3. Collisions

CHAPTER 3

Collisions

Everett

My heart nearly burst in my chest. It pounded against my rib cage like a starving prisoner who knew he was about to perish. It made my legs turn to solid lead, my feet melting and cooling until I was completely fused with the floor. I held the beer bottle in one slick, slippery hand, the other rubbing against the rough denim fabric of my pants.

Roman eyed me from the bar. His lips were a tight and angry line, and I didn't begrudge him that. I could respect a guy who stood up for himself and wouldn't be pushed around. I could understand the hatred.

My gaze slid off him after a moment of awkward staring. I wished I could force my hand to bring the bottle to my lips. I wished I could turn around. Instead, I managed to sullenly look at him again. This time, Roman was turned completely toward me. One hand lingered on the bar, feet unmoving.

Coward , I told myself. Don't just stand there, you fucking coward. You look like a moron. Move your goddamn feet. Move them. Now. Just fucking go. As anger flared from the pit of my stomach and into my charred and blackened heart, I gripped the bottle harder and forced myself to move. I waded through the crowd and toward the corner of the bar, where only the dim light of a wall lamp revealed Roman's high cheekbones.

As I approached him, my breaths grew shallow. The cool look on Roman's face told me neither that I was welcome nor unwanted. He lacked his signature glances, those flirtatious smirks, those slight moves of his hips that marked him for the promiscuous young man that he was. Gone was the daring challenge in his smile and the shameless undressing his eyes had performed on me.

I wasn't sure if this person intimidated me more or less.

He had scared the living hell out of me every time we'd crossed paths. He had teased me mercilessly, almost like he had wanted to be punched. He had turned me on in ways I couldn't have imagined. And yet, as he stood in his sleeveless top that didn't cover his belly button and his loose jeans that seemed one wrong step from falling down his legs, the spark that had driven me to return was turning to a blazing torch.

My throat tightened, and I stiffened my facial muscles. Even so, my gaze dragged down the length of his body shamelessly. I didn't try to hide it. He had put himself on display. He wanted to be seen. He wanted guys to drool over his tight, defined abs. He wanted men to tremble with desire.

As I stepped in front of him, my gaze returned to his eyes.

His lips were full and defined, the corners curving downward. Was this pout some game of his? He was driving me nuts. "What do you want?" Roman asked in a strangled huff.

"You," I said in a dark, deep voice. Although my feet had stopped, my body was still slowly leaning toward him. I couldn't believe that single word that had just left my lips. A moment ago, I had wanted answers. I had wanted him to explain what he had meant about everyone hating themselves. It had struck me as wrong, almost impossible, that the things I felt were not uniquely mine. Surely they had all had an easier time. They were here, after all, while I lived underneath a sheet of ice below the North Pole, trapped in my cold tomb, lifeless and emotionless to all who noticed me.

And yet, the word was correct. I want you .

There was only a flicker of surprise on his face, and he smoothed it away so quickly that I couldn't guarantee it had ever occurred. "You like me now, huh?" The skepticism was heavy in his tone.

I shook my head. "I don't think I do." It took all my strength to keep my fists tightly balled and stop myself from trembling. I feared I might break the neck of my bottle.

"No. I didn't think you would," Roman replied in a voice I couldn't read. He picked up his pink beverage and closed his lips around a thick, swirly straw. I didn't know how he managed it, but he made the moment that followed set fire to my face. He sucked all while looking into my eyes, then released the straw and swallowed while tipping his head up. He placed the glass back on the counter. "The feeling is mutual."

I didn't move. I stared at him and the inviting shape of his lips. Thinking about it opened up some abysmal hollowness in my stomach. "You hate me," I said.

Roman licked his lips and leaned against the bar, bending his arm and resting his elbow on the smooth counter. "The funny thing about hatred is that it's not a repelling emotion. Love and hate are attractive forces."

I blinked.

"Fear and disgust, now those are repelling feelings," he elaborated, looking into my eyes, and pulled his lower lip between his teeth, biting gently before releasing it. "You don't disgust me. And I'm definitely not afraid of you." As he said that, he straightened a little, thrust his chin up, and looked at me with a fire blazing in his gray-green eyes.

I didn't think I liked this guy. He wore every damning sin like some hippie wearing badges. He laughed in the face of eternal damnation with that coquettish grin that revealed dimples half an inch away from each corner of his lips. He couldn't even be bothered to pretend he had any decency. He was everything I had never let myself be mistaken for. And yet, this burning thing I felt was not a repelling feeling at all.

Perhaps I hated him.

Perhaps I hated us both.

But if his words had been even remotely correct, then my actions could fit into the delicate logic we built to justify them.

I thrust my left leg forward, setting my beer on the counter with one hand and pressing the other hand against the soft, warm side of his waist. The touch of my skin on his sent an electric shock through me, but it didn't make me break contact.

In a move so swift and unexpected, I stepped forward, thrusting Roman back against the brick wall. He thumped against it with his back, exhaling in a burst and grinning daringly. The flirtatious twinkle returned to his eyes.

A buzzing, whistling sound flooded my ears. My chest rose and fell with quick breaths.

My right hand returned to his bare flesh. "Is this what you like doing?" I asked in a raspy, tight voice.

Roman shot me a look of pure defiance. "Do you really want to know?" His arms were hanging at his sides, his body unmoving, but his eyes blazed. The amusement on his lips was clear as day.

My other hand went for his wrist. It was as though someone else had taken over the control of my body. It was not my idea to wrap my hand around his wrist and lift his arm above his head. It was not my idea to say, "I know what guys like you want."

"Oh yeah?" It was a purr, no more and no less. It sent shivers straight down my spine, and when Roman lifted his free arm between us and placed his hand on my chest, the flow of air in and out of my lungs stopped abruptly. He balled his fist with my T-shirt still in his grip. "Maybe I'll surprise you." As he pulled my T-shirt lower, the V neckline revealed the gold chain around my neck and the heavy golden cross resting on my bare skin. Roman's eyes widened. "Is this what good Catholic boys are like when it gets dark outside?"

My upper lip lifted in a sneer. "Shut up."

"You shut up," Roman husked, releasing my T-shirt. His other hand was still trapped, but he didn't move to free it. Instead, he stared into my eyes, a challenge I didn't understand, and thrust his free hand down between us.

Air drained out of me the very instant when he cupped my balls. It was like a curtain closed around us and the rest of the bar. Like a cloud of smoke shielded us from curious eyes. I forgot about them all. They fell off the face of the Earth inside my awareness.

My blood redirected its flow, and my cock throbbed hard. A cry hitched inside my strangled throat, so my lips merely parted, and my eyes widened.

Roman held his hand on my balls for a moment that stretched out eternally, and when he dragged his hand up, we both knew what he found there. The corners of his lips ticked upward, his dimples emerging. I hadn't realized how weak I was for dimples until I was gazing at his.

Sheer fury filled me. My feet burned as if I were already sinking into the bowels of Hell.

"Yeah, you want me," Roman said, then released my cock from his hold and grabbed my hand off his waist. He dragged it over his abs, the pressure squeezing air out of him, and thrust it down to his cock. He was hard as marble, his loose jeans hooked over the bulge in his underwear.

I gathered my strength and composure for long enough to close my fist partially over his cock, my heart on the verge of breaking out of its cage of ribs, and my lungs burning as I failed to inhale a breath of fresh air.

"My place is across the street," Roman said, pushing my hand away.

As soon as I released his other hand from my grip and stepped back from him, cold air washed over me. I could hear the beating of my heart in my eardrums. Each throbbing pulse felt like someone squeezed my brain and made my eyes bulge. But the cold sensation that spilled over the front of my body was purely the lack of Roman's warmth.

"If you want to play, Catholic boy," Roman teased deviously.

I leaned in, inhaling the warmth of sweetness of his scent, and brought my lips close to his ear. I was shuddering on the inside and barely holding myself together so he wouldn't notice. "Take me there."

A huff of laughter left his lips. "Fuck. Me." It was a murmur that exhibited none of the reluctance or regret that his words implied. He pushed past me and grabbed my wrist, yanking me to follow.

As we marched out of the bar with a singular and clear purpose at the end of our journey, I jerked my hand back from his hold. I wanted him, yet I hated myself for wanting him. And I hated him for being so impossible to resist. He had crawled under my skin with those shameless attempts to talk to me, to flirt with me. His lack of decency and his willingness to act like a damned boy slut should have sent me far away, yet they only made me obsessed with him.

I knew what I wanted to do to him. Even if the merest glimpses of our near future were enough to send my heart into a goddamn drum solo, I knew exactly what I wanted. I knew where I wanted to put my fingers and what to do to his mouth. I could see myself tearing that scrappy piece of cloth he called a top and ripping his jeans down his legs.

As Roman pushed the front door of a run-down building, we slipped inside. The door shut behind me, and lights came on in the hallway. He went for the stairs, his hips swinging invitingly left and right, back and forth, and his light blue underwear more than a little visible where his jeans struggled to keep him covered.

I inhaled a calming breath of air and followed, my gaze tracing his back. His shoulders and upper back were broad, but his hips were athletically narrow and lean. His ass, though… My heart dropped into my stomach. His ass. It was going to kill me.

Roman reached his landing and unlocked the door. I was one step behind him, following him inside.

Kitchen cabinets were fitted with small lights that greeted us when we entered Roman's apartment. He didn't bother turning on the rest. Instead, he shut the door, huffed, "This way," and gestured with his head.

As he marched on, I hesitated. My heartbeats were quicker still, but my breaths were so shallow that I was barely remaining conscious.

Roman's bedroom was open, and he was inside, waiting for me. Waiting for the devious and divine. Offering all that my heart desired. Offering himself to me to use however I liked. That was the type of person he was, I realized. It was just good fun, nothing more and nothing less.

I moved forward, passing through the short hallway and turning left where the door of his room was wide open. Roman stood in the middle of it, his chest rising and falling steadily. "Are you ready, Catholic boy?"

"Don't call me that," I growled from the doorframe.

"I don't know your name," Roman pointed out.

I blinked and hesitated. "Everett."

Roman nodded and took a step toward me. "Everett. I like it." He placed a hand on the wide strip of flesh of his waist. "Do you still want me, Everett?"

I didn't trust myself to speak. Instead, I crossed the room and decided not to let my brain question my actions. Deep down, I knew I had abandoned the dogma that had defined my entire life. I knew I had betrayed all that my family and friends held dear. I knew I was a lost cause, so what was there to think about?

When my hands moved forward and touched his hips, a shuddering exhale left my body.

Roman gripped my wrists swiftly and lifted my hands higher along his waist, dragging them over his heated skin and under the tight top he wore. When he released my hands, I knew what to do next. Moving them higher still, I took the edge of his top and pulled it up. Roman's arms shot above his head, armpits covered with short, brown hair that caught the light of a small desk lamp. His top traveled over his head and up his arms until it was no longer on him but hanging in my hands.

I dropped it, watching him with my mouth slightly open, air traveling through it softly.

"Touch me, Everett." The dare never left his face. Everything he asked of me sounded like he expected me to turn away. He sounded like my reluctance and reservations amused him as much as the prospect of our bodies coiling and sweating in the heat of our sins.

Sins. Such a silly notion. It wasn't my soul I was worried about. It wasn't the loss of my spot in Heaven that I feared. My worries were much more earthly, and the prospect of losing my family, their wealth, and the status I had lived with my entire life terrified me much more than whatever would happen after my death.

I touched him. It was a full and possessive gesture. My hands were big and strong, one holding the side of his waist and the other resting much higher on the side of his rib cage. Now that I held him, he seemed smaller than before. Although his body was lean and defined, his constitution was in strong contrast with mine.

"Atta boy," Roman said, clearly mocking me.

It sparked my fury instantly, and I jerked his entire body closer to mine. His torso pressed against me. Roman gasped, cracking a dimpled smile, and rested his hands on my chest.

I wondered if I should kiss him, but the thought screamed against all my other thoughts. Some part of me was driven to try it when this stranger was so willing to give himself to me, but I couldn't muster the strength to put my lips on his. It seemed that if I did that, I would forever be excommunicated from the world I lived in.

Roman's fingers met on the middle of my chest. He tugged and released, and the top button of my shirt was undone. Slowly, carefully, without much wiggling, Roman continued to undo the buttons, revealing my muscled torso. One after another, they let the shirt part, and Roman's fingers brushed over my body.

I held my breath, gripping his harder. I dragged my hands to his back and down until I felt the waistband of his underwear under my fingertips.

"Is this hot for you?" Roman purred. He undid the last button and lifted his hands to my shoulders, sliding the shirt over them. When I released him to undress, Roman put both hands on my round pecs and sucked a shallow breath of air between his teeth. "I knew what you wanted the first time I saw you."

I grunted, my shirt on the floor, my hands returning to his sides.

"You look like the kind of guy who likes to fuck," Roman said.

Pressure on my chest increased. My fingers dug deep into his flesh as tremors of anxiety passed through my arms. "Shut up," I growled in a low voice. "Don't talk."

"Is that how you want to play?" Roman seemed surprised but not displeased. "Make me."

I hesitated a moment while his hands explored my body and moved all the way to the front of my pants, rubbing the painful erection that pitched a tent down there.

"I can think of ways you can shut me up," Roman said in a teasing, seductive voice.

My heart stumbled. Breath hitched in my throat as Roman rubbed his hand along the length of my bulging cock. "Wait… Ah…" I pulled him closer, his lean torso pressing against mine, his breath hot as he exhaled. I held him firmly, practically trapping him against my body, as desire flared so high and brightly that it blinded me.

"What do you want to do to me, Everett?" Roman whispered, making my dick leap uselessly inside my tight clothes. "Do you want to choke me with that thing?" I wasn't sure if he was joking, mocking me, or offering to do that. Whatever the case, it made something melt inside of me. Something in my stomach was moving slowly, lazily, like lava. Roman grabbed my hand and brought it to his neck. "Or do you want to hold me like this while you make me see God with your dick inside me?"

My fingers sank into his neck, and he bared his teeth.

I stared into his eyes and brought my nose close to his, my lips hovering over his.

If I leaned just one inch further, our lips would press together. The tension would snap like an overstretched rubber band. We would collide and grapple until we were on the ground, and the Pandora's box was open for all my sinful desires to run free and wild.

I wanted to hold his neck like this and fuck him until there were tears of joy and pain in his eyes. I wanted to see him sweat and come and drool over himself while I fucked him. I wanted to flip him around and fuck him with all my weight until he sank deep into his mattress.

My mother's contemptuous glare landed on my face, her nostrils flaring, her face unflinching. She had expected nothing else from me.

My cock pulsed, pain spilling through my abdomen, my balls rising higher, growing tight, and I released his throat like it was a living snake I'd been holding. If it was a sob, it didn't sound much like it when it left my throat. Hoarsely, I added, "I'm sorry." I stepped back. The fears I'd kept away were banging on the door of my consciousness, battering on the walls I had kept firmly in place, threatening to overwhelm me, engulf me, and pull me to the dark abyss.

I stepped back another two paces before turning away. As I moved toward the hallway, Roman hurried after me, his hand landing on my shoulder.

"No," I blurted. "I can't…I can't do this…"

"Everett, hold on," Roman called as we crossed the space of his apartment.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For fuck's sake, wait," Roman demanded in a voice that set me straight. "You're shirtless, dammit."

I realized then that my skin was slick with cold sweat and that my consciousness was rising from some unimaginable depths as if I'd just woken up from a fever dream.

We had been so close. Close.

To what? The heavenly bliss of pleasure? The loss of our souls? The loss of status and comforts and what little family I had that still cared for me?

"Everett," Roman whispered, his hand touching my triceps. I flinched, and he pulled back. "Jesus, fuck, alright," he muttered. "Christ, I thought we were on the same page. I'm sorry."

I heaved a deep breath of air, then began to turn around. He was still shirtless, although I kept my gaze exclusively on his face. There was no doubt about the fact that I found him hot. If I didn't look at all I desired, it would be easier to resist it. Especially since giving in could only trigger a plethora of guilt.

"Listen, why don't you sit down?" Roman suggested, his tone only a little pissed off.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Just…sit down and cool off a little," Roman said, his breaths shallow. "And let me cool off, too." He bit his lip and rolled his eyes. It made my gaze drop, and I found that he was still hard enough to show. Roman turned away from me and returned to the room, lingered there for a minute while I sat on a chair by the dining table in the low light from under the kitchen cabinets. When he returned, he had a proper T-shirt on, and he handed me my shirt. "What are you drinking?"

I accepted the shirt and licked my lips. "I don't think I should…"

"Not what I asked," Roman said. "You need a drink, and we need to talk."

I cleared my throat. "Something strong. Don't care what."

Roman nodded, opened one of the cabinets, and produced a bottle of cheap vodka and two glasses. He closed the cabinet on the go and set the bottle and glasses on the table, then sat down. He left one chair empty between us.

After splashing some vodka in each glass, he looked into my eyes. "I'm sorry this got out of hand. I thought you wanted us to fuck."

I frowned.

He misunderstood my expression for disagreement. "I mean, let's face it, you got really hard, said you wanted to come over, and started undressing me. It's not exactly a case of mixed messages. Besides, you're twice my…"

"No, you're right," I said, my voice dry.

Roman stopped talking, mouth open for a moment. "What?"

"You're right," I sighed. "It wasn't your fault."

"Oh." He looked like someone who wasn't used to hearing that. "Okay. Well, I'm sorry it freaked you out."

" It didn't freak me out," I said. I lifted my glass and sloshed its contents down my throat. It tasted horrible and smelled worse. I needed a moment for the burn to pass before looking at him. "It was…hot." Why was it so hard to admit this aloud? "But I'm…" I shook my head.

After a short silence, Roman drank his vodka. "I knew you were deep in the closet," he said. "I just didn't realize how deep." He waited for something to happen next, but I didn't look at him. After a while, he leaned in. "Was this your first time?"

I tilted my head left and right. "Not exactly. Sort of."

"Ah, a history of freaking out?" Roman seemed amused by that. He unscrewed the top of the bottle again and splashed some vodka in both our glasses. "Look, I don't know what your deal is, but you're safe here."

I snorted. Nobody was safe anywhere. It didn't matter if my parents weren't going to find out tonight. They would find out eventually. I would either live in fear of them finding out, or it would actually happen, and I would be left hanging.

"How old are you?" Roman asked.

"Twenty-four," I said.

He said he was the same age. We shared another moment of silence. My hand was moving over the soft fabric of my shirt, still lying over my leg. I remembered to put it on then. "Never been with a guy for real, huh?"

I shook my head. "Never."

"Kissed?" Roman asked.

I winced.

"I see." He sipped his drink this time rather than downing it all. "Look, it's really simple when you think about it. It's nobody's business if you're gay."

"I'm not gay," I said in a surprisingly firm tone.

Roman snorted. "But you're into dudes. What do you think is the difference?"

And the last illogical veil dropped. I had never admitted it to myself like that. There had been many moments in my life when the attraction had been so vivid and tangible that I couldn't deny it. I had always told myself that it was just the temptation. At first, I blamed the devil. Later, I blamed God. Then, when I ran out of fictional characters, I blamed myself and saw it as a weakness of my masculinity. But I hadn't equated myself with them . We weren't the same. They were gay, and I was just…into them.

I closed my eyes now and surrendered to the truth of who I was. Damn my soul. "I'm gay," I whispered. A moment ago, I had expected some great sense of relief to lift me up upon speaking those words. It didn't. Instead, I only felt alone and defeated. I was defeated by my nature. It was impossible to fix it, to ignore it, to change it.

I was screwed.

Roman leaned in a little closer again. "Dude, it's not all that bad. I know it feels like you got a shitty hand, but life's always better after you come out."

"It doesn't feel that great," I said.

"It will," Roman assured me. "It's kind of like rebirth. Over time, you realize a lot of who you are is defined by the lies you used to tell yourself and others. And then you start changing."

I chewed my lower lip for a little while, eyes narrow, and gazed at my drink. My breathing steadied. When I looked at Roman again, he wore an open expression, almost friendly. Had I found a trace of pity in those gray-green eyes, I would have walked out immediately, but the cool composure was all I saw. "Wh-why are you nice to me?" I asked, my voice rough. He had every reason to want to see me leave. Not only had I threatened him and pushed him around, but I got his hopes up for some action tonight and left him hanging.

"Fuck if I know," Roman said.

Our gazes met and locked. For one long moment, there was silence, and Roman cracked a smile. We laughed, albeit softly and somewhat awkwardly, and let our gazes linger on one another for a while longer.

Roman licked his lips. "I guess I see myself in you," he said.

I lifted my eyebrows. "That's a little suggestive, don't you think?"

Roman stumbled, then grinned. "Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't exactly hesitate to give it another try, but right now, I'll make an exception and be totally platonic." He drummed the surface of the table for a moment, then picked up his glass and lifted it. "To platonic friendships."

I wondered if there was such a thing, but the moment was too sweet to ruin. I picked up my drink despite every worry that this was just another lie I told myself and let our glasses touch.

After drinking the contents of our glasses, we sighed in unison. Roman found that amusing. With a smile, he said, "You should come to Neon Nights with me. Meet my friends."

I shook my head, fears tightening around me like a noose. "I don't think I'd fit in."

"Trust me," Roman said. "We're a friendly group. If nothing else, at least you'll be around people who understand you."

I swallowed, unaware that there was a thick knot in my throat. "Roman…" I blinked twice, looking at him, searching for words. How would I tell someone that their kindness and understanding were easily the most life-changing things I'd been given? How would I do that without making it weird? And, more importantly, how did I get those words over my lips without every instinct that had been built into my clamping down on my words? When I found nothing, I decided to keep it simple. "Thank you." I hope I managed to fill these two words with all the gratitude I felt, although I doubted it was possible.

"Call me Rome," he said.

"Rome," I repeated. I liked it.

As he poured us another drink, I wondered if we had played our parts in this conversation only for the sake of avoiding some awkwardness after a terrible attempt at having sex. I wondered if there was any chance for us to be friends or if I would wake up tomorrow, as I had done countless times, and reaffirm my solitude and independence from everyone who offered me a guiding hand.

Often, it felt as though the moment some college acquaintance or an online friend from their—our!—population offered any help at all, it only entrenched me deeper in my lonely pit of self-loathing. I feared this would be no different.