Chapter 9

"Fernandez!" Coach calls, blowing his whistle. We just finished our Saturday practice, and everyone else has already headed to the locker room.

I jog over, still wet from the pool. "Yes, Coach?"

"Can you take this?" He holds out a net bag filled with gear. "Put it in the storage room. And see if Steve needs a hand. He's putting away the scoreboard equipment, but I'm not sure he knows where it goes."

Steve's back to giving me the cold shoulder, and it's making me feel cruddy. The past few days, I've only seen him here at practice or when he's asleep. What did I do wrong?

Other than forcibly buy him a Speedo. Give him some weird gifts. Throw him in a river.

Okay, that's me getting in his business quite a bit. Maybe I'm trying too hard and need to just let it go.

Ha. My favorite song.

I can't have another bad roommate situation, though. I need to confront him about it. I have to know what's going on.

I leave wet footprints behind me as I pad over to the storage closet. "Hey, Coach asked me to bring in the—" As I step inside, I trip over a bucket that had been propping the door open, and it skids to the side with a loud clang. The door slams shut, leaving us in complete darkness. "Balls," I finish weakly. I reach out for the door handle, feeling around, find it, and push. Nothing. I pull. Nothing. "Um. Is the door …?"

"Stuck?" Steve's low, musical voice comes from maybe five feet away. Close enough to hear easily, but not so close that it makes me jump. "It seems so. It was difficult to open when I came in, which I believe is why the bucket was there."

"Crapola."

Steve huffs. "Do you have your mobile?"

I pat my hand down my bare torso and hips to my Speedo. Like I've hidden a phone next to my balls or something. "No," I say after a moment. I'm not sure why it takes me so long. "It's in my hoodie."

"I do not have mine, either." He sounds annoyed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lock us in. I don't mean to do any of the stupid shit I do. It's just a mistake."

He huffs.

"What?" I protest. "I swear, it was an accident. Someone will find us soon. I'll pound on the door."

"I believe that you did not mean to trap us."

"You don't sound like you believe me."

"I do."

"Why are you avoiding me again?" I blurt. "I thought we were getting to be friends, what with you joining the team and all. Now you barely stay in our room. Sometimes I can get you to talk to me, and other times it feels like you don't want to be near me. It seems like you don't like me."

My pulse is pounding, and my mouth has gone as dry as the Arizona desert.

"I like you," Steve says quietly.

"Doesn't feel like it." I realize I'm pouting, and I try to stop. It's not very mature to pout, and I need to stop. Still, something inside me wants everyone—but especially this guy—to like me. "What did I do wrong?"

He sighs. "You did not do anything wrong."

Our surroundings are silent as a tomb. "I told you why it was so important to me to have a good roommate situation. I'm trying my best to be easy to get along with."

"I apologize," Steve says. "I did not want to hurt you. That is why I requested the room change: so I would not hurt you."

"You're not going to hurt me."

"I am not sure about that," Steve admits. "When I get around you, it is hard to control my nokk … urges."

"What kind of urges?"

Something about the way he's talking makes goose bumps rise on my skin. And my cock twitch.

He pauses. "I want to take your soul."

I laugh, and then I realize he's being serious. "Wait, really?"

"Yes. That is what my instincts are telling me to do."

"How, exactly, would you take my soul? I suppose I should be scared, but I'm more curious than anything else."

"I drag you to the underground world, and there is a ritual." He pauses. "I believe it involves paperwork."

"That doesn't sound so bad," I joke.

"Can you hear yourself?" Steve sounds incredulous, and he repeats, emphasizing every word, " I want to take your soul ."

"Are you going to?"

"No," he mutters. I hear the scrape of his bare foot, like he's kicking the ground.

"Then that's your answer."

"But it is very bad. My nokk father took the soul of my human mother. He takes many souls, perhaps in an attempt to force the humans to fall in love with him. It never works. Or maybe he takes them simply because he wants to and he can, I suppose. She has never forgiven him or me. She is now soulless, trapped in the underground world, unable to …"

He trails off. I wait for him to say more, but he doesn't, so finally I say, "I'm sorry to hear that. But you're not your father. And it sounds like you don't want to be like him."

"I do not."

"Then you'll be your own person. And you're not going to take my soul."

"I know I should not," Steve admits. "I am trying not to."

"Do you think you will be able to avoid it?"

A moment later, he says, "Yes."

"Then can we try to work our roommate arrangement out? Have you hang out with me more?" I'm not entirely sure why this matters so much to me, but it does.

"Yes, okay," he whispers.

"Thank you." Relief courses through me.

"Do you realize that you trusted me with your blood before you even knew me at all?" Steve says abruptly.

I'm not sure why he's bringing that up now. "The Witchipedia article said to."

"Did the article say that it is the initial step in the bonding process?"

"What kind of bonding?" He'd mentioned bonding in the context of knowing his real name, and I am so damn curious as to what it means.

Steve pauses. "I do not know how to explain it. There are three steps for a nokk to … find companionship, I guess is the word. Or a mate. The first step is to exchange blood. The next is to exchange a kiss."

A mate. Something more than friends or roommates. Someone to kiss. Or do more with. A boyfriend .

I shiver, and my cock thickens.

What is going on? My body apparently likes the idea of being Steve's mate .

Would I want to kiss Steve? I haven't really thought about kissing a boy before. Except for when I was taking those online tests, that is. They all said I wasn't straight. Even when I took them a second time.

Huh. Maybe there was something to those.

Here in the darkness, I can't see Steve, but I've memorized him. I know the way his dark hair shines in the sun. I like his voice. I like how he seems so reserved, but in reality, I think he's just a little lost and unsure.

So, maybe, yeah. I like him.

And maybe what I've been feeling is … Oh, damn. Horny as hell.

I adjust myself in my bathing suit.

Clay's going to have a field day with me.

I clear my throat, my voice husky. "What's the last step?"

"Giving them your heart. Then you may know a nokk's real name."

My pulse pounds. I shrug. "That doesn't sound so bad, either."

Would I want to be a nokk's mate? At least, this nokk's mate?

I think I might. The way I'm getting hard in this wet bathing suit tells me that. I feel bad when Steve's not around. I want to know everything about him.

Steve lets out an exasperated sigh. "I would be taking away your free will."

"Why? As long as I know what I'm getting into and making my own choices, how is that different from any other relationship?"

Steve waits a long moment before he answers. "Because you would be locked in, without the ability to change your mind. And even if you do not consent, I still could take that choice away through force. I have been battling my fierce desire to make you mine every day since I met you."

Oh, damn. I shudder, but it's the anticipatory kind, not the scared kind.

Shit.

Steve wanting me … That's kind of awesome.

I'm interested in Steve. Regardless of whether I know his real name or what he looks like in his natural form. It's almost like he's an online friend: I know him by his username and personality. That's been enough for me to form close friendships in the past—especially with people who love eighties movies as much as I do.

The bonus is that Steve's here in person.

I like him. Yeah, that's the bottom line. I like Steve not-Steve the Norwegian nokk.

But is he truly interested in me? Other than this intrinsic-nature thing? Other than me inadvertently trapping him with my blood? Other than these "urges"?

I'm not sure, and right now I don't want to ask.

I can have a secret crush on him for a little bit while I sort this out.

I realize that he's confessed his desire for me, and I haven't responded. I say, my voice husky, "I trust you. Just because you could do something doesn't mean you will . And it's no reason to stay away from me. Based on the evidence so far, you're perfectly fine."

"But I have been trying to stay away from—"

There's a creaking noise, and the door opens. Coach stands in the doorway, silhouetted in the light beyond. Both Steve and I are blinded. I pick up the bag of balls again and hold it over my crotch, willing my cock to deflate.

"Thanks," I say. "The door got stuck."

Coach grunts. "You're welcome. Next time keep the bucket in place." He looks at Steve and me with some suspicion, but I'm starting to get cold, so I drop the bag and edge past him, Steve close behind me.

I turn to Steve as we enter the locker room. "Have lunch with me after we get changed."

After a moment's hesitation, he says, "Yes, okay."

As we walk to the cafeteria, there is a tension, a prickling, an energy between us that I cannot get enough of. And I am not sure what to do with it.

Steve admitted that something in his nature calls me to him. And I admitted—to myself—that I'm okay with that.

But where do we go from here? He's doing everything in his power to resist … me.

Once we get our food, Steve and I sit awkwardly and stare at each other. It was easier to talk in the dark. Confessions came when we weren't looking at each other.

So instead of confronting him about his feelings, I ask him about music, and we discover that we like the same bands. We have an easy conversation after all. If we aren't going to end up bonded, maybe he can be my friend, anyway.

After lunch, Viviana calls, and I excuse myself. Steve heads off to the dorm, and I sit down in the quad to chat on the phone. "How's school going, baby girl? Anyone catching your interest? Some special guy?"

"Um. Well. Maybe. There might be an enby kid I like."

"That's cool." I never figured my sister wasn't straight, but there's no reason why heteronormativity needs to rule the day.

I freeze. Am I a product of heteronormative thinking? Like, have I assumed I'm straight just because I grew up with that as the default? Is that why it's taken me so long to sort out what I'm feeling about Steve?

The thoughts I've been having in the shower should've been a clue, because he's who I've been picturing when I stroke one out. Not that I want to share that with my kid sister.

But Steve mentioning my being his mate—and his desire for me—wasn't the first time I'd been attracted to him.

"You're quiet," Viviana says.

"Sorry, sis. I'm just thinking that I might be into a guy. Pretty sure I am, actually."

"Really?"

"Well … I can't stop thinking about him. I always want to make sure he's okay. When he talks, I hang on every word."

"That's cool. Is he cute?"

"Yes. I mean, yeah, but he's a shapeshifter, and so far I've only seen him in human form. Human-ish. Anyhow, I like him for him, not for how he looks." I bite my lip. "And I might like him that way ."

"Have you considered kissing him?"

I tilt my head. "Kinda?"

With Steve, kissing is weightier than just "Let's kiss." Apparently, with the nokk, it would mean more.

I think I'd be good with that. It might be reckless, but I have to follow my heart. And my heart's telling me that Steve's my person.

"Then do it." She giggles. "I'll tell you if I kiss my crush."

I blink, older-brother instincts activated. "You're eighteen. Way too young."

"Whatever."

"Okay, fine. Just be careful."

"I promise." Her voice gets sly. "Promise me you'll kiss your roommate if you want to and he wants to."

I nod, though she can't see it. "I promise."

That evening, I'm sitting with Clay in his room watching The Goonies on his laptop. When Andy kisses Mikey by mistake, I blurt, "I want to kiss Steve."

Clay spits out some of the blood he'd been drinking, and it spatters his shirt. He glares at me. "What did you just say?" He wipes his face with the back of his hand, then shakes his head in disgust and stands up.

"I'm having these … feelings about him."

He strips off his bloody T-shirt and grabs a fresh one. He walks into the bathroom, washes his hands and face, slides the new shirt over his head, and returns all cleaned up.

"Explain," he says. His Cheshire cat grin makes his fangs more prominent.

"It's hard to describe. I mean, I haven't really felt much for guys before. Until him. Steve's … interesting to me. I know he's a shapeshifter and that he can take on any form he wants. Because of that, I almost don't care what he looks like. It's funny—he's beautiful, even though he's so damned emo—"

"He's very cute," Clay says. "But if he weren't beautiful, would you still be into him?"

"Yeah, definitely. Steve intrigues me. Or maybe I should call him not-Steve, since it's not his real name. I don't like calling him the nokk, because it makes him sound like the representative of a whole species rather than an actual person. He may be the only one in the US, but he can still have a name."

Clay stares at me with an eyebrow raised.

"I just … like him. I like how he views the world. I like the expression on his face when I make him laugh." I look at my hands, and they're trembling. "So am I bisexual? Or pansexual? Because I still am attracted to women, at least in theory. But … also … Steve."

I expect Clay to shove me or make fun of me or something. He doesn't. Instead, he pats me on the back. "Do you think you're bi or pan?"

"I'm not sure. I've never felt the way I do around him with anyone else."

"Then maybe you are. Do you need to put a label on it?"

I think about that a moment. I'm a human. I'm a junior. I'm a water polo player, a teammate, and a student. I'm a son. A friend. A brother. I've got all kinds of labels.

Do I need one more?

"I'm not sure. I'll try it on for size and see if it fits."

"Or see if it's too tight. Like our Speedos."

I roll my eyes. "You know why Speedos have to be tight—to protect our modesty."

"Our water polo team has no modesty whatsoever."

I grin, thinking of Steve trying on a bathing suit. "Likely so." Then I let out a breath. Okay, then. "Pansexual. I'm going to see if that's me. In fact, I think that's what I'm going to put on a form if I'm asked about it." I pause. "Can I be pan if I've never done anything? Like, do you have to actually have sex to be a certain sexuality?"

Clay studies me. "I'm gonna let you ask any questions you want, even the obvious ones, because you're just a baby bi/pan—but you know the answer. No, you do not need to have sex to identify as a certain sexuality. It has to do with who you're attracted to, rather than anything else."

I nod a few times. "It's just … I feel like I should be weirding out about it more."

Clay shrugs. "Meh. To me, sexuality is no big deal. Everyone has one, and it's slightly different for each person, so why don't we just let people be?" He tilts his head. "Gods, that sounds insensitive to those of us who were, or still are, persecuted for our orientation. Sorry, I don't mean that it doesn't matter. I just mean that it's okay if you like who you like, Fernandez."

I'm getting very sure that I'm attracted to Steve. I'm more interested in him than I ever have been in any other being on earth, and it's not because I'm intrigued that he's a nokk, even if I have to admit seeing him swim is pretty much a religious experience. It's not because of how he looks, either. I can tell it puts some strain on him to stay in that form, because sometimes there's a blip and his outline fuzzes out for a second. When that happens, I catch a glimpse of his true form, and it's adorable—all green-gray and cute.

It's funny: While I'm attracted to his body—and it makes my dick hard, if I'm honest—his body isn't the most important thing. I like that, even though he's kind of melancholy, he has this joyous way of talking. I like how he listens to me—he makes me feel special. I like who I am when I'm around him, which is why it made me so sad when he avoided me.

"College is the time for experimentation, anyway," Clay reminds me. "So go for it. I'm not sure I get what you see in him, though."

"Why not?"

Clay shrugs. "He seems so morose."

"He isn't morose. He just gets despondent when he's away from water. He's fighting against his nature, too. He doesn't want to be a monster—or, at least, he doesn't want to do the things a nokk traditionally does."

"It's tough when you don't like being in your own skin." Clay sighs. "I didn't want to become a vampire, but I had to accept it." He grins. "Once I realized I didn't need to be the Bela Lugosi stereotype and could just be myself, it worked out much better. I couldn't do anything about what had happened to me, but I could be who I really am."

"Maybe we all need to be ourselves."

"And being yourself means you're not entirely straight, huh? I guess that doesn't surprise me."

"Why? Are you interested, Cannon?" I tease.

Clay looks at me longer than I'd have expected. Finally, he shakes his head. "No. It's not because you're not hot or I don't like you. I do. But I don't think we have that chemistry, you know? I might prefer bookish guys."

"I think I prefer one very melancholic one." I stretch my legs out. "Now tell me who you're into that's so studious."

Over the next few days, I become fascinated with gay sex. I keep looking things up: How to do it. What the tricks are. It seems both not complicated at all and incredibly complicated. I don't want to hurt someone—Steve—or be hurt. And I don't know if I want to be the one giving or receiving. Honestly, both sound interesting.

I spend a lot of time in the shower imagining what it'd be like to have Steve mounting me, pressing into me. Fucking me.

I want that. I've never thought about it before, but now that it's maybe an option, this whole world has opened up to me. One where things aren't as rigid as I thought they were. One where I'm not rounding up but am exploring the interesting smaller percentages.

When I admit to Clay that I'm looking shit up on the internet, he laughs his ass off. "Dude, it's not something you need to research that hard."

"It kind of is. Because I don't think … I think it could be messy and hurt if I didn't do it right."

"Sex is mostly messy and sometimes hurts. But not too much, as long as you communicate with your partner." He smiles. "You'll figure it out. Don't stress so much about it."

His words don't help. I still stress. Or, at least, I think about the logistics an awful lot . And I wonder if what I'm feeling is close to the desire Steve apparently feels for me.

Having a roommate makes it tough to find alone time to jerk off, and that's even more of a problem when it's the roommate who's making me horny. Since Steve not-Steve moved in, I've mostly done it in the shower. Which is fine, but it doesn't lend itself to any kind of … visual aids.

Anyway, he's not here right now. I think he's in class, so I can chance a little porn on my phone.

Gay porn.

I put my phone on incognito mode, and it's easy to find monster-human movies. There's so much to choose from. I find one with a water spirit who looks a bit like Steve and a human who looks a bit like—okay, a lot like—me, and turn it on, prop the phone against a pillow, then stick my hand in my pants and lie back on my bed.

It feels really good to stroke myself. I haven't had a good solo session in ages.

I fondle my balls, one at a time, then grip my cock and rub it so it thickens.

"Fuck," I whisper. Okay. This feels good.

I shove my shorts and boxer briefs down past my ass so my cock springs free and watch as the guys kiss on my screen.

Why is something as simple as kissing getting to me? Well, it's hot. The water spirit seems like he wants to devour the human—and the human is devouring him right back. They don't remove all their clothes to begin with, instead reaching inside each other's pants to stroke each other. Reaching behind to tease each other's hole.

This is … educational.

Would I like that feeling? I'd need lube, which I don't have. I do have suntan lotion, though, and I grab some and use it for lubricant. So I'll smell like the beach while I beat off. There are worse things.

As the guys on-screen get more and more into it, they shed their clothes, and then the water spirit drops to his knees and takes the human's cock into his mouth.

I gulp. I want that. I stroke harder.

The guy being sucked is having the time of his life, but it seems like the guy doing the sucking is loving it, too. Especially when he reaches down and begins to play with his own dick.

Then they switch positions, so the human is now sucking the water spirit's dick. While some monsters have different anatomy than humans, the water spirit doesn't seem to be that different, other than his dick being really long.

How far are they going to go? Are they going to have anal?

The water spirit pushes the human down and starts licking his asshole, and I can't see what he's doing that well. Or imagine what it feels like. But the way the human is moaning makes me think I'd want to try this.

I want to try everything.

I'm not going to last much longer. I'm not going to find out how far they get, because I'm about to fling myself off the cliff of orgasm, right damn now, and it's gonna feel epic because I've needed to come for so long and I'm into this stuff that's so new—

The door from the hallway opens.

Shit .

My roommate steps in, catching me with my dick in my hand. Seeing Steve makes me start pulsing, and I shudder in pleasure as he stares at me with those dark, kohl-lined eyes.