and he told me he'd hated having to follow the family that way, and I believe him. It hurt, but I'll get over it."
I'm still not okay with this. Of course, I've always had the idea that Mikey's cheerful naivety isn't entirely natural, and he's proved a lot of times over the last few months that he's good at keeping secrets, but this feels different. And it's selfish of me to even think that, but it's the truth. I was fine with the fact that he had hidden his status as the son of a high-ranking member of the Bratva; I understood why he hadn't wanted people to know -- explained even more by his comment on potential friends being terrified of his status.
Hiding his sexuality from me, though, feels worse. But it shouldn't. If he didn't want to come out, I should be okay with it and I have no right to be anything else. But if he was desperate for friends who wouldn't judge him, I know how that feels. His main concern was who his family were, but he knows mine was my sexuality. I guess it's just a strange feeling from someone who I thought truly had my back.
"Mikey, I love you, first of all. But I'm a little mad right now and I'm going to need some time to process the fact that you kept it a secret. I'm sorry," I'm trying to be extra candid with him, but I hate the look of hurt that passes over his face.
"I get it, Ollie. And I know it won't make any difference, but if I could go back, I would tell you. I know I could have trusted you."
I give him a brief hug to acknowledge his words and head out, to the gym, to take out my frustrations on a punching bag.
