Chapter 11

Eleven

Ezra

I let Mills suck my dick. And it felt amazing. His mouth didn’t feel like any memory, and his hands on me were so good. I came like fucking crazy—and he swallowed.

I think about that as we walk home. I’ve got his load in me, and there’s some of me in him.

I’m not sure if I can look at him. I don’t know what to say. I feel kind of fucked up, and my throat is too tight. I want him to know how much I—

I don’t know what I’m trying to say. To think .

As we walk into the driveway, I reach out and catch his hand again. Give it a squeeze. DG’s face is fucking glowing as he turns toward me. I glance around; of course, no one is here. I bring his hand to my mouth, brush my lips over his knuckles. His cheeks go red.

I guess I’m smiling big, because he whispers, “What?”

I let his hand go and pinch one of his cheeks. And then I kiss it. Quick as hell, and afterward, my stomach twists until he looks around and murmurs, “No one saw. ”

I lean in closer and inhale in his direction. “You smell good, Mills.”

“You taste good,” he whispers.

“We both taste like Bubble Yum.”

“That fucking duck,” he smiles.

“You like the duck?” I ask him.

“Just think it’s funny.”

“Keeps it poppin’,” I say.

He snickers. “What?”

“That’s the slogan.”

“No it’s not.”

“It is, too,” I tell him. “That’s what the duck said.”

“I don’t think ducks can talk, Ez.”

“That one did. In old commercials. I swear.”

“Did he?” Mills looks mystified as we walk up the porch stairs.

I’m unlocking the door when I look over my shoulder to smirk at him. No real reason. Just like to smirk at Mills. I find him smiling—this little crooked smile—and I want to leave the keys there in the door and turn around and hug him so damn tight.

I don’t hug him on the porch, but when we step inside, I can’t stop myself. I kiss him once more, too, dragging my tongue against his, running my fingers into the soft hair at the back of his head. I squeeze his nape, the kind of squeeze that always feels good to me when sports massage people do it.

“Get dinner with me,” I whisper.

DG’s blue eyes widen, and I laugh, because I’m as surprised as he is by my request. “Let’s get pizza and then watch a movie,” I say.

His face changes so he looks more guarded, and he moves back a little, which makes my hand lose its grip on his hair.

“What do you want to watch?” he murmurs.

“It can be anything,” I tell him .

Say yes.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m holding the front door open for him. We’re stepping out onto the porch together, Mills in ripped jeans and a magenta Rocky Horror T-shirt. He got a quick shower while I fumbled around in my room, looking for the “Praise Be, Bitches” shirt I got from a girl I knew.

I lock the house and stride ahead of him to open the passenger door of my Jeep. He pauses before getting in, squinting at my shirt.

“The Handmaid’s Tale,” I tell him.

“Oh, right. I’ve seen some of that.”

“Good stuff.”

He laughs. “Yep. The worst best ever.”

I’m grinning as I walk around the car. “Probably not going to end up all kittens and glitter if the book is any indication.”

“Ohh yeah, there’s a book, isn’t there?” he asks.

“Margaret Atwood, baby.”

“Hell, I guess I need to read it.”

“You a reader?” I ask as I crank the Jeep.

“Yeah, but more like Michael Crichton…Stephen King.”

“I think you’d be a fan of Margaret,” I tell him as I pull out of the driveway and point us toward the causeway that leads across the lake to Georgia.

“I’ll have to try her.”

“Or watch the show.”

He looks down at the hole in his knee, tugs at a thread. “Does this mean you like sci-fi or horror movies or…”

“Anything with energy,” I hear myself say. “ Fight Club , The Sopranos …shit like…I don’t know— No Country for Old Men . Interstellar . You ever see that bullshit Me Before You ?”

He screws his face up, scrunching his brows as he tries to place it.

“Probably not,” I offer. “I didn’t get to pick it when I watched it. It was shit, though.”

“Why was it shit?”

I see him note that we’re headed toward the bridge that leads to the Georgia side of the lake; I looked up pizza places before leaving the house, and there’s one in Cillin, a little town that’s on the other side of the lake. It looks rural as hell, and it’s drive-through only, which is perfect.

“Well the main reason is that one character just fucking quit,” I tell Mills. “And for no good reason.” I feel my cheeks flush as I say it—recognizing my hypocrisy, but now it’s too late to shut my damn mouth. “Dude got injured, I don’t know, like in an accident of some kind. This is before he meets the girl he falls for. She’s hired to help him do things he needs to do. He’s paralyzed. And basically, he wants to die. He says his life doesn’t compare to his old one where he was—I don’t fucking know—a skier or some shit like that. He doesn’t want to live his life disabled, so he does assisted suicide. And the girl goes along!”

I’m relieved when he laughs. “Really? Is it like Romeo and Juliet ?”

“Not at all. It fucking wishes .”

He throws his head back laughing. “Who knew Mr. Masters got so worked up over un-romantic movies?”

“That’s the problem, though. It’s posing as romantic, but it isn’t.”

Miller presses his lips flat in contemplation as I drive onto the causeway. “I guess you’re right. Love should conquer all…at least ideally. If it pitched itself as romantic, and I think I remember now, it did, then that’s kind of false advertising.”

“Exactly. Pitch it as a tragedy, fine. At least that way people know what miserable shit they’re getting into. This was a guy in a wheelchair with a family and shit—and lots of money, too—just choosing to give up.”

I see the moment that he wonders whether I’m a hypocrite. I’m feeling bold, so I just say it. “Yeah, I get it. Maybe I’m a hypocrite, but I don’t think so. This guy was fine except his body didn’t work the same way anymore.”

His face softens, going thoughtful, and I realize I’ve made a misstep.

“I’m fine, too, obviously.”

“Yeah?” His blue eyes slide to mine and I say, “Yeah. I’m telling you, he booked a damn appointment. Suicide with eyes wide open. And they let him do it, too.”

“You think they shouldn’t have?”

“Fuck yeah, I think they shouldn’t have let him. Family and friends. The fuck. What was wrong with the guy? So he was sick? Like he got hurt? Welcome to the world, mofo. It hurts a lot, and dying slowly seems to be our fucking job here.”

I fix my eyes on the road after that spills out. I should probably shut up for the rest of the night.

“You know I have to ask now. Do you really mean that? Dying is our job? That’s what you think the point of everything is?” he asks.

“That’s what I said.”

“I’m not judging, dude. I don’t even know what I think. I just want to get it. I want to know what you think.”

I swallow. “Let me say this. If dying’s not the point, then the setup’s all wrong?” I laugh. “You feel me?”

He frowns at the windshield, and I barf up more words. “In my better-case scenarios I like to think we graduate to something better. Sort of how the little babies don’t know what the fuck is going on, and then they grow up and their brains, their consciousness like…refines its focus on speech and all this complex social behavior. I feel like maybe it’s the opposite with death. Maybe our brains are too narrowed when we’re human, framed in by the senses we have, and once we die and ditch the meat bag, those walls are busted down and we can see more. Maybe it’s a level-up thing. ”

He snickers. “Meat bag? You mean bodies?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

He chews on his lip. “That’s deep, dude. I think I like it.”

“Just my little bullshit theory.”

He gives me a crooked smile. “Mine is hoping I don’t go to hell for wanting dicks in my ass.”

I’m not prepared for the way his words go straight to my cock.

“ Oof . Miller one and Masters zero.” I cup myself, shaking my head with a choked laugh, and he puts a hand over his face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. That was too much. I don’t really want—”

“Oh no you don’t! You can’t say you want a dick in your ass and then recant. That’s not okay.”

Miller swoons into the passenger’s side window, drawing his knees up and covering his head with his arm. “Pardon me while I expire and check your theory for you.”

That makes me laugh. It’s a real laugh, and it sounds strange in the quiet of the car. When I dare a look at him, he’s grinning.

“I want both,” he says softly. “Or I should say I don’t know yet. I’ve never tried…you know?”

Fuck me, my dick is standing at attention. When I laugh, it sounds hoarse. “Miller. Jeezus, brother. I’m about to wreck this thing and then we’ll both be finding out which way is up.”

“Top or bottom, Masters?”

My last name hits me like a slap, and I say, “ Ezra . Ezzie, Ez, or angel will work, too.”

He bites his lip. “Sorry. Angel.” He gives me a small smile.

“I don’t know either, Mills. How would I? Maybe top?”

“I heard it’s all bullshit with Cara,” he says, looking out the window.

“Yeah. It was.”

“So you’re gay?” He’s whispering. I can tell he’s nervous by the way his body freezes as he asks the question.

“If I’m not, I sure am acting faggy, yeah? ”

I see his face go pensive as I hang a right onto the county road that will take us to the pizza place. “Why do you say that?” he asks.

“I don’t know. It’s just a bullshit word. It’s a weak insult, so I use it how I want to. You don’t like it?”

“It’s like the verbal version of a slap…to me, at least.”

“I won’t say it again.” An awful thought hits me. “You get called that before?”

“No way. Almost no one knows, so…”

“But you hear it.” I’m just speculating.

He nods. “People use it like an insult, and I can see re-claiming bad words, but to me…”

“I get that. It sticks with you.”

“It sticks in me,” he smirks. “And not in the sexy way.”

That makes me smile and shake my head. “You want me rolling up to that place hard as a rock?”

He looks over at my lap. “Fuck, you’re getting me hard now, too.” He laughs. “So you’re gay? You’re telling me you’re gay?”

“If you’re not telling anyone…then—” I sigh, too loud.

“Why can’t I tell? Not that I ever would. But your dad seems cool. And I know my mom is.”

“I have a mom too, in case you weren’t aware.”

“And you went to Christian school…”

My stomach flips as I nod. “Trust me when I say it wouldn’t turn out well for me if my mom heard that I was gaying it up down here.”

He looks thoughtful for a moment. Sad. He says, “Damn. I’m sorry. That must be a lot on you.”

I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his and then bringing our joined hands to my lap. I can’t bring myself to make him touch my boner, but once he’s this close, he does it himself.

“ You’re a lot on me, Josh Miller.”

He rubs me lightly, sending heat all through my lower body.

“I thought you were a gay hater,” he says softly .

“That’s the cliché isn’t it? Gotta make sure no one thinks you’re one of them.”

He grips my dick, his eyes hard on mine. “You scared me.”

“I know. I’m an asshole.” I move his hand off my dick. “If you’re smart, you’ll let me get you pizza and just avoid me after tomorrow.”

He lays his palm over my bulge, squeezing just a little as he cups me.

“And if I’m not?” he whispers, running his thumb over my cockhead through my pants. “You gonna fuck me up? Just start the snowball rolling and let it go where it goes? And give up steering?”

I bite my lip hard enough to hurt. “I’ve never been steering.” Everything that’s happened between us has been accidental—at least on my end. Everything until me asking him to come get pizza with me. That’s where it shifted.

Mills comes under me and cups me, pressing my balls up against the base of my cock. Then he leans over and nips at my throat. “I think you’re better than that shit, dude. Coward stuff.”

My cheeks and neck flush. I pull off on the roadside; we’re not two hundred yards from the pizza joint. “Did you just call me a coward?” I grip his chin, wanting to bite him and kiss him; I don’t know which I crave more.

“No, I didn’t,” he says. “You’re not a coward right now. You came out to me, and even though you played a bunch of games, you didn’t let it last. You just told me some shit that made me want to know you better. Like you actually think about things, unlike most people,” Mills whispers as he shakes his chin free, leaning in to brush his lips over mine. “I’m obsessed with your lips. And your throat.” He gives my Adam’s apple a nip, sending lightning down to my junk.

“Just because I let you fuck with me doesn’t mean you get to be in charge.” He bites at my neck—hard—and rubs the bulge in my pants. “I liked what you did. You’re good, and it felt great. And it was worth it, like you said. But now you’re out and I’m out, to each other at least. Now we’re getting pizza and we’re gonna watch a movie and the time for games is over, angel.”

I want to say I’m sorry for what I did to him. For making everything hurt. But as his lips find mine, I realize I’m not. It’s the only way I could have done it…and it led to this.

Miller kisses deep but gentle, rubbing on me as he does. My hands are going at him too.

He pulls his mouth off mine with a laugh. “We can’t come before pizza.”

“Why not?” I breathe, giving his lower lip a suck.

“I’m not driving thru with cum in my pants.”

That makes me laugh. “Fair enough.” He pulls away, and I rub my sore mouth.

We get the pizza—Hawaiian, which apparently we both like—and eat it in the car as I drive us back. Miller ends up sort of feeding me as we talk about music. I like more classic rock, and he likes that and pop, too. By the time I pull into the driveway, I feel so good. Warm and fed, with my dick hard, wanting to get in and fuck around with him on the couch.

I carry the pizza box and he opens the door. I set it in the fridge as he scrolls the TV for something we can watch. When I get to the couch, he’s got the show True Detective locked and loaded. He’s sitting with his back against one of the couch’s arms and his legs stretched out in front of him. Instead of moving for me, he waves at his lap.