17

-North-

IT'S BEENa week since Mal's dad left, a week since I busted out of jail—ok I didn't bust out of jail, but that sounds cooler than "had my bail paid by a jerkwad"—and a week since Mal blackmailed his dad like a badass. We haven't heard anything from him, and it looks like all the charges against me have been dropped somehow, even though it happened in front of a whole food court full of people. I guess you can get away with anything if you have the best lawyers in the state. Mal's college fees are being paid again, and everything is back to exactly how it was before.

Well, not exactly the same. Some things have changed, but they're things that needed to change. Although that doesn't make them any easier.

I lounge on the couch replying to messages on my phone while Mal sits next to me with my legs in his lap, flicking backward and forward through a book that he's obviously not reading.

"Enjoying that?"

He grunts noncommittally. He's been fidgety all day, stiff and prickly, and it reminds me of something that I can't quite put my finger on. He won't admit what's making him nervous, but I already know why.

"Do you want me to come with you later?" I say, not looking up from my phone and trying to keep my tone casual. Mal is a complicated beast. If you want to offer him help, you need to be sneaky. I've almost got the technique perfected, but he can still be stubborn sometimes. Today seems like one of those days.

Mal frowns at the book he's not reading. "I'm a big boy. I can go without having my hand held," he grumbles.

A hedgehog! That's it. He reminds me of a hedgehog today. A grumpy, spikey hedgehog who won't admit he needs support. I cover my mouth with my hand and try to pretend I'm smiling at something on my phone.

Despite my amusement I know today is a damn big step for him, and anyone in his shoes would be nervous. I want to make it easier for him however I can, without triggering his need to be entirely independent. If I can frame this like he's doing me a favor instead of the other way around, it might work.

"I know you don't," I say, putting a whine in my voice. "But I'm bored. I want to get out of the house."

"What are you, a dog? You've been out of the house all day."

That's true. Mal had all of my stuff moved from my dorm today and we decided to keep out of the way. I convinced him to go to the movies with me for a mini date and it turned into a full day of just hanging out and having a nice time.

I thought he'd have my things moved into one of the spare rooms, but when we got back I saw that it was all neatly unpacked in his own bedroom. Space had been made in the closet for my clothes, my books were stacked by the desk, my alarm clock and phone charger were plugged in on the nightstand. I got a little emotional, but can you blame me?

After I recovered from that, I noticed another new addition to the room—a big mirror set on wheels, tucked into a corner. The sly grin Mal gave me had my heart racing. And it was only fair that we had to give it a test run.

I can confirm it's a good mirror. Very reflective.

I shift on the couch, enjoying the way my muscles ache. "But you know what I'm like, I need constant entertainment. I can come on the car ride and hang out in the waiting room. Read the magazines. Flirt with the receptionist."

Mal sighs and rolls his eyes, but there's a tiny hint of relief in it. "Fine, you can fucking come if you want to so badly." He narrows his eyes. "But if I do catch you flirting with the receptionist I'll have to punish you."

"Don't tempt me," I say. "I was only kidding, but now I might actually do it."

He growls, a rumble in his chest. "Keeping you in line is impossible when you're such a fucking masochist."

I wink at him. "That's why we get on so well."

We stay there until it's time to go. He's silent on the drive into town, so I fill the tension with inane chatter to try to put him at ease until we reach our destination—a tall, red-brick building with dark-green doors and a sign that reads "North Park Counseling and Therapy".

When he doesn't get out of the car, I put my hand on his forearm.

"All right?"

"Yeah," he says.

He walks stiffly into the building, we find the waiting room, and he sits on one of the chairs, looking too big for the small seat. He stands out in the lush green room, his outfit all black against the potted plants dotted around the place.

The appointment isn't until five-thirty, and we arrived early in true Malcolm form, so we still have a while to wait. His leg jiggles as he taps his heel on the floor in a nervous staccato rhythm and turns at every sound like he's expecting someone to jump out at him.

After about ten minutes, a kind-looking older woman opens the door at the far end of the room.

"Malcolm Blackwood?"

He all but leaps out of his chair, and she offers him a gentle smile before leading the way back through the doorway. Mal follows her like a man walking to his execution. At the last moment, he looks back at me over his shoulder, his eyes wide, and I give him two big thumbs up, before the door closes and he's gone.

***

"Careful, don't push too hard," Mal says, as we jog back and forth, tapping the ground at each end of the field before turning back and going the other direction.

Tap, run, tap, run.

The night air is cold and our breaths plume up in front of us with each exhale. It's really starting to get chilly. Winter break is coming up and there's a buzz of excitement in the air, for me at least. Mal doesn't seem too keen.

I love this time of year. The holidays around Christmas are everything that I love—family, friends, and food. But this year it's going to be even better, because Mal has agreed to come meet my parents and stay for the whole winter break.

I cannot wait to make him wear a paper crown and a Nanny Nolan special Christmas sweater. Using my very sneaky skills and a tape measure, I've already given her Mal's measurements and she's knitting it up right now. I've requested a jaunty pattern that includes little cowboy hats, and I can't fucking wait to see his face. I smile secretly to myself.

He's going to hate it so, so much, but I'll make it up to him with the special gift I have already wrapped and hidden in the back of the closet. He's going to love that one.

"Keep it easy, you need to be loose for the game," Mal says, oblivious to my scheming.

We keep pace with each other, matching our long, easy strides side by side.

It's so funny being here with him on the field at night. I think back to all that time ago, when I was sure he hated me and I felt strangely drawn to him. At the time I thought it was because I needed him to like me, because I had some kind of pathological need to be loved by all. But now I realize I was just insanely attracted to him. Fear and lust can feel confusingly similar.

"Remember when I caught you jerking off on the field that night?" I say.

Mal almost chokes, sending a plume of steam into the night air. "I wasn't jerking off."

"Yes you were. I saw your cock. You were going at it like there was no tomorrow. I thought you were going to pull it clean off."

We reach the end, tap the line, and change direction.

"I had a thigh cramp," Mal says indignantly.

"Bullshit. I can prove it, I've still got the video somewhere."

He scoffs. "And what's your excuse for being a perv?"

"Hey, you were in the middle of a field, you weren't exactly keeping it private."

"That doesn't mean you can hide and watch, and record me."

"All right I don't have an excuse. It was hot," I say, giving him a sly grin. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I totally still jerk off to that video."

"You little shit," he snarls and suddenly lunges for me. I speed up to avoid him with a yelp, and he chases me down, tackles me around the waist, and throws me to the ground.

"Fuck," I shout, laughing.

I roll over on the damp turf and he wrestles me, trying to pin me with his body.

"You dirty pervert," he snarls.

Somehow I manage to get on top and then I'm kissing him hard as our bodies slide together. He kisses me back, and then grabs my shoulders and flips me again so he's on top. He pins my arms above my head, transfers my wrists to one hand, and starts to tug at my sweatpants.

I break the kiss. "Hey!"

"You've brought this on yourself," he growls, and pulls them down enough to expose my dick. The air is biting cold against my flesh and I hiss through my teeth, but he crushes his lips against mine again, cutting off any protest as our teeth clash together.

He pulls away just long enough to pull a packet of lube out of his sweatpants pocket and tear it open with his teeth.

"Why the hell do you have lube with you?" I gasp.

"I never know when I'll need it," he says as he gets his own cock out and presses it against mine, warm flesh on flesh. His hand wraps around both of us and slides up and down, stroking us together. I make a tight sound into his mouth and move my hips in time. His palm tugs roughly against my skin, with not quite enough lube to make it entirely smooth, and I relish the painful friction. It matches the dangerous tempo of my pulse.

As he works us in tandem, his mouth slides from mine, and trails across my jaw to my ear. He bites down on the lobe, hard, and then moves down my throat. He takes some time there, sucking over the marks that never quite fade and bringing them back to full life.

Once he's finished he tugs my top up with his teeth and sucks on one nipple until it's stiff, before moving to the other. The cold air stings where his mouth leaves my skin wet.

He comes first, and uses his cum to lube my cock more, making it slippery and oh-so fucking good.

I come, my hips jacking up into his hand, and he collapses onto me, our chests heaving together.

He fumbles our cocks away and wipes his hand on the grass by my head.

"Now we're even."

The cold air fills my lungs. "Wow," I say. "I can see why you liked it."

He snorts. "Let's just hope there are no other voyeurs hiding in the bleachers."

"Ah, who cares. It's not like we're a secret anymore."

"Look how far you've come," he says wryly.

"All thanks to you sensei."

"You're such an idiot," he says and burrows his head into my neck. Looks like we're staying here for a while. I don't mind though. The air is cold, but Mal's body is warm, and the afterglow is bathing me in a comfortable haze. I close my eyes and run my fingers through his hair.

"How was therapy?" I ask.

When he came out of the therapist's room he looked completely worn out, so I didn't want to push it at the time.

There's a sizable pause before he says, "It was hard. But . . . I think it was good. Thanks for making me go, I guess."

"I'm here for you if you want to talk about it," I say.

He nods, then goes on stiffly, "There is something I've been wanting to say to you. For a while . . ." He trails off, struggling for words. His body has tensed slightly against mine, and I think I know where this is going.

"You don't have to say it," I say quietly.

"I want to," Mal says against the curve of my neck. He clears his throat, working up to it. Then says the words I've been privately hoping to hear. "I love you."

I bite down on my lip, trying not to overreact. Trying to play it cool for him, like it's not a huge fucking deal.

"I love you too," I say.

His body relaxes again, and I feel his lips move against my skin as they stretch into the big, stupid-fucking-goofy smile that is entirely his and no one else's. The smile that I would burn the whole world down for. "All right, don't get fucking mushy."