8. Gabe

CHAPTER 8

GAB E

What the fuck am I doing?

No, really. What the actual fuck am I doing?

There is no part of this that makes any sense.

I've been living in a different world since the graduation party in June. I think that night broke me. If I'd taken any hits to the head recently, I could blame that. And while I have an impressive family history of mental illness I could resort to blaming, I'm not willing to explore that yet. Right now, I need to come to terms that I only have myself to blame for the position I've gotten myself into.

My weakness for Ellis is certainly to blame. I never overtly considered my gravitation toward him to be anything more than brotherly or protective. It's only hindsight that's allowed me to see how things changed over the years. He was like an annoying younger sibling to me in the early years, to the point that I sometimes resented that he was Elliot's true brother. And then I saw some pretty boy try to kiss him our sophomore year in high school. I know now that my protectiveness took a turn for possessive after that, and I wonder if I subconsciously knew my feelings for him might be evolving to something inapp ropriate because I pushed back. I knew he had a thing for me, and I used it against him. I used it to create distance between us, letting him be hurt by the jokes and taunts he endured growing up in a backward small town in South Carolina.

In reality, watching him endure the torment of being a gay art nerd in our environment of toxic masculinity and performative religious bullshit only endeared me to him more. Everyone, including his own twin brother, underestimates Ellis. They assume that because he's smaller and softer than his brother, that he's weak or incapable. And yeah, he might be physically weaker, but that kid has more inner strength and willpower than anyone I've ever met. He's smart and observant. Too observant. He makes me feel like he can see through me, which is why I either turn away or redirect by teasing him.

It wasn't until I was standing in a dark room, determined to soothe the ache of rejection that I allowed to happen, that I even considered myself attracted to Ellis on a sexual level. I'd warred with myself over being able to kiss a guy, especially one that had been like a brother to me for most of my life, but I wanted Ellis to have a moment. One that gave him confidence to move on from the high school bullshit and look toward his future.

Or at least that's what I told myself.

But the moment his small, soft body curved into mine, the soft, slow peck on the lips that I intended became so much more. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire before the first brush of my tongue against his. When I picked him up to grind him against my thigh until the sound of him coming undone and the feel of his nails digging into the back of my neck had me coming in my own shorts. Even before things went way too far, I wanted more, so much more that it made me dizzy with realization and apprehension over what I'd done .

I spent the rest of the summer trying to prove to myself that I'm not gay. I think I buried my dick in every tall brunette that looked at me twice, never once seeing the woman beneath me or on her knees for me. My ill-advised encounter with Ellis made it impossible to see anyone but him. His bright blue eyes were the ones looking up at me, watering as I forced my cock as far back into their throat as it would go. His hair was what I gripped as I thrusted. His nails were digging into my skin the way they did that night as I made him come. His gasps were what I heard and imagined when I finally reached my climax; thoughts of him the only thing that could get me there.

I thought I'd mostly moved past it, that I'd be able to head into my first semester of college without obsessing over the one person on earth I couldn't have. Then fucking Elliot had to go and encourage him to download that fucking hookup app. I couldn't let it happen. Ellis is mine, even if neither of us understands what's happening between us. Even if he doesn't know who he's telling all his secrets to. Even if it's not my name on his lips as I swallow his cum.

Except that, for a moment, I almost thought I heard it. I could have sworn he was going to say my name. It was wishful thinking, an errant syllable in an unintelligible cry, but it made me wild. I want it to be my name so badly. It was all I could do not to brand my name across his ass and take him so hard he'd be too broken to ever consider letting another man touch him. It took more willpower than I was aware I possessed not to split him in half.

And now I'm hiding in a corner, questioning everything. About what I'm doing, who I'm doing it with, why I'm doing it—who I even am.

Because I'm not gay. I don't know how to be gay. I don't know how to touch a man, or what to do with a dick. I've never wanted to before. So far, everything has been a mixture of instinct, touching him the way my body wants, and holding myself back so I don't hurt him or go too far. But the more I get, the more I want. Staying away from him for six excruciating weeks after my first real taste has been harder than every workout I've forced myself through to blow off steam. I run my tongue over my lips, remembering the taste of his skin and sweat and cum, and I know I won't be able to wait that long again before I can touch him.

Ellis is smart. If he's not walking away from this, putting all the pieces together after all the hints Elliot unknowingly gave him, it'll be a miracle. My only saving grace is that I don't think he really wants to know.

The room grows dark before I realize how long I've been sitting here. My phone is flashing with notifications that I missed since I turned off my sound earlier. It's been over an hour of imagining every scenario of how this could go wrong. Waning between the decision to back all the way off, and the knowledge that getting hit by a MAC truck couldn't veer me from the path I'm on. I could sit here all night and never come to terms with everything.

What I'm doing is too fucked up. I'm aware, but I'm not going to stop. I can't.

I don't want to.

There are a few texts from Elliot.

Elliot: You okay, man?

Elliot: Where are you?

He sends me a "what the fuck" GIF, an eye roll emoji, and an angry waiting GIF.

Elliot: Dude. Should I be worried?

That's the last message from him, sent just over ten minutes ago. I hurry to message him back.

Gabe: I'm good. Sorry. Got held up.

The message is read, but he doesn't respond. Which is a good thing. I don't know what to say if he asks me what held me up. I need to think of something though, because zoning out and having an existential crisis after almost getting caught humping your brother until I hosed him down with cum, probably isn't my best course of action. He'd never forgive me, and that's not even considering that I'm doing all of this while keeping Ellis in the dark about my identity. Even though Ellis had a crush on me in high school, I doubt it's a line he'd ever cross. He loves his brother too much to hurt him, same as I do.

I have a few more messages from friends and teammates, and a ton of social media tags about the scrimmage today and prospects for the upcoming season. I ignore all of those, though, because I have a message from Ellis on the Howler app.

ELLISH: Well, that was exciting.

ELLISH: Hope you didn't get locked in there. But if so, I'll be back around 9 to finish my job.

I look around, realizing that his clothes are balled up in the sink, and he never had a chance to put away any of the equipment.

JOHNNY: No worries, it's all taken care of.

There are still a few hours until he plans to come back, and it's as good an excuse as any to avoid going home. I load a washer with towels and the clothes he was wearing, and consider stealing his white briefs that I find sexy as fuck, but they're crusted in my dry cum. I really hosed him. It's been a couple of days since I'd jerked off to pictures or messages he sends me, and I've always had a lot of cum, but the mess left behind is excessive.

Without realizing it, I clean the whole equipment room, including mopping the floor and wiping down the counter that I tongue fucked Ellis on. I zone out as I'm swiping an antibacterial wipe over the surface, feeling a little out-of-body while I remember all the things I did to Ellis' pliant body. If you'd told me this morning that I'd be rocking a boner from daydreaming about licking another dude's ass, I'd have laughed. I don't know what came over me, but the second his pants were down, and that perfect little ass was pushing itself into my hands, it became my whole world. I needed to sink my fingers into his flesh, to taste the sweat from his skin. Then he begged for more and the barrier disappeared, his perfect pink hole staring right back at me.

Fuck.

After throwing his clothes in the dryer, I gather up my catcher's gear and head to the dark, empty locker room. In the shower, I spend more time jerking my cock, thinking of how my best friend's little brother tasted than I do washing the shame from my skin.

ELLISH: Everything okay?

I glance down at the message, tearing my eyes away from the interrogation currently happening in my bedroom. Elliot is sitting in my desk chair, playing with my catcher's mitt. He tosses it on my bed and stands up, clearly pissed that I'm looking at my phone and not paying attention.

"I don't know what to tell you, E. There's nothing to tell."

He stares at me silently, assessing me. We've known each other forever. He knows I'm lying. But there isn't a truth I can give him without compromising the one relationship that's ever meant anything to me. He's more than my best friend, he's my brother. And what I've done—what I'm doing—would tear him apart. Tear us apart. I can't let that happen.

"Just please tell me you haven't gotten wrapped up in Jimmy's shit."

I gape at Elliot. "You think I'm on drugs?"

Jimmy is a good guy, but we suspect he might be on something. We don't have concrete proof, but his behavior has been erratic, and some cash went missing after he'd sold his gaming console and all his games. To be on the safe side, we've been keeping anything of value in our rooms and locking the doors, even when just going to the bathroom. We've been discussing how to broach the topic to get him some help, but we barely know the guy, and he's almost never around.

Elliot holds up his hands. "I sure as fuck hope not, but I don't know what all this lying and sneaking around is about." He pauses and wipes his hands on his thighs. "I love you like my own brother, G. Hell, Ellis is probably the only person on earth I might love more than you, and that depends on the day." He chuckles, but there's no humor to it. He's really concerned.

Blowing out a long breath, I give him the closest thing to the truth I can manage without ruining everything. "It's… someone. But they have to keep it on the D-L, because they'll get in trouble if they're caught."

"Is she like a teacher or something?"

"Or something," I say, evading a direct answer or his use of she .

"I'm assuming you could get in trouble, too?" When I nod affirmatively, he asks how much trouble, and I shrug. My eyes glance down at my message thread with Ellis and then back up to Elliot.

"Enough to make it interesting," I answer, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn't work.

Elliot's arms fold over his chest. "How much trouble are you going to get yourself into just to get your dick wet?"

I wince. "Who says that's all it is?"

"Since when have you ever been interested in more than a warm hole to stick your dick in?"

He gives me a pointed look, and it wounds me. My stomach rolls with a mixture of pain, nausea, and rage. Obviously, Elliot doesn't know he's talking about his brother, nor has he ever seen me give a damn about who I'm sticking my dick in. The string of women I slept with this summer alone would probably warrant his reaction, but his words burn me. I try to tamp down my anger, but irritation still bleeds into my tone when I'm able to put words together.

"Did it ever occur to you that it could be more? That if I'm willing to risk so much—risk everything —that they might actually mean something to me? "

Elliot's gaze softens before he smirks.

"I know you're not telling me that the heartless man whore himself, Gabe Rodgers, has gone and caught feelings."

"Get the fuck out so I can text pictures of my dick to my feelings ," I say, throwing a pillow at him.

As the door clicks shut behind him, I think about what he said. Ellis definitely means more to me than the revolving door of hookups I've had in the past, or my one shit relationship from high school. But can it really be considered catching feelings if there's a chance they've always been there, beneath the surface?