Watching Him Bac

"What up, dude?" My older brother's face fills the phone screen. He's walking back from the gym. He says he has an evening class to get ready for, which basically means I need to spit it out.

I take a deep breath and hold it for a bit. Shit, I am nervous. "Joe, I'm gay," I finally say.

He chuckles a little and shakes his head. "I know, dude."

I blink stupidly at him. Say what now? How could he possibly have known that? But still, it's such a relief that he's not yelling at me or especially that he never outed me to Mom and Dad. So I keep going. "And I'm dating someone at school."

Joe nods approvingly. "Who?"

"Do you remember Crispin Vieira?"

My brother's expression says no. "Is he a senior?"

"Yeah, so he would have been a freshman when you were here. Remember the guy who got duct-taped to the cafeteria wall the first day of school?"

Joe snaps his fingers. "Oh, yeah! That sour kid with the mohawk."

"That's Crispin."

"Him?" Joe actually starts laughing. "Aaron, you have weird taste."

"Fuck you."

"No, I'm sorry, I just figured you'd be in love with, like, LeAndre."

"Crispin has, like, double the muscle LeAndre has."

"What? No. He's leprechaun-sized!"

"At least two leprechauns stacked on top of each other. Joe, he's like a certified street fighter. He does Muay Thai and shit."

"Damn. Okay."

"Yeah. And he's smart and super good at art."

Joe nods thoughtfully. "So you really like him?"

Before I can even respond my face starts to smile. "Oh my god, yeah. He's just...awesome. I don't know. He makes me laugh, and he makes me think, and he has no idea how hot he is. Like, none."

Joe makes a funny face. "You might be the only one who thinks so."

I shrug. I'm fine with that if it means keeping Crispin to myself.

Joe shakes his head after a moment. "You gonna tell the 'rents?"

"Fuck no! I can't pay for college on my own."

"Yeah, good point," Joe acknowledges. "Do the little princesses know?"

Rolling my eyes, I reply, "Fuck no to that, too. Lacey can't keep her mouth shut."

Joe chuckles, and for a moment I'm caught up in how easy this was. It wasn't a big deal. Joe already knew, somehow, and he gets it. For once in my life I feel totally, completely normal.

"Wait," Joe says suddenly, "so when Lacey was texting me about you punching some kid in the mouth, was Crispin--I can't believe that's a real human's name--the 'little boy' you were defending?"

"Yeah, but--"

"So this guy is the reason you keep getting in trouble."

That makes it sound like Crispin is a bad influence on me. If anything, it's the opposite. "Nah, that's because I'm always late. But I did threaten to kick Jay's teeth in if he didn't stop being a bully."

"Good. Cocky little bastard needed to get taken down a notch."

"He is still my friend."

"Really?" Joe snorts. "Maybe you can help teach him how not to be such a dick."

"That's his parents' job," I protest. "I can't teach him a damn thing."

Joe gets that look like he is about to drop some college wisdom on me. "We are all responsible for each other," he says knowingly. "If he learns the wrong thing from his parents, then he's going to look to his peers for, like, social mores and shit."

I groan. "That was gobbledygook."

Rolling his eyes comically, Joe says in our mom's voice, "You'll understand when you're older."

"Wait, so you're really not mad at me?" All of a sudden I'm nervous again.

Joe smiles at me. "For being yourself? Nah, dude. I'm proud of you. And hey, let me know when you want to tell the family, if ever. I'll be your backup."

I

f I stay on the phone with him I'll start crying, so I say, "Thanks. I'll talk to you later."

"Sure, dude. Love ya."

****

"I told my brother about you yesterday," I tell Crispin after school.

His face lights up for a second before he narrows his eyes. "What did you say?"

"That we're together and that I really like you."

I don't even think he knows he's biting his lip. Crispin definitely knows he's blushing, though; both hands come up to cover his face. If we were in private I would pull his hand down and kiss him until he couldn't breathe. Instead I scrub harder at the desk I'm working on.

"Do people write more because they know I'm cleaning it off?" I grumble.

Crispin, still a little rosy, makes a sympathetic noise. "Sorry, baby."

I know he's mocking me, but I

like

him calling me baby. "Carter told me he and Jay left me a note, so I'm not making it up out of nowhere.."

"You know," Crispin muses, "I think maybe Jay has a crush on LeAndre."

"Quit talking shit." Someone stuck gum on the underside of this desk.

"No, I'm serious," he insists, rummaging in a drawer. "I'm not saying he's gay, just maybe that he has a crush. Like, elementary school style."

I grab the trash can and the scraper from my bag of detention tools. "Come on. Being a homophobe doesn't automatically make him closeted."

"Duh, but look at their relationship. Let's call it a friend crush, or a bro crush, not sexual. I think Jay really, really wants LeAndre to like him."

"Everybody really wants LeAndre to like them," I reply. "He's popular because he's smart and nice to people." This gum is fresh and sticky. Why do people do this? There is a fucking trash can three feet away.

"And hot and good at everything," Crispin adds.

"Right." I stand to stretch my back. "Ugh, I hate this so much."

Crispin comes around the desk. "Sorry, pumpkin," he says cajolingly.

"Don't you 'sorry, pumpkin,' me," I fake growl. "This was your fault."

"Heeeey, queer burger." Jay's voice startles me as he pops around the corner.

"Oh goody, it's Young Bicurious," Crispin snaps back. "How's life in the closet?"

I hide a grin. If Crispin had claws, they'd be out and gleaming. Personally, I think he and Jay have reached an uneasy truce. Jay doesn't touch Crispin, who in return isn't shy about dishing out what he takes.

I nod at Jay. "What's up, man?"

"Trying to find Carter; I'm giving him a ride home," he responds with a shrug. "But hey, are you coming out after prom?"

"Oh, the prom that I can't go to because of you two?" I ask sarcastically, pointing at him and Crispin. "Love to."

Jay waves a dismissive hand. "Quit letting this guy hang around you; you're getting too sensitive. Just come out."

"I don't know, dude," I say honestly. "It might just be depressing."

"Whatever, you should come. Later."

"Yeah, later."

Crispin snorts at Jay's retreating back. "I'm making you sensitive? What a macho jerk."

I nod seriously. "He's right, though. I never had a feeling or an emotion before we started dating."

Crispin doesn't laugh or anything, he just gets a little happy smile.

"What?" I ask.

"I don't know," he mumbles shyly, "I just like hearing you say we're dating." He's so easily pleased. It's cute.

"It sounded better than 'since I started ass-burgling you.'"

That does earn a laugh. "Dork. See you tomorrow." Crispin high fives me because the door is open, and goes back to the office.

"Hey, Mom, Crispin's coming over on Friday," I announce at dinner.

Dad pauses in the midst of serving Lacey some peas. "That little androgynous kid? Again?"

"He's a very pleasant young man," my mom tells him, "if effeminate."

"What's 'effemninate?'" asks Allison.

"And 'androgynous?'" Lacey adds. "Effeminate means he acts like a girl."

"Androgynous means it's hard to tell whether someone's a boy or a girl," Dad replies.

Lacey turns back to Allison to clarify, "Because he has long hair." Allison whispers

something about transgender people.

Mom turns to me. "Aaron, don't you hang out with your football buddies anymore?" Her tone is concerned, like I'm showing an alarming pattern of behavior.

"They've kind of turned into bullies," I mumble.

Lacey pipes up. "Jay is mad at you for cussing at him. Bridget told me."

"Tell her that her brother was shoving people into lockers and calling them names," I suggest. "That makes me mad."

Mom spreads her hands in a calming gesture. "Aaron, honey, it's fine if Crispin comes over as long as you finish your homework. Lacey, your brother was actually doing something nice, he just used the wrong language. That's why he got in trouble."

"Bridget said Aaron kicked Jay's teeth out," Lacey mumbles. Damn little sisters. Damn middle school gossip.

"I didn't touch him, I just yelled at him," I grit out.

"How does Crispin act like a girl?" Allison asks Dad. "I like him."

"Maybe because you identify with him," my dad replies. Mom snorts.

"Dad, come on." I briefly wish Crispin could listen in, and understand why I'm keeping the whole gay thing under wraps. "He does two different martial arts, you know. And he has a black belt in both."

Dad raises his hands in surrender. "I'm nice to him, aren't I?"

Rolling my eyes comes more and more naturally. "We're going to watch MMA, if that puts you at ease," I say sarcastically.

"Don't use that tone with me" Dad says casually as he refills Allison's glass. "But Aaron, seriously, if he tries anything--"

"Dad!"

Oh, my god.

"Tries what?" Allison asks.

Lacey giggles. "To kiss Aaron."

"Eeeeeeew!" Allison squeals. "Wait, Dad, what should he do?"

"Stop hanging out with him," our father calmly answers.

"After Aaron gives him a good slap," Mom mutters to my left.

With an exasperated exhale I get up from the table. "Excuse me, please, but I'm not hungry anymore." My blood is boiling.

"Aaron, if you leave now there will be no dessert," Mom warns. Any display of democracy or free thinking is squashed in our household.

"That's fine. I'm just going to go for a run, anyway." There's so much wrong, and I need to think about none of it.

"Can I have his dessert?" Lacey asks as I clear my plate.

"You and Allison can share," Mom replies.

I can't leave fast enough. My feet take me to the park three miles away before I feel comfortable enough with my thoughts to slow down. "Ugh," I groan at one point, startling an old couple on the path. There's a kids soccer team practicing; the players are so young that they all just follow the ball around in a clump and kick violently whenever they get close to it. It's entertaining for about a second. The path follows the edges of the fields and around to the parking lots. Still seething, I take it until it forks back into the park, then circle the fields again.

Fuck everyone, fuck everything.

The thought becomes an awful mantra as my chest heaves and my legs burn.

Fuck everyone, fuck everything, fuck everyone, fuck everything, fuck everyone, fuck every--

"Aaron?"

My head whips around so fast that I lose my bearings and fall flat on my face.

"Aaron! Oh my god!" Crispin pulls me upright. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

Am I okay? My palms and knees burn, my family is growing suspicious of the time I spend with him, and they still hate gays. I'm not okay. Everything inside hurts, and I don't know what to do about it.

"Hey," Crispin says softly, looking up at me with concern.

"Hey," I reply. Then because for some reason I feel like I'm going to cry in the middle of a park, I step forward and wrap my arms around him. Crispin fits perfectly into my chest; his shoulders are strong enough to lean on. I don't think about anything but the silk of his hair under my chin or the warmth of his hands on my back. A deep inhale and a deep exhale; I hug him tightly and breathe. I'm not okay, but I will be. Things are going to be fine.

"Cris." There's a tiny person to my right, tugging on him. "Let's

go

." The boy gives the last word two syllables.

Crispin and I untangle ourselves swiftly and I wipe my face.

"Sorry, this is my little brother. Quentin," he crouches to look the boy in the eye, "say hello to my friend Aaron."

Quentin and I shake hands. "Were you crying?" he asks suspiciously.

"I fell down," I explain. "It really, really hurts." I want to ask how a couple of Brazilian kids got such British names, but I refrain. Additionally, I try not to resent a six-year-old for interrupting.

The kid isn't charmed. "I'm hungry," he declares. "Let's go."

Crispin gives me an apologetic look. "I have to go--"

"Come over earlier tomorrow," I cut in swiftly. "Actually, come home with me after school."

"But Aaron, hey, Aaron!" Crispin shouts after me, but I'm already jogging away. He won't refuse.

Third period is Human Biology. We're watching some movie about DNA starring the guy who everybody thought had died. So, like anyone with half a brain, I sign in early while everybody is still getting settled and then walk out of the room long before the bell rings. I make it to the boy's bathroom to wait out the hall patrol. Because I have shit luck these days someone walks in just as soon as I get my feet on top of the toilet seats.

"--because she's a fat bitch who takes it out on me!"

Ugh. It's that shithead, Porter.

"I can't believe you talk about your mother like that."

That would be Crispin. I can't believe he still hangs out with Porter.

"Whatever, she's a total prick sometimes." I hear him unzip his pants. "Speaking of pricks, are you still going out with that meathead?"

"Aaron isn't a meathead," Crispins replies. "He's actually really smart."

"So he's a smart dick."

"He's nice to me, Porter, even in front of all the other dude bros. If you were a little less judgemental you could tell. Aaron's a really great guy."

"Whatever. I just think you could do better."

"In this school? You're kidding me."

This is fucking awesome.

The bell rings, and Porter says, "Shit! I still have to get my books from my locker!"

He runs out. Even with the urinal flushing I can hear Crispin mutter, "Wash your hands, idiot."

I don't want him to give me away by surprising him, so I let the door swing open quietly. Crispin is standing at the sink at the other end of the bathroom, humming to himself as he washes his hands. He's so confident that no one else is around that he doesn't notice me until I put a hand over his mouth. His gaze flies up to meet mine in the mirror.

"You might want to check the stalls before you start discussing your love life." Taking my hand away, I rest one hip on the sink next to his.

"Oh my god, Aaron, I'm so sorry! I didn't even think; I swear it won't happen again. I just, I have a hall pass, so I figured, or --"

"Dry your hands first." He thinks I'm angry because he was talking about me openly in school. What will he do when he figures out that he, too, will be missing his next class?

"Are you..." Crispin pauses to throw his paper towel away, which is just an excuse not to look at me in the eyes. "Are you super mad at me?"

"No." Grabbing him by the shoulders, I back Crispin into the last stall and lock it.

"What are you doing?" he whispers.

"You can't tell?"

"No."

Tugging his waistband with one hand I slid the other down into his briefs. Crispin nearly jumps out of his smooth brown skin.

"How about now?"

"Are you serious?" he hisses.

"Yes."

"Aaron, I have class!"

I close in on him, bending to kiss his neck. "What class?"

"Study hall, but--"

"But shut up if you don't want to get in trouble for fucking in the boy's bathroom during the school day."

I'm not actually going to have sex with him; I don't think I'll ever be the type to carry condoms in my pocket just in case a hot ass is open for business. He doesn't know that, though. What I want is to let Crispin know that I am just as into him as he is into me, even if I can't say it aloud. What I want is to say a big fat fuck you to Preston, to my parents, to my coach, to all the athletes, to everybody--right now I could give a rat's ass about what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm going to do some nasty shit in school in the middle of the day, and I'm going to feel great about it.

Even as his breathing deepens and his cock grows thick in my hand, Crispin looks frightened. His hands are trembling, which undoubtedly embarrasses him.

"Take it out," I order, and put his hand on my zipper.

He does without undoing my belt, right through the opening of my boxers. A plan starts to form in my mind.

"Do you know what's going to happen now?" In the quiet of the bathroom my voice is loud.

Crispin shakes his head, his dark eyes wide.

"You're going to suck my dick, right here, and jack yourself off until we both come."

The furrowing of his brow isn't a good sign.

One day I'll push him too far,

I think,

and he'll decide I'm not worth the trouble.

Today can't be that day. I'm hard as fuck in his hand, and even if Crispin doesn't like the idea of blowing me in a bathroom, he's rock hard, too. Because I know he likes it, I run the fingertips of my free hand over the bare skin around his ear.

"Every time you come in here," I continue, "You're going to remember my hand on your dick, my cock in your mouth, and the sound of me calling your name." I'm full of shit.

Crispin hesitates for a moment, so to help him out I reach behind him and put the toilet lid down. Lucky me that I remembered which stall still has one attached, so I don't have to feel bad about pushing Crispin down on it. He looks up at me a little worriedly--poor guy probably hasn't ever skipped a class in his life--so I give him an encouraging little peck on the lips. Then, just to be mean, I whisper, "You owe me, Vieira."

Crispin narrows his eyes at me. However smug I'm feeling is undoubtedly written all the fuck over my face right now. Nonetheless he scoots forward on the toilet seat and pulls me closer to him.

"C'mon, baby," I drawl, tapping my dick on his cheek. "Gimme them pretty dick-suckin' lips."

"You are an ass," Crispin retorts, and seals his mouth around my cock.

So warm, so wet; Crispin swirls his tongue around the tip, digging into the slit and flicking the underside. Bracing myself with one hand, I run the other around Crispin's ear and try to resist guiding his head. He's teasing me. That, or he's trying to give me a completely noiseless blowjob. The hand he has wrapped around my shaft doesn't move; just squeezes in time to the movement of his mouth. This is different from usual--a slow, steady burn settles behind my navel to spread outward. My nerves are on tenterhooks between each pause of Crispin's tongue, the cool feather of his breath, the gentle pressure of his fist.

"Goddamn that's good," I groan way too loudly.

Crispin immediately raises his head. "Aaron, shut up!"

"You shut up," I reply, and shove him back onto my dick.

Finally Crispin starts bobbing up and down, and almost as gratifying is the sound of his zipper coming down and the soft rustling as he takes his own cock out. I do love watching him get himself off. I don't know if Crispin realizes it, but the reason I can make him come so quickly is because I now know what he likes to do to himself. He unbuttons his shirt and pulls it free of his shorts without ever losing his rhythm. I lean over a little bit to touch him, but the motion shoves my dick too far in his mouth and Crispin chokes.

He pulls off, wide-eyed and coughing. Shit. I could either apologize and put my hard-on away, or just grab his hair and make him do it again until he figures out how to deepthroat. Right? Is there a third option?

"You okay?" I hear myself ask.

Crispin nods, wiping at the tears that his coughing fit brought to his eyes.

"Good. Quit trying to eat my dick."

Trying not to smile, he replies, "The cafeteria is serving hot dogs today. You're making me hungry."

"This is not snack time."

"Maybe not for you," he snorts.

"That's because I can't sixty-nine you in a fucking bathroom stall."

He rolls his eyes. "You just haven't tried."

"You have made it very clear that if I even try to put my hands on you, you'll bite my cock off at the root. That's what you did, just now. You threatened me through fellatio, and I am wary of you."