well, ok, the next update. and maybe some of your questions will be answered in a more definite manner than before. the original chapter i had was mega long, so this is only the first third of it, really. i apologize for the shortness.

started school. sucks without glasses--you'd be amazed how people turn into a fuzzy background when you can't see very well. and it's not that i CAN'T see, it's that i have an astigmatism, and just can't focus very well. i think, really, i probably look like i'm far away unless i frown and squint. :laughs:

um, beta'd by amindaya despite a recent address change. which is uber sweet; not many people i know in NYC. heh.

anyway, hope you enjoy!

wednesday, 20 august, 2008. 1:24 am.

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“Yah, well, I’m not ‘xactly popular, anyway.” “Don’t be a fuckin’ jerk.” “How ‘bout we not say the word ‘fuck’ in at least the next five sentences.” His sigh was noisy and full of exasperation, and I couldn’t help giving an evil smirk. There weren’t any more sentences after that.

-- (chapter begins)

The next morning I woke at six-thirty and waited for the sounds of Mom to leave before Andrew, and by seven-twenty, the house was quiet again. I rolled over in bed and looked across the dimly-lit bedroom and saw that Danny was sleeping on his stomach with his face pressed against his bent elbow as he splayed the arm over the pillow; his deep, even breathing foretold that he’d be asleep a while yet.

I slipped from bed and left the room, silently closing the door behind me as I walked over to the phone and picked up the cordless handset from the charger. I called Benji. It rang probably fifteen times before there was a rattling thud, and I snickered as I pictured the phone having fallen from the cradle on the wall by their fridge.

Finally, a sleepy voice said, “’Lo?”

“Pete, it’s Saul.”

There was a moment of silence and then a delayed, “Oh…oh! Um…Benji’s sleepin’.”

“Yeah, but it’s his birthday, so go wake him up and drag his ass to the phone.”

Pete sighed, but as he woke a bit, he became more amused. “Yah, kay. Just a sec, little man.”

My mouth turned down, his words recalling the incident I’d rather have forgotten, but I guess him calling me that was a hard habit to break.

I had to wait a fairly long time before Benji’s cautious voice came into my ear, “H-lo?”

“Happy birthday, Benji.”

“Oh! Saul, it’s you.”

My eyebrow creased in question; “Yah, who else would it be?”

His voice was abashed; “Peter tol’ me it was a girl, the fucker.”

I laughed; Benji has never had a girl call his house that I’m aware of, and I’m pretty sure he’d have told me if one had. What can I say though, I burn with friendly adoration for the guy. As my laughter continued longer than necessary, he grumbled a few death threats at me until I finally subsided.

“You fucker.”

“Yah. But hey, you doin’ anything today or somethin’?”

“Hm, I dunno. Kinda woulda liked to sleep longer though.”

I rolled my eyes; “Whatever man. I’ll let you go then.”

“Yeah. …Thanks, Saul.”

“Sure. See ya.”

“Yah.”

I hung up and shuffled into the kitchen, drudging up some quick food for breakfast before planting myself onto the sofa and seeing what was on. Not much.

Giving up on the television, I drifted back to the bedroom and performed the trick that always works on Benji; I poked Danny in the side until he rolled away and made room for me to get into bed with him. Surprisingly, he didn’t wake, just as Benji never does.

The sheets and blanket smelled heated by a teenage guy, an aroma of sweat and musk drifting up as I settled into place; placing my face closer to him made the smell stronger, and I nearly pressed my nose against his back as I inhaled deeply. It was not an unpleasant scent, and was almost something comforting in its own right.

His shirt had ridden up his torso at one point, and my hand gravitated to his skin, fingertips light and grazing as I felt the softness of him. Using just my forefinger, I made a light tickling or scratching motion, and Danny gave off a small sound, halfway between a sigh and one of those things people make when they’re trying to say something in their dreams and it comes out garbled in their sleep.

Grinning, I did it again, and was rewarded with a faint twitch.

Fearing I’d start laughing, I had to pause, biting my lip before I got myself under control enough to keep going. After a while, I fell into somewhat of a rhythm, and Danny was leaning into the touches and nearly into me. His nearness made me warm, almost overly so, and I kicked my feet from beneath the blanket for a bit of relief.

Somehow, that small movement woke Danny more than anything else I’d done so far, and he breathed sleepily, his arm coming up so he could scratch his nose. It was easy to tell the exact moment he realized I was in bed with him, that my finger was gently tickling him, because a wave of goose bumps broke out down his arms and back.

He stilled, and I kept up the ministrations until he moved to lay more on his back so he could see me.

His eyes seemed as if he wanted to ask me a great many things, but instead he finally said, “It’s fu’ing too early, man.”

“It’s just past seven or so.”

His brow furrowed, his mumble petulant, “Earrr-ly.”

I snickered, and his frown eased, his face coming more awake as he stared at me.

Finally, he said, “The finger thing felt nice.”

Obligingly, I started it again, and a small smile graced his face; “Yeah.”

-

We lay in bed for about another hour, me tickling his flank off and on, sometimes talking about meaningless shit, but mostly silent.

After a while, his hand moved down and scratched his groin, and he sighed; “Gotta piss like crazy.”

I quirked a grin and prodded his lower belly, causing his eyes to bulge as he deflected late; “Hey! I could wet the bed, you freak! Then what’d you do?”

My grin faded into contemplation, and finally I gave a slow admission, “Fletch peed on me once.”

“…What?!”

His expression was shocked and somewhat disgusted, and my eyes turned away as I nervously touched his skin, “Made me lie down in the tub, and he pissed on me. Just my stomach; he liked hitting my belly button,” I touched his lightly, “ …Made me lay there a while until he let me wash off.”

When I looked back at him, he seemed disturbed and somewhat sad, a frown pulling at his mouth until he finally looked up at me, and his face softened.

“You can piss on me, if ya want.”

I frowned and snorted indignant laughter; “I’m not gonna piss on you, fucker.”

He grinned; “Oh, good.”

Then he struggled to sit up, his bladder too much to ignore, I guess. But before he left, he pressed a kiss to my mouth and flailed out of bed, walking out of the bedroom in his briefs and t-shirt. My lips twisted upwards, and I settled in amongst the overly-warm blankets as I wondered if he really would let me piss on him.

He’d probably like it.

I shook my head and kicked off the covers, rolling out of bed and wandering over to my side of the room; I could distantly hear Danny’s stream into the toilet trickling off, and then there was silence.

I was halfway through changing my clothes when I heard Danny’s steps enter the room, and then he said, “Aw, fuck, I was hopin’ you were still in bed.”

I turned, raising an eyebrow, but didn’t mind that he came over and hugged me from behind; looking down, I noticed a faint shiny spot on his arm from where I’d burned him with the spatula, and I touched it with my fingertip.

He didn’t seem to notice the particular place until he looked around my shoulder and raised his arm a bit; “Yer such a jerk, ya know.”

I gave a minute shrug, and he finally pulled away, ambling over and sitting upon my bed, watching me as I finished getting dressed.

“Hey, Danny…you remember Richie Pauly?”

I don’t know what made me ask, but I looked over and saw his face crinkle in thought.

“Who?”

I snorted; “Richard Pauly; I should think ya’d ‘member him. You only beat the teeth from his face.”

His eyes widened in instant, horrified recognition, mouth pulling open only to grind shut as he tore his gaze from mine. “What ‘bout him?”

His voice was tight, and something made me dig in deeper; “Why’d you do it? What coulda he done to you to deserve it?”

The sharp glare he shot at me was something I remembered from the times just before he’d launch forward and punch me in school, but somehow, it didn’t have the same twisted-stomach effect it used to.

“Why do you care?”

“He was m’h boyfriend.”

The glare was replaced with honest shock, eyes turning wide as he blinked several times before he could say, “Really?”

I nodded, and came over to sit on the bed. “Yah, for a little while. Then you jumped him, and he wen’ nutso.”

Danny leaned forward and placed his elbows upon his thighs, tucking into himself before his arms eventually slid down to his knees so he could wipe his palm down his face.

“…He was cute, yah, with all tha’ red hair, wa’n he?”

I started; “What?”

He sighed; “I hadda crush on ‘im, but when I tried to ask him out, he said he’d tell ever’one in school I was a fuckin’ queer. Said he wouldn’ if I gave him money.”

He picked at his jeans, looking down at the carpet; “I took money from Dad’s wallet until he caught me and gave me the biggest thrashin’ in my life. Kept askin’ what I took it for, and I couldn’ tell him. R-Richard…I tried to tell ‘im I couldn’t get no more money, and he kep’ threatening to tell.”

I sat there a moment, and finally guessed, “So ya got desperate and jumped ‘im?”

He shook his head, shoulders hunched up, “No. Some of my friends overheard him talkin’ smack to me about not havin’ the money, and they got mad; didn’t know why I was havin’ to pay, but they got mad anyway.”

I was silent, and he looked over at me and then away again, voice low as he said, “I went along with it because I was mad, I wanted to hit him a few times because he was such a dick. I didn’t know Mike would bash his face against the street curb…I ran. I ran to someone’s house and I threw up until I thought I’d die.”

I sat there a while and then gave a silent sigh, leaning back against my palms as I said, “He was a dick, yes, but he used to buy me food. Mom didn’t make a lot then, so we always ate cheap bologna and shit, and he would buy me pizza.”

He processed this, and then sneaked a few glances at me before hesitantly asking, “Did you, um…have…?”

“Did we fuck?” I ventured, and he gave a muted flinch, so I took that to mean yes, that was what he was dying to know.

“Only once. He wasn’t ready to be an ass guy.”

Danny’s face was turning red, but I could tell by the tilt of his head that he was seriously thinking something, and I still wasn’t prepared for when he turned to me and asked, “Saul, how old were you the first time?”

I looked away, sat there a moment, and then wordlessly got to my feet and left the bedroom, my innards vibrating and knotting. My outer being remained coldly serene despite the internal knotting as I lowered myself onto the couch, seeing that kid cartoons were on; not those kinds that are funny no matter how old you are, but the ones that talk about colors and shapes and are overly upbeat and cheerful.

It didn’t matter, I watched it anyway.

Danny came from the bedroom and paused in the door, staring at me before he crossed over and sat right next to me, his hand moving to cup my upper arm as he repeated, “Saul, how old were you?”

His tone wasn’t harsh, just quiet and authoritative, and I still couldn’t bring myself to answer.

It was there, on the tip of my tongue, to tell him about how I was eleven, eleven, when this man who I thought might be my friend showed me that some men are just sick perverts. He showed me how to hurt, but he also showed me how to touch a man, how pain can become pleasure, how gratifying it feels to take a cock into yourself and own it. And then he was gone, and I had Pete to show me a different hurt, the hurt of weed in your lungs, and the pleasure that comes from it.

Danny hurts me too, only this hurt is different from all the rest; his opinions, his thoughts and actions, they hold weight on me, and I really wished they didn’t.

Palms touched my face, my cheeks and neck and shoulders, and then pulled me facing him as he said lowly, “Saul, please.”

I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t, so had to close my eyes before I mouthed, “’Leven.”

“What?”

“Eleven!”

My voice came out more of a shout, startling both of us, and my eyes flew open, my breath ragged as we stared at each other.

He smiled, but it was lopsided and wavering, and the next thing I knew, I was pressed against his chest and shoulder, my arms tight around his neck and back. I was shaking, quivering from pretty much head to foot, and his arms around me gave me stability.

Danny hurts me, but I don’t think I want that to go away.

“Fletch was Mom’s guy, and when he…I was eleven….”

My voice trailed off and Danny held me tighter, and I was hit with the otherworldly thought that yeah, he must work out a lot, his arms were like steel. Danny could catch me if I fell on him, he would catch me, of that I was certain.

A strained laugh burst from out of me, shaking my thin frame as I devolved into further laughter, a thin, sickly sound that reminded me somewhat of crying, and I guess by the end of it, that’s what I was doing. Sobbing against Danny’s shirt and feeling better for doing it.

And once I tapered off, there was that comfortable, yet awkward, silence, as both of us tried to figure out how we could move from our plateau and not have things be weird.

Danny finally broke it with a thin, humorless remark, “I’d really hoped you were still gonna be in my bed when I got back.”

I snickered, and somehow, just that small bit of laughter allowed me to pull away, rubbing my shirt across my face and nose and not caring about the wet left behind. I thought I’d feel ghastly upon the occasion of ever telling anyone even half what I’ve told Danny--and the fact that it was him was something I’d never had believed before, not in a million, no, billion years.

Somehow, that transferred across my face, because he knowingly guessed, “Never told Benji, did you?”

I shook my head and wiped at my face again, catching the last bit of residue from my skin even as he gave a short nod.

“Never tol’ no one,” I added, and he gave another nod, not as short and somewhat despondent.

We sat in silence for a long minute, and I finally sucked the gumption to say, “Won’t make me ‘gret it, will you?”

He stared at me with eyes gathering up tears of his own, but he shook his head.

-

After that, the uncomfortable silence settled down in force, and I finally got up and wandered into the kitchen, uneasily getting together a bologna sandwich for another breakfast, hungry despite eating earlier.

I believed him, tried to believe him, about not telling anyone else, or making me regret tellin’ him.

By the time I was halfway through the meal, I’d convinced myself that it was okay for Danny to know, regardless.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

a/n: fin.